National Novel Writing Month 2014: A Collection of Excerpts from Writers In Corvallis, Oregon

By Elizabeth Halvorsen, Alison Heninger, Lois Jean Bousquet and 16 more

A collection of excerpts of writing done during the month of November 2014 in celebration of National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) by Corvallis, Oregon area writers. Genres presented include science fiction, fantasy, mystery, adventure, and even comics.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Mar 11, 2015
• ISBN: 9781312984325

Book preview

National Novel Writing Month 2014: A Collection of Excerpts from Writers In Corvallis, Oregon

National Novel Writing Month 2014: A Collection of Excerpts from Writers In Corvallis, Oregon

With contributions from:

Lois Jean Bousquet

Heidi Boyer Cavalier

Sky Evans

Arianna Frankum

Michael Frankum

Elizabeth Halvorsen

Jessica Hayward

Alison Heninger

Kalilah Hy

Athena Janssen

Alexandra Keister

Victoria Priscilla Pitman

Andy Purviance

Amethyst Reyes

Lisa Sarter

S0rceress0

Laurence Taoman

Patricia Thomas

Melissa R. Weintraub

Edited by:

Bonnie Brzozowski

Reference Librarian

Corvallis-Benton County Public Library

Corvallis, Oregon

First printing 2015

National Novel Writing Month 2014: A Collection of Excerpts from Writers in Corvallis, Oregon

Copyright © is owned by the individual authors of each excerpt

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the editor or individual excerpt author, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review. For more information contact Bonnie Brzozowski, Corvallis-Benton County Public Library, 645 NW Monroe Ave, Corvallis, OR 97330, [e-mail].

ISBN: 978-1-312-98435-5

Published as part of a project sponsored by the Friends of the Corvallis-Benton County Public Library

Preface

By Bonnie Brzozowski, Reference Librarian

It is with great pleasure and pride that the Corvallis-Benton County Public Library (CBCPL) presents to you this book of excerpts from works written during National Novel Writing Month (NaNoWriMo) 2014 in Corvallis, Oregon. NaNoWriMo is an annual challenge to all ages during the month of November to write 50,000 words or more. People gather, collaborate, and encourage one another online (nanowrimo.org) as well as in-person during write-in sessions where NaNoWriMo participants hang out and write together.

This is CBCPL’s 2nd annual published anthology and 2nd year participating in NaNoWriMo. This year we celebrated with a plot planning party, kick-off party, and weekly writing sessions every Saturday in November. We served refreshments and provided a quiet, collaborative space for Wrimos to work.

A special thanks to Elizabeth Halvorsen, NaNoWriMo representative for the Albany/Corvallis region, who got the library involved and excited about NaNoWriMo. Her leadership throughout October and November are what made this possible.

The collection of excerpts you will find here is diverse and entertaining. It includes mystery, science fiction, fantasy, adventure, and more. This year we are also including an excerpt from a comic book—one of my favorite formats! I am inspired by the hard work of these writers and their dedication to their craft. I am proud to publish their work.

The library will always be the place for nurturing writing and reading and building a community around these shared passions. Join us next year!

Excerpt from A Trace of DNA: A Jewels Club Mystery

By Lois Jean Bousquet

Prologue: Miami, Florida

The lobby of South Miami’s First Trust Bank reeks of welcome-wealthy-customer. Those who enter its cool comfort are met with glistening marble tile and expensive décor as tasteful and polished as the cultured manner of every well-dressed employee. Several small waiting areas provide discreet, and exquisite, comfort. The bank manager’s office is a spacious, glassed in affair, occupied by Mr. Dawson. Today, a shapely, attractive young woman sits across from him, weeping softly. The round-shouldered man, bald as a melon, nudges a Kleenex box another inch toward her.

Again I offer my heartfelt condolences, Miss Carson. I didn't know your aunt well but…she was quite special, wasn't she? I could tell. And so spry, right up to…uh… Mr. Dawson stumbled, nearly as glassy-eyed as his visitor. Well, it's just a shame you didn't get more time together after so long apart. Your mother was…?

The young woman pretended a diminutive hiccup as she dabbed at wide eyes. My mama was her baby sister. She took another tissue from the box and whispered, First my mama. Now Auntie Jo. Why, it is simply hard to accept. She leaned forward slightly more, allowing additional cleavage to appear above the pearl white silk blouse. Deep blue eyes met his. How could I ever thank you enough? You have been ever so kind to me. Oh my, what would I have done without you, Mr. Dawson?

Mr. Dawson cleared his throat. He moved his fingers over a folder in front of him, as nearly a caress as he might have given a lover's skin. Well, now. In these times of grief, we do what we can. Mrs. Sheldon was very lucky to have your cool head to guide her…that is…to provide comfort in her final days on Earth.

He tapped the folder, opened it to remove an envelope, and closed it again.

She's with the Lord now, bless her soul. Everything is in order here. Your aunt was quite specific in her wishes when we met…let's see that was Easter week, wasn't it? You were both quite stunning. As if caught in an illicit thought, he added quickly, It was her foresight—and thank goodness for it—that allows us to avoid all those nasty probate doings and get you settled up quickly. The safe deposit box, did she find everything to her satisfaction? When you came in that day?

Oh, my yes! Everything was just as Auntie expected. Please do thank your man again for me, won't you? She rose and brought her large handbag to her shoulder. Manicured nails, ring finger adorned with a very large diamond bordered by emeralds, swept across long bangs to pull the straight blond tresses behind an ear.

Mr. Dawson leaped up and said, Of course, of course. Are you quite certain we can't place Mrs. Sheldon's—that is, your—assets into a nice investment package? We have several—

Oh, ya’ll have such a wonderful bank, Mr. Dawson, it’s not that, she sighed, but I'll be going back home to Alabama. She opened her blue eyes a little wider. I think I'm simply not very suited for the big-city life. But if Florida wasn't such a shit-hole, I might have stayed for one more job.

Very well. Yes, he handed her the envelope and extended his hand. It was a distinct pleasure to meet you, Miss Carson. If you return to Miami, I'd be honored to have you come in.

She crossed the bank lobby with a little more sway than necessary, strappy stilettos clicking on the marble tile, aware of the hungry eyes following.

********

The blond woman had nearly reached the door when another woman whose bobbed hair was streaked with more gray than gold, rose from a massive leather chair in a waiting area where she had appeared intent on a brochure. A young man appeared at her elbow, I'm so sorry for the wait, I– She side-stepped him and quickly continued to the door. Following the young woman at a distance, she craned to keep her in sight among the other pedestrians, grateful for her standard issue oxfords.

At the end of the block, the blond disappeared into a large department store, breezed past the expensive swim wear without a glance and went directly to the ladies room on the second floor. Alone inside, a quick glance into the envelope made her smile.

********

Inside Craven’s department store the older woman blinked rapidly to adjust to the light. Her eyes narrowed as they darted from one head to another, scanning the main floor. Looking up, she glimpsed gold against white silk stepping off the second floor escalator.

Gotcha.

Threading her way around several customers, she made her way up the same escalator, impatiently inching around a blockade of two chatty moms. At the top, quick assessment between wide aisles of bed and bath decor produced nothing. No blond. No shimmery white blouse. She spotted the Ladies' Room set in an alcove and swept past the water fountain where a girl with short dark hair was bent over drinking. Inside the restroom, she checked every stall. Empty. She was about to leave when her eye caught the refuse bin against the wall. The towels were far too neatly compressed.

********

At the parking garage level, a petite dark-haired young woman emerged from the elevator wearing flat sandals and a snug cocoa-colored tank top that matched her eyes. She threw her purse onto the seat of a small sedan and started the engine. Lucky Girl was playing. Kellene Donahue smacked the dash in delight and turned the music three octaves higher, adding her own lyrics. It’s not luck! I’m just damned good at this! she sang. This job took her only four weeks start to finish.

All that remained of 'Karen Carson' was a phony ID in Kellene Donahue's two-hundred-dollar handbag. The rest was buried under a mountain of paper towels.

********

On the second floor Pat Avery kicked the used paper towels strewn on the floor and quickly dumped the rest of the bin, using its plastic bag for the wig and other pieces. Then she bolted out the door, a twisted feeling digging at her gut. She cursed. The water fountain. Dark hair.

Pat Avery had missed the bitch again.

Chapter One: Colette, Georgia

Chastain Retirement Estate sat at the end of a street lined with aged live oaks, in the crook of a sweeping curve. The drive was flanked by tall brick pillars so large it took four grown men hand to hand to encircle one. Embedded rusty hinges signaled there had once been a gate. It must have been a mighty one because the span was wide enough for two cars (or buggies in their day) to pass.

Pearl Wickham had waited four years for this day, but the tears still surprised her and she was relieved they weren’t the sobbing snot-producing kind that would undoubtedly embarrass her and terrify her son who was behind the wheel. David had stopped his silver Mercedes SUV at the entrance of Pearl’s new home to take in the view of the plantation-style estate, its magnolia-spotted property and the columned multi-storied house. The SUV’s cargo area—made larger by laying down the seats—was chocked full. A small overnight duffel bag was tucked behind the driver's seat. Pearl's 'traveling bag' (a tote holding the numerous mysteries her son assumed all old women carried) was tucked behind the passenger seat. The rest of the space from surface to roof held suitcases and boxes and plants and this and that. Her small amount of furniture and eight-year-old Honda would arrive in a few days. This pause to look caused the sting behind her hazel eyes. Blinking the tears back only made them spill over. It was this particular spot during each and every visit, first to Cecelia (who died last year) and then Amy and then Ruby – dear friends who had one after the other moved here – that she felt an uncanny assurance of belonging. It wasn’t the obvious opulence. Wealth didn’t impress her. David was enormously wealthy, she and Robert modestly so, and their parents had been neither. No, she believed it was because Chastain Retirement Estate had not always been a retirement home. It had once housed a large extended family and multiple servants. It knew the value of devotion.

David Wickham made little pats on his mother's shoulder in a gesture of comfort. The tears seemed to surprise both of them. Moreover, she was unprepared for the tenderness from her bachelor son. Venturing a sideways glance, she asked, What do you think?

He bobbed his head imperceptibly, Impressive.

Despite his affirmation, she knew his bewilderment remained. He couldn't fathom why his mother wanted to move from his two-million-dollar home in Naples, Florida to take up residence in a one-bedroom apartment in Colette, Georgia. She understood and accepted this. They had never had much luck in understanding each other's needs. This one joined the long line of other misalignments living on the surface of their relationship.

David reached over and took the camera from her hand. Pearl had coerced a picture of him in the town square (locals called it The Green) in front of a monument of Colette's founder. As he often did, her son thought her silly, but she'd insisted more stridently than usual. He in turn was more conciliatory and she got her picture. Now it was David who suggested a photo of her.

When they returned to the car and David drove on, she perched on the edge of her seat and pushed the review button. There she was squinting into the evening sun, the placard clearly visible over her shoulder.

CHASTAIN MANOR, est 1911

CHASTAIN RETIREMENT ESTATE FOR LADIES, est 1998

Only in the south could they get away with ladies only, but it suited Pearl fine.

David said, There they are. She looked up to see her two dearest friends in the world, Ruby Dahl and Amy Edenbower, bounding out of the double doors like a couple of pups instead of refined ladies on the other side of seventy. We're jewels in the rough, she thought, as her car door was yanked open by Ruby's long arm and Amy nearly sent her deaf with a high squeal.

The next day at breakfast Pearl showed off her handsome son, who charmed everyone including Bernie Minard, Chastain's manager, and Nora, their Irish cook. Harmony Patterson, who never missed a chance to assess visitors (and judge them accordingly) stopped by for her introduction.

Oh, Pearl, we're so divinely happy to have you with us! And to have such an escort, why aren't you the lucky one? I see your furniture hasn't arrived. Are you staying in the guest house again then?

Assuring Harmony he was pleased she stopped by and then skillfully steering her away, David brought the four of them—he, Pearl, Ruby and Amy—to the close of their visit. He had to be starting back to Naples. It will be a long drive.

In the parking lot, Pearl felt awkward. She suspected he felt the same. You'll consider staying over somewhere, if it gets too late? Pearl asked.

Sure, he said. She knew he wouldn't. He was like an unbridled horse headed to the barn, ready to bolt now that the ride was over.

And you'll let me know you got home alright? At least a text message?

Of course, don't I always?

No, he most certainly did not. It never occurred to David that she might worry over him. She wasn’t the worrying sort. As he prepared to slide into the driver's seat, Pearl put her hand on his arm. He turned and she raised her arms for a hug. He returned her kiss on the cheek.

We'll have Skype, won't we, David? I appreciate you teaching me, you know.

You're a pro by now, Mother, if your Skypes with those two, he gave a little nod in the direction of the dining room, are any indication. He said this with a note of admiration.

Pearl's chin quivered a little. He had no idea how those thrice-weekly sessions had kept her anchored. She hoped it would do the same for them.

That afternoon, a new gold Honda was delivered by a Colette dealership. Across the paid invoice, David had scrawled Happy Mother's Day.

********

At near midnight, flashing lights stabbed the night air five miles north of Naples, Florida. The few motorists at this late hour were stalled in the southbound lane, blocked by a patrol car and a tow truck positioning a wench down the embankment. An ambulance screamed away from the scene. The driver in the lead car stepped out and approached the neon-jacketed patrolman holding traffic.

What happened?

Looks like driver swerved, lost control. Went over.

They alright?

Doubt it. Crushed it like a Co'-Cola can.

Awhile later the small crowd that had gathered watched as the groaning wench pulled up a silver Mercedes SUV.

What was left of it.

********

Two days after David delivered Pearl to Chastain, she, Ruby, and Amy returned together to Naples, Florida to do the unthinkable. Afterwards, Pearl set David’s urn on a table in the study and, with their help, prepared to return to Colette. Pearl collected David’s mail and pile of papers from his desk into a tote bag to sort later. Ruby filed a vacation hold with the post office and canceled his Wall Street Journal. Amy cleared out the refrigerator and emptied waste baskets. Amy also called her cousin Winston. David was going to transfer Pearl’s portfolio from Mabrey & Son in Naples to Winston’s in Atlanta. Would have, anyway…but fate changed that. Pearl was his beneficiary (as he was hers) but beyond that small fact, who knew or cared?

Pearl spoke briefly by phone to Franklin Mabrey to say she would return soon.

I’m so terribly sorry, Mrs. Wickham. You take the time you need. He repeated his condolences and assured her there were steps he could take during her absence. Whatever she needed, he and his associates were at her disposal.

There is absolutely nothing you should worry about here, Mrs. Wickham.

It was exactly what Pearl needed to hear.

Chapter Two: Naples, Florida

It was four weeks since Pearl had locked the door to David's house and returned to Colette leaving the urn holding his ashes in the study and all he owned or owed just as it was. What would she have done without Ruby and Amy’s comfort and strength? In Colette, she let their love give her respite and Chastain's quiet gardens provide peace. Now she was back in Naples. Already it seemed long ago that she had lived here. The air smelled different. Heavier. Expectant.

It was only nine in the morning but already getting sticky. She’d gotten into the habit of these morning walks in Colette. She stopped and wrapped her cotton sweater around her waist then propped her foot on a fire hydrant to retie her shoelace. She had forgotten to double tie it and now it hung dangerously loose. She found it extraordinary that companies put mile-long shoestrings on size seven shoes. She was an ordinary matron terrified of falling, not a strapping basketball player.

She finished her walk, showered and