Evelyn’s red-lacquered fingertips glided over the surface of the grandfather clock. It was a beautiful piece of workmanship.
I recently read These Toxic Things by Rachel Howzell Hall. I want to start off by saying this is not my usual genre. It’s billed as a thriller. I typically read fantasy of all types and some historical fiction. Every once in a while, I’ll delve into the world of mysteries (think Agatha Christie type) or gothic paranormal books. A “thriller” is not something I would gravitate toward.
Everywhere Emma looked, there was beauty and an air of excitement. She found it hard to believe that she had a hand in decorating the manor. Her usual party decorations consisted of streamers and balloons, not this elegant arrangement of harmonious colors. The staff was industrious until lunchtime, putting the finishing touches on table settings and gathering supplies for the various games and activities.
My very good friend is releasing her second book! E.G. Moore is an award-winning author and poet who specializes in middle-grade fiction. All of her stories have a moral lesson in them, and Moon Daughter Rising is no exception. Available for pre-order now, and releasing on January 29th, MDR is a fun read for adultsContinue reading “Moon Daughter Rising”
“I know they are. We all know they are. The temps are almost always loners or on the outs with their families. Some of them are even runaways or people passing through, looking to make a few bucks before moving on. It’s not hard to make their disappearance look like a coincidence.”
As we stood, I saw a woman standing in front of the wall of windows. I hadn’t noticed her before, which was odd considering she was tall, probably about six feet, with long dark hair that floated around her like a cape. She was dressed in a dark red gown made up of layers of gauzy material. As she stepped toward us, my eyes were drawn to her bare feet. They were delicate, for such a tall woman, and the toenails were painted black.
I winced as I plunged the pan into the hot water. My hands felt raw from the heat and scrubbing, but there was still a stack of dishes next to the sink. The yeasty smell of freshly baked bread wafted towards me, but I ignored my grumbling stomach. I wouldn’t be given dinner until the dishes were done. I wasn’t sure I wanted to eat anyway.
“Haven’t you noticed? No one on the property is allowed to eat meat.” The voice of the Lillies came back to me.
It is my second month as an assistant housekeeper for the Cromwell family. They are what was called “old blood.” Their ancestors were rich, they were rich, and their great-great-grandchildren would probably be rich. As I entered the kitchen from the backdoor that we commonly called “the help’s door,” I questioned my choices that got me here.