Read: Ginger Stuyvesant and the Case of the Eastworth Abbey

There’s a new magazine out, TM Magazine, which has one of my stories in the debut issue. And… I have a coupon code that will get you a full year of the magazine: MRK2012 It expires on Dec 31, 2012. Though, people who use it before it expires will be granted access for a year’s worth of issues; they want to thank those who try the magazine in its infancy.

Here’s a teaser of my story.

Ginger Stuyvesant and the Case of the Eastworth Abbey

Without interrupting the dinner conversation, liveried footmen set crystal bowls of lemon ice in front of Ginger and the other houseguests. Beads of moisture trickled down the sides of the glass in the heat of the late summer. Sighing, Ginger picked up the silver dessert spoon and applied herself to the confection. The tart ice puckered the inside of her mouth, with just enough sweetness to offset it. Above all, the treat was deliciously cool. “I trust you will understand, Sir Randolph, that this is one of the chief draws to Eastworth Abbey.”

The baronet’s aura flared with amber, betraying his pleasure even as he frowned. “I am hurt, Miss Stuyvesant. Gravely wounded, in fact, but I shall choose to value our cook all the more highly if she can tempt you to visit more often.” He scooped some of the pale yellow ice onto his spoon. The amber in his aura brightened and a sparkle of white played across it. “I say—after dinner, could you help me with a quandary, Miss Stuyvesant?”

“That depends on what it is. Certainly I am willing to consider any aid I might offer as the just due for your hospitality.”

At the other end of the long table, Miss Camilla Coffer said, “Don’t flirt with him, dear. It will make his head swell.”

“Hush.” Sir Randolph shook his spoon at her, heedless of the tablecloth, and turned his attention back to Ginger. “It’s just that Uncle Donald promised me his pocket watch—it was my grandfather’s—but he didn’t tell me where it was.”

Ginger raised an eyebrow, waiting for him to finish the request, disappointed that he would bring it up. He did not need to, truly; she knew that he wanted her to contact a ghost, but if she were going to do that, he would need to ask for it directly. She had rather hoped that he had invited her to the weekend for her own sake, not because she was a medium. For heaven’s sake, she was not a party entertainer.

He cleared his throat and his aura flashed pink with embarrassment. “Only he’s dead, you see?”

 

You can read the full story, for free, with the code MRK2012

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