The kindle version of my second novel, The Recluse Storyteller, is on sale now through April 6 for only 99 cents.
You can pick up a copy: HERE!
I’m happy to give you an exclusive excerpt. If you enjoy, please check out the full story.
Escape from the Margaret Meeting
The Friday evening meeting commenced, and Janice started.
“First, I’d like to thank Mrs. Johnson for hosting us here this evening. I’ve called all of you together, so we could talk freely about my niece, Margaret. Each of us knows her in one way or another, and I wanted to get an opinion from all of you about Margaret and how you think she is doing.”
“Might I ask what prompted you to call us all together to talk about another person? I’m not really comfortable with that,” asked Reverend Davies, who sat next to Michael Cheevers, who crunched his way through a bag of potato chips.
The rest of the room consisted of Mrs. Johnson, Mrs. Trumble, and Chester Tomsey.
“Mrs. Trumble, would you like to address this issue?”
“Yes, I most certainly would. Now I’ve never been one to speak ill of someone without cause, and I’ve been greatly tolerant of being the recipient of coarse manners from Margaret, but I have seen her behavior become much stranger and, should I even say, violent recently.”
“Oh, come now,” interjected Chester Tomsey. “We all know that Margaret does not have the most heart-warming of personalities, but she is anything but violent.”
Reverend Davies did not like the start of this. He kept thinking about what Margaret had said when leaning up against the supermarket shelves.
“Mr. Tomsey, is it?” Mrs. Trumble inquired.
“Yes, that’s right.”
“And just what is your relationship with Margaret?”
“My firm employs her on a job-by-job basis. She writes and revises technical manuals for us. Actually, she’s a verbal genius.”
“Verbal genius! I think you are talking about the wrong Margaret,” belted out Cheevers with his mouth half-full of chips. “She’s no Margaret Queen of Scots.”
“That was Mary,” said Reverend Davies.
“That’s right, Reverend. She’s no Mary Mother of God either.”
The reverend exhaled heavily and rolled his eyes in Cheevers’ direction as did everyone else.
“Perhaps I shouldn’t have said verbal genius. What I meant was that she has a way with words—written words. I can’t tell you how much grief and stress that she has eliminated from my life. I think you are sorely mistaken if you think she is violent,” said Tomsey, trying to clarify his point.
“And how many times have you actually met her?” pressed Mrs. Trumble.
“None. I’ve never talked with the woman. We do everything over the Internet.”
“Well, I hardly think that makes you an expert on her character and behavior.”
“I’m basing my judgment on the quality and judicious nature of her work. She has an impeccable work record. Punctual. Detailed. Insightful. Any company would be lucky to have her. I know her character because it comes through in her work. If we are to suggest that she is anything but a wonderfully productive member of society, then we are mistaken.”
“And what exactly are we suggesting here?” Cheevers added. “Mrs. Johnson, do you have any beer?”
“No.”
“Mr. Cheevers, please be patient. We are trying to get to the heart of the matter. Mr. Tomsey, your opinions about her work habits are duly noted, but I would like Mrs. Trumble to continue,” voiced Janice with a slight hint of annoyance.
Mrs. Trumble stood up and started addressing every incident and run-in that she ever had with Margaret. Everyone sighed with resignation that they would just need to wait it out. As the address continued, Sam and Pam crawled along the living room wall on all fours. The only person who could have seen them was Mrs. Trumble but not in her state. Sam reached safety first behind the kitchen island and waved Pam over. By the time they reached the door, Cheevers had a small window of opportunity to see them between the corner of the island and the wall of the hallway which led to a spare bedroom, but he was busy licking his fingers and sticking them back into the bag, trying to pick up the last few crumbs on his saliva-wet finger tips. Sam reached up and unlatched the door, quietly opening and closing it. They had spent the whole dinner hour planning their escape once they heard that the meeting was on. Pam even volunteered to cook her world-famous three-egg omelets so that their mother wouldn’t be in the kitchen. As Pam cooked, Sam got the WD-40 out of the hallway drawer and sprayed the front door hinges, so they wouldn’t squeak during their escape. They made it safely into the outdoor hallway.
