Good Clean Fun and Games

 

I had a blast hosting my first Facebook Launch Party this weekend! We had games and prizes. It was a great chance to for me to get to know the readers and fans a little better!

It was such a kick I thought I'd bring some of the fun over here.

So...without further ado: A Party Game!

Game: Test Your Imagination
Prize: Free ecopy of Good, Clean Murder: A Plain Jane Mystery
*Prize Determined by Hat Draw on Friday March 8th!*


Agatha Christie liked to kill off characters with a sandbag. This always cracks me up. Who has sandbags lying around? How many of us could really wave a bag of sand around, much less deliver a deadly blow with it?

To enter to win a copy of the book, please post the most absurd murder weapon you can imagine in the comments--and how it would be used to kill!

***
While you are thinking of your weapon, enjoy this snippet from Good, Clean Murder!

Jane tucked her lemon-Pledge-soaked dust rag back in her apron pocket and moved on to the laundry room, the chemical citrus wafting away with her. She needed to strip the beds and get the laundry going if she was going to get out to her next house on time. On her way past the laundry room, she grabbed a hamper.

Then she stopped. Monday was laundry day. Laundry day and payday. The envelope full of cash was always pinned to the bulletin board with her directions. That envelope was supposed to buy her books today. Standing still with the hamper on her hip she debated. Stop now, call Pam, and ask for directions and money, or just keep working? The laundry would take two hours, whether she was paid or not, so she moved to the master bedroom. She could call Pamela after she had the first load in the machine.

Jane pushed open the bedroom door with her hip.

In a smooth set of motions perfected over her two years as a housekeeper, she set the hamper down, grabbed the end of the comforter and pulled all of the bedding off the bed. Then she looked up to grab the pillows.

Bob was still in bed.

“I am so sorry!” she whispered. She backed away from the bed.

Bob hadn’t seemed to notice her.

Heat rose to Jane’s face. What a complete moron! She should have knocked. She could have given him the chance to wake up a little. She looked away from the bed, waiting for him to speak.

He didn’t say anything.

In fact, Bob hadn’t moved a muscle when his covers had come flying off him. Surely, if a big guy like him had moved, she would have noticed.

She stepped back to the bed.

Bob was very still, and his face was pasty.

Jane’s heart thumped against her ribs, like a small, hard fist.

Bob was not well.

Her feet felt like bricks as she pulled herself across the Persian rug to the side of Bob’s bed.

He was wearing an A-line tank top—a wife-beater. His huge shoulders were covered in brown wiry hair.

She had never seen Bob’s naked shoulders.

Jane placed two shaking fingertips under his jaw, and turned away. She couldn’t feel a pulse. She moved her fingers across his thick neck, trying to find even the faint hint of life, but it wasn’t there.

Jane shoved her hand into the pocket of her jeans and yanked out her phone. 911. Must call 911.

“Ambulance, Police, or Fire Department?” The voice of the 911 operator was steady, solid.

“Ambulance, please!”

“Where are you located?”

Jane gave the operator the address of the Crawford home.

“An ambulance will be right there. Can you stay on the line with me?”

“No, I can’t. I’ve got to call his wife.”

“I understand. We’ll be right there.”

Jane ended the call and began scrolling through her phone for Pamela’s number.

Pamela could be at the gym right now, or at the salon, or with the board of directors dealing with the business. She could be anywhere.

Jane found their daughter Phoebe Crawford’s number first and hit send.

“This is Phoebe.” Her voice was rough like she had just woken up.

“Phoebe, it’s Jane Adler. I’m at your parents’ house and your dad—” Jane’s voice broke, but she took a deep breath and continued, “I called the ambulance. I think it was another heart attack. Can you get here?”

“Slow down, what?”

“I’m at the house, and I think your dad has had another heart attack. The ambulance is on its way. Can you make it over here? Do you know where your mom is?” How did Phoebe not understand? Jane walked to the window to watch for the ambulance. Her knees felt like water.

Phoebe yawned on the other end. “That’s awful,” she said. “I had a rough one last night. Call me when he’s at the hospital and I’ll be right there, okay?”

“But I’m just the cleaner…you need to be here. Or your mom.”

“Oh, you’re that Jane. I wondered who this was. Call me when you know what hospital he is at and I will meet him there, okay? It’s just another heart thing. He’ll be fine.”

“I don’t think he’s going to be fine.” Jane saw the ambulance turn the corner, its lights spinning and siren blaring. A fire truck was right behind it.

“Okay, so call me later.” Phoebe yawned again and hung up.

Jane pressed her lips together.

Bob was definitely not fine.

***

Good, Clean Murder is available now from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, Kobo, Smashwords, 

and other fine ebook retailers.

Traci Tyne Hilton is the author of The Mitzy Neuhaus Mystery Series, and one of the authors in the The Tangle Saga series of science fiction novellas. She was the Mystery/Suspense Category winner for the 2012 Christian Writers of the West Phoenix Rattler Contest, a finalist for Speculative Fiction in the same contest, and has a Drammy from the Portland Civic Theatre Guild. Traci serves as the Vice President of the Portland chapter of the American Christian Fiction Writers Association.

Traci earned a degree in History from Portland State University and still lives in the rainiest part of the Pacific Northwest with her husband the mandolin playing funeral director, their two daughters, and their dog, Dr. Watson.
More of Traci's work can be found at http://www.tracihilton.com

Prunella's Quest--Part II--By Linda Kozar

Prunella's Quest: A Tongue-in-Cheek Saga (Part Two of Three)

Mrs. Brimley drew the lorgnette to her right eye and surveyed the result of the maid's ministrations. A disdainful expression seemed to spread like a malady across the woman's face.

From the degree of the woman's repose, Prunella could only surmise that all beautification attempts had been less than successful. Yet, in spite of the woman's disdain, Prunella's thoughts turned to more pressing matters, namely the pain emmanating from her feet. She shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable in the stiff leather shoes Santa Maria had insisted she wear.

"Dear me. Dear me." Mrs. Brimley lowered her arm. The lorgnette at rest on her lap, she took in a deep breath.  "Tsk. Tsk. Tsk."

Prunella stood as stalwart as an oak, allowing only her eyes to follow the events of the day unfold.

The maids shared worried glances, their failure, a fait accompli. Word of this shortcoming would soon spread, rendering a fatal blow to opportunities for future employment.

"Madame, we--we've done all that could be done." Nina explained. "With great vigor and enthusiasm did we follow your instructions. Yet. . ."

Santa Maria added her sister's complaint drawing from her own absolute conviction of a battle lost. "It's no use Madame." Hands on her hips, she even dared to glance backward, offering an espression of repugnant disapproval at her charge.

"Ye cannot make bricks without straw, and Heaven's our witness, this young miss is but a sow's ear. No, this be the realm, the will of God. Our attempts to change her reflection could only come to naught."

Prunella took note of the woman's insulence. Be she endowed with beauty or not, Prunella's very rank in society was deserving the maid's humble deference. And Mrs. Brimley did not come to her defense.

Mrs. Brimley expression descended "Is there no hope?"

Pinta took a step forward, swishing her skirts as she did.

A bemused smile flushed across Prunella's face.

"Madame, if you would indulge me for but a moment?" She shared a disapproving glance at her siblings. "I am afraid I must disagree with the assessment offered by my sisters as to the likelihood of improving Mistress Busby's appearance."

"What's this?" Nina's eyes grew wide as tea cakes.

"Oh?" Her interest clearly piqued, she raised the lorgnette to her eye once again.

"Unlike my sisters, I do not view our ministrations to Mistrees Prunella as without merit. Nay! Do linger in your survey of her appearance. Why, she has improved tenfold. Her complexion is smoother. Her eyes brighter. Nails trim and dainty."

The maid drew near to Prunella, offering a a clever wink, concealed from the viewpoint of the other women.  She curtseyed before her. "Mistress."

"Mrs. Brimley, have you considered the sheen of Mistress Busby's hair? Well-oiled, it is. And perfumed as well. She pointed to Prunella's chin. "And have you taken note of what is absent?"

The older woman squinted. "Missing?"

"The hairs on her face are no longer present. Have you not noticed? This is a significant improvement. Is her appearance not more agreeable?"

She approached Mrs. Brimley. "Do you not see that the woman now before your eyes is a clear improvement to the woman you sent to us some time past?"

"My, my, I do believe there is a ring of truth to what you say, my dear." Black feathers on Mrs. Brimley's hair blew straight up with every breath of her words, wafting back into place at a more sedate pace. "Of course, she's still quite the Amazon. I've never before seen a young woman of such height."

Pinta dared touch the older woman's shoulder. "Ah, but imagine for a moment, a man who might view such a woman as a prize. Nay, more than a prize. A treasure."

"Would such a man exist? I do not know of such a man and I know of all the eligible men in our realm. Truth be told, most men would consider her mortal coil, her framework to be indelicate and undesirable."

"Ah, but there is such a man."

"Then speak. Without delay, I pray thee!" Mrs. Brimley straightened, then planted her feet to the ground.

Pinta flounced her skirts and walked a few steps away. "What, pray tell, would such knowledge be worth?"

Understanding clouded the older woman's already clouded eyes. She reached into her bosom and pulled forth a small pouch of coins. "Perhaps these coins will afford an answer to your query." With a deft movement, she flicked the purse through the air.

Pinta caught the purse with her left hand and dropped it into a seamed pocket in her skirt. "There is a young man of comparable age who arrived last night.

"Pinta!" Santa Maria shook her head.

Undaunted, Mrs. Brimley asked, "Of what house is he associated?"

A silence fell over the room but for two gasps from Nina and Santa Maria.

"The House of Dromedary."

NEW COZY AUTHOR ON THE SCENE

Available in Paperback $7 and Kindle $2.99 on Amazon.com

By Nancy Jill Thames

I just finished reading this breakout cozy mystery by a fellow author in our Leander Writers Guild and was suitably impressed! Not only does she write a great mystery using settings near me in the hill country of Austin and Port Aransas, she entertains with unexpected twists and turns that kept me turning the pages (or scrolling down as the case may be). Elizabeth Truiett's sister created the cover - nice, isn't it? As added bonuses, CAROLINA KEY includes Aunt Ruth's recipe for her famous cinnamon rolls, with an unusual ingredient I might add, and a study guide at the end for those wishing to discuss the spiritual elements in the story. Anyone need a new book for your Bible study? I'd urge you to read it sometime soon! Have a great weekend, dear readers.

 

CAROLINA KEY

 

 

by Elizabeth Truiett 

Fifteen year old Grace is kidnapped from the Christian youth camp where she and her mother work. Grace is held captive by Daniel, the camp's director, whom everyone believes has killed once and won't hesitate to do it again. The Vietnamese mafia is after gold coins they believe were stolen from them over 20 years ago. Grace's mother and father do the unthinkable and hide the gold. With Grace's life in the balance can this family and their unshakable faith endure the hardship of being apart? Will a death in the camp family destroy this tight knit community of believers?

Paperback, 150 pages

ABOUT THE AUTHOR

Carolyn Edwards writes the Mountain Creek Mysteries under the pen name Elizabeth Truiett. She holds a Bachelor’s degree in Psychology from the University of Central Texas. She was about to finish her master’s degree in Marriage and Family Therapy when she became a mother,her greatest accomplishment.  Now she devotes her time to homeschooling her 3 daughters.When not working on a novel or reading a book, this author loves to travel the U.S. with her family.  She and her husband reside in the Hill Country outside Austin.

 

See you in my books!

 ~Nancy Jill 

Mystery novelist Nancy Jill Thames began publishing Christian fiction in 2010. The author of six books in the Jillian Bradley series, she is an award winning blogger and is listed numerous times on the Author Watch Bestseller’s List, this in addition to winning first place for her Chocolate Cream Pie.

When she isn’t plotting her next book, she spends time with her six grandchildren in two states, tags along with her husband on business trips, and plays classical piano for her own personal enjoyment. She is an active member of the Leander Writers Guild and supports the Central Texas SPCA with a portion of her book sales.

Nancy Jill is busy working on book 7 "The Ruby of Siam" a mystery taking place in London, England. To learn more about the author and check out her books, please visit her blog at  

Cozy Mystery Author, Nancy Jill Thames.

CONTACT INFORMATION

jillthames@gmail.com

To view and purchase her books on this site, please visit the Cozy Book Store.

Chasing Lady Midnight - Chapter 6

Chapter 6 - Magenta The Mentalist

Fortunately for us she’s retired and she’s married to Ted, a fact that did not go over well with her former teammates. When they found out. After the wedding.
Yeah that was on purpose.
You see she figured since they made her retire she didn’t have to answer to them anymore. The Squad, as they usually do, disagreed. However, seeing as they are not exactly sure what secrets Magenta knows (and she’s not about to tell them) it convinced them to back off.
Needless to say Magenta doesn’t get invited to the reunions.
Magenta, or as she prefers these days Kari, is the only other person who knows what’s going on with me right now. Truth to tell, I was leery about that, seeing as she was one of the original members of The Squad so she might feel it was her duty to fink on me. However as Ted pointed out he couldn’t keep a secret from his wife, besides the fact that you really can’t keep a secret from Kari because she’s a mind reader.
Don’t tell her I said that, she hates the term. According to Kari you can’t really read people’s minds anyway, at least not as easily as they make it out in comic books and TV shows. There’s just too much stuff going on up there at the same time. It’s confusing. You know how people tell you to focus? Turns out there’s a reason for that. Then you have to block out the noise from anyone else’s mind that’s around. Needless to say it takes a lot of practice. From what I’ve heard tell The Squad’s most current telepath, Gamma Wave is nowhere near as good as his predecessor because he hates to practice.
So why did Kari take the alias Magenta? Well it wasn’t because she has purple hair. Her hair is white, it’s always been white, it was her superhero outfit that was the pinky purple color. Apparently that was a trend in superhero names at the time.
You’ve got watch out for fads in everything.
“Why so serious my little cherry?”
Ted has always called her his little cherry, only he says it in Russian which I am not even going to try to pronounce. It drove Kari crazy for a long time because he started back in the day when they were on opposite sides. So what’s so bad about being called a cherry? From what I’ve been able to figure the way he used it referred to a sour cherry, something about her personality …it’s one of those Russian things. Anyway once Ted served his term and they got together he couldn’t get out of the habit and Kari got used to it.
Ah love it’s… strange.
Kari gave him a stern look and admonished, “Aside from almost getting our girl put into lockup you mean?”
“You agreed to test run,” her husband reminded her.
“I know, I’m not blaming you. I was just worried when Protostar showed up. The last thing I want is to start a family fued.”
“That may be inevitable,” he warned.
Man, I hope not, I kind of like my family.
Fortunately Kari doesn’t pursue the subject and says to me, “By the way kiddo, not bad for your first time out.”
That’s tall praise indeed, when you consider Kari’s a perfectionist when it comes to her mission plans, and this one hardly went according to plan. Also I’m a twenty-oner.
What’s that?

Historical Fact Check Break

The way of super powers is always, or should I say almost always, been for the super being in question to start to develop their powers from young childhood and evolve as they grow up. This gives ample time for the fledgling superhero, or villain as the case may, to be trained in controlling their powers so they can be the best super that they can be.
However, every once in a blue moon (so rare that everyone is sure that it is only an old super wives’ tale) the super powers remain dormant until the super being reaches twenty-one. Then they hit all at once. Full strength.
So why does no one believe that twenty-oners actually happen in the superworld? Well, even before The Squad, there was another set of control freaks, the super scientists, who decided to get into the genetic control business by picking who all the supers were going to marry and with whom they were going to …oh there’s no other way to say it…breed.
Ick.
So if the super scientists say it isn't possible who can disagree with them?
I guess they forgot that the only one who is truly in control is God, and He has a wonderful sense of humor. Me being a case in point.

End of Historical Fact Check Break

Now I wanted a new laptop for my twenty-first birthday, what I got turned my whole life wacky.
Because now these powers of mine are just ON and I don’t know all what I can do because they decide to reveal themselves when they feel like it. For instance, I knew I could manipulate shadows and that I could travel through them. I practiced and was pretty good at it as evidenced today. What I didn’t know is that I have shields. Good thing to have on defense. I just wished I had known about it.
Also there was something else weird going on, but I’m almost afraid to find out that it wasn’t an adrenaline induced delusion like I hope.
For the moment however I answer Kari, ““I’m just happy to still be in one piece, I’d forgotten how much my sister’s Star Blasts hurt.”
“She used to blast you?” Kari asked in an appalled tone.
“Not on purpose,” I assured her, “She just didn’t have best aim, especially at the beginning. She hit herself more than she did me, especially once I learned to dodge.”
“Well I am glad to hear that. We’ll do a debriefing in a minute. I want to go over what you did today. There were some surprises.”
Why do I get the distinct impression that she’s not just talking about the shields?
“Was good. Protostar and friends never knew what hit them,” Ted insisted.
“The Platoon was expected once an UNA was identified. What I want to know is what Tracker was doing there. That is overdoing it.”
“My guess is that they plan for him to take the credit if things went according to plan or place the blame on The Platoon if the thing went south, which it did,” I suggested.
“Sounds reasonable. The Squad’s been taking some public relations hits lately. They might have thought bringing you in would help. Face it honey you look scary with the black hair, green eyes and black outfit. Beautiful, but scary,” Kari said.
“I thought the fedora was supposed to help lighten things up?” I complained taking off the black hat, mask, and leather gloves.
Kari smiled and said, “No I just thought it looked cool.”
“Hair and eyes are going back to normal,” Ted noted.
Normal? What is normal for me these days? Still I look over at the mirror and note that the black hair is returning to the dark blond I am used to and my eyes are changing from emerald green to blue.
I told you my life was wacky.
“So it sounds like I’m going to end up being public super villain number one if The Squad has anything to say about it.”
“There are already starting,” Kari agreed, “It seems our hostage is a well-known blogger for a site that’s been critical of superheroes in general and The Squad particularly. There are already rumors of a hoax being thrown around.”
“A hoax? What are they going to do with the bank robbers? Let them go?” I asked with concern. They may not have super powers but you didn’t need those to be dangerous.
“I hope not,” Ted answered, “But when it comes to Squad protecting reputations these days all lots are switched.”
I think he means all bets are off.
Kari gives a sigh. This has got to be tough on her. That group has a lot of her friends in it, or at least they were her friends. Also she knows that The Squad was never meant to be what it has become. But it was inevitable as they made their first mistake at the beginning when they wouldn’t let God into the briefing room.
There’s a way that seems right to man….
“It’s too bad we can’t bring your parents in on this,” she finally said, “Quazar and Lightening Lass are amongst the best thinkers in The Squad.”
Like I hadn’t wished that a hundred times? But….it’s complicated. Like everything else in my life right now.
“Kari you know why we can’t tell them about any of this,” I reminded her, “Remember, all is not well in superhero land."

Mystery and adventure writer C.L. Ragsdale is the author of The Reboot Files a Christian Cozy Mystery Series, and a superhero story called Chasing Lady Midnight. A California native, she loves to "surf" the web to research plot details for her fun, quirky stories. She has a degree in Theatre Arts which greatly influenced her writing style. Working in various fields as a secretary has allowed her to both master her writing skills and acquire valuable technical knowledge which she uses liberally in her plots. A big secret from her past, which is not so secret anymore, is that she used to a major comic book geek. Nowadays she loves to crochet, but she is still a big fan of the old Scooby Doo cartoons.

Laughter Is The Best Medicine

Laughter is the Best Medicine

I don't cook much so I'm not good with recipes so when it comes my time to post I naturally tend to gravitate to writing articles. I hope this is useful to someone out there that might be writing or thinking of writing.

Here are a few techniques I found on the internet for writing humor. I have a lot of humor in my books and love to read books that have humor. These are written by Vonda Skelton, speaker and writer. Her website is www.vondaskelton.com.

1. Set the story up well. Take the time to lay out the groundwork in a logical way.
2. Use exaggeration. This is one time you want to take literary license through the use of hyperbole. The story is still true, but you just make it more. As I tell the school students in my Writing is Fun Workshops, take real life and make it bigger, badder, meaner, sadder.
3. Apply the rule of threes. Even though it’s not officially a rule, we know there is melody in the use of threes. And there’s humor in the use of threes, too.
4. And whether you’re using the rule of threes or simply telling a story, try to place the funniest word at the end of the sentence.
5. Punch words and/or punch lines often work well.
6. Write tight. When I initially write out a story, it’s a rambling story with all the details I normally include when I tell it from the stage. But in writing, I discovered it was best told in no more than half the spoken words.
7. Use words that begin with hard consonants, especially the K sound.
8. Use short sentences for more emphasis.
9. Even in humor writing, be sure to listen for the music or cadence of the words.
10. Rewrite…rewrite…rewrite.

 Deborah Malone’s first novel Death in Dahlonega, finaled in the American Christian Fiction Writer’s Category Five writing contest! Deborah was also nominated for 2012 Georgia Author of the Year in First Novel category. She has worked as a freelance writer and photographer, for the historic magazine “Georgia Backroads.” She has had many articles and photographs published, and her writing is featured in “Tales of the Rails,” edited by Olin Jackson. She is a member of the Georgia Writer’s Association. As a current member of the American Christian Fiction Writer she has established a blog where she reviews Christian Fiction.  

Prunella's Quest--Part One By Linda Kozar

Prunella's Quest: A Tongue-in-Cheek Romantic Saga (Part One of Three)

No woman asks to fall in love with the wrong man. And Master David Cunningham Leff would never be Mr. Right.

He'd taken her down the garden path and left her among the rutabagas, so to speak. Well, no more. . .

Prunella Busby stared at her reflection in the duck pond. Comely was not one of the words society ascribed to her appearance Sallow-skinned old maid, yes. But not comely. Perhaps another visit to the matchmaker her father had sent her to seek the previous year. On that occasion, Mrs. Brimley had taken her on as a challenge.

"I'll find you a husband, dear." She held a finger to the air. Glorietta Brimley will prevail in this Herculean task. Mark my words, child." Her wig, a tad too tight for the woman's porcine head in Prunella's humble opinion, launched sprigs of tight blonde curls in various directions under her elaborate bonnet. An odd contrast to the crumpled texture of her skin. Eyebrows painted in thin black arches above her eyes, gave the impression of great surprise. Though Mrs. Brimley boasted of her experience and prowess as a titled matchmaker, her facial expression seemed to contradict, to betray her as a woman of ineptitude and inexperience.

No matter. Prunella had few options left to her.

"I will not help you. I can not help you. Please go. You, madamoisselle, are a cause perdue!"

These were Mrs. Brimley's first words in response to the new proposal. However, Prunella's father had advised her of the likelihood of this response from the matchmaker, and given her instructions as to how to proceed. She dropped a small pouch of gold coins on the secretariat beside which the matchmaker reclined. Her father urged her to drop the pouch from a height in order to provide the woman's ears with the sound of prosperity.

And as her father had predicted, the sound of prosperity was music to Mrs. Brimley's ears.

With renewed resolve, Mrs. Brimley had assigned no less than three servant girls to the goal of beautification. "Miss Busby must be made to appear presentable in no less than three months time. Three months time."

The servant girls, named after the famous ships assigned to Christopher Columbus, went about their assigned tasks with nary a hint of enthusiasm.

Nina, the eldest of the girls, though no beauty of her own accord, had the dolesome task of bathing Prunella in fresh goats milk three times daily to soften and make supple, the texture of her skin. The servant girl spit, quite accurately at a fly on the windowsill. "No man will have a woman with skin like your'm Miss. Bumpy as a plucked chicken and dry as starch." The buxom servant raised a damp hand from the bathwater to itch at the large black mole above her lip.

Prunella noted the presence of a black hair as firm as a flag pole that had asserted itself in the center of the blotch.

"Miss, I don't see how this is gonna help you none. Thar isn't a man in this town who'd have you, money or no money."

Pinta offered more than her sister's scant quantity of hope in the matter, though her level of sincerity might have been called into question were she asked to swear on the most holy word. Pinta bore an uncanny resemblance to a field mouse, mostly for the unfortunate fact that her ears protrouded outward from her head at a most unflattering angle. In the light of  day, her ears transmuted a prism of pink much like chapel windows, the blue of tiny veins serving as the lead in betwix'd.

She surveyed Prunella, pulling down her gums to examine her teeth, as if examining a sheep on the auction block.

"Well, what do you think of me?"

Furrows rose on the woman's forehead. "Your nose is crooked."

"I fell on a cobblestone when I was but five."

"Lips are thin and cracked. Hair without lustre. Skin sallow as old butter."

"Is that your final assessment?"

The servant squinted her small eyes causing them to recede into her face. "You'll never be a beauty, Miss, but you have one good quality."

"What quality is that?"

"Good teeth, Miss."

"Oh. . ."

"Miss, that's a compliment. Good teeth means you'll live long. Well, I believe they be good teeth anyway. We'll see when we clean them up."

She offered a sly wink. "My task is to beautify your hair and smile. Tell me, how often you wash your body and your teeth."

Prunella shrugged, noting the circles of perspiration fanning from under Pinta's arms. "When I choose to bathe, once or twice per year, my servant bathes me with lye soap. I don't wash my teeth."

She shook a finger at her mistress. "Twice a year, you say? That's too often. Drying to the skin. Once per year is more than enough."

"Very well then." Prunella agreed.

"I will rinse your hair with cold spring water and a tincture of elderberry bark and a mash of garden snails to provide it with lustre and shine. And we'll use a willow tree twig to clean your teeth each day. With a great deal of effort, I believe my sisters and I will be able to help you look ah the least objectionable and perhaps even presentable enough to lay hold of a gentleman in need of a boost to his inheritance."

Prunella smiled. Truth at last. "Thank you."

The third sister, Santa Maria, had less enthusiasm than either two. Her disdain for Prunella had no mask. 

Her duty? To sand the deep calluses on Prunella's feet and elbows, to trim her twisted toenails, treat them with warmed paraffin--and to pluck all the hair from the tops of her feet.

At work on her mistress's feet, Santa Maria wrang her mouth into an odd contortion and remarked, "Your toenails resemble sea shells, Miss."

"Thank you," Prunella beamed a bright smile her way thanks to a daily tooth cleansing with a willow twig. "I'm fond of the sea."