Cover art by
Richard Stroud
Heartbroken
art student Charlotte Ross, intent on locating her errant fiancé, follows him
to Bariloche, Argentina. But her fiancé has his own reasons for being in
Bariloche which complicate Charlotte’s life and threaten her very existence, as
she quickly stumbles into a downward spiral of deceit, art forgery, and murder.
Excerpt:
“Me? You go. I’ll watch the luggage.”
Tony shook his head. Finally, he shrugged.
“We’ll both go.”
As they neared the corner, one of the wheels on Charlotte’s luggage
got stuck in the crack of an abutment between the sidewalk and the street. She
tugged at it, to no avail. She gave a last hard pull and it came free, but she
slipped on the wet pavement and found herself spread eagle in the middle of a
deep puddle of water. A sharp pain shot through her back.
Tony squatted down beside her.
“Nasty fall. Break anything?”
“No, but I’m soaking wet, worse than before.”
As she carefully sat up, a rusted, green army Jeep squealed to
a stop at the curb and Charlotte saw a pair of heavy black boots approaching.
She looked up to see a young man, wearing a green poncho over a blue police
uniform. Immediately, her mind recalled the horror stories of military police
arresting foreign visitors for ridiculous reasons. Visions of rat infested
prison cells and cattle prods passed before her eyes as she waited for him to
whip out the handcuffs.
She struggled to her feet and shuddered as she stared at his
thick eyebrows, mean mouth, rapacious jaw line, and piercing black eyes. The
officer rattled off what seemed to be questions in rapid Spanish. It had been
too many years since her high school Spanish class and her phrase book was in
one of her suitcases. When neither of them responded to his questions, he
sighed and began speaking in heavily accented English.
“You are in need of assistance?”
Charlotte nodded. She gave him a weak smile as she noticed his
eyes scanning her and the clothes that clung seductively to her slender figure.
“You are here to dance for the discos, no?”
Tony stepped forward and spoke slowly and deliberately, as if
speaking to a child.
“We’re not here to dance. We’re trying to get to Ty Champion’s
house, for art classes. Perhaps you could help us get a taxi, so we could get
out of this rain.”
“Americanos,” the officer muttered. “Get in.”
1 comment:
I didn't see a SixSunday entry...but I'm loving this excerpt. Great descriptions!
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