Fast Five Thursday – P.J. MacLayne
2. Medieval monks
complained about their jobs in the margins of the manuscripts they were working
on. Nowadays we complain about our jobs via email.
3. I didn't touch my
first computer until I was thirty, now I'm employed in I.T.
4. I had five different
jobs and twelve different offices while employed by the same organization. (And
I had to clean most of those offices before they were up to my standards,)
5. I won my first
award for writing in the sixth grade.
Blurb:
Harmony Duprie enjoyed her well-ordered life in the
quiet little town of Oak Grove—until her arrest for drug trafficking. Cleared
of all charges, she wants nothing more than to return to the uneventful
lifestyle of a historical researcher she once savored.
But when her beloved old car “George” is stolen and explodes
into a ball of flames, it sets off a series of events that throws her plans
into turmoil. Toss in a police detective that may or may not be interested in
her, an attractive but mysterious stranger on her trail, and an ex-boyfriend
doing time, and Harmony’s life freefalls into a downward spiral of chaos.
Now she has to use her research skills to figure out who is
behind the sinister incidents plaguing her, and why. And she better take it
seriously, like her life depends upon finding the right answers.
Because it might.
Excerpt:
Yeah, that’s
my name. Obviously, my parents didn’t hang around many strip clubs before they
came up with the moniker. I took a step backwards. “Yes?” I asked, wondering
what I had done wrong now.
“I’m Officer
Felton. Do you own a,” he checked a slip of paper in his hand, “a 1979 blue
Ford Pinto?”
“George? Why
yes I do, he’s parked out on the street.” The car was around the corner and I
couldn’t see him, but I parked him the same place every time. The local police
knew my car, so why was the officer asking about him?
“Did you
loan your car to anyone, Ms. Duprie?”
“No.” I felt
a tickle of worry at the base of my skull. “Why?”
He sighed.
“I have bad news. It appears your car was stolen.”
I pushed
past him, leaned over the railing and tried to see my parking spot. “Did you
find him?”
“Him?”
“George. My
car. I call him George.” Because like the Abominable Snowman in a Bugs Bunny cartoon, that’s what I always
wanted. My own little car.
“Your car
has been totaled, Ms. Duprie.”
Stomach
churning, I leaned against the door frame with a casualness I didn’t feel.
“What happened?” Not that it would take much damage to total George, as old as
he was.
His radio
beeped and his eyes took on intense stare of someone listening intently to a
voice I couldn’t hear. He leaned down and spoke into the black box on his
shoulder. “10-4. We’re on our way.”
He looked at me. “Detective Thomason would like to speak to
you at the office.”
Now it was
my turn to sigh. Detective Fred Thomason and I are not the best of friends. I
have tried to avoid him, with little luck, since the first time he handcuffed me. “I seem to be minus a car,”
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