As most of my followers know, I am a huge supporter of the military – it comes naturally to a military family! Did you know that 24 of our Presidents served in the Army, or that George Washington chose the colors of the current US Army dress uniforms? A lot of soldiers are in the air! Soldiers who jump from airplanes wear Airborne wings. Those who rappel from helicopters wear Air Assault wings. Those who fly into space wear Astronaut wings. I’ve been mesmerized by a recent recruiting ad from the Army, particularly this photo. It’s of a member of Special Forces on a parachute jump and it took my breath away. 0 0
Today I am over-the-top thrilled to have a guest post by Sally Cronin! As many of you know, she is the most generous blogger anywhere for writers, posting and reviewing our books and cheer leading sales. She is also a terrific writer herself, and when she asked what I might like as a guest post, I had to ask for an animal story. Her book about her dog Sam and her many animal tales have warmed my heart and brought tears and smiles. So here is a story about Charlie, the junkyard dog. Charlie the Junkyard Dog by Sally Cronin Charlie was a junkyard dog and had the scars to prove it. He was head of security of this fenced off mass of scrap metal, dotted with mounds of old tyres he called home, and he took his job very seriously. During the day, he was chained up next to the beat-up old trailer, where his human would shout loudly at other humans; sometimes throwing things at the thin metal walls. In bad weather Charlie would retreat into a rough scrap wood shelter; resting his bony body on a ragged old corn sack on the hard concrete floor as the water dripped in through the roof. His human would unshackle Charlie as night fell; throwing a few handfuls of dried dog food into a bowl, kicking it toward the dog. ‘Gotta keep him lean and mean’, he would laugh as he got into his truck to head down to the bar on Main Street. The junkyard was now Charlie’s responsibility, and he would prowl in and out of the wrecks through the darkness; barking and growling at any real or imagined intruder. The feral cats kept their distance, building nests for themselves in the precarious metal heaps and hunting for rats and mice at night; keeping one eye open for the mangy dog. Many a lad had climbed the fence, looking for a spare part for their hot-rod, or to find some forgotten treasure in a glove compartment. All had gone back over the wire at speed, with one or two new rips in their jeans and sometimes even missing a sneaker. Charlie would swagger back to his kennel, taking a drink from a puddle along the way, pleased that he had done his job as demanded of him. Rarely did the dog feel the kindness of a human hand, despite the men who worked in the yard throwing him the odd bit of sandwich, or even a left over piece of hamburger. None were keen to find out if he was as handy with his teeth as some of his victims had claimed after lucky escapes. The boss told them not to coddle the dog, and despite some of them pitying their half-starved workmate, they were too afraid of losing their jobs to push the matter. Then a thin, lanky lad called Jimmy turned up one day looking for a job. The boss thought he was too scrawny for the kind of hard labour that was needed, but he knew the boy would work for a lot less than he had to pay a grown man, and gave him a week to prove himself. He had to give it to the boy; Jimmy did not mess about, arriving early and leaving long after the others had left for a beer. He pulled his weight and earned the respect of the other men who took him under their wings. Although Jimmy didn’t say much they sensed the boy didn’t have much to go home to. Over a mug of coffee after lunch, he finally shared that he had been living on the streets for some months but was now in a hostel. It sounded a bit grim but it was clean and he had a room, dinner and a change of clothes. With the money he was now earning he planned to save up and find a small place of his own. Like his workmates, Jimmy began keeping some of his lunch for Charlie. They warned him to throw the food and not to get too close in case the dog ripped his arm off. They were amazed when he calmly knelt down, holding out his hand with the piece of sandwich in his cupped palm. After a couple of days, hunger overcame his fear and Charlie edged closer and closer until he snatched the food, racing back to the other end of his chain. They warned Jimmy not to let the boss see him petting the dog, and the lad was careful to only do so when the man was out in his truck, or on the other side of the yard. He didn’t want to lose his job, but he also couldn’t bear to see this neglected dog and the way he was living. It brought home memories of his time on the streets, and he knew only too well how desperate it was. Through the summer months, Jimmy began to climb over the fence after the gates had been locked, rather than return to the stifling room in the hostel, until the evening cooled. Charlie by now accepted the boy and eagerly nuzzled his pockets to see if there were any treats for him. He would snuffle delightedly as he came upon a piece of cheese or sausage, dispensing a slobbery kiss in gratitude. The two of them would wander the yard enjoying the evening sunshine and then sit side by side watching the sun go down, Jimmy’s arm around his buddy’s neck. Both of them had filled out over the recent months of better food and the boy had also been to the vets and stocked up on medicine for parasites and fleas. Charlie’s improved condition was becoming a problem. The boss had noticed that Charlie was calmer and less aggressive and that he could no longer see his ribs. Somebody was feeding him and he decided to keep a closer eye on who was
The formidable Sally Cronin, who is such a boundless supporter of all our books, posted her review of Death in a Mudflat this morning. I need to recognize her generosity of heart! https://smorgasbordinvitation.wordpress.com/2018/06/05/sallys-cafe-and-bookstore-new-book-on-the-shelves-death-in-a-mudflat-rhe-brewster-mystery-by-n-a-granger/ THANK YOU, SALLY! 0 0
From a post by Ramona DeFelice Long, author and editor. I just couldn’t pass up spreading this about Sally Ride. “Last week, the United States Postal Service unveiled a Forever stamp honoring astronaut Sally Ride. Sally Ride was a physicist and astronaut. When she was a student at Stanford University, she and 8000 other people responded to a NASA ad in the student newspaper. The ad was an open call seeking applicants for the US space program. Sally answered the call, and the rest is history.” Read the rest of this wonderful testimonial at Sally Ride Gets a Stamp Thank you, Ramona for this reminder of a wonderful woman. And go buy some of these stamps! 0 0
A blogging buddy, Christoph Fischer, gave me the first comment on my book. Couldn’t be happier! “Death in a Mudflat is a hugely enjoyable, fast-paced mystery with excellent attention to forensic and scientific detail.” –Christoph Fischer, author of The Body in the Snow, Black Eagle Inn, and Time to Let Go 0 0
Yes, my faithful followers, friends, and colleagues, Death in a Mudflat comes out tomorrow. Here is a teaser for you: the first chapter! Hope you enjoy it! The beach wedding of our good friends, Marsh and Bella, couldn’t have been on a more perfect morning – bright sunshine sparkling on the water, a soft breeze lifting skirts and curls, and the gentle lapping sound of small waves on the shore. We had gathered at Pequod’s Oceanside Pavilion for the ceremony and were now having a blast at the reception, laughing, drinking good wine and occasionally dancing to the music of a local band. It was a gala affair, following the whirlwind courtship of two people who were dear to me but who most resembled Mutt and Jeff. Marsh Adams was Mutt, a weight-lifting, doughnut-addicted fireplug of a man who happened to be an assistant medical examiner for the state of Maine and a pathologist at Sturdevant Hospital, where we both worked. Bella Zdundic was Jeff, a Maine Major Crimes agent and a strong-willed woman who towered over Marsh and had the bulk to go with her height. Currently working the crowd of attendees, they both looked deliriously happy, holding hands and with permanent smiles on their faces as they greeted their guests. I didn’t think I’d ever seen them more resplendent – Bella in an A-line, lace and tulle ivory gown and Marsh in a black tuxedo with a peacock blue vest. Sam Brewster, the Chief of the Pequod Police Department accompanied me to the wedding. We were not only friends of the bride and groom, but, improbably, a couple. Always good friends, Sam and I had become even closer after the death of my husband Will, Sam’s brother. That closeness had led to love. Holding hands, we had moved with some of the other guests onto the pavilion’s deck. The broad wooden deck overlooked the beach and a considerable stretch of mudflat revealed by the outgoing tide. We found many of the guests already on the deck watching, mesmerized, as the owner of a Jeep Wrangler tried to get his vehicle out of the mud. “What an idiot,” Sam said, handing me a fresh glass of Chardonnay from a waiter passing by with a tray. “Must be illiterate.” There was a warning sign at the end of the pavilion drive saying ‘Dangerous mudflats. Beach off limits to all four wheeled vehicles.’ “That’s Ethan Pettigrew, Mom. You know him, he’s in our class,” Jack told me. We watched as Mr. Pettigrew, unable to get traction, unhitched the trailer and pulled it up onto the beach. He then made another try at reversing the Jeep, spinning the tires and spraying mud, which doused the boy. More hoots from Jack and Tyler. “I always knew you sucked, Ethan,” shouted Jack. “Mud man!” “Hey, you’re a sucker,” yelled Tyler. “If you boys don’t stop that,” I warned, “you two will be the suckers when Sam takes you home.” They stopped. “At the very least, you’d think he’d have backed in. This is a fubar waiting to happen.” Sam continued his deprecating commentary. After an animated conversation with his son, Mr. Pettigrew unloaded all the unnecessary weight from the Jeep. Then he took out a shovel and dug dry sand from the beach, dumping it behind and in front of each wheel. He got in the Jeep, started it up, and rocked the Jeep a few yards back, spinning the tires and hurling muck everywhere. The boy, standing to one side and now plastered with mud, suddenly screamed, “Stop, Dad! Stop!” As his father turned off the Jeep and got out, everyone watching pressed forward, trying to see what had happened. Sam took my hand and pulled me through the crowd and down the stairs from the deck to the beach. From there we could clearly see what the tires had unearthed – a decaying human arm, purple-green, dripping mud and sloughing tissue. It was still connected to something below the surface. I grabbed Sam’s arm and without thinking, pulled back. A few horrified onlookers cried out, which brought still more wedding guests out to the deck, the noise of their conversation now sounding like a maddened bee hive. Sam looked at me with a raised eyebrow. “You wanna call it in, Rhe, or shall I?” I looked up at him. “You might be a little tough to get a hold of, because you’re away at a wedding.” Don’t forget about reviews – as you know they are the life blood of us all! 0 0
After much angsting and gnashing of teeth (good thing I drink milk!), I am please to announce my fourth book in the Rhe Brewster series is available for download on Kindle June 1. Also available in paperback. Hat in hand, I would love some reviews of this book, if any of my followers are so inclined. And I’m available to talk about the book! Here is the press release from Smith Publicity, who is doing a push for me! NEW COZY MYSTERY FOLLOWS POPULAR DETECTIVE ON ANOTHER PAGE-TURNING ADVENTURE SET IN GORGEOUS SMALL-TOWN MAINE For forty years N.A. Granger taught human anatomy to medical students, paramedics, and first responders. She also spent time as an EMT. Her medical knowledge is vast, and she has woven that deeply into her new career as an author, churning out realistic and page-turning cozy mysteries that keep readers on the edge of their seats. She is at it again with the release of her latest novel, Death in a Mudflat: A Rhe Brewster Mystery, the next installment in the popular series that takes readers on a suspenseful ride through the picturesque small town of Pequod, Maine. Death in a Mudflat follows fearless detective, ER Nurse and devoted mother Rhe Brewster as she is thrown into a new case – and this one gets a bit muddy. When an idyllic seaside wedding is suddenly interrupted by the grotesque sight of a decaying human arm poking out of the tidal mud, Rhe finds herself trying to solve a mystery full of duplicity, drugs, and of course, murder. With her best friend Paulette and her main man Sam, the Chief of Police, Rhe seeks to solve the puzzle of the body found in the muck while also working with the FBI to identify the source of shipments of tainted heroin flooding the local campus and community. Maine’s opioid crisis has hit the town hard, with an escalating number of overdoses. More murders are uncovered, testing Rhe’s detective skills and steely resolve. While she follows the clues, Rhe encounters some sinister inhabitants of Pequod’s underbelly, including a practitioner of the Dark Arts, a hydra-headed crime gang, and an embittered, unhinged lobsterman with an axe to grind and nothing to lose. In her relentless drive to solve the crimes, Rhe narrowly escapes a watery grave, trades blows with Russian goons, and unknowingly prompts Paulette to put her life on the line in an attempt to catch a murderer in the act. “I enjoy having readers fall in love with my book’s setting and characters, and then be so invested they feel devastated when something happens to them. Or, they simply look forward to spending more time with the characters again in the next book,” Granger says. “That is what makes a good story, and it continues to be thrilling to give that to my audience.” 0 0
My two legged goes away for a couple of days at time occasionally. She and Hubs (she calls him that) left me alone again this weekend. I do pretty well on my own but I’ve noticed that someone comes to give me wet food on the middle day. This time it was Ellen. I like Ellen. She told me she has five (wow!) cats and that it was my two legged that introduced her to cats. She knows just where to scratch me! In any event, she told me I’m a big boy now because the last time she saw me was just after I was brought home. Here’s some photos of me (I love to pose for photos) then and now! I do love my cat tree but I’ve heard some talk of my needing a bigger one. We Maine coons tend to be rather large and fluffy! I wonder if I’ll get this big? Courtesy of pleatedjeans.com 0 0
Just when I was feeling fine, healthy and getting stronger from the swimming, I did something stupid. And the end result was this: With Hubs down and out for lifting and dragging, I was trying to drag a couple of old, ratty and moth eaten umbrellas down the stone stairs from the pool deck. Didn’t watch where I placed my foot and fell, landed on my right side and unluckily fractured a bone in my foot. For those of you in the know, a ones fracture of the base of the 5th metatarsal. Normally it gets casted and you walk on crutches for six weeks, but with the household situation, no can do So the boot and a which I really don’t use. We had to cancel two trips in the hopes I can be well enough to go on our trip to Iceland. There’s a 25% chance it won’t heal – probably more because I’m walking on the break – but what can an active woman do? Anyway, there has been an epidemic of falls with people I know, so watch your step out there, people! PS I’m still swimming, just using a one leg flutter kick! And no, I’m not swimming in circles. 0 0
