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Author Insight
The mystery begins as undertow . . .
Each Prologue of the Milford-Haven Novels picks up the thread of the ongoing mystery that begins here, with the Prologue of Novel #1. Milford-Haven is essentially a charming, beautiful and cozy coastal town, a place where people make their dreams come true, where friendships are mutually supportive and many endeavors work both for the individuals and for the collective. Of course, there are a few selfish actors in this saga, who think mostly, or only, of themselves. But the tone of the series is happy, hopeful and satisfying. The town has the rhythm of the tides that bring gentle waves and bubbly foam to its shores, where sea otters romp, beachcombers collect treasures, and sunsets bathe the landscape in golden reds. Yet under these soothing waves there are unseen currents that tug dangerously at the unwary. This undertow is introduced right at the outset of the saga, when a well-liked local journalist agrees to meet an anonymous contact at the building site of the unfinished Clarke mansion. Chris Christian takes a dirt dive into the incomplete basement. Does she get out? For now, we don’t know. We do know that Chris is vital to the overall series, both literally and thematically. Her presence was an important part of my radio drama "Milford-Haven USA", and will continue to play an important role in the series of novels, novellas and novelettes.
Book Excerpt
What the Heart Knows
Chris took a step away from the bluff, aware once again of the dark that surrounded her. What am I doing here now? Pursuing a lead, as usual. She sighed. Better get this over with. Wish I’d worn sturdier shoes than these flats. Chilled in the wind, she pulled her jacket closer and drew on the pair of leather gloves she’d tucked in her pocket.
Adjusting the long diagonal strap of the compact purse she wore slung across her body, she hefted her flashlight and clicked it on. She picked her way over construction debris and uneven terrain toward the front of the house, where eventually stairs would lead up to the entrance. Stepping onto a narrow plank that trembled under her feet, she dashed upward, then leapt off to stand just inside the foyer. Ack! I thought it was dark outside—but inside it’s pitch black.
Chris stood still, trying to focus. Minutes passed, yet her pulse wouldn’t settle. Shifting her feet, she tried to find a piece of floor unlittered with . . . what? Nails, concrete clumps, snips of wire? Still she waited, hoping her eyes would make a further adjustment to the unrelieved darkness.
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