Monday, October 16, 2017

Ouija boards, pet nappers and serial killers (#mystery #Halloween #giveaway @Ruth_Mysteries)

DeadSpeak 2 cover

Things look different when you're dead.

It’s Halloween and a group of teens throw a party at Harbinger Falls’ most celebrated haunted estate. It’s all fun and games until a session with a Ouija board guides the partygoers to the body of a young girl hidden in the attic.

Detective Kimberly Trent is assigned the case and quickly discovers that all is not as it seems. First, there’s the connection between the death and a string of petnappings terrorizing the neighborhood. Then there’s the suicide note that only leaves more questions than answers. A visit from Kimberly’s ghostly friend Griff Lindon sheds an unwelcome light. It seems she’s had a run in with the newly deceased who tells her she’s been murdered.

This is the second in The Deadspeak Mysteries. The entries are meant to be read in sequential order and do not standalone. In each book, you’ll find a new murder for Kimberly Trent to solve. You’ll also find the continuing search for who murdered Kim’s sister Elizabeth. Each book will take you closer and closer to finding out the identity of The Hex Killer, the serial killer who ended Elizabeth’s short life. It will also bring you to the heart of the evil that’s come back to life to wreak revenge. 


This reminds me of when I was in summer camp and stayed up all night trying to contact the dead,” Julie Welch commented.

Mia or no Mia, the time had arrived and the Ouija board was placed in the center of one of the folding tables.

You did that, Mrs. Welch?” Angie asked.

Of course,” Julie confessed with a giggle. “I lived for those summers, and the camp counselors had no idea what we were up to. They only wondered why we were all so tired in the mornings.”

The atmosphere of the Halloween Party had changed. Ever since the announcement, things went from Party Central, to an eerie, expectant quiet. The music was turned off and the food lined up on the rented tables was bereft of pawing hands.

The six rested their fingers lightly on the planchette. “Remember: no cheating! Understood?” Mrs. Welch warned.

The participants nodded in agreement as the woman with the highlighted blonde hair inhaled deeply.

Hello? Is there anyone with us?” Julie asked, starting off the questioning.

A soft scrape… and … movement! Infinitesimal at first, the planchette picked up speed.


What the—” Gen started. A loud moan interrupted the moment.

Yes, I’m here,” a deep voice bellowed.

Fear spread quickly as attendees sprang up from their chairs and readied to run. Another unearthly groan penetrated the air. Angie latched on to Glenn’s hand.


Someone was climbing the basement stairs.

About the Author

Born in the idyllic, sleepy town of Ithaca, NY, Ruth Bainbridge has been a lover of mysteries for her entire life.

Ever since a child, she has consumed detective stories at regular intervals, becoming enamored with all the superstars of crime. She loved nothing more than to match wits with the likes of Hercule Poirot, Miss Marple, Thomas Pitt, Lord Peter Wimsey, Richard Jury, and Edward X Delaney, becoming inspired by their brilliance. Hoping to emulate her writing idol’s achievements in dreaming up such characters, she started composing her own short stories.

However, life interfered with her plans of becoming the next hopeful to try a life of crime—on paper at least. Devoting herself to her marriage and the raising of four children, the empty nest syndrome gave her the impetus to return to her first love—murder.

Amazon Author Page:

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Sunday, October 15, 2017

A Sizzling Snippet from Singapore Fling (#SizzlingSunday #NewRelease #AsianAdventures #Giveaway)

Sizzling Sunday banner

Welcome to today's installment of Sizzling Sunday! This is your chance to sample some of the most erotic interludes from my various stories.

Today I’m featuring my brand new erotic romance release, SingaporeFling, the first book in a new Asian Adventures series.

Leave me a comment and I’ll enter you in a drawing for a copy of another (much darker) Asian tale, Bangkok Noir.

In the cleanest city in Asia, things can still get messy.

Thai entrepreneur Ploy Kaewkornwattanasakul has come to Singapore to close a deal. Ploy needs to convince tech whiz Jason Chow to license his ground-breaking innovation to her company on favorable terms. The future of her startup depends on her negotiating skill. When she meets Jason, though, she realizes she wants not just the invention, but the inventor, too.

Jason Chow is a brilliant engineer, a successful businessman and a bit of a rebel. He’s attracted to Ploy from the moment he sets eyes on her. However, he doesn’t dare respond to her advances, for fear she’ll discover his secret vice.

Ploy doesn’t understand why the sexy CEO has rejected her. She figures she’ll have to content herself with the cold comfort of a signed contract—unless the strength of Jason’s desire overwhelms his shame.

Singapore Fling is a sweet, sexy slice of Asia.


He rested his graceful hands on the table and searched her face. His nostrils flared. Was he noticing her at last? His lips curled into a slow grin. “So—are you hungry?”

Was there a double meaning to that question? Ploy didn’t know. She didn’t care. She couldn’t wait any longer.

Oh, yes...” she breathed. She stumbled a bit as she rose from her chair and launched herself at Jason. Throwing her arms around his neck, she pressed her lips to his.

Up close, he smelled even more delicious, clean and masculine. His mouth was firm, muscular, molding to hers as she deepened the kiss. It opened to her probing tongue; she tasted coffee and breath mints. He let her take the lead, sitting passive while she devoured him. That was okay. Ploy wasn’t the shy type.

His muscles shifted under his shirt as he turned to face her, their lips still locked. She mashed her breasts against his chest, stimulating her swollen nipples. Shameless, she climbed onto his lap, straddling his lean legs. Her straight skirt rode up, baring her thighs. The hardness prodding her sodden undergarments told her that he was aware of her after all.

Oh, Jason!” she moaned, finally breaking the kiss. Releasing her grip on his neck, she brought her hand down to cup the promising bulk of his erection. “Looks like you’re hungry, too,” she murmured. “But I can help you with that...” She fumbled with his zipper, stretched tight by his bulging cock.

No!” The Chinese entrepreneur jerked, as if she’d given him an electric shock. “Don’t!” The chair rolled backward, slamming into the wall as he pushed Ploy off his lap. She barely escaped tumbling to the floor.

What?” She clutched the table to steady herself and tried to slow her breathing. “What’s wrong?”

We can’t. Someone might come in and find us.”

Everyone’s gone.” Indeed the outer offices were empty and dim.

Sometimes the engineers come back to work after dinner,” he protested. His sudden panic puzzled her. His eyes were wild with something that looked like fear, but the tenting in his trousers remained prominent.

Let’s go to your place, then,” she urged. “Or my hotel. It’s an easy walk.”

No, no—I’m sorry—I should never have allowed...” He wrung his hands, looking worried and lost. What had happened to the calm, self-confident genius she’d admired all afternoon? Jason suddenly seemed a decade younger than his thirty years.

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Don’t forget to leave me a comment! You could win a copy Bangkok Noir in your choice of e-format!

Saturday, October 14, 2017

"A Delight" from Cerise DeLand (#historical #erotic #notorious @CeriseDeLand)

Wild Lily cover

By Cerise DeLand (Guest Blogger)

I'm tickled to announce release of WILD LILY, just reviewed by The Romance Reviews with 5 Stars!

Beginning a Victorian romance series, Those Notorious Americans stars a family ready to charm all of Europe with their wit, their good looks…and their fortune.

Here’s a limerick to typify the series:

Find an heiress a duke, a marquess or count,

A baron'll certainly do, never doubt.

But a prince'd be too high

A price to pay. Why?

Cuz love's rare for a gel without clout.

Money can buy anything. Can't it? When American robber baron Killian Hanniford decides to expand his business empire, he sails to Europe in 1877 and takes his family with him.

His two daughters—Lily and Ada—are beauties, accomplished and educated. They want for nothing, except a chance to find husbands who love them for themselves, not their dowries.

His niece, Marianne, is a charming widow who wants for nothing…except perhaps an amusing and temporary lover.

Killian’s son, Pierce, is young, impetuous and too ruthless for any young woman to take on as a husband.

Even Killian himself—without a wife for many years but increasingly bored by his mistress—is shocked to learn he can fall in love.

Tragic, isn’t it, to learn that money can buy anything… but love?

WILD LILY, Book 1, October 10 2017
DARING WIDOW, Book 2, February 2018
SCANDALOUS COUNTESS, Book 3, Summer 2018

WILD LILY, Book One, Those Notorious Americans

Money can buy anything, can’t it? Those brash Americans, their dollars and charms work wonders. Until they learn that money can buy anything...but love.

Lily Hanniford has all the qualities an impoverished nobleman could want in a wife. She’s beautiful, educated and funny. Too bad, she has a penchant for riding astride like a man. Too bad, she’s an American with a shrewd, wily father. But she’s unwilling to be sold to the highest-ranking nobleman. She wants a purpose in life…other than presiding over a drafty castle and a loveless marriage bed. Then she accidentally meets a man she can’t resist.

Julian Ash, Marquess of Chelton, doesn’t need a wife. He needs luck at cards…or a way to persuade Killian Hanniford to pay more for his family’s shipping line. But Lily is charming and her wild streak appeals to Julian who has always followed the society’s rules. Now he discovers that being wild with Lily is not only fun, it’s necessary to his life. And so is she.

They struggle to throw convention to the wind. But can they be wildly happy together if they can’t heal old wounds?

"Ms. DeLand's WILD LILY is as pleasing to the ear as it is to the eye. It's rare to call an historical erotica romance a delight but this one was downright gleeful to my love of language." ~ Gabrielle Sally, The Romance Reviews 5 STARS


They ran like children along the stone path up to the servants back door of his country house. It was unlocked and Julian thrust it open, pulling Lily inside.

Come. Here’s the kitchen. No fire, but it’s warm and dry. Sit there.” He looked her over. “You’re drenched. Hell.”

He took four huge strides, disappearing into another room and clanging about. If he kept up that racket, the whole house would soon be awake.

She rubbed her arms, grateful to be out of the storm, but wary of servants who might have been roused.

When he returned, he had his hands full of toweling.

Grateful to be rid of the blanket that smelled of horse, she shrugged it off and folded it. He hurried to wrap a large towel over her head.

She giggled. “You could wake the dead the way you scoured that room.”

My housekeeper is quite deaf.”

You’re kidding.”

Not at all. She’s never been quick to any sound.” He scrubbed her head with too much dedication.

Ooof.” She picked up a corner of the towel to glare at him.

Sorry. You need to dry your hair.” He rubbed her scalp.

She clamped her fingers around his wrist. “If you don’t stop, sir, I’ll be bald!”

Sorry.” He bent to peer at her. “Take off your jacket.”

She balked. She had removed her corset for this adventure and if she took off her jacket, it would be apparent that she was a rather loose woman. In more ways than one. “Ah. I don’t wish to. Unless… Do you have anything to replace it?”

Not yet. I will.” He dropped another towel around her neck.

Splendid. I’ll wait.”

No. You will not.” He began to pick at the buttons on her coat.

She slapped his hands away. “Stop that.”

You do it then. I’ll not have you die of cold at the risk of a layer of clothing.”

She clutched her stock to her throat. And true, it was wet, but she had few choices here. “It’s not just any layer.”

Confusion overtook his brow. “What?”

Can you please find me another coat?”

I will if you promise to begin to unbutton that now.”

She tsked. “Hard bargainer.”

He stood. “I’ll be back with brandy and when I do, you’ll have that jacket off.”

Fine, fine.” Fretting over that, she undid her last two buttons. Beneath it, the cold cotton of her blouse was damp. Under that, her skin was ablaze with the delicious nature of her predicament. But what Julian didn’t know was a good thing. “Hurry, please.”

He left her, ran up the steps and away. In the silent house, she marveled that no one had yet heard them. How many servants did he have? And were they all deaf?

She shrugged out of her jacket, covering her wet blouse and her beading nipples with the ends of a towel. Shivering in the damp cotton and trying to focus on how soon she’d be warm didn’t work.

Julian returned within minutes, a large coat in one hand and a man’s shirt—his?—in the other.

I can’t wear that.” She had admired his form, his broad chest, his muscular build. He was fit, firm, a marvelous example of manhood, but she was more than adequately endowed. And his shirt, tailored as it was, would not adequately cover her attributes.

Why not?” He held it up. “Perfectly fine linen. Clean.”

She ground her teeth. “It won’t fit.”

Of course, it will.” He quirked a brow. “Oh. Um. Won’t it?”

He had this odd expression on his face which by infinite degrees turned to recognition and then, he laughed.

She tapped her foot on the stone floor. “You’re not helping, dear sir.”

Still chuckling, he stepped toward her and put his hands around her waist to draw her to her feet. “I see that. I am sorry.”

She couldn’t help but cuff him. “Take me back.”


As I am, yes! Now.” She took his hand and marched them both toward the window.

But lightning streaked the sky and a loud boom shook the house.

She lurched backward.

Against his all too solid chest.

He embraced her, one hand in her hair, one cupped her nape and the lure of his warmth was irresistible. She sank against him, reveling in his support. He was assurance and beneath his riding pants, he was aroused.

She didn’t want to move or even breathe. Could he find her attractive? Still? Even though she’d told him at the opera to ignore her? He certainly did find her company appealing. Much as she’d always declared she’d never tolerate a man as demanding as her father, she liked a man with a mind of his own.
This man.

I like you,” she told him astonishing herself for saying what she felt for him.

He trailed his fingers up into her hairline and turned her head toward him.

Do you?” he asked, his voice wistful. “God knows I like you.”

Her heart did a little jig. “Now, I know, too.”

We are neither of us very clever.”

But honest.”

Lily,” he said her name, a plea more breath than sound. “Lily, darling. Shall we be more than honest?”

Oh, Julian.” In the dim light, she could make out the fire in his beguiling eyes. To wait any longer to taste him would be a waste. Casting caution to the wind, she swung totally into his embrace and pushed up on her toes. She slid her arms around his shoulders, the towel falling to the floor, and with only hot urgency between them, she said, “Yes, let’s be.”

WILD LILY FB Party! TEATIME WITH CERISE AND SUSANA celebrates Cerise's release of WILD LILY! Authors! Fun!

iTunes: id1276695583

Friday, October 13, 2017

Sex as metaphor, dialogue, plot.... (#lgbtq #giveaway #paradise @FarzanaDoctor)

All Inclusive cover

By Farzana Doctor (Guest Blogger)

Greetings, everyone!

Lisabet asked me to write about the following question:

I feature many erotic authors on this blog. Given that it deals with the swinging sub-culture, would you consider All-Inclusive to be erotica? How much explicit sexual content should readers expect?

Thanks for your question—it’s one I think about a lot.

I don’t consider the novel to be erotica, but literary fiction, and I know that the lines are fine between these two genres. Readers will see seven sex scenes where the main character, Ameera, explores her sexuality, often with couples.

I was recently invited to speak on a festival panel about these distinctions. All the panellists had written novels in which the sex lives of their protagonists were front and centre and yet they all insisted that their books were not erotica, but literary fiction. What made them say that? Here’s a list of things they said about their books, and I found myself agreeing with them:

-Sex as a metaphor. In All Inclusive, it’s a metaphor for the character’s overall growth. Sex strengthens her to explore some of the other, deeper issues in her life.

-Sex as form of dialogue, sometime without words. Writers use sex to show a character’s motivations and foibles. Ameera’s sex scenes allowed me to show her in some of her best and worst moments, where she is clumsy, awkward, inspired or transformed.

-Sex as a plot device. Ameera’s choice to have sex with swinger tourists (essentially, her tour company’s customers) puts her in peril, and this is part of the plot development.

So in literary fiction, sex scenes are not there for the enjoyment or titillation of the reader (although the reader might feel titillated). In fact, the opposite might be the writer’s intent. Some my readers have told me that Ameera’s sex scenes made them nervous or frustrated because she was risking her job.

I’d love to listen to a panel of erotica writers where they talk about why they place themselves in that genre, rather than in literary fiction. Might they say they do exactly the same things that literary fiction writers say they do? As I said, the lines are fine, and sometimes even controversial. We writers like the comfort of our own genre boundaries!

I’m curious what lovers of both genres would say about all of this. Feel free to drop me a line if you have an opinion!


A story about an all-inclusive resort, the ghost of an unknown father, and the tragedies we can’t forget.

What’s it like when everyone’s dream vacation is your job? Ameera works at a Mexican all-inclusive resort, where every day is paradise — if “paradise” means endless paperwork, quotas to meet, and entitled tourists. But it’s not all bad: Ameera’s pastime of choice is the swingers scene, and the resort is the perfect place to hook up with like-minded couples without all the hassle of having to see them again.

Despite Ameera’s best efforts to keep her sideline a secret, someone is spreading scandalous rumours about her around the resort, and her job might be at stake. Meanwhile, she’s being plagued by her other secret, the big unknown of her existence: the identity of her father and why he disappeared. Unbeknownst to Ameera, her father, Azeez, is looking for her, and they both must come to terms with the reason why he abandoned her.

A moving new work from award-winning author Farzana Doctor, All Inclusive blurs the lines between the real world and paradise, and life and death, and reminds us that love is neither easily lost nor found.



June 21, 1985, Hamilton, Ontario, Canada

I’d been watching her for a full ten minutes. She sat at the table next to mine, reading a textbook entitled Understanding World Religions. It was the first day of summer and my second last in Canada.

She absent-mindedly played with her long auburn hair, her fingers moving like a magician’s, conjuring it into a single braid. She didn’t tie off the end, and her hair eventually resisted the arrangement and pulled itself free. I nibbled my honey cruller, and waited for her to notice me. For another ten minutes, I scripted my words. I was a chatty fellow back then, but it took immense bravery to speak to a woman I didn’t know. I chided myself: what did it matter if I sounded like a fool?

That looks like interesting reading.”

She glanced up, and her cheeks blushed crimson. I loved when white girls did that. It just isn’t the same with brown girls; their pigment allows them to mute their embarrassment. The girl smiled and nodded and returned to her textbook, her lavender highlighter squeaking across the page. But I could tell she was no longer concentrating on the material.

About the Author

Farzana Doctor is the author of three novels: Stealing Nasreen, Six Metres of Pavement (which was a 2012 Lambda Literary Award and the 2017 One Book One Brampton winner) and the recently released All Inclusive which was a Kobo and National Post Best Book of the Year. Farzana was named one of CBC Books’ “Ten Canadian Women Writers You Need to Read Now”. She is also a Registered Social Worker with a part-time psychotherapy practice. She curates the Brockton Writers Series.

Twitter: @farzanadoctor
Instagram: @farzanadoctor

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Farzana Doctor will be awarding a $15 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner and a print copy of the book to 10 randomly drawn winners (US Only) via rafflecopter during the tour.

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Thursday, October 12, 2017

Keeping the Memory Alive (#giveaway #Cambodia #killingfields)

Saving Nary cover

By Carol DeMent (Guest Blogger)

When she signed up to host my blog tour, Lisabet asked me about my experiences with Cambodia—the unforgettable experiences that led to my writing Saving Nary.

I met my first Cambodian family when I was in my mid-twenties. I was in a funky spot—life was turning out to be harder than I had imagined it would be: I had not met Mr. Wonderful yet, nor made my first million. So I decided to volunteer to teach English to refugees to take my mind off myself for a change.

Boy, did it ever. I was shy, and faced my first class of ten with shaking hands and knocking knees. And then I looked into their faces, into their eyes, and saw ….hope. Hope for a better life and a chance to raise their children in peace. Hope for a full pantry and a secure place to lay their heads at night. Hope for a future free of bombs dropping, machine gun fire, and terror at the hands of a torturer.

All of a sudden, my life looked pretty rosy.

My students invited me to their home for a meal. We sat on mats and ate from a “table” made of newspapers spread out on the living room floor. I will never forget the young woman who held a baby in her arms, telling me in broken English as tears ran down her face how the Khmer Rouge had killed her family. Her vocabulary was limited, but she knew the words she needed to tell her story: gun, machete, dead, torture, starve, blood.

As I continued to work with refugees from Cambodia, I heard again and again how much they had suffered under the Khmer Rouge. In 1984, a major motion picture, “The Killing Fields”, focused attention on Cambodia’s tragic history, but it soon faded into obscurity.

Writing Saving Nary is my attempt to bear witness to that young woman’s story, told to me so many years ago. In researching the novel, I visited the refugee camps in Thailand and the killing fields in Cambodia, trips that only heightened my desire to keep this history alive. What happened in Cambodia and the consequences of the tragedy there hold lessons that we would do well to learn, lessons about the abuse of power, about resiliency and reconciliation, about the human spirit and the will to strive for a better life.

Thank you for inviting me to guest blog on your site. I hope you enjoy reading Saving Nary!


A Finalist in the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Awards, Saving Nary explores the losses, loyalties and secrets held within families broken by war and genocide. This compelling novel presents a palette of unique characters who struggle to make sense of the events that led them to America, even as they ponder the bewildering culture and lifestyle of their new homeland.

Refugee Khath Sophal lost everything when the Khmer Rouge swept into power in Cambodia: his livelihood gone, his family dead or missing; his sanity barely intact from the brutality he has been forced to witness.

Now resettled in the Pacific Northwest, Khath treads a narrow path between the horrors of his past and the uncertainties of the present. His nights are filled with twisted dreams of torture and death. By day he must guard constantly against the flashbacks triggered by the simple acts of daily living, made strange in a culture he does not understand.

Then Khath meets Nary, a mysterious and troubled Cambodian girl whose presence is both an aching reminder of the daughters he has lost, and living proof that his girls, too, could still be alive. Nary’s mother Phally, however, is another matter. A terrible suspicion grows in Khath’s mind that Phally is not who or what she claims to be. A split develops in the community between those who believe Phally and those who believe Khath. And those, it seems, who don’t really care who is right but just want to stir up trouble for their own personal gain.

Khath’s search for the truth leads him to the brink of the brutality he so despises in the Khmer Rouge. His struggle to wrest a confession from Phally ultimately forces him to face his own past and unravel the mystery of his missing daughters.


Go back to Cambodia?” Pra Chhay stared at Khath with puzzled eyes.

Khath nodded. “What choice do we have, brother?” he said. “Our people are being forced back across the border into the arms of the Khmer Rouge. My daughters will have no chance now to get into Khao I Dang. We must go back to continue our search for them.”

Pra Chhay, dressed in saffron monk’s robes and cracked rubber sandals, stood framed by the setting sun outside the open doorway of the bamboo and thatch shelter he shared with Khath and five other families. The odor of too many human bodies crowded into a small living space hung heavy in the air spilling across the threshold.

The rectangular shelter was partitioned by side walls into six open-faced cubicles, three to a side, facing a center corridor running the length of the shelter. There was no privacy other than what could be attained by turning one’s back to the open side of one’s cubicle or crawling inside a mosquito net hung over the thin kapok sleeping mattresses on the floor. The shelter’s only doors were located at each end of the central corridor, opening directly to the outside.

With no way to secure themselves or their meagre belongings, the refugees lived in helpless fear of night visits by bored Thai soldiers, whose transgressions ranged from theft to rape. Pra Chhay and Khath occupied an end cubicle by the door, making them even more vulnerable to unwanted attention from the soldiers, but because of Pra Chhay’s position as a monk, they were usually left alone.

As Pra Chhay slipped his calloused feet out of his sandals, stepping barefoot into the corridor, a gentle breeze puffed out the hem of his robes and blew camp dust into the shelter.

Khath motioned to Pra Chhay to shut the door. Careful not to waste a drop of the day’s ration of precious water, he barely moistened the corner of a rag and ran it over random surfaces in their cubicle that might attract and harbor dust: the wooden altar in the corner, the cracks and edges of the bamboo slats that formed the walls of the hut, the straw mats that covered the floor. A squat wooden bench, left behind by the prior resident, completed the amenities of the living space.
Pra Chhay took off his outer layer of robes and hung them on a sliver of bamboo pulled out from the wall to serve as a peg for clothing. Turning, he watched Khath rub his cloth over the wooden bench, back and forth, back and forth, harder and harder, the knuckles gripping the cloth turning white with effort.

Khath, stop it. You will polish our only seat away to nothing,” Pra Chhay said. “Tell me exactly what you heard today that makes you say we must return to Cambodia.” The monk settled himself comfortably on the floor.

With an effort, Khath slowed his rubbing and carefully folded the rag and laid it on his lap. His eyes followed the tiny particles now dancing in the single ray of golden sun that slipped through the crack between the outer door and its frame. He laced his fingers tightly together to stop their reaching for the rag as, mesmerized, he watched the motes settle onto the areas he had just cleaned. The sight of dust on surfaces where it ought not to be was still intolerable to Khath, though nearly six years had passed since his obsession was born on the day the Khmer Rouge killed his wife and son.

Silence that boy,” the soldier had said to his wife on that awful day. Khieu gathered their son Bunchan into her arms, but how is one to soothe a toddler who cries from hunger when there is no food? Khath, Khieu and their three children had been walking for three days in the heat and humidity, shoulder to shoulder with thousands of other refugees inching their way out of Phnom Penh by order of the Khmer Rouge. Already hunger, thirst and exhaustion had thinned their ranks: the elderly and the ill simply dropped along the sides of the road, patiently awaiting the mercy of death.

Given only minutes to prepare for their exodus, the food Khath and his family carried was gone in a day. After that, they bought, scavenged and bartered for whatever nourishment they could find along the way. Now, they stood next in line before a table of grim-faced cadres in the simple uniform of the Khmer Rouge: black cotton shirts and pants with kramas, red-checkered scarves, wound around their heads or necks. The cadres were checking identity papers and quizzing the refugees about their prior occupations.
Bunchan’s incessant crying enraged the soldier. “Silence him or I will,” he warned Khieu.

About the Author

Carol DeMent worked in the field of South East Asian refugee resettlement for seven years, and completed master's level research into international refugee resettlement policy. She lived for two years in Thailand as a Peace Corps volunteer and has traveled extensively in South East Asia. Her first novel, Saving Nary, was a Finalist in the 2017 Next Generation Indie Book Awards.

Carol DeMent will be awarding $10 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour.

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