THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER ~ ~ Epic*sode 18 ~ "BITE BETTER THAN BARK?" ~ By Absolutely*Kate and Harry B. Sanderford of Harbinger*33

HEY! WE'RE BACK!

* MURDER *

* MYSTERY *

* MATINEE *

  
"THE PRINTS

 AND 

THE POPPER"

FROM WHERE

  WE LEFT OFF

 IN OUR LAST CLIFFHANGER

*AT THE BIJOU*

  

CATCHING UP ON CLIFFHANGERS?

Mosey through Epic*sode Clicks:

    

Epic'sode 17 ~ Cassidy & Sundance

Epic'sode Sweet 16 ~ The Great Escape

Epic'sode 15 ~ A Wise Ass

Epic'sode 14 ~ A Wrinkle in Time

Epic'sode 13 ~ Lucky For You?

Epic'sode 12 ~ Midnight Cowboy

Epic'sode 11 ~ The Shadow Knows

Epic'sode 10 ~ The Pissing Match

 Epic'sode 9 ~ Chain, Chain, Chain 
Epic'sode 8 ~ Too Cool!

Epic'sode 7 ~ Meet Virginia
Epic'sode 6 ~ I See the Light

Epic'sode 5 ~ Lucky Shot
Epic'sode 4 ~ Hi Jinks

Epic'sode 3 ~ Groping Against Grope
Epic'sode 2 ~ The Clot Thickens
  
and the original mystery of it all ~  Epic'sode 1 ~

 THE PRINTS AND THE POPPER

 

 

 ~ ~ EPIC*SODE 18 ~ ~

"BITE BETTER THAN BARK? "

~ By Absolutely*Kate

and 

Harry B. Sanderford

Whose Prints?  ~ ala Kac

Eddie hung up with Mary Lou and iPhoned Detective Davenport.  “Any word from your friend at the lab?”
 
"Good mornin’ to you too, Junior,” Leon replied, knowing his sarcasm was as lost as civility.  “Yeah Fat-Cop . . . that’s Officer Burger to you, left me a voicemail last night. Says there are no new identifiable prints on the mug. The ones you lifted he said were first class, even complimented you on them, but they do not belong to anyone currently in the system. Tox won’t be in before tomorrow.”
 
"Chester would be in the system wouldn’t he?” Eddie asked.

 
 "Chester is in the system. Mostly for tilting at windmills so far, but even if Fat had found his prints, well hell it’s his mug.”
 
"That's what I mean. Don’t you think it’s just a little odd that Chester’s prints aren’t on it?”
 
"You mean like maybe he was extra careful wiping the cup clean before putting it back on the shelf? I was thinking the same thing Partner.  You got classes this morning or you free to take a ride?”
 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Breakfast of Champs ~ htlvhwy

 
Chester Hanks awoke with a Schlitz induced headache that while not uncustomary was nevertheless annoying.  Eyes closed, he sleepwalked to the bathroom to relieve himself, flushed, and with eyes still closed, shuffled the 14 steps to the refrigerator where he popped the top on a cold can of good morning and drained its contents entirely before squinting out at the day.  The replenishing effects were immediate but short-lived as the events of the preceding night flooded home. He heard soft snoring coming from his bedroom followed by an awfully official sounding knock at his door. FUCK, is what he thought. “Just a minute, hold yer horses, I ain’t dressed,” is what he yelled at the front door before hurrying to close the bedroom door. Hoping like hell the bulk under the blankets was Ruby. He buttoned his fly and finger combed his hair before opening the door. “How can I hep ya?”
 
"Good morning Mr. Hanks, sorry to wake you.”  It was 11:15 and the boozy, bodily, funk of debauchery issuing forth from the capsule unsealed, caused Detective Stine to take a shallow breath and a step back.

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

  

 

"Don't call to complain about evidence left out when you over-helped-yourself to use news of what tales I told you and what tales you thought you'd connoitered out of me Newspaper Dame! If it's all the same, I wouldn't give a wooden nickel Penny for any sad, sorry, sympathy story you have about how your nose for news is out of joint.  Sources and the resources of sources are to be checked closely, very closely ~ So, have you any plans this evening?"
 

Penny for her thoughts ~ ala Sion Fullana

"Well you've got your nerve Caracas, Noir Ace your fame to claim aims to be! Who are you to scoff at twisty roads you signal-flagged me to chase down? It certainly took miles of calls and calling in favours to type that ink by press time. I want you to understand I insist what's read in black and white BE black and white. Shades of grey are more like song lyrics from the 60's or 70's, I'm not sure which, though I'm persistently precise. I could look it up but I'd much rather know ~ Are you going to tell me past convoluted conjecture who YOU think is behind that jiffy death-by-popcorn, the disappearing act of the hometown cinematic reviewer and the bloody scenes behind the scenes? What's that? Yes, well of course I have my own premises . . . uh, we could discuss them. Say, 8-ish, back for round-two at The Lucky Shot?"

  

"You're on, Yank. That's a good and plenty place to drink -- I mean meet -- for starters, lady newshound." 

 "Oh Paul you dog, double or nothing on that wooden nickel, your bite is more pleasant than your bark." 

 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

Talking up a ghost of a chance  ~ ala Abchick

 

"Hey there Kate. It's me, Carrie. Yeah, I slept off that pool side binge-splurge we had to drink and then spun off into a really good think. And . . . uh, there really is something I have to tell you about someone you may or may not have seen AT THE BIJOU who I can tell, knows what's going on, sight unseen, y'know? I just can't keep this to myself anymore, I just can't. It's creepin' me out all under my skin. Listen, don't hem and haw or give me any bum's rush jaw -- I'm heading right over. We've gotta talk before I get the heebie jeebies. Even though no doubt this phenomenon I sense is helping my writing style, I want to not look over my shoulder so damn much at what I expect to be sudden boogie woogies when I'm not even playing new Indie group's tunes. C'mon Kate! I'm crazy curious and you've never been able to pull off a coy one dang day in your life I betcha sure as Sugar deals extra Milk Duds under the table to folks she likes more than others. So yeah. I'm coming over. You got coffee right -- ?"

 

"Carrie ~ Carrie?"

 

"Saaaay, who was that Kate? Could it have been that Carrie from the BIJOU since you double dribbled her name? Ain't I the clever sleuth, huh? And why're you acting like you're about to see a ghost or somethin? Here, cop a seat. Pull up your blue bowl for some nice nutritious cereal. You know you want to Katie. We've got a dang big pile to spoon up from my nifty siftings. S'OK if I keep the prize, right? I worked mighty hard at getting to what matters . . . "
 
Despite churning consternation at Carrie's dithered huff as her psyche's apprehension must be nearing comprehension along Phantom trails, Kate smirked a guffaw at handsome, hunky Harry's humorous way of trying to get his way. "You always work mighty hard at what matters Har. Matter of fact, you work hard enough to make it jump out and look pretty easy." Lowering her voice into her lean over the crunch that Lucky Charms still made around the standout prize her partner AT THE BIJOU found so magically delicious, she murmured low, "You wanta tell me though -- whassup - I mean what's REALLY up with you lugging Jeanette over here? Like it's a hidey-hole-up or somethin. Geeeez -- You've been pulling a disappearing act several times a day this past month Houdini boy. Don't think I don't notice when the head help's not so handy around how the theatre lights shine. Eddie tried to cover twice last week with some lame  'Down the basement Maam' spin, but that kid can't look a person in the eye and lie for nuttin'. He sure looks a kind, soft eye Jeanette's way though. I know he's gonna be so happy at her being safe and found and sound. You think we should call him?"

Who's whose Lucky Charm?

Harry hunkered down into cereal killin' time and mumbled back as laissez faire as he thought he could pull off without Kate seeing through some holes in how he knit his yarns, "Yeah, yeah - that's a great idea Kid. Eddie just is not going to rest 'til he knows his fave lady of Row Number Nine is doing mighty fine. You go right ahead KatieGirl and make that call. Just go ahead." 
 
"Wait just a marshmallow picking through minute there Wise Guy. You're pushin' buttons a little too snazzy now. Spill, Har about what's really goin' on. This is my BIJOU taking this strange danger run and I don't fancy the reviews. Every time I got a phone call last week as I recall, you did some fast shoe slither into my office with just happening by to interrupt and check who I was speaking with. Now you show up spoutin' shoot-em-up tales and a tied-tight femme fatale and where the freakin' heck did our sweet Lady J ever get derringer practice out of her girly garters? C'mon Har, give me the dirt clean. There's some BIJOU business goin' on that I've been wondering might have a thing or three to do with this muck of a ruckus. We should put our heads together. Figger some figgerins. -- And you notice? Something still is not at all quite right with our true blue Jay - past the shock factor, I mean. Her voice keeps chirping up a down staircase and if she wouldn't keep lecturing every time I say her eyes are rollin', well heck Har, I'd tell you her eyes are rolling. She can't look steady in one place for any longer than three seconds. What the hell happened during this 'captivity' time you two are rambling on about? You only give out bits and pieces -- "

 

Sometimes I fall ~ ala RealmOfPain

Jeanette jumped twice -- once out of her chair, once around the rungs of where she tipped it on the blue and white linoleum floor. In erratic goofy glee, she clapped her hands three times. "Harry! Look! Look! I found the decoder ring in the Rice Krispies! It was like Snap, Crackle and out it POPPED. It did! Kate will let me keep it, I'm sure -- I've been through an ordeal and folks are nicer to folks who've been through ordeals, right? Besides, if you get your prize, I get mine. WHICH REMINDS ME -- Did we tell Kate yet about the prize?"

 

~  ~  ~  ~  ~

 

"Tanya, I've got to get ready for a date, er - appointment with a high caliber interrogation. That means we've got to get you and the trumped up Prof here to a safe house. Especially before his latest shot wears off. Can you stay with him awhile at that Kate's who runs the BIJOU under the cover of a medical professional being professional to look over her under sedation professor? That should work. Keep your eyes, ears and sensitivities open. Something could very well pop up that we can use to rip into Boss Gabardine's seams a little further. From my briefing, he's appearing much too confident for someone under the upheaval of what two solid years of surveillance uncovered. Oh, and we have to find that Cheezum broad too. She has a past with - - "

 

She's got the point!

"A colorful past? A lurid past? A shadowy fill-in-the-blanks with bullets past? I've done my research there Paul. I'd like to handle this part of the case. I'm cut out for diving through divining wisdom and shaky alibis. And the Prof here, yes -- it's best he's watched over. Kate's place sounds like a sound idea. I know you're in a hurry but could we stop and pick up some Mike's Hard Lemonade? I have a feeling that if I could get that lady theatre owner to relax out under the sun sipping, she might slip open more to what they're undermining her for. It is blackmail right?"

* C * L * I * F * F * H * A * N * G * E * R * S * !

* AT THE BIJOU * 

Mosey on over to next Sunday's Matinee

for the next gut-gripping epic'sode!

" The Prints and The Popper "

(c) 2010 ~ Dashing Duet Authors

Absolutely*Kate and Harry B. Sanderford

  ( Kate thinks the "B" is for 'brilliant'  -- some times )

THE YOUGHIOGHENY SCREAMS ~ Part 2 ... By Absolutely*Kate of Harbinger*33 - {ala #Flash Fiction}

ROUGH RAPIDS - WHITE OR DARK WATER?  ~  ala David Hartshorn

THE YOUGHIOGHENY SCREAMS
 

~ ~  PART 2  ~ ~ 

 
By ~ Absolutely*Kate

Warning: This tale gets a little rough around the edges. Stay clear if you're too young to be roughing around edges. 

First, read >  ~ ~  PART 1  ~ ~

                                             

"Danger comes in all descriptions, all directions when danger comes. When it comes in the middle of an adventure to the rest of our lives it's not only a pain in the ass . . . it's a crying shame."  

 ~ Gabe Connors   

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

That's how it started, the danger part, the pain in the ass part. Jenny sweet talked me one very fine Sunday evening just about a month before our "I do's" saying, midst maps and markers and her Maybelline lashes batting for a home run smack into my centerfield of vision . . . past my better calm, cool and collected judgement. Yes, we decided to shoot the rapids of the mighty rollin' Youghiogheny when it's expressly prohibited to do so that time of year in Pennsylvania. Upcoming nuptials drive some people nuts. It drove us crazy wild about doing anything and everything each other could think up. We'd already vowed our first sequence of vows ~ "To live each day to the Absolute Fullest. To cherish moments others just let go by in shades of mucky mundane." I'm tellin' ya, Jenny even lived the refrain she so wanted to be our married motto, pushing a Hitchcock chair over to my kitchen doorway so she could reach higher. She used velcro tabs to hang a blue placard she'd made over the framework molding, her flair for design sneaking through her motto for all our time: 

*NEVER*LET*ANYTHING*

  *EVER*BE*ORDINARY!*

The Friday we set out with all our gear as lightly and tightly packed as enough lugged stuff could take us for a three day getaway, with Duke wagging his shaggy tail to our happy one, had all the sparkle of life and possibilities upon it. Jenny teased me like crazy about who was gonna rock whose boat as our life tossed and turned and crossed currents and shoaled up in storms. I chuckled large into the fine, fine day, reached up, mussed her hair and wisecracked back, "Keep an eye on the horizon Babe. That'll always shore us up fine." The falls were coming up, I could hear 'em. She did need to keep watch.

There hadn't been much rain this scorcher of a sweltering summer. Jenny swerved  the front end while wedging an oar at a rooted red maple emerging out of the calm glittery surface and ran us more aground of what we didn't see coming at us. What's that adage about what you don't see comin' won't hurt you? It's wrong. It's just damn wrong.
 
The water-logged log jostled and popped the back of our conveyance against a jut of rocks which somehow just kept coming. So did the falls. The rocks! The falls! Our trajectory for angling them was now way, way off. I tried to steady us best I could. Duke, always one for sensing coming trouble, yipped short stiff barks doing double time as Jenny screamed. And screamed. Oh how Jenny screamed. And then -- well, the pain in the ass part went sharp into my Levis from whatever the hell scraped at me while I got walloped head over ass through white water also doing double time. 
 

Tree Markings - ala Giles C Watson

I caught Duke's wet fur in my peripheral vision, but as fast as slow motion feels when your life does that proverbial pass through of sequence sightings, I couldn't see Jenny any more anywhere. I could just hear her scream. And scream again. About then came Duke's gravelly growl. Way down low. Way down where tones go that aren't lingering in this world any more. I hit shore, hit it hard. I was on the west bank past Connellsville, I think. There was a weird marked up tree trunk ahead as I flailed for balance and better bearings past a heap of Iron City and Rolling Rock cans gathering no moss near a charred campsite and that scream and -- that scream -- connected now to the lovely girl, my lovely girl, gripped by -- oh shit -- her breast and her long tawny tangle of hair. 
 
To say he was large, was like sketching the ocean - you just couldn't take all the edges in. But he was there alright and I knew it was more than a scare tactic rebuttal when he spun 'round at what yelping epithet I must have angrily emitted. That dirty bozo shot clean into my right shoulder -- damn -- right through the orange life jacket. And he kept groping determined rips into jagged tears through remnants of what was supposed to keep my Jenny safe. Though I was vaguely aware it was my blood oozing my shoulder so warm, I knew past my blood, in my gut, that it was fierce primal anger hastening the heat that hurled me across prickly hedged brush to take anything on. Anything. Seeing my scowl gone wild, he got mighty pissed off now, this snarling gargantuan caricature out of a bad bad-guy movie scene. This let go his grip on screaming, scrabbling Jen for the split second it would take to level a hand to empty his barrel yet a little more, most likely into other parts of me. Jenny kept right on screaming.

Run Jenny RUN!   ~ ala sarahb2010

"Run Jenny RUN!" shot out of me with some perverse Forest Gump regard for crying out loud, as I was crying out loud and doubling down, dodging into a crazy zigzag pattern towards two oaks offering a stance of potential buckshot barrier protection up ahead. That's when Duke got his fur flying a frenzy into the fray. Grrrr and Gulp went his loyal gumption in one swell chomp. Took a fleshy bloody chunk outta Large Lard's exposed thick calf. Who-the-fuck wears combat boots with Spaulding gym shorts? Oh shit, was this one of those crazy paint ball cult jerks screaming obscenities into where he couldn't hear the forest for the trees? Then why was . . .  yeah, my shoulder was really bleeding and not painted-on pain, so this nightmare was real. And this smirking fat bastard was taken by surprise by how a rough and tough animal could all out canine for what bones he could do serious damage to. I swear I heard splinter past crunch. Honest. Shit, we coulda taken him, me and my best bud Duke, we coulda. We shoulda.
  

We could've got Jenny outta there and to the Poconos and splashed lightness and lovin' over this bad scene in one of those goofy champagne glass bubbly whirlpools they have in the bedrooms for honeymooners. And I coulda talked her into living in the safe suburbs and not building an A-frame on a bluff over the falls along the mighty Youghiogheny where she swears her father's baseball must've floated when it came down river from where he grandslammed it in the bottom of the 9th -- you know how the story must go -- two outs, down by three to win the Perryopolis city championship against Snipetown. She said her Dad always told that same story when they crossed over the Yough at Thanksgiving and Easter and for a summer week to visit her grandfather. Jenny's big on stories and heroes and marking memorable events as a sign to start new ventures off right. But I could've got her Dad to autograph a ball he said he kept in his Navy trunk all this time and we could've settled safe in the suburbs, and drove the kind of vehicles advertised during NFL commercials and huddled together on a big ol' white couch with a red plaid stadium blanket for excitement long into our happily ever onwards. We could've.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

 

Trouble is, trouble doesn't happen once when there are three of them. I heard laughter. High-pitched sadistic laughter. I tasted fear. It's kinda metallic, like at the back of your tongue. I don't know why I'm remembering all this so precise this way. It's just -- well, everything went vivid before I got livid. I smelled a stench like sewers streaming over rancid landfill, all acrid and hold-your-nose closed stink. I saw Duke switch his gnawing tactics away from sprawled out suffering Large Lard for a dash and run to where I was now headed without even knowing how I was gonna get there  -- yeah, to my Jenny. 

Jenny had run. Jenny had run smack dab into a preponderance of rhododendron that no longer offered pretty flowers for pausing to praise, as she usually did. Jenny had run smack dab into two of Large Lard's butthead buddies by what the hair standing up on the back of every place follicles fueled me were  messaging. It was like a little forest fire jittering all over my body -- a sensation that scorches past pain, the primal rat-a-tat-tat that's every man's call to arms. Only I wasn't armed and ruddy Red Shirt and scraggly Beard Belly Gut were. That day's carefree sun shone like a dagger on a dagger. A freakin' dagger for crying out loud!  How in God's good name was one of these damn derelicts wielding a dagger into the life vest of my life's best love? 

S C R E A M  ~ ala Mareen Fischinger

Jenny screamed way past a scream. It curdled the blood, the mud, even the beer cans I 'spect. It quaked the aspens. It adrenalined my instinct to leap into trouble while Duke deflected the other side of how they held Jenny. He darted fast. He darted back and forth in half circles so the two hollow-eyed creeps had to crank their ugly heads in some crazed puppet-symbolic rhythm to whatever the heck pulled evil's senseless strings and kept them muttering. Did I mention they were hollow-eyed? Does anyone ever really use that description? Well I did. I am. Amazing what's recalled from a danger day when your Jenny is screaming and screaming. And what the hell did I think me and old Duke should have to fear about a freakin' outlandish dagger along one of the trio tribs that was s'posed to pleasantly make its meander to confluence outside the old Three Rivers Stadium where Franco Harris' Immaculate Reception play was just a parking lot spot now. Unreal! This was too unreal to deal with. But hey, we had to. Yeah. Amazing though, how many crazing thoughts pass through the mind when danger, anger, pain and heat all frenzy up to take on whatever is comin'atcha.

Beard Belly flattened a hairy palm against Jenny's chest, the  wriggle of her writhe forced flat into the squishy mud at the brown Youghiogheny's edge where they'd dragged her screaming from beyond the rhodies. Red Shirt groaned, holding his end of Jen like a wishbone. He stumbled, comin' down hard on his left knee. Laughed though. A hard brittle sound that racked nerves and one sensed could wreak havoc. Reached a hand to rub his knee while shifting his bulging flesh's jiggle down onto Jenny's kicking leg to force it more still I guess. Then jabbed fear. Dangled the dagger from up above in a swishing pattern next to her eyebrows. Grazed her cheek on the eerie sweep movement down. Held her gaze. Reached fast to rub her knee, sliding his grungy hand back and forth up her thigh, harder, quicker. I lunged. Duke barked. A warning. 

Too late. Large Lard in a ridiculous camouflage hoodie topping off his unimaginable forest nonfashion statement had a hamhock of what must've been his hand around what must have been my windpipe. I just knew beyond all else I couldn't breathe now. So I counted inside - 1- 2- 3 - 4- 5 - 6 - 7, then let myself go limp. Textbook TV crimefighters. The lugnut loosened his hold. I bit. Hard. Trying to do my own version of serious damage canine style. Trusting against hope to convert not only a diversion but some sense of unreality in this unreality that there was this crazier-then-them dude chomping at the bite. Let 'em wonder. Let 'em lose buffoonery bravado.  
 
God, guide me. Inspire me quick. Shoot me full of some fool idea to overcome these godforsaken fools' odds. Don't forsake me God, I really need'ya BigGuy. I do.
 
Duke was growling at Jenny's side and Beard Belly unfortunately was doing more damage than shaking a stick with the birch branch he bashed around behind his back. His intent was firm on what his yellowed teeth were doing to ridges of Jenny's rosy nipples. Red Shirt had her blue jeans half shimmied. Jenny was kicking. Jenny was screaming. Oh God, how Jenny was screaming. Jenny was screaming out her agony and her shame.

TO BE CONTINUED NEXT WEEK,

AS I HONESTLY CAN'T WRITE

GABE'S HEART OUT THIS WAY ANYMORE

~ Softly,

 ~ CarloAlessio77

~ Absolutely*Kate 

HOOK, LINE & SINKER ~ A Dazzling Trio Delights ~ AT THE BIJOU

                                                     HOOK, LINE & SINKER ala Dunbone

So you gobbled up

SNAP, CRACKLE & POP

when it crunched its serial tales

*AT THE BIJOU*

WELL HOLD ON TO YOUR

POPCORN AND YOUR HATS!

THE CREATIVE COMBOS

JUST KEEP COMIN'~

HAIL, HAIL

A NEW GANG'S ALL HERE!

HOOK, LINE & SINKER

Conceived by raconteur

RICHARD M. JOHNSON

Starring Vignettes by ~

JEANETTE CHEEZUM

The aforementioned  

RICHARD M. JOHNSON

~ AND ~

 INTRODUCING intriguing writer

of TV, film and "commercial" success ~

 
MICHAEL TERENCE McNERNEY

                                                       HOOK, LINE & SINKER splashes neon ala JimPriceDallas

HOOK, LINE & SINKER

 

Now Playing

*AT THE BIJOU*

( It's gonna rock your boat! )

*AT THE BIJOU*

"Writer's Raves for Reader's Faves"

HOOK ~ By Jeanette Cheezum of Harbinger*33

A DAY AT THE BEACH?  ala CandlestickPark

"HOOK"

{Illusion}

By ~ Author Jeanette Cheezum
 

A beautiful sight caught my attention today. When a young couple dressed in the same colored shorts tried to get all their paraphernalia up the steps and down the boardwalk to a secluded part of the beach.

            She had a diaper bag slung over her shoulder and a cell phone attached to one ear; with the baby on the opposite hip.

The baby sucked on her pacifier while mingling her fingers in her mother’s ponytail.

He had a portable CD player strapped to his back banging sometimes on his Fob in one of his rear pockets. He stopped, aligned and lifted one end of the bottom of a storage unit on wheels. He steadied and gained momentum to conquer the cement steps.

While trying to keep up, I wondered what delightful or necessary items were tucked inside; surely, things to make their afternoon pleasant. We separated by a few yards and I thought it smart when he erected a tarp to keep out the sun's scorching rays. Probably for the baby or maybe when they ate lunch.

{HOOK}

I was about to doze off when an odd odor circled the air keeping me from my nap. After a while I gave up and headed toward the water's edge; wet my feet and turned toward the young family. My Polarized lenses really did block out the rays—

I stood firm and then for a moment . . . marveled at their gall. The bong was in plain sight with the baby patting it, until the mother threw a towel over it.

What should I do?

Why just who is this prolific lady writer of site after site and insight to cite . . . whom so many of us find so outtasight? Well there's info aplenty in cyberwriting worlds about our beloved Jeanette, but here's the full scoop in one fell swoop (purloined from Jeanette's burgeoning press files):

JEANETTE CHEEZUM lives in Virginia Beach, Virginia, where she watches the rolling surf for inspiration. You can find her work on a multitude of online writing sites. Listings of her prolific works are available at Hampton Roads Writers.org, or at a place many of us once met ~ Six Sentences. She has been published in three of Smith Magazine's anthology books, six of Six Sentences anthology books and with class and distinciton in Vox Poetica’s first book of poetry . . . and is always "at home" AT THE BIJOU in a showcased or supporting role of stories or stirrings. Browse around ~ You're sure to see her good works here, there and everywhere! Bestowed writing awards and as a semi-finalist in quite a few contests her prolific nature enters, Jeanette smiles proudly and serenely at her future horizons ~

Forthcoming: Harbinger*33

She has published over 445 stories, and hopes to publish her latest novel this year.

"Thanks" just doesn't shine the lights enough for all you are to us AT THE BIJOU, oh Goddess Mother of Brilliant Authors ~ Our hearts and shining eyes fully bestow it.

~ Absolutely*Kate

and our fine staff of renown

FOR YOU JEANETTE  photo ala KPEP

*AT THE BIJOU*