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Black Snow Rising
S. E. Schenkel
booksXYZ price: $17.95
$0.90 of your order (5%) will be donated to the school of your choice.


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A couple disappears while recording folklore from various desert clans. When Acey Tapp and Megan Bork investigate, they step onto a stage set decades earlier, and butt heads with trouble as they explore a land hiding its past under vast expanses of sand and along miles of mountain tunnels.

Two groups clash as Acey and Megan unearth clues. One is a team of experts working to transform the Sahara. The other group is a covert society of old clansmen living out their final days as the keepers of a horrific secret.



She turned, looked me in the eyes. "We’re not going to find them, are we?”

"We won’t find your friends or the next town if our vehicle keeps overheating.” I wiped sweat from her nose. We were seated in the shade of a dead tree, my legs hugging her in the manner of kids on a toboggan enjoying a Michigan winter. Only our backsides pressed hot sand, and we were as far from childhood as we were from home.

Damn Sahara... I drew a line in the sand and wished this hellish desert was just a place on a map, not our present reality. I said, "Would have helped if Peter or Christie had told us why they wanted the pouch checked out. Offered a little more info.”

"Do you think they knew what it was made of?” asked Megan.

"They knew enough to decide they’d better send it to you.”

"That’s true.”

"By the way, how do you spell Peter and Christie’s last name?”

"D-D-A. Rhymes with Ma; first D is silent.”

"Then why the two D’s?” I asked.

"This from the man whose last name, Tapp, is spelled with two Ps?” said Megan.

"Okay...” I smiled, shifted my weight. Something rubbed my butt; I shot up and stepped back.

"What’s wrong?” Megan asked, joining me in the full heat of the brutal sun.

"I don’t know, just felt something under me. Probably a stone.” Trying to ignore the sweat trickling down every inch of my anatomy, I tore a piece of bark from the tree and stirred the sand. A cracked skull appeared. We cleared more sand and watched a black beetle crawl out of the nose cavity and wobble off. The skull was the size of a small melon. A child’s. It had a tiny set of teeth and huge eye sockets. "How long do you think it’s been here?” I asked.

"Could be a few years or maybe a thousand.”

"Not buried very deep.”

"Things get buried and unburied quickly in a desert.”

Mysteries have always captivated me. Any kind. Mysteries of faith, creation, people. The mystery of an empty house, trap door. A neighbor’s weirdness. But I didn’t start writing mysteries until two events collided: a power outage and working under the dictatorship of the manager of a grocery store. The outage and its subsequent boredom handed me pen and paper, and my boss supplied the drive to write a story titled - "Murder in the Meat Department”. From that day until now, writing has been right up there with oxygen and chocolate.

Numerically, I’m grandmother to eight, stepmother to four, and sibling to five. I was a member of a missionary group (aka nun) for seventeen years, worked for ten of those years in Africa, have been married for over thirty years. And if you can’t figure out my age from that, you and I have equally appalling math skills.

As for my personality, what I feel, think, value... You’ll find clues to that in my mysteries.

Fiction Books :: Mystery & Detective Books :: General Books

ISBN: 1597059943
ISBN(13-digit): 9781597059947
Copyright: 2008
Book Publisher: Wings e Press
Binding: Perfect
No. of Pages: 316
Paper Weight (lb): 13.2

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Ben Douglas Christine DeSmet Marja McGraw

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