Book Excerpts discussion

Blurb:Horace Meeker, and emotionally disturbed teenager living in the hollers of eastern Kentucky, is losing his faith in God. As a last resort to committing suicide, he attends one of his father's snake-handling ceremonies:

Half the congregation of the Church of God With Signs danced and stomped upon the hardwood floor, whirling about in wild, unabashed circles. Horace watched as one of the members -- a snake catcher whose right hand was deformed into a mangled claw from rattlesnake bites over the years -- stuck what remained of his hands into one of the two wooden boxes, washing the snakes with his hands.

"We got a lot of serpents in these boxes, folks," said Pastor Meeker. "No, they ain't empty, that's for sure. And the serpents, they ain't empty, either. They don't have the poison sucked out of them. Amen."

"Amen!"

One of the congregants, an elderly man in faded overalls, withering skin upon his forearms, marked with snake-bite punctures, jiggled his thin body toward the boxes and pulled out two large copperheads. He was followed by his grey-haired wife who reached inside the box for a mesh of rattlesnakes and held them upon her flowery rayon dress, between her small breasts. Together, they stared challengingly at the serpents before dancing away from the boxes, snakes in hand. The couple was followed by other members of the church who formed a line before the boxes, each pulling out snakes and holding them in their arms and to their chests. One of the men hefted a slithering mass of the serpents over his head, then drew them down to wipe the sweat off his crying face.

People danced, cried, and sang for the Lord. They reached to feel a mesh of rattlesnakes held on a young follower's head, like a thorned crown. A woman with a snake wrapped around her head and shoulders dropped to her knees, eyes closed, tears on her cheeks. At the pulpit, Horace's father handed out a bottle of strychnine mixed with water -- what he called a "salvation cocktail" -- and people stood in line to take generous swigs, then grimaced and whirled about the floor.

Horace started toward the boxes. His hands were sweating, his throat was dry and sore, and his chest was strung into a thousand tight knots. He could hear the sound of snakes rattling, even louder than the music and singing. With his eyes clamped shut, he reached down into one of the boxes and felt the scaly skin of serpents slithering about his hands. He took a long, deep breath, then lifted his arms out of the box and held four rattlesnakes to his chest.

Horace could feel the serpents swirl about his neck, grazing his cheeks, and running their heads through his hair. He opened his eyes to see one of the snakes, with its beady coal black eyes staring at him; its red-forked tongue twirled aimlessly about. The moment had arrived: The serpent was telling Horace it was time to die.

Book Tour is available in print and Kindle at Amazon, Smashwords,and virtualbookworm.com. I hope you enjoyed this excerpt.

Hi everyone, I'm posting the first chapter of my second mystery, FATAL ENCRYPTION, published last year. Here's a quick blurb:

When a computer hack threatens to destroy a family business and peoples' jobs, the McKinleys want Alex Bellamy to stop him. But Alex didn't count on dealing with fire ... and murder.

CHAPTER ONE

“Come on, Zach, humour me. I took time to come over here, so sit down and have another drink.” The visitor shoved a kitchen chair at Zachary. “Now.”

Zachary stepped back, dragging the chair with him. He shouldn’t have opened the door for anyone this damned Halloween night. But once he’d seen who was there, Zachary had seized the chance to tell his side of things. He’d realized, too late, that his guest didn’t want to listen.

“Forget the glass.” The visitor stood at one end of the pine table and slid the rye whisky bottle closer to him.

“I don’t want another drink,” Zachary said. “Let’s just talk, okay?”

His visitor yanked a steak knife from the wooden block on the counter. Zachary gripped the back of the chair. His legs weakened and he wanted to sit, but keeping this chair between them was his only defence.

“My sister-in-law hates it when people touch stuff in her kitchen.” He licked dry lips.

“I said drink!” The knife slashed the air.

Zachary recoiled. “Please! I can fix this.”

“How? The damage is bloody well done.”

Zachary’s hopes sank.

“Pick up the bottle, Zach. Everyone knows rye whisky’s your favourite.”

Zachary lifted the bottle slowly. “You, uh, want some?”

“No. Hurry up. I haven’t got all night.”

“Why do you want me to¾”

“Now!”

Zachary winced at the rage behind this word. He chugged until his throat burned, then plunked the bottle down and wiped his mouth on his sleeve. His thumping heart forced him to take quick, shallow breaths.

“Yummy, isn’t it, Zach?”

Zachary nodded. He glanced at his visitor’s plastic pumpkin pail on the table, the white sheet stuffed inside the pail. Gloria and Max wouldn’t be back for hours. Nearby, he heard the excited shouts of trick-or-treaters.

“Kids won’t come to a house with no lights on at the front. And they sure as hell won’t walk around back,” his visitor said. “You should have gone out for Halloween. But big mistakes are your trademark, aren’t they?”

Zachary lowered his head.

“Drink up, Zach.”

“I can’t.”

“Sure you can.” His visitor edged nearer.

Sweat trickled down Zachary’s ribs. He drank and tried to keep the knife in sight. Booze spluttered down his shirt.

“Please. I won’t cause any more trouble, I swear.”

For several moments, the room was silent.

“My car’s parked out front. Walk me to the door.”

Zachary didn’t move. “Look, if you wanted to scare me, you’ve done it. I’ll back off. Won’t say another word.”

His visitor lifted the pail. “Let’s go.”

Zachary’s shoulders sagged. “I feel sick.”

“Too bad. I want you to come with me.”

Nausea roiled in his stomach. “Why?”

“Do it!”

Terrified, Zachary threw the chair at his guest and raced along the narrow hallway toward the front of the house. Half-way down the hall, he bolted through an open door leading to the basement. Finally, a chance. He’d been rewiring for Max down there. Lights couldn’t come on. He might make it if he got the basement door open in time . . . reached the Pearsons’ place. It’d only take a few seconds.

At the bottom of the stairs, Zachary fumbled to his work table. His fingertips flitted over a bag of nails, tools. He picked up a hammer.

Footsteps pounded down the steps and Zachary’s stomach somersaulted. He scurried forward in the dark, touching the washer, dryer, the door.

Zachary struggled to slide the rusty bolt. He placed the hammer on the dryer, then pulled harder. The bag of nails tumbled to the floor. By the time the bolt started moving Zachary was panting.

A sharp pain struck him between the shoulder blades. Gasping, Zachary collapsed against the door. Hands grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.

“Get up those bloody stairs, or I swear to God I’ll kill you right here!”

Zachary staggered through the basement, up the steps. Near the top, he spun and kicked his enemy in the chest.

He reached the hallway. Hands clamped around Zachary’s ankles and yanked him onto the cold ceramic floor. A wave of white heat seared his shoulder. The visitor took hold of his wrists and dragged him toward the front entrance. Zachary tried to press his feet against the walls to stop what was happening, but he didn’t have the strength.

Near the door, his wrists were released. Zachary groaned and rubbed them. “Please, I can put this right. Give me a chance.” In the darkness, he saw a flash of silver. “No! My kids need me. Don’t!”

“They don’t need you, Zach. Nobody needs you.”

Zachary heard the deadbolt turn. The door opened just enough to let cool air waft inside. Somewhere on the street, firecrackers exploded and children yelled, “Trick or treat!”

“Help! I’m¾”

A kick in the chest knocked the words out of him.

“Get up.”

He tried, but he could barely breathe and his legs gave out. Sweat soaked his shirt.

“It’s Halloween, Zach. You really should answer the door.”

Using the wall for support, Zachary pushed himself up. The smell of fireworks and damp filled his lungs. A sharp pain slid through his insides. Moaning, Zachary dropped to his knees. His forehead smacked the cold, ceramic floor.

. . .

Thanks for reading! For review excerpts and information about my first Alex Bellamy whodunit, TAXED TO DEATH, visit www.debrapurdykong.com

Kindle versions are available at http://tinyurl.com/lchxrd and http://tinyurl.com/ld4pcf

Print versions are available at http://tinyurl.com/ddzsxl and http://tinyurl.com/czsy5n

I like what I've read so far, Rick. Tension and it moves.
Alex

Thanks, Alex. Much appreciated!! I focused more on action and less on long narrative description in this book. I'm hearing that more readers seem to prefer this in mystery fiction, although there are always plenty of exceptions, so who really knows? Basically, I wrote the kind of book I like to read.

Debra

Thanks, Alex. Book Tour is available now on amazon, and I'll be sure to check out your work.

Rick