Sample Sunday - Excerpt from Smothered

Well, with the release of Smothered just two days away (Squee!), it seems like a good time for an excerpt.

The scene below takes place in the opening chapter of the book. Annie Brown has inherited her late mother's old Victorian home and is supervising the movers hauling items inside. The house is a bit run-down, as her mother had let maintenance slip in her later years. The workers seem a bit spooked by the old place, and Annie isn't exactly thrilled by the geriatric state of her new neighbors.

As if those things aren't enough, as she and her best friend Jason oversee the move-in, she gets a visit from someone she last saw in civil court, during a legal battle over the fate of the historic house.

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The sound of heels clacking on the sidewalk made them both turn as a tall, white-haired woman in a calf-length navy skirt, cream blouse, and black high-heels strode down the sidewalk. One of the movers started to cat call her, but a single down-the-nose glare from the frozen blue of her eyes stopped him cold, his mouth half-open. If he'd had a tail, it would have tucked between his legs.

Annie groaned and fought the urge to walk away. She'd dreaded this part of the day the most.

The woman came to a halt two or three yards short of their position, still exposed to the brutal sun, seeming not to notice its heat. Annie wondered if the woman's cold demeanor kept her cool even on a hot summer day like this.

"Ms. Brown," the woman said, contempt dripping from her words like blood from fangs, "I see you're moving in, right on schedule."

"Nice to see you too, Mrs. Mudge." Annie put on her sweetest tone, disguising the contempt she felt for the woman. "Yes, move-in is going as planned. Thanks for your concern."

Mudge didn't seem to notice Annie's sarcasm, or didn't understand it. "Be sure the moving truck is off the street by eight o'clock tonight, whether move-in is done or not. If you don't finish on time, have your ... employees come back in the morning. If Immigration hasn't scooped them up."

At the word "immigration," the foreman looked up, then turned back to his crew and spoke in Spanish.

"Don't worry," Jason told her, "they'll be done long before then. Will you be coming to the housewarming rave tomorrow? We have the most chiseled male dancers coming to perform on the front porch, followed by our own personal gay pride parade right down this very street."

His smile oozed sarcasm and Annie fought back a snicker.

"He's just kidding, Mrs. Mudge," she said. "I'm not having any parties. They're not my style."

Mudge wrinkled her nose and looked at Jason over the frame of her bifocals. Annie couldn't tell if she resented his blackness or his gayness. Probably both. Either way, Mudge didn't grant him the pleasure of a response, turning instead back to Annie. Reaching in her ultra-conservative handbag, she produced a thick packet of papers wrapped in a tasteful red jacket.

"Here are the Historical Society covenants," she said. "They're only eighty-nine pages long, so you should have no trouble reading them in a week. Maybe ten days. If you have any questions, anyone from the Society can help you. Just email the address on the cover."

Taking the packet, Annie rolled her eyes. "I'm sure I read much more complicated texts during my graduate studies. What's your degree in again, Mrs. Mudge?"

If the remark fazed her, Mudge didn't let it show. She adjusted her spectacles and looked down her nose again.

"Your late mother—God rest her soul—agreed to these covenants, but over the last two years failed to maintain their minimum standards, as you can see." Again she wrinkled her nose, as if offended.

"Yes, I'm aware of the lien your society so kindly placed on my mother's home right before her death. I like to think of it as helping her to her grave."

Mudge flinched, as if Annie had slapped her.

"We only did what our attorneys advised us," she said, pulling her glasses off and using a handkerchief to dab at the tiniest droplet of perspiration on her forehead. "In the best interests of the neighborhood."

Annie drew herself up. "I suppose it was in the best interest of the neighborhood to team up with my brother and sue for the house? To leave the house empty for over a year while we battled in court?"

"Your brother's interest—"

"My brother was only interested in money! He wanted to profit from the house, while you just wanted to control it."

"As I recall," Mrs. Mudge said, "you testified that you didn't really want the house. It holds bad memories for you. Remember?"

Annie winced, but she also recalled their early, happier days in the house, before her mother turned to vodka for companionship. Memories of pipe smoke and aftershave, crackling hardwood fires and laughter.

"I also testified that it held the only memories I have of my father. And this is all irrelevant anyway. The judge found the will legally binding and awarded the house to me. You lost."

Mrs. Mudge squared her shoulders, straightened her backbone, and sniffed.

"As you know, under the agreement reached in court, you have ninety days to get the house back in acceptable order on the exterior before we take further action."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Mudge," Annie assured her, "I'll make sure it gets done."

The Historical Society matriarch turned on her heel and strode off the way she came.

"Remember quiet hours, Ms. Brown," she tossed back over her shoulder. "This isn't the downtown bar scene."

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Mrs. Mudge ends up pestering Annie throughout the book, a constant source of irritation, stress, and conflict for Annie. The story takes place during the 90 day period Mudge mentions, and wraps up just as that period ends.

Hope you'll pick up a copy on Tuesday, when it hits Amazon!