Step into a chapter of the Twenty-One-Year Contract
Hi, I just read a wonderful review about my new release from Michelle Ryles book blogger. I was blown away.
I thought I would pop in a portion of a chapter of the Twenty-One-Year Contract, though as some would say you can dip in on Amazon and get a feel of it from there. But hey. Why not.
Just about to sign my first novel Secrets, Shame, and a Shoebox. A truly unbelievable, humbling experience!
mybook.to/twentyone
‘Chapter 37
October 22, 1955
The private detective Jack employed had been worse than useless. It was now four months since Kathleen’s disappearance. Having been interrogated by the police, he was finally released. Jack held the last letter from his niece in one hand, double-checking the time and instruction.
Impatient to cross over to Trafalgar Square, the constant tide of traffic belching sooty fumes and burning oil refusing to give up a space, Jack saw a gap and dodged between a hackney cab and a bus. He was rewarded with a blasting of horns and the angry yell of “Bloody idiot!” Jack waved apologetically without looking back.
Jack’s need to scope out the area long before the agreed meeting time felt paramount. He didn’t want to leave anything to chance. He’d arranged a couple of men to pace the perimeter. They had photographs of Kathleen.
A man stood in the middle of Trafalgar Square with his arms telegraphed outward, covered in pigeons.
Even his trilby appeared to have taken on a life of its own. Jack shook his head, ever understanding the fascination. He spotted a little girl, probably about five or six years old, wearing her Sunday best, holding a small brown paper bag. She squatted with bird food
cupped in her hand. Hundreds of pigeons quickly descended in droves, pecking greedily. She shrieked excitedly. If only Kathleen were that small, she would
never have been left to her own devices. He strode past
the police phone box at the edge of the square.Jack’s heart skipped a beat. A young woman about Kathleen’s age moved purposefully toward him from the opposite side of the square. He kept staring. Jack recalled Eve once wearing the same skirt, a poodle design, she called it. The girl turned at the last minute, away from him, and headed toward Nelson’s Column. “Kathleen?” He moved swiftly, calling out.
“Kathleen!” He managed to catch her. She turned, startled as he touched her shoulder.
“Please excuse me. I thought you were someone else.” She gave a puzzled nod and resumed walking.
Disappointed, worried, Jack paced the whole of Trafalgar Square before deciding it might be easier to see her from the designated waiting area. He climbed the steps outside the National Gallery. Pushing his hand through his hair, he raised a brow. Clever girl, making him stand there in full view. If she wanted to back out at the last minute, she could.
He hoped his men would be alert. Returning Kathleen’s letter to his suit pocket, he pulled a cigarette, staring into the ever-changing swell. The bitter taste of tobacco filled his mouth, reminding him why he gave it up in the first place. Nine fifty-one and still no sign. Kathleen being late was nothing new, but more than twenty minutes? She would realize the importance, surely. In different circumstances, he might be relaxed about it. Not today…’
Thank you for reading. Thank you for sharing. Than you for being kind…
