Ryshia Kennie ...The adventure begins today!

Let the Snow Games Begin!

2025-10-12T14:42:00.004-06:00

It's Thanksgiving weekend here in the frozen north. Although we're not frozen yet, we are having our first snowfall. And, it's a little too soon for my liking. I know snow is pretty enough if you're watching it from the inside out. But it's a little chilly if you reverse that look. I don't think my crows are too thrilled. Although I did tell the crazy little murder of three that they should head south now. All the rest headed south weeks ago. I'm not sure what this group is about. Maybe they like snow?

Shrug.

I don't know about you but if I had wings to fly me as far south as I wanted to go - and no baggage at all, well... I'm not sure if there's much of a choice. I hear Panama is a cool place to see and Argentina might be up for a tourist or two. There's a ton of places down there that I've never seen.

Yep it's all about the weather on the prairies - again! Today is the first snow day of the upcoming winter. Pre-Halloween, pre-fall clean up, pretty much pre everything. The birds were out early before the snow. Obviously they have better forecasting methods than do I. Although I must say, today I didn't go outside. Instead, today I worked on my heroine's current dilemma, a killer who may have her in his sights while her vision is impaired by the man she seems to be falling for.

Here's today's view. The snow spun into action about 01300 hours and is still going strong.

The first snow of the 2025/2026 season:

The adventure begins today!

Ryshia

What a Tangled Web...

2025-05-02T15:11:00.003-06:00

The leaves are only budding on the trees and the weather teases, with warm days and chilly nights. The temperature creeps up and then it creeps down. Nothing is reliable in this interim period between summer and winter officially known as spring. It's a place where  the chill of winter languishes in patches longer than expected. 

Spring on the prairies. What does that mean exactly?  It's a tangled web of weather uncertainty - rather like the beginnings of a suspense, nothing is for sure.

Nothing for sure except the fact that the last bank of snow in the back yard officially melted to nothing less than a week ago. The birds have been diving at bird feeders for weeks now and a sparrow has taken charge of the bird house. The crows arrived for an early visit and then flew off - destination unknown. 

Today, a ratty looking squirrel with a patch of fur missing from an obvious mating spat, arrives on the deck with a hopeful look. I feed him a peanut or two - and possibly the attacker as well,  when another appears shortly after. It's a divisive job this occasional feeding of squirrels for there's those that agree and those that disagree.. But I can't help it, for even in the city, living in the so-called wild, isn't easy. 

Anyway, enough city wilderness philosophy. It's time to get back to writing where ironically I'm going to put my heroine and hero in the most uncomfortable situation I can come up with. And no,  unlike the squirrels, I won't be providing food or shelter. They have to come out of that on their own. Okay, I'll offer them a route to safety right after I throw them into a pit of danger. 

                                                          the adventure begins today!

                                                                       Ryshia
                                                         www.ryshiakennie.com

It's Here to Stay!

2024-11-25T10:54:00.000-06:00

The snow arrived last night and kept on pelting down for the day. Now, there's no running barefoot quickly across the deck without getting snow caught in your toes. Winter has set in. In fact that snow of last night has continued through the day, pelting down and covering every attempt I have made to shovel the sidewalk clear. I'm going to be upfront in saying that I really dislike the first week of snow when it first begins that process of really settling in. yes, this snowfall is here to stay. That means a new reality, four and a half months of snow and cold. I want to run for cover or just for sun and heat. I suppose that's why snowbirds exist - not birds but the people who leave, spending an entire winter in warmer climes and not returning until the last snowflake has melted.

So, let's head out on the first done that, been there, trip of the year. Otherwise known as,

In the meantime - here's this author's first footprint in the snow. Yes, I did it, walked out into the snow in my barefoot. Some things you just have to do. 🤷

Throw Back Monday - Seriously?

2024-11-25T10:29:00.004-06:00

Today's throwback is taking us to Au Nang, Krabi, Thailand well over a decade ago. 

Au Nang, Krabi, Thailand is a place where limestone cliffs seem to punch the sky before spiralling roots into the ocean. It is a place of caves and mystery, and where James Bond appeared in “The Man With The Golden Gun.” 

In Au Nang there are streets lined with hotels and offers of kayaking expeditions to see the caves and monkeys. The offers are everywhere. You can't not sign up!
So, the journey begins...

After a forty-minute car ride from Au Nang, the road stops at the steps of a small, unpainted, house. To the left is a large wooden dock. 

There's a longboat beside the dock with two Thai men waiting. One speaks no English, our guide speaks a little. It's a challenge for either side to communicate but doable. 
The boat has two small plastic kayaks tied behind it. We get into the boat with the guide and head into a river that is hidden by mangrove tree branches that crowd together and hang far over the water.
Suddenly, the guide stops the boat. He motions in few words that it's time to kayak. 

Seriously?

The river is dark and unwelcoming. I've heard there are crocodiles here and I'm not anxious to see one up close and personal - at least not in a small yellow craft made of mere plastic. 

But, it's the yellow kayak or end the trip here.  It only takes a minute to move to the smaller craft - two of us in one, the guide in the other. Now, the river's thick, dark placidity is creepy as I get in the kayak and both boats rock. I sit down and grab an oar. But paddling doesn't come naturally. The kayak jerks with false starts and splashing. Beyond that, it's quiet, the river wide and  complacent in its pen of lush vegetation. 

Minutes in and monkeys appear. One furry head pops out from between the thick tree limbs that stretch into and over the river. Then another emerges beside the first. Within minutes there are a dozen or so. But the first one is different. He's much larger than the others. While the smaller monkeys hang back, the larger one jumps onto our guide’s kayak. He immediately bares his teeth and charges for the bananas that our guide has stacked beside him. The guide holds him back with his paddle. The monkey pushes back. To our horror the guide gently smacks the monkey with his paddle. The guide stands, the kayak rocks as the monkey charges again. I want to intercede, tell the guide to back off before someone gets hurt. But in another minute it's clear that this is a dance the two, monkey and man, have played many times. As I realize this, the monkey grabs an overhead branch and swings up and away from the kayak. Weirdly, this seems to be a cue for the smaller monkeys. One by one they balance along slender branches, dangle mid air for a second or two, and then plop onto our guide’s kayak. There, they playfully jostle against each other. 

The guide feeds them bananas and offers us none so we can't join in feeding the monkeys. I'm annoyed by this until he explains with minimal words,  that it's too dangerous.  Although I would have loved to join in feeding - danger or not, it's not an option for the language barrier takes arguing off the table. So I take pictures of the monkey’s antics instead. Overhead I glance up and meet the watchful eyes of the patriarch. 
Soon the peace is disturbed as another monkey appears. A female obviously monkey matriarch, as she too, is bigger than the others. She lands in our guide’s kayak and explodes into action as she screeches and chatters, attacking one small monkey and then turning on another. Snarls and screeches combine with the guide’s shouting. The kayak rocks as the monkeys scramble away from both the angry female and the guide’s swinging paddle. She pushes one monkey as she snarls and bares her teeth moving the smaller monkey closer to the edge of the kayak. 

I’m horrified when the small monkey finally dives off the boat. The female attacker dives in the water after him. They spin under water and wrestle end over end before resurfacing near shore, scrambling out and shaking like dogs. As I watch this I realize a few things, one that they can swim and two that this is a ritual not a war - for no one has been hurt. And now more monkeys are diving into the water from the trees. They swim and playfully wrestle as they get more bananas by hanging onto the edge of the guide’s kayak or scrambling into it. 

One monkey crawls into our kayak. I’ve never been this close to a primate and am amazed at his little hand with its human-like nails. He glances at us and upwards to the trees and I realize that our boat is too far from a tree for him to jump. So we paddle to an overhanging branch and the monkey looks at us one last time before leaping into the trees.

With the bananas gone, the monkeys quickly disappear. Quiet closes in as the river moves through a canyon of limestone cliffs. The sun is muted by thick foliage and the rock that hugs the river. Soon we enter the cave where the water has carved ancient pathways. 

The journey ends at the ocean. There, our longboat appears and the kayaks are tied behind for the return to our starting point. This was an unexpected adventure. 

None of this was what I expected. Instead, it was an adventure to remember. 

Ryshia
www.ryshiakennie.com

Who Calls? - Into the Past to Reach the Present

2024-09-30T16:12:00.002-06:00

A road trip this summer took me to the Qu'Appelle Valley. I spent happy days in my childhood free ranging in that valley as we visited my grandmother. In the city there were rules - in a small town, we could wander free. That left me with great memories of the valley.

In fact, my first book From the Dust was set there. I always imagined that the farm perched on top of Cemetery Hill and bordering the cemetery, belonged to Binnie Clark, an activist for women's rights, who came from England and pulled her brother's farm from the brink of bankruptcy. Of course, while Binnie and her farm were real, I'm only hypothesizing on the exact location.

Cemetery Hill - is that its real name? I don't know. What I do know is that a cemetery sits on the peak of this hill that overlooks the town of Fort Qu'Appelle. As the hill drops into the valley - you find the oldest graves. There are plots of people who died as far back as the 1800's. As the cemetery pulls away from the valley, the graves ease into years rather than centuries ago.

In my latest story - a two decades old tragedy begins on this hill. And, as I wander around the cemetery, I read the tombstones which tell their own stories. Stories I realize that can't be told in a line or two so I fill in the blanks with my imagination.

It's a happy place and a sad place all at once. There's lives well lived and lives cut short. But there are also so many stories. Those stories are real but they inspired another - this time, it's completely fictional.

So, as I settle in to work on the next story, the valley and the history of those that came before become both an inspiration and a guide.

The adventure begins today!

Ryshia

www.ryshiakennie.com

Not Quite the Last Days of Summer!

2024-09-23T11:00:00.003-06:00

Yep, autumn began a few days ago but this week has the promise of a lingering summer. It began today, I admit - cooler temps. But, the weatherman is promising a margarita weather type day for the rest of the week. I'm not holding my breath. Instead, I'm enjoying the week.

First up - I hauled out my roller blades. Yep - hauled, there can be no better word for they were buried in the storage room after more years than I want to admit of stagnation. So with some trepidation I pulled them on and tottered off. Soon, the old spring in the blades came back and I went not once but twice around the neighbourhood. And yes - for you safety conscious, I should have strapped on the helmet. But all was well...next time...yep, there's a next time...next year - fingers crossed.

Meantime, I'm looking forward to the next "end of summer" adventure.

And while I do that, my latest heroine, Jorie, has just received a message from the hero - Justice.
                          
Her reaction, or more appropriate - thoughts, immediately after his text?

What a name to go through life with. It was off-putting. 

Of course, with a murderer on the prowl in this story - who was named what for why is the least of their worries.

Ryshia

                                                                   The adventure begins today!

Throw Back Monday - been there, done that!

2024-08-27T13:43:00.011-06:00

Not Quite A Stroll on the Beach

Welcome to “Throw Back Monday”. These are the posts where I’ve gone back and delved into my blog and pulled some posts from quite a few years ago. Yep, I’ve been blogging for a long time… Despite the time warp, it's a trip of sorts, a trip through time.

Too much work, and no vacation,

Deserves at least a small libation. So hail! my friends,

and raise your glasses, Work's the curse of the drinking classes.

~Oscar Wilde Oscar Wilde did have an interesting spin on things. ……………………………………………………………………………………………………………

Just outside the village of Patricia

A few years back I was on the road exploring another bit of the country. While I’m calling it a vacation, I'm still thinking about what I’m writing - this story or that. But the guilt at having fled from my computer for days at a stretch is like sand in my shoes or flip flops, easily brushed aside. Anyway, while choosing one road over another that took us on a quaint drive through ranch land with patches of scrub brush giving subtle indicators of what's to come. The villages along this route reference women in one way or another; Princess, Patricia, Duchess, Rosemary, Countess and Millicent. I want to know why but don’t find the answer.

But I digress. It was a zig instead of a zag that led to the road to Alberta’s badlands and Dinosaur Provincial Park. There were dinosaurs with absolutely no hint of Jurassic - I hoped. Okay, it was a road sign that sent us down a road to the past. It was a twisted road and took a few turns to get there. And no, there were no sign of dinosaurs, not yet.

Slow Down for Snakes?

My rule on wildlife – slow down for anything! Okay, back to snakes – fortunately, there were none. Of course, it was a hot day, and any self-respecting snake would have long ago hunted down shade.

The rough, prairie scrub grass opens into a vast, timeworn valley. It's beautiful and yet eerie, especially if you think of it in the context of what it is - a giant reptilian cemetery. Okay, maybe that was slightly macabre, but the truth is that the valley is littered with dinosaur bones. In the summer months, paleontologists come here from around the world to participate in digs.

Then there’s the warnings!

There are numerous signs, warning of preserved, off-limits sites with notices to leave all bones and fossils where they lay. And then there’s the warnings that are a little more disturbing. Again, watch out for living critters who aren’t as friendly as the dead - black widows, scorpions and, of course, rattle snakes. No worries there – I didn’t venture off the path. Who knows what slithery thing is out there!

Creepy crawlies aside, it's not often in my day-to-day life that I'm reminded of the ice age or the extinction of the dinosaurs. But when you stand on the precipice of this valley it's like you've been rushed back in time to a place you can barely imagine. The valley is a testament is a reminder of the power of nature and that once, the earth looked nothing like it does now.

Way back when, when dinosaurs walked the earth. All in all, it was the perfect detour that only created a small zig instead of a zag across a secondary highway and into another world. It was a detour that could kick anyone's imagination into overdrive.

Did I find a fossil or even a bone - nope. But I did locate a piece of wood that looked amazingly like a leg bone. That is, if you used your imagination Ryshia …the adventure begins today!

Ryshia

…the adventure begins today!

July 1 - A Summer Day That's Just A Bit Special!

2024-07-01T11:26:00.001-06:00

Happy Canada Day!

Today is Canada's Birthday!  To all my Canadian friends and family - Happy Canada Day!
Here in Saskatchewan - the land of living skies - July 1 is looking extra special, we're finally going to get good weather.  Or at least it's starting out like that. Here's hoping! It's been the spring of bad weather and the start of a summer that's looking not too promising.

Blast from the past - Troubled Times Ahead

Hiding out in my writer's cave means staying in my basement office rather than moving out to work on the deck. That's something that I've done every summer on a good weather day. So far it's been too cool or rainy to enjoy any outdoor office time.

Another blast from the past!

Saskatchewan is known as the land of living skies and it's been proving that on a regular basis with gorgeous sprawling skies.  On numerous inspiration finding walks, I've been enjoying the possibilities that wide open sky seems to promise as it sprawls overhead.

Today's early-morning sky.

   In the meantime - Cheers to Canada's Birthday or, if 
   you belong elsewhere in the world -  cheers to the 
   first day of a new month!  

          
Safe Adventures!

Ryshia
www.ryshiakennie.com

Spring Brings - Writing and Writing Awards

2024-05-22T16:02:00.001-06:00

Summer flowers - not quite - but May is here and with that, the promise of summer is around the corner. It's a great month to receive... well, - good news.

My news? I placed in my city's writing award! That meant I had to emerge from my "writer's cave" aka "basement office" to attend the festivities just last week. Besides meeting some great people and reconnecting with others, I received a plaque and a bag of cool stuff including a sweet little notebook that I'm not sure I dare deface with a pen .

Prizes and awards aside - I was able to speak with other writers including a young aspiring writer. That was conversation was incredibly inspiring, for it took me back to my teenage years when all I wanted to do was write but I didn't know what. That long ago dream never left and in the years that followed, it has taken me on an interesting journey. It's a journey where the road still stretches into an unknown horizon. I'm expecting that there will be a lot more curves in that road that may not resemble those I've already navigated.

What I know is, writing isn't a race that you win but it is a journey that you take your readers along on. So let the stories go on.

I'd like to say that's it for May excitement but we're only mid-way through. Who knows what might happen next.

Stay tuned - till next time!

Ryshia

Rules of the Road

2023-12-24T15:36:00.000-06:00

In my travels both near and far, I've discovered something that is common everywhere - road craziness. There is always the person who doesn't signal, speeds etc etc.but it's the different traffic rules that can truly broadside you. Here's a sampling of what I've experienced in my travels.

Cambodia

· Don't assume that the cab driver with perfect English that you hired to pick you up the next day, is the cab driver you're going to get to take you cross country.

· Speed and the ability to understand English sometimes has an inverse reaction. The more you tell the driver to slow down, the faster he may drive.

· Your driver's continual horn honking does not actually ensure your safety nor get other vehicles out of your way.

Canada

· The cab driver you hire is the one you'll get.

· Radar is common and painfully slow drivers plentiful - a rather inverse correlation.

· Horn honking is rare but glaring and speeding up to cut you off when you signal to change lanes - common

Malaysia

"The left hand side of the road - the left, the left..."

This from the passenger - coming from a place where cars stick to the right except to pass.

Safe Adventures

Ryshia

The Adventure Begins Today!

2023-12-18T15:11:00.002-06:00

In the heart of the Canadian Prairies, is a road that runs straight and unpaved for miles. There are no sign posts to indicate where it leads. There’s only an abandoned stone schoolhouse, the only beacon that can be seen along a road that points straight into the horizon. I imagine that if there were time, it would be an adventure to drive this road to the end.

And that’s exactly like the beginning of each of my stories – it’s an adventure that I drive to the end. That opening sentence, like this road, runs straight into the unknown. While I know the characters and where I want to take them, there are twists as sometimes the characters and even the villain(s) decides to lead the way. They drop what I consider surprise bombs that are encouraged by me saying “what if” over a coffee break. Those two words can change a lot.

What is an adventure really? Not too many of us are going to climb a mountain, jump from a plane or, hopefully, run for our lives. But we can shake up our day to day lives, change up our schedule, sign up for a new sport or club or go on the occasional trip – even a local trip. We can also dive into fictional adventure. Books have been my escape since I was a kid back in the day when I road my bike to the library. Of course, that doesn't mean I haven't had my share of travel adventures with hopefully, more to come. But in the gaps in between...

If you’re looking for an adventure and you’ve no plane ticket in hand - check out a book. I'll try not to suggest which one.

Safe Adventures!

Ryshia

"The border means more than a customs house, a passport officer, a man with a gun. Over there everything is going to be different; life is never going to be quite the same again after your passport has been stamped."- Graham Greene

April Sale - Legacy of Fear!

2022-04-10T14:11:00.002-06:00

Legacy of Fear - On Sale Now for 99 Cents!

Legacy of Fear is unique in the fact that in the midst of plotting the story I stumbled on a fact that so intrigued me, it couldn't be left out. I was researching Hong Kong and China where the story is set when I discovered a fact that fascinated me - a language that had been used by past generations. Nushu is the only known language created by and for women and originated in a southern province of China. How could this not become part of the story? Of course, in the fictional world, Nushu becomes the vehicle to hide an unbelievable secret that people are dying to discover.

Chapter One

The late afternoon sun flirted with the pallid flesh. An arm stretched out from inside the rust-clotted corrugated steel, the fingers curled thick and chunky. Not ten feet away, the shooter’s revolver winked in the sunlight as the second blast echoed through the piles of discarded steel that stretched over a large field.

The body jerked and then lay still.

The man slipped the gun into the holster inside his tailored jacket, turned his back, and walked away. His pace was slow and thoughtful, as he headed toward the sleek black Audi that would take him back to the heart of the city. There was no fear of discovery. The pipe factory had been closed for longer than it had been open, and the dead man would be forgotten long before his body was found.

****

Thirty miles away, sirens bit through the steady hum of Hong Kong traffic. Their shrill presence was muted by the noise of the traffic. Max True looked over his shoulder, where a block away the blue flashing lights of an approaching ambulance battled for space on an already crowded road. He could see red and blue flashing lights as the police quickly closed in behind it. An emergency in Hong Kong was not unusual. It was the third police car he’d seen since hailing the cab at his hotel over twenty minutes ago, and the second ambulance. From what he remembered of past visits, this was a quiet day. He shifted the satchel. The doll inside it was awkward; it was either jabbing his side or forcing him to place his arm at an awkward angle.

Find my heart. Find my girl.

He thought of the note as he glanced over his shoulder again. Throughout the entire journey he’d had the disturbing feeling that he’d been followed.

“It’s your imagination,” he told himself as he instructed the cabbie to stop a few blocks away from his destination. He needed time to gather his thoughts. A woman glanced at him, her smooth face denying any sign of age, her dark-eyed gaze shifting quickly to the sidewalk. Ahead of him, not half a block away, a highrise pushed forty stories into the mid-afternoon sky. Beside it was a lower-rise apartment with a brick façade. Its first two floors were covered in a curtain of bamboo scaffolding and green mesh. It leaned with an almost defeated list like a small, injured bird struggling to keep up as its more modern contemporaries crowded around it.

He swept too-long hair from his eyes. It was pointless. The hair flopped back into his line of vision.

He passed the bamboo scaffold and green-meshcovered apartment building and the modern-edged high-rise. He rounded the corner and walked another half block before he could see the smog-muted brick of her apartment building. The sirens wailed as the emergency vehicle overtook and passed him, stopping two minutes later at exactly his destination.

It felt like both his heart and his breath had ceased in that moment. He clutched the satchel with one hand while the other hand fisted.

The unmistakable blue shirt and black pants of the local police faced him as they hurled orders. The glassplated apartment doors were flung open. From what he could see, it was organized mayhem.

“Excuse me,” he began, intending to address the police officer directly nearest to him.

What the hell could be going on?

“Get back!” the police officer ordered with an abrupt windmill-like motion of his hand.

Behind him doors slammed, and lights flashed. The red-and-blue bobbles of the emergency vehicles glazed the concrete with a mixture of hollow light. A stretcher was unloaded and dropped onto the sidewalk. The metal wheels clattered as the ambulance attendants sprang into motion.

Andra Vandersan.

His heart raced. He could only hope she was unhurt as he clutched the satchel. He stood on the fringes of a small crowd, waiting for a chance to slip past the police guarding the perimeter of what was obviously a crime scene.

****

Andra stood back as the police arrived and were followed closely by the ambulance attendants.

“Over there.”

She pointed with a shaking finger.

“I found her,” she said in a rush to get the words out. “It was too quiet, and the door was open.” She chafed her forearm. “She screamed, I think.” She knotted her fingers. “I’m not sure any more what I heard. I…I shouldn’t have waited.”

“You said she screamed?” The police officer paused as his partner stood, one hand on his belt. Both officers looked at her, one with impatience, the other with some interest. His dark eyes scrutinized her as his gray hair seemed to glint even in the shadowed light of the apartment’s narrow entrance.

“I think so. I don’t know anymore.”

The police officer nodded; his partner was silent. The medics moved in, pushing past her.

“If I’d checked earlier…” She drew a strand of hair off her forehead. “Maybe she’d still be alive.”

“We’ll take a full report later, ma’am. Now, if you could just stand back.”

She nodded and bit the edge of her thumbnail. She dropped her hand. “There was noise, thumping, more noise than usual. I thought…Oh, God.” She wrapped her arms under her chest.

“Just stay here, ma’am, I’ll take a full statement later,” the officer repeated.

“All right.” She shook her head. She couldn’t seem to stop talking. “Why didn’t I know her better? She was my neighbor, and I never had her over, never…” Her voice trailed off and she dashed what she hoped were the last of the tears from her eyes.

She pushed up against the wall of the bachelor apartment. Only the swirl of officials in the room; the three police officers, two medics and a cluster of official-looking people, seemed to bring any reality to her. And in the midst of all that, hidden behind badges and uniforms, was her neighbor—Margaret. Dead on her tiny kitchen floor, pieces of an uneaten ham sandwich strewn around her.

It was fifteen minutes before the same police officer she had spoken to earlier came over.

“You don’t mind if I record this?” She shook her head.

“What can you tell me about her?”

She wiped another tear. “Not much. I know that sounds odd, we were neighbors and all, but we mostly said hello in the hallways. I never socialized with her or anything.”

She crossed her arms and chafed her elbows with the opposite hands.

“She’s an expat like me, but she wasn’t a close friend. She’d only been here four months. But I suppose you might already know that.” She shook her head. “Other than how I found her, like I told you earlier, I can’t say much more except that she’d mentioned she came from Baltimore. I believe she has a brother there, but she never mentioned his name.”

“Any enemies?”

Again, she shook her head. She wiped the tears with the back of her hand. “I don’t know. I can’t imagine she would have. But I really don’t know.”

“Anything else? About the deceased specifically, her habits, anything.”

“There’s nothing more I can tell you,” she assured the officer. “I arrived to find her already gone.”

Two police officers hovered by the doorway, the others seeming to have left in the last few minutes. She looked away as Margaret’s body was loaded onto the stretcher.

“Was it gang-related?” she whispered.

“What makes you ask that?”

“Her throat was slit in a way that the triads might.”

“Excuse me?”

“I lived here as a child,” Andra clarified. “Moved back to the States and then returned as an adult. I’ve been here ten years. One becomes familiar with the triads, if only through the media.” She glanced up at him. “Was it?”

“I’m not at liberty to say.” He glanced down at his notes. “Had you spoken to her in the week prior to her death?”

“No.” Andra shook her head. “We passed in the hallway and said hello a few days ago. That was it.

Today I heard noises…”

“Noises?”

“Yes. I heard a crash. I assume that’s when she…fell.” She choked out the last word and for the first time since she’d found the body, her knees shook, and she had to concentrate to remain on her feet. “The scream…I don’t know.”

“You’re sure?”

“No, not about the scream. About everything else, yes.”

“What else?”

“The door was ajar. She didn’t answer my knock.”

She remembered how the door had eased open as if someone from the other side was opening it, as if…She shook her head trying to clear her mind of the macabre thoughts.

“Had you seen anyone strange around the building?”

Faces reeled through Andra’s mind. “No…yes. Wait, I saw one man a few days ago. And then again yesterday—a young man, thin and maybe a few inches taller than me, twenty or so with a slightly scarred face—acne, I think, and a beige nylon jacket. He could have been visiting someone, I don’t know.” She shrugged and her stomach heaved, and for a second threatened to give up the small meal she’d had an hour earlier. “I remember him over anyone else who was a stranger to me only because I saw him twice.”

“Did you exchange words with him or notice any unusual behavior?”

“No.” She shook her head.

“Any reason you know of that someone would want to kill Miss Langford?”

Andra stopped for a moment. “I knew her name was Langford but…It’s just so odd to hear it. I…” Again, she shook her head. “I wish I’d spoken to her more. But I’ve been caught up with a project translating recently discovered messages. They were messages that were slipped across enemy lines during World War Two and…” She looked up. “I’m sorry, that was uncalled for. Margaret mentioned nothing to me. Like I said, we weren’t that close.

“Anything else?”

She shook her head. “No. I wish there was. Oh, she taught English as a Second Language at the Chay-Lan Institute. We had a shared interest in language; language is a kind of code.” She stopped, her hand flitting to her mouth and then dropping. “I know so little about her.”

“Is there anyone else we can contact? Friends maybe?”

“Other than the brother, I don’t know.”

She shuddered when she finally closed her apartment door and faced a room that was, décor aside, a mirror image of Margaret’s. Her arms were folded tight as if that would offer some protection. A knot seemed stuck in her gut. Maybe the tears she couldn’t shed. Maybe guilt at her inability to stop a tragedy. She couldn’t identify it, and yet the feeling bore an odd resemblance to how she felt at other times when she had faced loss and tragedy or pain in her life; her parents, her siblings. She’d mentally built a wall and stored her emotions tightly in the furthest corner behind it.

She drew in a straggled breath. This was not the same. Why would someone kill Margaret? What did she have that was valuable? It made no sense.

She raised a shaky hand to her forehead. It was cool despite the heat in the poorly ventilated building. She supposed she might, all things considered, be in shock. The intercom buzzed and she jumped. She let out a small shriek as the tinny alarm sounded again.

Keep reading?...

It only gets worse before it gets better!

Someone wants that doll and they'll kill anything or anyone in their path to keep their secrets.

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Til next time - take care - stay safe!

Ryshia

www.ryshiakennie.com

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Release Day - Fatal Intent

2022-01-19T07:47:00.003-06:00

February arrived slick and silent following January's attention grabbing end with a province shutting blizzard. It crept in like a stealth intruder choking on the last tendrils of too much snow before it settled into tranquility. Still and silent, at least to begin with, its arrived with a promise of twenty-eight days more of winter weather before sliding into March. And March, well that's another story, one that will tell itself in its own good time. 

That aside, despite bundling up in a blanket in the cold winter mornings. Yes, even central heat doesn't cut the chill. But, despite that, I'm excited for this release, the last in a trio of releases. 

Happy Book Birthday - Fatal Intent!

The chance of a lifetime is crashing around her and, in the process, threatening to destroy not just Savannah's career but the very lives of her team. In the Borneo rain forest things have gotten daily and the arrival of one man who claims he can help them might add a threat that no one imagined. 

Just reading that reminds me of how much I loved writing this book; how much I loved the research that inspired the idea. Yes, not the other way around but that's another story. I was on a trip to Borneo, dressed in awkward tourist style for the hike. I'd tucked in my pants into my brand new hiking boots and I had enough bug spray to mutate the forest. I was ready.
Possibly not - I wasn't ready for the python - it didn't move, I didn't care. I wasn't ready for the snake that did move, as beautiful as it was - I ran the other way. I also wasn't ready for the beauty of the rain forest - crazy creatures that I could or couldn't identify aside. And I wasn't ready for the idea that leapt at me from the dense, rich green foliage. It was the idea for Fatal Intent. Not all my stories begin with a trip but I love when they do.

Excerpt from Fatal Intent:

She saw him floating headless through a mist of tears. 

Even the river’s roar was not enough to mask her scream, as overhead the Borneo midday sun skidded a brilliant reflection across the river’s surface. 

Savannah Cole clapped her hand over her mouth and squinted against the bright sun, as if that would shift reality or change the fact that all that stood between Malcolm and anonymity was the San Diego Chargers logo on his torn, water-soaked T-shirt. Instead, tears washed her vision. 

Malcolm’s smiling face—his smiling, missing face. She choked and her foot slipped, bringing her dangerously close to the riverbank, and the body. 

Brush crackled and something screeched. The sound was harsh and loud even in a place where there was never silence. It would have sent chills through the uninitiated, but it was only an insect, an oversize bug. An insect that might not be classified or identified. There were so many and that was what brought her here. But now her guide was dead, headless. That thought alone was preposterous, even when the evidence lay in front of her. She wanted to weep. She wanted to run. But it was up to her to get her team out of here. She needed another focus before panic clouded everything. And then she caught sight of Ian spewing into the tall grass that grew wild and untamed on the edge of the clearing. 

“Ian!” 

It was only the two of them—for now. She and Ian. Ian, who was all about screams and hysteria in a crisis. But there’d never been a need to worry about that—there was no crisis, there should have never been a crisis.

Her fingers trembled and she clenched them into her palms, nails pinching the skin. 

Her thoughts jittered everywhere. 

There was no answer as Ian began to cry in large gulping sobs. 

“Ian!” she shouted, trying to use tough love, hoping that would bring him back from the edge. There was no time for sympathy and neither of them could afford hysteria. They had to survive. 

Small choking sounds came from the brush. 

“C’mon, Ian,” she muttered, swallowing her own bile as it crept up the back of her throat. 

Dead. 

Only yesterday morning she had laughed with Malcolm. It had been over some inane joke one of the other Iban had told him. Something that related back to his heritage and the Iban’s history as headhunters. 

“Headhunters,” she whispered. “Don’t be ridiculous.” 

There were no headhunters, not anymore. Just tribal people who took great pride in a history that once had included headhunting. Once, she reminded herself, no more. Her gaze flitted back to the corpse, the corpse that was minus a head. 

I’ll be back before dark. Keep to the river. I’ll find you. 

The last words Malcolm had spoken, at least to them.

Want to read more?
Get Fatal Intent on Amazon both as an e-copy and paperback!
Happy Birthday to you....Fatal Intent!

On Fatal Intent's release day, I'm celebrating with copy in hand - yes it's in paperback too! 

Happy dance! 

Get your copy at:Want to read more?

Get Fatal Intent on Amazon both as an e-copy and paperback!

Happy Birthday to you....Fatal Intent!

On Fatal Intent's release day, I'm celebrating with copy in hand - yes it's in paperback too!

Happy dance!

Get your copy at:

Amazon.com; Amazon.ca; Barnes & Noble; Chapters Indigo

www.ryshiakennie.com

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