SOUTHERN NIGHTS

Written by

Marti Phillips
Barbara Deming
Debbora Wiles
Jacqueline Gibson
Jacqlyn Mage
Donna Diamond

A journey into intrigue, suspense and the paranornal...

Selected excerpts and Author bios

WILDFIRE
By Marti Phillips

I could make out distant lights through the trees, movements and an occasional camera flash, and heard chanting and angry shouts. Sounds like the lawmen are trying to break up the protesters. I said, and added, I don't think you should be down here alone, Nik. I can't picture you actually using that weapon on anyone.
Let Roger or his henchmen try opening this gate like they did yesterday, and I just might surprise you! She spoke with a vengeance unlike her concerning Roger Houston and his corporate associates. She was not alone. He had made several enemies along his path to wealth.
They don't seem to understand these, she said angrily, showing me the No Trespassing signs all along the fence.
Southern Kentucky below Lexington and the bordering Tennessee's mountains was a pretty section of country, populated but unspoiled when I was a child. We should have known then it could not last.
While my little oil company took every measure to protect the surrounding environment and restore the land after drilling, Houston had a reputation for leaving chemical spills and forcing folks from their homes, forgotten jetsam in his powerful wake. He and his conglomerate purchased land, and whatever stood in the way came down; centuries old trees, natural wildlife habitats and rustic buildings fell to the earth movers, giving way to multi-million dollar complexes surrounded by acres of parking lots.
However, there was an element of irony in the scheme. With his plan for another rich adult playground came a complication Roger hadn't counted on. Beneath part of the projected site in the foothills of Old Baldy Mountain lay an ancient Indian burial ground.
Yes, I had visted here in the summers and the situation saddened me. These descendants of the Lakota Sioux and Cherokee fished in the streams and hunted the woods in season. Now they had been ordered out. They held their traditional tribal celebrations where the symbolic twin oaks shadowed the meadow. The hill was considered sacred earth, proclaimed and documented by hundreds of Native Americans whose ancestors were placed there to embark on their spiritual journey. These tribes believed that if the bodies were disturbed, their spirits could not complete the journey and would be doomed to wander endlessly, lost in limbo between the two worlds. That tract of land was one of the first scheduled to go under the devastation of Houston's heavy equipment.
The pathos and progress of the white men had long before confined the First Americans in every way but the spirit of their beliefs. Now, the land promised these people by a hundred year old treaty had been bought by fat corporate wallets and the right friends in legislature. If I thought about it too long, it was going to ruin my entire mood this evening.
"How are things going with your race horses?" I inquired of Nicole.
"I'm busy, and optimistic! My winning mare, Flirtatious breezed the mile and a quarter in a tenth second off record time yesterday. We've entered her in the Oaks."
"That's wonderful. I will have to try and attend."
"I hope you can," she smiled. "It's been a long while, my Gosh, I guess since that time you and Lance..." She looked away, "Oh...Darce, I'm sorry."
"It's OK. I've made peace with everything, for some time now. How's his mother, Dawn Flower?"
"They say she is doing well and is happy living in Arizona."
Through Lance, I came to respect the culture and his people's unwavering belief in the spiritual. I learned more of what mattered in life and what didn't. Then suddenly he was gone too, killed in a helicopter crash. I swallowed hard against the agonizing ache of loss in spite of the years since his accident. God, it had been a long time since I allowed myself to think about Lance... To order now scroll to the bottom of this page.

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Marti Phillips is a book and newsletter editor, and author of six novels as well as the producer of an Internet business guide. She likes to see talented new writers published and their books reviewed, and to that end she and her alter-ego, Ann, became part of a production/publishers in 1995. "I'm often asked by writers, how to break in, given the sorry state of publishing houses today. I say practice, improve your skills, write what you love and go for your own measure of success." Marti resides on Florida's East Coast, with her cat, Precious, and her husband Jim, author of a non-fiction book titled, The Sales Edge. Her upcoming articles include BookStar Reviews Put the History Back in the Historical. Her books, ranging from mystery to historical romance, include The Road to Camelot Trilogy, Lancelot's Crystal and The Last Pirate. She welcomes Email at: Marti Phillips To visit Marti's other home page: Go to AOL Hometown, type in "Marti Phillips."

GUMBO UNDERCOVER
By Barbara Deming

I knew it was going to be a bad day when I heard that announcement on the radio. Someone had gone into St. Louis Cemetery No. 1, walked among those white marble tombs and tried to smash one of them to smithereens. He said that he was trying to communicate with Mam'zelle Marie LaVeau. "The famous voodoo queen was dead, wasn't she?" That's what that smart aleck DJ asked, knowing full well that she was. "Otherwise the gentleman wouldn't be trying to contact her at the foot of her grave, would he?"
The news made me shiver even as I hurried through the humid air over to Canal Street to catch the streetcar that would carry me to my office in the Quarter. And the omen continued when I reached into my purse and found that I didn't have a dollar for the fare. Thank goodness the old black lady who minded the Duprey children down the street from my rented duplex had just stepped off the streetcar and quickly offered me change. Further, when I reached the office door in the stately building overlooking the grounds of St. Louis Cathedral, the phone was already ringing; I should have never answered it.
As office manager for a small Vieux Carre law firm, I did everything from the hiring, firing and supervising of office staff to acting as purchasing agent, interior decorator and personal shopper. But I drew the line at purchasing presents for wives. I'd been working in this office since graduating from high school. In Catholic South Louisiana ten years later I was considered a 'sad case,' a woman married to her job. And you'd agree if I told you how long it had been since I'd had a real date with someone other than a client. But, to get back to this day, there was no way I could hang up when I recognized the voice of Lily Gautier, the rather - no, let me tell it like it is - my boss's truly overbearing wife.
"Chris, Mon Cher." That syrupy beginning meant she was going to dictate orders. "Make reservations for noon at the Gumbo Shop. You and I are doing lunch."
Red warning signals flashed. "I'm not sure I can . . ."
"Joel will be at that conference thing until at least three. One of the other women can cover for you. See you there."
What could I do? I had discovered long ago that I actually have two bosses, one at the office and one at Joel's home. I really enjoy my job, which I know is rare, the pay is excellent and, except for times when I have to run the office, I do my duty, don't make waves, carry on. So far the juggling has worked and I have managed to keep both parties happy. With a great deal of reluctance I went to lunch that day.
The Gumbo Shop is one of those famous places in the French Quarter where tourists gathered to eat the famous soup accompanied by crusty bread and a drink of choice. I wanted a strawberry daiquiri....maybe more than one. If I had a mind to drink too much though, the restaurant was so crowded with the patrons no one would know if you passed out in your bowl. Just the sort of place that made the perfect stage for a clandestine meeting, or for plotting intrigue. Or for maneuvering me into the center of Lily's devious plan.
"Did you know Joel is seeing someone?" Lily was never one to beat around the bush, although she did wait until I had a mouth full of shrimp and okra.
It took a moment to swallow but not long enough to come up with an innocent look on my face. I had heard the rumors.

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Barbara Deming: At age 10, Barbara created her first short story and has been putting words on paper since. Her stories have appeared in magazines including Grit, and her short story collection " The Quilt Maker" is pending publication. Originally from the South, Barbara has traveled extensively and resides in San Marcos, California. She is currently writing a romantic suspense novel and a mainstream novel, titled, " Aunt Lutie's Café." See her short story at WWW.Ladybugbooks.com. Email: tejasbabs@AOL.com

Watercolor Dreams by Debbora Wiles

From the swaying deck of Lost Time , I watched the artist walking barefoot in the sugar-sand dunes. A fresh breeze fingered her raven curls fanning them about her face like an Aztec sun. She paused by the marina to shift her cargo of boxes and brushes as she scanned Pensacola Bay. Triton's sea rushed toward her, waving lace-touched fingers in a beckoning hello. Rippling sea oats bowed to her creative hand. But, she paid them no attention as her artist's eye sought the waning sun. "Do I know you angel?" I whispered.
The torn fish net beneath my gnarled hands faded from my view while my fingers moved of their own accord to repair the breach. I found myself unsettled by longings that had not touched me since the Fall of my days. Longings that made me want to both curse and laugh at once. Curious as it was, I found myself strangely drawn to the artist, as though I had met her before. There, where she walked like the writhing shadow of a long forgotten dream. Aye, she haunted my deepest dreams. Perhaps it was my own study of painting as a youth or the way an aura of blue radiated from her. Aye, I knew not why she called that buried dream from the depths of my salted soul.
As she walked before my slip, my fingers trembled as they edged upward to wave hello, but her questing gaze swept over me, as if I were an inanimate object unworthy of her notice.
The incoming tide caused Lost Time to groan against her bumpers, echoing the rejection in my distressed soul. Not even when I was beautiful and virgin did Triton beckon me with the tenderness that he called to her. Aye, the years I have wasted in the Old Man's embrace, dredging bounty or famine from his watery bowels. For half a century he lured me to distraction by the laughter of a fleeting trade wind or the rage of a widow-maker gale. And while he had intercourse with my mind, my eyes were diverted from the splendors of the land and the company of exquisite creatures such as the artist. Putting my face into the wind, I cursed my age as her sweet perfume tangled with the salty spray and assaulted me like the tender sigh of a lover's lips.
She paused off my port bow. Her stance was a lighthouse, her beacon, the sun pouring through her full white skirt that waltzed with the breeze. Her safe harbor was framed in naked shadow, causing the sleeping boy within me to stir. She bent to release her cargo. Her breasts slipped against her cotton blouse filling it like a wind hardened sail. Licking the salt from my lips, I swallowed my hunger, while my soul cried: Too late, too late, old fool.

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Debbora Wiles is published in several magazines including Writer's Digest, and her short stories have appeared in Tense Moments, Xignals and Horizons. Her books include The Adventures of H.B. & Prize, which she also illustrated, and The Secrets of Bestsellers: A Workshop, an Online workshop for writers. Debbora has done radio, stage plays and TV Scripts including Janbora, the Dragon and Illusions. Her novelette, The Kiss Of Venom, will be out early 2002. She lives in Florida with her groom, Jack, of 30 years. Visit her web city & author sites at www.Integritytech.com. or her art at www.IntegrityTech.com/debborag.html

The Ringmaster's Witness
by Donna Diamond

The large canvas tent was up, snapping in the warm ocean breeze that Mobile was famous for in July. She hurried past the splashy posters showing her in her glitzy, tight costume. "How did I get a date?" she still wondered, huffing under the large sack she carried. Tony the lion tamer cracked his whip outside the iron grilled cage. The huge yellow and black striped cat pawed the air and roared. Funny how she felt like a trapped animal some days, so tied to a job and yet so tired of it. Her throat parched, she could barely swallow over the smells of animals. She had liked the clean air at Jimbo's and its tantalizing smells of fruits and foods.
A man with a turban wrapped around his head and sporting a large moustache, strode up to her, his anger evident in his hard eyes. "Jessica! There you are! The show begins in ten minutes. Get changed, woman! You know better than to disappear at show time."
Her knee throbbed with the pain. "I can't do the afternoon performance, Tobin," she pleaded with the man whose cold dark eyes were scowling at her. "I just got back from the grocery store...I almost...." She decided she'd better not anger him any further and turned to go when a large fist swiped her cheek in mock anger. It caught her just enough to force her head around with a jerk.
Tobin Rinaldo said low and smooth, "I don't want you wandering off from us again. We can have your groceries delivered to your trailer. The circus is your family. I want to know where you are at all times." Jessica hated the sinister quality of this man who'd adopted her when her parents died. She watched the beads of sweat drip from his bull dog chin. She detested his echo and the stench of sweat on his body. Her jaw hurt more than her knee and knowing she must perform almost brought tears, but she held up a proud chin. With Jim coming to see her, she knew to antagonize Tobin would be asking for him to lock her up in the small trailer. If he didn't resort to violence, he used mental abuse, but who would listen, who would believe her? If only she had a witness...
"I cant do this. I won't perform in the afternoons anymore. I'm better in the evening. My body time fluctuates...."
"You're body time is ready when I need you. You will go on in ten minutes," came the command, and the large fist in her face demanded she hear him. The satin cape careened into her as he snapped it in emphasis.
"I can call the police, Tobin...I warned you, if you ever hit me again," she threatened through clinched teeth, "I'll see you're put away." Her body ached, now she was being pressured.
"You would have all these people lose their jobs because you are weak, Jessica. I'd see them all finished, yes. And you, who would hire you?" He threw his satin covered arms in the air, AWho would use an outcast from my great circus?" A guttural laugh revealed Tobin's missing eye tooth, knocked out in a brawl with an angry clown who'd quit one night.
"I can do other things," she answered proudly, chin high. She crinkled the grocery sack under the pressure of her tightening fist. She'd like to punch him out, the same way he'd hit her one night when he'd been full of whiskey. How could a man so inhumane run a popular circus and smile to charm everybody? AI can run away," she threatened, "if nothing else I'll cashier in a grocery store." Jim would give her a job. Maybe.
"Ha, ha, ha...." his voice trailed off as his heel caught in the dust upon his turn away and it swept up into her nose. "Sure you can sell groceries." He snickered loudly. "You would die of starvation. You can't live on the salary of a clerk. Not you, Jessica. Not you. Ha. Ha."
Jessica hurried to her trailer. She'd have to virtually throw her outfit on and her leg would have to suffer. She slipped into her silver body stocking and wound her glossy hair into a bun, put a trace of glitter over her brows, bowed to the mirror and hurried to the main tent.
The music was like a gentle lullaby and she was swept up in the force of her work, her art. She loved the trapeze, the air against her body and controlling her every move. She was one with the air. It was power. Raw control and adventure rolled into one somersault after another. It gave her the freedom Tobin would not. The crowds loved her. She'd performed since she was five years old under her parent's direction. The great Tinates. A lone tear slid down her make up and she brushed it away bowing to the thunderous applause below. Dust and tiny specks flamed in the spotlights. Miguel stared at her. His sense of timing would be accurate when he caught her. But, each of the small jerks to her knee would not be good. She inhaled sharply, narrowing her focus to the job at hand. Her expertise could handle it.
Up she climbed, her small feet pressing down on the swinging ladder. The balls of her feet found the movement up securely, but her left foot was sore. Wincing, she grabbed the hand of Miguel who swiftly pulled her to their sanctuary high above the screaming crowds. Gently, she was yanked to the top heights of the tent. From where she stood, people were a mirage of colors: green, gold, silver, blue and flesh toned. Clothes and people were one montage of color. She flirted with the crowd, waving boldly, all the time her heart hammering as the adrenalin rushed through her.
"He's taken away the net!" Miguel warned her in a rushed whisper. He bowed and held the swing in his powdered hand, his dark eyes apprehensive.
"What?" she smiled bravely, but her eyes revealed utter terror. "What if...if we fall? I hurt my knee when shopping today. My leg is weak."
"I'll spot you, Jessie. Just think stars. Look up, not down."
"Damn Tobin! It was his idea, right?" Jessica stared into Miguel's concerned eyes. He'd watched her fall two years ago when she'd ended up with a broken leg, a punctured uterus and a concussion. His lean hard body glistened bronze under the light with a sheen of sweat. She touched cheek. "We'll do it! Together we'll make them cheer!"

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Donna Diamond (AKA Donna Kordella) is new to mystery suspense but not to romance. Just having celebrated her Silver anniversasy with her husband Bill, she resides in Poway, California. Her love of mystery stems from reading Nancy Drew and Agatha Christie. She has servered as Literacy Chariman for a major booksigning events. Her first western romance as Summerhawk (Jan 200), set in Calico Ghost Town, CA. Donna teaches college, writing seminars, loves literacy projects such as READ/San Diego, and has penned for The San Diego Union Tribune, The L.A. Times and The Christian Science Monitor. The daughter of a Navy Perry officer, she traveled the South. Donna has written 12 novels, including two mysteries and a paranormal titled By Island Possessed, about two lovers reincarnated on Jamestown Island, VA. She loves to hear from readers. Visit Donna at www.donnadiamond.com or email her at: DonnaGK1@aol.com

THE FLAME OF NEW ORLEANS
By Jacqlyn Mage & Ann Phillips

In the gardens of the Rignou manor, a handsome, dark haired man in a tailored suit and black cloak walked beside a lovely lady with golden hair and perfect fair skin. She looked cool in spite of the humid day. She wore a fitted saffron silk gown, and around her graceful white throat lay a necklace that shimmered in the morning sun. More brilliant than fire were the diamonds, and in the center was a tear-shaped ruby larger than even jewelers to the wealthy had ever seen.
"I will tell you once again, my love," the man said, clasping her hand in his be-ringed one, "That no other woman could ever wear this gift of mine as well. You are beautiful beyond words already, but when you wear that piece to the Masque Ball, everyone will be stunned, and envious."
The lady paused and faced him. "That is what I wanted to tell you, dearest, when I summoned you here this morn. I won't be going to the Ball. I must sail away on some...worthwhile business which will take almost a month. I am sorry."
"More business of settling your late husband's estate?"
"No. That is near conclusion, thank heaven."
"Then, it must be... No!" His voice dropped, AYou aren't going in person to aid Joseph's secret mission!"
"Yes, Jean, I am."
He scowled darkly, giving her a fiery look. "Be reasonable! Let me send a man in your stead. It's too risky for a woman."
She looked at him with stormy blue eyes. "I can take care of myself! You should realize that by now, after I've shared much of your life for these past months. I am going as far as the Yucatan coast. When I have seen the ships outfitted and enough men hired, I will return to you."
"I have contributed to the expedition myself, but I will not have you in the path of danger," he protested. Eventually he weakened before her determined argument.
"What danger? I have sailed the seas in Marcionne's ships to Europe and the Spice Islands for years with no mishaps. I am known for taking good care of myself. I only wish I could be there when they complete the daring mission on the Island, but Joseph would not agree to it."
"He is concerned for your safety, as am I," her companion said emphatically. "I would go myself, rather than simply sending ships and men, before I would see you in jeopardy."
"Oh, no, you have already made a tremendous contribution! You must not leave your business concerns, not when there is treachery about and your brother in danger of being caught as a counterspy."
"I know your husband's long illness must have severely depleted your finances. Let me give you the monetary support you want for the mission."

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THE KEYS
By Jacqueline Gibson

They arrived in Cabo San Lucas a few hours later, and caught a horse drawn cab to take them down Lazaro C`ardenas, the main street. "To The Bunglalows, por favor." Jake said to the driver.
"I speak fluent English, sir." The cabbie replied with a smile.
Bel giggled to herself and turned to Jake, "Have you been here before? You seem to know where you're going.."
"I've been mulling over these brochures, ever since I arrived in the Keys."
"Took a vacation to plan a vacation?" Bel laughed.
"Kinda." Jake smiled.
At the lovely hotel, Bel found Jake had already made reservations. He must have sensed she was a lttile uncomfortable, because he asked the clerk to give them a two bedroom bungalow. The clerk agreed, Jake signed in and bellhop took their luggage. They followed him to bungalow number four. Jake tipped him and he left, adding, "Please let us know if there is anything that you need." They thanked him simultaneously, and Bel turned to have a look around.
It was beautiful, with authentic Mexican furnishings. Terra-cotta tiles, hand painted sinks, wooded chests, plenty of blown glass. She reminded herself to take a picture of this lovely room later. There was also many comforts, a television with vcr, complete kitchenette, a private bath, purified water and even designer bedding. She looked out a window, and the grounds were impressive. All of the bungalows surrounded a beautiful pool with cushioned lounge chairs and tropical gardens. There were flowers and fountains everywhere.
"Great place, huh?" Jake asked.
"I'll say. Are you sure you don't want me to chip for it?"
"Nah, don't be silly, you're my guest, I have it covered."
"Great! I'm headed to the pool!"
"Hey, it's a nice pool...you go ahead and I'll join you in a few."
She changed into a blue tankini, which complimented her creamy skin and dark hair. She put on a wrap and told Jake, "See ya there."
Jake nodded and smiled. He watched her walk to the pool on a brick paved walkway and wished they could be more than friends. Maybe..it will happen, sooner or later. He pulled out his cellphone and made the call.
A voice immediately said, "Right on time."
"Yeah. Where do you want this to happen?"
"Peacock's, you know where that is?"
"Yeah, expensive little place."
"You can't afford not to be there."
"What time?"
"Seven, sharp."
"How will I know who you are?"
The man hung up. That's just great...is he gonna surprise me now or what? Jake thought about calling back, in case it was a simple disconnection, but he decided against it, pretty sure the man had hung up. He then called the restaurant and made reservations for seven. When they were confirmed, he thought, I've never been much of a swimmer..but that water does look good. He changed into some black trunks and went to join Bel at the pool.
"Hi," Jake called to her with a smile.
"Hi there! Come on in ..the water feels great!"
He walked down the pool steps and glided deftly over to her. "I've made dinner reservations for us at Peacock's at seven, sound good?"
"Sounds great!"She splashed him lightly with cool water.
"Ha ha...hey!"
After her swim, Bel felt refreshed. It was five o' clock, plenty of time to get ready for dinner. She took a long shower and washed her hair. Then she smoothed a cucumber-melon body lotion all over her skin. She decided to wear a khaki tankdress, the darts wrapping the dress snugly around her body, and wheat colored sandals. She pinned her thick hair up loosely, with tendrils of hair falling on each side of her face, wispy and delicate. Jake had mentioned that this was a patio dining establishment, and she wanted to look somewhat casual, but chic.
"Ready if you are," she called to Jake and stepped out of her room.
Jake thought she would look great in any color, and each time he saw her, he caught his breath. "You look beautiful, Bel."
"Thank you." she blushed and looked down a little.
"We have about 30 minutes to get there..plenty of time." Jake had rented a car while she was getting ready. He wore a white mock turtle tee, khaki pants and slide sandals. He had a matching khaki jacket.
"You like those shirts, don't ya?" She teased, "I've hardly seen you wear anything else."
"Hey, what can I say? I go with what looks good on me."
"Yes...it does.@ she stared at him for a moment, a little embarrassed that she did.
They arrived at Peacock's and the Maitre'd summoned a man who showed them to their reserved table. Bel loved this place, dining outside on the tiled terrace, watching people walk down the street. Jake sat asked the waiter for a recommendation, and he replied that the house appetizer plate was a good start. Jake told him they would have that, and a bottle of Merlot to begin.
"Wow, Jake, this is a lovely restaurant." Bel said, taking a sip of water.
"Yeah, it's one of the best here in Cabo."
Bel looked at him inquistively and he added, "So sayeth the brochure...ha ha." She laughed, and Jake started looking around the terrace. Just then, his cell rang.
"Jacoby."
"I'll be there soon. Keep your eye on the men's room. I'll switch my sunglasses from one pocket to the other before I go in. You come in and hand me the keys to the trunk."
Jake turned away from Bel, whispering, "How will I get them back?"
"I'll come back, saying you left your keys in the lavaratory."
Click.
Bel was craning to look around the terrace, and Jake offered to trade her seats. She accepted and he was glad, because now watching out for his man would be no problem, he wouldn't look so obvious. The waiter brought their appetizers and wine and asked for their order. Jake asked for a few more minutes, and Bel agreed.
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Jacqyln Mage (AKA Jacqueline Gibson) has collaborated on fantasy/historical novels and has her own first novella published in this book."Jackie' is a copy editor for publishers and authors, and has lived in Tenn. And Florida. She now resides in Evansville, IN with two dogs, an Irish setter and a "mixed breed" with lots of energy to keep her busy walking them.

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