Tulipwood

By Barry Rachin

Kendra Ryder just gave fifteen year old Frankie Dexter a slab of fresh-cut tulipwood along with the advice, "When you’re feeling bad, just scuff the wood with 120-grit sandpaper, grab a whiff and you're guaranteed to feel a whole lot better!”

• Language: English
• Publisher: Barry Rachin
• Release date: Oct 17, 2010
• ISBN: 9781458049926

Barry Rachin

About the AuthorBorn in Boston, Massachusetts, Barry Rachin spent several years stationed in Yokuska, Japan as a Navy medic caring for casualties during the Vietnam War. He has studied at the University of Jerusalem, lived on a kibbutz for a year and holds a degree in clinical counseling from Simmons College. A self-taught woodworker, he presently lives in Attleboro, Massachusetts with his wife and two daughters.

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Tulipwood

by

Barry Rachin

SMASHWORDS EDITION

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Published by:

Barry Rachin on Smashwords

Tulipwood

Copyright © 2010 by Barry Rachin

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

This short story represents a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events or locales is entirely coincidental.

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Also by Barry Rachin:

• The Misfit Motel

• Canary in a Coal Mine

• A Waltz Yes, a Heart No

• Just like Dostoyevsky

• 107 Degree Fahrenheit

Tulipwood

Hey, Kid! The woman's menacing tone voice brought Frankie Dexter up short before he even made it halfway across the darkened lawn. Frozen in place, the fifteen year old peered about but couldn't see a thing, not even the scraggily weeds beneath his feet. No street lamps existed this far down the road, and the thin sliver of a moon was wreathed in clouds. Why are you on my property?

What if the owner of the disembodied voice had dialed 911 from when she saw him prowling the street and already notified the police? Maybe the cops were on their way and she was just stalling for time until the authorities arrived.

"I'm going to the