Welcome Toni V. Sweeney Today

The other day, when someone asked me how many books I’ve had published, my answer surprised even me.  I actually had to sit and think about it a minute.  Beginning with that very first one in 1989 (and including the 3 published both as audio books and later by another publisher in print), I’ve had 31 books published.  Subtract from that the five now out of print (but having already found a new home for 2012) and the total is 26 books now in ebook/print form.  Numbers 27 and 28 will be released in November and December by Class Act Books.

They are Blood Bay and For the Love in Adler’s Brain.

I call these two my “lost” novels because for a long time, I thought the only copies were gone forever.

Blood Bay is a different genre from the type of novel I’m accustomed to writing and its journey from inception to actual being was a long and dramatic one.

I didn’t even intend to write what I consider a thriller, in fact, but the idea pushed itself into my mind…with the question, How would I have done that story?  The story in question was Cape Fear.  I’d seen the 1962 version, interested in it, not only because parts were filmed in Savannah, but because of the harrowing episodes in which the villain chases the lawyer’s wife.  It gave me chills and I wondered how I would’ve reacted if I’d been in her place.  Then, in 1991, the story was re-filmed, again partly in Savannah, and unlike some remakes, it was just as frightening, perhaps even more so because this time, the teenaged daughter was also one of those threatened.  I kept replaying in my mind the scene where her father asks her about the man she’s seeing and the girl simpers and refuses to answer him, not realizing her new “friend” is the convicted rapist her lawyer father put away fourteen years before and he’s now back for revenge, with her as his target…I was already re-writing the story, looking at it not from the lawyer’s point of view, but from the victim’s.  In my version, he goes after the original victim, still very much alive, but this time, she’s prepared to fight back.

As I’m wont to do when toying with an idea like this, I wrote a single chapter, mainly to get the thoughts out of my head and onto paper, then got distracted by whatever was going on my life at that time.  I got another computer, than an even newer one, forgot about Blood Bay completely, and went on to write other novels, none of them suspense, none of them thrillers.  Then, I thought about that fragment and…  I couldn’t find it!  It was in that very first computer, which was on its last electronic legs at the time I’d been given it and now I couldn’t access that bit of story and I had no hardcopy.  Well, it was only one chapter, but sometimes, that’s the most important one, especially since it held the entire story in an abbreviated form.  Still, what could I do?  It was gone.  If I went any further with the idea, I’d have to rewrite those first, precious pages, and as everyone knows, you can rewrite something but you can never recapture exactly the way you originally said it.

Ten years passed, and then…one of those minor miraculous moments happened.  Someone I’d once known, and lost track of, sent me an e-mail.  He was cleaning files out of his computer and had come upon one with my name on it.  In it were copies of some early novels I’d written and sent him to read.  Would I like to have to have them back?

Yes!

Most of the manuscripts I received were some I’d gone on to polish and edit, and had been published, but tucked in among them was a small one, consisting of a partial chapter and two very small fragments…of something called Blood Bay…

Double-yes!

It had to be reformatted, and saved as a document, but that chapter and those two fragments (which later became chapters two and three) were the beginning of the novel which was released November 15 by Class Act Books.

Even a decade later, with absolutely no synopsis and no further idea of the story except that it would involve an island off the coast of Georgia, a vengeful rapist and his victim and the man she loved, I found the story remarkably easy to write; it was the research giving me problems, for the real-life setting had changed quite a bit since my original inception.  I had to find out what color Georgia State Patrol cars were; how far my imaginary island was from the cities of Savannah and Brunswick; if there were any rest areas now in Georgia other than the single one in North Georgia which had existed when I left the state in 1975, what state highway ran through my mythical town of Stella.  What is the actual title of the Savannah Police Department?  What is the main newspaper in that city?  A dozen other things I had to know to give my story the authentic ring it needed. 

For the Love in Adler’s Brain was another of the fragments returned to me.  This one is a second about-face, a science fiction romance about a dead android assassin whose still-sentient brain continues to hold enough love for his human sweetheart that she hires a private detective to finds its whereabouts.  Unfortunately, the detective falls in love with her, also, and thereby hangs the tale…

I completed both, but held back, somehow wondering if these were too much of a departure from my usual genres…would they be accepted?  Finally, a few months ago, I submitted both to Class Act Books.  Blood Bay was released November 15.  For the Love in Adler’s Brain will follow on December 15.

BLURB:

Connell Ambers was fifteen when she was raped and left for dead by her brother’s best friend.  Ben Reed was found Not Guilty by Reason of Insanity but Connell got a worse sentence.  Isolated and agoraphobic, she now lives on an island off the coast of Georgia with only the family pets for company.  Then Tucker McKenzie stops by, to check on his friend’s sister, and stays to become part of Connell’s life.  When Ben Reed escapes, leaving behind a trail of bodies as he makes his way to Blood Bay Island to finish what he began ten years before, Connell will be waiting for him…with Tuck and a gun.

EXCERPT:

Why did I let him in?

  Behind Tuck, Connell shifted her weight impatiently, bare feet brushing against the wooden floor.

  He took another step inside, onto the edge of the very old, very threadbare rug marking the border of the living room floor. He looked back at Connell. Tried not to stare. She definitely wasn’t what he’d expected. Blue-eyed and blond like her brother, but small and delicate. Her hair was long, hanging from a center part in a tangle of curls past her shoulder blades, a la Alice in Wonderland. A wonderful mixture of pale strands blending with honey-gold. The newsphotos Tuck had seen--her face usually half-shielded by Jess’ hands--didn’t do her justice. Not at all.

“Well?” She gestured toward the canvases stacked in front of the fireplace and against the table. “There they are.”

  Tuck started toward them, tripping over a soggy, well-mouthed cushion lying on the floor.

“Sorry about that.” She picked it up. “That’s Brad Pitt’s. He likes to play with it before we go to bed.”

“Brad...Pitt’s..?” He looked from it to her.

“Unh-huh.” She dropped the cushion onto the sofa.

“So Brad Pitt sleeps with you?” He said it as if he thought her delusional. Jess hadn’t mentioned anything like that. He gestured at the sofa. “Here?”

 “Not if I can help it!” she laughed. “He usually waits ’til I’m asleep and then jumps on the bed.” Why does he look so odd? “Would you like to meet him? He’s in the kitchen.” Why am I saying that? What does he care about my pets?

“And Angelina doesn’t mind?”

She ignored that, crossing to the archway. “Brad Pitt! Get your fat and furry li’l body out here!”

The little brown poodle rushed through, looking nothing like his human namesake. Dancing on his hind legs, he scrabbled at Tuck’s knees with unclipped toenails. He yipped a high-pitched greeting through unruly moustaches. Tuck laughed and tousled the overgrown topknot.

“Connell--” He said the name, thoughtfully. “What do they call you? Connie? Nellie?”

Ben had called her Nelliebelle. Everyone else had called her Connie. No one called her anything now.

“They call me Connell,” she answered.

O-kaay.

“It’s good of you to let me see your paintings.” He tapped a finger at the nearest. He hesitated slightly.  “In view of--”

“Yes?”

“I-In view of--”

“Well?” In view of what? That you’re as persistent as a gnat?

“I-I talked to Mr. Perez. You know… He owns that little restaurant in town. Papa Pepe’s? He told me you’re an invalid…” He paused, as if expecting her to explain exactly what illness she had. Cardiac arrythmia? Cancer? AIDS?

She was tempted to say just that. Bet that’d get rid of him fast!

“Yes, well—” She fell silent, wanting to scream at him to get out, leave her alone, not disrupt her life, and at the same time, to cling to him, begging him to talk to her. She felt a deep, quivering tremor somewhere near the pit of her stomach. Realized with a shock that this time, she didn’t recognize the cause.

He looked around, at everything except the paintings. “This is a great house, but aren’t you afraid to be here alone?”

“Who says I’m alone?”

“Oh. I--” He looked slightly surprised. “I just assumed... I mean--”

  She snapped her fingers. Conan rose and ambled from the other side of the loveseat where he’d been sleeping. He dropped massive haunches, sitting at her feet, regarding Tuck with bright blue eyes.

“My bodyguard,” she said.

Tuck looked from her to the malamute, giving the dog a respectful stare. Conan slurped a tongue across his muzzle. Tuck decided he’d better be very careful not to make any sudden moves.

“Don’t be afraid. He doesn’t attack… Unless I scream.”

“Then, by all means, don’t scream.” Tuck managed a smile.

She hadn’t had Conan then. Jess had gotten him afterwards.

She was studying his face now. MacKenzie. The name was Scottish but he looked more Irish. Black Irish. Curly hair with a cowlick. A double burden, poor dear, the thought was unsympathetic. Eyes as blue as the malamute’s, made even brighter by the dark gold of his skin. Smooth skin. Probably always tanned evenly and never freckled. He reminded her of the dog, in fact, with that black hair and the quiet way he moved. With hair that dark he probably had to shave twice a day. She could already see a faint shadow dusting the contours of his cheeks and jaw.

In spite of her previous thoughts, it startled her that she was thinking about him in such a personal way, something which even a few days before she wouldn’t have dared. Two days ago, the thought of any part of a man’s body would’ve sent frenzied hysteria galloping through her.

“I’d like to paint you.” She said it before she realized it. But meant it.

“Oh?” He was flattered, as anyone would be when an artist said that.

“Nude.”

  “Oh.” He looked down at the painting he was touching, fingers plucking at a frayed edge on the canvas. “I don’t know about that...”

Were his cheeks actually getting darker? Yes, that was definitely a blush staining the back of his neck.

Why did I say that? Wanting to embarrass him? Because he was intruding into her life? Or simply because he was male?

“You can think about it,” she went on.

He didn’t answer.

Involuntarily, her mind began sketching Tucker MacKenzie’s golden darkness against bright splashes of burnt sienna and yellow ochre. A halo of cobalt blue lightened with titanium white hovering around that black hair, complementing the blue eyes.

“Actually, I don’t usually do figures. I’m better at still lifes and landscapes.”

“Really?” He was flipping through the paintings now, very absorbed in looking at them. A little too absorbed, perhaps.

“Uh-huh. They’re much easier. A tree doesn’t complain about sitting in one spot for hours, doesn’t fidget or get sunburned or bitten by mosquitoes.” I’m rambling...like a babbling idiot.

“I guess that would cut short the modeling time.” He couldn’t know she’d never seen a living breathing man totally naked.

Ben hadn’t undressed, just held one hand around her throat in a vice-hold and while she gagged and choked, used the other to rip down his zipper...

“See anything you like?” Connell drew in a sharp breath.

“Yes. I do.” The blue eyes lifted to hers, held them. A bold, direct stare.

She felt a chill. One hand clenched.

“This one.” He held up a small painting.

She looked at it, not moving toward him, still keeping distance between them.

It was a view of the bay, done in gray early morning light, with wisping sea fog hiding most of the land from view.

“I-it has a...solitary...look about it. Almost sad.” As if he had to defend his choice. “But I like it.”

Sad wasn’t the right word. She’d painted that on one of the worst days of her life. In total isolation. The only person left alive in the world. She’d felt like an ant trapped in a Bell jar, cut off from everyone else by an invisible wall of mental pain...

...and this stranger could sense it, could see it.

“I notice all of your landscapes are of the same scene--”

“It’s the only one I can see from the studio door.”

“You don’t paint outside?”

“I don’t go outside.”

“Why not? There’s so much beautiful scenery around here--”

“I...don’t...go...outside...” she repeated stubbornly as if that were explanation enough.

He didn’t push it any further, simply indicated the painting again. “Would you sell me this one?”

I’ll give it to you, she wanted to scream. If you’ll just go away and leave me alone! Aloud, she said with a shrug, “Oh, well. I suppose...”

“Good! How much?”

A puzzler. How much, indeed?

“I told you, Mr. MacKenzie, I’m not a professional artist. W-why don’t you just pay me what you think it’s worth?”

“Will you take a check?” He was pushing up the tail of the jacket, reaching into his hip pocket.

Connell stiffened.

Ben had reached into his pocket, pulling out the Buck knife, thrusting it at her.

He pulled out his checkbook. She relaxed.

“I guess… Yes.” Where was she going to get a check cashed ’way out here?

He placed it on the table, opened it and began to write. Immediately, Mr. Spock vaulted to the table top, planting both front paws on the check.

“Hello.” He looked into the cat’s green eyes. “And who might you be?”

“That’s Mr. Spock.”

The cat lifted his right paw, toes spread, that stupid little gesture he always made, as if he wanted to shake hands.

“Are you giving me the Vulcan greeting?” Tuck raised his own right hand, fourth and little fingers and middle and index fingers pressed together to form a V. “Live long and prosper.” Mr. Spock made an inquisitive sound and stepped off the checkbook. Tuck wrote out the check, signed it with a flourish, ripped it out and handed it to her with an even grander gesture. “There you are.”

She glanced at it. One hundred dollars? Didn’t argue.

He picked up the picture.

“I’m sorry I don’t have anything to wrap it in--”

“That’s okay. This way, I’ll be able to look at it.” He walked to the door, carefully skirting Conan who didn’t move. “I’ve got just the spot for it.”

Yeah. Sure. Probably in the nearest trashcan. Why did you really come here?

“Well…I…” He seemed to be attempting to think of something to delay leaving, then gave up. He had the door open, looked back, the corners of the blue eyes crinkling slightly. “Thanks again, Ms. Ambers.”

“You're welcome, Mr. MacKenzie.”

He didn’t move. “Well, I--”

“T-think about what I said.” She nearly blurted the words. He raised his eyebrows inquiringly. “About posing for me.”

“I-I will.” The blush returned. A little less noticeable this time but definitely there. “Thank you again.”

For what? For thinking you’re beautiful enough to capture on canvas? Or for selling you that silly, insipid painting?  He took another step toward the door.

“I--” Now that he was leaving, she felt a desire to keep him there. He waited. She couldn’t think of anything to say. Knew there was nothing. Finished awkwardly, “Goodbye.”

He nodded absently, and went out, pulling the door shut behind him.

She leaned against the door, watching him through the double panes in its upper center, seeing him pause at the gate, looking back once. Waving. As if he knew she was still standing there.

A nice young man. Friendly. Harmless.

    Where were you when I needed you?

BUY LINK for Blood Bay: http://www.classactbooks.com/Blood-Bay-by-Toni-V-Sweeney-PDF_p_311.html