The three dark figures moved quietly among the
shadowy, rain-dripping birches, pines and alders toward the old farmhouse where
amber lights glowed in the two lower windows. They crept with the stealth of
foxes intent upon the chickens in the hen house, hungry and deadly, already
tasting blood. And the Nichols’ actually did keep a few chickens of their own,
mainly for the fresh eggs, but not altogether for that reason. They liked
seeing them clucking and pecking about the yard; they were good company and
cost only a bit of seed. Once, they had operated their own farm, and a fair
sized one it was, too. These days they kept a small vegetable garden and Ethel
Nichols tended the flowers that grew along the walkway and in her window boxes,
mainly morning glories in heavenly blue and pansies in shades of lavender and
sun-yellow.
In their early eighties now, and in relatively good
health, they were enjoying the fruits of their labor in these latter years,
including the big screen TV on which they were presently watching an old rerun
of All in the Family, one of life’s pleasures that Hartley and Ethel
shared. …
When the commercial came on, Ethel rose from the big
stuffed chair across from her husband’s Lazy Boy. She was white-haired, ample
of figure, and quick to smile. “Cup of tea, Hartley?”
He looked in her direction and grinned mischievously.
Though his own hair had long gone and he walked with a limp, to Ethel he was as
handsome as the first time she saw him walking into Mr. Biggar’s class in grade
nine. She could still see him as he was then, tall and lean, with a thatch of
fair hair fallen over his brow.
“Wouldn’t mind having just a tiny slice of that apple
pie you baked to go with my tea.” An affectionate coaxing twinkled in blue eyes
that had faded only a little over the years.
Looking at him, she mentally shook her head. He knew
he had trouble getting to sleep if he ate after he’d had his supper. “Sure,” she said. And it will be tiny,
Mister Nichols, you can bet on that.
She had started for the kitchen when she stopped in the doorway between
the living room and kitchen, thinking she’d heard a noise outside. She
listened. Heard it again. A squeaking of the porch swing chain?
“Did you hear that?” she called into the living room.
“Hear what? Didn’t hear nothin’, Ethel.”
“I’m not sure. Sounded like... oh, I’m sure it’s
nothing. The wind.”
Joan will be awarding a Still Life by Jean Baptiste Oudry from
Metropolitan Museum of Art - US, Canada Only. 10 1/2" x 8" Violin,
Sheet Music Laminate to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the
tour.
BLURB:
Following the deaths of her husband,
Corey, and ten year old daughter Ellie in a traffic accident, author Abby
Miller sinks ever deeper into depression. She contemplates suicide as a way to
be with them, and to end her unrelenting pain.
In a last desperate effort to find
peace, she drives to Loon Lake where they last vacationed together, wanting to
believe they will be waiting for her there. At least in spirit. Barring that,
the pills Doctor Gregory gave her to help her sleep, are in her purse.
The cabin at Loon Lake was her and
Corey’s secret hideaway, and not even Abby’s sister, Karen, to whom she is
close, knows where it is.
But someone else does. He is one of
three men who have escaped from Pennington prison. They are dangerous predators
who will stop at nothing to get what they want - and to keep from going back to
prison. Having already committed atrocious crimes, they have nothing to lose.
Unknowingly, Abby is on a collision
course with evil itself. And the decision of whether or live or die will soon
be wrenched from her hands.
BUY LINKS:
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Joan Hall Hovey is the definition of an ‘artist’. From
her writing that has taken the form of suspense novels, as well as short
stories and articles, this woman has not only taken the suspense world by
storm, but also dabbles in the theatre community. In addition to it all, Joan
takes the time to work with other authors, giving them the information and help
they need to embrace their talent and become a part of the literary world.
Born and raised in Saint John, New Brunswick, Joan has
a family she adores; including, Scamp, the family dog. She is blessed to look
out every day at the tall pine trees and the stunning view of the Kennebecasis
River. But although that view is certainly inspiring, her fans will tell you
that it is Joan’s view – the scenes and characters within her own creative mind
– that is truly unforgettable. This is a talent who brings vibrancy to the
page, creating locations that, even in the light of day, chill fans to the
bone.
An insatiable reader, the works of Poe, King, and
other masters of the mystery world, inspired Joan to write. And now, with her
latest novel – THE DEEPEST DARK – she once again hits the nail on the
proverbial head, drawing readers into a world of fear that will leave them
absolutely breathless.
Official website of Joan Hall Hovey
Other Suspense Novels by Joan Hall Hovey
Tragic Spawn
The Abduction of Mary Rose
Night Corridor
Chill Waters -
winner of the Bloody Dagger Award
Nowhere To Hide – Winner of the Eppie Award
Listen to the Shadows
Follow the tour and
comment; the more you comment, the better the chances of winning. The tour
dates can be found here:
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