Chapter Sixteen
Mother To The Rescue…Sort Of

“Samantha my dear”, Tichiba sought to soothe Samantha's ruffled feathers. “It’s all a moot point now. Jenna is the last daughter of the Stewart house. The curse ends here.”

“Does it?”. Samantha pulled her daughter toward her. “What about Tabitha? After I’m gone will she get a locket and a curse? Will she be the next example, the next sacrifice for the good of all witches?”

Where the Sunflowers Grow
By
Rebecca Anna Coleman

-8-

Fight or Flight

I took a deep breath and peered across the table at my cousin. Who seemed more focused on her plate of fried catfish and okra than looking at me. Finally she noticed me and then without thinking she eased her piece of fried fish down and looked at me.

“Something on your mind?” Mary Grace said as she peered at me.

When Samantha wants to help Jenna, she finds out her friend is the victim of a three hundred year old family curse...and a whole lot more.

When Samantha wants to help Jenna, she finds out her friend is the victim of a three hundred year old family curse...and a whole lot more.

When Samantha wants to help Jenna, she finds out her friend is the victim of a three hundred year old family curse...and a whole lot more.

The Green-Eyed Maid Inn

“That’s what Avery keeps telling me, but,” she threw a hand out and gestured wildly at the air. “All evidence to the contrary. I’m homeless, half my family hates me for existing, they hate my gramma for not taking a side, they hate each other for not voting ‘the right way’. Maybe it’s not my fault but I am the match that started the forest fire.”

In the quiet heart of southwestern Wyoming, a small town clings to its small-town ways. But when a sudden boom brings big money and bigger secrets, what’s left of the town they thought they knew?

As usual, I want to thank Malady for beta reading, and helping edit.
I'd also like to thank those who comment for their part in beta reading too! :-)

Chapter 32

July 5th, 2028

10:00 AM

Subject: You’re not who they cheer for

From: millieB@ghosttrail.net

To: denise.smith@gradecounty.org

Denise,

You looked radiant in the parade. The ponytail, the swimsuit, the cheers. All so perfect.

But let’s be honest. They weren’t cheering for you. They were cheering for the land. The trust. The inheritance. You’re the vessel, not the victory.

They smile because they want something. They praise because they’re afraid to lose access. You think they see you—but they see acreage, not identity.

You’re not their daughter. You’re their deed holder.

Enjoy the spotlight while it lasts.

—Millie

As usual, I want to than Malady for beta reading, and helping edit.
I'd also like to thank those who comment for their part in beta reading too! :-)
Chapter 12

The envelope Fran had found in the wastebasket contained a birthday card. It was hard to be certain, but the card might never have been out of the envelope. The handwriting on both the envelope and the note inside looked like a teenager’s—loopy, uneven, and earnest. The return address read Ashley Bernard, Riverside, California.

Fran paused. Mitch Bernard—Reggie and Debra’s nephew over at Spotless Solutions—shared that surname. Could Ashley be his sister? It bore checking out.

She yawned and glanced at her watch. Four A.M.

They’d been called to The Chicken Coop by Chick at eight the previous morning. Twenty hours of nonstop investigating had left her running on fumes. She locked the evidence they’d collected into its locker, then flipped off the lights. The alarm panel blinked its now-familiar flicker when she armed it. She disarmed and rearmed it. This time, it came on normally.

As usual, I want to than Malady for beta reading, and helping edit.
I'd also like to thank those who comment for their part in beta reading too! :-)
Chapter 3

Fran knocked on the door to Millie Brooks’ office. It was getting later in the day, and most of the office staff had left. Another blizzard was expected and after the one the night before, everyone wanted to be home before it got nasty out.

“Come in!” Fran heard from inside.

She opened the door and strode in. She had called earlier, wanting someone on whom she could dump. Millie had taken on a motherly role soon after Fran had moved to town, for which Fran was grateful. Her relationship with Trevor had been up and down for several years, and after the talk that morning, she had found it hard to concentrate on things.

She made a beeline for the couch across from the desk, and flopped down, folding her arms defensively in front of her.

She sat there for a moment while Millie finished off something she’d been working on.