Sunshine and Fireflies Mystery Book #5

Synopsis:
Sunshine and Fireflies is a story set in late 1800 in Rural Mississippi. The story line continues into 1920”s and the great depression era. It covers the life of Emily a young girl who narrowly escapes death at the hands of her insane mother. Catherine joins the story as the school teacher who befriends Emily as she faces the jeers of her peers. Catherine soon finds herself drawn to Emily’s handsome father, who is still in love with his demented wife. It is a story of hate, love, death and survival in a family. It is a story inside a story that keeps you reading to see what lies ahead for young Emily and her family.

Back Page:

Catherine took a step back, and looked deep into his steel blue eyes. She knew at this moment he did not love her nor did she love him. She admired him and liked him, but that wasn’t love. Even with that knowledge she knew Jim was a good man. He had proven that to her and every one who knew him. She knew all the things that he and his daughter had withstood before the reality that the marriage was hopeless. Catherine had been a widow too long not to want a man in her life again. But was she ready to chance her heart to a man who still loved his ex-wife, and maybe always would? She had to decide or risk spending the rest of her life alone like Window Jenkins or take a chance on love.

"Living Dolls" Mystery Book #4

“The Quaint town of Bar Haven sat perched beside the water. The light posts in the center of town were wrapped in candy can stripes. Festive decorations hung above the streets, and holiday decorations hung from some of the doors. Bar Haven was a lovely old fishing town, which over the years has had its face in many a visiting artists’ works.
Until a few years ago, children used to roam freely around the neighborhoods. The Bar Haven Elementary School, sat tucked safely behind its new high chain link fence, until now the children had no fears as they walked home alone. Today no children playing in or near the streets and mothers hold onto them tightly. Despite the new security, the children continue to disappear, and the town is irate and scared.
Detective Dave Turner spends all his waking time trying to solve these mysterious disappearances. He had searched all the areas that the leads had come from since last week. Once again, he had walked the streets. As with all the other times, he had come up empty. Not one sign of the last missing had been found, nothing new, at any of the many places he had gone. No clothes, no finger prints, no clues, just lead after useless lead. Dave is frustrated and exhausted over this case, the worse case ever. He feels tortured and engulf by it.”

Gloria Kenmare Grant was born and grew up in Mobile, Alabama, and attending school there at Semmes High School in Semmes, Al. She later attended Piedmont Community college in Morganton, NC. She has lived in the South all her life but enjoyed diversity in her fields of employment. This is Gloria’s third novel with PublishAmerica.

"I Like My Cooking On The Wild Side"

Gloria Kenmare Grant
"I Like My Cooking on the Wild Side," is written by Gloria Kenmare Grant, author of five mystery novels. Gloria grew up in the swamps just outside Mobile Alabama, in an area plentiful with wild life. Her family was rich in the ways of family, love and religion. But as most families in the 1940’s, they were poor in ways of finances. Wild meat was a family favorite; taught by a favorite Uncle to shoot, Gloria at an early age became an active hunter. Later Gloria lived in North Carolina and there she enjoyed Bear and Buffalo. Her love of the outdoors led her to bass fishing in the lakes of NC. Her Mama was always a great cook. She taught her girls to cook, nearly everything from the sea food of the Gulf to the things that lived in the swamps of Alabama.


Gloria Kenmare Grant's "I Like My Cooking On The Wild Side" is a book filled with recipes from alligator to wild boar. You will find bison to geese and seafood to plants. Learn about the animal and ways to ready it with marinades, and last how to cook it. There are also bits of wisdom and wits thrown though out the pages. Twelve years in the making, “I Like My Cooking On The Wild Side” is filled with recipes from all areas.
This Book is dedicated my Uncle Dirty Baby who put a rifle in my hands at the age of twelve. And to all the hunters in the world, and to my Mama and other ancestors who cooked most of the recipes in this book and to everyone who contributed to the gathering of these recipes. Check it out

http://www.lulu.com/content/5863439

Hate Moves In Book #3

“We all know that hate is an ugly word, but there are times when life deals you a hand so bad, you can‘t deal with it alone. That is when hate is all you have going for you. You wake up with it. Nurse it all day and when night comes, that same hate feeds your dreams.
Yes, you get to the point it feels right to hate. It feels good to plan all the different ways to inflict the same pain onto the person or persons who gave you this hate.”
This is what she meant about answering the questions; she was doing it almost the instance they popped in my head.
“Yes, it was given to you! You did not want it. You did nothing to earn it. Yet there it was in an instance. It can come anytime, morning, noon or night. It just walks right up to your front door. I know, because you see, that's what happened to me. For me it came at nine in the morning on that fourth day. It came with the man in the police car, wearing the dark blue uniform, with his hat in hand. He did not know he was bringing it. That is not why he came.
I remember when I had let him in the door. He did not look at me. I offered him a seat, he declined. I am sure he told me his name, but I do not remember it. He had just stood there looking at the floor. It was then he told me of finding her, saying how sorry he was for my lost. He said it so softly, I thought I for sure I had misunderstood him. In my mind, I can still see him, standing there. I think I knew why he came. I think he thought he came alone. But he did not, he bought hate with him.
He just stood there, as he fiddled with his hat, turning it around in his hand. He said again, he was sorry to have to be the one to tell me, that they had found her, but she was dead.
That was when hate first showed it’s self to me, and soon we would be on speaking terms. Yes, believe me, hate talks to you, you think at first it is you, your thoughts, but it is not. I am here to tell you, that it is hate, pure and simple. It talks; it starts out small and grows and grows. Like weeds taking over a garden, you pull one and three more take its place.
I look back and remember the poor man had just stood there as I screamed at him, that he was lying. Telling him over, and over , No, it can’t be! Asking, was they sure? Stating, someone was mistaken. It was someone else... until at last my voice trailed off.
He had stood there repeating, I am so sorry. Still staring at the floor, not wanting to look and see the hurt in my eyes or the hate.”
She paused for another sip of water, reached up and fiddled with the pearls around her neck.
“Then the man asked when her husband would be home. I told him late this afternoon or night, but only if he made the connections. He then said since her husband was not here, he would have to ask me to go to the morgue and identify the body. I had shaken my head no. How could they expect me to do that, I asked why?
Again, he said he was so sorry and he knew all this was awful for me, but he said it was procedure; a family member must do it. He had orders to wait for me and bring me down town to the morgue, but I should take my time. Take as long as I needed, he had said. He told me that the two detectives working on the case would meet us there; we would go when ever I was ready.”
She paused again and sat looking at her hands. Then she looked towards the doors, searching for the right words. She took a deep breath and said.
“I know for certain now, that is when hate came, because as I climbed the stairs to wash my face and get my coat, it went with me. It had watched as I had stood looking in the mirror wondering why. Why had this happened? What had I done that every thing I loved was taken away from me? It sat beside me on the bed as I hugged her picture to my chest, rocking and crying.
When at last I had run out of tears, I went back downstairs. The officer still stood by the door; it was as if he was stuck on the spot. I told him I was ready and let him help me into the patrol car. He had opened the door for me, waited for me to get in, and asked if I was comfortable.
Hate rode with me on the long quiet ride to the morgue. It was watching as I twisted the hankie in my hands. Then when the police car pulled up to the door, it made sure I saw the big muddy black van parked near by. The van sat there with its back door still open. It walked with me down the long white hall leading to the double doors. Listening as our feet made the clicks, clicks on the shiny black and white tile floor.
It grew bigger as the doors opened, bigger still as I saw the gurney in the center of the room. Lying on that gurney was a large black bag. There were three people waiting there, I recognized two of them as Detectives Gibbs and Hansen, who were assigned to the case.

"The Condemnation of Claymore Manor" Book 2

"The Condemnation of Claymore Manor"

Scotland was just a place they talked about when asked about their ancestry. Now, both doctors, Ronald and Robert Claymore, of Claymore Clinic in Ardmore, Oklahoma were being called there by the Attorney of Claymore Manor.
The telegram told them they were to come at once to Stirlingshire, Scotland to arrange for the internment of their dead cousin who had died.
His death was the same as all the Claymore men before him, who had dared to set foot on Scotland soil, strange, horrible, and unexplainable.
Ronald and Robert Claymore knew nothing of Manors and Lords and Ladies. Faced by a two hundred year old curse, they arrive on forbidden Scotland soil, to find answers to the strange and horrible death of the last of the Claymore’s of Scotland.

As with all of Scotland’s clans, the Claymore Clan had a dark history. The story went that all the Claymore men had always carried names that began with R, the most favorite being Robert.
Through history, there had been nineteen Robert Claymores.
The one thing that helped distinguish one from the other was that every one of them had the maiden name of his mother, as his middle name.
There were also stories of the many ghosts that roamed the halls of the manor.
Down in the village there were more stories of betrayals and curses...
This is such a story.