Fiction Friday

Fiction Friday: Gladwynn Grant Takes Center Stage Chapter 2

/ Lisa R. Howeler / Leave a comment

Welcome to the second chapter of Gladwynn Grant Takes Center Stage, which is the second book in the Gladwynn Grant Mystery series. This is a cozy mystery series.

For the last few years I have blogged my books as I write them, sharing a chapter a week for my blog readers. I didn’t do this for the first book in this series, but thought I’d try it with book two. If you want to read book one, you can find ebook and paperback copies here: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C1KSQJXP

If you are new here, I just want to let you know that this is a story that is somewhat a first draft, though I actually read over the chapters a few times before moving forward and before posting them here. There will be typos, errors, wrong names, and plot holes. Just keep that in mind. If you see a typo and you want to tell me about it, please do. I have my books edited and proofread before they publish and still many things are missed. It also doesn’t help when I upload the wrong file for the final book. Sigh.
Anyhow, enjoy book two of the series and if you want to check out my other books you can find links to them HERE.

You can find the first chapter that I shared last week HERE.

If you don’t want to read the book as a serial, you can pre-order it HERE. It releases November 21.

Chapter 2

Gladwynn pulled her gaze from the man standing above her and returned her focus on the task at hand. “No, Vince. I can handle it myself.”

“Or I will do it for her,” Abbie interjected.

Out of the corner of her eye, Gladwynn noticed Abbie’s pursed lips and one raised eyebrow, almost as if she had gone all Mama Bear in an effort to protect Gladwynn from being hit on by some man at the beach.

Vince Giordano wasn’t exactly “some man,” though. Gladwynn had had plenty of interactions with him, one of the last ones being on the back of his ATV when he drove her to see a digging operation on the property of a man who turned out to be very guilty of several crimes.

He’d lifted her onto the back of the ATV in an embarrassing moment and then the embarrassment had continued when she’d fallen in the mud and he’s tried to help wipe the mud off of her. After that he’d definitely been flirting with her so she’d been avoiding him as much as possible since.

Today, Vince was standing above her in a pair of blue shorts, shirtless, with muscular arms folded across a broad and well-toned chest. His dark beard was neatly trimmed and his dark green eyes flashed with amusement.

He shrugged his shoulder. “No problem. Just thought I’d ask.” He tipped his sunglasses down. “Nice to see you again, Gladwynn.” He moved his eyes to Abbie. “Mrs. Mendoza. Good to see you too. You ladies have a nice picnic.”

Abbie wriggled her fingers at him in a wave. “You too, Vince. Buh-bye.” She rolled her eyes as soon as he turned to walk across the beach. “The nerve of him asking you if you wanted him to rub sunblock on your back. I mean there is flirting and then there is outright making a pass at a woman.”

Gladwynn laughed and leaned back, propping herself up on her elbows and stretching her legs out in front of her. “Vince is just – well, Vince. He’s a flirt, sure, but he’s also a good guy. Grandma says he came back home to take care of his mom when she was ill.”

Abbie rubbed lotion on her arms. “He did and he’s a prison guard and the bouncer at the Birchwood Township meetings, but he’s still a man who needs to learn some manners.”

Gladwynn laughed again at her friend’s protectiveness.

She looked out over the beach, noticing that Vince had laid on his stomach on a towel, laying his head on his arms and clearly sunbathing. He propped his chin on his hand and looked at her, grinning.

Her attention was pulled from Vince by a slender woman with honey blond hair piled on top of her head in a messy bun talking aggressively on a cellphone further down the beach. A white stripe stretched diagonally across her black bathing suit, which fit snuggly across her curvy form.

The woman shook her head, said something, placed a hand on her hip, and scowled as she listened to the person on the other end of the phone.

Abbie waved a hand in front of Gladwynn’s face. “Hello. Earth to Gladwynn. What’s got your attention?”

“Oh. Sorry. It’s that woman down there. She’s clearly having an intense conversation with someone and her expressions caught my attention.”

Abbie took a sip from her water bottle. “It’s the storyteller in you. I’m sure you’re imagining all kinds of scenarios about what that phone call is all about.” Her expression changed quickly to recognition. “Oh. That’s Samantha from Willowbrook. She’s the recreational director.”

Gladwynn turned her head to watch the woman again. “Grandma and Doris were just talking about how wonderful she is.”

“She is wonderful,” Abbie said, sliding her sunglasses up to the top of her head. “She doesn’t look like she is having a wonderful conversation, though.”

Samantha gestured into the air and then slapped her hand against her thigh, her face twisted in an angry scowl.

Gladwynn winced. “No. She doesn’t. Hopefully it is just a minor lover’s spat.”

Something about Samantha’s expression, though, told Gladwynn that the conversation was definitely not minor.

After swimming with the kids for an hour, eating lunch for a half hour, and stretching out for a half hour on the blanket under the umbrella, it was time to pack up. Abbie needed to get the children home for dinner, baths, and bedtime and Gladwynn had an appointment at the theater. She’d need a shower to wash off all the sand and a change before then.

Logan had definitely had enough and had to be carried on Isabella’s back to the parking lot. Gladwynn and Abbie followed carrying their bags and several bags full of sand toys, towels, and wet clothes. Gladwynn also carried the cooler and had the swan’s neck hooked over one shoulder.  

“Do ya’ ladies need a bit of help there?”

The thick Northern Irish accent was a clear indication of who was offering assistance. Gladwynn glanced over her shoulder and smiled. “We’re doing okay, but thank you for your offer, Pastor Callahan.”

Luke sighed heavily. “I’ve told you before that we are past the formalities. Call me Luke, Miss Grant.”

His blue eyes sparkled with amusement as he fell in step beside her. She noticed he was as clean shaven – and as handsome — as ever. It was apparent he didn’t allow hair to grow along his jawline even when camping. His blond hair was cut short, as usual, and combed to one side. Once again, he reminded her of a classic 1940’s movie star. It was both of their love for classic movies and jazz music that had led them to an in depth conversation more than once before over the last few months. The first conversation had been in the sunroom at her grandmother’s where Gladwynn had caught Lucinda looking on with a mischievous smirk. That smirk had been brought on by the fact she’d invited Luke home for dinner, obviously hoping the two would hit it off.

“Now, seriously, my dears. Let me have a bag.”

Abbie paused and slid two canvas bags off her shoulders. “I will gladly accept your assistance, pastor. Thank you so much.”

“Yes. Thank you for your help,” Gladwynn added. “How was your camping trip?”

He lifted the bags onto his shoulders and smiled. “Refreshing. Exactly what I needed.”

Gladwynn took in his dark maroon T-shirt and dark blue jeans and realized it was the most casual she’d ever seen him. She was used to seeing him in a button-up dress shirt and khakis, even when he wasn’t behind the pulpit.

He set the bags down when they reached Abbie’s minivan then opened the back hatch and set them inside. He held his hands out for the bags Gladwynn was carrying, setting them down as well.

He did the same for the remaining backs Abbie was carrying, then ruffled Logan’s sand encrusted hair. “Did you have fun, young man?”

Logan nodded sleepily from his position on his sister’s back.

Luke laughed. “You’re going to sleep hard on the way home.”

“God willing,” Abbie said with a small laugh and a gesture toward the sky. “Put in a good word for me, pastor.”

Luke winked. “You know what I always say – I’m no better than you in the sight of God just because of my vocation, but I’m willing to say an extra prayer for the wee one to get a nap.” His gaze drifted across the parking lot. “I should be going, ladies, but I hope you have a good rest of the day.” He leveled a gaze at Gladwynn. “See you in church tomorrow?”

She was again struck by how nearly translucent his blue eyes were. “I’m sure Grandma and I will be there, barring any unforeseen circumstances.”

He smiled, tipped his head down briefly, and kept his gaze locked on hers as he stepped away. “Until then.” He broke eye contact as he turned.

Gladwynn watched him cross the parking lot and pause next to a small blue car. It wasn’t the car that caught her attention as much as the woman standing next to it. Samantha Mors had one hand on the car door as Luke about a foot in front of her and propped his hand on the roof of the car.

They began talking and Gladwynn found herself trying to interpret their body language. Was their conversation professional or personal?

She pulled her attention from the scene in front of her and started looking for her keys in her bag. What they were talking about was none of her business. Just because her grandmother wanted her to have a stake in Luke’s life didn’t mean she wanted the same. The man was a pastor. He could be talking to Samantha about her spiritual wellness.

As she raised her gaze and began to turn back to her car, she saw Samantha hug Luke and him return the hug. She chewed on her bottom lip. Hugs weren’t usually part of pastoral counseling, were they?

“I thought you weren’t interested in Pastor Luke.”

Abbie’s voice startled her out of her thoughts. “What? I’m not.”

A small smirk pulled at Abbie’s mouth. “Yeah. Okay. If you say so. You just seem a bit invested into whatever is happening over there.”

Gladwynn unlocked her car door, opened the driver’s side door, and set her bag inside. “Not in the least. Looks like you have a way of imagining scenarios yourself, Mendoza. Get those kids home and washed off and we’ll talk later.”

Abbie gave her a quick hug, still sporting an amused smile. “Okay, hon. Thanks for coming and good luck at the theater event. They can be a rowdy bunch, so prepare yourself.”

Gladwynn laughed out loud as she started her car.

Rowdy bunch? They were senior citizens. How rowdy could they be?

***

The disgruntled voice of a man hit Gladwynn as soon she opened the door to the main part of the community center theater.

“Good grief, Marge. I didn’t say I wouldn’t play the part. I just said I didn’t want to.”

A woman, presumably Marge, responded sharply. “Well, if you don’t want to then I don’t know why you would say you’ll do it.”

“I’m playing it because there aren’t many other men in this community who can play it so I’m fine with playing it.”

Gladwynn paused at the top of the aisle and sought out the source of the argument, looking up on the stage, which was fully lit by the house lights.

A woman with tightly curled gray hair, slightly plump, stood facing a tall man with white hair. The woman was holding a script in one hand, a pair of small, wire-rimmed glasses in the other. The man had his hands shoved deep in his khaki pockets, leaning back slightly as if trying to lean away from the woman. The expression on his face didn’t match his stance, instead he looked incredibly bored by it all.  

The woman remained in the same position, looking at the man, swinging her glasses by the earpiece. “Don’t feel obligated. It’s not the end of the world if you can’t do it. We’ll find someone else.”

The man kept his hands in his pockets slightly leaning forward. “Marge! I already said I’ll do it. Now, can I get a copy of the script so I can see how many lines I have?”

“You don’t need a script if you don’t want to do it.”

 Another woman’s voice broke in off stage. “Greg said he’d do it, Marge. Let him do it and let it go.”

Marge let out a resigned sigh. “Fine. Here is a script then. Don’t be late to rehearsals.”

Brookstone post office employee Floyd Simmons walked onto the stage wearing a floppy woman’s hat. “How do I look ladies? Am I the perfect Matthew?”

Several people in the front of the theater laughed and at least one person told him to take the hat off. Gladwynn wondered how Floyd would play Matthew, since she knew the man was hard of hearing and somedays practically had to be shouted out before he could hear the other person. She experienced this firsthand any time she visited the post office where Floyd still worked after 50 years.

Lucinda, standing by a large chest overflowing with fabric and costumes, waved at Gladwynn from the back of the stage. “Over here, sweetie!”  she called, her voice echoing through the empty theater.

The small group of people on the stage all turned toward her to see who Lucinda was beckoning to. Gladwynn tipped her head slightly in a greeting as she made her way down the aisle toward the front of the theater. Several smiles met her as she walked.

A woman who Gladwynn guessed to be somewhere in her mid-60s stepped in front of her as she reached the top of the steps on the side of the stage. Her dark hair with light gray streaks fell in a straight bob to her shoulders, like something from a 1920s film. A dress made of thin, flowing material covered in purple flowers fell to her ankles and wrists.

Her lipstick, a shade of deep lavender, matched the flowers on the dress.

She firmly grasped Gladwynn by the arms and leaned back to look at her.  “Oh, Lucinda, is this the Gladwynn we’ve heard so much about?”

The woman turned to look over her shoulder briefly at Lucinda, who laughed.

“Yes, this is her.”

The woman turned back to Gladwynn. “Oh my. She’s gorgeous.” She slapped her hands to her chest. “You’re gorgeous, love. Just gorgeous!” Her smile stretched the skin along her mouth and bony cheek bones, slightly cracking a thick layer of pale foundation “You definitely have Grant genes in you. You remind me so much of your father.” Her eyes, outlined with thick, black eyeliner, widened. “What a looker he was. My younger sister was just head over heels for him.”

Gladwynn wasn’t sure what to do with the information about the sister’s crush on her father or with the compliments about her looks. She felt warmth spread across her cheeks and chest as she laughed softly. “Thank you. It’s so nice to meet you.”

“Emerald.” The woman waved a hand out to one side with a dramatic twirl of her wrist. “My name is Emerald Cappucci. I’m the assistant director of the production.”

She slid a hand to Gladwynn’s upper back and gently pulled her forward. “Come. Let me introduce you to everyone. We’re so very glad you could come. Our director will be here soon. She’s back at her place trying to get rid of a headache she developed after a day in the sun.”

Gladwynn exchanged a perplexed look with her grandmother as Emerald propelled her toward a small group of people gathered on the edge of the stage.

Emerald raised her arms and clapped her hands together twice.  “Everyone! This is Gladwynn Grant. Lucinda’s beautiful granddaughter and the reporter from the Brookstone Beacon. She’s here to write a story about our upcoming production. Everyone welcome her please.”

The small group was made up of a mixture of ages ranging anywhere from Gladwynn’s age to Lucinda’s and maybe older. There were smiles, nods of heads, and ‘hellos’ offered. Gladwynn recognized Floyd, Beatrice Gilbert, Jane Henderson, Louise Barton, Mikey Tyler and Fanny Tanner – all whom her grandmother played Pitch with once a week at the retirement community. She didn’t recognize the other three. Emerald introduced each person, gesturing to them with a dramatic twist of her wrist each time and saying each name with an equally dramatic roll of the r in the names that had them.

Emerald’s eyelids — the edges darkened with clearly fake eyelashes — fluttered as she gestured to the younger woman with long blond hair that fell in large, fluffy curls down to the middle of her back. “Summer Bloomfield is our Anne, of course.” She clasped her hands in front of her and continued to look at Summer as if the woman had fallen from the sky with angels wings attached.

Ah, Summer. The Summer. The Summer who worked at the library and who her grandmother had once told her was dating Luke Callahan. Gladwynn wasn’t sure of their relationship status at this point, especially after seeing Luke with Samantha earlier that day, but it was nice to finally put a face to the name.

The name perfectly fit the woman’s sunny personality too. Her face practically glowed. Her smile revealed two rows of perfectly white, perfectly shaped teeth, and her bright green eyes sparkled under the stage lights as if she were born to be a star.

“So lovely to meet you, Gladwynn!” Summer gushed, stepping forward and clasping both of her hands around Gladwynn’s. “We have heard so much about you and all of it has been wonderful.” She winked. “And not all of it has come from your wonderful grandmother. You have made quite an impression on people in Marson County since arriving.”

A good impression? Or a bad one? And on whom? Who had been talking to Summer about her? Was this a veiled reference to Luke? She wasn’t sure how to take Summer’s statement but since the woman was smiling, she’d take it as a compliment. Unless the woman was subtly suggesting that Gladwynn had made an impression on Luke and she didn’t like it. Her mental analyzing was cut short as a door behind the group slammed open, hitting the wall behind it.

Doris walked briskly through the doorway and to the group. Her cheeks were flushed. “You’re not going to believe who just called me.” She paused to smile at Gladwynn. “Hello, Gladwynn, hon. Glad you made it.”

Emerald laid a hand lightly at the base of her throat. “Tell me it wasn’t Ashley.”

Doris’ brow dipped into a scowl. “It was and she’s flaked out on us just like you said she would. She says she can’t possibly play Diana now because she’s sprained her ankle playing pickleball.”

Emerald tipped her head back and groaned softly, pressing the heel of her hand against her the center of her forehead. “Pickleball. Please! That girl! She’s so dramatic.”

Gladwynn stifled a laugh behind her hand at the irony of the statement coupled with Emerald’s dramatic swooning gesture.

Doris placed her hands on her hips. “Who are we going to find to play Diana on such short notice?”

A murmur rippled through the group.

Marge shrugged, looking sour. “There are only so many young people from the area interested in community theater these days. The pickings are definitely slim.”

“We could place an ad in the newspaper and on the radio,” Franny offered.

Emerald shook her head, wrapping her hand around her chin. “That could take some time and we need to get someone in as soon as possible. We only have two months until opening night.” Her brow furrowed in thought. “Who do we even know who is young, with dark hair, and loves Anne of Green Gables?”

A quiet settled over the group. A couple of them looked at the floor. Others looked at each other and shrugged, then shook their heads.

Then slowly, one by one, starting first with Lucinda, the cast began to look toward Gladwynn, who sensed rather than saw the situation happening. She looked up from the script she’d picked up from the top of a crate to flip through.

She looked at Lucinda who had an amused smirk pulling at one side of her mouth, then back at the group. “Why are you all looking at me?”

Emerald clapped her hands together once. “Oh daaahling!! – you’d be perfect!

Confusion clouded Gladwynn’s expression. “Perfect? For what?”

Emerald held her arms out to her sides. “You could totally play Diana. You’re young. You have dark hair. You’re beautiful. Plus, Lucinda was just telling us the other day how much you love the book.”

Gladwynn narrowed her eyes and looked at Lucinda. “She did, did she?” She shook her head once and held up a finger. “No. No. No. And no. I liked reading Anne of Green Gables. I don’t want to act in a play of it. Never. Ever. No. Not going to happen.”

Lucinda stepped across the stage and placed a hand on each of Gladwynn’s shoulders. She gave her granddaughter her best puppy-eyed dog look. “But don’t you want to make a bunch of old people who are on death’s door happy?”

Gladwynn gasped. “Grandma, really? Emotional manipulation does not become you.”

Louise scoffed from the right side of the stage. “Speak for yourself, Lucinda. I’ve got another decade in me at least.”

Emerald waved her hands in a dramatic rhythm above her head. “Just think about it, dahling, and get back to us, okay? For now, let’s get this interview going. Samantha should breeze in — .” She looked down at the watch on her wrist. “Any minute now.”

Gladwynn shook off the shock of being asked to be in the play and took her notebook and pen out of her bag. She asked Emerald and the actors questions about the production, who would be playing what part, and the show dates and times. Half an hour later she had all she needed for the article. For a photograph she took a few candid photographs of the cast rehearsing their lines and Lucinda and Doris looking through the costumes.

Emerald stood from the chair she’d sat at the front of the stage for the interview and huffed out a breath. “I just can’t understand where Samantha’s got to. She’s never been this late.”

Louise fanned herself with a script. “Has anyone tried to call her?”

Doris raised her cellphone. “I have her number. I’ll give her a call and see what is going on.”

Gladwynn grabbed Lucinda by the arm as Doris stepped outside through the backdoor behind the stage and steered the woman toward stage left. “What was with them asking me to be in the play? And who was the lady yelling at that man when I first came in?”

Lucinda smiled. “You just happened to be here at the wrong time, my dear. They probably would have jumped on any warm body who came in the door to play that part, but Emerald is right. You are perfect for the role. As for Marge Dickinson, that’s just how she is. Pushy and demanding. She means well though and she gets things done. She’s in charge of our casting, I suppose you would say. She’s in charge of whatever she wants to be in charge of. She and Emerald butt heads all the time. Both women like to have control.”

Gladwynn sighed. “Grandma, to be perfect for an acting role you have to have done some acting. I never have and don’t have any interest. I read books and write for a small town newspaper. Neither of those things qualify me to participate in one of the most extroverted activities there is.”

Lucinda handed her a script. “Just take this home. Look over it, and see what you think. Diana isn’t in the play as much as she is in the book. Plus, we’re weeding out a few scenes for time. Our actors can only stand so long before the bunions start chaffing or the varicose veins start popping.”

The back door opened, and Doris walked back inside. “It’s going straight to voicemail. I think I’ll head back to Willowbrook and see how she’s doing. I know she’s been taking sleeping pills for her insomnia, but I wouldn’t think she would taken them for a nap.” She picked up her purse from a small table at the back of the stage, then paused and snapped her fingers. “Oh wait! I can’t drive over. I left my car at the shop. Bill dropped me off.”

Gladwynn lifted her keys from her bag. “I can give you a lift. I was planning to head back to the house anyhow.”

“That will work,” Doris said as she slid her purse strap over her shoulder. “Then Sam can give me a lift back here.”

A warm breeze ruffled Gladwynn’s hair as she stepped onto the sidewalk and slid her sunglasses on. Doris sighed next to her. “My goodness it’s gorgeous out today. I’m so glad that humid weather we’ve been having finally let up.”

Gladwynn couldn’t help but agree. She was not a fan of weather that made her feel like she was walking in a sauna. Her hair wasn’t either. Today would be a perfect day to put down the roof of the convertible that she’d bought when she thought her research librarian job at the college was going to be more permanent than it turned out to be. Doris probably wouldn’t enjoy that full force wind in her face or hair, so she opted to keep the roof up, though.

She pulled the car out onto Main Street. “Doris, am I right in assuming that Samantha has her own place in the retirement community?”

“Yes. She has her own condo. It’s part of her salary package. She gets a place to stay and they get a full-time recreational director and all around go-to person. People go to her with their concerns and worries more than they do the community manager.”

“And who is the manager?”

“Eileen Bristol. She’s been here about four years. No one is really sure how she got the job. She’s not very nice and looks like she ate a jar of sour pickles. There are some who have questioned who she slept with to get her job, but no one can imagine who’d want to do such a thing considering how miserable she is.” Doris slapped the tips of her fingers over her mouth. “Excuse me. That was gossip. I shouldn’t have said that.”

Gladwynn patted her knee. “It’s okay, Doris. We all slip up from time to time. I know you didn’t mean to be malicious.”

The retirement community was only about half a mile from the theater. Doris pointed out Samantha’s condo and Gladwynn pulled her car into a parking space next to the car she’d seen at the lake earlier.

“You go on and head to work,” Doris said as she stepped out of the car. “Samantha can give me a ride back to the theater.”

“Okay, then. Have a good day, Doris.”

“You too. Don’t work too hard.”

Gladwynn’s cellphone rang as Doris closed the passenger side door. A small smile pulled at Gladwynn’s mouth as she answered it.

“Hey, sis.”

Gladwynn dropped her voice into a lower octave. “Hey, bro.”

“You at work?”

“Nope. It will probably change soon since a reporter left, but for now I have weekends off.”

Caelen laughed on the other end of the phone. “Enjoy it while you can, right?”

“Right. What’s up with you?”

“Thought I should call in and get the real story about how you’re doing. You know how Mom and Dad are. They tend to be a bit –”

“Dramatic, I know.”

She knew Caelen had decided not to spend  his summer break from college at home this year. Instead, he’d gotten a job at a construction company in Michigan. She also knew their dad wasn’t too happy about his decision. He’d planned on Caelen working at the law office during the summer. William Grant was definitely planning on his son joining the firm after college. After a few revealing conversations with Caelen, she had feeling that was not going to be happening.

“Heard Dad’s going to drop in on you in a few days.”

Gladwynn winced. “Yeah. Not sure how I got that honor.”

“You didn’t move far enough away like the rest of us. So, how are you doing?”

“Pretty good.”

“You’re liking your job?”

“It’s growing on me.”

“How’s Grandma?”

“Crazy as ever.”

“And her new boyfriend?”

“She says he isn’t her boyfriend, but he’s doing well.”

Caelen laughed. “Is it weird to see her with someone other than Grandpa?”

Gladwynn flipped the visor down and looked at her hair in the mirror. She moved a couple of stray strands off her forehead. “It was at first but Jacob’s a great guy. Super sweet. He’s got the sweetest dog he brings with him sometimes. He has lunch or dinner with us a few times a week.”

She heard the sound of cars behind him as he spoke. “You think they’ll get married?”

Gladwynn made a face at her reflection. “I don’t know about that, yet. Maybe? I’m not sure I’m ready for that, to be honest, and I don’t think she is either. She’s enjoying his companionship, though.” There was a pause in the conversation and she wondered if he had another reason for calling other than checking up on her. “So, what’s up with you, anyhow? How’s the new job?”

“It’s okay, I guess.”

There was another pause. She cleared her throat. “You still don’t want to be a lawyer, do you?”

Caelen let out a breath. “No. Not at all.”

“And you haven’t told Dad, have you?”

Another breath. “No.”

Gladwynn let out a brief breath herself. “Well, I hope you’re not calling me to ask me to tell him because I’m not going to. He already isn’t very happy with me. At this point, his youngest offspring are a great disappointment to him.”

Caelen snorted in disgust. “Which makes no sense. We’re allowed to have our own lives. He and Mom both need to accept that. I mean, it wasn’t your fault you got laid off and you took a chance and reinvented yourself. I think that’s cool.”

Gladwynn closed the mirror on the visor at the same moment Doris rushed out of the condo door looking over her shoulder, a terrified expression on her face. The woman stopped, turned back toward the door, and clasped her hands over her mouth, shaking her head slowly, her eyes closed.

Gladwynn reached for the door handle and opened it quickly. “Uh, Caelen. I need to go.”

“I thought you said you had the day off.”

 “I do, but something is going on.”

“What’s going on? Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, but I’m very worried that someone else isn’t. I’ll call you back later.”

Fiction Friday: Gladwynn Grant Takes Center Stage Chapter 1

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 4 Comments

I thought it would be fun to share a few chapters, maybe more, of Gladwynn Grant Takes Center Stage on the blog on Fridays.

This is the second book in my cozy mystery series and it releases on November 21. We might have time to fit in all the chapters before it releases, but we will see.

If you are interested in reading the first book in the series, you can buy it on Amazon HERE and you can also read it in Kindle Unlimited at the same link.

You don’t have to read the first book in the series to understand the second.


Chapter 1

Sitting on a lounge chair on the back patio with a book in one hand, an iced tea in the other, Gladwynn Grant had an excellent view of the lilacs and roses blooming in her grandmother’s garden.

She also had an excellent view of the two cats her grandmother hadn’t wanted but had let Gladwynn adopt anyhow. The black and white one, named Scout, was sprawled on her back on the end of the lounge chair fast asleep. The all black one, which Gladwynn had named Pixel, was sleeping in a tight ball on the wicker rocking chair that her grandmother usually occupied.

It might not have mattered if Lucinda Grant wanted her granddaughter to adopt two cats or not if Gladwynn hadn’t moved in with the woman eight months earlier. She’d made the move after being laid off from her job as a research librarian at a community college in Upstate New York and then deciding not to wait around to see if she was hired back again.

Gladwynn was on the patio enjoying a lovely, quiet Saturday morning. It was one of two days off she had from her job as a reporter at the Brookstone Beacon, the job that had brought her to live with her grandmother. After two hours of reading, sipping iced tea, and scratching the heads and bellies of the cats, the closing of a car door signaled that her alone-time was coming to an end.

Voices inside the house a few moments later let her know that her grandmother had returned, along with their neighbor and Lucinda’s friend Doris.

“We’ll need a list of all the characters.” Her grandmother’s voice carried from the kitchen. “That will give us a better idea of how much fabric we’re going to need for the costumes we have to make. We should be able to pick up some of the dresses from Second Hand Rose and the Salvation Army store.”

“I think we’re going to have to make the dress Matthew buys Anne, though.” Doris’ voice joined Lucinda’s. “Puffed sleeves are not a thing anymore, even for those who wear vintage clothes for fun.”

Gladwynn heard the opening of cupboard doors. “Let’s try that tea Louise gave us.” Then a little louder. “Gladwynn, hon’. You out there?”

“Yep.”

“Come in and try this tea Louise gave us. It’s from India.”

Gladwynn stood from the lounge chair and yawned, stretching her arms above her head. “India? Whose been in India?”

“Louise’s son and daughter-in-law were missionaries there and brought it back with them.”

 Gladwynn’s eyes slowly adjusted from the bright sun to the dimly lit kitchen as she walked inside. For several seconds Doris was simply a small figure sitting at the table. As she came more into focus, though, Gladwynn could see her usually long silver hair had been cut into an attractive bob that brought her hair down to just below her ears.

“Doris! I love your hair! What does Bill think?”

Doris touched a hand to the bottom of her hair, bouncing it against her palm. “Why thank you. He seems to like it. Said it makes me look ten years younger, so I took that as a compliment.”

Doris had a small, round face, and bright brown eyes with a hint of gold in the irises. She was petite, or what Gladwynn would call dainty. When she smiled her entire face lit up, making her look at least a decade younger than she was.

She and Lucinda had been friends for more than 50 years, meeting when Lucinda and her late husband Sydney had moved into the three-story Victorian home built by Gladwynn’s great-great grandfather next to Doris and her husband’s similarly lovely Victorian home. Lucinda and Sydney had moved into the home when Sydney returned from the seminary to become the pastor of Covenant Heart Church. They had lived in the rectory for several years until Sydney’s father passed away and the family home was left to him.

Lucinda set three delicate teacups with red roses on the side on the counter. “At least he put the golf clubs down long enough to notice this time.”

Doris clicked her tongue. “Now, Lucinda. Behave. I told you he’s been better lately.”

Lucinda opened a small box of tea and placed the loose leaves in a small tea ball, which  she sat inside her ceramic teapot, a match to the teacups. Sydney had given her the set for their 50th wedding anniversary.

 “I know. I know. I’m sorry. You know I struggle with a sarcastic tone. You think at my age I’d have that under control.”

Doris’ smile was warm and full of amusement. “If you didn’t have that sarcastic tone, I’d worry you were sick, Lucinda Grant.” With a laugh, she turned her attention to Gladwynn. “I hear you’ll be at our rehearsal tonight to write an article about the show.”

Gladwynn dropped a piece of homemade bread in the toaster. “Yes, ma’am. I care so much about you ladies I am even coming in on my day off.”

Lucinda patted her on the shoulder. “And we appreciate it, honey.”

“Just keep in mind we are only in the planning stages right now,” Doris said. “We still have to figure out costumes and set design and no one even knows their lines yet.”

Gladwynn knew the Willowbrook Retirement Community had chosen to perform Anne of Green Gables for their summer play. What she didn’t know yet was who was playing the parts and who was directing it.

Most of her grandmother’s friends, others than Doris, lived at Willowbrook Retirement Community, which was a collection of approximately 40 mini-condos that all looked the same, inside and out. Willowbrook provided independent living for local seniors, while also giving them a community of neighbors. A recreational center on the condo property provided them with a place for swimming, aerobic classes, as well as musical concerts and dramatic performances put on by the residents.   

Lucinda set the kettle on the stove. “We’ve got plenty of time for all of that. The show isn’t until August.” She glanced over her shoulder and winked. “Plenty of time for us all to have a mental breakdown.”

Lucinda’s long white hair still featured flecks of the golden it had been when she was younger. It was pulled into the usual bun tight on top of her head. Two signature dimples popped up on each of her cheeks.

The toast popped up and Gladwynn began to butter it. The smell of homemade bread filled the air. She and Lucinda had cooked it together a couple of days earlier.

“Who all is in the play? Do either of you ladies have a role in it?” She looked at Lucinda with a mischievous smile. “I could totally see you as Marilla, Grandma.”

Lucinda’s eyes narrowed as she set the teacups on the table. “I’m not sure if that is a compliment or not considering how grumpy and uptight that woman is in the beginning.”

Reaching around Lucinda for the shaker with cinnamon and sugar, Gladwynn kissed her grandmother’s cheek. “But later she becomes a sweet, doting mother-figure for Anne so I think that fits you just perfectly.”

Lucinda pinched Gladwynn’s upper arm. “Nice save, young one, but, no, Louise MacIntosh is going to play Marilla. Doris and I are simply on costume duty this year and I am totally fine with that. Floyd Simson is going to play Matthew, Summer Bloomfield is playing Anne and Ashley Donnely is playing Diana. The part of Rachel Lynde will be played by Beatrice Farley, which is completely fitting for her.”

The chirping birds outside reminded Gladwynn she’d left the cats on the patio where they were probably awake from their naps now, ready to pounce on a Blue Jay or Cardinal feasting at her grandmother’s bird feeder. She opened the patio door to let both cats inside. Scout darted inside while Pixel took her time, rubbing against the doorframe several times, walking in a circle, and then finally returning to walk through the door.

Gladwynn rolled her eyes at the cat and sighed, then reached down and scratched Pixel’s head. “Who is the director of the play?”

Steam rose from the kettle as Lucinda dropped the tea ball into the teapot. “Samantha Mors. She’s the community centers new recreational director. I say new, but she’s been there for about a year and a half. She’s magnificent.” She poured hot water into the teapot and sat it in the center of the table. “She’s brought so much life to Willowbrook.”

Doris placed a cube of sugar in her teacup. “I agree. She’s brought so much to our community at large, not just Willowbrook. We now have craft fairs and talent nights at the retirement community hall, in addition to the activities she’s added for the residents. There are nights for crafts, a book club, art classes, aerobics and Pilates classes, shuffleboard competitions, and once a month there is a dance.”

Gladwynn was impressed with the list of activities. The woman sounded like a true gift to Willowbrook.

“She sounds wonderful. I can’t wait to meet her. For now, though, I’m going to finish this toast and tea and then head out to meet Abbie and the kids for a picnic at the lake.

Lucinda lifted the teapot lid, steam rising up in front of her face as she looked inside. “Oh my. Doesn’t this smell wonderful?” The smell of tea wafted from the teapot. She began to tip tea into each of their cups. “Before you head out, I thought I should let you know that your father called this afternoon.”

Gladwynn’s shoulder muscles tensed. She kept her gaze on the tea leaves swirling in her cup, waiting for Lucinda to continue, but not wanting her to at the same time. It was rarely good news when William Grant called.

Lucinda cleared her throat as she sat at the table and began to tip some cream into her tea. “He asked how you were.”

Good for him, Gladwynn wanted to retort, but didn’t. “Mmm. That’s nice.” Gladwynn blew on the tea. “And what did you tell him?”

“That you were doing well, but that he had your phone number so he could call and ask as well.”

Gladwynn snorted out a laugh. “And what did he say to that?”

Lucinda dropped her voice into a deeper range. “Well – well, mother. I know that, but – well, you see, I just figured it was easier to call you and – you know I’m late for a meeting so I – uh.”

Gladwynn burst into laughter at the impression of her father. “That was way too accurate.”

Lucinda reached for a homemade sugar cookie on a plate she’d sat next to the teapot. She broke the cookie in two. “Teasing aside, I know he’s not the easiest to get along with, but he does love you. He’s just not very good at showing it.”

That was an understatement in Gladwynn’s opinion.

“I also know you won’t want to hear this.” Lucinda dipped half of the cookie in the tea. “But he says he will be visiting in a couple of weeks. He has a law conference in Philadelphia and would like to stop in to visit on his way back.”

Gladwynn wondered what the deal was with everyone she knew from her old life stopping by on their way to conferences. Two months ago, her ex-boyfriend Bennett had done the same thing. That hadn’t ended well but he seemed to have got the message after their talk and hadn’t tried to reach her again since then.

“That’s fine. I hope you two have a nice visit. I’ll probably be at work most of the time.”

Other than reading a lot, she and her father seemed to have very little in common. He was all about work, making connections for work, reading about work, and then going to work as a high-end corporate lawyer in Manhattan during the week.

On the weekends he was home in Upstate New York. When she had still lived across town from him in a rented apartment, which had only been a short six months ago, he’d spoken to her briefly a handful of times. Those times were usually to let her know that he and her mother didn’t feel she was living up to her potential. That speech had intensified when she’d been laid off from her job as a research librarian and the local college, as if the lay off had been her fault.

She drank the last of the tea in the cup. “That was amazing tea. Thank Louise for sending some home with you.” She stood and kissed Lucinda’s cheek. “I’ll see you two tonight at the theater.”

“Have fun and don’t forget your sunscreen,” Lucinda called after her. “And say hello to Luke if you see him there. I heard he was camping out there this weekend.”

Gladwynn paused in the doorway of the kitchen.  What were the chances that she was going to the same place today that her grandmother’s pastor— the man her grandmother had been not so subtly trying to set her up with for the last few months —was camping?

Was it possible that Abbie and her grandmother had combined forces? She briefly glanced over her shoulder at Lucinda, who seemed to be innocently sipping her tea as Doris started to talk about a problem she was having with a flower in her garden.

Shaking her head, she continued toward the stairs, refusing to believe that her friend and grandmother were conspiring against her.

Lake Henrietta was about a half hour drive from Brookstone and took Gladwynn through fields that stretched out to the bottom of tree covered hillsides and then faded into forests of tall Eastern pine trees, maples, oak and dying ash trees. The ash trees had been attacked by the ash boar years ago and the bug had finally succeeded in eating through them all. The ash boar had been brought in by the state to chase away the Japanese Beetles which had been brough in to chase out an infestation of – well, Gladwynn couldn’t remember. All she could remember was that the government always seemed to be offering solutions that made the original problem ten times worse.

Taking a deep breath through her nose she reveled in the smell of pine and blooming wildflowers. A deer stepped out into a meadow between groves of trees, followed by a fawn. She smiled, a sudden rush of gratefulness rushing through her at being able to live in an area where such scenes were commonplace. So many who’d lived here for years took it for granted, while here she was driving to a state park and wondering like an awe-struck child what wildlife she might see today.

Moving to this more rural area from an urban area had been an adjustment for sure, but it was an adjustment she had been enjoying so far, despite the fact there had been two attempted murders within a couple of months of her living here. She’d ended up helping to investigate both cases because of her reporting job. Her book obsession had led her to getting to know the guilty party, Landon Braken, which led to him confessing that he had tried to kill a man who had led a jewelry theft years earlier. Landon had worked at the bookshop she visited at least twice a week.

The theft had left Landon’s father a shell of a man as he dealt with the guilt of having helped rob the jewelry store, which had been owned by his cousin. Landon’s father had been the curator at an art museum and had lent an expensive necklace to Brick and Melody Braken to display in their store. Daryl Stabler had been behind the plot to steal the necklace and years later he’d blackmailed Landon’s father into staying quiet.

That had been a few months ago. Daryl and his wife Gloria and Landon were now awaiting trials. Daryl was awaiting trials for both the jewelry theft and for stealing catalytic convertors around the country to sell them for their expensive metals. His wife was awaiting trial for the attempted murder of the wife of the man who had helped Daryl steal the jewels.

Hopefully life in Marson County would be a little calmer now. Gladwynn was back to covering elementary school field days, mundane municipal meetings, and library fundraising events again and she was fine with that.

Abbie Mendoza stood outside a blue minivan in the parking lot of the beach entrance of the park. The mother of three was wearing a pair of light blue shorts, flip flops, a white tank top with blue stripes and her dirty blond hair was pulled back in a ponytail. Canvas bags, beach toys, a cooler, and an enormous inflated pink swan sat around her on the ground. A small boy jumped up and down next to her and older child, who was a younger version of Abbie, was leaning against the side of the car, reading a book. Hannah, Abbie’s middle child, was walking along a log laying in the woods near the parking lot, her arms out to her side for balance.

Gladwynn smiled as she pulled into the space next to Abbie, remembering the first time she’d met her and her children.

Abbie was the part time barista at Gladwynn’s favorite coffee and bookshop, Brewed Awakening. The coffee shop featured a used bookstore in the back and had become a frequent place of peaceful respite for Gladwynn. She and Abbie had become fast friends after meeting, even though it seemed in some ways that they didn’t have a lot in common. Gladwynn was single and Abbie was married with three children she homeschooled.

“Need some help?” Gladwynn asked as she stepped out of her car. She reached for the bag Abbie had picked up and hooked it over her shoulder, then held her hand out to Logan, Abbie’s 3-year-old son.

Logan grinned, stuck a finger in his mouth and took her hand.

Gladwynn looked down at him and smiled. “Ready to see the lake?”

He nodded and gigged, bouncing up and down. “Ake! Ake!”

Abbie sighed and rolled her head from side to side as if working out the kinks. “He’s been driving me crazy all morning, running around and chanting “Ake! Ake!” She looked over her shoulder. “Isabella, grab the other bags, honey. We need all the help we can get.”

Isabella didn’t respond, her head still bent over the book.

“Isabella!” Abbie’s voice was sharp. “I’m asking you to help us carry this all down to the beach. I’m glad you’re reading but we could use your help.”

Isabella looked up quickly, her expression a mix of surprise and indifference. “Oh. Sorry.” She shoved the book in the bag over her shoulder and picked up a folded beach chair and cooler. Looking up she managed to give a half smile to Gladwynn, who thought about how she was so glad she wasn’t a teenager anymore. That had been a confusing and awkward time and had to be even worse in the day and age of the internet.

Hannah skipped along behind them as they made their way to the beach, a man-made space covered in sand that had been hauled in from somewhere else but provided a soft space to walk and sit next to the 245-acre lake.

Lake Henrietta stretched out toward a hillside of green pine trees, the blue sky with a few clouds reflecting in its surface. Gladwynn had visited the lake one other time before this with Abbie’s family and planned to visit again soon by herself. She was looking forward to setting herself up under the weeping willow along the far shore, away from the beach, with a book and a tall glass of lemonade.

Today the beach was full of children building sandcastles and running into the water and families picnicking at tables in grassy areas next to the sand.

Abbie and Gladwynn spread a blanket out on the warm sand. They set the bags up around it, then propped a large umbrella up to protect them from the blazing sun.

Abbie slid a small white bottle from a canvas bag and shook it. “Let’s get some sunblock on before you all run away.”

Gladwynn lent a hand and once the kids were slathered to Abbie’s specifications, they took off for the water, Logan doing his best to drag the inflated swan across the sand.

Sitting on the blanket, Gladwynn reached inside her bag for her own bottle of sunblock and began to rub it onto her bare arms, shoulders and legs. She’d chosen a sleeveless shirt that hooked behind her neck with two strings and left the top of her back exposed, a pair of vintage-style blue shorts with white stripes, and brown sandals with blue flowers tacked to the top straps.

“Need any help with your back?”

The deep voice startled her, and she looked up quickly to see the mischievous smile of a very attractive man she’d been doing her best to avoid for the last couple of months.

Fiction Friday: Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing Chapter 5

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 1 Comment

I thought I’d share another another chapter of Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing this week. This book is with my husband now for editing so there very well could be typos, etc. here. This is kind of “as is”, but changes will be made before I publish the book July 18.

That reminds me: If you want to preorder a copy of the book, you can do so on Amazon for 99 cents for a limited amount of time. You can only preorder an ebook copy of the book at this time.

If you want to catch up with the other chapters you can do so here:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

The Birchwood municipal building reminded Gladwynn of an old warehouse. The outside walls and roof were metal. A pair of glass doors brought them into the inside of the building, which doubled as a community hall. The ceiling was tall with bright fluorescent lights hanging on large rectangular fixtures.

They had set rows of long tables and chairs up in the middle of the room and Gladwynn guessed the hall would sit at least 200. Right now, there were probably about 50 people sitting in chairs that had been set up in front of a long table at one end of the hall.

“We’ll sit here in the back,” Laurel whispered. “At most meetings, I’d say grab a seat up front, but for this meeting, Glenn always suggested sitting near the exit just in case. I took his advice and was glad I did that night the fists started flying. I hightailed it right out of here and followed up later with a call to the board president.”

A fist fight? Gladwynn’s muscles tightened. What in the world had she gotten herself into?

Glenn was the reporter who’d covered this beat for 25 years. He’d retired last year, which was why Gladwynn was even here.

Laurel placed a notepad and tape recorder on the table. She tapped the speaker of the recorder. “If you don’t have one of these yet, be sure to invest in one. It’s good to be able to play the meeting back later to back up your notes and make sure you get quotes correct. It’s also nice to have in case someone tells you that what you said they said, isn’t what they said. Understand what I’m saying?”

Gladwynn laughed. “Oddly, yes.”

Two men sat across from them, grinning like they’d just told each other a joke.

Gladwynn guessed the men to be in their late 50s, or early 60s. One was slightly balding, carried some extra weight in the belly and wore dark-rimmed glasses. He reminded Gladwynn of a giddy grade school kid the way he was beaming and practically bouncing in his chair.

He leaned across the table toward Laurel. “You’re in for a good one tonight, Laurel. We hear Daryl Stabler is all wound up about something.”

Laurel kept her gaze on her notebook. “Oh yeah? What has him riled up this time?”

The other man shrugged. “Who knows? He was ranting in the diner this morning about some threat he got. We figure it has something to do with the land the fire department wanted to buy last year.”

Laurel cut a glance at Gladwynn. “This is Frank Tyler and Rich Ryder. They’re residents and–“

“We’re more than that,” Frank broke in. “I’m on the local community watch and Rich is with the fire department and used to be a member of the board.”

Laurel managed a strained smile. “Yes, of course. They are more than residents. They’ve helped me when  I’ve covered meetings out here, especially last month when some tension, shall we say, came up.”

Gladwynn tilted her head questioningly. “Tension?”

Rich scoffed and waved his hand. “Ah, it was just crazy old Lester Jenkins. He’s mental, everyone knows that. It was something about the township leaving snow on his property. He’s always mad about something.”

Frank turned his attention to Gladwynn. “Yeah, but it all got crazy after he did his yelling. He walked outside for ten minutes and came back again. Poor Laurel here thought he’d gone out for a gun.”

Laurel looked up at the ceiling. “That’s not really what—”

“Oh yeah, you did.” Rich agreed. “You thought he was going to shoot us all up. I saw you inching toward the exit.”

Rich leaned slightly across the table and reached down to touch his ankle. He lowered his voice to a conspiratorial tone. “You two don’t need to worry, though, okay? If he does it again, I’m ready.”

Gladwynn’s eyebrows dipped. “Ready for what?”

Rich’s voice was at a whisper now, his hand still down near his ankle. “To eliminate the threat. I’m carrying.”

His explanation didn’t clear up anything for Gladwynn. “Carrying what?”

“A gun!” Rich hissed in a loud whisper.

Gladwynn’s eyes widened, and she leaned back slightly.

Rich scoffed and waved his hand dismissively. “Don’t worry. It’s registered and conceal carry is legal here.” He tipped his chin up. “Where you from anyhow?”

“New York.”

Frank made a face. “Oh. Sorry to hear that.”

She suddenly felt defensive. “I’m not from the city. Just upstate.”

Rich scowled. “Ain’t much difference between the city and upstate anymore with those governors you people been electing.”

Gladwynn was grateful that the sound of a pounding gavel interrupted the conversation.

The room had filled up now, with almost every seat available being used. Gladwynn had no idea people actually showed up to municipal meetings anymore, let alone this many.

Voices merged together, creating a loud hum. The gavel pounded again.

“I’m calling the meeting to order,” the man with the gavel called loudly. A hush began to fall over the room.

Seven people were sitting at the front table. Gladwynn guessed that the one with the pen and paper, scribbling furiously, was the board secretary.

Laurel leaned close to her and lowered her voice. “They’re going to open the floor for a public comment section after the secretary reads the minutes. That’s when all the fur tends to fly.”

“Are all municipal meetings like this around here?”

Laurel shook her head with a smile. “Most are more boring than watching sap run.”

The public comment section didn’t show as much crazy as Gladwynn had expected it to. At first anyhow.

Most of the comments involved questions about trash in the township park, complaints about the snowplow hitting a mailbox, and questions about an upcoming winter festival.

But when a wild-eyed character with white hair that stuck up straight from his head stood with a piece of paper in his hand, Gladwynn braced herself.

The man took a step forward, pointing at the man who had identified himself as board president John Giordano earlier in the evening. “John, did you leave this letter in my mailbox?”

John made a face. “What are you talking about? What letter?”

The man persisted. “I got a threatening letter in my mailbox, and I know without a doubt it’s from you. I had every right to sell that land. You know that. It’s nobody’s business, especially not the townships.”

Laurel leaned toward Gladwynn. “That’s Daryl Stabler. He owns a huge plot of land over on 84. There are rumors some big development has bought it, but we haven’t been able to track down who yet[lh1] .”

Gladwynn nodded and turned her attention back to the front of the room.

John folded his arms across his chest, a deep frown curving his mouth downward. “I don’t care what you do with your land, you old fool. You stop taking your meds or something? Or maybe you need to start. Now, if you’re done, the public comment session is concluded. I motion we –

“I’m not done until you admit that you left this letter!”

John rolled his eyes and let out an exasperated huff. “What’s even in this letter?”

“You should know!”

“I don’t know because I didn’t leave it!”

“You threatened me, and I won’t stand for it!”

John suddenly stood and pointed a finger at Daryl. “I did not threaten you. You take that back right now! I didn’t write that letter and I did not threaten you.”

A man with salt and pepper hair raised a hand at the end of the long table where the board members were sitting. “Daryl, you’ll need to be careful here. You’re stepping into slanderous territory.”

Laurel whispered, “Township Solicitor Trent Styles.”

Daryl’s voice rose. “It is not slander when it’s true!”

Gladwynn glanced at the exit and started calculating how many steps it would take her to get there. She also wondered how many other people in the room had weapons strapped to their ankles.

Someone at the back of the room cleared his throat. Gladwynn turned to see a dark-haired man wearing a uniform, his arms folded across his broad chest.

It was a throat clearing apparently only she heard because everyone else was still shouting accusations back and forth. She kept her eyes on the man, wondering if he was a security guard. He sported a well-kept dark beard, but she could still see a muscle jumping in his jaw. From where she was sitting his eyes appeared to be green with a hint of gold.   

His uniform didn’t look like a state police uniform, but she’d be very surprised if this small township had a police force.

The volume level rose. Curse words were uttered. Two men stood nose to nose.

“That land is mine to sell, not the townships! I don’t care if you wanted it for your fire company!”

“You promised it to our fire company!”

“That’s the way they work, Daryl. Watch them. Threatening. Manipulation. It’s how this township has always worked!”

The loud pounding of the gavel on the table didn’t even silence the room. In fact, it seemed like the people, many of them now standing and pointing fingers at the board members and each other, were trying to shout over it.

“That’s enough!”

The booming voice behind Gladwynn made her jump. She and Laurel both turned to look at the uniformed man. The voices continued at the same volume.

It took another firm declaration from the man before the group began to settle down. His voice settled into a calmer tone as the conversation faded. “Let’s have some sort of semblance of decorum here, people.”

He never moved as he spoke, his arms still folded across his chest, his legs apart in a wide stance.

Even as the voices quieted, many continued to glower at each other, with a few casting annoyed glances back toward the source of their admonishment, as they sat.

John took a deep breath. “Vince is right. We all need to calm down and let cooler heads prevail.” He folded one hand over the other on the table in front of him. “One way to do that is close this public session for now and get to the other business of the evening.”

The other business was routine and mundane with far too much time spent, in Gladwynn’s opinion, on the cost of gravel for the township roads.

She looked at her notes and circled Daryl’s name, then scrawled the words property, fire company, and threatening letter. Next to each she added a question mark.

When the meeting concluded, Laurel stood. “Come on, I’ll introduce you to the board members.”

John held out a hand toward her after Laurel’s introductions. “Nice to meet you. Gwen was it?”

“Gladwynn actually.”

“Oh.” John, a pleasant looking man with a round face and gray hair, huffed out a soft chuckle. “I guess that’s one of those more modern names, huh?” He winked. “Sorry you had to experience that unpleasantness during the public comment session during your first visit with us.”

A woman to his right was busy packing up papers and folders. Without looking up she smirked. “If you’re going to be here every month, you might as well get used to it.”

John laughed nervously. “Don’t let Margaret here scare you off. It’s not always this bad.”

The board member who Laurel had introduced to her as Betty Wilson snorted as she stood and pulled a blue jacket on. “Yeah, but it will be if these nutcases have their way.”

John cleared his throat and stood. “Well, anyhow, it’s nice to meet you, Gladwynn. It’s especially nice to have a new face to look at. Seeing Glen’s grumpy mug every month was grating on my nerves.”

Gladwynn told everyone it was nice to meet them, noticing that everyone except John avoided eye contact as they pulled on their jackets and gathered papers before leaving quickly out the back door.

Back in the car, Laurel tipped her head back and laughed. “Those people are crazy! Seriously! First the guy with the gun, then the whole thing with the threats, and then John Cena telling everyone to shut their mouths. There has got to be something in the water out here, I swear. They’re all nuts. Glad I got out when I did.”

Gladwynn drank the last of her coffee. “That guy was better looking than John Cena.”

Laurel looked at her and raised an eyebrow. “Oh yeah? You think so?”

Gladwynn cleared her throat, warmth spreading from her chest into her face. “Not that I was really looking. I mean, it’s just that I don’t think John Cena is that attractive so . . .”

She let her words trail away as she tried to think of a way to change the subject. “Do you know who he is?”

Laurel was clearly amused by this turn in the conversation. “So, this guy was not John Cena. He was way hotter. Is that what you’re saying?”

Gladwynn sighed. “That is not what I said, but, well, just about any man is hotter to me than John Cena. Anyhow, let’s just change the subject, shall we? What’s the deal with this property that Daryl guy was talking about?”

Laurel shrugged. “No idea. He’s always on about something at these meetings. I only filled in for Glen a couple of times and every time he was there to complain about something or other. These people always have some kind of crisis going on. It’s like they can’t survive in life without having something to be offended or up in arms about.”

Fog floated across the road and Laurel flicked on her high beams. “Tell me about this name of yours anyhow. Is it a family name? I’m guessing Scottish.”

Here we go again, she thought. Explaining my name.

“Yes, Scottish. Gladwynn was my great-great grandmother’s middle name. She and my great-grandfather came to the United States in 1835 from Scotland.” She managed a half smile, even though she hated telling the story again. “My parents really got into the Scottish names. My sisters are Iona and Sheena. My brother is Caelen and everyone calls him Salen because they have no idea it’s a hard c, not a soft one.”

Laurel glanced at her and laughed. “Seriously?”

“I wish I wasn’t.”

“Are you the youngest?”

“Of the girls, yes. Sheena is two years older than me. Iona is four years older, and Caelen is five years younger. He was a bit of a surprise.”

“Do your siblings live back where you are from?”

She shook her head. “Not anymore. Iona is in Florida raising three kids, Sheena moved to London last year to tour with the London Philharmonic, and Caelen is playing football for the University of Michigan.” She slumped in her seat and looked out the passenger window. “I’m the family oddball. I don’t have any kids, any talent – musical, athletics or otherwise – and I prefer being alone to being with people.” Chewing on her already short thumbnail she decided not to share about the many talents her parents also had – one of them consistently reminding her she wasn’t as talented as her siblings.

Laurel turned on the windshield wipers as rain began to fall. “Sounds like your siblings are just over achievers. Those type of people are usually super boring anyhow.”

Laurel wouldn’t call any of her siblings boring. Not in the least.

Back at the office she and Laurel worked on the story together, comparing notes, and choosing to focus less on the property and letter drama and more on the fact that the cost of cinders had doubled this year, which would put an already struggling township in even more debt.

She was barely able to keep her eyes open when she finally left the office around 10, which was probably why she almost tripped over a cat in the parking lot.

“Sheesh, little guy—or gal—I didn’t even see you down there.” She stopped and rubbed her hand across the top of the cat’s head. The cat raised its’ chin to move itself more firmly under her strokes then rubbed against her legs, weaving in and out.

She petted the cat for several minutes, then yawned. “Okay, buddy. I’ve got to get going. Head on home. I’m sure someone is missing you.”

Looking up as she closed the driver’s side door, she noticed the cat had perched itself on the concrete curb stop in front of her parking space and was watching her with half-opened eyes. It lifted a large white paw and licked it, then began to clean itself. All four of the five-toed paws were white and matched a white streak of fur across its belly, up its front, across one side of its nose.

The cat reminded her of one she’d had back in New York when she was about seven. She hoped this cat had a longer life than that one had. Worrying about the well lbeing of a cat was something she’d have to address later, though. For now, she needed a warm cup of tea and a pile of comfortable quilts to fall asleep under.

Fiction Friday: Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing Chapter 4

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 1 Comment

I’m sharing another chapter of Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing today, with the disclaimer that I have not fully proofed it yet and it may need some rewrites as well.

The full book will release July 18 on Amazon.

To catch up on the other chapters:

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3





Chapter 4

Gladwynn wasn’t thrilled that Liam had assigned her to shadow Laurel Benton, the reporter she’d overheard talking about her with the copy editor the night before. Unfortunately, she was the only one free to show Gladwynn the ropes, so to speak, when it came to covering municipal meetings.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Gladwynn examined her dark brown curls and reapplied her signature bright red lipstick that she’d started wearing her senior year of college. She pulled the hem of the canary yellow sweater she’d had since college down to the top edge of her black slacks and took a deep breath before giving herself a pep talk.

“Come on, Grant. Suck it up. You can do this.”

Laurel was waiting for her in the hallway, arms crossed across her chest. She had tucked her hair under a blue, knitted cap, but one strand – dark brown with light-gray streaks – had fallen loose. She’d already zipped her black winter coat up to under her chin. Small lines crinkled the skin along the corners of her eyes as she offered a tense smile.

“Ready to go? We need to leave now if we want to get a good seat.”

Gladwynn reached for her coat, a hot pink tumbler filled with hot coffee, and a reporter’s notebook that she’d sat on a chair outside the bathroom door. She zipped her coat up to her chin and flipped up the gray-faux fur-lined hood. It was less stylish, but warmer than the one she’d been wearing the day before. She’d decided she needed to be ready for the conditions since she’d be outside more in this job than in her last job, even if the coat clearly clashed with her style.

She gestured toward the door. “Lead the way.”

As she walked, she wrapped the bright red scarf her grandmother had handed her earlier that day around her neck and pulled it up across her mouth and nose.

Snow crunched under her winter boots, reminding her how glad she was that she’d stopped by the local shoe store on her way to work to pick out a pair of cute, yet still practical, brown winter boots.

Laurel’s steps weren’t as long as Liam’s, thankfully, and it was much easier to keep up with her. Her blue Honda was parked in a church parking lot across the street from the newspaper office. The car was definitely a lot older than Liam’s BMW. Dents along the passenger side of the car hinted at some sort of collision at some point – possibly with a guide rail or tree limb.

The door groaned as it opened, and the ripped seat definitely wasn’t heated.

Laurel slammed the driver’s side door shut. “Sorry about the car. It’s pretty beat up but gets me where I need to go.” She smirked. “Working for a small-town newspaper isn’t exactly a lucrative gig if you haven’t realized that already.”

A smile tugged at Gladwynn’s mouth. “I’ve started to figure that out, yes.” Her breath turned the air in front of her white and she hoped the car at least had heat.

The engine rolled over with a reluctant growl. Shifting it into reverse resulted in a loud grinding noise. Laurel grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut. “Stupid car.” She shook her head briefly. “Anyhow, Birchwood is about 20 minutes away and in the middle of nowhere so you can help me watch for deer.”

Laurel slowly edged the car out of the parking lot and onto Main Street. The sun hadn’t yet set, and the drive gave Gladwynn a moment to take in the town, as little as there was to take in. Brookstone had probably been a bustling center of activity at some point, but these days many of the buildings were shuttered up or housing businesses that probably wouldn’t survive the year. There were more “used” signs than she’d ever seen in one place. Used clothes, used books, and used video games just to name a few.

The one standout gem of Main Street was the old Cornerstone Theatre, which her grandmother had told her had once been an opera house, built in 1875. She remembered many trips there as a child and teen when she’d spent summers with her grandparents.

Gladwynn watched two churches slide by. One church was a Catholic Church with a light brown stone exterior and a tall bell tower. This must be the bell that rang four times a day, including 6 a.m., waking her up this morning way before she’d wanted to.

“How you settling in?”

Laurel’s question pulled her gaze from the impressive brick façade of the Covenant Heart Church her grandfather had used to pastor and that her grandmother still attended. “Okay, I guess. I mean, do you mean at the office or at my grandmother’s, which is where I’m staying for now?”

Laurel shrugged and smiled briefly. “Both I guess.”

“I would say I’m settling in with Grandma better than I am at the office, honestly.” The business district of town began to fade into a series of lovely homes, many of them Victorian like her grandmothers. That was one thing about Brookstone. Part of it demonstrated that the area had fallen into disrepair and poverty, while the other half showcased the wealth that had once ruled the town and, in some cases, still did.

Gladwynn glanced at Laurel. “By the way, the word is coif not quaff.”

Laurel looked over at her with one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”

“The word you were looking for yesterday was coif. Coif is a hairdo. I was wearing a 40s coif in your opinion. Quaff means to drink heavily, which I don’t do.”

Red crept into Laurel’s cheeks. She frowned briefly. “Sorry about that.”

The town disappeared into a less sparsely populated area with only a few houses, a gas station and a mechanic shop passing by.

Gladwynn sighed. “Maybe it is a silly hairdo.”

“No. Really. It isn’t.” Laurel glanced at her. “We were just being petty. It happens in a small office. Especially among women. Not to run our sex down but we do tend to get caddy when we are in small groups. Maybe it’s because our hormones sync and we’re all having PMS at the same time.”

Glawyn laughed softly. “Yeah, that actually happened at my last job too.” And her house when she was growing up, but she didn’t think she needed to mention that at the moment.

The gears in the car groaned again as Laurel shifted. “If you don’t mind me asking, have you worked in papers before?”

Gladwynn kept her gaze on the road in front of them, groves of trees, interspersed with small farmhouses and farms. “Only at my college newspaper almost six years ago now. I do write. I don’t know if I would call myself a writer, though. I write short stories sometimes.” She slid her gloves off as the heat in the car started to kick in. “I was laid off at my last job. It was at the college library in a town near where I grew up. I loved the job, but enrollment has been down at the college for a couple of years now and they finally started making cuts. I was one of those cuts.”

Laurel winced. “Ouch. Sorry to hear that.”

“I’m actually surprised Liam hired me. Grateful but surprised.”

Laurel snorted a laugh. “Of course, he hired you. Liam is a sucker for cute brunettes. His last three girlfriends were brunettes. He also needed a warm body to fill the seat and get Lee off his back.”

“Lee?”

“The publisher. You’ll meet him eventually. He and his wife spend most of the winter in Florida with his kids and grandkids.”

Gladwynn glanced at her reflection in the passenger side window. Cute? She’d always thought of herself as plain. She’d never really described herself as skinny even when others did. She simply saw herself as boney and awkward, often wishing she could be tall and lanky instead.

She’d definitely taken after most of the women on Grandma Lucinda’s side of the family in the height department. Her short stature had always been an irritant to her, though she was glad she at least had grown past the 5 foot 3 inches of Lucinda. Only by an inch, but it was an inch she’d prayed hard for over the years.

She took a sip from her tumbler, closing her eyes briefly at the sweet taste of coffee and cream her grandmother had mixed for. “So, what about you? Are you from here originally?”

Laurel gave a quick nod. “Yep. Born and raised.”

“Have you been at the paper long?”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “Too long. Twelve years next month.”

“Is this what you thought you’d always do? Like, did you go to school for journalism?”

“I did, but always imagined I’d be at a much bigger paper. I came back here after college to help my parents on the farm. They retired and sold it last year and moved down South to live with my grandmother, but here I am, still stuck in good ole’ Marson County.”

Gladwynn thought she heard a twinge of resentment in Laurel’s voice. “Is the job the only thing keeping you here?”

Laurel pressed her mouth into a thin line for a few seconds before answering. “It is now.”

She didn’t elaborate and Gladwynn didn’t ask her to.

“The job’s not that bad of a gig really,” Laurel said after a few seconds of silence. “The hours stink, and I feel like I’m always on, ready to cover something even when I’m supposed to have a day off, but I like the people, the writing, and most of the time I like my co-workers. Except that little upstart who thinks he’s God’s gift to journalism. I’d like to give him a swift kick in the butt.” She snorted a quick laugh. “Maybe when I decide to quit and get out of this county once and for all, that will be my last act.” She turned her car onto a road to her right and the conversation faded for the rest of the drive.

Fiction Friday: Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing Chapter 3

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 5 Comments

Guys! Gals! I am excited! I have finished my revisions of the full novel of Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing and I’m sending it out to beta readers and then will have ARC copies ready to go by June. Do you want to get in on reading the full book early? You can sign up to read an advanced copy (and hopefully review it if you like it) here:

To celebrate finishing my revisions (but not my corrections because it has to go to the editors still), I thought I’d share chapter 3 of the book.

You can find the previous chapters here and here.

As usual, there could be typos in this chapter since I still have to send it to my editors.

Let me know what you think in the comments if you want to!

Chapter 3

Glawynn woke with a start the next morning, heart pounding.

A horrible grinding noise had jolted her from a dream. It stopped almost as quickly as it started and now she wondered if it had been part of the dream, which she could remember very little of. There’d been a court jester and a young Frank Sinatra. The rest had faded into oblivion.

 The room she was looking at reminded her of something someone might see on the set of a Regency film. She let out a breath, blowing hair out of her face, and struggled to remember where she was.

A solemn woman with her hair high on her head in a tight bun scowled at her from a gold-framed picture on the wall above a full-length mirror opposite her. To the woman’s right, there was a full-bearded man wearing a Quaker-style hat staring at her from out of another framed picture. Both photographs were black and white.

It was all coming back to her now.

Grandma’s house in Brookstone. Her home for the foreseeable future.

She winced as she moved her legs, stinging pain shuddering through the bottom of her feet, reminding her of her stupid decision to wear high-heeled boots to work.

Downstairs the noise that had woken her up had started up again. Some kind of grinding and squealing, like maybe a cat caught in a woodchipper.

What was her grandmother doing?

Or maybe it wasn’t her grandmother. She hadn’t actually seen her grandmother when she’d come home last night. Lucinda’s bedroom door had been closed.  Gladwynn had tiptoed past it and crawled into bed without even changing into her pajamas.

Now fully awake, she tossed the thick quilt off her and reached for the flashlight next to the bed, weighing it in her hand.

Yeah, that would work if there was a chainsaw-wielding maniac downstairs instead of her spunky grandmother.

She inched her way into the hallway then slowly to the top of the stairs, ancestors watching her with stoic stares from ornate and vintage frames along the flower-wallpapered walls.

Making her way down the wooden staircase that dated sometime in the early 1900s, one hand on a banister, she winced as the grinding noise grew louder. It was clear now that the sound was coming from the kitchen.

Amidst the grinding, she could hear Dean Martin crooning away and just as loud, Lucinda’s voice joining in.

Gladwynn set the flashlight on a small table sitting against the wall next to the staircase under a framed image of the Grant coat of arms that a great-uncle twice removed, or something had brought back from a trip to Scotland.

She paused to look through the kitchen doorway, unable to keep from smiling at the sight of Lucinda wearing a silky, bright pink bathrobe, her back to the doorway. Her light gray hair was swept back in a messy bun and her plump hips swayed from side to side as she sang while pouring something bright green from a blender into tall glasses.

Gladwynn stepped up into the doorway. Lucinda looked over her shoulder, smiled, and belted out the end of the song, before flicking off the CD player.

“Hey there, girl! There you are! You were passed right out when I got home. That must have been some crazy second day.”

When she got home? Where had her grandmother been last night at 8 p.m. if not curled up in bed asleep?

Gladwynn flopped into a chair at the kitchen table. “Yeah. It was a little crazy.”

“Different than library work, huh?”

 “That’s an understatement. It’s like walking from Brigadoon into Saigon.”

Lucinda set a glass of the green concoction in front of Gladwynn and winked. “Glad to hear you referencing a classic movie we used to watch together.”

Gladwynn smirked. “Brigadoon or Platoon?”

“Very funny, kid.” Lucinda winked. “You know we never watched Brigadoon together.” She sat at the table across from her granddaughter, taking a sip from the glass. She smacked her lips. “Oh yeah. That’s the good stuff.”

She sighed and folded her arms on top of the table. “It’s been nice having you here, you know. I’d honestly been considering moving to Willowbrook before you called. This place is too big for one person.”

Gladwynn studied the green substance with suspicion. “You? In a retirement community?”

Lucinda shrugged. “I’m there enough as it is and almost all my friends are there now so it probably wouldn’t be a huge adjustment. Plus, it’s not easy for this old lady to take care of this big house anymore.”

“What were you going to do with the house?”

“Sell it, probably.”

She couldn’t be serious. This house had been in the family for over a hundred years. “Why? Wouldn’t dad or mom or Aunt Margaret or Uncle Doug and Aunt Harriet have wanted it?”

Lucinda shrugged again and took a swig from her glass.

“None of them are interested in keeping up this old place. They’ve all got their own lives and responsibilities. Your siblings and cousins are too wrapped up in their own worlds to care about it either.” She smirked. “Except for Trudy. I overheard her at Christmas last year tell her friend, or whatever he is, that she would love to turn this house into a bed and breakfast one day.”

Yeah, that sounded like Gladwynn’s cousin Trudy. She scoffed. “She would have abandoned that idea as soon as she realized it would require her to actually do work.”

Lucinda revealed a faint smile over the rim of her glass.

Gladwynn twirled the glass slowly in her hands and made a face. “What is this stuff anyhow?”

“It’s a green smoothie. All the rage and very good for you.”

Gladwynn sniffed the glass and set it down again. “Green things aren’t really something I eat. Or drink. Ever. But especially in the morning.”

Lucinda lifted an eyebrow. “Being healthy doesn’t interest you? Well, then, by all means go ahead and pour yourself some cereal that resembles cardboard or throw some heart attack-causing butter on a piece of inflammation-inducing toast and toss a piece of cholesterol-raising pig in the frying pan.”

Gladwynn stood. “Don’t mind if I do. Bacon sounds amazing right now. Also, I think it is the butter that raises cholesterol and the pork that can lead to the heart attack. Not sure about that, though, since I really don’t care.”

She felt her grandmother’s eyes on her as she walked to the fridge, but the woman luckily changed the subject. “So, how did your first couple of days go?”

Gladwynn shrugged. “They were okay. The job is just different than I expected.” She slapped a pack of bacon on the counter. “I caught a couple of the staff gossiping about me yesterday. I don’t think they like me very much.”

Lucinda turned fully in the chair to look at her. “Gladwynn, are you listening to yourself? You’re not in high school. ‘They don’t like me.’ ‘They were talking about me.’ Who cares! You don’t have to be best friends with these people. It’s a job. Work the job and come home. You young people today are too stuck on thinking you have to like your job or the people you work with. That’s not what it’s about. It’s about making money to pay your bills and put food on the table.”

The bacon sizzled in the pan. “I know, Grandma, but it would be nice if my co-workers at least liked me.”

“Did your co-workers at your last job like you?”

“Well, yeah, but we were all similar. A bunch of weirdos spending half of our lives with our noses in a book.”

Lucinda chuckled. “You’re so much like your dad. That boy always had a book in his hands.”

Gladwynn tensed at the comparison. She was nothing like William Alexander Grant or her mother, Penelope Fitzwalter-Grant, which was probably why she was always butting heads with them.

Lucinda picked up Gladwynn’s glass and poured half of the mixture into her own glass. “I’m going to the community center tonight to play Pitch. You want to come along?”

“No, my shift starts at three today. I have to go to a meeting with one of the other reporters.”

“Oh, yeah, which meeting?”

“Some little township about half an hour away. Beachwood or something.”

Lucinda finished the smoothie in her glass. “Oh, Birchwood. Good luck with that. Those people are always arguing.”

“About what?”

“About anything and everything. Sometimes it’s about zoning, and sometimes about the shape of the roads. Sometimes someone looked at someone else funny. Who even knows. Lately, the paper had been writing about some beef going on with the volunteer fire department and the township board or a resident of something. I don’t know. I really don’t have time to read the paper these days.” She put her glass in the sink. “I certainly don’t envy you, young lady. Now, before you go, I’ll need you to help me pick out my outfit for tonight. It’s so wonderful having someone here that can help me choose.”

“What about Doris?”

“I love Doris, honey, but you know she has no taste. No taste in music. No taste in men and definitely no taste in clothes.”

Gladwynn shook her head, placing a couple slices of cooked bacon onto a plate. “Now, Grandma, is that any way to speak about your best friend? And her husband for that matter? Bill is a good guy.”

“Doris isn’t my best friend. She’s just a friend. My best friend was your grandfather and he’s not here anymore.”

Gladwynn flipped a piece of bacon. “So, Doris will have to do.”

Lucinda sighed. “Yes, I guess so. She is a very good friend so she can be my almost best friend. As for Bill – well, that’s another conversation for another day.” She snatched a piece of bacon off the plate. “Now you finish that bit of smoothie I left for you. It’s good for you. I’ve got to get to the post office and then I’m heading up to the Y for a swim. I’m going to swing by Judy’s Market on the way home. Can I get you anything?”

“Grandma, don’t you ever slow down? I want to know how your date went last night. More importantly, I want to know who it was with.”

Lucinda bumped her hip into Gladwynn’s and winked. “There will be plenty of time for that conversation, little lady.” She took another bite of the piece of bacon. “You just get yourself some food and relax until you have to go to work.”

Heading toward the doorway, Lucinda started to hum another Dean Martin tune.

Gladwynn placed a hand to her hip and scowled at Lucinda’s retreating form. “I thought you said bacon wasn’t healthy.”

Lucinda glanced over her shoulder waving the bacon above her head. “It isn’t but it sure does taste good.”

After she finished her breakfast and her grandmother had left to run her errands, Gladwynn made her way to her grandfather’s office, which was also a library with floor-to-ceiling cherrywood bookcases built into the walls.

Little had been changed in the room since Sidney William Grant had passed away six years ago. The top of his mahogany desk had been cleared of papers, but family photos still remained.  Rows of books from a variety of eras filled the bookshelves and oil paintings of scenes from the area along with various photographs from his 50 years as a minister lined the walls.

Gladwynn paused and breathed in deeply. She was amazed the room still smelled so much like her grandfather’s aftershave. It was as if the day he died her grandmother had closed up the room to lock in all the smells and memories of him. It was clear, though, that Lucinda, or someone else, had been in the room since then by the lack of dust on the desk and shelves.

She sat in her grandfather’s chair and rubbed her hands along the black leather of the armrests. An old-style radio she’d been told was her grandfather’s when he was young sat across the room on a small table. It was probably built in the early 1950s, maybe earlier. She remembered sitting on her grandfather’s lap as a child in this office, listening to the oldies radio station.

The songs from the 1940s and 1950s had always been her favorite. She still listened to them when driving in her car or while reading.

Though there was a time that sitting in this office had made her feel sad and acutely aware of her loss, she felt an odd sense of joy and peace sitting here today, grateful for the memories of him.

She stood and looked at the books on the shelves, choosing one her grandfather had read to her when she’d used to visit in the summer.

The Hobbit.

She sat back at the desk with it and opened it, the crack of the spine sending a delightful shiver up her spine. She’d always loved the hand-drawn illustrations inside.

An hour later she looked up at the clock and yawned. She didn’t want to leave the refuge of the room, but she should probably get a shower and start putting her clothes away in the wardrobe in her room, something she hadn’t yet done since moving in last week. She laughed softly, thinking of the first time she’d stayed in that room as a young child and how she’d felt all the way to the back of that wardrobe to see if it felt cold as if it might really be a portal to Narnia, which she had been reading about at the time.

Walking back toward the staircase, she marveled, once again, at the size of the house. To get to the main staircase to go upstairs she walked past two parlors, a living room, a sunroom that included a mini library filled with her grandmother’s classic book collection, a dining room that was bigger than her first apartment, and a full-size bathroom. Inside the living room was a stone fireplace her grandfather had built.

Upstairs there were four bedrooms, a room that used to be a nursery but was now a den, two porch balconies outside two of the rooms, a full bathroom that Lucinda had installed a hot tub in three years ago, and an attic on the third floor.

Outside, massive granite stairs with grapevine mortar sidewalls lead up to a wrap-around porch and porte-cochere that led to a three-car garage at the side of the house, at the end of the drive, that had once been a carriage house.

The home, built in 1894, had originally belonged to her grandfather’s grandfather, a prestigious county lawyer and then judge. The woodwork inside was original and Gladwynn ran her hand along it as she walked to her room at the end of the long hallway, which was lit by lanterns that resembled those from the early 1900s but had actually been installed in the 1960s.

This home had always fit her personality more than the modern two-story house she’d grown up in with her parents, two older sisters, and older brother in upstate New York.  

Unlike her older sisters she’d somehow never felt like a modern girl. Instead, deep down she felt as if she’d been meant for a different decade. She had even set aside modern clothing for more vintage outfits since high school.

“You’re a girl with an old name and an even older soul,” Lucinda had once told her as they sat on the metal bench in the middle of her grandmother’s overflowing flower garden.

Gladwynn heard her cell phone ringing as she reached the end of the hall. She took her time getting to it, knowing who it would be.

She glanced at his name on the lock screen, pushed the call to voicemail, and once again questioned why she hadn’t yet blocked his number, knowing deep down it was because she hated leaving anything unresolved. Someday she’d have to resolve that situation, but for now, she was going to enjoy a long bath before work.



Fiction Friday: Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing Chapter 2

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 5 Comments

I thought I’d share another chapter today from my cozy mystery Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing which releases on July 18.

I’m posting this very late today because I’ve been running around most of today, cooking dinner, putting away groceries, etc. I’m posting so late today it’s almost not Friday any longer.

You can catch up on Chapter 1 by clicking here.

If you would like to receive an Advanced Reader Copy of the book in exchange for a review and letting your friends and family know about it, please sign up here:

https://forms.gle/sGrW46XBPViAvzRz7

This does not require you to be on a launch team or do anything other than read and review the book.

Chapter 2

Glawynn woke with a start the next morning, heart pounding.

A horrible grinding noise had jolted her from a dream. It stopped almost as quickly as it started and now she wondered if it had been part of the dream, which she could remember very little of. There’d been a court jester and a young Frank Sinatra. The rest had faded into oblivion.

 The room she was looking at reminded her of something someone might see on the set of a regency film. She let out a breath, blowing hair out of her face and struggled to remember where she was.

A solemn woman with her hair high on her head in a tight bun scowled at her from a gold-framed picture on the wall above a full-length mirror opposite her. To the woman’s right there was a full-bearded man wearing a Quaker-style hat staring at her from out of another framed picture. Both photographs were black and white.

It was all coming back to her now.

Grandma’s house in Brookville. Her home for the foreseeable future.

She winced as she moved her legs, stinging pain shuddering through the bottom of her feet, reminding her of her stupid decision to wear high-heeled boots to work.

Downstairs the noise that had woken her up had started up again. Some kind of grinding and squealing, like maybe a cat caught in a wood chipper.

What was her grandmother doing?

Or maybe it wasn’t her grandmother. She hadn’t actually seen her grandmother when she’d come home last night. Lucinda’s bedroom door had been closed.  Gladwynn had tiptoed past it and crawled into bed without even changing into her night clothes.

Now fully awake, she tossed the thick quilt off her and reached for the flashlight next to the bed, weighing it in her hand.

Yeah, that would work if there was a chainsaw wielding maniac downstairs instead of her spunky grandmother.

She inched her way into the hallway, then slowly to the top of the stairs, ancestors watching her with stoic stares from ornate and vintage frames along the flower wallpapered walls.

Making her way down the wooden staircase with one hand on a banister that dated sometime in the early 1900s, she winced as the grinding noise grew louder. It was clear now that the sound was coming from the kitchen.

Amidst the grinding she could hear Dean Martin crooning away and just as loud, Lucinda’s voice joining in.

Gladwynn set the flashlight on a small table against the wall next to the staircase , under a framed image of the Grant coat of arms that a distant relative had brought back from a trip to Scotland.

She paused to look through the kitchen doorway, unable to keep from smiling at the sight.

Lucinda, wearing a silky, bright pink bathrobe, had her back to her. Her light gray hair was swept back in a messy bun and her plump hips swayed from side to side as she sang while pouring something bright green from a blender into tall glasses.

Gladwynn stepped up into the doorway just as her grandmother looked over her shoulder.

Lucinda smiled, belted out the end of the song, and then flicked off the CD player.

“Hey there, girl! There you are! You were passed right out when I got home. That must have been some crazy second day.”

When she got home? Where had her grandmother been last night at 8 p.m. if not curled up in bed asleep?

Gladwynn flopped in a chair at the kitchen table. “Yeah. It was a little crazy.”

“Different than library work, huh?”

 “That’s an understatement. It’s like walking from Brigadoon into Saigon.”

Lucinda sat a glass of the green concoction in front of Gladwynn and winked. “Glad to hear you referencing a classic movie we used to watch together.”

Gladwynn smirked. “Brigadoon or Platoon?”

“Very funny, kid.” Lucinda winked. “You know we never watched Brigadoon together.” She sat at the table across from her granddaughter, taking a sip from the glass. She smacked her lips. “Oh yeah. That’s the good stuff.”

She sighed and folded her arms on top of the table. “It’s been nice having you here, you know. I’d honestly been considering moving to Willowbrook before you called. This place is too big for one person.”

Gladwynn studied the green substance with suspicion. “You? In a retirement community? Can’t really imagine that.”

Lucinda shrugged. “I’m there enough as it is and almost all my friends are there now so it probably wouldn’t be a huge adjustment. Plus, it’s not easy for this old lady to take care of this big house anymore.”

“What were you going to do with the house?”

“Sell it, probably.”

She couldn’t be serious. This house had been in the family for over a hundred years. “Sell it? Why? Wouldn’t dad or mom or Aunt Margaret or Uncle Phil and Aunt Harriet have wanted it?”

Lucinda shrugged again and took a swig from her glass.

“None of them are interested in keeping up this old place. They’ve all got their own lives and responsibilities. Your cousins are too wrapped up in their own worlds to care about it.” She smirked. “Except for Trudy. I overheard her at Christmas last year tell her friend, or whatever he is, that she would love to turn this house into a bed and breakfast one day.”

Yeah, that sounded like Trudy.

Gladwynn scoffed. “She would have abandoned that idea as soon as she realized it would require her to actually do work.”

Lucinda revealed a faint smile over the rim of her glass but quickly let it fade again.

Gladwynn twirled the glass around in her hands and made a face. “What is this stuff anyhow?”

“It’s a green smoothie. All the rage and very good for you. ”

Gladwynn sniffed the glass and set it down again. “Green things aren’t really something I eat. Or drink. Ever. But especially in the morning.”

Lucinda lifted an eyebrow. “Being healthy doesn’t interest you? Well, then, by all means go ahead and pour yourself some cereal that resembles cardboard or throw some heart attack causing butter on a piece of toast and toss a piece of cholesterol raising pig in the frying pan.”

Gladwynn stood. “Don’t mind if I do. Bacon sounds amazing right now. Also, I think it is the butter that raises cholesterol and the pork that can lead to the heart attack. Not sure about that, though, since I really don’t care.”

She felt her grandmother’s eyes on her as she walked to the fridge, but the woman luckily changed the subject. “So, how did your first couple of days go?”

Gladwynn shrugged. “They were okay. The job is just different than I expected.” She slapped a pack of bacon on the counter. “I caught a couple of the staff gossiping about me yesterday. I don’t think they like me very much.”

Lucinda turned in her chair. “Gladwynn are you listening to yourself? You’re not in high school. ‘They don’t like me.’ Who cares! You don’t have to be best friends with these people. It’s a job. Work the job and come home. You young people today are too stuck on thinking you have to like your job or the people you work with. That’s not what it’s about. It’s about making money to pay your bills and put food on the table.”

The bacon sizzled in the pan. “Yeah, I know, but it would be nice if my co-workers at least liked me.”

“Did your co-workers at your last job like you?”

“Well, yeah, but we were all similar. A bunch of weirdos spending half of our lives with our noses in a book.”

Lucinda chuckled. “You’re so much like your dad. That boy always had a book in his hands.”

Gladwynn tensed at the comparison. She was nothing like William Alexander Grant or her mother, Penelope Fitzwalter-Grant, which was probably why she was always butting heads with them.

Lucinda reached for Gladwynn’s glass over and poured half of the mixture into her own glass. “I’m going to the community center tonight to play Pitch. You want to come along?”

“No, my shift starts at three today. I have to go to a meeting with one of the other reporters.”

“Oh, yeah, which meeting?”

“Some little township about a half an hour away. Beachwood or something.”

Lucinda finished the smoothie in her glass. “Oh Birchwood. Good luck with that. Those people are always arguing.”

“About what?”

“About anything and everything. Sometimes it’s about zoning, sometimes about the shape of the roads. Sometimes someone looked at someone else funny. Who even knows. Lately the paper had been writing about some beef going on with the volunteer fire department and the township board or a resident of something. I don’t know. I really don’t have time to read the paper these days.” She put her glass in the sink. “I certainly don’t envy you, young lady. Now, before you go, I’ll need you to help me pick out my outfit for tonight. It’s so wonderful having someone here that can help me choose.”

“What about Doris?”

“I love Doris, honey, but you know she has no taste. No taste in music. No taste in men and definitely no taste in clothes.”

Gladwynn shook her head, placing a couple slices of cooked bacon onto a plate. “Now, Grandma, is that any way to speak about your best friend? And her husband for that matter? Bill is a good guy.”

“Doris isn’t my best friend. She’s just a friend. My best friend was your grandfather and he’s not here anymore.”

Gladwynn flipped a piece of bacon. “So, Doris will have to do.”

Lucinda sighed. “Yes, I guess so. She is a very good friend so I guess she can be my almost best friend. As for Bill – well, that’s another conversation for another day.” She snatched a piece of bacon off the plate. “Now you finish that bit of smoothie I left for you. It’s good for you. I’ve got to get to the post office and then I’m heading up to the Y for a swim. I’m going to swing by Judy’s Market on the way home. Can I get you anything?”

“Grandma, don’t you ever slow down? I want to know how your date went last night. More importantly, I want to know who it was with.”

Lucinda bumped her hip into Gladwynn’s and winked. “There will be plenty of time for that conversation, little lady.” She took another bite of the piece of bacon. “You just get yourself some food and relax until you have to go to work.”

Heading toward the doorway, Lucinda started to hum another Dean Martin tune.

Gladwynn placed a hand to her hip and scowled at Lucinda’s retreating form. “I thought you said bacon wasn’t healthy.”

Lucinda glanced over her shoulder waving the bacon above her head. “It isn’t but it sure does taste good.”

After breakfast was finished and her grandmother had left to run her errands, Gladwynn made her way to her grandfather’s office, which was also a library with floor to ceiling cherrywood bookcases built into the walls.

Little had been changed in the room since Sidney William Grant had passed away six years ago. The top of his mahogany desk had been cleared of papers, but family photos still remained.  Rows of books from a variety of eras filled the bookshelves and oil paintings of scenes from the area along with various photographs from his 50 years as a minister lining the walls.

Gladwynn paused and breathed in deep. She was amazed the room still smelled so much like her grandfather’s aftershave. It was as if the day he died her grandmother had closed up the room to lock in all the smells, feelings and memories. It was clear, though, that Lucinda, or someone else, had been in the room since then by the lack of dust on the desk and shelves.

She sat in her grandfather’s chair and rubbed her hands along the black leather of the armrests. An old-style radio she’d been told was her grandfather’s when he was young sat across the room on a small table. It was probably built in the early 1950s, maybe earlier. She remembered sitting on her grandfather’s lap as a child in this office, listening to the oldies radio station.

The songs from the 1940s and 1950s had always been her favorite. She still listened to them when driving in her car or while reading.

Though there was a time that sitting in this office had made her feel sad and acutely aware of her loss, she felt an odd sense of joy and peace sitting here today, grateful for the memories of him.

She stood and looked at the books on the shelves, choosing one her grandfather had read to her when she’d used to visit in the summer.

The Hobbit.

She sat back at the desk with it and opened it, the crack of the spine sending a delightful shiver up her spine. She’d always loved the hand-drawn illustrations inside.

An hour later she looked up at the clock and yawned. She didn’t want to leave the refuge of the room, but she should probably get a shower and start putting her clothes away in the wardrobe in her room, something she hadn’t yet done since moving in last week. She laughed softly, thinking of the first time she’d stayed in that room and how she’d felt all the way to the back of that wardrobe to see if it felt cold, as if it might really be a portal to Narnia, which she had been reading about at the time.

Walking back toward the staircase, she marveled, once again, at the size of the house. To get to the main staircase to go upstairs she walked past two parlors, a living room, a sunroom that included a mini library filled with her grandmother’s classic book collection, a dining room that was bigger than her first apartment, and a full-size bathroom. Inside the living room was a stone fireplace her grandfather had built.

Upstairs there were four bedrooms, a room that used to be a nursery but was now a den, two porch balconies outside two of the rooms, a full bathroom that Lucinda had installed a hot tub in three years ago and an attic on the third floor.

Outside, massive granite stairs with grapevine mortar sidewalls lead up to a wrap-around porch and porte-cochere that led to a three-car garage at the side of the house, at the end of the drive, that had once been a carriage house.

The home, built in 1894, had originally belonged to her grandfather’s grandfather, a prestigious county lawyer and then judge. The woodwork inside was original and Gladwynn ran her hand along it as she walked to her room at the end of the long hallway, which was lit by lanterns that resembled those from the early 1900s but had actually been installed in the 1960s.

This home had always fit her personality more than the modern two story house she’d grown up in with her parents, two older sisters and older brother in upstate New York.  

Unlike her older sisters she’d somehow never felt like a modern girl. Instead, deep down she felt as if she’d been meant for a different decade – anywhere from the late 1940s to the mid-1960s. She loved the music and movies of the 1940s and 50s especially, and had even set aside modern clothing for more vintage outfits since high school.

“You’re a girl with an old name and an even older soul,” Lucinda had once told her as they sat on the metal bench in the middle of her grandmother’s overflowing flower garden.

Gladwynn heard her cellphone ringing as she reached the end of the hall. She took her time getting to it, knowing who it would be.

She glanced at his name on the lock screen, pushed the call to voicemail, and once again questioned why she hadn’t yet blocked his number, knowing deep down it was because she hated leaving anything unresolved. Someday she’d have to resolve that situation, but for now, she was going to enjoy a long bath before work.

***

Gladwynn wasn’t thrilled that Liam had assigned her to shadow Laurel Benton, the reporter she’d heard talking about her with the copy editor the night before, but she was the only one free to show Gladywn the ropes, so to speak, when it came to covering municipal meetings.

Standing in front of the bathroom mirror, Gladwynn examined her dark brown curls and reapplied her signature bright red lipstick. She pulled the hem of the canary yellow sweater she’d had since college down to the top edge of her black slacks and took a deep breath before giving herself a pep talk.

“Come on, Grant. Suck it up. You can do this.”

Laurel was waiting for her in the hallway, arms crossed across her chest. She had tucked her hair under a blue, knitted cap, but one strand – light brown with light-gray streaks – had fallen loose. She’d already zipped her black winter coat up to under her chin. Small lines crinkled the skin along the corners of her eyes as she offered a tense smile.

“Ready to go? We need to leave now if we want to get a good seat.”

Gladwynn reached for her coat, a hot pink tumbler filled with hot coffee, and a reporter’s notebook that she’d sat on a chair outside the bathroom door. She zipped her coat up to her chin and flipped up the gray-faux fur lined hood. It was less stylish, but warmer, than the one she’d been wearing the day before. She’d decided she needed to be ready for the conditions since she’d be out in them more than her last job, even if the coat clearly clashed with her style.

She gestured toward the door. “Lead the way.”

As she walked, she wrapped the bright red scarf her grandmother had handed her earlier that day around her neck and pulled it up across her mouth and nose.

Snow crunched under her winter boots, reminding her how glad she was that she’d stopped by the local shoe store on her way to work to pick out a pair of cute, yet still practical, winter boots.

Laurel’s steps weren’t as long as Liam’s, thankfully, and it was much easier to keep up with her. Her blue Honda was parked in a church parking lot two blocks from the newspaper office. The car was definitely a lot older than Liam’s BMW. Dents along the passenger side of the car hinted at some sort of collision at some point – possibly with a guiderail or tree limb.

The door groaned as it opened, and the ripped seat definitely wasn’t heated.

Laurel slammed the driver’s side door shut. “Sorry about the car. It’s pretty beat up but gets me where I need to go.” She smirked. “Working for a smalltown newspaper isn’t exactly a lucrative gig, if you haven’t realized that already.”

A smile tugged at Gladwynn’s mouth. “I’ve started to figure that out, yes.” Her breath turned the air in front of her white and she hoped the car at least had heat.

The engine rolled over with a reluctant growl. Shifting it into reverse resulted in a loud grinding noise. Laurel grimaced and squeezed her eyes shut. “Stupid car.” She shook her head briefly. “Anyhow, Birchwood is about 20 minutes away and in the middle of nowhere so you can help me watch for deer.”

Laurel slowly edged the car out of the parking lot and onto Main Street. The sun hadn’t yet set, and the drive gave Gladwynn a moment to take in the town, as little as there was to take in. Brookville had probably been a bustling center of activity at some point, but these days many of the buildings were shuttered up or housing businesses that probably wouldn’t survive the year. There were more “used” signs than she could count. Used clothes, used books, and used video games just to name a few.

The one standout gem of Main Street was the old Cornerstone Theatre, which her grandmother had told her had once been an opera house, built in 1875. She remembered many trips there as a child and teen when she’d spent summers with her grandparents.

Gladwynn watched two churches slide by. One church was a Catholic Church with light brown stone and a tall bell tower. This must be the bell that rang four times a day, including 6 a.m., waking her up this morning way before she’d wanted to.

“How you settling in?”

Laurel’s question pulled her gaze from the impressive brick façade of the Covenant Heart Church her grandfather had used to pastor at and that her grandmother still attended. “Okay, I guess. I mean, do you mean at the office or at my grandmother’s, which is where I’m staying for now?”

Laurel shrugged and smiled briefly. “Both I guess.”

“I would say I’m settling in with Grandma better than I am at the office, honestly.” The business district of town began to fade into a series of lovely homes, many of them Victorian like her grandmothers. That was one thing about Brookville. Part of it demonstrated that the area had fallen into disrepair and poverty, while the other half showcased the wealth that had once ruled the town and, in some cases, still did.

Gladwynn glanced at Laurel. “By the way the word is coif not quaff.”

Laurel looked over at her with one eyebrow raised. “Excuse me?”

“The word you were looking for yesterday was coif. Coif is a hairdo. I was wearing a 40s coif in your opinion. Quaff means to drink heavily, which I don’t do.”

Red crept into Laurel’s cheeks. She frowned briefly. “Sorry about that.”

The town disappeared into a less sparsely populated area with only a few houses, a gas station and a mechanic shop passing by.

Gladwynn sighed. “Maybe it is a silly hairdo.”

“No. Really. It isn’t.” Laurel glanced at her. “We were just being petty. It happens in a small office. Especially among the women. Not to run our sex down but we do tend to get caddy when we are in small groups. Maybe it’s because our hormones sync and we’re all having PMS at the same time.”

Glawyn laughed softly. “Yeah, that actually happened at the library too.”

The gears in the car groaned again as Laurel shifted. “If you don’t mind me asking – I mean, maybe I shouldn’t ask — but what brought you here? Have you worked in papers before?”

Gladwynn kept her gaze on the road in front of them, groves of trees, interspersed with small farmhouses and farms. “Only at my college newspaper almost six years ago now. I do write. I don’t know if I would call myself a writer, though. I write short stories sometimes.” She slid her gloves off as the heat in the car started to kick in. “I was laid off at my last job. It was at the college library in a town near where I grew up. I loved the job, but enrollment has been down at the college for a couple of years now and they finally started making cuts. I was one of those cuts.”

Laurel winced. “Ouch. Sorry to hear that.”

“I’m actually surprised Liam hired me. Grateful but surprised.”

Laurel snorted a laugh. “Of course, he hired you. Liam is a sucker for cute brunettes. His last three girlfriends were brunettes. He also needed a warm body to fill the seat and get Lee off his back.”

“Lee?”

“The publisher. You’ll meet him eventually. He and his wife spend most of the winter in Florida with his kids and grandkids.”

Gladwynn glanced at her reflection in the passenger side window. Cute? She’d always thought of herself as plain. She’d never really described herself as skinny even when others did. She was just boney and awkward, though she sometimes wished she could be tall and lanky instead.

She’d definitely taken after most of the women on Grandma Lucinda’s side of the family in the height department. Her short stature had always been an irritant to her, though she was glad she at least had grown past the 5 foot 3 inches of Lucinda. Only by an inch, but still. It was an inch she’d prayed hard for over the years.

She took a sip from her tumbler, closing her eyes briefly at the sweet taste of coffee her grandmother had made her earlier. “So, what about you? Are you from here originally?”

Laurel gave a quick nod. “Yep. Born and raised.”

“Have you been at the paper long?”

Laurel rolled her eyes. “Too long. Twelve years next month.”

“Is this what you thought you’d always do? Like, did you go to school for journalism?”

“I did, but always imagined I’d be at a much bigger paper. I came back here after college to help my parents on the farm. They retired and sold it last year and moved down South to live with my grandmother, but here I am, still stuck in good ole’ Marson County.”

Gladwynn thought she heard a twinge of resentment in Laurel’s voice. “Is the job the only thing keeping you here?”

Laurel pressed her mouth into a thin line for a few seconds before answering. “It is now.”

She didn’t elaborate and Gladwynn didn’t ask her to.

“The job’s not that bad of a gig really,” Laurel said after a few seconds of silence. “The hours stink, and I feel like I’m always on, ready to cover something even when I’m supposed to have a day off, but I like the people, the writing, and most of the time I like my co-workers. Except that little upstart who thinks he’s God’s gift to journalism. I’d like to give him a real swift kick in the butt.” She snorted a quick laugh. “Maybe when I decide to quit and get out of this county once and for all, that will be my last act.”

She turned her car onto a road to her right and the conversation faded for the rest of the drive.

Fiction Friday: Road to Bethlehem. Guest post, children’s author Lesley Barklay

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 1 Comment

Children’s author, or just author in general, Lesley Barklay provided me with a chapter of her book, Road to Bethlehem for today’s Fiction Friday.

Road to Bethlehem is part of the Bible Adventurers series for children.

Description:

‘Dear God’, Hannah prayed. ‘I wish I knew what it was like on that first Christmas morning . . .’

When Hannah goes to bed on Christmas Eve, the last thing she expects is to wake up in a dusty shed with her brother and a chicken. With no time to search for their parents, Joseph and Mary take the children with them on the road from Nazareth to Bethlehem. Will they reach the town in time? And how will Hannah and Joshua ever get home?

A delightful story about the first Christmas.

You can find more info about Lesley and her work on her social media sites: Instagram @authorlesleybarklay and Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authorlesleybarklay

Road to Bethlehem – Chapter 1

The first thing Hannah noticed was the strange smell. Had Mummy left the window open? Was there a sheep in the front yard? Then, she heard the noises.

     Cock-a-doodle-doo!

     A rooster? She stirred sleepily. We don’t have a rooster any more. When she rolled over, her hand touched something strange. Something scratchy. What? Her eyes opened. She froze as she took in the small, dark room. Where am I?

     “Mummy?” she called. “Mummy?”

     “Hannah?”

     Hannah sat up and looked around to find Joshua sitting on the far side of the room, panic in his eyes. She ran to her brother, flinging her arms around his neck.

     “Where are we?” she whimpered. “Where’s Mummy?”

     “I don’t know.” Joshua sounded scared too.

     A shuffling noise made them cling to each other more tightly. Then a brown chicken jumped out of the shadows.

     “Argh!” Hannah shrieked. She clutched Joshua tightly.

     Everything was silent for a moment as the chicken regarded the intruders and then gave—almost—a little shrug and started pecking at the straw. Josh laughed. After a second, Hannah joined in. It was a little funny, being scared by a chicken.

     A low voice singing made them both jump to their feet. “Mummy!” they called as they ran out of the small door and straight into a young woman. They flung their arms around her, clinging frantically.

     “Mummy, we didn’t know where you were,” Hannah said.

     “We thought we were lost,” Josh said.

     It took a moment to notice the woman was not hugging them back. Another second, and they realised that this woman had a baby in her tummy. Hannah and Josh looked up, and suddenly saw that she was not their mother at all! She was short, like Mummy, and she had brown hair, but the similarities ended there. This young woman had dark skin, dark eyes, and dark hair covered by a brown veil. And she looked young, like a high school student.

     “Children?” she said with a strange accent. “I am sorry, but I am not your mother.”

     Hannah and Josh let go of the woman. Hannah’s eyes blurred as tears started to fall.

     Josh squeezed her hand so tightly it hurt, and made the face he always made when he was trying not to cry. He opened his eyes really wide, and pinched his lips together.

     “Oh children, do not cry. It will be all right. We will find your mother. Are you hungry? Have you eaten? Why don’t you come with me and I will get you some food?”

     Hannah looked at Josh, and he looked at her. Mummy and Daddy always said that they should never go with strangers, but they were lost and scared, and this woman seemed kind. Mummy did say that if they were ever lost, they should find a policeman, or a shopkeeper, or another mummy to help. Surely having a baby in your tummy counted?

     “I’m hungry,” Josh said slowly.

     “Me too,” Hannah said.

     The woman seemed to take this as consent, because she put down the bucket of grain for the chickens and waved for the children to follow her. Arriving at her house, they found it was like nothing they had ever seen before. It was small, and dark. The roof was very low. The floor was made out of dirt.

     “Come, children, sit,” the woman said, pointing to a low wooden table, with cushions on the ground around it. Still holding hands, Hannah and Joshua sat obediently.

     The girl put a strange-looking bread roll in front of them, and broke it in two with her hands. “I have a little olive oil, if you would like.”

     Hannah bit her lip, trying not to cry. This bread didn’t look like the bread that Mummy bought, and Mummy used olive oil in cooking, not for eating.

     “No thank you,” Joshua said.

     Hannah shook her head.

     Joshua looked at the bread for a moment. “Do you have any peanut butter?”

     “Or white bread?” Hannah added.

     The girl shook her head. “I don’t know what peanut butter is, and I have never seen white bread.”

     “That’s okay,” Hannah said, and bravely took a bite of the grainy bread. The texture scratched her throat. She coughed when she swallowed.

     “Here, let me get you some water.” The girl went to a clay jug and poured water into two brown mugs. Hannah’s finger caught on the rough edges as she traced the edge of the mug. It looked homemade.

     The girl sat down across from them. “Now, tell me why you were in my shed. Are you here for the census? Where are your parents? Where are you from? Your clothing is so strange.”

     Hannah blinked at all the questions. Her mind fixed on the one word she didn’t understand. “Census? What’s a census?”

     A shadow crossed the woman’s face. “The Emperor, Caesar Augustus, has called a census. Everyone must travel to their family’s birthplace to register and pay the tax. I imagine that is why your parents brought you here. They didn’t talk to you about it?”

     Joshua looked like he was thinking hard, so Hannah decided to ask the question that had been on her mind since they met the woman. “What’s your name?”

     “Oh, how rude of me,” the woman said. “My name is Mary. What are your names?”

     “I’m Hannah and this is Joshua.”

     “What beautiful names. Like Hannah and Joshua in the scriptures.”

     “Yes,” Hannah said excitedly. “Joshua is like Joshua who led Israel when the walls of Jericho came tumbling down, and I’m Hannah like—” Here she stumbled. What was the story again? Mummy had told her, but it was so long ago that she didn’t remember.

     “Like the Hannah who prayed for a child?” Mary asked.

     “Yes, that’s right.”

     “And you’re like Mary, the mother of baby Jesus,” Joshua stared at Mary’s swollen stomach.

     Mary’s hands dropped to cradle her bump. Her mouth fell open. “What—what did you say?”

     In her excitement, Hannah didn’t notice her new friend’s dismay. “You know, in the Bible? The angel told Mary she was going to have a baby boy who would be the Son of God and save the world from their sins.”

     Mary’s face paled as she stood. “How could you know that?”

     Joshua looked curiously around the room, then back at Mary’s face, then around the room again.

     “Hannah,” he said quietly.

     “What, Josh?”

     “I think this might be the Mary,” Joshua said.

     “What do you mean?”

     “I think we’re in Nazareth. I think the baby in Mary’s tummy is Jesus,” Joshua said.

     Hannah’s eyes went huge. “Seriously? Are you the Mary in the Bible? Did you see an angel?”

     Mary hesitated, watching the children like they might be ghosts. “I don’t know this Bible you speak of,” she said finally. “But yes, I did see the angel Gabriel. He told me not to be frightened, that I had been chosen by God to bear his Son. When I told my family and my betrothed, no one believed me. Joseph nearly divorced me.”

     “Until he had that dream from God,” Joshua interrupted.

     “Yes,” Mary said. “Even though he married me to preserve my reputation, the other women still laugh at me when I go to the well. How is it possible that you know all this?” She stared at their clothing once again.

     Hannah squirmed self-consciously in her pink princess nightie. At least Joshua’s shark pyjamas had long sleeves.

     “Are you angels too?” Mary asked.

     “No!” Joshua said.

     Hannah stood up and did a little pirouette, almost falling over. “But I would make a good angel.”

     Mary laughed. “I’m sure you would, little one.”

     “Or a ballerina,” she added, but that made Mary look confused again so Hannah sat down, feeling the tears return. For a moment she had almost forgotten that she missed Mummy.

     Mary sat beside Hannah and placed an arm around her shoulder. “If you are not angels, and you are not here for the census, then why are you here?”

     “I don’t know,” said Josh. “But I think we have travelled here from the future.”

     “I asked God what the first Christmas would be like, and then we woke up here. Maybe he answered my prayer.”

     “Of course,” said Joshua. “Time machines aren’t real, so a miracle is the only explanation that makes sense.”

     “But how will we get home to Mummy?” Hannah asked. “We can’t stay here, and she’ll be so worried about us!”

     “I know,” Mary said. “I shall take you to the town gates to see the elders. They will know what to do.”

     “Wait,” said Josh. “If God brought us here, then no one else can really help us except God. Maybe we should pray that he will send us home.”

     “Good idea, Josh,” Hannah agreed.

     Hannah reached out for Joshua’s hand then closed her eyes.

     “Dear God,” Joshua said in a sweet, clear voice. “Please take us home to our Mummy and Daddy now. They will be worried about us, and we are a little bit scared. Amen.”

     Hannah cracked her eyes open. Nothing had changed. She added her voice to her brother’s prayers.

     “Dear God,” she said. “I’ve changed my mind. I don’t really want to see the first Christmas anymore. I just want to go home. Can you please send us back? Amen.”

     She waited a beat before opening her eyes. Her lower lip trembled when she saw they had not moved.

     “It’s all right.” Mary patted Hannah’s arm. “If, as you say, God has brought you here, then He will send you home when He is ready, and not before. You can stay with Joseph and me. We will look after you for as long as God keeps you here.”

     A sense of peace descended on Hannah’s heart. Mary was right. God must want them here for a reason. She still missed Mummy and Daddy, of course, but she was safe. Now that she thought about it, it was rather exciting. She might get to see the very first Christmas!

     “Okay,” Hannah said.

     “Thank you,” Josh added.

     “I can only act as God leads me,” Mary said. “And for some reason I feel that he has led me to you. Now, who wants to help me feed the chickens?”

     “Me!” they both said excitedly.

     “We have three chickens at home,” Hannah added. “Brownie, Book-Book, and Cranky. Brownie’s the brown one.”

     “You named your chickens?” Mary said.

     “Yes, of course. Don’t your chicken have names?”

     Mary gave them a confused look. “No, they don’t.”

     The children helped Mary with chores all day long. They fed the chickens, cleaned, and watched Mary prepare the meal. The food looked strange, but they did not complain about what she put in front of them. Hannah wrinkled her nose. The food here was different, but she preferred to eat than go hungry.

Fiction Friday: Guest post with author Chelsea Michelle – a free chapter of Hours We Regret

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 4 Comments

This week I don’t have anything to share for Fiction Friday so I invited some authors to help me out and A.M. Heath is one of them!

This week Anita is sharing a chapter of Hours We Regret by Chelsea Michelle, her pen name with fellow author Amanda Tero. This novella, which you can get for free (see the link after the excerpt) is a Watson Twins Mystery and is listed in Christian Fiction as a cozy mystery.

And just a heads up for those of you who know about my next book, Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing – I’ve pushed back the release date by a month so I will have time to send the book out to beta readers and editors and give them more time to help me polish up the book before I release it all to you.

You can pre-order it here:

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B0C1KSQJXP

Now, without further ado, a description of Hours We Regret.

Hours We Regret Description: 

A serial killer. A dangerous road. And a cell phone going straight to voicemail…

A string of murders happening just across the state line makes residents of idyllic Maple Springs nervous. While Michelle Watson is obsessed with finding the killer’s pattern, her twin Chelsea disagrees with her involvement.

Reading the victims’ stories makes Michelle face the decisions she’s been trying to ignore. Determined to live her life to the fullest, she makes an innocent choice that takes a life-threatening turn.

When Michelle stops answering her phone, Chelsea can’t ignore the feeling that something is wrong. Very wrong. With friends and family, Chelsea sets out to find her sister, all while questioning if her faith is strong enough to weather the trial. 

Time is running out and the last thing Chelsea wants to do is file a missing person’s report for her twin.

An excerpt

Chapter 1

Michelle: 

“He’s getting closer,” I muttered, staring down at the new dot on the map. 

“Who is?” my sister asked, walking into the kitchen from behind me. 

I froze. 

Chelsea poured a glass of chocolate milk. “Michelle?” 

With a deep breath, I shoved the newspaper into her line of vision. 

“Not another one.” 

I tried to swallow past the lump in my throat. “Yep.” Lord be with her family. My heart yearned to say so much, but it too was clogged. 

Over my shoulder, Chelsea groaned. 

I closed my eyes and waited for her rebuke. 

“A map? You made a map of this man’s killings?” 

“I wanted to see if there was a pattern.” I turned to face her, staring back into a face identical to my own. 

She was getting ready for work, so she wore the cute striped blouse I ached to get my hands on and an understated knee-length pencil skirt. 

“What kind of pattern were you expecting to find?” 

I shrugged, staring back at the map. “I don’t know. It was just a hunch I wanted to trace out. There was an episode of Diagnosis Murder where the bomber was spelling his name across the town.” 

“That’s sick.” She took a long drink. 

“So far they have that much in common.” My eyes bounced from dot to dot, but there seemed to be no rhyme or reason for where the serial killer struck. 

His victims were all women he had run off the road, but I couldn’t dwell on the other known factors of what they had in common. 

“We need to put trackers on our phones,” I muttered under my breath. 

“What?”

I angled away, reaching for a bagel to toast. “Yeah, and buy some mace.” I snapped my fingers, spinning around to Chelsea. “And code words. We need code words.” 

She stared at me blankly. “Michelle, we are not getting code words.” 

“Why not?” I split my bagel and dropped it into the toaster before leaning against the counter and crossing my arms. “They could come in handy someday. You never know.” 

She rolled her eyes. “One: Because I refuse to live in fear. Two: I refuse to entertain you as you live in fear. And three: I would know if something was off. Few people are as in sync as we are.” 

She had to bring up the innate twin connection as her argument. I chewed the inside of my lip as the toaster popped. “We can at least start with the trackers and the mace, and discuss the code words later.” 

Chelsea stared at me. I knew what was coming even as she opened her mouth and said, “Psalm 37 says, ‘Do not fret because of evildoers.’”

I wracked my mind for the rest of the passage. “It also says, ‘Trust in the Lord and do good.’” I made sure to emphasize the last part. 

Chelsea raised an eyebrow. “It also says ‘Rest in the Lord, and wait patiently for Him; Do not fret because of him who prospers in his way… who brings wicked schemes to pass.’”

My mind scrambled. I was not going to let Chelsea win this argument. It wasn’t right to just turn a blind eye to wickedness. I grinned and paraphrased James 4:17, “To know to do good and not do it is sin.”

Chelsea opened, then closed her mouth.

I grinned in triumph.

“Look,” Chelsea said with a sigh. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t help to work against evil. I just don’t think we need to insert ourselves when it isn’t in our path—when in reality the only thing we’re doing is worrying, not actively helping.”

I waved toward the counter. “I have a map. I am actively helping.”

Chelsea picked up her purse and keys and gave me an incredulous look. “Do you even realize how that sounds?”

“Ummm … Like I’m brilliantly inserting myself.”

She rolled her eyes. 

“And before you tell me that it’s not my job, let me remind you that it’s the job of every citizen to help find him. They said, and I quote, ’If you know anything or see anything suspicious please call.’” I pointed again to the counter. “I’m looking for suspicious patterns … and trying to keep us from being victims in the process.”

She let out a sigh. “You know that’s not how it works. I’m gonna be late for work. Bye.” She started for the door. 

“You can’t be serious, Sea. You’re really going to leave without giving me a goodbye hug? This could be the last time you see me, you know.” 

That earned me another famous glare, the I’m-older-than-you, please-be-sensible type of glare that I was always getting from her. “I refuse to live in fear with you, Michelle.” She opened the door.

I yelled back, “I refuse to live in denial with you, Chelsea!” 

“Ha.” She shut the door. 

I scurried across the room and flung the door open, yelling for all the neighborhood to hear, “I love you!”

She turned around, her face a pretty shade of red and silent laughter bubbling out. 

I waved over my head at Ms. Rhonda, our neighbor, who paused her weeding to wave a dirty garden-gloved hand back at us both. “Morning girls.” 

“Morning, Ms. Rhonda,” we said together. 

“Your roses are still looking great,” I said. 

Chelsea walked closer to her car. 

I kept an eye on her as I smiled back at Ms. Rhonda. 

“Did you not hear me, Chelsea?” 

“I heard you,” she said. “I’m going to be late for work.” 

“Not until you say it back.” 

She pinched her lips together. 

I angled my chin in equal stubbornness. 

But time was on my side because Chelsea hated to be late. After only a moment’s stare off she caved. “I love you too.” 

“What? I can’t hear you.” 

“I love you too,” she said a little louder. 

“See? Was that so hard?” 

“Some days it is.” 

I stuck my tongue out at her. 

She laughed and got in her car. 

I went back inside, the trail of the serial killer mocking me from the kitchen counter. 

After spreading cream cheese on my bagel, I scooped up the paper and brought it with me to the table. 

The new victim was twenty-four, which remained in the twenty to thirty-five range he seemed to favor. 

A chill ran down my spine. We were twenty-six and well within that range. 

The article spelled out how beloved she had been to her community. She was saving up for a trip to France but never got the chance to take it. 

Tears burned behind my eyes. So much life was left for her to live, but he selfishly stole it from her. 

Too sick to finish my breakfast, I threw it away and took a shower. 



Author Bio and a Link to the novella:

Christian authors, Amanda Tero and A.M. Heath bring you faith-based, cozy mysteries under Chelsea Michelle. 

Amanda Tero grew up attending a one-room school with her eleven siblings—and loved it! She also fell in love with reading to the point her mom withheld her books to get her to do her chores. That love of reading turned into a love of writing YA fiction. Amanda is a music teacher by day and a literary guide by night, creating stories that whisk readers off to new eras and introduce them to heroic but flawed characters that live out their faith in astonishing ways.

Visit Amanda Tero at amandatero.com 

A.M. Heath is the author of the 2022 Selah Finalist, Painted Memories. She enjoys writing stories that entertain while feeding the soul in contemporary and historical settings. 

When away from her desk, she’s a faithful member of her local church where she teaches a ladies’ Sunday School class. She is happily married and raising four kids while embracing the small-town lifestyle and tightly woven family bonds. 

Visit A.M. Heath at christianauthoramheath.net

Read Hours We Regret for FREE!
https://subscribepage.io/hours-we-regret

Follow Chelsea Michelle on YouTube:

https://www.youtube.com/@chelseamichelle

Or chat mysteries with them in their Facebook Group: https://www.facebook.com/groups/chelseamichelle




Fiction Friday: Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing Excerpt

/ Lisa R. Howeler / 11 Comments

Okay, guy, seriously, I actually thought I was going to only show paid subscribers to my newsletter chapters of my new book — like I was famous or something.

Please, have a good laugh with me.

What was I thinking?

I’m just a mom writing books mainly for fun and tossing them up on Kindle and Amazon. I am not someone people are going to pay a monthly subscription to read and that is totally okay. I am not there yet and may never be. All good.

It doesn’t bother me. All that being said, though, if you want regular updates on my writing (like twice a month updates), you can sign up for my Substack newsletter and you might want to do it now to enter a giveaway I am running. The giveaway is for a book called Meant to Bee by Storm Shultz.

You don’t have to be a paid subscriber to enter the giveaway. Honestly? I don’t think I’m going to offer paid subscriptions right now. What do I have to offer that someone would pay regularly for? Nothing — yet anyhow. *wink*

You can sign up for my Substack account and find out about the newsletter here:

https://lisarhoweler.substack.com/p/april-newsletter-a-giveaway-book

And now, if you’d like a sneak peek of Gladwynn Grant Gets Her Footing, you can find it here today in this post. Without further ado – the first chapter of my next book. Will I share more? I don’t know yet. We shall see. *wink*



Chapter 1

“Hey new girl. Grab a notebook and let’s go. We’ve got a one vehicle MVA on Darby Hill.”

Gladwynn Grant heard the voice but when she looked over her shoulder her new boss had already disappeared back into the hallway.

MVA?

Wait. What did MVA stand for again?

Gladwynn Grant racked her brain, trying to remember the meaning of the acronym.

The M wasn’t murder, was it?

Mayhem?

She fumbled through her top desk drawer for a reporter’s notebook and pen, wincing when the edge of a paper sliced into the skin of her index finger.

“New girl, come on.”

She looked, but, once again, he disappeared.

“Be right there.”

Messy? No. That wasn’t it.

She stood, slammed her knee off the metal drawer of the desk and bit her lower lip to keep from crying out. Outside the window to her right, snow flurries swirled against a dark gray sky.

It came to her as she reached for her winter coat on the back of her chair.

M was for motor.

MVA. Motor Vehicle Accident. That was it.

“Chop. Chop. This will be good training for you.”

Right. Good training for the job she hadn’t even wanted but needed since she’d been laid off from her last job.

“Beggars can’t be choosers,” her mother always said, a line she hated hearing growing up and hated even more as an adult.

Training for her new job in the middle of a snowstorm on a rural highway at dusk wasn’t exactly what she’d expected when she’d accepted the job as a reporter at the Brookville Beacon. She thought she’d be shown the ropes slowly, overtime – maybe handed a few lightweight stories to write first. Instead, it was clear she was to be thrown into the fire right off the bat.

She quickly yanked on her coat, a red vintage-style one she’d found at a thrift shop a couple of years ago, flipped up the hood, and shoved the pen and notebook in the large inside pocket. Snatching a pair of red leather gloves off the top of the bare desk, she rushed to follow editor Liam Finley down the dimly lit hallway toward the back door. A gust of frigid wind smacked her in the face as it opened.

She hoped rushing outside in raging snowstorms wouldn’t be something she’d have to do often.

Biting the inside of her cheek, she stepped out into the cold.

She took two steps at a time to keep up with the long strides of the man in front of her.

He looked over his shoulder as snow whipped around them. “We’ll take my car. Did you grab a camera?”

“Oh. No. I’ll —”

“Go back and grab one. I’ll meet you up front.”

Darting back through the snow she pulled the hood tight in front of her face, icy flakes still managing to bite at her skin. She was out of breath when she rushed back into the office, weaving through the cubicles to retrieve the camera she’d been given the day before. She didn’t make eye contact with her co-workers as she rushed back out the back door.

“Good luck, newbie,” a man’s voice called after her.

She was even more out of breath by the time she reached the parking lot, the camera clutched against her chest. Snow fell in sheets around her. Opening the passenger door of the tan BMW she flopped into the front seat, breathing hard as melting snow dripped from her hair into her eyes. The windshield was a blur of white.

Liam shifted the car into gear and yanked it out onto the empty street. “I hope it’s a fatal. We need a centerpiece.”

Wiping snow from her face she looked at her new boss with wide eyes. His unshaven appearance made him look older than he probably was. Dark hair hung long across his forehead, just above dark brown eyes framed by dark, and remarkably long, eyelashes. Small lines creased the skin next to his eyes.

He glanced at her and lifted a shoulder. “What? We don’t have any art for page one.”

“Art?”

He shifted the car into a lower gear as snow piled up on the road. “A photo or graphic for the centerpiece.”

“Centerpiece?”

He sighed. “The main story on the front page. What are they teaching in colleges these days? I thought you’d have learned this stuff at the college newspaper.”

He seemed to have forgotten she hadn’t worked at a college newspaper for almost seven years at this point.

Liam was driving at what she felt was an unsafe speed considering the conditions and the fact they were on their way to an accident caused by those same conditions. He reached over and tapped a couple buttons on the dashboard. Warmth rushed up under her and she let out a small gasp, then realized the seats were heated. She hadn’t picked that feature when she’d purchased her car two years ago.

“You okay over there?”

Her cheeks burned with embarrassment. “Yep. Totally fine.”

Liam flicked the high beams on. Even though the sun hadn’t set yet, the snow was making it seem darker out. “When we get there, you take the photos and I’ll do the talking. Watch what I do so you’ll know what to do next time.”

She nodded.

Next time.

On her own.

That should be interesting.

She didn’t know what she’d been thinking taking this job. It was nothing like she’d expected.

She’d applied for it after the college had laid her off from her job at the library. She’d needed the money to pay off her college loans.

Well, that and the cute red Miata she’d bought when she thought the library job was going to be long term. Good thing she hadn’t opted for the heated seats.

The ad on the job site had caught her eye, not really because of the job itself, but because of where it was located.

Brookville, Pennsylvania – where her grandmother lived alone in a massive Victorian house. Two hundred miles away from where she’d grown up with her parents and, more importantly, 200 miles away from Bennett Steele.

“You’re a quiet one, Grant.” Liam’s voice broke through her thoughts. “What’d you do before you came here again?”

Clearly, he had not read her resume at all. She had a feeling all he’d wanted was a warm body to fill the vacancy.

She rubbed her gloved hands together and blew into them. “Library assistant for Brock College. They laid me off a couple months ago.”

“From librarian to a reporter. This must be cultural shock to you.”

She glanced at him then back at the steadily whiter road in front of them. “Yeah, a little. I’m sure I’ll get used to it.”

She doubted her own words.

In the last week every idea she’d had of what a reporter actually did had been shattered beyond recognition. Sure, she knew she’d be expected to attend municipal meetings and community gatherings and write a story about them, but now she knew she was also expected to take the photographs, proof her co-workers stories, and sometimes answer the phones at the front desk if the receptionist needed to leave for lunch or to pick up her kids from school. Smalltown newspapers were nothing like the larger ones portrayed in movies and books.

She hadn’t interacted much with Liam yet, other than her brief interview and a brief staff meeting the day before, but she’d already pegged him as someone who lived mainly for his job and wasn’t afraid to push the envelope when it came to succeeding at it.

Flashing red and blue lights cut through the fog and snow up ahead. Emergency vehicles were parked in the middle of the road and off to the side near the guardrails.

Liam smoothly pulled his car behind a black truck with a blue flashing light on top. Through a space between a fire truck and an ambulance she could see a bright red car on its roof and behind it a blue SUV dented in the front and part way off the road.

A state trooper turned as they approached the scene, hands at his waist. “You need to stay back.”

His voice was deep and made Gladwynn, who had never considered herself timid, want to say “yes, sir” and dash back to Liam’s car.

Liam, however, didn’t seem bothered. He tipped his head in a curt nod. “Of course. My reporter here just needs some photos. She can stand back here to get them. Can you provide a few details on the accident? I heard entrapment on the scanner. Can you confirm that?”

The trooper merely held up his hand. “You’ll need to step back there, sir. Only emergency responders past this point.”

Liam ignored the trooper and raised his hand to greet one of the firemen walking toward them. “Justin! Hey! How you doing? Bad night out here, huh?”

The firefighter nodded solemnly, and Gladwynn noticed the word chief emblazoned on the yellow helmet on his head. “It is. I can’t talk now but call me later and I can give you some details. One injury so far.”

“And I’m sure I can call the barracks later for a report?” Liam smiled at the trooper as he walked around him toward the ambulance.

The trooper’s eyes narrowed, jaw tightening, but he didn’t move to stop Liam. “Sure.”

Liam raised an imaginary camera to his eye. Glawynn nodded and began taking photographs, glad she’d kept up her photography hobby over the years. When her foot slipped after a few shots, she thought she was going down but a hand under her elbow steadied her. She looked up at a firefighter with bright blue eyes and a broad, friendly smile.

He let go of her elbow and looked at her feet. “Not the best shoes for this weather.”

His accent was thick. Clearly Irish. What was an Irishmen doing in Brookville?

She glanced at her high-heeled boots. Her grandmother had said the same thing. “Yeah, I need to start carrying winter boots with me.”

The firefighter winked as he turned to walk away. “It’d be a good idea.”

Liam stood next to the ambulance talking to another firefighter. Radio chatter and the purr of engines served as background noise to the voices of the responders and eventually a call for a backboard. Gladwynn stepped back, lifting the Cannon to snap a few shots as the firemen kneeled next to the car.

A dark green glove blocked her view. “No photos of victims.”

A different, less friendly, and less attractive, firefighter stood before her with a scowl.

She swallowed hard. “Yeah. Sure. No problem.”

He turned his back toward her, standing more squarely in front of her as if to get his point across. Lowering the camera, she stepped to her right and looked over his shoulder in time to see Liam walking toward her, hands shoved in his coat pockets.

He nodded his head toward his car and walked past her. She assumed that meant he wanted her to follow her. At this point she’d rather be at home curled up under a blanket with a book and a cup of blueberry tea sweetened with a healthy helping of honey.

“No fatality but still good art with that car on its hood,” he said as she fell in step with him. “Did you get some good shots?”

“Um, yeah, I think so.”

“Bart tried to stop you, didn’t you?”

“Well, yes, but I —”

“Big buffoon thinks he can tell us how to do our jobs. Those state police don’t help matters either. They cover all the little towns and townships without a police force, which is most of the county these days, and act like they are the gatekeepers of all information at an emergency scene.”

He slid into the driver side and slammed the door closed.

She pulled the passenger side door closed gently and blew into her hands again. The gloves were stylish, but definitely not warm. “Does Brookville still have a police department?”

He nodded. “A small one, yes. A chief and two officers. They handle mainly small crimes like break ins or jaywalking right in town. The staties get called in for everything else.” He leaned over and ran his fingers over the heater buttons again. This time Gladwynn was ready. “First, lesson, Grant. We work for our readers. It’s our job to get the story, even if you have to push a little to do it. If we have to go through a couple arrogant volunteer fire fighters or cops to do our jobs, then so be it.” He looked at her. “Got it?”

She nodded slowly, wishing she felt the confidence he obviously had.

He took the camera from her and flipped through the photos on the screen. “Not bad. We’ve got at least four good shots.”

Handing the camera back, he backed the car up until he could turn it around and head back toward the office. He held his phone to his ear as he drove, but didn’t slow down, despite the fact even more snow had fallen since they’d arrived on scene.

“Ed, hey. We’ve got a centerpiece shot for the front. Horizontal, four columns.”

He slid his finger over the end button and tossed the phone into the center console. “We should be able to craft a story together when we get back. I’ll have you contact the state police in about half an hour and see if they have some information for us. You can send me what you find out and I’ll add it to the story.”

He moved the car into the opposite lane, shifted the car into a higher gear and passed a car moving slowly along the snow-covered highway. Gladwynn gripped the door handle and pressed herself back into the seat.  In that moment, wondering if she’d be the next person being pulled from an upside down vehicle, she desperately missed her previous job where she’d spent most days inside a building, searching the online catalogue for books for college students.

Her legs threatened to give out from under her when she stepped out of the BMW and made her way to the office.

Pulling her gloves off she flopped into the black padded office chair sitting in front of a computer on a gray counter acting as a desk within the restricting confines of a cubicle with light-red walls.

Hushed voices hummed on the other side of cubicle, an occasional laugh filtering through.

“Do you think she wears her hair like that all the time?”

“You mean the 1940s quaff? What year does she think it is anyhow?”

“Quaff? Where did you even get that word?”

“I have no idea. I probably read it in a book somewhere.”

“You read books?”

“Stuff it, Dibble.”

“What? I thought all you had time for was walking the old ball and chain’s dogs.”

“Rick isn’t my ball and chain. He’s –”

“Just a friend. I know. That’s what you say anyhow.”

The ring of a phone interrupted the banter. Gladwynn touched a hand to her hair.

Quaff? First off, that word didn’t mean what that woman thought it meant. The word the woman had been looking for was coif. Second, Gladwynn had been wearing her hair this way for years. She thought it was unique, something that harkened back to the 40s or 50s, two decades she could imagine herself living in. It was a style that was actually coming back in in the college town she’d been living in.

A ding notified her she had a text message and a look at the lock screen made her forget about how she’d been being talked about behind her back.

“Glad, love: Won’t be home for din. Have a date. There’s a casserole in the fridge. Love, Gram.”

A date?

Gladwynn couldn’t help but let out a small laugh.

She really shouldn’t be surprised that Lucinda Florence Grant had a date at the age of 70. The woman had always been full of spunk.

While Gladwynn ’s grandfather had been the love of Lucinda’s life, the chance for Lucinda to find new love, of a different kind, was one even he would have welcomed.

Gladwynn looked at the small clock on the wall above her cubicle. Two more hours and her shift would be over. She couldn’t wait. A small pain had started pulsating behind her right eye on the drive back and hadn’t let up yet. Her feet were also begging for a break from her impractical boots.

“Hey, new girl. Where’s the card for your camera? I need that photo.”

A man with dark-rimmed glasses, dark hair and eyes and a round face appeared around the edge her cubicle.

Liam had introduced him the day before as Tom Fitzgerald, the photography expert, layout person and all around tech guy. She jumped slightly at the unexpected sound of his voice.

“Sheesh. You’re a little jumpy aren’t you?”

She opened the compartment for the camera card with shaky hands and handed it to him. “Yeah, I guess. Sorry about that.”

He grinned as he took the card. “Don’t worry. You’ll get used to the craziness around here pretty quick.”

He disappeared again and she was left in silence, other than the click of fingers on keyboards drifting from the other cubicles in the office.

Above her, a fluorescent light blared white-blue light onto her and made her wish she had a pair of sunglasses. In front of her, a phone that looked like it belonged in a museum made her question if she’d walked into a time warp by moving to this town.

She dialed the number Liam had given her for the state police barracks, summoning up the confidence she’d possessed in her job at the library.

“State Police Brookville, Corporal Baxter speaking.”

The woman’s voice was stern and void of any friendliness.

“Yes, hello. I’m looking for a –” Gladwynn shuffled hurriedly through her notes for the name of the officer at the scene of the accident. “Officer Kinney to ask about an accident on Route 88 tonight.”

“Trooper.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is the state police. Their titles are troopers not officer.” Corporal Baxter put strong emphasis on the words “not” and “officer”.

Gladwynn took a deep breath and rolled her eyes. “Excuse me. Is Trooper Kinney in?”

“He is not.”

“Will he be in later so I can ask him a few questions about the – “

“His shift ended ten minutes ago. He’ll be back tomorrow around 2.”

“Oh. Okay, well, is there anyone else I could ask about the accident?”

“We’ll send a brief out when the investigation is complete.”

“Oh. Well, th—”

The click was loud in Gladwynn ’s ear and she held the phone back from her head with a wince.

“New girl. What’s the verdict? You have some info from the staties for me?”

Was it normal for everyone in this office to simply appear out of nowhere around the wall of her cubicle? And did any of them know her real name?

She turned in her chair to face Liam. “No. They said the trooper had left for the day and would be back tomorrow.”

Liam rolled his eyes. “Typical.” He handed her a slip of paper. “I figured that would happen so here’s the fire chief’s number. His name is Justin. Give him a call and see what details he can give you, then come in my office and will hammer this out together.”

He disappeared again.

The fire chief wasn’t home, according to a woman who Gladwynn guessed to be his wife. Gladwynn gave the woman the number taped to the ancient telephone and turned her attention to the police briefs Liam had assigned her to work on earlier in the day. Most of them seemed routine – a couple drinking and driving arrests, a few minor car accidents, but then there was one that made her snort a quick laugh.

Subject arrested driving a John Deere lawn mower along Drew Avenue. When pulled over, the officer noticed a strong odor of alcohol emanating from the subject. Subject was asked to step off the lawn mower and subsequently failed a sobriety test. Subject stated his license had been suspended for DUI two months earlier. Subject relayed he was on his way to the Iron Horse for what he called a nightcap.

Time of arrest: 10 a.m.

She’d visited her grandparents in Brookville many times over the years, even spending a couple summers with them. She’d met characters during those visits who very well could have been the individual involved in this particular incident.

Nestled in mountains which were actually hills by the official definition, Brookville was tiny, with a population of maybe 6,000. Scattered around it were small villages of populations of anywhere from 50 to 100 people, spreading out until farmland ran into a bigger town 30 miles away with a population of 10,000. The Brookville Beacon was named after the town, but its coverage area encompassed the entire county.

The town she’d grown up in in New York had been four times the size of Brookville, but still had some small town elements as well. Nothing like Brookville, though, where it wasn’t uncommon to see a farmer driving a tractor down Main Street on his way to a fellow relative’s farm.

Half an hour later the phone rang and the man on the other end introduced himself as Justin Dreward, the Brookville Fire Chief.

“So, you’re the new girl?”

At this point she should just legally change her name to New Girl.

“Gladwynn Grant, yes.”

“Gwendolyn? What a nice name. You related to Granny Grant?”

Gladwynn laughed. “If you mean Lucinda Grant, then, yes, I am. She’s my grandmother. But my name is actually Gladwynn.”

“Oh. Sorry about that. Your grandmother was my sixth grade teacher. Everyone thought she was mean, but she was the best teacher I ever had. Helped me with my reading when no one else did. I never held it against her that she put me in the corner that one day. I deserved it.”

“I deserved it when she did it to me too.”

It was Justin’s turn to laugh. “Okay, so details on the accident, right?”

“Yep, if there are any you can give me.”

“I can give you a few, but the main report will come from the state police. They are the main investigators on scene. I can tell you that it happened around 5:30. It was one vehicle going at a high rate of speed in slushy conditions. It went off the road, hit an embankment and flipped onto its roof. One occupant, the driver. She had to be cut out of the car. I don’t have any details on her condition, and I’m not allowed to give out names.”

“That’s fine. That will give me a little to go on at least. More than the state police.”

Justin snorted. “Yeah. That’s true most of the time. They’re pretty hard to get any information from. A lot of good guys but they do live up to that nickname of Gray Gods sometimes.”

“Okay, well thank you Mr. – “

Justin laughed. “Don’t call me mister anything. I’m just Justin. About the accident, though — I don’t know if it was just the weather. Ellory said something as they were loading her into the ambulance about her brakes not working.”

“Ellory?”

“Ellory Banks. She’s the manager of Citizens Bank downtown and on every board and in every organization you can imagine. Hey, wait. Don’t put her name in there unless you get it from the staties.  Identification of victims can’t come from emergency responders. State and federal laws and all that. You know what? You’d better keep that whole brake thing off the record too. She hit her head pretty hard and her brother is a local mechanic. He might take offense to that since he probably does all the work on her car.”

Gladwynn wrote Ellory’s name down, circled it and wrote “off the record” next to it.

She thanked Justin again, hung up, and took her notepad with her to Liam’s office for a crash course on how to write a news story.