When Skye McKenna retired as an insurance office manager, she decided to launch a new career as a children's book author. On an impromptu book tour in Australia, she meets a reclusive elephant-loving veterinarian and together they have some madcap adventures.
Why does he seem so familiar? And soooo attractive? And how old is TOO old to find love?
The TIME AFTER TIME series follows a pair of quintessential lovers, Richard and Nicole, through their many lifetimes of love together, at different times, in different places, with different names and faces.
Amazon Link: https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B00BCJV8Q8
Here's an excerpt:
Chapter One
Fear in the Parking Garage
Location: Sterling, Ohio
“Run!” said Rita, fear catching in her voice.
“Are you kidding me?” replied Skye. “I’m way too damn old to run. Do you want me to have a heart attack? Or fall and break a hip? If some slimy son of a bitch wants a piece of me that bad, let him come. He’ll be damn sorry.”
“We’ve got to get out of here. I’m scared,” Rita whispered.
Skye pulled out her cell phone and tapped 9-1-1.
“Yes, we’re in the underground parking garage of the Sterling City Center and we’re being chased by a madman with a knife, and my friend here is scared and I’m too damn old to run. Yes. Skye McKenna. Sixty-six. Well, I’m glad you agree that’s too old to run.”
“Help is on the way, Rita. Calm down.”
“Skye, you don’t know he has a knife.”
“You’re absolutely right. He could have a gun. Shall I call her back and correct myself?”
Sirens were blaring in the distance.
“Isn’t calling 9-1-1 for a non-emergency illegal? This is at least a misdemeanor, if not a felony. Skye. We could end up in jail.”
“Would you rather be murdered in the parking garage?”
“No.”
“Then, cry and sniffle, look weak and helpless, and let me handle Sterling’s Finest. Damn, if I knew there was a chance we were going to die on the way to the car, I would’ve had dessert. They make this wonderful strawberry and mascarpone cream cheese torte in there that is pure heaven on a plate.”
A police car pulled up the aisle. Skye and Rita were shouting and waving.
“We’re here, we’re here! Did you see him? He ran that way,” Skye pointed.
One officer, the shorter, younger one, took off on foot in the direction of Skye’s pointing finger.
The taller, older one stayed with them to calm them down.
He walked them to their car and let them sit to rest.
“It’s okay, ladies, you’re safe now. Can you give me a description of this madman with the knife? Height, weight, clothing?”
Rita cried and sniffled. She shook her head no.
“Well, about six feet tall, brown hair, brown eyes, stubbly face, jeans, light green tee-shirt with some band name on it, navy pea coat, old black high top tennis shoes. No jewelry. No visible tattoo. Not a bad looking guy,” said Skye.
“Weight?”
“I’m no judge of weight. Far be it from me to attach a number to the human frame. I know I certainly don’t like it when they do it to
me. Not fat, not too skinny, but a slim build. Just right.”
“Age?”
“Thirties, I’m guessing here.
“The knife?”
“Chef’s knife. Silver handle, scalloped grip. You can’t buy those individually, you have to buy the whole set. They come with a wooden butcher’s block.”
“Did he brandish the knife at you?”
“Of course, he did. Do you think we would’ve called for help if he were just a prep chef taking his chef’s knife out for a midnight stroll in the underground parking garage? He threatened us.”
“What did he say?”
“He said, ‘Die, bitches!’ I think. Was that it, Rita?”
Rita nodded in agreement.
The other officer came back, shaking his head.
“I couldn’t find him. I heard running and panting, though. There was definitely someone out there who didn’t want to stop and talk to the police. He got away.”
“Were you in the restaurant?” asked Tall Officer. Skye and Rita nodded. “Did he follow you out?” They looked at each other.
“We don’t know. We ate too much. We were just about rolling out of there. We weren’t paying attention,” said Skye. “Officer, we’re really tired. This has been a harrowing experience. We want to go home. If we remember anything else, we’ll call you, okay?”
He took their names and contact numbers and said he’d be in touch.
“Lock your doors. Go straight home, Ladies.”
“Yes, Officer,” said Skye as she drove away.
“God, Skye, I was scared to death. How can you be so calm?”
“This isn’t calmness. It’s boredom.”
“How can you be bored when we were being stalked by a mad slasher/murderer in a dark parking garage at night with a big knife?”
“Did you ever think he might’ve just been some poor shlub walking to his car? Maybe he had a business dinner, or some other meeting. Or maybe he works at Sterling City Center. And, Rita, we didn’t really see a weapon, remember? Just because he was in the parking garage at the same time as we were doesn’t mean he was after us or dangerous or a public menace.
“No, Skye, he was. He was looking at me funny. And where did you ever come up with that description? That was nothing like him.”
“That cutie pie? Oh, he’s the man in my head. He’s always there, smiling at me.
“That one walking in the garage? I’m not sure
hat he was after us, or after anybody.”
“Well, let’s hope the police don’t find the man in your head.
They’ll arrest him.”
“Oh, Rita, I’ve looked for him all my life. If they can find him and detain him, I’ll gladly go bail him out. And take him home and make him some soup and give him a back rub and…” love him forever, she thought. My Richard. Rita laughed.
“Skye, you’re crazy.”
“I know,” she sighed. She was resigned to the fact she would never find him, this incredible man in her head with the big, warm,
liquid-velvet brown eyes and the sweetest unguarded smile. The cutest dimple. A splash of freckles across the bridge of his nose. He’d been there, in her dreams, smiling at her, for as long as she could remember. If she hadn’t found him by now, she never would. And if she found him now at her age, her hormonal drive was gone, her skin didn’t quite fit her body anymore, and she had succumbed to gravity, what the hell would she do with him? Still. He was there, in her head. Smiling. Those eyes.
Skye pulled up in front of Rita’s rental house.
“Will you be okay?”
“Sure. See you tomorrow after work. I’ll bring you that letter from my kid brother. It’s causing me sleepless nights. You’ll see what I mean. He always exaggerates I know, but this time he’s in trouble, and it’s worse than the usual. I just know it.”
“Okay, bring it over. We’ll figure out what’s up with him. Good night, Rita. I’ll wait until you get in and check the house for slashers hiding under your bed or serial killers in the closet, with my finger on speed dial to the police department.”
“Thanks, Skye. You’re a peach. Good night,” she chuckled.
“Good night, Ri.”
Rita went in, checked her apartment and waved Skye off. Skye went home and went to bed.
Skye was awakened very early the next morning by the sound of the doorbell. She pulled on her robe and slippers and shuffled to peak out the window. Sterling Police Department.
“Ms. McKenna?”
“Yes?”
“Ms. McKenna, it’s Detective Samson. This is Officer Metz. May we come in?”
“Yes, of course. What’s wrong?” she said as she moved aside to let them in.
“Ahh, Ms. McKenna, we need to talk to you about what happened in the parking garage at Sterling City Center last night.”
“Well okay, but we told the officers everything we knew last night.”
“There has been a… recent development, Ms. McKenna. Rita Collins is in the hospital. Someone broke into her home sometime last night and shot her. She’s alive, but is in serious condition. Head wound. She’s unresponsive, in a coma.”
Skye sank into the couch, hardly able to comprehend what he said. Someone shot Rita? Last night?
“Oh, no!”
“Ms. McKenna, could you come down to the station with us and look at some mug shots? Maybe you could identify the man you saw in the parking garage.”
“Oh, no!” Identify the man I saw in the parking garage? Rita was right. The poor schlub in the garage was dangerous. And he went to Rita’s house and shot her. Now, how was she going to describe the real man in the garage, the real assailant? What a mess.
“Okay. I’ll get dressed.”
“We’ll wait for you and take you down to the station, and then Officer Metz will bring you back home when we’re done.”
Skye splashed her face with cold water, threw on some clothes, ran a comb through her short strawberry blonde hair and was ready to go.
“If you want, we can stop at the hospital. We can see how your friend is doing. We’d like to know if she regained consciousness.”
“Yes, I’d like that.”
They drove to the hospital. While the police talked to nurses at the desk, Skye was allowed in to see Rita.
“Rita? Rita, it’s Skye. Honey, can you hear me?” Skye held her hand. No response.
“What can I do, Rita? I am just sick about this. I feel horrible. What can I do to help you?” No response.
A nurse came in. “We haven’t been able to get a response from her. Are you a relative?”
“No, I’m a close friend. We had dinner together last night. I can’t believe this. She has a brother, Ron. I have his number at home. I’ll call him when I get home.”
The nurse left.
“Skye,” whispered Rita haltingly, eyes still closed, “in the freezer. Cream puffs.” Rita squeezed her hand and released it. Skye gasped.
“Rita? Rita? Nurse!” screamed Skye. “Nurse, she… she said … cream puff.” The nurse came rushing back in with the police. She checked Rita.
“No. No change. She’s still unresponsive. Sometimes there is some involuntary movement.” Skye blinked. She knew she heard her. Cream puff.
“Oh, this is all my fault. Last night, she was so scared. She said he looked at her funny. And I just blew it off.”
“No, you didn’t,” said Officer Metz. “You called 9-1-1. Officers responded. The officers on the scene looked for the assailant and reported hearing someone running away from the scene. A report was filed. And you got her home safely.”
“Yes, and now she’s laying here in a hospital bed, shot in the head, in a coma.”
“Come on. Let’s go down to the station. Maybe we can get an ID on this guy.”
“I’ll be back later, Rita. I’ll call Ron. Hang in there. It’ll be okay. I’ll bring you some of cream puffs, okay honey? Love you.”
She turned to the nurse. “I’d like to bring her robe and a few of her things from home to make her feel more comfortable.”
The nurse nodded.
Down at the station, Skye settled in with books of mug shots, looking for the man in her dreams, whom she knew was no criminal. She was really looking for the man from the parking garage, the short, scruffy, longish-haired, messy, blonde guy with the large nose and the bad complexion. And what was she going to do if she found him? She looked at page after page, book after book of mug shots.
“No, not in here.”
“Would you like to talk with the precinct artist?” asked Detective Samson.
“No, not really. I’m all criminaled out right now. I’d like to go home and call Rita’s brother and then get some of her things together to take back to the hospital. We have each other’s spare key.”
“Okay. Maybe later. Officer Metz will take you home.”
“Thank you.”
Skye drove passed Rita’s house first, just to look around. Not seeing anything out of the ordinary, the second time she pulled in, parked in the driveway, and entered cautiously.
Drawers from Rita’s desk were pulled out and thrown on the floor. She went into Rita’s bedroom and gathered her robe and slippers, and a few nightgowns hanging in the closet.
Then she made her way to the chest freezer in the basement. The plastic cream puff container was right there on the top. Skye took the container and put it in the plastic bag she brought down with her, and went back upstairs.
Using Rita’s address book by the phone, she called her brother Ron. No answer.
She hung up on the answer phone message. It’s very impolite to tell someone his sister’s in the hospital with a gunshot wound to the head and in a coma by leaving a message.
