Sep 122016
 

I think I’ve just found my NaNoWriMo 2016 project. Once again it began as one of my creative writing assignments.


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“You have reached your destination in fifty meters.”

“Oh, thank God!” Aileen MacEwan said to the GPS on her dash. After forty-eight hours of traveling, she couldn’t wait for a nice hot shower and then a good twelve hours in the sack. She turned right off the A87 through a small opening in a short stone fence and got her first view of the small cottage that her paternal grandmother, Moira MacEwan, had left to her. She’d never even met the woman. Her father left the Isle of Skye in his late teens and never went back. She’d given herself a month to stay here and decide whether she wanted to sell the cottage, convert it into a rental for the hikers and climbers that visited the area to conquer the Cuillin Hills, or move here permanently. She sure as hell didn’t want to go back to Toronto.

Her first glimpse of the cottage put a smile on her face. She’d been picturing a dilapidated ruin that may not even be livable. But her grandmother had obviously kept the place well maintained. The windows looked new and the front door featured a beautiful inlaid stained glass work of art. The cream walls were clean, as if freshly painted, and the sloped roof looked newly shingled. Flowers bloomed wildly along the front of the house and dripped out of window boxes. A large deck peeked around the side of the house and offered a lovely view of Loch Sligachan.

Aileen stepped out of the car and stretched her long, lean body as she turned to take in the view of the Loch. The dark, rolling clouds were so low in the sky she thought she may be able to touch them as she stretched. She took a deep breath of sea air and relaxed her tense shoulders as she breathed out. Why had her father been so hell bent on leaving such a beautiful place? Maybe that was something she could figure out while she was here. But, for now, she just wanted to get settled in and sleep. She pulled her two suitcases out of the trunk and dragged them to the front door then fished around in her purse for the key that the solicitor had sent her. She stuck the key in the lock, turned it to the left, but didn’t feel the dead bolt slide over. The door was unlocked.

Frowning, Aileen turned the door handle, eased the door open, and got an earful of an excited sports caster with a thick Scottish brogue. She took a few tentative steps into the foyer and peered into the room on her left. A soccer match was in full swing on a large screened TV and cheering one of the teams on was a dark haired male sitting on a leather sofa with a beer in one hand and a sloppy sandwich in the other.

Aileen looked back at the front door then down at the key in her hand. It had to be the right cottage as the key had fit in the lock. “Excuse me,” she called out. When she got no answer, she raised her voice. “Hello!”

The man popped his head around, a surprised expression on his face. “Who the bloody hell are you?”

Aileen perched her fists on her hips. “I’m Aileen MacEwan.”

One dark eyebrow lifted. He took a long swig of beer and said, “Well, what the bloody hell are ye doing here then?”

“This is my cottage, so what the bloody hell are you doing here?” The man stood and Aileen guessed he had to be at least six foot four of solid muscle. There was no way she could muscle him out the door, although she’d give it a damn good try.

“I’m buying the cottage, so I didna see any reason not to move in.”

She had to pick her jaw up off the floor. “Well, you can just move out. The cottage isn’t for sale.” And he better do it quick. She needed to rest.

He laughed. Literally stood there and laughed at her. “I’ll no be moving oot, lass. I live here. De ye ken?”

“Do I what?” She shook her head and held up a hand. “Never mind. You have no right to be here. I own this cottage. Moira MacEwan left it to me in her will.”

“Oh, aye, I’ve a right to it. Moira MacEwan was my gran. I’ve been living here since she passed and I’m staying.” A thick, ropey vein pulsed in his neck, his face flushed to a bright red.

This wasn’t a good situation. He was as angry as she was and God knew what he would do. She couldn’t leave and go to a hotel or she might never get the cottage back from him. Was he planning to contest the will? “How could Moira be your gran? My Dad told me we were the only family she had left. Who are you?”

He pursed his lips together and his ice blue eyes flashed to the mantle over the stone fireplace for a brief moment. Aileen looked over at the mantle which was lined with framed photographs. She went to move closer to it and he stepped in front of her. “Me name’s Brodie. Look, if ye want to have a wee rest, there’s a spare room at the top of the stairs. If ye like, ye can stay here until the sale of the cottage is through and ye go back to Canada.”

She was sure her face was as red as his now. She glared up at him with eyes the same ice blue as his. “It’s. Not. For. Sale.” Damn him. Her eyes burned and she forced back hot tears. She didn’t come all this way to be bullied into selling the cottage.

Brodie grinned down at her. “Oh, aye, yer a feisty wee lass, aren’t ye?”

Feisty wee lass? She was five foot nine, albeit a little on the lean side, but that was beyond her control at the moment. No one had ever called her wee. Feisty maybe, but not wee. “Ugh!” she growled then stomped back outside, dragged her suitcases in, and slammed the door closed, cringing when she realized she could have broken the beautiful stained glass insert. When Brodie reached for one of her suitcases, she ordered him not to touch them and heaved them both up the narrow staircase herself and into the tiny room at the top of the stairs. How was she supposed to sleep now that he’d riled her up? God, she could use a drink!

Aileen tossed and turned on the lumpy mattress. Who the heck moved into a house before they bought it? How dare he? She punched the pillow a couple of times, but it didn’t help. The hot tears that threatened earlier flooded back. How was she supposed to deal with this all alone in a strange country and stay sober? She swiped the tears away and started doing the deep breathing exercises they taught her in rehab. By the fifth breath she was starting to feel a little calmer, but she still wanted a drink. She wondered if they had AA meetings on the Isle of Skye. She should probably check that out. Right after she went to see the solicitor that had contacted her about inheriting her grandmother’s cottage and a half decent chunk of change along with it. She needed to find out who Brodie was and why he thought he had a claim to her grandmother’s place. She couldn’t have been his blood grandmother because her father had told her they were the only family she had left. She’d asked her dad why they never visited her, but he always waved her off. It was nearly ten years ago that her dad died and left her with a bitch of a step-mother to deal with. She still hadn’t forgiven him, but she was working on it – part of the whole twelve step thing. She hoped she didn’t have to forgive Brodie. The bastard!

Okay, so first thing in the morning, she’d visit the solicitor and find out what she had to do to get him out of her cottage. She could do this. By this time tomorrow she would be snuggled up in the big comfy bed she’d seen in the master bedroom and Brodie would be sleeping on a park bench for all she cared.

Aileen was so grateful that Brodie wasn’t around when she woke up in the morning. She was able to shower and get dressed at her leisure. The only complaint she’d had was that there was no coffee in the kitchen that she could find. At least she’d found a little café on her way to the solicitor’s office, which was in a stone building that looked like it had been around for hundreds of years. Probably had, Aileen thought. A young woman with a mass of red hair sat at an antique desk in the reception area. The floors were old plank floorboards that had been buffed and polished to a high shine. Aileen gathered her long dark hair and pulled it over her shoulder. “Hello,” she said. The young woman looked up and smiled. She had bright green eyes, a sprinkling of freckles across her nose, and a lovely smile.

“Hello?”

“My name is Aileen MacEwan. I would like to see Mr. Browning.”

“Oh, aye. You’re from Canada. Welcome to Sconser. Did you find your way okay?”

“Yes, thank you, but there was someone living in the cottage when I arrived. I need to speak to Mr. Browning about having him removed.”

The smile dropped from her face. “Oh, de ye mean Brodie?”

“Yes, Brodie.”

The woman picked up her phone, dialed a number and turned around, giving Aileen her back. She whispered into the phone then turned around again, smile back in place, and hung up the phone. “Mr. Browning will be right oot. Can I get ye a cup of tea?”

She would have preferred another coffee, but she was in Scotland after all. “Sure, why not?”

She never got the cup of tea because Mr. Browning came out of his office with Brodie on his heels. “Ms. MacEwan,” Browning said. “Why don’t you come in and we’ll see if we can work this matter out?” He waved his hand towards the door he’d just come out of.

“What’s he doing here?” Aileen asked, her fury from the night before surfacing again.

“Please, come inside. Let me explain.” He had a bit of a Scottish accent, but it was faint.

Was the solicitor in on this, too? Were they trying to rip her off? Oust her from her own damn cottage? “I’d like you to explain to Brodie that he has to move out of my cottage.”

Browning winced. “Are you not planning on selling it then?”

“No, I’m not.” She hadn’t decided yet, but she damn well wouldn’t tell them that. “I’m moving into it myself and I want him out.” She stabbed her finger in Brodie’s direction.

Browning and Brodie’s eyes met and Browning said, “Well, we do have a problem then, don’t we?”

“There’s no problem,” Aileen huffed. “The cottage belongs to me. Brodie will just have to find somewhere else to live.”

Brodie rolled his eyes and spoke to Mr. Browning. “Ye see. She’s no being vera nice aboot it.”

“Come in to the office, please. The two of you,” Browning said with an exasperated sigh and walked back to his office.

Aileen glared at Brodie and followed Browning. His office boasted the same high-sheened floors as the reception area. He lowered himself into his leather chair behind a monstrous antique desk with flamboyant flourishes while Aileen perched on the edge of one of the chairs facing him. “This is ridiculous, Mr. Browning. You sent me all of the paperwork. I own the cottage. Brodie has no right to it.”

“Aye, Ms. MacEwan, but he is your brother and throwing him out on the street isn’t the best solution.”

Aileen coughed, choked. Her hands went to her throat. “Brother?” Jesus! Was that really her voice? It sounded far too high. She turned around when she heard a laugh and stared at Brodie, leaning against the doorjamb. God, now that she looked at him, he did resemble her father. In fact, he was the spit of him. Is this why Dad had left Skye? Had he knocked Brodie’s mother up and taken off?

“Did he no tell ye aboot us then?” Brodie asked. “No, I dinna think he did, aye? He couldna risk it.”

“Us?” Aileen squeaked. Were there more kids that he left behind?

Brodie took a step into the office. “Aye, ma and I. He stole ye away from yer own mother.”

Aileen rubbed her temples, a sudden headache pounding there. “No, that can’t be. My mother died when I was very young.” This was getting overwhelming. She really needed a drink, even knowing she only wanted it to drown the pain and it would just make things worse. It always did. Why would her father steal her away from her mother and lie to her about it? It didn’t make any sense. She looked up at Brodie. How did it make him feel when his father took off with her and left him behind? Was he left with an abusive bitch like her step-mother? “I don’t understand.”

“Yer da was aboot to go to gael for a vera long time. He ran, with you, instead of doing his duty.” Brodie shrugged. “A coward was our da. He may have taken me as well, but I was at school and he dinna have time te wait. Ye were on a plane and away before the coppers knew he was gone. Poor Mr. Browning here spent a fortune on a private investigator to track ye doon. It took months and we were all vera surprised he dinna change yer name.”

“Wh-what was he going to jail for?” Aileen wasn’t sure she wanted the answer.

Brodie’s eyes were cold and hard. “Murder.”

Oh, God! “Who d-did he kill?” No wonder he wouldn’t come back to visit his mother. Aileen wrapped her arms around herself. She felt like she was sitting in a bucket of ice. She was shivering and couldn’t stop.

“That’s enough, for now,” Browning said. “I think Ms. MacEwan needs to go home and rest, Brodie. This is a lot to take in.”

“Ye willna kick me oot the cottage, will ye then, Ailey?”

Ailey. That was what her father called her. She looked up at Brodie again. Why had their grandmother left the cottage to her instead of Brodie anyway? Now she felt horrible about the whole thing. “No, I won’t kick you out. In fact, I’ll get my things and move to a hotel until I can get a flight back home.” She started to get to her feet and was hit with a dizzy spell. She fell back into the chair, grasping her spinning head. When had she eaten last? She couldn’t remember. She’d picked at the meals they’d served on the plane, but that was the day before yesterday.

“Ms. MacEwan,” Browning said from directly in front of her and she realized he was crouched down at her knees. “Are you okay? Do you need a doctor?”

“No, no, I’ll be fine in a minute.” Add embarrassment to her growing list of emotions. Her face probably looked like a beetroot. She took a few deep breaths then slowly got to her feet. “You’re right, of course. I need to rest. It’s been a long few days.” So much for taking a month to explore Skye and decide what to do with the cottage. She’d come back to see Mr. Browning tomorrow and sign it over to Brodie.


Good one, aye? Definitely another novel in the making.

Wendy-signature

Aug 282016
 

Here’s a short story that was another one of my writing assignments. I was a bit worried about this one; not too confident in it. But, the instructor seemed to love it. So, here it is …

 

PolarBearDipKarina stared down at her local paper, acknowledging that the Gravenhurst Winter Carnival’s Polar Bear Dip would count as facing her fear of being trapped under the ice, unable to break through. Selena’s words echoed through her head – the only way to overcome your fears is to face them. Then the psychotherapist assigned Karina the homework of doing just that – picking one of her fears and facing it.

Karina folded the paper and shoved it across her breakfast table. It was crazy to even contemplate it. Who in their right mind would jump into freezing cold water on purpose? She had a long list of fears she could choose from. She didn’t need to start with one that had been a recurring nightmare for years despite the fact that she didn’t have a rational reason for that particular fear.

No matter how many times she tried to convince herself it was stupid, she couldn’t help thinking about the damn Polar Bear Dip. She logged onto the Winter Carnival’s website and investigated the event further. There was a consent form that had to be signed stating that you wouldn’t hold the town of Gravenhurst responsible if you were hurt or died. Yeah, totally crazy idea. Although, they had a scuba diver in the water and a medical team on standby. If her heart stopped from the shock of the water temperature, they could get it going again, couldn’t they?

***

            On Saturday afternoon, Karina found herself on the chilly shore of Gull Lake with her consent form in hand. Her trembling breaths turned to mist as soon as they hit the frigid air. She couldn’t believe how many idiots were lining up to register for the dip. She should have brought a stack of Selena’s business cards to hand out because all of these people, herself included, had to be certifiable.

Once registered, Karina went to the changing area and stripped down to her long underwear, a long sleeved t-shirt, and water shoes. Then she walked out to where a large crowd was gathering around a six foot by ten foot rectangle cut out of the ice. The water was as black as oil and the ice at its edges was so thick she couldn’t see its depth as it disappeared into the inky pool. If she somehow ended up under that ice, she’d never be able to break through it.

It was as if she drifted into her recurring nightmare, her lungs burning for air as she pounded her fists against the ice above her, scratching at it until her nails ripped off. Her energy sapped with each passing second.

“Miss?” The sound of a pleasant female voice and the pressure of a cold hand on her forearm eased Karina back to the present. “Are you okay, love?” A stocky, grey haired woman with kind blue eyes edged in wrinkles stared into Karina’s eyes. How long had she been stuck in that dream?

“Yes, fine.” How was she supposed to answer that question? She wasn’t fine. She was about to do the craziest thing she’d ever done despite the fact that it could kill her.

Movement in her peripheral vision caught her attention and she watched a man wearing black swimming trunks leap off the edge of the ice, shouting out what sounded like a war cry. He hit the water with a kerplunk and disappeared under the dark ripples. Milliseconds passed before he rose up with another war cry, water splashing up around him as he dove for the ladder. He was swearing as he climbed out then dashed towards the warming tent, muttering expletives as he went.

Karina made her way to the edge, her entire body shaking, but she didn’t know if it was from the cold or from her fear. From this angle, the ice looked far too close. One wrong move and she could be under it. She began to slip back into the dream, picturing herself trapped with her lungs screaming for air. The sound of the crowd behind her, cheering her on, jarred her back. They began to chant, “Jump, jump, jump.”

Their words filled her until she was chanting along with them. Sabrina’s words echoed through the chant – to overcome your fears, you must face them. God, she didn’t want to live in fear anymore. This first step, this freezing cold step, was the first step in getting to a point in her life where she wasn’t paralyzed by fear. She could do this. “Jump, jump, jump,” she whispered and, blocking everything else out, she leapt into the air.

Hitting the water was like being hit by a Mack truck. Every cell in her body screamed in protest. Her body numbed except for the ice cream headache piercing her skull. She wasn’t sure she could move her arms and legs to get her back to the surface.

It was at that moment a memory flooded her mind. Her ex-husband had come home late and the dinner that she’d carefully prepared for him had gone cold. To teach her a lesson, he filled the bath tub with ice water and forced her into it, holding her under until her lungs were on fire. He let her up and she got in half a breath before he pushed her back under and she inhaled icy water into her lungs. Oh, God. This was it. He was going to kill her this time.

Karina fought against the arm that encircled her waist. The next thing she knew, she was breaking the surface of the water and gasping for air. She tried to fight the man holding her, waiting for him to shove her under again. But he led her to the ladder instead and helped her out. Coming out of the water into the wind was almost worse than hitting the water. She sobbed as two people surrounded her and led her into the warming tent. The grey haired woman helped her strip out of her wet clothes then wrapped her in warm towels. Bones, muscles, tendons – every part of her – seized. She sat in front of a heater, shivering from head to toe, trying not to think about her ex-husband. Damn him. Then a thought entered her mind. She’d survived. That thought began to thaw her body and a warmth spread through her.

***

            Karina sat waiting for her Selena’s response after she’d told her all about the Polar Bear Dip. She knew exactly what she was going to say and she wasn’t wrong.

“How did you feel after the experience?”

Karina smiled, an expression that felt foreign to her. “I felt … triumphant. Despite everything he did to me, he didn’t kill me. I survived and no one is ever going to treat me like that again. For the first time in years, I felt empowered and proud of myself for jumping into that damn cold water.” Karina bent over, pulled a sheet of paper out of her purse and unfolded it. “I made a list of my fears and I’m going to face every one of them. I already have four checked off the list.” Karina’s face lit up as she handed the list to Selena. “I feel free.” And she did. Free of his control, of his judgement, of his abuse. She felt free to live her life without the constant fears that had plagued her for so long.

 

Hope you enjoyed it! Feel free to leave a comment below. 😉

Thanks for reading!

Wendy-signature

Dec 022015
 

Here’s another writing assignment that I wanted to share with you. It could be the beginnings of a new novel or even a new series. Enjoy.

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imageThe CN Tower stood tall and proud, a sentry watching over the city, its spire lost in the grip of dark, ominous clouds. The alternating colours of its decorative lights reflected off clouds, sleek skyscrapers, and the dome of the Rogers Centre at its base. Far below the Tower’s Observation Deck, traffic whizzed over wet roads as an ear-piercing siren echoed off buildings like the metal ball in a pinball machine.

No matter how majestic, the Tower didn’t protect against the evil lurking in its midst. That was a fact that Detective Frankie Gallagher knew all too well as she crouched in the dim side street, red and blue squad car lights dousing the white tarp covering the victim’s abused body. Rain pitter pattered on the protective tent above Frankie which did little to keep out the cold.

With gloved hands, Frankie peeled back the white tarp and shuddered as the scent of death merged with the damp air. She recognized the work – the young, innocent face with its eyes sewn shut, the road rash from being dumped here out of a moving vehicle, long blonde hair that was now wet and matted. This young woman made victim number three in a matter of weeks.

Frankie replaced the tarp, flicked her long chestnut ponytail over her shoulder and closed her eyes for a moment. Just a moment, to tamp down the woman and bring back the cynical, dark eyes of the cop. She released the former on a long, slow breath that turned to steam the moment it met the cold night air. Wet leather and spice drifted over death’s fetor and Frankie opened her eyes to find Jaysen Bennett – all biker bad boy with his five o’clock shadow, faded blue jeans and beaten up leather jacket – staring at her over the body. She hadn’t seen those deep blue eyes, that silky black hair, that sculpted face, hadn’t felt the rasp of that shadow against her skin for five long years. She’d thought he was about to propose as he took her hand over a candle-lit table. Instead he’d explained that he was too young for a committed relationship. He wanted to travel, experience life. And then he’d literally disappeared from her life.

“Sixteen year old Kaylee Dunn,” he said. “Parents reported her missing three days ago.”

Frankie gave him a scowl in greeting. No hello, no how are you? No apology for mashing her heart into a pulp? If he hadn’t left her all alone … She couldn’t let herself think about it. Not now. Not here. She swallowed the lump clawing its way up her throat. “What are you doing at my crime scene, Bennett?”

Jaysen pulled out his ID and held his badge up for her to examine. “Detective Bennett. It’s my crime scene, too.”

She pushed to her feet, turned and walked away, approaching the closest uniform. “Who was first on scene?”

Jaysen inserted himself between Frankie and the constable, flipping through his notebook. He wasn’t afraid of her, despite being warned of her reputation as the department’s fire-breathing dragon. He knew Frankie Gallagher too well. She was no dragon. “Already talked to her. Witnesses report –” He stopped talking when Frankie stomped off again. His jaw dropped open. “Hey,” he yelled and stormed after her. He stepped in front of her so that if she took another step she’d end up in his arms. She stopped abruptly.

“Who the hell do you think you are?” He watched her eyebrows rise, her eyes widen and damn if that didn’t draw him into those deep brown eyes. He was’t sure if she’d grown even more beautiful than the last time he’d seen her or if he’d just forgotten how beautiful she was. That had him wondering if her long, lean body and ample bosom were as he remembered. Powerless to stop himself, his eyes travelled down the long length of her and then slithered back up to linger at her chest. The loud smack and burning sting on his left cheek caught him off guard. It was then, with the street light shining down on her at just the right angle, that he noticed the faint white scar slashing through her brow, over her eye, right down to her sharp cheek bone.

“If you want to talk to me, you can damn well look me in the eye.” She darted around him, searching for a familiar face. She made it about two steps before he gripped her arm and flung her around.

“You need to get over your issues with me so we can get on with doing the job.”

Frankie’s nostrils flared, her chest tightened around her pounding heart. She yanked her arm out of his grasp, freeing herself, and pushed her face up to his. “Have you even worked a homicide before?” Her fists clenched tightly at her sides, every muscle in her body taut.

“I know what I’m doing, Detective.”

“Do you have a problem answering questions, Detective?”

“Yes, I’ve worked homicides. I didn’t realize I needed your approval before working a case.”

Pointing back to the road, she growled, “Do you see the body of that poor girl lying in the street? That’s on me. Because the last time this bastard dumped a body, I didn’t find him. So back the hell off and let me do my job without having to babysit.”

Jaysen let her go. This wasn’t the same Frankie that he remembered. She used to be such a bright, shining presence. Her smile could light up the entire city. Her laugh, deep and throaty, surrounded you like a blanket, like a warm hug. What had happened to Frankie that had snuffed out her light?

Frankie approached a uniformed officer with sandy blonde hair tucked up under her cap, its mirrored patten leather bill decorated with dewey drops. “You were first on scene, Constable Sloan?”

“Detective Gallagher.” Sloan rolled her eyes with an exaggerated sigh.

“Give me your report, Constable.”

“I just gave it to your partner over there.” Sloan nodded her head behind Frankie. “Detective Hottie over there. Don’t you guys communicate?”

Frankie glanced over her shoulder to see Jaysen standing where she’d left him with his arms crossed over his chest, glaring at her. She frowned and turned her attention back to Sloan. “No. Your report?”
Sloane huffed and pulled her notebook out of a pocket in her vest, but she didn’t open it. “911 call came in at twenty-three eleven. We were on scene at twenty-three thirteen. My partner and I secured the scene and then located two witnesses. We separated the witnesses. The first, Sheila O’Hare, was the 911 caller. All she saw was the body lying in the street.

“Second witness is your golden boy. Eli Kramer was walking his dog just after twenty-three hundred. He stated he noticed the car because the door opened and the car didn’t even attempt to slow down. Kramer was on the opposite side of the car, so he didn’t see the body right away. He described the vehicle as a high end black sedan with dark tinted windows. A Mercedes or BMW perhaps. Just as the body came into view, the sedan sped off.”

“Why is he my golden boy?”

Sloane grinned. “He memorized the license plate number.”

Frankie couldn’t stop the edge of her mouth from curling up. “Where’s Eli? I’d like to speak with him.”

“Yeah, thought you might.”

Sloane released Eli Kramer and his fluffy little white dog from the back of her squad car. Kramer straightened and gently placed the dog at his feet. Frankie would run Eli Kramer through the system, but he looked like a reliable sort. Short white hair peaked out from under a black knit toque that looked like his wife had made it for him. The deep lines mapping his face gave him character, as did the rubber slip ons that covered his black dress shoes to make them waterproof. “Mr. Kramer, I’m Detective Gallagher.”

“When can I go home? Am I being detained for some reason?” Frankie had to bend in closer to Kramer to hear him over the traffic on the cross street cutting through wet pavement.

“No sir, you can leave in a few minutes. I would appreciate it if you could give me your story again.”

Kramer was flamboyant in the manner he used his hands when he spoke, but he looked Frankie in the eye and spoke confidently in a nasal tone. He was so specific with the details that Frankie could only think of a couple of questions to ask him.

“Which door opened, Mr. Kramer?”

“Oh, it was the driver’s door.”

“The front driver’s door?”

“Yes.”

Frankie tried to play it out in her mind. The best she could come up with was driving with the vic bent over in his lap, her butt to the door. Open the door and the weight distribution of her body might have her sliding out on her own.

“Did you get a look at the driver?”

“No, I’m sorry. The windows were tinted black and it was dark.”

Frankie gave Kramer her card. The back of her neck prickled with heat, goosebumps trailed down her back. Getting the licence plate number could be the break Frankie had been searching for. The car or the plates could be stolen, but Frankie didn’t think so. Not with the buzz she was getting.

______

What do you think? Is this the beginning of a new novel or series? Do you want to read the rest of Frankie and Jaysen’s story? I’d love to hear your feedback in the comments below.

Thanks for reading!

Wendy-signature

 

 

Copyright © Wendy Hewlett – December 2015

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