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 Alison Bruce writes mysteries, speculative fiction and fantasy, |
Canadian Voices Volume 2 |
Legacy
"Bruce delivers a shocking surprise at the very beginning of her novel and the action only ramps up from there.
The characters are credible, likeable people who make the reader want more. An excellent read!" The year is 2020. Some things are better (electric cars, cheap alternative energy). Some things are worse (shanty towns are common outside most cities). And somethings are the same. No matter how advanced the technology, crime fighting still requires old fashioned detective work. Joe Garrett achieved near legendary status as a peace officer, a detective and a friend. When a bullet to the hip forced him into early retirement he pulled himself out of his funk by starting Garrett Investigations, hiring Jake Carmedy as his "leg man". Kate Garrett followed in her father's footsteps and joined the police services. A newly promoted detective, she has a bright career ahead of her until her father dies - leaving her half his business and a partner she has been spending years avoiding. A novel excerpt from Legacy is in Canadian Voices Volume 2 (Bookland Press, 2010). Background to the writing of Carmedy and Garrett: Legacy can be found on have laptop - will travel... Prequel ... No Added Caffeine 8 am: Joe Garrett started down the stairs between his apartment and his office, stopped, heaved a sigh and went back upstairs to grab his reading glasses off his night stand. Growing old was a bitch. Motion detectors turned on the overhead lights. Joe started counting. He had twenty seconds to walk over to the panel behind Carmedy's desk, press his palm against it and punch in his eight figure security override code. Then he unlocked the door that led to the third floor foyer. He had a nine o'clock appointment - time enough to brew a pot of coffee, download the news and print out the daily crossword. Coffee was a pleasure he had to ration these days. It was decades since he gave up smoking. He hadn't touched a drop of alcohol since he started Garrett Investigations almost ten years ago. Considering how good he'd been to his body of late, he considered it an act of betrayal that his doctor would make him curtail his last and favourite vice. Though there was a full kitchen upstairs, he installed a kitchenette in the office so that hot coffee and cold Cokes would be handy. Now he looked at the canister of decaf and the coffee maker and decided to treat himself to the real stuff - which meant going out. One click of his security fob and the office went from "open for business" to "back in five" mode. He just reached the door to the stairs when the elevator opened. A short man in a long raincoat stepped out. "Leon?" "Did you forget our appointment, Joe?" "Didn't forget, but you're almost an hour early. I was just going to get coffee." Leon shuddered. Right, Joe reminded himself, backing away from his escape route. Leon Eldridge was a tea drinker - the prissy kind that gave tea drinkers the world over a bad name. "I hope I'm not inconveniencing you," Leon said, "but there has been a development." "Good," Joe said, clicking open the office, "because right now I've got nothing. Only the recipients' prints were on the notes - not even that on yours." "I wore gloves when I opened mine." "Of course you did." Leon would have worn gloves opening the hydro bill - if it didn't come via e-post. Joe offered his client a seat and politely offered to make tea. Leon, and the insurance companies he worked for as a consultant, were the bread and butter of Joe's business. "I checked out the files you, Gage and Proctor worked on, looking for connection," Joe continued. "There are too many overlaps." Leon nodded. "Not surprising. We've worked together for years." "Gage says these aren't the first notes - also that he isn't particularly concerned." "I am. I'm being followed. At least since yesterday. Maybe longer." "Have you filed a report with the police?" Leon gave a huff of disgust. "They're understaffed. They recommended you." That was Joe's other major source of income. It was cheaper for the department to hire a private consultant on an as-needed basis than pay an extra person a detective's wage and benefits - much cheaper if you could get someone else to pay. Since the consultants were usually ex-police detectives who had been downsized or given medical retirement, like himself, the system worked most of the time. "Carmedy is working an insurance investigation but I could get him to tail you tonight to find out who's following you." "I'd rather have you, Joe." "He's my leg man," Joe added a quick smile, "seeing as I have a bum leg." "I'd really rather..." Joe held up a hand. "Okay, Leon. For you. I'll do it. Now get out of here so I can make some coffee." Leon flashed a smile that was almost charming. "I'll be at the office until five," he said, getting up. "Don't look for me," Joe warned. "Just trust I'm there for you." Leon gave a low bow. "I feel safer already."
8:30 am. Joe started brewing the decaf - just as the doctor ordered.
Nine hours later he would be dead.
Oringinally published on: National Crime Writing Month Blog Copyright 2010, Alison E. Bruce
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Canadian Voices Volume 1 |
Joey and the Turtle in Canadian Voices Volume 1
"Canadian Voices is a powerful and moving collection of prose and poetry, which stretches across the boundaries of age, skin color,
language, ethnicity, and religion to give voice to the lives and experiences of ordinary Canadians.
This vibrant, varied sampler of the Canadian literary scene captures timely personal and cultural challenges,
and ultimately shares subtle insight and compassion written by a wide spectrum of stylistically and culturally diverse authors." I've been writing stories since I was twelve, but it wasn't until my sister Joanne was sick that I got serious about getting my stories published. She suffered from metastatic breast cancer that spread to her bones. Regardless of her dependency on me, she insisted I take the time I needed to write and, from her bed, she was my first editor. Joey and the Turtle is an autobiographical story about my relationship with my sister in life, and how I came to terms with her death. It is my voice in Canadian Voices. Excerpt ... The turtle told me my sister was dying.
Three years younger and at least two inches shorter than me, Joey was, nevertheless,
my big sister. Somewhere between being the baby who ousted me from my place as centre
of the universe to the adult that made it her mission to keep me employed, she outstripped
me in political savvy, business acumen and general bossiness. Copyright 2009, Alison E. Bruce Bookland announces the publication of Canadian Voices Volume 1
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Persphone Clause
2010 Editors' Choice
Like Alice falling down the rabbit hole, she wasn't quite sure who she was anymore. If this was a dream, she wished she could wake up. If it was reality, she wished she knew what terrible sin she had committed to be damned to hell. A contemporary fantasy set in a world where demons and daemonic creatures have been trying to get back into the world since they were banished to the Other Realms (aka Hell) millenniums ago. Excerpt... "Are you afraid to die?" The man asking the question looked like an angel from a 1980's chick flick: white silk suit; collarless, pale blue silk shirt worn with one button open at the neck; angelic blue eyes and waves of thick brown hair cut in a mullet, one lock falling artfully over his forehead. I'm not sure what an angel's voice should be like; his was a pleasant baritone. "Not afraid to die, but I want to live," I said. At this point, I wasn't even sure why the question had come up. Was I sick? Did I have a heart attack? Had I been hit by the proverbial bus? I was too young for a heart attack, wasn't I? How old was Dad? Everybody said he was too young and he was at least fifteen years older when he died than I was now. I still had a lifetime worth of stuff to do. I wanted to see my niece, who was like a daughter to me, mature and make her way in the world. I wanted to be granny to her children and maybe have a couple of children of my own, maybe meet someone I wanted to have kids with. Yet, here I was in a dark tunnel with the famous white light shining at one end. "You can choose to live," he said. "Will I be healthy and fit?" I asked. Since I had no idea what had happened to bring me so close to death, I was worried that I might wake up with a debilitating condition that would make it impossible to actually do anything. The Monkey's Paw story had a big impact on me as a child. "You'll be healthy, fit, and alive," the man said. "Just turn away from the light and take my hand." I later found out that I fell into a coma. Copyright 2010, Alison E. Bruce This story can be read (and voted for) at TextNovel.com.
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El Paso Trail
2010 Editors' Choice "Your descriptions cut right to the chase. This story is gripping, I'll be back for more!" El Paso Trail was the first novel I ever completed. Unfortunately, I completed the first draft on a dying Commodore Plus 4. For years the only readable copy was a faded printout. I will always be grateful to Janice for scanning the pages, Frances for cleaning up the OCR document, Nancy for finding the mistakes no one else did, and Amanda for her red pen. While tracking a thief and confidence man, Texas Ranger Jason Strachan discovers a kid, Marly Landers, is on the trail on the same man. Taking Landers under his wing, Strachan soon discovers that Marly is a girl, but he decides not to let her know and tries not to treat her differently. As their adventures put both in deadly peril, it become increasingly difficult to maintain their chosen roles, especially and each is falling in love with the other. Excerpt... They were putting up in a room over Coldwater's only saloon. The accommodations weren't fancy but the place was clean. Like most rooms it was supplied with a double bed. This one also had a cradle. Landers suggested he might use the bedding in the cradle between his bedroll and the floor. "What do you think I'm going to do to you? Never mind," Strachan sighed. "Sleep where you like." Strachan got ready for bed. Gun and holster were hung on the bed post. Outer clothes were neatly draped over the bottom post with boots tucked within reach. When he was stripped to his socks and long underwear, he climbed into bed leaving plenty of room for the boy if he chose to use it. Finally he blew out the candle. Sounds in the dark indicated that Landers was getting ready for bed. Then Strachan felt the mattress shift as the boy, cautiously keeping to the edge of the bed, crawled between the covers. "G'night, Marly." "Good night, sir." "Friends call me Jase." "G'night, Jase." The bed, like many old spring beds, sagged down the centre. Once they were no longer capable of consciously keeping to their sides, Marly and Jase met in the middle. Unconsciously, they shifted until so they could take advantage of each other's body heat as the night grew colder. It wasn't the first time Jase had shared his bed with a fellow traveller and ended up back to back, sharing warmth. Jase woke the next morning to find his arm about Marly and Marly's head on his shoulder, one hand resting on his chest near his heart. It felt so comfortable, so right, it might have worried him if Jase had not also discovered that Marly Landers was a girl. Copyright 2009/2010, Alison E. Bruce This story can be read (and voted for) at TextNovel.com.
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