Bruce Hennigan was born and raised in the isolated countryside of Shreveport, La., a place full of possibilities for the active mind of a young boy. The fertile imagination he cultivated while playing deep in the Louisiana woods would lead to a lifelong love of creative writing.
In 2006, Hennigan pursued the Certified Apologetic Instructor Certificate from the North American Mission Board of the Southern Baptist Convention. He has become a frequent speaker at regional and state events on apologetics and his strong point is in making these sometimes hard to understand issues easily approachable for the average Christian. Hennigan’s experience in apologetics inspired him to write his new novel, The 13th Demon: Altar of the Spiral Eye, a supernatural Christian thriller that combines science and faith. Now, combining his love for apologetics and his love for the art of writing, Hennigan is pursuing a career as the “Michael Crichton” of Christian fiction building powerful, fast paced stories around the truths of Christian apologetics.
Hennigan currently resides in Shreveport with his wife and daughter. He continues to write and to practice radiology at the Willis Knighton Health Care System. He has secured Jeff Jernigan of Hidden Value Group (www.hiddenvaluegroup.com) as his literary agent and has signed a five book deal with the Realms imprint of Charisma Media for “The Chronicles of Jonathan Steel”.
ABOUT THE BOOK
When Jonathan Steel wakes up on a beach in a raging thunderstorm, naked, beaten, and bleeding, he has no idea who he is or how he got there. But just as he starts to make progress in his slow journey to recovery, tragedy strikes again, taking everything in his new life that he has come to love and rely on.
Filled with rage and a thirst for revenge, he searches the countryside for the entity responsible—an entity called only the Thirteenth Demon. His quest brings him to Lakeside, Louisiana, and a small country church where evil is in control and strange writing on the walls, blood-soaked floors, and red-eyed spiders have appeared in the sanctuary.
As he faces the final confrontation with an evil presence that has pursued him all of his life, he must choose between helping the people he loves or destroying the thirteenth demon.
The 13th Demon by Bruce Hennigan is the first book in the Chronicles of Jonathan Steel. Steel washed up on a beach two years ago with completely no memory of who he was or where he was from, but he had almost super human fighting abilities. When the woman he loved was killed by a vicious demon with a spiral eye, Steel committed his life to hunting own his nemesis. He arrives in the small town of Lakeside, Louisiana to help out a desperate pastor whose church has been taken over by demonic forces. Huge spiders and scorpions run around the sanctuary, blood pours out from the doors, and the baptistery holds a portal to another dimension. Steel calls on his mentor, Cephas, to send him to reinforcements, a linguist named Liz and a physicist named Claire who brings her troubled son, Joshua. Hennigan has an enigmatic hero in Steel, but he takes the mystery a bit too far at times. The story suffers from too much back story and introduction of characters. Hennigan obviously has plans to write a large series, but 300 pages are too few to include all of the story elements he wants to put into play. One thing that concerned me in reading is that Hennigan's descriptions of the evil forces are poetic and lengthy in nature, but the forces of good get far less detail, making them less real, more abstract for readers. The story moves so quickly, and so many characters are introduced, there is little time to grow to care for them. (SPOILER ALERT) When a major character dies at the end of the story, I had very little emotional response, because there hadn't been opportunity to grow to care. I think that Hennigan has some terrific ideas, and Jonathan Steel could be a terrific hero, but it needs some work.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Harvest House Publishers; Reprint edition (October 1, 2011)
***Special thanks to Karri James | Marketing Assistant, Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Mindy Starns Clark is the author of many books (more than 450,000 copies sold), which include A Pocket Guide to Amish Life, Shadows of Lancaster County, Whispers of the Bayou, and The Amish Midwife. In addition, Mindy is a popular inspirational speaker and playwright.
With a touch of romance and a strong heroine, A Quarter for a Kiss offers more of the fast-paced and suspenseful inspirational writing found in A Penny for Your Thoughts, Don’t Take Any Wooden Nickels, and A Dime a Dozen. In this fourth book of the Million Dollar Mysteries, Mindy Starns Clark weaves another tale of mystery and God’s touch on the lives of those who seek Him.
As a young widow, Callie Webber finds strength in her faith in God and joy in her growing romance with her employer, Tom Bennett. When their friend and mentor, Eli Gold, is shot, the search for answers as to who and why leads Tom and Callie to the beautiful Virgin Islands. There they face a sinister enemy among the ruins of an old sugar plantation—an enemy who’s willing to do anything to keep his identity secret and the past deeply buried.
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers; Reprint edition (October 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736929592
ISBN-13: 978-0736929592
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
“Come on, Callie,” Tom urged. “You can do it. You know how.”
Ignoring the burning in my calves, I kept my gaze on Tom, who had reached the top of the wall almost effortlessly and now waited there for me to join him.
“There’s a grip at two o’clock, up from your right hand about six inches,” he guided, speaking in the low, soothing tones I teasingly called his “rock climbing” voice. Glad for that voice now, I released my handhold and reached upward, my fingers easily finding and grasping the tiny ledge. “Now your foot,” he said. “Slow and easy. You’re almost there.”
As I went I concentrated on all I had learned about rock climbing in the last few weeks. It was Tom’s passion, and we had spent a number of hours practicing on a real rock face while he taught me the basic tricks and techniques. Now we were in an indoor gym, on a simulated rock wall, climbing much higher than we had ever gone in our practice runs. And though I was wearing a safety harness that was roped to the ceiling, that didn’t make it any easier or any less scary—particularly where the wall actually bent outward, pitching me at a difficult angle.
“You are one step away, Cal,” he said, excitement evident in his voice. “Most of the people won’t make it half this far.”
With a final burst of daring, I slid my toes against the next hold and straightened my knees, rising high enough to touch the ceiling at the top of the wall.
“You did it!” Tom cried, and only then did I allow myself to smile and then to laugh.
“I did do it!” I echoed, slapping a high five with Tom and feeling the rush of pleasure and relief he said he experienced every time he finished a challenging climb. Of course, to him “challenging” meant the Red Rocks of Nevada or Half Dome in Yosemite. For me, a big wall in a rock-climbing gym was a pretty good start.
We repelled down together, my legs still feeling shaky once I was on solid ground.
“That was great,” the teenage staffer said as he helped unhook me from the harness. “And to think you were worried. Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”
“Not that high and not indoors,” I said.
“Well, you’re a natural.”
“I had a good teacher,” I replied, glancing at Tom, who was busy removing his own harness. He and I had spent the last three weeks together vacationing in the North Carolina mountains. During that time, we had enjoyed teaching each other our favorite sports—climbing and canoeing—though I liked to tease him that my hobby was the superior one, because one false move with a canoe paddle wouldn’t exactly plunge a person hundreds of feet to their death. Tom had replied that if one were canoeing above Niagara Falls, that wouldn’t exactly be true, now would it?
As the teenager moved on to help the next set of climbers, Tom gave me an encouraging smile.
“Hey, what did you say this is called?” I asked him, pointing at my visibly wobbling knees. “Sewing legs?”
“Sewing-machine legs,” Tom replied. “A common climbing malady. Come on. You need to rest for a bit.”
He bought us two bottles of water from the snack bar, and then we found a quiet corner and sat on a bench there, leaning back against the wall. I felt thoroughly spent, as if I had pushed every single muscle in my body to its very limit.
I sipped on my water, feeling my pulse slowly return to normal, looking around at the activity that surrounded us. Across the giant room, a new group of climbers was being instructed by a guide while about ten more people waited in line for their turn. In the front window was a giant banner that said “Climb for KFK,” and beside the cash register was a table where pledges and donations were being accepted for “Kamps for Kids,” a charity that provided summer camp scholarships to impoverished children. Instead of a walkathon, they were calling this event a “climbathon.” I liked the idea as well as the whole atmosphere of the place, from the easy joviality of the people waiting in line to the upbeat encouragement of the instructors who were manning the ropes and providing assistance as needed.
“So what’s up, Callie?” Tom asked. “You haven’t been yourself all morning.”
I shrugged.
“Sorry,” I said. “This is my work mode, I guess. You have to remember, we’re not just here to have fun. We’re on the job, so to speak.”
Tom nodded knowingly and then leaned closer and lowered his voice.
“So how does this happen, exactly?” he asked. “Do you just walk up to the people and say, ‘Hi, here’s a big whopping check’?”
I smiled.
“Oh, sure, that’s usually how it goes. I call that my Big Whopping Check speech.”
“Don’t be hard on me,” he said, grinning. “I’ve never done this before.”
I leaned toward him, speaking softly.
“Well, first of all, you have to wait for the proper moment,” I said. “Like just before you’re about to leave.”
“Okay.”
“Second,” I continued, “you have to have the full attention of the correct person. You don’t want to give that whopping check to just anybody.”
“Get the big wig. Got it.”
“Finally, the act of presentation takes a little bit of flair. It’s a huge moment for them. You want to help them enjoy it.”
“I think I understand.”
“You also want to bring them back down to earth a little. I actually do have a short speech I give every time I hand over a grant. I remind the recipient where the money’s coming from and what it’s for. That seems to go over well.”
I felt funny explaining how I did my job to Tom, because he wasn’t just my boyfriend, he was also technically my boss. Though he lived and worked on the other side of the country, far from our actual office, Tom was the kind and generous philanthropist behind the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation. I worked for the foundation as the director of research, and basically my job was to investigate nonprofits Tom was interested in and analyze their suitability for grants. If they checked out okay, I then had the pleasure of awarding them grant money. That’s what we were doing here today. For the first time ever, Tom was joining me as I gave a little bit of his money away.
“Hey, Tom! Tom Bennett!” a man cried, interrupting my thoughts.
The fellow bounded toward us, grinning widely. He was tall and wiry, with deep laugh lines in a tanned face, and when he reached us, we stood and the two men shook hands warmly. “You said you might come, but I didn’t believe you.”
“I’m glad I was able to work it out,” Tom replied, smiling.
He introduced his friend as Mitch Heckman, owner of the gym and co-organizer of the event. I told Mitch how impressed I was with the gym and with the climbathon concept.
“Most of the credit goes to my wife,” Mitch said, shaking my hand. “I’m just glad we could use the gym to help out a good cause.”
“Have you raised much?” Tom asked.
“Our goal for today was twenty-five thousand dollars,” Mitch said. “You can see how we’re doing on that poster over there.”
He pointed to a drawing of a mountain with a zero at the bottom, amounts written up the side, and $25,000 at the top. Sadly, it had only been colored in about half of the way up—and the event would be over in another hour or two.
“Of course, we had a pretty big learning curve in putting the whole thing together,” Mitch said. “I’m sure we can make up the difference with some bake sales or car washes or something. We’ll get there eventually. Mai pen rai, huh?”
“Yeah, mai pen rai.”
They chatted for a few minutes more, and then Mitch was called up to the front. After he was gone, Tom explained to me their acquaintance, that they had met a few months ago while mountain climbing—specifically, while scaling the limestone cliffs off of Rai Ley Beach in the Krabi Province of Thailand. Tom had been working hard in Singapore and had taken a weekend off to visit the nearby mountain-climbers’ mecca, where he met Mitch atop one of the peaks after a particularly challenging climb. As the two men rested, they talked, and it turned out that they were both avid climbers and eager to explore an unfrequented jungle crag nearby. Together they had hired a guide and ended up having an incredible day of climbing. Though the two men hadn’t seen each other since, they had been in touch off and on ever since via e-mail.
“What were you saying to each other just now? My pen…”
“Mai pen rai,” Tom replied. “That’s Thai for ‘no problem’ or ‘never mind.’ The guides say it to encourage you while you’re climbing, kind of like ‘you can do it.’ ‘Don’t worry.’ Mai pen rai.”
“Does Mitch know about the foundation?”
“Nope. He thinks I’m just another rock jock.”
“He’s in for a nice surprise, then,” I said. “This is fun, giving a grant to someone who never even applied for one.”
This wasn’t our usual mode for doing business, that was for sure. But this particular charity was so new—and the amount we were donating so relatively small—that the investigation hadn’t been all that complicated. Since KFK had never applied for a grant from us, I hadn’t really had the authority to go in and do an extensive investigation. But they did belong to several good nonprofit watchdog groups, so I had felt confident doing the research from our vacation home in North Carolina, mostly over the internet and on the phone with the foundation’s accounting whiz, Harriet, the day before.
“Anyway, now you’ll finally have the pleasure of making a donation live and in person,” I added. “Something I’ve only been bugging you to do for two years.”
“Almost three years now,” he corrected. “And, yes, I’m hoping this might shut you up for good.”
“Oh, you want me to shut up, do you?” I asked. “What about—”
He silenced me with a finger against my lips, which he allowed to linger there.
“No,” he whispered, gazing a moment at my mouth. “Don’t ever stop talking to me. I want to listen to you forever.”
We looked into each other’s eyes as everything else in the room blurred into the background. My legs shivered again, but not from climbing this time.
“We need to get going,” Tom said gruffly, standing and then helping me to my feet. I squeezed his hand, and then we separated into the men’s and women’s locker areas to get cleaned up.
After a shower I dressed quickly in a pair of black slacks and a soft blue knit shirt. I towel-dried my short hair, combed it out, and took a moment to put on some lipstick and a touch of mascara.
As I looked in the mirror, ready to leave, I was suddenly overwhelmed with sadness. In a few short hours Tom and I would go our separate ways, boarding two different flights to head toward our homes on opposite coasts—him to California and me to Maryland. For three glorious weeks we had done nothing more than shut out the rest of the world and spend time together, but we couldn’t hide out and play forever. Our work and other responsibilities awaited us, and as one week had turned into two and then to three, we had already stretched the length of our available time to the very max. Soon our idyllic vacation together would officially be over, and Tom and I would be back to our long-distance romance as usual.
Slinging my bag onto my shoulder, I decided to take this day moment-by-moment. Despite the difficulty of parting, we still had a job to do. We still had a grant to give out.
I emerged from the locker room to find Tom also showered and dressed, standing nearby and squinting toward the front of the room. He had in his hand a check from the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation, dated today and made out to the charity, though the amount had been left blank.
“Callie, can you read that figure?” he asked. “I need the exact amount they’ve raised so far.”
I walked a little closer and then came back to report that they were up to $11,043. Quick with numbers, Tom didn’t even hesitate before he filled out the check for $23,957.
“That’s ten thousand more than they need to bring them to their goal,” I said after doing the math in my head, not surprised one bit by his generosity.
“Yeah, but it’s the least we can do, don’t you think?”
He tried to put the check in my hand, but I pushed it back.
“No, you don’t,” I said. “Enjoy the moment.”
Carrying our bags, Tom and I walked to the front of the gym, where his friend Mitch was chatting with a woman that I assumed was his wife. We were introduced, and I liked her firm handshake and the way she looked me directly in the eye. She thanked us for coming and then moved on to speak with someone else.
“We’re going to head out,” Tom said to Mitch, “but I wanted to give you a check first. I talked my company into making a small grant.”
Of course, the way Tom had said it, you’d never know that it was his company, nor his money—nor that he was using “small” as a relative term. Mitch took the folded check without looking at it.
“Listen, buddy, every bit helps. Thank you so much, and thanks for coming.”
The two men shook hands, and then Mitch shook my hand as well. We said goodbye, and Tom and I departed, walking silently through the packed parking lot toward our rental car.
“You were right, Callie,” he said nonchalantly, pressing a button on his key chain to unlock the car. “Giving away the money in person really is kind of fun.”
I was about to reply when we heard Mitch calling Tom’s name. We turned to see the man running toward us, breathless, his eyes filled with disbelief.
“I don’t understand,” he gasped, holding up the check. “This is so much. Is it some kind of joke?”
“No joke, Mitch,” Tom said. “We’re affiliated with the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation. That’s a grant.”
“A grant?”
“Yeah, we give them out all the time. Callie, what is it you like to say when you give grants to people?”
I smiled.
“Basically,” I said, going into my spiel, “we want you to know that the best way you can say thanks is to take that money and use it to further your mission. The foundation believes strongly in what you’re trying to accomplish, and we just wanted to have some small part in furthering your efforts.”
To my surprise, Mitch’s eyes filled with tears.
“Your generosity leaves me speechless,” he said finally. “Won’t you come back inside? Let me tell my wife. She’ll be so excited. Maybe we can get a picture for the newsletter or the website or something.”
I looked at Tom, but he seemed decidedly uncomfortable.
“Mitch,” I said, “we really prefer to do this in a discreet manner. Just tell Jill that the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation gives the money with love and with God’s blessings. We’d rather not receive any individual recognition.”
Bewildered, he looked back down at the check.
“And you promise this isn’t a joke?” he tried one more time.
“No joke,” Tom laughed. “I give you my word, buddy. It’s for real.”
With a final sincere thanks, Mitch turned and headed back to the building. We stood there and watched until he went inside and the door closed behind him.
On impulse, I turned and threw my arms around Tom’s neck. Startled, after a moment he hugged me back.
“You are such a good man,” I whispered, feeling absolutely, utterly, and completely in love.
He laughed, pulling me in tightly for an embrace.
“Wow,” he replied. “This giving-away-money thing gets better all the time.”
Knowing the clock was ticking closer toward our flight times, we managed to pull apart and get into the car. He started it up and pulled out of the parking lot, driving toward the airport.
We were quiet as we went, both lost in our own thoughts. As we wove our way through traffic, I considered our relationship and the long and winding path my life had taken since my husband’s death. This coming summer would mark four years since Bryan was killed, and in one way it seemed like yesterday, and in another it seemed like decades ago. My husband had been my first true love, the sweetheart I had met at 16 and married at 25. We’d had four wonderful years together as husband and wife, but that had all come crashing to an end that fateful day when we went water-skiing and Bryan was hit by a speedboat. The boat’s driver went to prison for manslaughter, but I also went into a sort of prison myself—a self-imposed prison of mourning, of loneliness.
Only in the last six months had I allowed myself to consider the possibility that there might be life for me beyond my husband’s death. Tom and I had developed a good, strong friendship through our many work-related conversations over the phone, and then, slowly, that friendship had started taking on other dimensions. We finally met in person last fall, when Tom received word that I had been hurt in an investigation and raced halfway around the world to be by my side and make certain I was all right. We had spent a mere 12 hours together—just long enough to begin falling in love—and then we were forced to endure a four-month separation while he went back to Singapore on important business and I healed from my injuries and continued my work with his foundation in the U.S.
Then three weeks ago, in the very heart of spring, we had been joyously reunited. Showing up in a hot air balloon, Tom had swept me away to a gorgeous vacation spot in the North Carolina mountains, where we planned to stay a week or so and give ourselves the opportunity to see if our relationship really could work face-to-face. What we had found was that we were so compatible, so comfortable, and so suddenly and deeply in love that it was nearly impossible to end our vacation and return to our regular lives.
Now, however, our time together had come to an end.
“There’s the car rental return,” Tom said suddenly, pulling me from my thoughts. He followed the signs and turned into the lot, but instead of heading straight to the busy rental return area, he veered over to an empty parking spot nestled behind a big truck. He put the car in park but left the motor running.
“Maybe we should say our goodbyes here,” he told me, “instead of out in the middle of the busy airport.”
I nodded, surprised when my eyes suddenly filled with tears. I didn’t want to say goodbye at all. Tom’s cell phone began ringing from his gym bag, but we ignored it.
“Callie, have I told you that the past three weeks have been the happiest weeks of my life?”
The ringing stopped. In the quiet of the car, I held on to his hand, looking deeply into his eyes.
“They have been incredible,” I replied. There were many, many moments we had shared that I would relive in my mind in the coming days. “I don’t know if I have the strength to say goodbye to you or not.”
Tom reached up and smoothed a loose lock of hair behind my ear. Such tenderness was in his gaze that I thought it might break my heart.
“Callie, I have something for you,” he whispered. He started to reach into his pocket, and I swallowed hard, wondering what it could be. Then his phone began to ring again.
“You better see who it is,” I said, sighing. “It might be important.”
By the time he got the phone out from his gym bag, the call had been disconnected. Tom was pressing buttons, trying to see who had called, when my phone started ringing from my purse. I dug it out, surprised to see that the number on my screen matched the number that had just called his.
“Hello?” I asked somewhat hesitantly.
“Callie?” a woman’s voice cried from very far away. “Is that you?”
“This is Callie,” I answered. “Who is this?”
“This is Stella,” the voice said. “Stella Gold.”
I put my hand over the phone and mouthed to Tom, It’s Eli’s wife.
Eli Gold was my mentor, a friend of Tom’s, and the person responsible for bringing the two of us together.
“Stella?” I asked, trying to picture a woman I didn’t know very well at the other end of the line. I had met her the day she married my dear friend Eli, but she and I had not really spoken since, except for those times when I called their house and she had been the one to answer the phone. “What’s up?”
“Oh, Callie, I’m so glad I finally reached you. I need you. I need your help. I need Tom Bennett, also, if you know how to reach him.”
“What is it?” I asked, my heart surging.
“It’s Eli,” she sobbed. “He’s in the hospital.”
“In the hospital?”
“Callie, he’s been shot.”
A Quarter for a Kiss by Mindy Starns Clark is the fourth book in the Million Dollar Mystery series. Callie Webber and her boyfriend, Tom Bennett, are just finishing up their first vacation together and are regretting their return to the real world when she gets a terrifying phone call. Eli, her mentor and father figure, was shot by a sniper and before going unconscious gave instructions to his wife Stella to tell Callie to find his notes and that she would need Tom's help. The pair head down to the Virgin Islands in hopes of solving the mystery Eli was working in and learn who tried to kill him. Clark manages to mix just the right amount of suspense, thrills, and romance to keep the pages turning and pulses pounding. I'm not normally a big fan of romantic suspense novels, but Clark's elevates this above the standard fare. I could not put this book down! I hope I don't have to wait long for the next one.
Jesse is working out of town again this week. By the end of the year, he'll have been gone about four months total. That's 1/3 of time with us he's missed, which is especially hard on Mia. The good news is that Jesse has gotten a new position within his company which doesn't require the constant travel. It's a real blessing for our family, and we're beginning a new chapter in our lives. On Sunday, Jesse devoted his day to Mia which included watching a Halloween movie. You can see by today's picture that his lap is obviously the best place in the house for watching a mildly scary movie!
The Opposite of Art by Athol Dickson is a thought-provoking look at art, faith, and love. Sheridan Ridler is a great artist, and unfortunately, he knows it. He views the world as created for him and lives only for his art. When his girlfriend Suzanna walks out on him because he refuses to respect her faith, Ridler follows her into the night. During the chase, he is captivated by the image of a building in flames and begins to run to see the image better in order to capture it. But while Ridler chases Suzanna, someone else chases him, and as he crosses the bridge, his pursuer takes the opportunity to hit him with a car, knocking Ridler into the river below. When Ridler emerges from the water, he is desperate to regain the image of Glory he witnessed, and he begins a twenty-year quest chasing it around the globe. He travels from one holy place to another in hopes of capturing this Glory and making it his, but the harder he tries to grasp it, the more elusive it becomes. Finally after twenty-five years, word slips out to the world that Ridler is alive, and his daughter Gemma tries to track him down, but the man who murdered him desires for him to stay dead, so once again while Ridler chases his art, he is pursued. The novel is impossible to classify into genre; it is literary, suspenseful, and romantic. Dickson fills his novel with grotesque characters similar to Flannery O'Connor, and the story is written at times almost like a fairy tale. It feels like a story birthed in the oral tradition of storytelling with a sense of fantasy mixed with realism that makes it impossible to know whether it is true. But it feels true, because Dickson has captured such powerful and real emotions, like the tortured thoughts of a woman first meeting her father. This is a beautifully told story that will captivate readers' senses while making them consider the lesson Ridler finally learns as well.
Thank you to Glass Road Public Relations for providing me with a copy of this book for review!
For many years, Lynn Austin nurtured a desire to write but frequent travels and the demands of her growing family postponed her career. When her husband's work took Lynn to Bogota, Colombia, for two years, she used the B.A. she'd earned at Southern Connecticut State University to become a teacher. After returning to the U.S., the Austins moved to Anderson, Indiana, Thunder Bay, Ontario, and later to Winnipeg, Manitoba.
It was during the long Canadian winters at home with her children that Lynn made progress on her dream to write, carving out a few hours of writing time each day while her children napped. Lynn credits her early experience of learning to write amid the chaos of family life for her ability to be a productive writer while making sure her family remains her top priority.
Extended family is also very important to Austin, and it was a lively discussion between Lynn, her mother, grandmother (age 98), and daughter concerning the change in women's roles through the generations that sparked the inspiration for her novel Eve's Daughters.
Along with reading, two of Lynn's lifelong passions are history and archaeology. While researching her Biblical fiction series, Chronicles of the Kings, these two interests led her to pursue graduate studies in Biblical Backgrounds and Archaeology through Southwestern Theological Seminary. She and her son traveled to Israel during the summer of 1989 to take part in an archaeological dig at the ancient city of Timnah. This experience contributed to the inspiration for her novel Wings of Refuge.
Lynn resigned from teaching to write full-time in 1992. Since then she has published twelve novels. Five of her historical novels have won Christy Awards in 2002, 2003, 2004, 2008, and 2009 for excellence in Christian Fiction. And two of her inspirational fiction books were chosen by Library Journal for their top picks in 2003, and 2005. One of Lynn's novels has been made into a movie for the Hallmark Channel, starring actress Shirley Jones. Ms Jones received a 2006 Emmy Award nomination for her portrayal of Aunt Batty in the film.
ABOUT THE BOOK
Alice Grace Ripley lives in a dream world, her nose stuck in a book. But happily-ever-after life she's planned on suddenly falls apart when her boyfriend, Gordon, breaks up with her, accusing her of living in a world of fiction instead of the real world. Then to top it off, Alice loses her beloved job at the library because of cutbacks due to the Great Depression.
Fleeing small-town gossip, Alice heads to the mountains of eastern Kentucky to deliver five boxes of donated books to the library in the tiny coal-mining village of Acorn. Dropped off by her relatives, Alice volunteers to stay for two weeks to help the librarian, Leslie McDougal.
But the librarian turns out to be far different than she anticipated--not to mention the four lady librarians who travel to the remote homes to deliver the much-desired books. While Alice is trapped in Acorn against her will, she soon finds that real-life adventure and myster--and especially romance--are far better than her humble dreams could have imagined.
Wonderland Creek by Lynn Austin is a fresh and fast-paced story perfect for the fall season. Alice Grace Ripley lives her life with her nose in a book, often quite literally. When her boyfriend discovers her reading during a funeral, he dumps her in frustration at her inability to live life in the real world. Alice loses her beloved job at the local library soon after, and to soothe her wounded soul, takes several boxes of donated books to a library in Kentucky to help out there and get as far away from her suburban Illinois home as she can. What Alice stumbles into is a crazy story filled with a faked death, murder, hidden treasure, and romance that she never would have believed if she had found it in a book. City girl Alice soon finds herself delivering books up in the mountains to a people hit hard by the Depression, and she discovers something in herself she didn't even know existed. Austin is well known and respected for her historical novels that are always poignant and often weighty. While this novel is historical, it sheds the very serious tone of her previous books. Wonderland Creek is blessed with a remarkably charming heroine held captive by an even more charming ex-slave woman with an indomitable spirit. This book has a real sense of humor and wit that is completely captivating. When Alice has to say good-bye to Acorn, Kentucky, readers will have just as much trouble letting go of this powerful story.
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
Harvest House Publishers; Reprint edition (October 1, 2011)
***Special thanks to Karri James | Marketing Assistant, Harvest House Publishers for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Mindy Starns Clark is the author of many books (more than 450,000 copies sold), which include A Pocket Guide to Amish Life, Shadows of Lancaster County, Whispers of the Bayou, and The Amish Midwife. In addition, Mindy is a popular inspirational speaker and playwright.
Fast-paced and inspirational, The Million Dollar Mystery series is from bestselling author Mindy Starns Clark.
Attorney Callie Webber investigates nonprofit organizations for the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation and awards the best of them grants up to a million dollars. In this series, Callie comes across a mystery she must solve using her skills as a former private investigator. A young widow, Callie finds strength in her faith in God and joy in her relationship with her employer, Tom.
---
In book number three of The Million Dollar Mystery series, Callie suddenly finds herself involved in the life of a young wife and mother whose husband has disappeared…possibly the victim of foul play.
Callie has come to the beautiful Smoky Mountains hoping to award a million-dollar grant to the charity set up in the woman’s late husband’s honor. But in the search for a missing migrant worker, a body is discovered, which puts the grant on hold and her new romance with her mysterious boss in peril. Trusting in God, Callie forges steadily ahead through a mire of clues that lead her deeper and deeper into danger.
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 336 pages
Publisher: Harvest House Publishers; Reprint edition (October 1, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 0736929584
ISBN-13: 978-0736929585
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
I’d never been part of a sting before. Sure, I’d blown the whistle on some defrauders in the past, and I had seen more than one person arrested because of felonious deeds I had brought to light. But this time was different. This time the crime was still in the process of being committed. Worse than that, most of the people at this party were involved.
I stood near French doors that led to the patio, holding a soda in my hand and looking out through the glass at the pool sparkling in the cool March afternoon. Behind the pool was a small lawn dotted here and there with ornamental groupings of shrubbery and plants, all surrounded by a high, thick hedge. I knew that a team of cops was on the other side of that hedge, ready to enter from every direction as soon as I gave the signal.
“Callie, would you like a hamburger? Maybe a hot dog?”
My hostess appeared in front of me bearing a platter of raw meat shaped into patties, and I assumed she was on her way back outside to the grill. My eyes focused on the marbled beef, and then at her expectant face. She was the very picture of charm and hospitality. Oh, and theft.
“No, thank you,” I said, forcing a smile. “I’m fine.”
Her hands were full, so I opened the door to let her out. Music poured into the house, compliments of large speakers mounted under the eaves.
“You should come too,” she urged loudly as she handed the platter off to her husband, Skipper. “It’s a gorgeous day.”
“In a while, perhaps,” I said as I let the door fall shut between us. She turned her attention to a group of guests near the pool, and as she worked the crowd I thought, You don’t want me to go outside, Winnie. The last thing you want me to do is go outside.
I glanced at my watch, wondering how much longer this would take. The police had instructed me to wait until all of the elements had fallen into place, and so far that hadn’t happened. The tension was getting to me, so I set my glass on a nearby countertop and made my way through the small crowd in the kitchen to the upstairs bathroom. I needed to be alone, to catch my breath, to make a call.
Once I was locked inside, I pulled out my cell phone and dialed the number of the police captain. He knew it was me and that I couldn’t say much on my end for fear of being overheard.
“Looks like things are moving along as expected,” he said.
“Yes.”
“Have they brought out the hamburgers yet?”
“Oh, yes. Everything’s in full swing.”
He chuckled into the phone.
“I hope they’re enjoying it while they can,” he said.
“They seem to be.”
“We’re all set on our end. Soon as the guy shows up, we’ll text you.”
“I’ll be ready.”
“You found the garage?” he asked.
“Yep.”
“Empty?”
“Except for the boxes in the freezer.”
“Perfect. Simply perfect. Hang in there, kid. We’re on the homestretch.”
I hung up the phone and slid it into my pocket, wondering if all would go off as planned. There were so many elements coming into play here, and it was important that they close in at the moment when we could nab the greatest number of guilty parties. I shook my head, marveling at the situation I now found myself in. This wasn’t how I usually spent my Saturday afternoons!
As the Director of Research for the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation, my job was to investigate charitable organizations in order to verify their suitability for a grant. I had come here to get a closer look at Dinner Time, a food bank and soup kitchen for the homeless in a suburb of San Francisco. I had gone “undercover” by posing as a volunteer to get a good look at the organization from the inside. Almost immediately, however, I realized there was something stinky in the sauce. Dinner Time may have been providing food to the homeless, but it was also providing a handy second income to its founders and many of its employees by way of food donations that were ending up in places other than on Dinner Time’s tables.
Even this party was an appalling, blatant display of theft, and, according to my source, they had similar such events every few months. From the chips and hamburgers to the condiments, most of the food being consumed here today had actually been donated to the charity, intended for the poor. Instead, our hosts had simply loaded many of the boxes into their cars and driven the food home for this impromptu party. Any minute now a local food supplier would show up and collect his share of the take, which was waiting for him in the garage. Unbeknownst to any of them, however, much of the donated food this time was marked, from the codes printed on the bottom of the mustard bottles to the labels on the frozen steaks in the freezer.
A knock on the bathroom door startled me from my thoughts.
“Just a minute,” I called, and then I washed my hands in the sink and glanced at my reflection in the mirror. My own image still surprised me sometimes. Four months ago I had gone from having long hair to short, from wearing my hair in a tight chignon at the back of my neck to having just enough length to frame my face and touch at my collar. I liked the new look, both because of the years it seemed to take from my features and the way it worked with my usual attire of suits and dresses. I’d spent this week in more casual clothes, however, and today was no exception. I had on jeans and a lightly knit tan shirt, and I felt I looked the part I was playing—that of a woman interested in some simple volunteer work at the local soup kitchen. Little did they know that I was something much more threatening: an investigator with a mission to ferret out the bad guys in the nonprofit world and bring them all to justice!
I opened the bathroom door and found a familiar face waiting to get in, an employee of Dinner Time named Clement Jackson.
“Oh, hey, Callie,” he said, “I didn’t realize that was you in there.”
“No problem.”
I moved out of the way so that he could pass me and go into the bathroom. As he closed the door behind him, I made my way back downstairs to the kitchen.
Clement was such a dear man, a tireless worker who served full time at the food bank for a salary so low I didn’t know how he managed to make ends meet. He wasn’t aware that I knew his salary rate or anything about him beyond facts he had mentioned to me in casual conversation. He had told me about his lovely wife of 36 years, his five grown children, his eight grandchildren. But the scope of my investigation had included all of the employees and volunteers of Dinner Time, so I also knew his address, his work record, and much more. In the end, he had turned out to be one of only three people connected to the center who apparently weren’t involved in the theft of the food.
I was so glad, because it confirmed what I had felt to be true about him all week, that he was a wonderful person with a true heart for charity. His personal side mission was to collect and distribute free used books to all of the children who came to the food bank and, whenever he had time, to sit and read to them and encourage them to read more for themselves.
“Reading can get you through some mighty tough spots,” I had heard him say more than once this week. “Even if your feet can’t always go somewhere else, your mind sure can.” Poor Clement was going to be stunned when this sting came together, for he believed most people were motivated by the same altruism and good faith he himself possessed.
“Callie, can I get you something to drink?”
This time, Winnie’s husband, Skipper, was playing the host, walking toward me with a newly filled ice bucket.
“No, thanks,” I replied. “My drink’s right over here.”
As if to prove it, I walked to the spot where I had left my soda, picked it up, and swirled the liquid. Skipper’s very presence made me so nervous I didn’t dare speak for fear I would begin to babble. Unfortunately, he persisted.
“How about a little ice then,” he said, using the tongs to load up my drink with ice. Holding my tongue, I watched as he clunked square cubes into the glass I was holding in front of me.
“So what do you think of our weather here in California?” he asked. “Winnie said you just recently moved here, right?”
Actually, I hadn’t told her that. What I had said was that I had never lived in California before, implying, I guess, that I lived here now. It was the kind of half-truth that going undercover necessitated and the very reason I hated playing a role. As a Christian, lying was hard for me to rationalize, even when the ends seemed to justify the means.
“It’s certainly a beautiful day today!” I said, glancing toward the window. I was desperately trying to think of some other sort of socially acceptable patter when I was saved by the bell—or the ring, to be exact, because Skipper’s cell phone began ringing from his hip pocket.
With a smile, he thrust the ice bucket at me, extricated the phone, and turned it on.
“Skipper here,” he said amiably, winking at me as he did so.
Clutching the ice in front of me, I took a step back, wondering if I could seize the moment and get away before his conversation was finished. Unfortunately, it seemed to last all of about 15 seconds. He said, “Yep. Okay. See ya,” and then hung up the phone.
“You’ll excuse me, won’t you, Callie?” he asked smoothly, slipping the phone back into his pocket.
“Of course.”
I held the ice bucket toward him, but he didn’t take it.
“Um, could you bring that ice out to Winnie?” he asked. “I need to get something from the garage.”
Without waiting for a reply, he turned and walked down the hall. I stood there for a moment, knowing I couldn’t do as he had requested without taking a step outside myself. Instead, I passed the bucket off to someone else who was heading that way. As the door fell shut behind him, I felt my cell phone vibrate in my pocket. I moved away from the crowd and went into the empty dining room. Holding my breath, I whipped out my phone, pushed the button, and looked at the screen. As expected, it was a text from the captain: Our guy just turned into the driveway. Give it about two minutes and then take a peek in the garage.
Okay, I texted back.
I then pocketed my phone, glanced at my watch, and waited, my heart suddenly pounding in my chest. For an absurd moment, I wondered if there was any hidden firepower here, if perhaps Skipper and Winnie kept a Colt .45 tucked in the nearest flowerpot or something. Just because their crimes of theft were of a nonviolent nature didn’t mean they didn’t know how to defend themselves when push came to shove. As it was about to.
At one minute, forty-three seconds, I heard my name called from the other room. I looked through the doorway to see Clement just coming down the stairs on the other side of the kitchen. Clement, who could be in the line of fire if things went down in a nasty way. Clement, who was heading toward me with a genial smile, eager to start a chat just when it was time for me to move.
“I need a favor!” I said urgently, walking forward to meet him. “I can’t find my contact lens. I’m afraid it came out in the bathroom. Do you think you could go back up and look for me? Check all over the floor, the sink, you know.”
“Well, I’ll try, Callie,” he said, nodding his head, the tightly curled gray hair a sharp contrast to his brown skin. “But my eyesight’s not so good myself. Come up and we’ll look for it together.”
I glanced at my watch. Two and a half minutes.
“You go on up,” I said. “I’ll be there in just a bit.”
“Okay.”
“And, listen, if you can’t find it, at least stay there and guard the door until I get there. I don’t want someone else stepping on it and breaking it.”
“All right.”
He dutifully trudged back up the stairs as I slipped from the kitchen, walking toward the long side hall Skipper had gone down less than three minutes before. I reached the door of the garage at the end, put my hand on the knob, and turned it.
The door swung open to reveal Skipper and another man lifting boxes into the open trunk of a black Cadillac. Both men looked up to see me, their faces about as guilty as two boys caught dipping their fingers in the peanut butter.
In a way, that’s exactly what they were doing.
The men recovered quickly. Both put the boxes into the trunk, but the man I didn’t know turned and stepped away where I couldn’t see his face. Skipper, on the other hand, took a step toward me, putting on a wide, fake smile.
“Can I help you, Callie?” he asked.
“I’m sorry,” I said. “I was looking for some more soda. Maybe root beer?”
“There’s nothing like that out here,” he replied. “Try the pantry, off the kitchen.”
“Okay, thanks,” I said, returning his fake smile before stepping back out of the garage and pulling the door shut.
I turned on my heel and walked up the hall with my heartbeat pounding loudly in my head. Despite the chatter and confusion around me, I made straight for the French doors, opened them, and stepped outside. This was my signal to the police who were in hiding on the other side of the hedge, watching the party, waiting to pounce. Once on the patio, I simply kept walking through the loud music, heading around the pool and toward the backyard.
“Callie, can I help you with something?” I heard Winnie call after me.
Suddenly, before I could reply, there were shouts and screams and the sight of at least 20 police officers descending on the partygoers on the patio. I heard the words “freeze” and “raid” and “you have the right to remain silent.” Once I finally turned around and looked at the scene, all I could do was pray that Clement was safe, that the cops had apprehended the men in the garage before anyone could do anything stupid.
I waited at the back of the yard until I saw the captain come to the kitchen door and give the “all clear” signal to the cops outside. Breathing a great big sigh of relief, I headed toward the house, allowing myself to be herded into the corner of the patio where they were sorting everyone out. Counting heads, I realized they had managed to nab almost every single person who was on the list of those who had either stolen food or accepted food they knew was stolen. The cops didn’t single me out but merely pointed me in the direction of the innocent parties, the few standing near the garden shed who hadn’t the slightest idea what was going on.
Eventually, Clement was sent out from the house to join us. I gave him a big hug, certainly much bigger than our seemingly casual acquaintance would allow. Obviously shaken, he hugged me back even tighter.
When the police told us we were free to leave, I stuck with Clement, offering to take him home. In somewhat of a daze, he accepted that offer. Sitting in the passenger seat of my rental car, he stared blankly ahead as I drove toward his house and gently tried to explain all that he had just seen.
By the time we reached his house, he was still quite shaken. He invited me inside and I accepted, eager to see him safely delivered into the arms of his wife.
She wasn’t home, however, so I insisted that he call one of his children, perhaps Trey, since I knew he lived right down the street and could be here in a matter of minutes. While we waited, I heated some water on the stove for tea and essentially made myself at home in the kitchen. The house was small but tidy, and everything was easy to find in the neatly organized cabinets. As the water began to bubble on the stove, Clement took a seat at the table, silent, his expression blank. As I was setting his tea in front of him, Trey burst through the door, concern evident on his face.
“Pop?”
Short but muscular, with his father’s coffee-colored skin and deep brown eyes, Trey was dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, both of which were covered with spatters of blue.
“We were painting the baby’s room,” he added, sounding breathless, looking from me to his father. “What’s going on?”
Clement didn’t answer, so I introduced myself and tried to explain the situation as best I could. The place where Clement worked, I said, had been busted for fraud and theft. Clement was in the clear, but he had been fairly traumatized by the whole event.
“And who are you, exactly?” Trey asked, looking at me as if this were all my fault. In a way, it was.
“My name is Callie Webber,” I said, carrying over two more cups of tea and taking a seat at the table. “I’m a private investigator.”
Clement turned toward me, his face suddenly registering disbelief rather than shock.
“You’re a what? ” he asked.
“A private investigator.”
“Since when?”
“Since I was old enough to get certified in the state of Virginia,” I said. “I’m also a lawyer. I work for the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation out of Washington, DC.”
Clement shook his head, as if to shake off the confusion. Before he could launch into more questions, I continued.
“I live in Maryland now,” I explained, “and I just came to California to investigate Dinner Time on behalf of my employer. Dinner Time had requested a grant, and it’s my job to verify eligibility.”
“You don’t even live here?” Clement asked me, still incredulous. “You mean you’ve been pretending all week?”
“I’m sorry, Clement,” I said. “Sometimes that’s the only way I can really see what’s going on.”
Trey slid into the seat across from me, ignoring the tea I had put there for him.
“So what happened today?” he asked. “I’m still confused.”
“In the course of the investigation of Dinner Time, I uncovered fraud, theft, tax evasion, distribution of stolen property, you name it. I took that information to the police, only to learn that they already knew about it and that they were very close to making some arrests. We worked together on a sting operation, and today we caught most of the guilty parties red-handed.”
“I can’t believe they were stealing food,” Clement said, shaking his head sadly.
“I always told you there was something slick about that Skipper person,” Trey said to his father. “‘Skipper and Winnie,’ good grief. Sounds like a pair of Barbie dolls.”
“Will Dinner Time have to close down?” Clement asked.
“Probably,” I answered. “Even if someone were to try to keep the place up and running, I doubt it would be able to stay open for very long. Between the bad publicity and the incarcerated principals, I think it’ll soon fold. I’m sorry.”
“I’m sorry too,” Clement said. “I’m sorry I was so blind, so stupid.”
Trey put a reassuring hand on his father’s arm.
“C’mon, Pop,” he said. “You couldn’t know. You were just doing your job.”
“Oh, yeah, my job,” Clement said. “Guess I’m out of a job now.”
“We’ll find you something,” Trey said. “Maybe Tanisha can get you on over at the grocery store.”
“I liked working at a nonprofit,” Clement said, shaking his head. “I liked feeling that my efforts were making just a little difference in the world.”
I reached into my pocket, grasping the familiar square of paper there. I pulled it out and set it on the table in front of me, still folded in half.
“I’d like to talk to you about that,” I said. “And I’m glad Trey is here, because this would involve him too.”
Both men looked at me, their faces somber.
“In the course of my investigation,” I continued, “I had to check into everybody’s background. Including yours, Clement. Your life story paints a picture of a good man, a steady reliable worker who knows the value of a dollar.”
“That’s my dad,” Trey said suspiciously. “But what are you getting at?”
“Well, I’ve watched you this week reading to the children down at the food bank, Clement. I’ve heard you talk about the benefits of reading, of being read to. I want you to think about starting a charity of your own. Something that lets you go around and give away books and have regular reading times with homeless children.”
“Like a bookmobile?” Clement asked.
“Perhaps,” I said. “Or maybe you could get some space in the recreation center or a homeless shelter or another food bank. Somewhere that you could set up a little reading corner filled with books and beanbag chairs and stuffed animals. It’s not hard to get people to donate children’s books to a charity. You could provide reading times, give the books to the children who seem to want them, encourage their parents to read with them…”
I let my voice trail off, seeing that a spark was lighting up behind Clement’s eyes.
“What do I have to do with this?” Trey asked.
“Your father told me that you’re an accountant,” I said. “Maybe you can help him get started and then keep the books for him.”
“Well, yeah, I could do that.”
“And I understand your sister is a graphic artist? Maybe she could put together some brochures and promotional materials. You’d be surprised how many resources are available, usually right at your own fingertips.”
I looked at Trey and then at Clement, surprised to see the fire quickly fading from the older man’s eyes.
“As good as our intentions may be,” he said, shaking his head, “There’s one thing standing in the way. I can’t afford it.”
I smiled, fingering the square of paper in front of me.
“Well, then let me take it a step further,” I said. “My job allows me a certain amount of leeway with small monetary grants. What would you think if I gave you a check to get started? You could get yourself incorporated as a nonprofit, file for federal tax exemption, and cover your basic start-up costs. Once you’ve got that tax exemption, I would encourage you to fill out a grant application from the J.O.S.H.U.A. Foundation for a much larger amount of money. We believe strongly in what you could accomplish, Clement, and we would like to have some small part in furthering your efforts.”
I sat back, thinking that in the two and a half years I had worked for the foundation, this was the first time I had to talk someone into taking our money!
“Still, I don’t see how it would work,” Trey said. “He’d need at least a thousand dollars just to get set up.”
“How does five thousand sound?” I asked, unfolding the check and handing it to them. It was already made out to Clement Jackson, who picked it up and studied it as if it were a ticket to somewhere important. “And, like I said, once you’ve got that tax exemption and your policies and procedures in place, you can apply to us for more. I have a feeling we’ll be very generous as long as you can show you’ve got a good business plan.”
The two men looked at each other and grinned, and not for the first time I wished my boss, Tom, the philanthropist behind all J.O.S.H.U.A. grants, could be here to witness their joy. Tom was half a world away right now, and though later I would recount this entire scene for him over the phone, it still made me sad that he wasn’t here experiencing it for himself.
Then again, he never was. Tom always donated anonymously through the foundation and then enjoyed the moment of presentation vicariously through me. I was happy to recreate every word, every detail, but I had never understood why he chose to remain so removed from the whole process.
Of course, he and I talked frequently during every investigation, and in fact it was the time we spent on the phone that had allowed us to become friends and then eventually something much more than friends. Four months ago, after several years of a phone-only relationship, Tom and I had finally been able to meet face-to-face.
At the time, he had been out of the country for his work, but he had surprised me by flying back to the States and showing up at my home. We had spent exactly 12 hours together—12 amazing hours that I had relived again and again in my memories ever since—and then he had to leave, returning to Singapore and the urgent business that awaited him.
Now, four months later, Tom was still in Singapore, though his business there was quickly drawing to a close and soon he would be coming home for good. His home was in California and mine was in Maryland, but our plan was to meet somewhere between the two in exactly seven days at some quiet place where we would finally, finally be able to spend some real quality time together—time getting to know each other even better, time exploring the possibilities of a relationship that had gone from friendship to something much more in the space of one 12-hour visit. I was already counting the minutes until we could be together again, knowing that once he returned, a new chapter in my life would begin in earnest. Tom was handling the logistics of our reunion, and my primary concern was to wrap up my next investigation by the following Sunday, because I didn’t want work or anything else to detract from the time we were going to spend together.
Clement spoke, snapping me out of my thoughts and back to the moment at hand.
“I’ve been praying for something like this for quite a while,” he was saying, looking at his son, and I realized there were tears in his eyes. “For so long,” he repeated, blinking. “I didn’t think the Lord was hearing me. But He was. Because He sent me an angel.”
I held up one hand to stop him, emotion surging in my heart as well.
“Now, don’t—”
“I’m not kidding, girl. You are an angel. A very generous angel.”
“So you’ll take the money and start your own charity?” I asked.
“Oh, thank You, Lord,” he said, grinning up toward the ceiling. Then he looked back at me. “Yes, Callie. Yes. Most definitely yes.”
A Dime a Dozen by Mindy Starns Clark is the third book in the Million Dollar Mystery series about Callie Webber, a private investigator working for a charitable organization that gives donations to smaller charities, but only after Callie makes sure they are worthy. Her current investigation has major emotional weight for her, as she is checking out MORE the charity formed by her former in-laws after the tragic death of their son, and her husband, Bryan. Callie is worried that visiting them will bring up old emotions and sorrows, but they welcome her with open arms, and she looks forward to being able to give them the donation. But as she investigates, she finds trouble based on a former employee whose husband disappeared four months ago and who has been abused by pranksters since ordering her to "go home." When the bodies start piling up, Callie has to use all of her abilities to track down who is behind the murders before MORE can be approved for their million dollar donation. On top of the investigation, Callie is dealing with her growing feelings for her mysterious employer, Tom. Clark's books are always entertaining and filled with characters you'd love to know in real life. The writing is fast paced and Clark manages to keep readers guessing without going over the top. I wish I had read the previous books in the series to really understand the intensity of Callie and Tom's connection, but I can't wait to read the next book, A Quarter for a Kiss, to see what happens next in this exciting series!
It's been awhile since I've had a Mia & Mommy's Book Blog, but today we're back with an interesting chapter book that will thrill and fascinated any horse lover.
The Trouble with Being a Horse by Emily Edwards is a story about eleven-year-old Olivia who is horse mad. At Claudia's stables where she takes riding lessons is the only place she feels accepted and like herself. When a downturn in her parents' finances forces them to put an end to her lessons, she feels completely lost and alone, until something amazing happens that makes her re-evaluate everything. First, Mia's review: The book is about a girl who turns into a horse. I liked best when she got home, because she was happy. It made me like horses more. Now my review: I was really impressed by Edwards' ability to really give young readers a feel for a day in the life of a horse, both the good and the bad. Olivia's relationship with Jenny is at first fairy tale but then very disconcerting for Jenny, and Edwards' uses that to show readers just why horses can't be all that we expect them to be. The story is well told and while there are lessons, they are told with grace. My one and only complaint with the book would be the repeated use of "Oh my God" but characters, including Olivia. I know that many people are offended by the casual use of that phrase, and I was careful to edit it out when reading to Mia. I look forward to reading Edwards' next book, and so does Mia!
Thank you to The Cadence Group for providing me with a copy of this book for review!
The colors in Northeastern Wisconsin are just beautiful this time of year. The forests look like they are on fire with a million different shades of red, orange, and yellow. It makes even the most normal and quiet country road look like something out of a movie. The colors are so brilliant, for me, it's impossible not to find joy in just looking out the window each morning. But I found myself thinking the other day about how the leaves are so beautiful when they are dying. The most picturesque times of year up here are spring, when the trees are budding with blossoms and new leaves, and fall.
It made me realize that the most beautiful people that I know are those who have faced trouble and even tragedy in their lives. It may not give them physical beauty, but there is an innate radiance that draws people to them, even as the fall colors draw tourists up north to gaze in wonder. I have learned some of the most powerful lessons in my life from my children when they were small and filled with that strange wisdom many children seem to innately possess or from people who have faced death, mental, physical, or spiritual, and come away from it stronger, with a deeper faith and trust in God.
I think there's a parallel in there that could only from a Creator who didn't make a single thing or person in the world without thought and purpose.
Along Wooded Paths by Tricia Goyer is the second book in the Big Sky series about Marianna Sommer who moved with her family from Indiana to an Amish community in Montana to start anew. At the end of Beside Still Waters, the previous book, Marianna had decided to stay in Montana and continue enjoying the new depth of her relationship with God, despite her growing feelings for Englischer, Ben. Aaron, the man Marianna left behind in Indiana, decides to head to Montana and determine whether she still loves him and will return with him to the house he built with her in mind. Shortly after his arrival, Aaron is in a car accident that leaves him with a broken leg and forced to live with the Sommer family and rely upon their mercy. While there, he can't help but notice Marianna's comfortableness with working outside the home, as well as her relationship with Ben. Goyer does a terrific job at keeping readers guessing in this romance. In many romances, it's obvious who the heroine should choose, but here it's not so obvious. Both Aaron and Ben are good men with genuine feelings for Marianna, but if she should choose Ben, it means leaving behind her whole way of life and family. Marianna's choice will not be an easy one, and with the shocking revelation at the end of this story, Goyer will have readers highly anticipating the next book in the series.
Thank you to B&H Books for providing me with a copy of this book for review.
I saw this incredibly beautiful sunrise this morning while bringing Mia to the bus. It brought to mind these verses from Psalm 19: The heavens proclaim the glory of God. The skies display his craftsmanship. 2 Day after day they continue to speak; night after night they make him known. 3 They speak without a sound or word; their voice is never heard.[a] 4 Yet their message has gone throughout the earth, and their words to all the world.
God has made a home in the heavens for the sun. 5 It bursts forth like a radiant bridegroom after his wedding.
It rejoices like a great athlete eager to run the race.
Mia and I talk about the beauty and sunrises and sunsets often. It never ceases to amaze me that in the history of the world, no two have ever been exactly alike. Each sunrise and sunset is unique, an individual, made for us by a loving Father to see beauty in Creation and seek its Creator.
Sunrise on the Battery by Beth Webb Hart is the sequel to Love, Charleston and follows the story of the Scoville family. Mary Lynn and Jackson were high school sweethearts who married right out of school with a shared dream: to raise their children with the opportunities they were denied growing up poor in a small town. After living for a decade in Charleston and carefully working their way up in society, they are finally about to reap the rewards of full acceptance. But Mary Lynn is starting to question the dream because of her attendance at the local church and a prayer group has opened up her heart to more than just status. Their three daughters each deal with the stresses of a life in private school with constant lessons and parental expectations in different ways. Catherine, the eldest, is beginning to turn to drugs to help her cope with the constant pressure, especially when her father takes away her greatest joy: running track, to make her focus on raising her SATs. Mary Lynn asks her prayer group to pray for Jackson to find God, but when he does, the repercussions will shake her and the entire family to its core as they are forced to redefine who they are as people. Hart has a way of writing that makes each character completely relatable and sympathetic. I found myself rooting for every character, even when their actions weren't necessarily right and when their desires were at polar opposites with each other. Hart gives readers a view of what radical faith would look like today and how a society based on status and appearance would respond to it, while also asking readers to consider where faith fits into their life. That she manages to do so without being preachy is quite an accomplishment, but Hart keeps the reader so focused on the Scoville family that even Jackson's wildest actions and biggest speeches don't come across as proselytizing. It's an absorbing story of a family whose desire to fit in almost costs them everything they value most.
Thank you to The B&B Media Group for providing me with a copy of this book for review!
Hello, Hollywood by Janice Thompson is the second book in the Backstage Pass series about the people working on a sitcom called Stars Collide. In this novel Athena Pappas is comfortable as the headwriter for the show, enjoying her rich life with her Greek family, helping out at her family's restaurant, and her friendship with Kat, the female lead of the show. But when the show's producer hires a new writer, Athena is sure that her job is on the line. She's even more shaken up when the new guy, Stephen Cosse, turns out to be an Adonis that gets her pulse pounding. Stephen and his daughter, Brooke, quickly fit in with Athena's family, but she has a hard time trusting him enough to really let him in, especially when it seems he has betrayed her. When you are reading a Janice Thompson novel, you know that you're going to find families overflowing with love and quirky personalities, descriptions of food that will leave your mouth watering, and a sense of humor and love of life that will have you smiling with every turn of the page. Her books are always entertaining and filled with a deep faith. I am a huge fan.
Thank you to Revell for providing me with a copy of this book for review. Available October, 2011 from Revell, a division of the Baker Publshing Company at your favorite bookseller.
Beverly's first venture into adult fiction is the best-selling trilogy, The Heritage of Lancaster County, including The Shunning, a suspenseful saga of Katie Lapp, a young Amish woman drawn to the modern world by secrets from her past. The book is loosely based on the author's maternal grandmother, Ada Ranck Buchwalter, who left her Old Order Mennonite upbringing to marry a Bible College student. One Amish-country newspaper claimed Beverly's work to be "a primer on Lancaster County folklore" and offers "an insider's view of Amish life."
Booksellers across the country, and around the world, have spread the word of Beverly's tender tales of Plain country life. A clerk in a Virginia bookstore wrote, "Beverly's books have a compelling freshness and spark. You just don't run across writing like that every day. I hope she'll keep writing stories about the Plain people for a long, long time."
A member of the National League of American Pen Women, as well as a Distinguished Alumnus of Evangel University, Lewis has written over 80 books for children, youth, and adults, many of them award-winning. She and her husband, David, make their home in Colorado, where they enjoy hiking, biking, and spending time with their family. They are also avid musicians and fiction "book worms."
ABOUT THE BOOK
Rose Kauffman pines for prodigal Nick Franco, the Bishop's foster son who left the Amish under a cloud of suspicion after his foster brother's death. His rebellion led to the "silencing" of their beloved Bishop. But is Nick really the rebel he appears to be? Rose's lingering feelings for her wayward friend refuse to fade, but she is frustrated that Nick won't return and make things right with the People. Nick avowed his love for Rose--but will he ever be willing to sacrifice modern life for her?
Meanwhile, Rose's older sister, Hen, is living in her parents' Dawdi Haus. Her estranged "English" husband, injured and helpless after a car accident, has reluctantly come to live with her and their young daughter during his recovery. Can their marriage recover, as well? Is there any possible middle ground between a woman reclaiming her old-fashioned Amish lifestyle and thoroughly modern man?
If you would like to read the first chapter of The Mercy, go HERE.
Watch the book trailer:
The Mercy by Beverly Lewis is the final book in The Rose Trilogy about Rose Kauffman, a young Amish woman struggling to let go of her feelings for a man who has left the faith behind. The Kauffman family has faced many challenges over the previous books. Rose's elder sister Hen left her Englischer husband to return to the faith she left. Just as he was about to divorce her and file for custody of their daughter, he was in a car accident that left him temporarily blind and in need of Hen's care. Emma, Rose's mother, is facing dangerous surgery to free her from the pain she's suffered for a decade. And Sol, Rose's father, is hurting at his friend Aaron Petersheim's removal as bishop of their community because his foster son, Nick, refused to be baptized into the faith. Rose has finally put her feelings for Nick behind her and seeks out a relationship with a new man, Isaac, in hopes of finally finding the life she has always dreamed of as a wife and mother. I read a lot of Amish series, and after awhile, many of the plots and characters tend to run together. The Rose Trilogy is such a powerful story, even after several months between books, I was able to fall right back into the story. Lewis does a wonderful job of creating fully fleshed characters with real flaws and emotions that readers can empathize with. The ending to the series is very satisfying and in many ways surprising.
The Hum and the Shiver by Alex Bledsoe is hopefully the first book in a series about the Tufa people of the Smoky Mountains of Tennessee. Bronwyn Hyatt is returning home a decorated war hero and international celebrity after her capture by Iraqis and subsequent rescue. But she's unsure about how she feels returning home to everything that she fled years ago, including her reputation as the Bronwynator. As a Tufa, there are expectations upon her, especially as a First Daughter, that she's spent her life running from, but she finds that being home begins to heal some of the places within her soul. A new pastor has come to the area hoping to lure some of the mysterious Tufa to his church, but their cheerful disinterest makes him curious about this enigmatic people who were here before the Europeans came to America and have an unusual relationship with music. Bledsoe has filled this novel with a fascinating set of characters, but even better a breathtaking view of the Tufa, whose mysteries and traditions fills the novel with fantasy and wonder. Bledsoe has created an unusual character in Bronwyn who is unrepentantly sexy, fiercely independent, and trying to figure out her role in an ancient culture. Bledsoe kept several secrets while also delivering some shocking revelations; I sincerely hope there is another book soon, because I don't know how long I can stand to wait!
Thank you to PR by the Book for providing me with a copy of this book for review!
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old...or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
***Special thanks to Camy Tang for sending me a review copy.***
ABOUT THE AUTHOR:
Camy Tang grew up in Hawaii and now lives in San Jose, California, with her engineer husband and rambunctious mutt, Snickers. She graduated from Stanford University and was a biologist researcher for 9 years, but now she writes full-time. She is a staff worker for her church youth group and leads one of the Sunday worship teams. On her blog, she ponders knitting, spinning wool, dogs, running, the Never Ending Diet, and other frivolous things. Visit her website at http://www.camytang.com/ to read short stories and subscribe to her quarterly newsletter.
After finally graduating with a culinary degree, Jennifer Lim is pressured by her family to work for her control-freak aunty’s restaurant. But after a family blowout, Jenn is determined to no longer be a doormat and instead starts her own catering company. Her search for a wine merchant brings John into her life—a tall, dark, handsome biker, in form-fitting black leather, and Hispanic to boot. It would be wonderfully wild to snag a man like that!
Shy engineer Edward tentatively tries out his birthday present from his winery-owner uncle—a Harley Davidson complete with the trimmings. Jennifer seems attracted to the rough, aggressive image, but it isn’t his real self. Is she latching onto him just to spite her horrified family? And if this spark between them is real, will showing her the true guy underneath put it out?
And what’s with the goat in the backyard?
Product Details:
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 124 pages
Publisher: WinePress Publishing (June 7, 2011)
Language: English
ISBN-10: 1414120591
ISBN-13: 978-1414120591
AND NOW...THE FIRST CHAPTER:
The goat in the backyard had just eaten tonight’s dinner.
Jennifer Lim stood on her mother’s minuscule back porch and glared at the small brown and white creature polishing off her basil. She would have run shouting at it to leave off her herb garden, except it had already decimated the oregano, mint, rosemary, thyme, cilantro, and her precious basil, which had been slated for tonight’s pesto.
Besides, if it bit her, she was peeved enough to bite back.
“Mom!” She stomped back into the house. Thank goodness the pots of her special Malaysian basil were sectioned off in the large garden on the side of the house, protected by a wooden-framed wire gate. Jenn was growing it so that she could make her cousin Trish’s favorite chicken dish for her wedding, which Jenn was catering for her. But everything in her backyard garden was gone. The animal was welcome to the only thing left, the ragged juniper bushes. Were juniper bushes poison? If so, the animal was welcome to them.
“Mom!” Her voice had reached banshee range. “There is a goat—”
“You don’t need to yell.” Mom entered the kitchen, her lipstick bright red from a fresh application and her leather handbag over her arm, obviously ready to leave the house on some errand.
“Since when do we own a goat?”
“Since your cousin Larry brought him over.” She fished through her leather purse. “His name is Pookie.”
Jenn choked on her demand for an explanation, momentarily distracted. “He has a name?”
“He’s a living being. Of course he has a name.” Her mother fluttered eyelashes overloaded with mascara.
“Don’t give me that. You used to love to gross me out with stories of Great-Uncle Hao Chin eating goats back in China.”
Mom sniffed and found the refrigerator fascinating. “That’s your father’s side.”
Jenn swayed as the floor tilted. You are now entering … the Twilight Zone. Her parent had evoked that feeling quite often in the past few weeks. “Where did Larry get a goat and why do we have it now?”
“They were desperate.”
Actually, Jenn could have answered her own question. That goat was in their backyard right now because everyone knew that her mom couldn’t say no to a termite who knocked on the door and asked if it could spend the night.
And outside of physically dropping the goat off at someone’s house—and she didn’t have an animal trailer, so that was out of the question—Jenn wouldn’t be able to get anyone else in the family to agree to take the animal, now that it was here. That meant leaving a goat in a niece’s backyard because no one else wanted to go through the hassle of doing anything about it.
Mom said, “You wouldn’t have me turn away family, would you?”
“Uncle Percy knows, too?”
“No, not Percy.”
“Aunty Glenda?” No way. Even if Larry were thirty-one instead of twenty-one, Aunty would still dictate to her son the color underwear he wore that day—how much more his choice of pet?
“No.” Mom blinked as rapidly as she could with mascara making her short, stiff lashes stick together, almost gluing her eyes shut.
The tiger in Jenn’s ribcage growled. “Mother.” Her fist smacked onto her hip.
“Oh, all right.” Mom rolled her eyes as if she were still a teenager. “It belongs to Larry’s dormmate’s older brother, but really, he’s the nicest young man.” Burgundy lips pulled into what wanted to be a smile, but instead looked hideously desperate.
Jenn tried to count to ten but only got to two. “I know Larry’s a nice young man. If an abundance of immaturity counts as ‘nice’ points.”
“Jenn, really, you’re so intolerant. Just because you’re smart and went to Stanford for grad school …”
The name of her school—and the one dominant memory it brought up—made her neck jerk in a spasm. It had only been for two years, but that was enough. Desperately lonely after spending her undergrad years living with her cousins, Jenn had only formed a few friendships among the other grad students, none of them close. There was only one she’d never forget, although she vowed she would every morning when she got up and saw the scar in the mirror.
“Why. Do we have. A goat.”
“It’s only for a few days—”
“We don’t know a thing about how to take care of—”
“They’re easy—”
“Besides which, this is Cupertino. I’m sure there are city laws—”
“It’ll be gone before anyone notices—”
“Oh, ho, you’re right about that.” Jenn strode toward the phone on the wall. “I’m calling the Humane Society. They’ll take it.” Although they wouldn’t provide a trailer to transport it. How was she going to take the goat anywhere, much less to an animal shelter?
Mom plopped onto a stool and sighed. “That boy was so cute. His name was Brad.”
There went her neck spasming again. But Brad was a common name. She grabbed the phone.
“Such a nice Chinese boy. Related to the Yip family—you know, the ones in Mountain View?”
The phone slipped from her hand and bungee-jumped toward the floor, saved only by the curly cord. She bent to snatch it up, but dizziness shrouded her vision and she had to take a few breaths before straightening up.
“Oh, and he went to Stanford. You two have something in common.” Mom beamed.
No. He wouldn’t.
Yes, he would.
“Brad Yip?”
Mom’s eyes lighted up. “Do you know him?”
Sure, she knew him. Knew the next time he came for his goat she’d ram her chef’s knife, Michael Meyers style, right between his eyes.
Weddings and Wasabi by Camy Tang is the fourth and final book in the Sushi series about a series of Chinese-American cousins finding love. Jenn has always been the good cousin, the good girl in her family, willing to accept responsibility and take on any chore without a word of complaint. She just finished culinary school secretly hoping to start a restaurant of her own, but the whole family expects her to begin working at her aunt's restaurant. When she encounters an abusive ex-boyfriend at a party, and the family sides against her, Jenn has had enough of being their doormat, and then the fun begins. The Sushi series has been one of my all time favorite romance series, because Tang infuses her books with a deep sense of fun, along with romance, faith, and strong friendship. Each cousin is one that readers would love to know in real life. This book feels as though Tang decided to give readers the book they would love and allowed her joy of writing to cut loose. With hungry goats, a water-gun attack, and love at first sight, this is a perfect ending to a terrific series. My only complaint is that it had to end! I am a life-long fan of Tang's, and anyone who reads the Sushi series will be just as hooked.
I'm blessed to be the mother of three children: Doogie, Molly, and Mia and am happily married to Jesse.
I've always loved to read, and I love talking about the books that move me.
I review books here, on Amazon, Christianbook.com, Barnes & Noble, Lunch.com, Christian Book Video, Shelfari, GoodReads, MySpace, and Facebook.
