Please meet MARILYN GARDINER, author of Window on Windemere, a Romantic Suspense published by WingsEpress.
My first office was beneath the covers, at night, with a flashlight. I was eight years old. Since then I’ve published in many newspapers and magazines, taught a creative writing class, tutored adults learning to read, and volunteered in the public school system. My book shelf holds eleven published novels, and two more not yet published. I also write daily devotional booklets for Advent and Lent, called Whispers From The Heart.
All of my books fall under the umbrella of romance: suspense, paranormal, historical, adventure, inspirational, and contemporary. Even my four-book series is considered romantic suspense. My most recent publication, Comanche Moon, has won the award for Historical Romance in the EPIC 2014 competition. All are available on Amazon/Kindle, B&N/Nook and my website: booksbymarilyn.com.
My second passion is music. I have been a vocal soloist as well as a chorister for most of my life. I also knit. Despite the fact that the first sweater I knitted—for my husband—had one sleeve ten inches longer than the other, I remain fascinated with a new pattern.
I married my high school sweetheart and we have two grown daughters, six grandchildren and five “greats.” They have been enormously supportive of my writing and rarely complain of late dinners and laundry done in the middle of the night.
Hearing the voice of her dead son calling for help can’t be normal. Can it? Zoe turns to childhood friend, Wiley, when she realizes her husband is either setting her up for committal or planning murder. Her gratitude for Wiley’s support deepens into love and her heart, at last, finds a home.
Ah, Joseph had left the porch light burning. It was thoughtful of him, but the light was no help. The garage was on the deep side of a shallow ell between the house and attached garage, and the edge of the porch shielded any illumination from reaching that far. Carefully, she turned in the drive, past the hated FOR SALE sign barely visible beside the drive, and punched the button to open the garage door. The small overhead lamp flicked on as the door creaked upward. Turning off the engine, she heaved a deep sigh of relief and got out of the car. The fog, silent and thick, rolled in beneath the door behind her as the panel came down.
To her surprise, the door stopped bare feet from the floor, and the fog continued to pour in like liquid from a pitcher. She hesitated in the vee of the car door and the driver’s seat, her purse under one arm, and wondered vaguely what had happened. She hadn’t punched the button to stop the descent of the door. And then out of the dark and the fog, a voice came at her. Seeping into her consciousness, whispering like a beloved echo, and more terrible than death itself.
She fell back against the car.
“Mommy! Help me! Mommy!”
The hair on the back of her neck felt electrified. The bottom dropped out of her stomach. All the air had been sucked out of the garage. She couldn’t breathe.
Danny! It had been Danny’s voice. Never mind that it couldn’t possibly have been her small son. It was Danny! And he had been calling to her as he must have in his last moments.
Her purse hit the floor. Her mouth opened in a silent scream that tried to claw its way to the surface. Her chest felt concave as if she’d received a mortal blow to the heart.
And then, just as suddenly as it had stopped, the door slowly began to crawl upward, stopped and resumed its downward trajectory. It hit the floor with a thud. The noise jolted Zoe out of her frozen horror and she fled, stumbling and gasping, for the house door.