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Wednesday, December 26, 2012

Better Angels by @HookNYarn2012 #NaNoWriMo


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Better Angels

Written by Fiona Skye





NaNo Excerpt


“All units, possible 10-57 at 315 Black Forest Drive. Please respond.” The dispatcher's voice was scratchy over the cheap police scanner that sat in my office atop a metal filing cabinet behind my desk. The code for a missing person first drew my attention, but the address kept it. I glanced at my watch; it was just past eleven in the morning. It was Tuesday, no, Wednesday morning; kids should be in school, adults at work. I wondered who was missing. That address belonged to Geoff Ashurst, the mayor, and his family.

I pushed aside a report on a philandering wife, the sort of case that was my meat and potatoes unfortunately, and stood slowly. My instincts told me that I should stay away from the scene. I didn't carry a badge any longer and Spruce River's chief of police, Vaughn Jensen, had already yelled at me enough for showing up to crime scenes unasked.

The last time I had done so he said I was worse than the ambulance chasers who descend upon car accident scenes like vultures with business cards. The allusion stung and had kept me away in the six months since. But today was different. The mayor's wife was a close friend, and if one of her children was missing, I wanted to provide all the help I could.

“What do you think, Harry?” I asked the large pile of black and brown fur curled comfortably in front of the small wood stove that sat across the room from my desk. My Rottweiler, named for one of my favourite non-wizard literary characters, raised his massive head and blinked sleepy eyes at me. He yawned and the stub of his tail wiggled a little. I took his lack of enthusiasm about the 10-57 as his opinion that I should stay away.

“But it's Ana-Maria,” I said to the dog. “I should go make sure she's okay.” I paused and looked at him again. He squinted at me, yawned again, and then laid his head down on his cushion once more. He was definitely not in the mood for a big confrontation with the chief of police. “Well, fine, you big furry chicken. But I'm going.” For Ana-Maria's sake, I would risk the Chief's ire.

Author Bio


Fiona Skye is the nomme de plume of a 30-something author from Edinburgh, Scotland, who is currently lost in the deserts of Southern Arizona. She shares a Mid-Century Modern home with her husband, daughter, and son. There is an assortment of four-legged inhabitants on hand as well--four cats and a Border Collie/Black Lab mix called Cooper.

Fiona's love of and passion for the written word began early in life. At age seven, Fiona wrote stories for her parents as Christmas presents and seeing the joy and surprise on the faces of her mother and father as they read those stories was what decided her fate. She has dedicated the last 30-ish years of her life to the great (Scottish) American novel, only occasionally distracted by her insatiable love of yarn and crochet, and the dogged pursuit of the perfect plate of cheese and onion enchiladas.

Although currently a photojournalism student, Fiona's real love is with fiction writing. She counts Diana Gabaldon and Jim Butcher as her favourite and most influential authors. Joining these two on the list of people she would wait in queue for a week to have a coffee with are Neil Peart, Jane Austen, Oscar Wilde, and David Tennant.

http://fionaskye.blogspot.com/

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