I’ve had the good fortunate to be part of a group of writers that include the likes of Roseanne Dowell. In my opinion, Roseanne is a talented and prolific writer, who creates easy to read page-turners of the romantic/mystery type, where you not only meet some lovely, charming people, but get to wonder who did the dastardly deed or deeds. It’s a win-win and so enters Ring Around the Rosy.
I just finished this book and if you’re interested in my thoughts on Amazon, zip on over here. Then come on back and get to know a little bit more about this author via her own words in a recent interview:
you for having me, Heather.
Oh my, that’s a hard one. I have so
many. Just about anything written by Nora Roberts, especially Blue Smoke and
Northern Lights. I also loved Devil’s Corner by Lisa Scottoline.
I just gave that away above. LOL
what an interesting question. Do I dare answer?
word. Hmmm not sure I have one.
café, for four hours each morning, etc?)
and just about any time. For a long time it was the middle of the night, but
that’s not happened for a long time. I find if the characters are speaking, I’d
better listen and get it down on paper (computer) right away. I’ve lost those
words a few times by putting it off.
I think that’s probably every writer’s fear. Is it good enough? Will the
publisher like it?
easy. The Victorian. And you’ll see that often in my books. So many of my
heroines love that era too.
one. I wish I had a good singing voice. I was in the choir and I sang with the
tenors. I’d love to be a soprano.
9. What do you consider your greatest achievement?
Raising my six
Not sure I
In my sleep,
quietly and without pain.
the headline. ‘Georgie Porgie, Pudding
and Die’ by Susan Weston, it blared at her. Her headline. Her story. She’d
done it. Finally got her headline. She drummed her hands on the counter and did
a little dance step. She swore if her grin got any wider her face would crack.
.”Susan Weston, journalist!” she shouted. God, she wanted to shout it from the
this hour? “ She grabbed the phone. “Hello.” Bella rubbed against her legs,
waiting to be fed. “Hello?” Susan grabbed the box of kitty food, filled the
bowl, and set it on the floor.
her spine. “Who is this?” she whispered.
words, and “Watch for Jack be nimble.” Then the phone line went dead.
trembled, and she stared at the phone. She dropped the receiver back into its
cradle as if it was on fire. But she couldn’t stop the trembling. Her stomach
churned. Nausea filled her throat. What was wrong with her? Just someone
playing a sick joke. This wasn’t her first crank call, why react like this?
Maybe because none of the others had sounded like this.
Something about that voice, so harsh, so evil. It gnawed at her. The hair
prickled on the back of her neck. Something about it seemed familiar, but she
couldn’t quite place it.
headline aloud, trying to keep her mind off the phone call. “Police are
investigating the death of thirty-one year old George Lucas, whose body was
found last night in Lagoon Park near his west side home.” The sound of her
shaky voice surprised her.
George Lucas’s eyes stared into space. What was he thinking when he looked into
his killer’s eyes? The distant street lamp didn’t help. It cast an eerie shadow
on the victim. His face frozen in terror, lips parted in a silent scream, and
his head tilted to one side as if it was too heavy for his neck. The way one
hand clutched at his throat and the other gripped the note, fingers frozen
around it, sent icy chills through her, even now. She shuddered.
forever be embedded in her mind. Susan rubbed her arms to warm them.
will determine the cause of death, but early reports indicate that Mr. Lucas
was strangled. Lipstick was smeared across the victim’s mouth, and he clasped
the nursery rhyme, ‘Georgie Porgie,’ in his hand. The teen who discovered the
body reported seeing a man carrying a bag and wearing a gray shirt running from
the park moments before. Police have no suspects at this time.”
snuggled against her.
slowly. So much for the thrill of seeing her name on the front page. The image
of the body filled her mind. Her hands trembled while she held the paper and
reread the headline with her name below it. It was exactly as she had written
it — not one word changed, short and to the point.
times in Meliti’s Market talking to old Mrs. Meliti. Although they never spoke,
they had nodded and smiled hello. Nice-looking guy, about her age. What a shock
seeing him dead. Another shiver shook her body. Seeing a dead body was bad
enough, but knowing the victim threw her for a loop. Made it personal.
ordered her to leave, not that they had to tell her twice, she had viewed the
crime scene and then skedaddled lickety-split. She knew enough about crime
scenes to maintain a distance, knew if she got too close, she’d compromise the
scene, maybe even leave trace evidence of herself behind. She didn’t need that.
But she’d been close enough to read that paper in his hand, a nursery rhyme.
She’d seen every gory detail.
magazines, and bowl of chocolate pudding and the strawberry pie that had been
dumped on the victim’s head would stay in her memory for a long time. Of
course, the police requested that information not be printed.
understood. Those were facts only the killer knew, and it prevented crank
confessions. Couldn’t give the public too much information. After waiting
behind the crime scene tape long enough to hear the possible cause of death,
she hurried home to write her story before the deadline.
colleagues hadn’t shown up until well after they’d taped off the crime scene,
hadn’t seen what she’d seen. So Ernie printed her story. Her first big
byline! Even that cocky reporter, Dan
Hill, hadn’t beat her out this time.
words from the phone call rambled around in her mind.
strawberries. Strawberry Pie dumped over the victim’s head.” Her voice cracked
at the memory.
been talking to the killer? What else had the caller said? Jack be nimble.
Another nursery rhyme.
the nursery rhyme “Jack be nimble…”
the kitchen, trying to remember the rest of the rhyme.
candlestick. That’s it!”
there a serial killer out there?
Maybe it was nothing, but she needed to report it. Something didn’t sit right.