Tuesday, January 16, 2018


BERNIE'S LEGACYromantic mysteries"A series that keeps you on the edge, wondering what will happen next... jaw-dropping, heart-stopping..." 

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NOW IN PRINT!Digital versions only 99 cents this month: Free is you sign up for Genie Gabriel's newsletter: <http://www.designsbymsg.com/GENIEgabriel/Newsltr.html>.]

WHY DID BERNIE HAVE TO DIE?Prequel to the Halo Legacy Series--A wild Irish rogue tempts trouble one time too manyand comes face to face with the consequences.
As a cop, Bernie usually commanded the driver's seat.Now he sat chained in the back of a police cruiser on the way to thecounty jail.An "offer" from a dirty cop could have been Bernie's ticket to freedom.But the same Irish stubbornness that drove him to take risks gave him the backbone to face the consequences. 

He begins a journey to atone for what he has done, which becomes a mission to save kids from unspeakable conditions.He doesn't plan on finding a womanwho becomes his courageous life partnerand enemies among those he thought were his friends.


Bernie's heartbeat stuttered as his old pickup topped the gentle rise ofland that marked the boundary of his grandparents' farm. The burned outremains of the old house slammed memories as hard as a fist into his gutas he braked to a stop.The flames licked greedily up the brick chimney, consuming the tinderdry wood siding, and lighting up the night sky. Bernie bellowed inhelpless rage, dunking himself in the water trough used for livestockbefore plunging into the flames and toward the bedroom his grandparentshad shared since their marriage decades earlier.Fury fueled his strength as he cradled his grandmother in his arms andcarried her outside, then returned for his grandfather. He laid themside by side on the cool, damp grass, searching frantically for a pulse.But he knew it was futile. They were already dead.Tallie laid her hand over Bernie's whitened knuckles. Through the sheenof his tears, he saw the mirror of his sadness in her eyes. He turnedhis hand over and clasped hers tightly.Together, they would rebuild. A house. A family. A legacy this townwould never forget.~ * ~Bernie pushed open the door to the general store and stepped inside,pausing to fill his lungs with the remembered smells of ripe cheese,pickles, cured meats, leather, and tobacco smoke that had permeated thebuilding's walls since the store opened over a hundred years before.Even the old pot-bellied stove remained in one corner, flanked byseveral wooden chairs that once invited pioneers to sit a spell and swapstories.However, shelves once crowded with treasures that fascinated Bernie as aboy now held only a few sparse items."Well, Bernie O'Shea. I heard you were back in town." A white-haired oldman with a curved back limped slowly toward him with the assistance of aknobby cane."Mr. Haroldson." Bernie walked across the plank flooring and stretchedout his hand in greeting. "I need a few things to build a house on mygrandparents' place.""So it's true?""Yessir.""Took you long enough to come back, boy.""I have a wife and two boys now. We plan to make our home here."A slow smile curved the older man's mouth. "The hell you say.""Think you could order some lumber, nails and roofing for the house?""Might need some plumbing supplies and paint too.""That we might. I can give you the cash up front."The old man grinned and clapped Bernie on the shoulder. "Welcome home,boy. Welcome home."

~ * ~

A satisfied feeling settled in Bernie's gut as he drove back to hisgrandparents' property. The feeling lasted until he topped the rise ofland from where he could see the site of their future home--and a policecar parked in the driveway.Bernie pulled his shotgun out of its rack as he drove the pickup aroundthe cruiser. He stopped beside Tallie and the boys, opening the door soit shielded her. When he stepped out of the pickup, the shotgun waspointed at Randall Weston's chest. "You're trespassing, Weston."The chief of police eased back toward his cruiser. "Just checking out areport of squatters at your grandparents' property.""My property. My wife. My kids. Get off and don't come back.""Well, that's not very neighborly--"The metallic ka-ching of Bernie cocking a shell into the barrel hadWeston back-stepping quickly. He slid behind the wheel of the policecruiser and sped away.

COMING IN FEBRUARY 2018The print version ofPICTURE PERFECT LEGACYBook 1 of the Halo Legacy Romantic Mysteries

Monday, January 15, 2018

#MysteryMonday: #Grayson #ContemporaryFiction


By Tamar White
5 Stars
Reviewed by G. Lloyd Helm

Grayson is a book about family history, secrets, and rivalries. Families can be complicated enough, but if you mix in race and egotism they become even more so. Grayson explores the connections between mothers and daughters and what daughters don't know about mothers and mothers don't know about daughters. Each character is keeping explosive secrets in this story, from who is whose father and who is actually related to whom and, more interestingly, why the characters are so at odds.

I can't say I enjoyed this book, but I was awed by the Ms. White's ability to make her characters come right off the page. She is a hell of a writer. It was well worth the read for the people in it.

EXCERPT: Grayson

Grayson took a moment to soak up the quietness of the afternoon before they headed inside. The country air tickled her nose. Grayson had forgotten how clean air could smell. The sweet smell of the honeysuckle lingered over the slight breeze and settled her stomach as it occupied her lungs. She enjoyed how the crisp air danced on her skin, and brushed away the city of Boston's lingering aroma. Grayson turned her eyes towards the estate she had grown up in, and saw Lakeland in a way she never had before.
The unusually harsh winters over the past few years had abused the hand-made clay shingles and caused a distinct discoloration. The landscaping was neat, but not kept to the same standard it had been when her grandfather was alive. Grayson knew her grandfather would have never allowed the forsythia bushes to expand and move about the grounds freely. He would have demanded the gardeners control the beautifully bright yellow shrubberies and conform them to the Harrow standard. Wild is for the wilderness, Grayson's grandfather would have said. Grayson smiled at the absence of the ancient oak tree she'd fallen out of when she was ten. The enormous oak tree with the giant knock hole had shaded her bedroom, and helped her sneak out when she was sixteen to Elizabeth Brownsworth's end of the year party. The white washed bricks demanded a thorough cleaning, and the cliché, Gone with the Wind pillars pleaded desperately for a fresh coat of cloud white paint. Lakeland looked miserable. It was as if Lakeland knew her final chapter was already written.
"Lakeland is really showing her years." Grayson stared at the midnight black, heavily ornate front door with the bulky lion head doorknocker, and equally obnoxious doorknob she swore she'd never enter again, every time she walked out. Grayson picked up her laptop bag and started her pilgrimage towards her past.
"Relax," David whispered from behind her. "Everything is going to be fine."
Her mother, Vivianna, opened the front door and stood in the archway like a Grand Duchess impatiently awaiting the arrival of her audience. "Grayson, put the bag down!" she snapped in an egotistical tone. "We don't carry our bags. We have them carried. Has city life caused you to abandon your upbringing? Ladies of means do not carry bags."
Five seconds. That's how long it took Grayson to go from a strong, accounting firm executive, to the shy, chocolate-skinned, frizzy haired, correction-shoe girl of her past.
"Mother," Grayson retorted in the stiff flat tone she reserved for addressing Vivianna. "So nice to see"
"Never mind all that." Vivianna motioned them towards the front door. "Inside quickly. No need for some of us to get any darker than we already are, darling." Vivianna paused in the foyer to admire her creamy beige skin in the mirror before entering the sitting room. She never passed on an opportunity to admire what she perceived as her greatness. "Grayson, I don't see how you're able to endure. I don't know what I would do if my skin was permanently darkened by the sun." The physical differences in Vivianna and Grayson went beyond skin tone. Vivianna was thin in stature. She never had an issue maintaining a hundred and ten pounds on her five foot three frame. Her nose was narrow, her lips thin, and her eyes were almond shaped. People, mostly women, assumed her green eyes were fake, but they were indeed real. Vivianna was everything a color-complex struck Black man found irresistible. She was their must-have. Grayson, on the other hand, possessed curves for days, full lips, and a round face with a button nose to match her high cheekbones. She had the type of body hip-hop artists paid homage to in their lyrics, minus the chocolate-colored skin.
"Come, Grayson ... sit. I want to know how things are going. Was the flight enjoyable? I hope you flew first class. I've heard people in coach can have an odor to them."
Grayson rolled her eyes behind Vivianna's back. And so it begins...


Tamara White is married and lives in Illinois with her husband, children and dogs. She enjoys photography and reading.

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Twitter handle: @twhitebutblack (recently launched)