Hello Book Dragons! Happy publication day to the eBook! And I have an extract to share with all of you today. 🙂 The book is FREE for Kindle Unlimited users!!! 😉 I hope you will like it. And Happy Sunday! 🙂
Publisher: Thecker Books
Genre: Crime Fiction
Release date: 21 02 2021
Price*: Kindle £3.09 (GBP)/ Paperback £9.00 (GBP)
Kindle $4.33 (USD)/ Paperback $11.99 (USD)
Pages: ~ 266
You can get this book here:
Description of the book: How far would you go to right a wrong?
Nine months ago, Tess’s five-year-old daughter was killed in a car accident. The driver, Brady Becker, was sentenced to two years in prison. It didn’t make Tess’s pain go away. Brady also has a daughter: A twelve-year-old named Eve who walks to Chandler Middle School every day. Tess knows this because she’s been watching Eve for the last three weeks. It isn’t fair that Brady’s daughter gets to live, while Tess’s daughter does not. When Eve goes missing, all eyes turn to Tess, who doesn’t have an alibi. But Tess isn’t guilty. Or so she believes.
I slouch further into the driver’s seat as Eve exits her apartment complex across the street. Today, she’s wearing jean shorts, sandals, and a blue tank top; blonde hair pulled into a crooked ponytail, her electric-pink backpack secured firmly over both shoulders. Eve turned twelve a few weeks ago, and since that day, she walks the six blocks to and from Chandler Middle School alone. Today, she’s a few minutes later than yesterday, but last Friday she was so early I almost missed her leaving. That won’t happen again.
Eve stops just outside the complex doors and tilts her head upward. Her mother, Meg, is raining down an angry stream of words from the screen-less window one story above. I can’t make out what’s being said, but I do manage to catch a single word riding the mild May breeze: ungrateful. There was clearly an argument this morning, maybe about laundry that wasn’t folded, or unfinished homework, or a dishwasher that wasn’t unloaded, or one of a thousand other things a mother raising a twelve-year-old daughter alone can stress over.
But Eve is a trooper.
She patiently listens to every word with her head raised, not talking back, not crossing her arms, not reflecting her mother’s anger. I think to myself: what if today’s the day? What if something unthinkable happens to Eve this very morning and she’s never seen again? What would Meg do with that guilt? How would she live with herself, knowing her final words to her daughter were angry and bitter over something trivial and inconsequential?
As if reading my thoughts, Meg abruptly stops and brushes her long, knotty hair from her face as she straightens. A woman has exited the complex; fifty, maybe sixty years old, and I lean sideways in my seat, trying to see past the motorcycle that has pulled into the space directly in front of my car, partially blocking my view. The driver is a pudgy, fifty-something man on a Harley Davidson that’s undoubtedly feeding his mid-life crisis. I debate getting out so I can see across the street, but I can’t risk drawing attention to myself. As long as I stay inside my car, people will remember nothing more than an aging Chevy Malibu in the parking lot of JoKat Coffee, killing time before driving to work, or maybe waiting for someone who’s still inside. Fortunately, the motorcycle man is quick to dismount, stowing his helmet on the seat and sauntering toward the coffee shop entrance without so much as a glance in my direction.
The older woman is now talking with Eve and invading her personal space by several inches. She’s a friend . . . no—a neighbor, stopping to make sure everything’s okay. She lives on the same floor, maybe even in the apartment across from them, and doesn’t like when Eve and her mother argue. Maybe she’s a lonely widow who lingers just inside her door, listening for Eve and Meg as they come and go so she can “coincidentally” bump into them for a moment of human contact. Once a month, she makes cookies—horrible raisin or bran cookies that have been baked from recipes in her family for generations—and dutifully marches them across the hallway to Eve and Meg, hoping to be invited in for a few moments, maybe even invited to stay for dinner.
Eve is respectful and quiet as the woman says what she has to say, and when I shift my gaze to the upstairs window, Meg is gone. The woman smiles, pats Eve on the shoulder, and goes on her way in the opposite direction.
I start my car’s engine.
About the author: Erik Therme has thrashed in garage bands, inadvertently harbored runaways, and met Darth Vader. When he’s not at his computer, he can be found cheering on his youngest daughter’s volleyball team, or watching horror movies with his oldest. He currently resides in Iowa City, Iowa—one of only twenty-eight places in the world that UNESCO has certified as a City of Literature.
Website: http://www.eriktherme.com / Facebook: @ErikTherme.writer / Twitter: @ErikTherme
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