Winter Weeding

We've had a uniquely mild winter thus far in Virginia. An inch of snow twice. No ice storms. It's got me thinking about preventative gardening on the surprise warm days before spring.

Did you rake leaves last fall? If not, you'd better do it soon or the hibernating grass underneath will die. And that means weeds will take root.

Did you pull up your dead annuals after the frost? If not, clean up your beds now. It won't take long. Really.

Did you do a final weeding last fall? Me too. But my mister has pointed out the miserable little minions are emerging again. Already! I need to get on top of this before I have a big job to put off.

Did you prune last fall? Trim the shrubs? If not do it soon. Except on the flowering bushes, like Rhododendrons, lest you cut off all the potential spring blooms inadvertantly.

A little effort here and there now and you yard will be beautiful soon.

Writing News!

Thousand Dollar Pharaoh will launch March 7th at Eternal Press! I'll be participating in an author-reader chat at 2PM EST on the next day, March 8th, with them. Details later. I haven't figured it out yet.

I have a new cover for Inappropriate. The original was too romancey and since there are only two on-screen kisses (and one is with the plumber!) I decided the new cover would better reflect the genre. It's a funny murder mystery aboard a cross-country train where mystery writers and evangelists collide on the tracks.

Best news? Inappropriate is out in PRINT! You can order it from Amazon today (or get it on Kindle or other ebook formats at Smashwords). It will be available in print and ebook everywhere soon, it just takes time to filter to all of the bookstores and libraries that want to pick it up. The old cover was still showing on the print page at Amazon, but the one you'll get will have the train station cover that's shown on the Kindle edition. I do have ten books being delivered to me today with the original steamy cover. If you want one of those, contact me.

Old Cover for Inappropriate:

New Cover for Inappropriate:

All aboard!

Speed Cleaning Challenge

Speed Cleaning Challenge

By Sherry Silver

Hey, did you try my 10 minute cleaning method yet?

Just set a timer for ten minutes, dig in and clean one room until the timer beeps or you finish. I'll bet you can unload the dishwasher and reload it in ten minutes. I know you can clean your toilet and sink in ten minutes. And you can definitely dust around your knick knacks in ten minutes. See how much better your house looks just by vaccumming the middles of your rooms in ten minutes.

When is the last time you cleaned your home? What did you clean and how long did it take?

Washington in World War Two Mystery

Excerpt V From:  Hundred Dollar Bill by Sherry Morris

Now past midnight, across town in Anacostia, the mournful winter wind

harmonized horribly with the off-key singing from down the hall at the boarding house.

Chloe lay shivering in cold water, unaware how much time had passed since she’d

drawn the bath. It was her desperate attempt to wash the evil away. Succumbing to the

incessant pounding on the door, she whimpered, “Orpha, if you and Shirley don’t stop

that wretched caterwauling I’ll vacate the room.”

Chloe stumbled out of the tub onto the cold pink and black floor. Lavender-scented

suds slid down her legs and pooled on the flower-patterned tile.

“It’s Mrs. Grogan dear. Did your special fella come through for ya tonight? I want

all the romantic details.”

Shivering, Chloe leaned over and twisted a worn but bright white towel around her

hair. She shoved her arms into an old terrycloth bathrobe, wincing as the rough fabric

abraded her sensitive skin. She pulled the frayed belt tight.

Chloe jerked the chain on the tub stopper, releasing the dirty water. She stared at

the hundred dollar bill. Slither away and leave me alone. It didn’t heed her will. She

yanked the money out and wadded it up with all her might, then shoved it into the

bottom of the wastebasket, underneath the bathroom discards.

“Chloe? Can ya hear me darlin’? Did he pop the question?” the landlady asked.

Chloe knelt on the wet tiles, dunking her hands into the dwindling water and

flattening them on the bottom of the tub. Water poured from her cuffs when she pulled

them back out. The cast iron drainpipe burped as the bathtub emptied.

Twisting the crystal knob, Chloe opened the door and gagged at the stench of burnt

eggnog. After switching the light off, she crossed the hall to her room.

Mrs. Grogan gasped at the sight of Chloe’s legs and face. She followed Chloe in and

shut the door. “Oh my God child! You were attacked! Or did…did he do this to ya? I’ll

go and fetch Doc Morton. Or do ya need to go to the hospital?”

“No! Don’t call anyone. You mustn’t tell! Promise, Mrs. G?” Chloe pleaded, nearly

hysterical.

“Shh… Calm down, now just calm down darlin’. Ya know I’ll do ya right.” The

landlady pulled Chloe to her bosom and stroked the towel on her hair. “There there

now. Everything will be all right.”

“Ouch! You’re hurting me.”

Mrs. Grogan let go. “I’m so sorry, sweetness. Forgive—”

“No, I’m sorry, Mrs. G. I mean…”

“Shh-shh-shh. Hush child. “ She tenderly ran a finger along Chloe’s cheek. “I’ll be

back in a moment.” The landlady waddled off with purpose.

Chloe located her big suitcase, wedged in the tiny closet. Determined to extract the

luggage, she inhaled and heaved to the left. The suitcase dislodged, propelling a wire

hanger with a pink cotton blouse. The hanger stung her chest. The blouse covered her

face. She sneezed and dropped the suitcase as she grabbed her ribs. Dear God and Jesus

in heaven. Please let me feel better. Please let me wake up in North Carolina. Forgive me of my

sins. Amen.

She heard panting as Mrs. Grogan swept aside the makeup and curlers on the

dresser and deposited an aluminum tray. A waffle-sized powder puff fell to the floor.

Chloe held in another sneeze and picked up the suitcase. Mrs. Grogan bent down with a

groan and plucked up the puff, tossing it onto the dresser. She tugged on the suitcase

but was unable to release it from Chloe’s grip.

“Where do ya think you’re going on such a treacherous night? Young lady, ya just

put that thing away and get under the covers. Here’s some warm eggnog and a couple

of chloral hydrate capsules to help ya sleep.”

“No! I have to get out of here, now leave me alone! I’ve messed everything up.

What don’t you understand? I can’t stay in Washington. I have to disappear before it’s

too late!”

“Why? Just call the Metropolitan Police on the beast!”

“No, you don’t understand and…I…I can’t explain it. I have to leave! Believe me

and don’t ask anything! Please?” How much time do I have before they find out? What will

they do to me?

With a look of uneasy puzzlement, Mrs. Grogan questioned, “But where will ya go?

Back home to your Mam in Carolina? Do ya want me to call her for ya?”

Chloe dropped the suitcase onto the tapestry area rug, grabbed Mrs. Grogan’s

chubby arms and stared dead into her chocolate eyes. “I can never go back to North

Carolina now. Not in this—oh, I’ve said too much! All right… You have to help me.

Please, Mrs. G?”

Mrs. Grogan embraced her favorite tenant and affirmed, “I will help ya darlin’.

Always. Now what is it that ya need?”

Chloe paced the room. As she passed by the wobbly-legged desk, she brushed

against an old tin of pennies, knocking it over. They tinkled like a gentle metallic

waterfall puddling on the hardwood floor. The two women bumped heads as they

squatted to pick up the coins.

“Can you get my paycheck from the Bureau next Friday? And deposit it in my

checking account? I’ll call in on Monday morning and tell them…oh, something!”

“How ‘bout that your sister’s baby has come early and ya have to go to Baltimore to

help out with her older ones?”

Chloe’s stomach felt like it jumped to her throat. She knew she had to keep up the

charade for Mrs. Grogan of having a sister. “No! Not that! I’ll tell them my Momma

took ill and I have to go and look after her.” Chloe reached the last two pennies and

plunked them into the can.

Mrs. Grogan put a stubby finger on her fleshy cheek and began tapping. “But

where will ya go? To make a new beginning. Hollywood? New York? Iowa? No, not

Iowa…” Mrs. Grogan clambered to her feet. “I know! Miami Beach!”

“Miami Beach?”

“Yes darlin’, of course Miami Beach. It’s eighty degrees down there now don’t ya

know. I’ll call Paddy and let him know to expect ya. He’s my late husband’s cousin. He

owns a bakery, finest in southern Florida. He rents rooms out over top of the place. I’ll

make sure he has a vacancy and if he doesn’t, then he’ll just have to make one.”

Chloe sat cross-legged on the floor, adjusting her robe. “Don’t you read the

newspaper, Mrs. G? The beach has been commandeered by the Army Air Corps for

their boot camp. The hotels are being used as barracks, for heaven’s sake.” She rattled

the pennies, staring into the can.

Faint rays of sunshine broke through the vicious storm clouds in Chloe’s mind.

Miami Beach. Warmth, yes, oh to be warm again. Bakery, yum. But soldiers everywhere? How

depressing. Wait…soldiers everywhere, about to be sent off to war…scared and lonely men.

Chloe stretched to reach the desk and shoved the tin can on top. She pulled herself

up. “Yes! Mrs. Grogan, Miami Beach sounds…perfect.”

The landlady plopped Chloe’s suitcase up onto the bed. She grabbed an armload of

clothes from the closet and tossed them on the quilt. Removing the first dress from its

hanger, she shook it out and rolled it into a tight cylinder. “Ya get less wrinkles this way

darlin’. I read it in a magazine don’t ya know.”

As Chloe touched up her bruised face with pancake and rouge, the Andrews

Sisters’ snappy song, “Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy”, drifted in from down the hall. She

coughed while smacking a powder puff all over her forehead. None of this happened. I

don’t exist. I’ll just disappear into paradise and everything will be all right again. She turned to

Mrs. Grogan. “How do I look?”

“I shoulda married Max Factor. The man is a genius don’t ya know. Ya’d never

guess what happened tonight. Don’t forget your lipstick darlin’, and you’re good

enough to dance at the White House.” She hung the empty hangers on the wooden

closet rod. “I’ll leave ya to dress, dear, and I’ll go call ol’ Paddy. And then, when he says

yes, I’ll order ya a cab.”

“The trains do run all night, don’t they?”

“Yes darlin’. Now you get ready quick and be on your way.”

When Mrs. Grogan stepped into the hallway, she hollered, “Girls, ya turn that

racket off. I don’t care if ya don’t have your nursing classes tomorrow. We have rules in

this house.”

Chloe winced as she painted her scabbed lips a deep wine color. Her fingers got

caught in a snarl as she combed through the carrot-colored strands of her hair. Satisfied,

she packed her round makeup trunk.

Chloe emptied out her desk drawer, packing her birth and baptismal certificates,

high school and college diplomas, pencils and a ruler. Hmm, the Mickeys might come in

handy… Chloe scooped up the chloral hydrate capsules, dropped them in an envelope,

licked it shut and placed it on top of her rolled blue gingham dress. She stretched a sock

over the can of pennies and sunk it into the bottom of her suitcase. Her hand trembled

as she tossed in two pink envelopes, recent letters from her “sister”.

As Chloe lay across the patchwork quilt on her twin bed, she was grateful the

landlady had left and wouldn’t see the tears of pain as she struggled into her girdle. She

finished dressing and then slipped her coat and gloves on. Chloe draped a beige cowl

over her head and wrapped it around her neck.

She looked all over the space that had been her home for the last eleven months.

The furnished room for let seemed emptier than when she had first moved in. Chloe

placed her key on the desk then turned off the light.

She tiptoed down the dark narrow hall to the kitchen. Big band music blared from

the radio in the back room. The taxi driver announced his arrival by leaning on the

horn.

Mrs. Grogan pressed an envelope into her hand.

“Here’s Paddy’s address. He’ll be a-waitin’ for ya darlin’. He’s good stock don’t ya

know. He’ll see that nobody harms ya there in paradise. Don’t ya worry none, I’ll take

care of your paycheck. If Paddy fusses ’bout the telephone then ya call me person-to-person

every week. And drop me some postcards. And if I ever get my hands on the

beast who did this to you…so help me…”

Teardrops spilled down Chloe’s face as she hugged and kissed her landlady. Her

friend. She hurried to the cab, not allowing herself to look back. She was grateful she

had slipped out without having to explain her departure to the other girls.

Purchase Hundred Dollar Bill:

Amazon    Kindle    Barnes and Noble    Nook    ARe

Excerpt IV From: Hundred Dollar Bill By Sherry Morris

Half an hour later back at the White House, Eleanor Roosevelt emerged from the

Monroe Room, startled to find her husband in the hallway.

He said, “Babs! Didn’t see you come in. How was the hoop dee doo? Tell me, are

the older ladies supportive of my efforts?”

“Um…yes. Yes they are.”

“So’d you get swept off your feet by some handsome Republican?”

“Naturally…a baker’s dozen of ’em.”

“Say, the Secret Service boys told me counterfeit money’s been turning up in the

District, Maryland, Virginia and West Virginia.”

“Oh? That’s…alarming… I’m really tired.”

“I’m on my way for a long hot soak. Care to join me?”

“Um…no, dear. I just want to get out of these shoes and get some shut-eye.”

“So be it. Goodnight… I love you.”

She leaned down. They kissed.

“And I love you.”

As she turned away, he grabbed her arm. “Babs, what’s that all along the hem of

your dress?”

“Hunh?”

He seized the emerald taffeta near her waist and began hoisting it up. Eleanor’s

green pumps were filthy. His gaze ran up her rayon stockings. They were tight at the

ankles and baggy at the knees. Franklin examined the bottom of her dress.

The first lady blushed as she looked over her shoulder. “Franklin! What if—”

“Cobwebs. Well I’ll be. Rosie the Riveter must be older than I thought.”

Eleanor pulled away, smoothing the taffeta down. She gave him the evil eye.

Franklin chuckled as she walked off. He followed his pup into the Monroe room.

Looking around the sparse spotless room, he wondered what his wife had been up to.

Fala sniffed the paneling along the fireplace wall. Mr. Roosevelt heard a voice in the

corridor.

“Sir? Sir? Where you are?”

Fala jumped into his lap. The President rolled into the hallway. “Ah, I was looking

for you, good fellow. Come and draw my bath now. So tell me, Fuji, how is that

stunning creature you hoodwinked into matrimony?” Tired and aching, Mr. Roosevelt

allowed his valet to push his wheelchair to the Presidential bedroom.

“Traveling again. But Mrs. Fuji did send special package you requested.”

“Perfect timing, son.”

Fala leapt from his master's lap to the chair at the foot of the bed. He circled twice

and kneaded his paws into the upholstery before curling up to sleep. As was their usual

routine, the President began undressing.

The valet stepped into the adjoining bathroom and turned the spigots on. Fuji

adjusted the temperature and then told his boss, “Be right back,” as he dashed out of

the suite.

Fuji soon returned with a brown interagency envelope. He delivered it to the

President then mumbled, “I hope no overflow!” as he ran into the bathroom.

Mr. Roosevelt unsealed the metal clasp on the envelope and emptied the contents

onto his white bedspread. He grinned while inspecting the nylon stockings.

“Okay sir, your bath is drawn.”

President Franklin Delano Roosevelt replaced the contraband, wheeled over to a

bookshelf and slipped the envelope behind an original edition of Poor Richard’s Almanac.

“When’s the missus due back?”

“Not for month. Wish we get delivery from stork and she stay home.” He pushed

the wheelchair into the bathroom. Fuji removed Mr. Roosevelt’s trousers and torturous

leg braces.

The President smiled. “Careful what you wish for. Once that old stork finds your

address, he might become a pest. He visited the missus and me six times in ten years.

First a little girl, then five boys.”

Claude Fuji laughed with the President.

* * * * *

Still high on adrenaline, the first lady changed into blue-and-white-striped pajamas.

She left her bedroom and took her dirty clothes to the hamper in the hall closet,

dropping them on top. She dug down and fished out her husband’s shirt. It reeked of

French perfume and the collar had a scarlet-colored smudge. Tucking it under her arm,

she trotted downstairs, straight to his secretary’s office. Looking over her shoulder, Mrs.

Roosevelt ducked inside. She sat in Vera Blandings’ chair, rummaging through her

desk. The first lady removed a tube of lipstick from the top side drawer. She

straightened the small stacks of papers inside, then hurried back to her bedroom. Thank

goodness no one saw me.

Eleanor shut the door and locked it. She yanked the cap from the lipstick and

twisted it up. Mrs. Roosevelt compared the color to the smudge on her husband’s shirt.

It matched. Her stomach churned as tears welled in her eyes. Not again. All the pain

from 1918 came rushing back. That Lucy Mercer had nearly ended their marriage. I will

not stand for him to be involved with another secretary. Eleanor twisted the lipstick back

down, replaced the cap and chucked it into a wastebasket. Then she shoved his shirt in

with it. She stomped it down with her foot.

Eleanor climbed in bed and picked up the telephone receiver on her walnut

nightstand.

The White House operator asked, “Yes Missus Roosevelt, how may I direct your

call?”

Purchase Hundred Dollar Bill:

Amazon    Kindle    Barnes and Noble    Nook    ARe