DiAnn Mills' books set in the Sudan and based on a very real and horrid conflict are outstanding. You'll miss soul-stirringm reads if you pass by this book and the other one in this series, When the Lion Roars.

When the Nile Runs Red

by DiAnn Mills

Two men, one woman.War-torn, disease-ridden Sudan.One powerful God.Paul Farid, who once persecuted the southern Sudanese, now loves the weary people whose lives have been destroyed by war. Colonel Ben Alier has led his battle-hardened soldiers for two decades against the North, yet he pursues a relationship with his son even as his own demons pursue him. Dr. Larson Kerr Farid works long hours caring for the sick, but fatigue and worry about her husband, are taking their toll. And she's just learned something that will make everything more complicated.

These three friends face constant danger as tensions escalate between the north and south, and as Paul's family schemes to kill him and Larson. Will Paul and Larson bridge the gap that seems to grow between them? And will Ben find peace as more than a soldier?

DiAnn Mills introduces her many fans to the current struggle facing Sudan in this riveting account of war, ancient hatreds, love and God's power. Sudan's beauty and tragedy will pierce the soul of every reader.

To read a chapter of this intriguing new title go to ChapterAWeek or order it online at Amazon.com.

Sushi for One

For a hilarious romance with a "kick of Wasabi," pick up Camy Tang's debut chic lit novel. This author's got the "write" stuff to make you laugh all the way to fresh insights on God, people, and yourself.

About the Book:

Lex Sakai’s family, big, nosy, and marriage-minded, is ruled by a crafty grandmother. When her cousin Mariko gets married, Lex will become the OLDEST SINGLE COUSIN in the clan, a loathed position by all single female family members.
Lex has not dated for years.

Grandma homes in on this fact and demands, bribes, and threatens Lex to bring a boyfriend (not just a date) to her cousin’s wedding.

Lex does not want to date ... not since that terrible incident a few years back ... but, Grandma doesn't give her that choice.

Lex's options are slim because she has used her Bible study class on Ephesians to compile a huge list of traits for the PERFECT man (and the more she dates, the more she adds to the list).
The one man she keeps running into (and is completely attracted to) doesn’t seem to have a single quality on her list.

It’s only when the always-in-control Lex loses control and lets God take over that all the pieces of this hilarious romance finally fall into place.

Buy the Book: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0310273986

About the Author:



Camy Tang is a member of CFBA and is a loud Asian chick who writes loud Asian chick-lit. She grew up in Hawaii, but now lives in San Jose, California, with her engineer husband and rambunctious poi-dog. In a previous life she was a biologist researcher, but these days she is surgically attached to her computer, writing full-time. In her spare time, she is a staff worker for her church youth group, and she leads one of the worship teams for Sunday service.

Sushi for One? (Sushi Series, Book One is her first novel. Her second, Only Uni (Sushi Series, Book Two) comes out in February 2008!

To celebrate the launch of her debut novel, she's got a huge contest going on. Camy is giving away baskets of Christian novels and an iPod Nano! Only her newsletter YahooGroup subscribers are eligible to enter, so join today.

For more information about the contest, visit her website. Contest ends October 31, 2007!

WHO?3 - Activate Your Inner Sleuth!

A crime has been committed—and it’s up to you to figure out WHOdunit! Play the game for a chance to win an autographed copy of Amy Wallace’s romantic suspense, RANSOMED DREAMS.

Here’s what you do: read the intro scene, followed by scenes written by six authors. Collect the KEYWORDS from each scene (note: keywords are not pointers toward the culprit, but rather toward the novel from which we got our setting). Once you have the keys and have figured out WHOdunit, send an email to review@christianreviewofbooks.com with the subject line WHO? Send us the name of the culprit and the six keywords. Don’t forget to come back next week for the WHO? Confession by the culprit!

Entries will be received between 12 noon EST, Thursday, August 23, through 3 p.m. EST, Monday, August 27.
*******
Louisa
By Roseanna M. White

(There is no keyword in this first scene)

Louisa still wasn’t sure how she had ended up in a stranger’s house, at an impromptu party with a bunch of people she’d never met before that day. Sure, she had been enjoying her conversation with Dr. Cramer when they met at the National Institutes of Health earlier that day, and the thought of tagging along with him to meet a friend had, at the time, seemed perfectly logical.
Now she surveyed this group with mixed thoughts. She was one of only three females; one of the other two, LaTisha, was a brightly plumed older woman decked out in a bright purple dress and red scarf. The other, Sierra was nearer Louisa in age and had on a t-shirt with the slogan “Save the animals. Endanger Idiots Instead.” A little off-putting, though the petite Asian girl was smiling and chatting amicably with one of the men.
“Hello, love.”
Louisa looked over with a start at the handsome young man who had materialized at her side, a glass of soda in each hand. He reminded her vaguely of some actor. Sandy brown hair. Nice face. Even the English accent fit. Jude Law, wasn’t it? She took the drink he offered with a small smile. “Thanks. I’m Louisa.” She held out a hand.
He raised it to his lips, which nearly made her roll her eyes. “Jeremy Beckett. I was chatting with our lovely exotic bird there,” he said with a nod toward LaTisha, “about volunteering at my school when Agent Kessler invited us home for a few snacks. Interesting group, isn’t it?”
“Mm.” She took a sip of her soda and looked absently at the massive man still talking to Sierra. He was huge, complete with heavy middle, moon cheeks and a ruddy complexion, but that wasn’t what grabbed her attention. He kept talking about his church and saying things like “the Lamb” and mentioning the power of the blood without ever making it sound—well—right. Maybe in a minute she’d go over and see if she could wrangle that poor Sierra girl free.
Or maybe she wouldn’t have to. Sierra backed away from him with wide eyes, looking like she was about to haul back and slap him. “You people sacrifice animals? You. . . you barbarians!” She spun away with a disgusted huff.
Their host, FBI Agent Steven Kessler, immediately offered the big man—ironically named Ham—an hors d’oeuvre to diffuse the situation.
“Good man,” Jeremy said beside her, nodding to Steven. “I had his son in class.”
“I didn’t realize he had a son.”
“An angel, more like. He’s six.”
Louisa felt her lips tug up into a smile. “Mine are eight. Twins.”
Jeremy nearly choked on his soda. “You have eight-year-olds? You don’t look a day over twenty-one.”
His judgment probably wouldn’t be much better had he known how old she really was, so Louisa just gave that vague smile she had perfected over the years and said, “Thanks. Hopefully people will still be saying that in another decade.”
Dr. Cramer slid up to her other side. He was tall, and his features said he had ancestors from India. He was still wearing his scrubs from the lab, too, and managed to look as comfortable in them as Louisa was in her cut-offs. He held out a hand to Jeremy. “Hello. Jeremy Cramer.”
The Brit titled his head. “Jeremy Beckett.”
The doctor laughed. “I’ll just go by Dr. Cramer, then. You’re the younger Kessler’s teacher, right? I consulted with Agent Kessler on a case a while back.”
“His specialty is infectious diseases,” Louisa informed the teacher. “You should just hear about the strides his team’s making in studying the—”
“Goodness!” LaTisha huffed over to them with a dramatic hand to her chest. “These little bitty cracker things are barely enough to fill a woman.”
Louisa grinned. The woman was a character, that’s for sure, and she couldn’t seem to keep her hose from sagging down.
“I went into the kitchen and poked around. I could whip up a proper Southern meal in no time. You just ask my Hardy, I can cook to beat the band. Raised seven kids in my kitchen, after all.”
Dr. Cramer smiled and opened his mouth to reply.
He didn’t get the chance. The world seemed to explode into chaos around them, the sound of shattering glass followed directly by the distant boom of a gun, nearly covered by the half-dozen screams of the people in the room. Louisa was pushed none too gently to the ground. She didn’t need any convincing to stay there.
“Everybody stay down!” It was Steven’s voice that barked out the command. She looked up enough to see him belly-crawling over to the window, even as he fished a cell phone out of his pocket. Seconds later, he was speaking into it. “Clint, get an Evidence Response Team to my house pronto. The ‘impromptu party’ proved more than our suspect could resist. Lost a window though, and the wood splitter buzzed my head before lodging in my bookcase somewhere. We should have all the info needed before the night’s over.”
“What in the world?” LaTisha’s voice quavered.
The FBI agent scanned the room. “Everybody okay?”
A chorus of weak assurances sounded.
“No one’s hurt,” he said into the phone again. “See you in a few.” He flipped shut his phone and stood up against the wall beside the shattered window. “Let’s move into the kitchen, low and slow. The shooter’s most likely long gone, but we need to get out of this room so the ERT can do its job.”
Louisa pushed herself onto her knees and crawled along with the others through the door to the kitchen. She would have felt ridiculous had that gunshot not still been echoing through her mind. She stood up once she was in the safe, soft glow of the kitchen light. The exterior door was shrouded by heavy blinds, as was the window.
Steven was the last one in, and the group’s low murmuring came to an abrupt halt at the glare he leveled on each of them in turn. “All right. Which one of you tipped the shooter?”
A cold knot formed in Louisa’s belly. “One of us?”
The agent’s jaw ticked. “As far as everyone knew, I was heading to Georgia for a weekend away. I arrived via taxi. My car is still at Headquarters. A current suspect’s threats have ratcheted up and this party was a way to smoke him out. But one of you had to tip him off to the time and my whereabouts. I want to know who.”
Sierra folded her arms over her chest. “Ask Jabba the Hut, here. He has no problem killing innocent animals, he probably doesn’t much care about FBI agents, either.”
Ham’s countenance reflected injury. He raised a meaty hand to his chest. “Me? I strive for the redemption of humankind. What about you, young lady? You’re the one who prefers beasts to her own species. Maybe you called one of your activist friends while you were in the bathroom. I was standing beside Kessler—you could have been gunning for me, since I offend you so much.”
“Now y’all stop squabbling. You sound like a bunch of kids.” LaTisha tugged on her pantyhose and scowled. “Let’s get to the bottom of this. Who among us actually knew where we were going? I personally just came along with Jeremy, and I think young Louisa here rode with Dr. Cramer. Sierra, you came on your own, and so did Ham. Jeremy and the doctor knew their way. So a few of us, at least, couldn’t have tipped anyone off, since frankly I couldn’t tell you even now where we are.”
Louisa nodded. “Besides, I haven’t been alone since we were invited to come.” She tried a small smile. “For that matter, I don’t even have a cell phone.”
The others blinked at her, shook their collective heads, and then turned back to one another. Steven narrowed his eyes at Jeremy. “You’re arm’s bleeding.”
The teacher looked down at his own forearm in surprise. “Must have been a piece of glass.”
Dr. Cramer let out a gusty sigh and pulled a pair of rubber gloves from the pocket of his scrubs. “Agent Kessler, get me a first aid kit. Everyone else stay back. The last thing we need is disease spreading.”
He started mumbling something about AIDS and a few other scary-sounding terms Louisa had never heard before as he reached with protected fingers for Jeremy’s arm.
The teacher frowned at him. “I don’t have any terrible diseases, doc. I may date a lot, but—”
“Many people have no idea when they’re infected. Better safe than sorry. Agent? A kit?”
Steven handed over a white box with a large red cross on it. His expression didn’t soften. “While Mr. Beckett here gets cleaned up, the rest of you better be prepared to come clean, too. Someone tipped off that gunman. And no one’s leaving until I know who it was.”

***********

LaTisha from MURDER ON THE OL’ BUNIONS
By S. Dionne Moore

The kitchen felt powerful hot all the sudden. Large room though it was, all of us, I dare say, felt the bite of Mr. Muscleman’s command. It didn’t take me long to warm to the occasion. We’re not talking hot flashes, either. I’m long past that.
Well, if he wanted to play detective, then we’d do it my way. And I decided then and there to begin my inquisition with Mr. Muscleman Bossy Guy himself. Afterall, no one liked a bossy person. And no one likes being bossed less than a boss. Takes one to know one, right?
I lasered in on Mr. Muscular. “You’re powerful quick to eyeball us as suspects in this CRIME. Maybe you have something against someone here.”
He crossed his arms, and I thought he’d go toe to toe with me, but his slow smile oozed charm. Too cute for his own good. But I’m immune. Hardy’s my little rooster. Sick though he might be. Right now his cocka-doodle-do is more like the croak of a toad, but I love him.
Mr. Muscles’s smile slid away. He opened the double doors a bit and peeked through. I tapped my toe, letting him know I wouldn’t be put off forever. He eased the door closed again and pursed his lips. “I assure you, Mrs. Barnhart, that is not the case.”
Come to think of it, he was one of the only people I remembered seeing the entire time. Still . . . why did he invite us all over? Complete strangers? It didn’t make a bit of sense.
I eyeballed the rest of the motley crowd, my mind replaying the movements of those present since I’d arrived at this party. Jeremy Beckett seemed unlikely to flick a flea, and the doctor, well, I didn’t know his name, but he hadn’t been out of my sight at all, save for the time I went to the kitchen. The Asian girl kept eyeballing a large man in a bright orange shirt . . .
Orange shirt? Something snagged in my mind, and I looked closer at the fellow. Large. Blond hair. Eyes the color of seaweed.
Hm.
In the middle of my poking around the kitchen earlier, when I’d harbored hope of finding more than a cracker, I clearly remembered a flash of orange as someone exited from the kitchen and into the dining room. I hadn’t given it much thought then, but now that I think on it, it was funny that I had seen someone exiting the kitchen but not in the kitchen.
I waved a hand at the double doors I thought I’d seen him pass through. “Didn’t I see you slipping through those doors into the dining room earlier?”
He smoothed his shirt. “I, too, was looking for a bit more substantial snack.” He stabbed a look at the little Asian girl and pointed to the rack of very sharp, gleaming utensils. “I must say our host has quite an impressive collection of knives, wouldn’t you agree, Sierra?”
“You’re sick,” she muttered and turned her back.
But I wasn’t to be sidetracked. He must have known I wasn’t done with him because he raised an eyebrow at me. Kind of a silent challenge. Well, honey, after raising seven kids, I was more than up to anything he dished. “I believe you had your back to me, Mrs. Barnhart. I’m sure you will agree, this is a very large kitchen.”
“And you’re a very big man. I would have at least seen you, if not heard you.”
There, let him soak that in brine for a while.
I turned to Sierra. “Where’d you get off to before the blast?”
She shrugged. “I have nothing to hide. I left to find the bathroom, but ended up in the library.” Her eyes shifted to the doctor. “You remember, Doctor, you helped me find it.”
Doc patted Mr. Beckett’s arm and straightened. “Indeed I did, young lady. What of it?”
“Weren’t you fumbling with something?” her eyes narrowed. “Like maybe your cell phone?”
The doctor busied himself with pulling at the fingers of his gloves. “I received a page.”
I filed away that tidbit. Something else drifted on the fringes of my brain. It came to me as my eyes scanned along the hall off the kitchen.
The door to the bedroom. It had been closed earlier, and now it stood open, though Muscles hadn’t left the party.
I locked onto Mr. Orange again. His lips drew down into a frown as he returned my stare. That’s when it clicked. “You had come from the bedroom, hadn’t you? And you didn’t want me seeing you. Now I wonder, why would that be?”

************

Steven from RANSOMED DREAMS
By Amy Wallace

Rather than glaring himself into having six more enemies, Steven slipped into the living room and surveyed the scene. Good thing James and Gracie were safely tucked away at his parent’s home for the weekend. After the ERT did their work, the first order of business would be finding a crime scene cleaner and getting a new window installed.
Then he’d call Gracie so she wouldn’t stay up all night wondering. Maybe they could salvage a few hours of his “vacation” weekend, even if they did have to stay in VIRGINIA to do it.
After checking his watch, he slipped on a latex glove and ran a hand over his splintered bookshelf. It’d take him and Clint a good weekend of work making another section for the piece of furniture that would hopefully house all of Gracie’s books in the near future.
Not wanting to disturb any clue the ERT would need to sink a conviction, he moved to the phone. Surely no one was stupid enough to use his phone to make the call. But then again, if criminals were playing with a full stack they’d have cold case files enough to make a twenty-year veteran cry.
He hit redial and listened to the number a computer voice rattled back to him. Not a call he’d placed. Punching it into his cell, he waited for six long and boring rings.
“We’re sorry, but the cellular customer you’re trying to reach is unavailable. If you’d like to leave a message—”
He didn’t, so he slapped the phone shut and took to pacing.
It was a local cell number and not one they had on file for their kidnapping suspect. Once the ERT Agent in Charge cleared him, Steven would run the number by Michael and let the computer genus do his stuff to track it down.
But that wasn’t a solid enough lead for cuffing one of his “guests” and giving them a short trip to a long night in jail.
One more glance at his watch. The ERT should arrive shortly. Until then, he had an interrogation times six to keep him busy.

************

Dr. Cramer from INFORMED CONSENT
By Sandra Glahn

Dr. Cramer wanted to avoid alarming Jeremy, but the red circle of blood on the teacher’s white shirt continued to expand. The doctor pulled up Jeremy’s sleeve for a look.
“Are you on any medications?” he asked.
Jeremy shook his head. “Just an occasional aspirin and some over-the-counter allergy stuff.”
“When’s the last time you had aspirin?” Dr. Cramer asked.
“Yesterday, actually.”
The doctor breathed easier. Perhaps some of the blood-thinning properties were still in effect, which would account for the heavy bleeding, even though the injury appeared to be only on the skin's surface. He pressed against the wound to slow the flow. “Take off your belt," he said.
Jeremy’s eyebrows shot up. “Why?” His look was defiant, but he didn’t wait for an answer to reach for the buckle.
“I need a tourniquet.”
“Surely it’s not all that bad, doc,” Jeremy insisted.
“Maybe not. But just in case.”
Jeremy dutifully undid his belt and handed it to the physician. Dr. Cramer wrapped it around the injured arm above the wound and gave it a yank. Then he looked over at Stephen. “Got any alcohol?”
Stephen nodded and trotted off toward the bathroom.
“Am I gonna live, doc?” Jeremy asked, seeming to laugh it off, though the quiver in his voice betrayed him.
“We’re all terminal cases,” Dr. Cramer said. “But I don’t think your time’s up yet. Does it hurt?”
“Not much, but it’s starting to throb now that you’re pressing on it.” Jeremy’s tone was accusatory.
Dr. Cramer shrugged it off. He looked around at the guests, and his eyes landed on Louisa. “Get me some gauze and tape out of there, will you?” He pointed to the first-aid kit and Louisa jumped into action. Stephen returned with the alcohol about the time Louisa handed Dr. Cramer what he’d asked for. Less than minute later, the wound was dressed.
Dr. Cramer handed back the supplies to their deliverers and felt around in the pockets of his scrubs.
“What do you need?” Stephen asked.
“My phone. Must’ve left it in the car.”
Stephen pointed toward the hall. “Use the one in the bedroom.”
“Thanks.” Dr. Cramer looked over at Jeremy. “I’ll drive you to the ER or we can call an ambulance, if you prefer. It would be better if you didn’t drive yourself. Let me just tell the hospital we’re on our way.”
“ER? It’s not that bad, is it?”
“Your CASE involves a gunshot wound. Trust me—for both our sakes we need to take you in.”
“Okay. Whatever.” Jeremy shrugged.
Dr. Cramer proceeded down the hall and found Stephen’s immaculately clean bedroom. The décor was art deco in primary colors and symmetrical lines that brought Mondrian to mind. Next to the bed on a black lacquer table sat a red telephone.
As he made his way across the room, Dr. Cramer noticed a slip of paper on the hardwood floor. It was lying in a pool of water about the size an ice cube might leave. He stooped to pick up the paper and recognized it as a business card for Rev. Archer Romlin. It was just like the one each guest had received earlier in the evening except that this one was torn in half, and on the back someone had scribbled what was now the residue of a phone number with the word "cell."
Dr. Cramer picked up the phone and scrolled back through “calls made.” The area code and prefix on the card matched the most recent one, but the last four letters on the card were smeared beyond recognition so there was not way of knowing for sure if the numbers matched.

************

Sierra from HAZARDOUS DUTY
By Christy Barritt

“Rev. Romlin? The cult leader?” Sierra’s fiery gaze turned to Ham, who’d just grabbed a bacon-wrapped scallop from the kitchen counter. “This pig was just talking about the Reverend. It looks like we have our killer.”
Ham glowered down at her and, with a mouthful of food, exclaimed, “Listen here, girlie, you’re a suspect too. Don’t try to put the attention on me just to take it off yourself.”
“I don’t believe in murder, unlike the rest of you people who kill innocent animals simply to indulge your own desires. I’ve got a heart!” She jabbed her finger into her chest to emphasize her words. Her gaze swung around the room, looking at each of the meat eaters with obvious contempt. Everyone stopped eating their meaty treats and wiped their mouths.
Sierra’s scowl landed on Ham again. She stepped closer and jabbed his chest this time. She was a small thing, but she had spirit. “I’ve heard all about your Reverend Romlin. He always talks about RANSOMING people from their sins in that television show of his. And how do you get delivered from your sins? By sending him money. He’s a brainwasher. Did he brainwash you into killing someone, Pig Boy?”
Ham stepped forward, towering over petite Sierra. “I will not tolerate your accusations. For all we know, that bullet could have been aimed at me.”
**********

Hamilton Gordon from RELUCTANT RUNAWAY
By Jill Elizabeth Nelson

“I don’t like being shot at.” Ham crossed his arms, and sweat trickled into the folds of flesh down his side. “But God hates false accusers.”
That FBI agent, Kessler, poked a finger at him. “No one’s accusing you, Mr. Gordon, but if you’d been the target, it would have been hard to miss.”
Ham’s cheeks flamed. “You’re no pipsqueak yourself. How do you know the shot wasn’t intended as a warning? A scare tactic. I have enemies—”
“Scare tactic!” The mature woman in bright purple hitched up her hose. “Pretty effective then, I’d say. But who’d want to shoot a meat-packing tycoon?”
A soft shriek came from Sierra. “You not only sacrifice animals for sick religious rituals, but you slaughter them for a living? That’s it. This guy’s guilty. He has no respect for life.”
“Young lady,” Ham lifted himself to his full height, “I never said we of The Inner Witness sacrifice lambs. I said we partake of lamb and wine in our sacrament of FORGIVENESS and healing. Maybe you’re a confirmed vegetarian, but I’ll wager everyone else in this room enjoys a good steak, including our host who seems to think someone’s out to kill him.”
Kessler smiled grimly. “With the help of an accomplice in this room.”
“Which brings us back to you, Ham.” LaTisha piped up. “You were alone for part of the evening. Long enough to place that mystery call from Steven’s home phone. Next to the phone, Dr. Cramer found a business card for Reverend Archer Romlin with a smudged phone number written on the back.” She ticked the points off on her fingers. “And you are one of Romlin’s followers. Pretty interesting two plus two here.”
Cramer and Jeremy muttered agreement. Louisa stared, wide-eyed. Sierra shuddered and pressed her lips together.
Ham lifted his chin. “Circumstantial evidence. I have been accused of worse by professionals, not amateur sleuths, and acquitted.” The FBI agent snorted, but didn’t say anything as Ham went on. “What about the good doctor? He wandered off by himself for a while, and there’s no reason he couldn’t have written that number on the back of Rev. Romlin’s business card. I handed one out to everyone when we arrived. And Ms. Humane Society?” He jerked a nod at Sierra. “She left the room, too, also in possession of one of my dear pastor’s business cards. What do any of you have to say about that?”
“Motive.” Kessler’s voice sliced the air. “I’m still trying to figure out your motive, Gordon. But don’t worry, I will, and then we’ll have an arrest, a trial, and a conviction.”
Ham locked glares with the FBI agent. Would law enforcement ever tire of persecuting him? Probably not as long as he placed loyalty to his faith above every other consideration.

***********

Jeremy from Too Good to be True
By Trish Perry

Right. Here I’ve landed in the soup again, haven’t I? My friends are constantly encouraging me to involve myself in events outside my typical social scenes. “Stay away from the nightclubs and bars, Jeremy!” they say. “There are so many other ways to meet interesting people.” They mean women, of course. They know my romantic circumstances haven’t panned out quite as favorably as I would have liked.

So I take up this bloke Kessler on his invitation to a small do at his home, complete with doctors, animal-rights activists, tycoons, and that utterly striking young mum. I had hoped to chat her up, but that doesn’t look likely now. This could be a blasted long night, and not for pleasant reasons.

They turned out to be an interesting lot, I’ll give them that! I was quite chuffed about getting to know Kessler a bit more. I’ve never met an FBI agent before. What cracking good stories he must have, eh? From the looks of it, though, this shooting was no ACCIDENT. Kessler appears suspicious of all of us. Might one of these guests have sinister reasons for attending?

Kessler thinks someone made a phone call to touch off the shooting. I can’t say I saw anyone on the phone; not even a cell phone. I did see that paranoid doctor chap in the kitchen, checking his pager. But as far as I could see, he stayed clear of the phone. And I must admit I noticed that little animal-rights bird leave the room—she’s rather smashing with that nose ring, isn’t she? She seems sharp, as well. I think she just left to use the facilities, though.

Overall, I’d say LaTisha’s husband, Hardy, had the right idea tonight. He stayed home!

**********

Have you figured out WHOdunit? Then send the name and the culprit and the six KEYWORDS to review@christianreviewofbooks.com with the subject line WHO?

Entries will be received until 3 p.m. EST on Monday, August 27.

Have fun!

The Void by Mark Mynheir

I recently posted to one of my writers groups that this is one of the best books I've read in 2007. I was emotionally engaged by the characters from page one. Some I loved, some I loathed, a few I pitied. The eerily possible premise resonated with me. The supernatural elements tip this book over the edge from suspense into the thriller category. The ever-competent Mynheir will take you on a hair-raising, and at the same time, thought-provoking ride. Highly recommended!


ABOUT THE BOOK:


The Truth Chasers Book Three

Someone’s trying to play God…and he’s turning Palm Bay into hell.

Florida Department of Law Enforcement Agent Robbie Sanchez devotes her life to crime prevention, and it shows: She has no personal life and doesn’t know the meaning of a day off. After all, someone has to be around to clean up the mess crime leaves behind.

So when Officer Brad Worthington is brutally murdered, Agent Sanchez is called to the scene along with Brad’s best friend, Detective Eric Casey. The two turn to Lifetex, the genetics lab near the scene, hoping their elaborate security system might have captured the crime outside.

But what’s going on inside the lab is far worse: a renegade scientist is cloning humans! As Robbie and Eric pursue clues–and a growing attraction–they are caught in a deadly battle as the clones begin to act on their own volition…but this battle threatens to claim more than human life; the clones are vying for human souls.

The Void is nothing short of a page-turner. Mynheir is truly hitting his stride as one of our industry's most notable Christian novelists. This latest book has it all: suspense, humor, intrigue, realistic police action, and one thought-provoking story line. Creston Mapes, Author of Nobody

Buy this book! http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1590524004

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Mark Mynheir is a cop writer. He has authored Rolling Thunder (The Truth Chasers Book One) and From the Belly of the Dragon (The Truth Chasers Book Two). During his career as a police officer, Mark has worked as a narcotics agent, a S.W.A.T. team member, and a homicide detective. Mark and his wife, Lori, live with their three children in central Florida.

Tomorrow is the Deadline!

I wouldn’t miss it! Well, at least not without downright drastic reason. I love the annual American Christian Fiction Writers Conference. Not only do I come away enriched as a writer, I’m blessed and refreshed in my faith in this atmosphere of novelists whose craft is dedicated to advancing the Kingdom of God. The praise sessions! The classes! The social times! The food! Wow! And all in first class accommodations for a cut rate!!

If any of this interests you, check it out at http://www.acfw.com. Click on the Annual Conference button for oodles of info and an opportunity to register for the premier Christian fiction writers’ conference in the nation. The dates are September 20 – 23. This is the second year it’s been held at the lovely Marriott Quorum Hotel in Dallas, TX. TOMORROW is the deadline to register at the best rate.

This year’s keynote speaker is James Scott Bell. If you don’t have his book, Plot and Structure, it’s a MUST for your write-craft bookshelf. Jim is a multi-published, best-selling fiction author. I took his plotting class at last year’s Colorado Writers Conference, and the man has an awesome teaching gift. I’m on the edge of my seat to glean more from him at ACFW.

Hope to see you there!!

Quaint Q&A for Writers and Readers

Amy Wallace, my friend and a fellow suspense author featuring FBI characters, tagged me with a unique Q&A especially for writers and readers.

1. What's the one book or writing project you haven't yet written but still hope to?

One day I hope to finish my medieval fantasy series. My hero rocks, and his love interest will steal your hearts! The first book in the series, Kingmaker, is the book of my heart, but fantasy is a tough sell. However, the Lord will light the way at the appropriate time.

2. If you had one entire day in which to do nothing but read, what book would you start with?

I’m well into Robert Liparulo’s Comes a Horseman. Excellent read! Of course, I love reading books by other authors who feature FBI characters. I always learn something I didn’t know about the Bureau from my own research, and I always find validation for my portrayals, too.

3. What was your first writing "instrument" (besides pen and paper)?

A PC that is now a dinosaur and extinct, but I sure gave it a workout!

4. What's your best guess as to how many books you read in a month?

Difficult question. Some months I read 5 – 6. Other months I have no time to read any. Depends on where I’m at on deadline or with family and church commitments. During the three years I served as Senior Inspirational Reviewer for Romantic Times magazine, I read 12 – 15 books per month.

5. What's your favorite writing "machine" you've ever owned?

I adore my Dell Inspiron laptop. It goes with me any time I travel, and I use it every day. It’s got loads of memory, which is so handy when you’re dealing with full length manuscripts.

6. Think historical fiction: what's your favorite time period in which to read?

I don’t read a lot of historical fiction, but I probably enjoy either the medieval or Regency periods the most.

7. What's the one book you remember most clearly from your youth (childhood or teens)?

The Hobbit. That book entranced me from page one. I think my desire to be a writer was born with reading that book over and over again. Could I ever draw a reader into a fictional world so completely? Naturally, I had to move on into the Lord of the Rings trilogy. I also enjoyed Lloyd Alexander’s series that starts with The Book of Three. Loads of great imagery, wonderful characters, and deep themes. Madeline L’Engles’ A Wrinkle in Time was also a favorite, along with any of the YA books by C. S. Lewis. Oh, and I always enjoyed a good Encyclopedia Brown or Nancy Drew story. Evidently, my favorite genres are fantasy and mystery/suspense.

This Q&A is interactive for writers and readers. Go ahead and respond with your unique answers to one or more of these questions. Have a delightful day!

New Release from Queen of Romantic Comedy

I loved this book! The characters grabbed my heart and the plot snagged my attention from page one. I was particularly moved by the painful love between father and daughter.

Wedding Bell Blues is the first in a new series, The Piper Cove Chronicles, that follows four women who grew up as best friends in a small community on the Eastern Shore of Maryland. They have returned home from their successes and failures at college and life, determined to pursue their dreams in the town they'd once vowed to leave in the dust. True love has eluded the four friends until one by one they encounter their soul mate. Next in the series is FOR PETE'S SAKE, on sale from Avon Inspire in April 2008.

Alex Butler is a successful home decorator who hopes she has finally gotten her life together. But when Josh Turner, the man who ran away and broke her heart sixteen years ago, returns to Piper Cove to be the best man in her sister's wedding, Alex can't escape the butterflies in her stomach. But Alex has no time for distractions. Her family has enlisted her to make this the wedding of the century. To pull the event off, she pools the talents of her three best friends - Jan, who creates desserts to-die-for will help with the cake and catering, tomboy Ellen, who works at a landscaping business will handle the flowers and decorations, and Sue Ann, who can…well, Suzie Q can give Alex a much-needed reality check in the course of the wedding planning chaos.

But fate won't be stopped in this small town as Alex and Josh keep running into each other at every turn. When sparks fly, Alex soon finds herself caught in a paralyzing battle of the heart between her old-fashioned Southern father, who fiercely resents Josh for breaking his little girl's heart, and her feelings for the one man she ever truly loved.

As the wedding approaches, the Butler family faces a threat to their reputation that will shake this Chesapeake clan to their very core. In the midst of it all, can Alex and Josh resist the many forces that seem to be drawing them together?

Buy now at: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/0061171379

About the Author:

Linda Windsor, a native of Maryland's Eastern Shore, is the author of eighteen historical novels and nine contemporary romances for both the secular and Christian market. A Christy Award finalist, Linda has received numerous awards in both the ABA and CBA, including the Romantic Writers of America's Beacon Award. She lives in Salisbury, Maryland.

Dynamite Military Series!

The Task Force Valor series by Chuck Holton are great reads for the fan of military fiction. If you like Tom Clancy books, you'll like these. And Holton's series adds a little extra zing of romance, so the gals will find as much to like as the guys. Isn't this a great cover?

To make this book your own, click here:

http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1590525035

ABOUT THE BOOK:

EXPLOSIVE ORDINANCE DISPOSAL--THE BOMB SQUAD

As the global war on terror heats up, the U.S. deploys a team of highly trained special operators overseas to locate and neutralize threats, bringing EOD expertise to dangerous missions that have no room for error.

A DEADLY EXPLOSION

A new specialty explosive is on the black market: ITEB looks like water, but when it's exposed to air, the effects are lethal! The United States government is frantic to keep it from our shores. Staff Sergeant Euripides "Rip" Rubio knows how destructive ITEB can be. He has already risked his life to thwart a horrific terrorist plot involving the chemical. Now Task Force Valor heads to Panama, on the trail of an arms dealer who plans to use ITEB to make a killing...literally.

AN ADVENTURE ABROAD

Fernanda Lerida is a University of Florida grad student who jumps at the chance to join a biological expedition to a mysterious former prison island. But the snakes, bugs, and crocodiles are soon the least of her worries as the group stumbles upon something they were not meant to see. To Make matters worse, Fernanda soon finds herself alone and being pursued by an unseen foe.

A RISKY RESCUE

When Rip's path collides with Fernanda's, they find themselves caught in the midst of a brutal turf war. Can they use the chaos to their advantage, or will one false step set the entire island ablaze?

"Island Inferno is a boy-meets-girl story. But in Chuck Holton's world, boy meets girl in the middle of a jungle at 25mph. hanging under a parachute with an assault rifle strapped across his chest. You'd better plan on reading this in one sitting. And once you're done, you'd better give yourself time for your pulse to calm down."----TOM MORRISEY, Author of Deep Blue, and Dark Fathom

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Chuck served four years in the Elite 75th Ranger Regiment–the same unit profiled in the movie “Black Hawk Down.” Chuck saw combat in Panama in 1989. After leaving active duty, Chuck flew helicopters in the Wisconsin National Guard while attending the University of Wisconsin.

In 2004, after ten years as a stockbroker, Chuck left that profession to pursue full-time writing. At the same time, he began working as the "Adventure Correspondent" for CBN.He is the author of five books, including A More Elite Soldier, Bulletproof, andAllah's Fire, the first of three books in the Task Force Valor series.

Today, Chuck, Connie, and their five children live on a farm in Appalachia, where Chuck now pursues his varied interests of farming, writing, adventure travel and public speaking, among other things.

Who Would You Tell?

This blog entry has nothing to do with art or art theft or even books, but it's something on my heart, and it does involve using words. I'd really like to hear your answers.

Challenge Question: If you could tell anyone in the world about the love of God and the salvation offered through Jesus Christ, and you were guaranteed five minutes of their undivided attention, who would you tell and why?

Bonus Challenge: Give us a sample of the words that are in your heart for them.

Mine would be Osama bin Laden. A change of heart in him would rock militant Islam to its core.

I want to tell him that I understand he believes his cause is from God, but that the true test of what comes from God is in its fruit. If grace and mercy are extended, if love, joy, and peace flow, if holy living springs from love toward God, and if hearts are transformed without force or manipulation, then God is in it.

I'd also like to assure him that forgiveness for absolutely anything is a free gift to the repentant heart because Someone has already paid the price for the sins of the whole world. However, without putting faith in that One--Jesus Christ--there is no salvation. Anyone is eligible, but everyone must choose.

So now that I've shared, who is on your heart? And it doesn't have to be anyone famous or important (by the world's standard), just whoever first popped to mind when you read my initial question.

Who Won WHO? and Whodunnit?

Thanks oodles to Roseanna White, our games-mistress, for featuring Reluctant Runaway in the debut volume of the WHO? game. I had lots of fun playing and hope others did, too.

Volume One of the WHO? game reached its conclusion last Friday with a clear winner. Congratulations to Becca from California! She named all five keywords from the various blogs and correctly "caught" the thief who stole the book. Becca will receive a signed copy of Reluctant Runaway, latest release in the To Catch a Thief series.

Here's the culprit's confession:

It was. . . Tiffany by Trish Perry

Okay, just hear me out here. Contrary to how things appear, I am not perfect. I make mistakes, just like an average person does. I said I wanted to develop a little culture, and I meant it. I want to be able to discuss . . . stuff. That’s why I came to the museum, and now I can talk about how messed up modern art looks. And thanks to the time we’ve been stuck in the Native American exhibit with Grandfather there, I know more about the Pince-nez Indians than I ever planned to. Nez Perce, I mean, thank you, Gracie so very much for correcting me.

Sigh. How Jessica got Miss Gracie Conspiracy-Theory and me confused from behind, I’ll never know. Sure, we both have auburn hair, but I am clearly the more relaxed of the two of us—I think I would have known Gracie was connected to the military even if she hadn’t mentioned it. Anyway, I’m wearing black, and Gracie’s in white, and she didn’t leave Grandfather’s side long enough to pull off any theft.

Ew. Theft. Sounds awful.

Look, it’s just that the book looked special. It looked like something maybe I could read and be impressive with. And if it’s a book I could get at the library or a book store, it probably wouldn’t be on display in a museum, is what I figured. That’s the only kind of book I could be certain Ren and Kara wouldn’t have read. I just wanted to know something they didn’t. I would have brought it back when I was done; why would I want to keep a book I’ve already read?

It wasn’t hard finding a man willing to hold the book for me so I could run back and tell Quinn I was leaving. I mean, look at me! Me, man, willing? Those three words just fit together in so many sentences. And I would have been fine if Jessica had minded her own business, instead of turning down my generous offer of help with her appearance; I’d be willing to bet that girl’s had a case of the munchies from time to time, if you catch my drift. If I hadn’t pulled out one of my cards to give her in the first place, I wouldn’t have dropped one at the scene of the dirty deed for Gracie to find and turn over to Max.

And that Max! Ears like an Australian Bandicoot, for Pete’s sake. So my stiletto’s click a little on these marble floors. I was practically on tiptoe when I rushed over to ask that guy to hold the book for me. What is it with these people, studying my every move? My every sound?

But that Marina was the last straw. She found one of my hairs near the empty display case? What is she, a bloodhound? Why, oh why did I bother to run a comb through my luxurious locks before dashing off to hand the book to that guy? It’s not like I needed to bother. But I’ve seen enough CSI shows to know that last piece of evidence is going to nail me.

So, listen, Quinn. Be a sweetie. Bring up the steel walls, let us out, and I can have that stupid book back in place in no time. But let’s make it snappy. I can still make my manicure appointment, and I don’t want that guy out there getting any ideas about taking the book out of the museum. Not that he’s likely to leave without me, but let’s not take any chances. Then you and I can get together later and have a little laugh about this whole silly episode. What time do you get off work, anyway?

* * * * * * * *

Volume Two of the WHO? game is coming right up. So keep your eyes peeled for suspicious characters!

WHO? is Here!

A crime has been committed, and it’s up to you to figure out WHOdunit! Play the game of WHO? for a chance to win a free book!

Here’s what you do: read through each of the scenes below, which were written by one of six popular authors. Collect the KEYWORDS from each scene. Once you have the keys and have figured out whodunit, send an email to review@christianreviewofbooks.com with the subject line WHO?

Entries will be received until 3 p.m. EST on Friday, June 1.

WHO? Volume 1

Quinn by Roseanna White
See it at http://www.christianreviewofbooks.com/

Of all the displays in this New Mexico museum, it was the room containing Native American artifacts that always made the hairs on the back of Quinn’s neck stand up. He hated leading his tour groups in here. His fingers inevitably got itchy and hovered over the two-way radio on his belt.

He stepped into the room after the last of his six guests. They were chatting among themselves, most of them focused on the one other man in the group, an old guy who had introduced himself as Grandfather. Quinn kept several feet away from them, staying near the exit. So when the sound of metal screeching over metal sung out from right behind him, he jumped and spun.

The metal security gate came crashing down, its criss-crossing slats sliding between him and the rest of the museum. Quinn’s eyes moved from the obstacle to the unobtrusive camera and security console secured near the ceiling in the corner. Its red light was flashing angrily, signaling the sounding of a silent alarm. Apparently, a silent alarm from this room.

"Hey!" It was the woman with the wild black hair who was all but punching him in the shoulder to get his attention. When she motioned toward the lowered gate, her crimson talons almost nicked him. "What's the big idea?"

"Just stay calm, ma'am." Even as he spoke, Quinn was palming his radio off of his belt and pressing the call button. His eyes, however, were moving over the other occupants of the room, trying to identify what had triggered the alarm. Everything looked to be in place. The Native American pottery was all under its glass casings, the tools in their proper displays. And the faces of his tour group were all identical masks of confusion. "Mack, it's Quinn. What's up? We just got locked into the Indian display."

The static from his radio screeched out briefly before his friend's voice interrupted it, the high-pitch squeal making talon-woman wince. "There's been a breach in security."

Obviously, the whole group heard that. The overweight, auburn haired girl who was standing off by herself shifted from one foot to another and darted a glance at the one man in the group. He had introduced himself as Grandfather and had just been sharing with them all that he was one-quarter Nez Perce so had been eager to get to this room. Now the old guy was looking with wide eyes at Quinn as if he was responsible for this unforseen turn.

He pushed the button again. "In here?"

"Negative. The room you just came from. A book's gone. Cameras were blocked, but it's gotta be someone from your group, they're the only ones who've been through."

The woman still standing at his side put her hands on her hips and rolled back her shoulders. "All right. Which one of you idiots ruined my day?"

"Ma'am–"

"I'm a cop, buddy, I can handle this."

Quinn sighed and rolled his eyes as the woman marched over to the overweight girl and all but poked a finger in her chest.

"You. What's your name?"

The girl cast another look at the old man, who stood with his hands in his pockets, looking on mournfully. "Jessica. But I didn't do anything, I swear. Why would I want something from some stupid museum, anyway? I was talking to Grandfather the whole time."

That, of course, just made Madam Cop turn her pointed finger on the old man. "Well you've seemed mighty interested in everything here."

Grandfather just smiled and raised his empty palms up in a peaceful gesture. "Calm down, Marina. I was right beside you, wasn't I? Wouldn't you have noticed if I had pocketed a . . ." His brows knit, making the wrinkles of his eyes fan out. He looked over at Quinn again. "What was taken, son? Did he say a book?"

Quinn just nodded and glanced at the other three women in the room. Gracie, a schoolteacher scoping the place out for a possible field trip–or so she said–was standing with mouth agape and long auburn hair still pulled over one shoulder. She had mentioned how chilly the air conditioner was, and her white sundress didn't do much to keep her warm. Beside her was Tiffany, whose posture had shifted over the past minute from sultry to uncertain. He'd been flirting with them both off and on for the whole tour. Only Tiffany had flirted back.

But it was the third woman he settled his gaze on. With her flyaway red hair, Maxine Webb looked like a total airhead. But he knew better. She was the one he pointed at. "Is this all part of one of your acts?"

Tiffany raised a perfectly shaped brow and pivoted a little on one stiletto. Quinn had noticed from the outset that her shoes were about as practical for a walking tour as her black dress with the plunging V neck that dipped low enough to make him smile. She looked at Max as if noticing her for the first time. "Huh?"

"Ms. Webb's with our security company." Quinn clipped his silent radio back onto his belt. "They like to stage robberies–to test their systems."

Max shook her head. There was worry in her eyes. "If this were one of ours," she said in her Texas drawl, "I'd be behind a computer tracking Desi, not locked in here with you."

Gracie rubbed a hand over one goose-bumped arm. "Or maybe that's what you want us to think. I saw an empty display case in that other room—that must have been where the book had belonged. I was the last one that went by it–which means it could have been any of you. Or all of you, working together." She paused and shifted from one strappy heel to another, tilting her head and obviously evaluating her own words. Then she wrinkled up her nose. "Okay, probably not. Still."

Marina let out a near-growl. "Well, let's do a search. Obviously neither of our beauty queens have it hidden in their little dresses, and I can vouch for Grandfather." She narrowed her gaze on Jessica again. "What have you got under that baggy sweater?"

Tiffany snorted and tossed an auburn lock out of her face. "Nothing a few weeks in the gym with me couldn't fix. Seriously, Jessica, let me give you my card. I could do wonders for you."

Jessica just sent Tiffany a dirty look. Quinn stepped into the middle of their loose circle before Officer Marina could ask any more questions or Gracie could come up with a more intricate conspiracy theory, raising a hand to get everyone's attention. "Okay, look. One of you took it–and there's nowhere to go. Maybe you stashed it somewhere in the hall or had an accomplice, I don't know. But you're not getting away with it. There are enough of us here that someone had to have seen something. So let's just figure this thing out, okay?"

He paused and looked from one suspect to another until they were all staring back at him. "One of you is a thief. The only question is, who?"


***

Marina by Cyndy Salzmann (From Crime & Clutter)
Read it on her blogs at http://blog.cyndysalzmann.com/ and http://canblog.typepad.com/canbookmarketing/

Amateurs! Marina shook her head and stalked over to the tour director in this ART museum. He was spending more time ogling the chick in the black dress than trying to figure out who swiped the book. If she let him handle the interrogation, they’d be locked in this tepee room all night.

Marina slapped Quinn on the shoulder. “Why don’t ya let me handle this, Bubba?”

“Bubba? Did you just call me Bubba?”

Marina grinned and pulled a notebook from her leather shoulder bag. “Just a figure of speech.”
Jessica giggled and Quinn shot her a dirty look.

Marina put her arm around Quinn’s shoulder and lowered her voice. “Listen, we all want to get outta here. And to be perfectly honest, you makin’ time with the suspects isn’t getting us any closer to that goal.”

Before Quinn could respond, Tiffany stepped forward. “Suspect! How dare you refer to me as—”

“Back off, Barbie doll,” Marina growled. “Or would you rather head down to the station to talk about how that strand of auburn hair ended up near the empty display case?”

***

Max by Jill Elizabeth Nelson (From Reluctant Burglar & Reluctant Runaway)
Read excerpts at http://www.jillelizabethnelson.com/tcatbooks.shtml

Whoa! Maxine Webb jumped and whirled at the crash of a metal gate slamming shut behind the museum tour group. Her gaze darted from the mesh grill, to the furiously flashing red light on the security camera, to the lady’s man tour guide, Quinn, who’d quit making cow eyes at every shapely young thing in the group and was now jabbering into his walkie-talkie.

At least she could see the security system she and her boss had designed was doing its job. The alarm would be raising a ruckus in the control room, but not here. Nothing but excited conversations going on around her. Too bad she couldn’t overhear what the guide was saying to his contact outside this Indian artifact display room where they were now captive. Max stepped closer to Quinn and caught a few words about a missing book.

A book? She turned and squinted toward the barred gate into the room they’d just passed through. Is that what had been in the empty case? She’d thought it was funny the lid was open on an empty case. But not so much that she’d said anything when Casanova Quinn hustled them onward. Museums changed displays all the time.

Marina, a black-haired woman with fire-red fingernails, told the tour guide where to get off, announced she was a cop, and then made a bee-line for the most vulnerable person in the room, an overweight redhead who’d mumbled an introduction as Jessica at the beginning of the tour. Good thing Chief Grandfather flanked the frightened girl, or one dyed-in-the-wool Texan might be tempted to ride to the rescue. But that tough old Nez Perce Indian could handle Lady Cop. Yikes! She was beginning to think like her boss and best friend, Desiree Jacobs, and nickname everyone by appearance or occupation.

The tall, pretty school teacher drifted toward her. Gracie, wasn’t it? The gal had gorgeous auburn hair. Max’d trade her a head full of poofy red curls any day, but the poor thing had goose-bumps on top of goose-bumps chasing themselves up her bare arms. Max ran a hand up her own cardigan-clad arm. She always brought a sweater to a museum, even in the summer time. Experience as a museum security electronics EXPERT had taught her the need.

She smiled at Gracie. “This is so not my cuppa Joe! Bein’ a suspect in a museum theft? Now if Desi were here, she’d be eatin’ this up and figure out whodunit in no time. Not me. I’m happy to add window dressin’ in the background, thank you very much.”

Gracie’s answering smile fluttered a little at the corners. “Maxine, I’m . . . I’m really sorry for my earlier accusations. I’m a little skittish with the confinement and want this over as soon as possible.”

“Don’t we all.” Max ran a hand across her hair. Pesky stuff just wouldn’t settle down. “You seem pretty bothered by the gates. Something got you spooked?”

The teacher sucked in an audible breath, and her gaze darted away. “I’m beyond cold and a tad claustrophobic, that’s all. Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

Gracie flashed an off-white business card. “On my way here, I picked this up near the empty display case in the other room. I’d planned to return it to Tiffany, assuming it was hers, but I wanted to ask you about it first. Didn’t you mention needing to get back in shape to keep up with your friend Desi?”

Max plucked the card out of Gracie’s fingers and studied it. “American Gym? Not on your life. I have two little ones that keep me hoppin’.”

“But didn’t you say—”

“Mrs. Lang? Can I ask you a few questions?” Quinn’s sharp tone brought both their heads around.

Uh-oh! Max pressed her lips together. Third degree comin’ for the lovely schoolmarm, while he eats her up with his eyes. Somebody fit this guy with a pair of blinders like an old plow horse.

Max stepped forward. “Whoever snatched the book was wearin’ high heels. I heard that tell-tale clickety-clack right before I noticed the case was empty.”

Tiffany, the statuesque physical trainer and second biggest flirt in the group, stared down at her stiletto-heeled shoes and went as red as Marina’s fingernails.
Quinn glared at Max.

A bit too fluffy and old enough to be your big sister, am I? She grinned at him.

His gaze fell away—straight toward the spike heels of Gracie Lang’s trendy sandals.

***

Gracie by Amy Wallace (From Ransomed Dreams)
Read it at her blog http://peek-a-booicu.blogspot.com/

With a shudder, Gracie surveyed the small museum room filled with colorful Native American pottery. Other than the frigid air and imposing metal gates which enclosed the small group of seven, she would have loved this fascinating tour. Her students, James and Susannah especially, would have been enthralled by the docent-led exploration of pottery, tools and ancient art.

As it was now, she didn’t plan on ever returning. Too many unpleasant memories. She watched the now very obtrusive security cameras whirr to catch all movement, every person but Quinn a study in controlled fear. Had the video captured the theft?

While Marina, the outspoken and opinionated lieutenant, raked poor Jessica over with veiled accusations, Gracie crossed the room to stand by Maxine.

Quinn continued his discussion with Tiffany, no flirting smiles but pure male interest still smoldered in his eyes. His stiffened posture and quick glance at her movement signaled she was next and blared his displeasure with her choice of companions.

“Maxine, I’m… I’m really sorry for my earlier accusation. I’m a little skittish with the confinement and want this over with as soon as possible.”

“Don’t we all.” Maxine smoothed her fly-away red hair and narrowed her eyes. “You seem pretty bothered by the gates, something got you spooked?”

Deep breath. No need spilling the upside down story of her recent problems to a complete stranger. Time with her FBI AGENT beau and his partner had taught her the value of limited words. And cold showers. But she didn’t need those thoughts making everything worse. Getting ahead of God’s timing with Steven had ranked high on her “to be avoided” list.
Now she was minutes away from possibly being accused of theft and adding museums to her black list.

“I’m beyond cold and a tad claustrophobic, that’s all. Can I ask you something?”

“Shoot.”

Gracie pulled out a small, mostly white business card. “On my way in here, I picked this up near the empty display case in the other room. I’d planned to return it to Tiffany, assuming it was hers, but I wanted to ask you about it first. Didn’t you mention needing to get back in shape to keep up with your friend Desi?”

Maxine snatched the card. “American Gym? Not on your life. I have two little ones that keep me hopping.”

“But didn’t you say—”

“Mrs. Lang? Can I ask you a few questions?” Quinn’s lazy once-over had her wishing again for Steven’s company on this excursion. Then he could defend her to Quinn while she concentrated on decoding the mystery at hand.

Maybe if she could piece together the clues for Quinn, he wouldn’t bother her long or question her too much. With her recent assistance in solving her family’s cold case murder, this problem should be easily overcome.

After all, she’d survived much worse than this.

***

Tiffany by Trish Perry (From The Guy I’m Not Dating & Too Good To Be True)
Visit her website at http://www.trishperrybooks.com/

Now, really. Why would I steal a book? I mean, I won’t claim I’ve never stolen anything—I’ll be honest with you about that. And I’m truly sorry for what I’ve stolen in the past. I’ve stolen clients from other trainers at the gym. I’ve stolen other girls’ boyfriends without hardly trying. I even tried . . . well, I’m not proud about any of these things, but the worst black blotch next to my name in the Big Book of Pluses and Minuses is probably that I tried to steal a husband once. A long time ago. People, see? I’ve stolen people.

But a book? Puh-leeeeze. Do I have time for book reading? When I’m too old to mingle with the singles, I’ll consider reading books. For now? Maybe People magazine once in awhile. So if someone steals your copy of People, you go on ahead and come looking for me. Ha! Again, I’m willing to admit I steal people. People, get it?

I’ve got to say, though, this museum is like Fort Knox in the SECURITY department. How did they manage to lose a book? I wandered away ever so slightly from that schoolteacher chick—Gracie—and that cute guide, Quinn, and you’d think I was Obie-Wan Kenobi—
No, wait, that’s wrong. Osama Bin Laden. You’d think I was Osama Bin Laden, the way the guards all hopped-to and shuttled me back to the group.

See, what happened was I thought I was going to be able to just wander around on my own when I came to the museum. But they make you go in groups here. So I get put with a bunch of women and this old guy, who turns out to be really kind of sweet. He was part Indian—not the Bollywood kind, but the other. Like Cher. He reminded me of my granddaddy when he smiled. I really miss my granddaddy—he died when I was just a kid, and absolutely no one will ever take his place. So, this Indian guy—oh, that’s right, it’s Native American, sorry. He seemed to know a lot about all of the things we were looking at, almost as much as Quinn, our guide. I decided to tag along and listen to what he said, but I don’t think he knew how closely I was listening to him. Not that he said anything mean about me; he just didn’t seem to notice me much.

I was also sticking pretty closely to Quinn, because, of course, he knew a bunch of stuff, working for the museum and all. To be honest, I stuck close to him because he was good looking, too. And flirty. No ring on the finger, plenty of confidence, securely employed—definitely worth a mild pursuit. But then I noticed he was flirting with that schoolteacher, too. Gracie. Guess he was into how we both looked. She has long hair pretty close to my color. She’s in pretty good shape, too. But I think she said she had a boyfriend, and she ignored him, as far as I could tell.

Still, I needed to play less than available after seeing that kind of behavior—Quinn’s flirting with both of us. So I wandered. Nothing sinister, just an effort at nonchalance. So he wouldn’t think he was some kind of gift. I just wanted to drop out of his line of vision briefly and see if he missed me. I thought it was working, and he did seem troubled that I wasn’t with the group for every minute he was in charge of us.

I can’t say whether or not I even noticed that book they’re talking about. I was looking at other things and was able to, you know, absorb culture on my own, the way I had hoped to. I didn’t go far, just out of Quinn’s sight for a while, and I can even tell you what I saw. Some of the paintings were modern, which I thought was just plain awful. No people in them. Or even dogs or cats. And I caught a glimpse of some sculptures. Also modern. What’s up with that, anyway? One thing I learned is that I like art to look like real life. I wonder if that’s okay, culture-wise.

The only reason I’m even here in the museum is because I figured I needed to get a little more sophisticated. I certainly wasn’t exposed to museums and such down home in South Carolina. Mama and Daddy just aren’t that kind of people. But I hear my co-worker, Kara, and her best friend, Ren (another schoolteacher, like that Gracie girl, sheesh), when they get talking sometimes. It’s a little intimidating when they talk about stuff I don’t get. Just once, I’d like to surprise someone by knowing something about art or whatever.

Thing is, I seem to attract men as easily as that Maxine lady seems to attract static electricity with her hair. But I’m a little weak in the relationship-longevity department. And I’m not particularly gifted with making friends with women, either. I’m wondering if I need to broaden my horizons. You know, smarts-wise.

I thought I came off well in Quinn’s eyes, despite my having to gracefully shrug off a few catty remarks that Marina woman threw my way. I swear, the woman could make a sarcastic remark without even opening her mouth. Just by looking at you and using her eyebrows. She was one tough broad, I think.

I just hope they get us out of here soon. Sometimes I’m kind of claustrophobic, and I’m nervous about everyone sucking up all the air, especially that big girl, Jessica. Man, I wish she’d come to the gym and let me whip her into shape. She wouldn’t look half bad. I offered her my card, but I think she’s in denial. At least I tried.

So, come on, museum people, and get us out of here. My shoes are killing me. And I have a manicure in a couple of hours; my nails are looking wicked ugly.

***

Jessica by Nikki Arana (from As I Have Loved You)
Visit her website at http://www.nikkiarana.com/

Jessica folded her arms across her chest and blinked back tears. First she’d been signaled out by that loud mouthed Marina and then insulted by the red-headed Barbie, Tiffany.

Jessica tossed her head. She wasn’t surprised Miss Tiffany had a cross dangling above her cleavage. Typical Christian, always judging people. And that remark, “I could do wonders for you.” Jessica adjusted the shoulder strap on her purse and ran her hand over the front latch, making sure it was securely closed. I’ve got something that could do wonders for you, Missy.

She never should have come on the tour. And she never would have if her fiancé’s mother, Leigh, hadn’t made her feel stupid for not even knowing there was a museum in town. She stifled a grin. Thanks to Leigh she had a brand new place to meet her contact in the future.

“Who cares about this stuff, anyway?” Jessica shifted from one foot to the other and motioned at the cases full of artifacts. “It’s all hundreds of years old, and I can’t imagine any of it was useful even when it was new.”

The man who called himself simply Grandfather smiled. “You’d be surprised how valuable those tools were to the people who used them, young lady. My grandfather benefited from similar items in his tribe and managed to survive in the Wallowa Mountains.”

She felt heat creep up her neck. “I’m so sorry. You’re. . . an Indian? I guess when you said that about your ancestors, I didn’t realize. . . I thought. . .”

He chuckled and actually reached over to pat her shoulder, like she was an old friend or something. “Don’t worry, my dear, I’m not offended, nor do I have any designs on your hair.”

It took a minute for his implication to sink in. “Oh my gosh! Like I thought you were going to scalp me or something?” She turned and walked away.

Jessica glanced around the room for a place to sit down; her legs were killing her. Even though the tour had hardly started, walking on the hard floors had sent shooting pains up her calves.
Not seeing anything to sit on, she backed up against the wall behind her and slid to the floor. Clutching her purse in her lap, she eyed the other people in the room.

Her eyes settled again on Grandfather. He’d gone out of his way to walk with her when she’d fallen behind as they’d moved between rooms. She’d wondered if he was an undercover cop. Nobody was nice without a reason. She’d been RELUCTANT to talk to him. No point in encouraging anyone’s interest.

Her gaze shifted from Tiffany to Gracie, both of whom had their backs to her. The image, suddenly familiar, triggered a memory. As the docent had been speaking about the displays in the room they’d just left, Jessica had been scanning the area, looking for a place to sit. And she’d caught a glimpse of a woman talking to a man in the hall and handing him something. She closed her eyes a moment, then looked back at Tiffany and Gracie. She pulled her lower lip between her front teeth and bit down. She wasn’t positive, but she was pretty sure it had been one of them. Whatever. She wasn’t going to get involved.

Jessica’s heart started to pound as Quinn moved toward her. Tightening her grip on her purse she lifted her chin and stared him straight in the eye. She could feel her palms starting to sweat.
It wasn’t the book, it was the baggie of loose leaves and the cigarette wrappers in the bottom of her purse that she was worried about.

***

Grandfather by Miralee Ferrell (From The Other Daughter)
See it on her blog at http://www.miraleesdesk.blogspot.com/

Grandfather looked around the room, trying not to smile at the antics of the younger generation. Seemed like flirting and arguing was more popular than the Native American display they’d stopped to view.

“Who cares about this stuff, anyway?” The plump red-head beside him shifted from one foot to the other and pointed at the artifacts in the glass case. “It’s all hundreds of years old and I can’t imagine any of it was useful even when it was new.” She brushed her hair out of her eyes.

He searched his memory, groping for her name. Ah, yes…Jessica. “You’d be surprised how valuable those tools were to the people who used them, young lady. My grandfather benefited from similar items in his tribe and managed to survive in the Wallowa Mountains.” He tempered his words with a smile.

A slow blush crept above the neck of Jessica’s baggy sweater and stained her cheeks. “I’m so sorry. You’re…an Indian?” She whispered. “I guess when you said that about your ancestors, I didn’t realize…I thought…”

He chortled and patted her shoulder. “Don’t worry, my dear, I’m not offended, nor do I have any designs on your hair.”

A frown creased her face. “Oh my gosh! Like I thought you were going to scalp me or something,” she glared and walked away.

Grandfather shook his head and grinned. Young people now-a-days didn’t seem to have a sense of humor, or an appreciation of things from the past. Too bad his FAMILY couldn’t have come…his grandson David and wife Susanne’s two youngsters would’ve loved this museum. Oops…three youngsters. He’d almost forgotten their newest addition, Brianna, who’d recently arrived on the family’s doorstep, claiming to be David’s Other Daughter. The kids would get a kick out of seeing some of the tools and pottery that his own great-grandfather had used.

Though maybe it was for the best they weren’t here, given this latest development.

Grandfather watched as Quinn went from person to person, talking to them about what they’d seen. Grandfather didn’t know what he could really add, so he just went on studying the artifacts around him and bided his time.

“Ah-hem.” A deep vibrato voice at Grandfather’s elbow swung him around.

“Yes, Mr. Quinn?” Grandfather glanced at the man whose eyes kept darting from one woman to the other, but always seemed to return to Tiffany of the low neckline.

“Where were you when the book disappeared?”

“Yeah, you seemed awfully interested in all the displays in the book room,” Marina the cop chimed in.

Grandfather waved his hand in the air and smiled. “Calm down, folks. If there’s one thing my great-grandfather Raven passed down to his children and grandchildren, it was honesty and truthfulness. I’ve been chatting with Gracie and Jessica…and Marina, I spent some time with you earlier, too.”

Gracie stepped forward, swishing her long, auburn hair around her bare shoulders. “My boy-friend and my dad both have experience in the intelligence field, and I’ve learned a lot from them. I think it’s a conspiracy, that’s what. Maybe someone at the museum has it in for some of us.” She crossed her arms and glared at Quinn, then swiveled her glance back to Grandfather.
“What did you see, Grandfather? If I may call you that?”

“Certainly,” Grandfather replied. “Let’s see…while we were in the antiquities book room I remember you chatting with me about some of the older volumes and I shared a story with you that’s been passed down through the generations among my people.”

Gracie nodded, her face beaming. “That was so interesting! He was telling me about his great-grandfather, Little Raven when he was just a boy…why you’d never believe…”

“Pu-leese!” Rasped Marina, stomping her foot and silencing Gracie. “Go on Grandfather, then what?”

“I noticed everyone leaving the book room headed for the Native American display, and I hurried to catch up. Jessica’s foot seemed to be bothering her, so I walked the rest of the way with her and we were together almost till the alarm sounded. I’m afraid I can’t add much more.” He shrugged and pulled off his cap, running his fingers through his iron gray hair.

“Right,” drawled Max. “Then the lovely gate came crashing down, and here we all stand, trapped, tired and wanting to go home. Whoever has the book, how ’bout fessin’ up, ya hear?” She ran a hand over her fly-away hair, but only succeeded in sending it spiraling into more absurd directions.

He turned to the group. “I agree. I’m sure whoever took it simply forgot they were carrying it. If you’re embarrassed and are having a hard time letting us know, we’ll understand.”

“Humph,” snorted Marina. “You might, Grandfather, but I won’t. Theft is theft and someone’s going to pay.”

Old School meets New School meets Homeschool

Rene Gutteridge has a great new laugh-a-minute mystery out. Grab this winner as quick as you can!

ABOUT THE BOOK:

Just shy of retirement and a well-earned pension, Las Vegas Police Department Sergeant Ron Yeager's definition of "active duty" involves shifting his bad leg into a more comfortable position. But when he's requested from his mind-numbing desk job to head an undercover auto theft task force, the former narcotics officer determines to prove he's still got the right stuff.

That is...until he meets his unlikely team of officers.

As Yeager soon finds out, not all the crazies are on the street. An undercover rookie, the audaciously honest Mackenzie "Mack" Hazard sends Yeager's blood pressure skyrocketing by wearing her faith like an ever-present badge. Then there's Jesse Lunden, a maverick undercover officer who refuses to learn anything from an old guy with a cane. Can this tangle of egos and eccentrics be trained into a lean, mean, crime-fighting machine...even while they are being drawn into something much bigger and more dangerous than anyone imagined?

In her trademark style, Rene Gutteridge blends zany, original characters, sincere faith, and surprising plot twists into one hilariously addictive read.

"Snitch is an engaging crime novel, balanced between sheer whimsy and genuine human drama."
....CHRIS WELL, author of Tribulation House

"A wonderful, fully developed ensemble cast makes Snitch an entertaining, engaging read. Rene's flair for a comedic, well-turned phrase shines here. Snitch is worth snatching."
...SUSAN MEISSNER, author of Widows and Orphans

Order your copy here: http://www.amazon.com/exec/obidos/ASIN/1400071585

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Rene Gutteridge is the author of several novels, including Ghost Writer (Bethany House Publishers) The Boo Series (WaterBrook Press) and the Storm Series, (Tyndale House Publishers. She released three novels in 2006: Storm Surge (Tyndale) My Life as a Doormat (WestBow Press, Women of Faith) Occupational Hazards Book #1: Scoop (WaterBrook Press).

She has also been published over thirty times as a playwright, best known for her Christian comedy sketches. She studied screenwriting under a Mass Communications degree, graduating Magna Cum Laude from Oklahoma City University, and earned the "Excellence in Mass Communication" award. She served as the full-time Director of Drama for First United Methodist Church for five years before leaving to stay home and write.

She enjoys instructing at writer's conferences and in college classrooms. She lives with her husband, Sean, a musician, and their children in Oklahoma City.

Ransomed Dreams by Amy Wallace

This book is gasp-a-minute, the first in the dynamic Defenders of Hope series of romantic suspense. I read it for endorsement well before it came out in print. Hey, my name is just inside the cover with my pithy comment. :-) So, PLEASE, run out and buy this book. (Besides, Amy writes for the same publisher I do, and Multnomah puts out great books!)

Drama. Tragedy. Thriller. Romance. Can these four actually go together? Amy Wallace's meaty first book of the Defenders of Hope Series, RANSOMED DREAMS, has successfully united these genres.

It is one of those books that after you read a little and put it down, the desire to see what will happen next is so strong that it will occupy your thoughts, compelling you to make the time to finish. But watch out! It is best consumed where no one will hear you cry because, if you have children, it will hit you like a stab in the gut and wrench you with a twist of the knife.

Although the subject at first depresses, the characters are so real and likable that you need to see what will become of them.

This book will NOT bore you.

BACK COVER COPY:

Chained To Yesterday

When tragedy struck and Gracie Lang lost everything, her faith crumbled, and nothing but the drive for justice propelled her forward. But after two years of dead-end searching, the truth Gracie seeks is the very thing her stalker will stop at nothing to hide.

Forgiveness Unlocks the Future

An FBI agent in the Crimes Against Children Unit, Steven Kessler spends his days rescuing other people’s children and nights caring for his son. He’s through with God, embittered by his ex-wife who abandoned them both, and definitely doesn’t expect what’s coming next.

The Past Is the Key

A plot to kidnap a British ambassador’s daughter dangerously intersects Steven and Gracie’s worlds–a collision that demands a decision. But are they willing to pay the high ransom required to redeem dreams and reignite hope?

ENDORSEMENTS:

Steeped in police intrigue and rich characters, Ransomed Dreams entertains, educates, and captivates. Amy Wallace is a fresh, vibrant voice in the Christian market
~Mark Mynheir, Homicide Detective and Author of The Void

Ransomed Dreams had me hooked from the start and didn't let go until the deeply satisfying ending.
~Kristin Billerbeck, Author of What a Girl Wants

ABOUT THE AUTHOR:

Amy Wallace is a member of the CFBA and an avid Blogger. A self-confessed chocoholic, this freelance writer is a graduate of the Gwinnett County Citizens Police Academy and serves as the liaison for the training division of the county police department. Amy is a contributing author of God Answers Moms' Prayers, God Allows U-Turns for Teens, Chicken Soup for the Soul Healthy Living Series: Diabetes, and A Cup of Comfort for Expectant Mothers. She lives in Georgia with her husband and three daughters.

Release to Increase!

My guest-blogger today is Tiffany Amber Miller, my lovely web site designer. Since you're on my author site, you know she's got a creative gift. I'm extra excited for her, because she recently got engaged to a wonderful man she met through a writers' group we all belong to. I hadn't thought of ACFW as a matchmaking society, but it truly is. Writers get matched with editors and agents through our group all the time.

Now let's hear a truth about sowing and reaping from Tiffany's heart. You can visit her at http://www.ambermiller.com or check out her web design service at http://www.eagle-designs.com.

* * * * * * *

Once in a while, I hear a sermon and get inspired from the message to see how it applies to my writing career. Too often, we get discouraged at the lack of interest in our writing -- especially as new writers. However, that disappointment or discouragement also faces experienced authors as well. Not a single one of us are outside the realm of rejection or returned manuscripts/proposals/queries with a "no thanks" attached to it.

Today's message, though, had an excellent point that I wanted to share with you.

God's kingdom is not one that is built upon lack of growth or results. His kingdom is one of increase. Verse upon verse upon verse in the Bible list God's promises for blessings to befall those of us who aren't "stingy" with what we have been given. If you want to see results, you have to plant the seeds. This not only applies to sticking to your guns and writing, but also to submitting. The more places you submit, the harder you seek out someone who might be interested in your work, the better your chances are that you'll find the open door you've been wanting.

We all have been given a special gift--the gift of words. As writers, we each have a certain measure of that gift, and God expects us to increase in both our skill and our product. He doesn't micromanage us; rather, he steps back and allows us room to grow, giving us every opportunity if we're paying close enough attention to see them.

Your crop will be a direct result of what you've planted. If you're stingy and only target one publisher, you might yield a very small crop or none at all. If you do your research and send out to every publisher or magazine or resource or web site that might accept what you write, your crop could be larger than you ever imagined. Even if it's articles or short stories or contributions to start. Eventually, the growth will expand. From a small seed always comes a result that's bigger than what it was at the beginning. But the seed has to grow and take root. To those whom God has given riches or success or even the promise of success, He has also given ability to rejoice in your labor. You work hard because gave you the ability to do it; not of your own merit.

God's covenant is to bless you and make you a great writer. When you're blessed, you bless others, either through your work or through sowing into another writer's life. But first, you have to get over your "poverty" mentality in regard to your writing. Release the talent and passion from within and go for that dream. If God can supply the ability, He can also give you what you need in order to increase. The spirit of poverty paralyzes you in fear of losing what you have. You sit back and hesitate before submitting your work to a place you might not have considered for fear of rejection, but God can't use you if you're not working. Don't allow yourself to slip into the pitfall of believing your career will provide you "barely enough." God is a God of abundance. If you sow in faith, you'll reap a great harvest.

Take it to heart and plant those seeds!

~Tiff (writing as Amber Miller)Promises, Promises (Heartsong Presents -- Jan. 2008)

Area Director, Zone 3, ACFW (Maryland, DelMarVa and Philadelphia)

Author & BLOG site www.ambermiller.com

Web Designer www.eagle-designs.com

A Bigger Life

Joel Carpenter did not plan for his life to turn out like this. He never meant to be a single dad, working at a hair salon in Eden Plain, Texas. But after making a careless choice four years ago, his marriage was permanently shattered.

Now at twenty-seven, he finds himself juggling custody of his preschool son with Kari, the ex-wife he still loves, and sharing Sunday dinners with a group of other single dads. Joel regrets the choices that brought him to this place, but it's not until the worst happens that he learns how much he still has to give. In the midst of deep tragedy, he learns that forgiveness is way more important than freedom. Hopefully it's not too late!

A BIGGER LIFE is a story of love in the midst of heartache, and friendship in the midst of real, everyday life.

In 1997, Annette Smith, the author of A Bigger Life, was working as a home health nurse. She traveled the back roads from house to house, caring for ill and injured, homebound people. Because of her unique position in the lives of relative strangers, she often found herself bearing solitary witness to intimate behind-the-scenes situations full of grace and meaning. The desire to honor both a particular patient and a poignant scene involving the woman and her husband prompted Annette to write a fictionalized story, The Anniversary.

That first story appeared as a column in the Houston Chronicle newspaper and as an essay in Today’s Christian Woman magazine. Later it became a chapter in Annette’s first and best-selling book of short stories, The Whispers of Angels, that has sold more than 100,000 copies. Since then, Annette has penned four more books of stories, two volumes on parenting, and the Coming Home to Ruby Prairie trilogy.

Annette and her husband Randy, a high school teacher and coach, make their home on a wooded lot in Quitman, Texas. They are the parents of two young adult children, Russell and Rachel, both out on their own. Wally, a grateful, rescued mutt provides warmth and entertainment and keeps the Smith’s empty nest from feeling too lonely.

In addition to writing, Annette continues to serve part-time as a registered nurse. She finds the people she works with and the patients she cares for provide great inspiration for her fiction.

Major Mark-Up!

"Lemon Marilyn," a 1962 painting by famous American artist Andy Warhol may go for 60,000 times its purchase price at an auction this May. Quite the return on a modest investment!

Over four decades ago, a U.S. collector bought the painting for $250 at Warhol's first one-man exhibition at Eleanor Ward's Stable Gallery in New York. Next month, the private collector could well get $15 million for it in a New York auction sponsored by Christie's of London.

Obsessed with the tragic celebrity, Warhol painted thirteen portraits of Marilyn shortly after her suicide, each in a different predominant color. Eight of them were offered for sale at Warhol's debut exhibition. In 2006, "Orange Marilyn" went for $16.3 million, so the $15 prediction may be conservative.

Hmm. What budding artists do I know that will one day reach Warhol stature? I may want to snap up a work or two before I have to pay millions for the privilege of hanging one on the wall!

When Characters Become Friends

My guest blogger today is award-winning author DiAnn Mills. Lighting and Lace, the third book in her Texas Legacy series, recently released, and she shares with us the feelings that come to an author with saying goodbye to beloved characters. Readers, too, can experience a wrench of emotional separation when one of their favorite series comes to an end. Let's hear from DiAnn!

- - - - - -

A mixture of emotions swept over me last week when my third and final book in the Texas Legacy Series stepped into the marketplace. I’ve grown to love these characters – everything about them. I love their stubborn moments, their victories, their defeats, the way they love, and even the way they hate. They fight for what they believe in, and God is always right.

For the past two years, I’ve wakened to the sound of their voices ringing in my head and to their problems. I watched the women slip into their dresses and bonnets, and the men tug on their boots. Actually, the women sometimes wiggled into a pair of boots and pants too. I rode the gentle mares and the wild broncos and held my breath. I lifted my Winchester, tensed my body for the kickback and sent bullets flying into targets, some of which were human. I celebrated with them, and I cried with them. I cheered when they triumphed and wanted to shake them when they made poor decisions.

In short, my characters have become my friends, and it’s hard to let them go. Unfortunately, I experience this grieving period every time I finish a book or series. I feel abandoned and lost, since too often I’m thinking about them just after I say my prayers and before I drift off to sleep. Dare I say that I worry about my characters? Hope they are not quarreling with their spouses or their children? That life hasn’t given them another dose of bitter herbs?

This bizarre and sometimes eccentric habit of mine is not much different from the habits of many of my other writer friends. How else can a writer create a character unless he/she first understands their motivation? And while these characters are on a journey called life, I realize the many reasons why I enjoy them.

I also realize their problems and issues. The storms of life that beat against our doors today have been happening since time began.

I consider Leather and Lace. Casey O’Hare didn’t start out life wanting to be an outlaw. Quite the contrary, she had hopes and dreams like every little girl until life slapped her in the face, and she chose to survive in the only way she knew. Many women today have made poor choices when faced with the dredges of life. We all have. I wrote that book for those women.

Jenny in Lanterns and Lace desperately wanted someone to love her. Is that such a bad thing, since we were created with a deep desire to be loved? The problem is, where do we go for love? Jenny thought unconditional love was a myth until the great Lover showed her differently.

Bonnie abhorred the disease that ravaged her beloved husband and left her a widow in Lightning and Lace. But she is determined, and alcohol is not the answer. Substance abuse is not native to today’s world. Wherever there is pain and suffering, people will look for a way to manage their sorrow.

Oh my, I do hope my darlings will be fine. They will be back next fall in a Christmas Legacy book, and then that is truly the end.

So today, I’m creating new friends. Already I know they won’t behave in every instance, but I wouldn’t want it any other way. I’m on my way to a new adventure. And, by the way, this is a contemporary.