Love Seat , livre ebook

Xlibris US - Mark Barnett

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39 pages

English

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Fiction

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Publié par	Xlibris US
Date de parution	28 septembre 2022
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781669845256
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0200€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

Extrait

Love Seat

Mark Barnett

Copyright © 2022 by Mark Barnett.

Library of Congress Control Number:
2022916148
ISBN:
Hardcover
978-1-6698-4523-2

Softcover
978-1-6698-4524-9

eBook
978-1-6698-4525-6

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the copyright owner.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

Any people depicted in stock imagery provided by Getty Images are models, and such images are being used for illustrative purposes only.
Certain stock imagery © Getty Images.

Rev. date: 09/27/2022

Xlibris
844-714-8691
www.Xlibris.com
845939

“ N o, no, it wasn’t me. The love seat did it.” At that time a nurse and orderly rushed into the room, trailed by the doctor on call. (Nurse) “Calm down, Mr. Peters. Everything is okay. You’re just having a nightmare.”
(Doctor) “Get me two ccs of tranq, stat.”
(Nurse) “Still doesn’t seem to be getting any better, and it’s been a whole year.”
(Doc) “Yeah, I don’t understand it. Even after being caught with the murder weapon and trophies, this guy still insists he’s innocent.”
(Nurse) “I agree his situation is definitely odd. Anyone can claim innocence, but I’ll tell you one thing that can’t be faked, and that’s those nightmares.”
(Doc) “I believe you’re right, but we’re not his judge, and tomorrow he’ll be standing trial.
May justice preserve.”
Well, I guess the reader that you are, is probably wondering what exactly is going on. So let me explain how my peculiar situation all began. Pay close attention ’cause if not, I’ll lose you on one of the many twists I’m about to take you on.
Thirteen months earlier
I happened to start my day off just like I would any other weekday—with my morning routine of a two-mile jog around the suburban neighborhood I live in. So I’m just jogging along listening to my MP3 player when I see Mr. Dansby flagging me down. As I recall, Mr. Dansby was a fifty-one-year-old wiry-built balding man. He had served twenty years in the navy then retired and took it upon himself to be the neighborhood protector. I slowed down and greeted Mr. Dansby.
“Good morning, Mr. Dansby!”
(Mr. Dansby) “And good morning to you too, Mr. Peters. Congratulations on your new book. You worked hard and you deserve the reward.”
“Thanks a lot, Mr. Dansby. Are you and the missus going to be able to make it to my book release party next Friday?” I asked.
(Mr. Dansby) “Oh, Mr. Peters, we’re too old to be trying to keep up with you young folks.
But thanks for the invitation.”
Our conversations usually went this way. Him acting as if I’m a teenager and him a helpless old man. But I’d bet any money Mr. Dansby could outrun me any day of the week.
(Mr. Dansby) “Well, I flagged you down because we’re having us a yard sale here and I wanted to see if you’re interested in any of these fine items.”
“Sure, let me take a look and see,” I said.
(Mr. Dansby) “You look all you want. I’m going to go and see if I can assist any other customers. Let me know if you see anything you like,” he replied.
So I sat about looking through the items. The Dansbys had set everything up in aisles, like an actual store. So I slowly made my way through each one. I noticed mostly everything had a feminine quality to it and I wondered about that. I wasn’t seeing anything of interest, and I was about to resume my jog and tell Mr. Dansby that when I noticed a beautifully colored love seat. I drifted over to the piece of furniture and ran my hands over it. It felt as if it was made of something finer than silk, and the maroon color was captivating. I knew instantly I had to have it, and in my mind, I knew the perfect place to put it. I waved Mr. Dansby down and told him I had to have the piece. What was his price?
“Well, Mr. Peters, you’re a fine young man and you’ve always been fair to me, so tell me a price that won’t break you,” he responded.
There was a grandfather clock next to the seat that was in excellent condition. I figured I’d take a swing and go for a package deal, so I offered $200 for the set.
Mr. Dansby quickly agreed, which surprised me because they were easily worth $500 apiece. Since I was in my jogging gear, I didn’t have any cash on me. So I assured Mr. Dansby I would be back to pay for the items, and he assured me they were no longer on the market. And I resumed my jog.
Before I go further, I would like to give you a little window into who I am. My name is Eric Peters. I’m thirty-two, with a birthday fast approaching in December—the twenty-fourth, to be exact. I went to college at the University of Louisville, studying and graduating with a degree in law, like my father and his father before him. But after graduation, I didn’t share the same drive as my fathers before me and chose to pursue dreams of my own. My grandfather set up a trust fund for me upon graduating college, so I decided to travel. I backpacked through Europe for close to a year and a half. Paris, France, London, Italy, but mainly Paris. I loved it for a while—that is, until I realized my heart was home in nitty-gritty Louisville, Kentucky. For some reason, I yearned to be back. I missed my family, sure, but more than that I missed the contact. Like walking down the street, people didn’t just get out of your way or say, “Excuse me. You better get out the way” versus Europe, where they gave you the space and still said, “Excuse me.” What could I say, home is where the heart is. So upon my return I tried the office thing, working at my father’s and grandfather’s firm, Peters and Sons, but it just wasn’t for me, and before I knew it, I was pursuing my dream of writing books—mainly suspense novels—and my dream soon paid off. A few months ago I sent my book to an editor and publisher, and about a month ago they told me they wanted to publish the book and offered me a deal. I thought the deal was sweet so I signed on the dotted line, and after working out the kinks, my book will be in the stores next week. I was ecstatic.
Tonight I had an interview scheduled with the beautiful reporter, Karen Graves, from the Metro coming to discuss my book. So if you don’t mind, I’ll have to finish telling you my story later, but right now I have to hurry and pick up my new furniture and get things set up for my date, I mean my interview.
The knock at the door startled me. I had been in a trance, cleaning the house, making sure everything was in the right place, and going over the answers to the questions I was expecting her to ask. Now it was showtime. I was nervous. I looked in the mirror one last time, slicked my hair back, and went to the door. I knew I needed the publicity to get my book a head start and the recognition to get me in the secret society of authors. But what I didn’t know I needed was a woman so bad until I opened the door and Karen Graves stood before me. She was more beautiful in person than on the television. She had the bluest eyes I’d ever seen—so intense you could lose yourself in them. Her long jet-black hair accentuated her cream-colored skin. Saying she was gorgeous was an understatement. Not to mention she was wearing a turquoise fitted dress that hugged her thighs and open-toed heels that showed off her baby blue nail polish. I didn’t realize how long I’d been shaking her hand until her calling my name snapped me out of it.
“Mr. Peters?”
“Yes. I apologize. Come in. I’m so nervous I zoned out. Mrs. Graves,” I replied.
“It’s okay, but I’ve heard all good about your book, so you have no reason to be nervous.”
“Thanks, can I get you anything? Water, soda, coffee, maybe, Mrs. Graves?”
“Sure, I’ll have water. This is a nice place you’ve got here, very organized. And this love seat is beautiful and probably the most comfortable thing I’ve ever sat in. I think I’ll do my interview from right here.”
“That’s fine with me. Here’s your water.”
(Karen) “Thanks.”
“Would you believe I bought that chair at a yard sale for a hundred bucks?!”
“It’s wonderful. I believe you came out on top in that deal. And it goes so well with the rest of your decor,” she reassured.
“Yeah, I believe so too. Once I saw it, I had to have it.”
(Karen) “Well, there’s no femininity to your decor. Is there no Mrs. Peters?”
“No, not at the moment. But I’m hoping this book deal will bring other fortunes as well.”
(Karen) “Oh, I’m sure it will. Now if you’re ready, I’m going to record this interview and we can get started.”
“I’m as ready as I’ll ever be.”
(Karen) “All right, now the way we’re going to do this is, I’ve prepared a list of questions I’ll ask you, and you answer them the best you can.”
“That’s fine with me!”
(Karen) “Okay! First question, can you tell readers the name of your book and why you chose that name?”
“Ok. Uhm, the name of my book is Unveiled Secrets, and the reason I chose that title is pretty self-explanatory. We all do things that we hope are kept secret that we sometimes unveil.”
(Karen) “Sounds pretty intriguing, tell us more.” And after she said this, she uncrossed h