I love Melanie Dobson’s book’s! it probably goes back to when i read everything about the underground railroad that, I could get my hands on. Camden Bristow is down on her luck and turns to the one person she knew believed in her….only to find she is gone and has left her with an old, run down and possibly haunted mansion. When things start to go missing and strange noises are heard, Camden wonders if someone is right or if something else is going on. Mystery and intrigue abound in this book, along with a touch of romance as well as some good history of the underground railroad. Excellent book with history woven throughout! -Martha
It is time for a FIRST Wild Card Tour book review! If you wish to join the FIRST blog alliance, just click the button. We are a group of reviewers who tour Christian books. A Wild Card post includes a brief bio of the author and a full chapter from each book toured. The reason it is called a FIRST Wild Card Tour is that you never know if the book will be fiction, non~fiction, for young, or for old…or for somewhere in between! Enjoy your free peek into the book!
You never know when I might play a wild card on you!
and the book:
Kregel Publications (March 11, 2010)
***Special thanks to Cat Hoort, Trade Marketing Manager, Kregal Publications for sending me a review copy.***
Melanie Dobson is an author as well as the owner of the publicity firm Dobson Media. A former corporate publicity manager at Focus on the Family, Melanie has worked in the fields of journalism and publicity for more than twelve years. Her first book is Together for Good. Melanie lives in Oregon with her husband, Jon, and their two adopted daughters, Karly and Kinzel.
Visit the author’s website.
List Price: $13.99
Paperback: 272 pages
Publisher: Kregel Publications (March 11, 2010)
AND NOW…THE FIRST CHAPTER:
She pounded on the glass one last time, but no one came to the door.
Turning, she moved to a row of windows on the far side of the elevator. Sixteen stories below, swarms of people bustled toward their next appointment. Someplace they needed to be. Not long ago, shed been rushing too, up and down Park Avenue to attend meetings at ad agencies and various magazines . . . including the suite of offices behind her.
Human rights. Natural disasters. Labor disputes. Whenever the photo editor at Fount needed the most poignant pictures for news articles, he called her, and nothing had stopped her from capturing what he needed for the next edition. Shed dedicated the past five years to responding to Grant Haussens calls, but after she came back from Indonesia two months ago, he stopped calling her.
Shed e-mailed him the pictures of the earthquakes aftermath along with her regular invoice of fees and expenses. Hed used the pictures in the next issue, but apparently discarded the invoice. She never received a check, and he didnt return even one of her many calls.
A few years ago, she wouldnt have worried as much about the moneythose days her phone rang at all hours with freelance assignments to shoot pictures around the worldbut her clients had slashed their budgets and were using stock photos or buying photographs from locals. The current results werent as compelling as sending a professional, but keeping the lights onthe rent paidtrumped paying for the best photography.
Her clients may be making rent, but she hadnt been able to pay hers for two months. Her savings account was depleted. The income from her Indonesia shoot was supposed to appease her landlord and credit card company. Even though she hadnt heard from Grant Haussen, she held out hope that she might at least recoup the expenses for her trip so she could pay off the whopping flight and hotel charges on her credit card.
All hope shattered when she read the mornings headline.
Fount Magazine Declares Bankruptcy
Others may have skimmed past this article, but the news stunned her. Three hours ago, she left her studio apartment and started walking until she found herself in Midtown, in the lobby of the Reinhold Building. A few staff members might remain at the Fount office, packing things up. Or if there were some sort of bankruptcy proceedings . . . maybe she could collect a few thousand dollars. Just enough to pay a portion of her bills while she tried to find more work.
It appeared that no one had stuck around to say goodbye.
The elevator dinged behind her, and she turned away from the windows and watched a skinny man in overalls push a mop and bucket into the hallway. He was at least two inches shorter than her five foot six.
She forced herself to smile, but he didnt smile back. She pointed at the offices. I need to find someone at the magazine.
He grunted as he dipped his mop into the gray water and wrung it out. Shoving her fists into the pockets of her long jacket, she stepped toward him. They owe me money.
You and half this dadgum town.
They ran outta here so fast last night that the rubber on their shoes was smokin. He flopped the mop onto the tile floor and water spread toward his boots. Id bet good money that they aint comin back.
Camden slumped against the window. Even if she were able to track down Grant, it wasnt like he would personally write her a check for money the magazine owed. He was probably out hunting for a job already, or maybe he was stretched out on his couch watching Oprah, enjoying the luxury of not having to report for duty. He could collect unemployment while he slowly perused for a new gig.
Unfortunately, there was no unemployment for freelancers.
The janitor swabbed the mop across the tile in straight brushstrokes like he was painting instead of cleaning it, taking pride in his work.
She understood. At one time she had been proud of her work too. There was nothing more exhilarating than flying off to a country rocked by tragedy and immersing herself into an event that most people only read about. She was onsite to see the trauma, feel the aftershocks, though she never allowed herself to get personally involved. It was her job to record the crisis so others could help with the recovery. All she needed to do her job was her camera equipment and laptop.
Because of all her travels, she hadnt accumulated much stuff over the years. Her landlord had furnished her flat before she moved in, but for almost five years, the apartment and everything in it had felt like hers. It was the longest shed lived in one place her entire life.
But tonight, her landlord was changing the locks. Her home had been rented by someone else.
The man pushed his mop by her, ignoring her. She couldnt blame him for his indifference. This city was full of people who needed a jobhe was probably trying as hard as he could to keep his.
She would mop floors if she had to. Or scrub toilets. It wouldnt pay enough for her to make rent, but maybe it would keep her from having to call her mom and beg for cash. If she called, her mother would pass the phone to her latest boyfrienda retired executive living outside Madrid. Camden would rather sleep in a shelter than grovel to him.
She hopped over the wet trail left by the mop and stepped into the elevator.
Her landlord said she had until five oclock to pack her stuff and vacate the building. The little credit she had left on her card wouldnt pay for a week in a Manhattan hotel. And the few friends shed made when she wasnt traveling were struggling as much as she was. One of them might let her sleep on a couch, but shed be expected to help with rent.
The elevator doors shut, and she punched the button for the lobby.
Where was she supposed to go from here?
The basement of the town hall smelled like burnt coffee and tobacco. The navy carpet had faded to a dull gray, and the dais at the front of the room was scuffed with shoe marks. Five men and two women sat behind a table on the platformthe bimonthly summit of Ethertons City Council.
As the town mayor, Louise Danner presided over the city council from the middle chair. Her hoop earrings jangled below the signature Bic pen she propped behind her left ear. Copper-colored bangs veiled her smudged eyebrows.
Three steps below Louises chair, Alex Yates drummed his fingers on a stack of proposals and tried to listen as Evan Harper begged the councilors to let him tear down the barn on his property and replace it with a guesthouse.
In the eight months since hed moved to Etherton, he learned that Louise Danner was almost as permanent a fixture in Etherton as the town hall. Within days of him taking this job, she told him exactly how she became mayor over the eleven thousand people in their town.
She had been born in a small house off Main Street and reigned as valedictorian over Etherton Highs Class of 67. Armed with a degree from Marietta, she returned home after graduation and worked in several businesses across town until she secured the job of hospital administrator. Louise served on almost every town committee for the next thirty years, from historical preservation to the garden club, but when she landed the mayorship almost eight years ago, she dropped anchor.
Shed spent a boatload of money to retain her position during the last election, and with the state of the towns economy, she would be fighting to keep her job when voters went to the polls in five months.
Alex rechecked his watch. It was almost lunchtime, and Evan Harper was still pleading his case. Alex saw the dilapidated barn every morning on the short drive to his office. Guesthouse or no guesthouse, he agreed with Evansomeone needed to put the structure out of its misery. A hearty gust of wind would end its life if the council wouldnt approve demolition.
Alex stifled a yawn as Evan named all the people who could stay in the guesthouse including his wifes elderly parents and his daughters college friends. Apparently, no one had told the man he couldnt filibuster city council. If the mayor didnt curtail Evans speech, hed probably pull out the local phone book and read until the councilors adjourned for lunch. And once they walked out of the room, they may not reconvene in time.
Alex couldnt wait for approval. He needed an answer today.
For the past month, hed been quietly courting the owner of the ten-acre property at the edge of townpart of the old Truman farm. If the council concurred, the owner was ready to sell the land and farmhouse for a pittance. The town could buy it and use the property to help with their plans to revitalize the local economy.
Alex caught the mayors eye and tapped his watch.
Thank you. Louise interrupted Evan before he finished listing off every construction supply hed purchased for the guesthouse. I think that is all the information we need to make a decision.
Evan plucked another piece of paper from his stack. But I havent read the neighborhood petition.
We appreciate all the time and thought youve put into this, Evan. Louise propped her chin up with her knuckles. Well let you know if we have any other questions.
Evan sat down on the wooden folding chair at the end of the row, and Alex leaned back as the council began discussing the hot issue of preservation versus progress.
Most of the councilors were successful business leaders and attorneys, passionate in either their pro-growth or anti-development stance. Today he needed to convince them that voting yes on his proposal would commemorate the towns history and lay the foundation for their legacy while generating new revenue and development for the town.
Alex glanced at his watch and sighed. If it took the councilors forty minutes to decide the fate of a rickety barn, how long would it take them to make a decision on his proposal?
When he parted ways with corporate mania last year, he thought hed left behind the constricting strands of red tape that kept him from doing his job, but hed learned that Ethertons residents, along with the city council, rode the high of debate until they were forced to vote. Sometimes the debate lasted weeks, or even months.
Edward Paxton led the charge against development. He didnt want his town to change nor did he want Alex involved with any of the towns business. Rumor had it that he wanted his grandson, Jake, to take the economic development position that Louise had created last spring to solicit new business. The only problem was that no one else on the council wanted Jake Paxton to be involved. Edward seemed to hold a personal vendetta against Alex for stealing his grandsons job.
At least the mayor was on his team. Shed gambled when she hired him, but he assured her and the council that hed deliver. On their terms.
After almost an hour of discussion, Louise called for a vote, and Evan smacked his knees when they approved his guesthouse with a 43 vote. He saluted the row of councilors as he rushed out, probably on his way to rent an excavator. Alex guessed the barn would be in a heap when he drove home tonight.
He sighed. If only getting the council to approve a project was always this easy . . .
Etherton needed the tax revenue from new businesses to fix its brick streets, increase the police force, and build a high school. The citys officials expected Alex to find a way to merge their small town charm with big city business.
Blending these two ideals was no small feat. Not long after he moved to Etherton, he worked a deal to build a Wal-Mart Supercenter on a piece of farm property at the edge of town. Some towns didnt want a Wal-Mart, but since their local economy had tanked, he thought most of the locals would welcome the store. After all, most of them drove forty-five minutes each week to visit the Wal-Mart in Mansfield, and this would bring discount clothes, groceries, car care, andmost importantlyjobs to their back door.
He was wrong.
When the council voted last December, residents of Etherton packed City Hall, a chorus of dissension over why their town couldnt bear the weight of a conglomerate. The icy room turned hot as tempers flared. Small business owners threatened to overthrow the seats of every council member who supported the proposal.
In the end, the council rejected his plan. The town desperately needed the revenue and the jobs, but apparently not enough to put out the welcome mat for a mega store. A local farmer bought the field to plant corn, and Etherton missed out on the much-needed sales tax that would flood into Fredericktown when Wal-Mart opened its doors there this fall.
The council told him they wanted new business, but they wanted something quaint that would fit the towns celebration of all things old. It was a hard taskbut hed found the perfect solution. If the residents were willing to risk a little, he was ready to deliver both quaint and classy . . . wrapped up in a pretty package and tied together with a sound financial bow.
Louise slid the pen out from behind her ear and tapped it on the table. She dismissed the few people in the audience, explaining that the rest of the meeting was a closed session, and then she pointed at him. Youre up, Alex.
He straightened his tie and stood to face the councilors. It was about to get hot again.