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Monthly Archives: December 2019

“Write it on your heart that every day is the best day in the year.” Ralph Waldo Emerson

https://www.brainyquote.com/lists/topics/top-10-new-years-quotes

https://BeverleyBateman.com

#NewYear #Hope #Love 

Our last group blog of the year is to write a short story, flash fiction, or present an excerpt from one of your books.

My original plan was to write a short story. Then the holidays crept up and suddenly it’s time to post and I haven’t written anything, at least not a short story for this post. I have been writing on Death Southern Style and it’s almost finished, and I have the cover now, which I will reveal shortly.

So, I decided I’d share an excerpt from Death Southern Style.

After Julie paid the taxi she stood on the street and stared at the small sign tacked over the door of the old wooden house, Chez Voodoo.

She had come here with her mother often and was comfortable with voodoo. She knew it always focused on the positive. It had never been frightening. She was sure voodoo had nothing to do with her mother’s death, but the doll in her hotel room upset her. Other than trying to scare her away, what could it possibly mean? Priestess Ava might be able to help her.

She walked through the store and the door into the church. A tall black woman wearing a long white dress with a white apron and a white scarf tied around her head, turned around when Julie Ann entered the room.

“Julie Ann Dupré, child, welcome.” She hurried across and wrapped her arms around Julie Ann. “I am so sorry to hear about your mother.”

“Thank you.” Julie Ann returned the hug and felt the energy flow from Priestess Ava. She soaked it in before she finally pulled back. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about.”

“Your mother’s death? Of course, although I’m not sure how I can help. Shall we go and sit in the courtyard?”

“That would be nice.” Julie murmured. She liked it out there. Riots of red, orange, yellow, purple and coral colors filled the flower beds, attracting butterflies, birds and bees. Street noises never entered the area. It was an area of serenity and peace. And it always felt cool, despite the temperature.

“I found this in my hotel room this morning.” Julie Ann handed the voodoo doll to Ava.

Ava regarded it carefully before she touched it.

“This was in your hotel room?”

Julie Ann nodded.

“How did it get there?”

“I don’t know. The door and the window were both locked. When I touched it, I could see a group, not one person, but several and all very blurry.”

“I see. This is a voodoo doll, but not one of mine. Someone could have bought it from any of the local shops. It’s one made for tourists and then they added the blood. It’s a warning and meant to scare you.”

“It does scare me. I guess if I left all this alone, accepted the police report and went back to New York maybe I’d be safe.”

“That’s possible. It could be that’s what they hoped you would do when you got this.If you do leave New Orleans the people doing this might feel less threatened.”

“I can’t. For mom’s sake, I can’t let this be swept under the rug. I need answers and a motive. Besides, if the motive has something to do with her past or maybe about me, how can I be sure I’m safe even in New York? Do you know anything about my past?”

“No, Perrine never discussed it. It was obvious you were adopted but she never shared any information about your parents or where you came from. You are going to stay in New Orleans?”

“Yes, I’m staying at home. I’m hoping I might pick up something there or Perrine might talk to me.”

“You must be very careful. Many things in life don’t make sense. Stay open minded; listen to your spirits – Perrine may talk to you or send someone else.”

“I’ll try to be patient and careful. I hope someone will talk to me. When did you see Perrine last?”

“Actually, it was the day before she died. She dropped by for tea.”

“What did you talk about?”

“You, of course. She was so excited that you were coming home. She said she had a surprise for you.

“What was it?” Julie asked eagerly.

“I didn’t ask. I’m sure you’ll probably find out. Maybe she’d bought you a gift?”

“There was nothing in the house – unless that was what was stolen.”

“Ask some of her friends, maybe they know.”

“I will. Thank you.”

“Have you made any plans for the funeral yet?”

“No, I haven’t talked to her friends yet. Savannah mentioned Charlie wants to do it up in style and have an old-fashioned funeral with a band and a parade from the church to the cemetery.”

“That sounds wonderful. Perrine deserves it and the neighborhood will get a chance to mourn her in style. Good for Charlie.”

“I need to talk to him. Would you speak?”

“I’d be honored. Let me know when and where. Now I’m going to give you a special packet of mine. I want you to keep it on you at all times. It is to protect you against unknown threats and danger.” Ava slipped into the church and came back a few minutes later with a small ball wrapped in cotton muslin tied tightly at the top.

She held it over Julie Ann’s palm and mumbled a few words before she handed it to her. “Now put it in your pocket and keep it there. Keep it on you at all times, day or night. Promise me.”

“I will.” Julie Ann obeyed and stuffed it in her pocket. “Thanks, Ava. I don’t know that I need any protection, but I’ll be careful.”

  “You take care now.” Ava gave Julie Ann a hug and watched her go.

Maybe I should have made the potion stronger. There’s an aura around her that says she’s going to have to face some life-threatening challenges.

I hope you enjoyed the excerpt. Now please check out these other authors and see what they have chosen to do for you.

Connie Vines http://mizging.blogspot.com/

Skye Taylor  http://www.skye-writer.com/blogging_by_the_sea

Victoria Chatham  http://www.victoriachatham.com

Marci Baun  http://www.marcibaun.com/blog/

Dr. Bob Rich  https://wp.me/p3Xihq-1Ng

Anne Stenhouse  http://annestenhousenovelist.wordpress.com

A.J. Maguire  http://ajmaguire.wordpress.com/

Fiona McGier  http://www.fionamcgier.com/

Diane Bator  http://dbator.blogspot.ca/

Rhobin L Courtright  http://www.rhobincourtright.com

EXCERPT From The Fourth Victim by Beverley Bateman

Sara’s emotionally abusive husband dies unexpectedly. She’s struggling to reclaim the intelligent, independent person she was before she married. She vows never to let a man take over her life again. Now she’s part of a special team, training to help other women.

 

Mac is has been responsible for training women in special ops techniques so they are prepared when they are challenged to save other women. When he meets Sara sparks fly between them. He wants her to quit the training and let him take care of her.

 

Sara graduates and now she and her team have to save Sara’s daughter from a serial killer. Can Mac step back and trust her in a dangerous situation? Can Sara and Mac resolve their issues, or will they go in opposite directions?

EXCERPT From The Fourth Victim #MFRWhooks

#MFRWhooks  #Mystery #Romance #Christmas #Read

Sara’s emotionally abusive husband dies unexpectedly. She’s struggling to reclaim the intelligent, independent person she was before she married. She vows never to let a man take over her life again. Now she’s part of a special team, training to help other women.
 
Mac is has been responsible for training women in special ops techniques so they are prepared when they are challenged to save other women. When he meets Sara sparks fly between them. He wants her to quit the training and let him take care of her.
 
Sara graduates and now she and her team have to save Sara’s daughter from a serial killer. Can Mac step back and trust her in a dangerous situation? Can Sara and Mac resolve their issues, or will they go in opposite directions?

 

 

Buy links:

Excerpt

The office said he’d had a heart attack. Was he alive? Did she want him to be? What if her husband had to stay home for a few weeks to recuperate? Palms sweating, Sara’s breath came in short, shallow bursts at the thought.

The taxi jerked to a stop in front of the hospital emergency entrance.

Sara fumbled through her purse and counted out her meager number of dollar bills. Gordon didn’t allow her to have a credit card and he only allowed her to have a small amount of cash. She didn’t have enough money to pay the taxi.

“I’m so sorry. I left home without any cash. I...I ... Would you take a check?” Tears spilled over and trickled down her flushed cheeks.

The driver spun around. A short stubby finger waved at the sign over the rearview mirror. “Look lady, it says right there - No Checks.”

“I know, I know. I’m sorry. My husband has had a heart attack and I ... I don’t know what to do.” Sara ran her fingers through her hair and scrunched the tight bun at her neck.

The driver shook his head. “Aw, shit. Go ahead, lady. Write the check.”

Sara pulled the single crumpled check Gordon allowed her carry for emergencies out of her purse. When she touched the check a vision of Gordon floated in front of her.

She froze and rapidly blinked her eyes. She only saw the ghosts of dead people. Gordon didn’t believe her and forbid her to ever mention it.

Could he really be dead?

“Gordon?” she whispered.

“Lady, are you writing that check or not?”

“Yes, sorry.” Sara scribbled her signature on the bottom of the check. “Please, fill it in, and give yourself a generous tip. Thank you, thank you so much.” She clutched her worn purse to her chest, slid out of the cab, and scurried through the emergency room doors.

What if he was dead? She didn’t have any money. Gordon did all the finances and never shared anything with her.  How would she manage?

Twenty years ago, she could have handled it. Could she do it again? But he couldn’t be dead. Gordon would never allow that to happen.

His face flitted in front of her, fixed in an angry glare.

He had to be dead or she wouldn’t be seeing him. He didn’t want to be dead. He didn’t want her to be free. If he thought she could see him he’d be furious.

Sara shuffled toward the reception desk. She glanced over her shoulder, searching for some sign of Gordon, listening for his voice, waiting for him to yell at her. She couldn’t believe he was really dead, even though she had seen him. She clung to the edge of the transition counter, her head down, chewed on her lower lip and waited to be noticed.

Finally a brusque voice snapped, “Can I help you?”

Sara looked up to see a heavy set, older woman in a loose blue top. The woman’s thick dark brows met in a v in the middle of her forehead.

“I’m sorry, I ...I’m looking for my husband. His office phoned to say he’d been brought here.” Sara shrunk into her body.

“Name?” the woman commanded.

“Gordon, Gordon Peters.” Sara stared at her worn black oxfords, then at the scuffed, gray linoleum with the red, blue and yellow lines that led to different areas.  Maybe she shouldn’t have come. Maybe she should have waited for Gordon to call and tell her whether she should be here or not. But if he was dead she would have to make her own decisions. Her pulse raced. Her head pounded. For the last nineteen years she had never made a decision. Gordon made all of them for her.

“When was he admitted?” The woman reminded Sara of a sergeant major.

“I’m not sure, less than an hour ago. They told me to meet him here. Maybe he’s been discharged already?” She chewed her thumbnail. If Gordon had been discharged, he’d be furious at her for spending all that money on a taxi.  But she’d seen his ghost.

Tension twisted her stomach into knots. The pain caused her to clutch her purse tightly against her abdomen. She needed to get home and start dinner. She’d have to take a bus. Did she have enough money? She opened her purse.

The woman moved to a second pile of folders and pulled one out. “You’re his wife?”

Sara nodded. “Yes. Can I see him?”

A sob slipped out. If she didn’t find see him soon, he’d be furious. He’d think she was too stupid to even find him in a hospital and he’d be right.

His ghost floated in front of her. This time confusion mixed with his anger

“Have a seat, Mrs. Peters. I’ll have the doctor speak to you.” The sergeant major’s voice softened. She indicated a chair near the desk.

“No, please, I need to see him right away. He’ll be upset if I’m late.”

The woman rounded the desk and laid her hand on Sara’s shoulder. She squeezed gently for a second. “It’ll be okay, honey. You just sit down for a minute. The doctor will be right out.”

 

 

 

Targeted by Beverley Bateman #MFRWhooks

After and eleven year absence Janna Kincaid inherits a ranch and is forced to return to a town she only remembers with unhappiness, a man to whom she was briefly married and never wants to see again, and someone is trying to kill her.

Kye Hawkins has loved Janna since he first met her. They were married but a few weeks later she ran away, without an explanation. He still hasn’t figured out why. Now she’s coming back. Does she still love him? Can he rekindle the romance and also prevent her from being killed.  

Janna doesn’t want Kye’s help in anyway, yet he always seems to be there when she’s in trouble. Can they work together to find a killer, save the Native burial ground and home of the spirits, and find romance again?

 

Targeted by Beverley Bateman #MFRWhooks

#Western #Mystery #Romance #Christmas  

After and eleven year absence Janna Kincaid inherits a ranch and is forced to return to a town she only remembers with unhappiness, a man to whom she was briefly married and never wants to see again, and someone is trying to kill her.

 

Kye Hawkins has loved Janna since he first met her. They were married but a few weeks later she ran away, without an explanation. He still hasn't figured out why. Now she's coming back. Does she still love him? Can he rekindle the romance and also prevent her from being killed.

 

Janna doesn't want Kye's help in anyway, yet he always seems to be there when she's in trouble. Can they work together to find a killer, save the Native burial ground and home of the spirits, and find romance again?

Buy links:

Excerpt

Someone had shot her back tire. Janna gripped the wheel to keep the vehicle on the road. She debated whether to try and outrun the shooter, wherever he was, or find cover. The windshield shattered as a third bullet entered the passenger side.

So much for outrunning the shooter.

She scanned the area and spotted an outcropping of rocks a few feet ahead on her right. She aimed the vehicle in that direction.

Two more shots, and both the back tires went down.

Definitely find cover.

Janna ducked low behind the steering wheel until the vehicle reached the rocks. When the car stopped, she grabbed the keys from the ignition and her purse and dove out the door. Bullets bounced off the rocks behind her as she scrambled for cover. Whoever was doing the shooting was serous. Anyone of the shots could have hit her.

She reached the rocks, keeping low until she got to the middle where she curled up as tightly as possible, her back against a rock. Her heart pounded in her ears, her breathing came in gasps. This was getting to be a habit. First someone tried to kill her in Seattle, and now, out in this god-forsaken country.

What the hell is going on? Why are they shooting at me? Was it the same person who shot at me in Seattle? That doesn’t seem likely, but who even knew I was coming here? Maybe it’s someone just trying to rob a stranger.

Yeah right, be honest, Janna, does this road look like many strangers came this way? And if they did, would they have a lot to steal? You really think this person selected a spot in the rocks where he would have a good shot at my vehicle. Coincidence? Not damn likely.

At least she’d worn boots and jeans—even if they were designer jeans. Now they were filthy, and so was her red sweater and jean jacket.

Another shot hit the rock behind her. She rolled over onto her stomach, shaded her eyes, and squinted into the sun. He must be up on the cliffs straight ahead. She wasn’t sure, but she thought she might have glimpsed a light, maybe a reflection off his scope.

Terrific! Now what? My gun is in my purse. I could fire back, but that would be a waste of bullets at this distance. 

She yanked out her cell and punched in 9-1-1.

Damn—no reception.

A pounding pulsed through the ground and came closer. Janna could feel the vibrations. It felt like horses. She glanced around, without raising her head, to see what was coming.

Suddenly there was a hand in front of her face.

“Grab it and jump on.”

The deep, rumbling voice was not asking. It was an order.

Janna grabbed the strong hand. In one smooth motion, she swung up behind a man on his horse. Seconds later, she had her hands wrapped around his well-developed, muscular chest, as the big chestnut thundered across the ground, out of the bullets’ range.

The man wore a leather jacket over a sweater. Her hands slid under the jacket for better grip. Even through the sweater she could feel sinewy muscles. She laid her head against his back and his braid. She took a breath in, inhaling the rich scent of leather, trying to calm her racing heart rate.

She glanced behind her. The cliffs were fading into the distance. The muscles of his well-developed shoulders bunched and relaxed as he led the horse at a gallop across the field. She felt safe for some unfathomable reason.

He had a familiar woodsy scent that made her think of sex under pine trees, not that she’d ever made love there. In fact, her sex life was pretty negligible these days.

They’d been riding for several minutes when Janna leaned forward. “You can put me down any place. I can manage now.”

“Really? And just what are you going to do out here, miles from town, by yourself, with someone shooting at you?”

The voice was deep, but soft, and rolled over her like warmed brandy. It triggered something in the back of her memory. The earthy scent, the sinewy body, the braid, the voice… She knew this person who had ridden up out of nowhere to save her.

“I have my cell. I’ve already called 9-1-1,” she snapped.

“And did you get an answer?”

Janna yanked her cell phone up where she could see the screen again and re-tapped in 9-1-1. And then there was that famous phrase—No Service.

There was a deep chuckle. “That’s what I thought. There’s no service in this area. The mountains block it.”

Hunted by Beverley Bateman

Maggie McGonigal will protect her son at any cost, including her own life. After seven years in witness protection someone has found her and is trying to kill her. She contacts the man she never wanted to see again. Now to convince him to take a son he doesn’t know about back to his ranch in Montana, so she can disappear again.

 

Cody Hawkins comes running when the woman he wants to forget calls him for help. Someone is trying to kill her.

 

It’s been seven years since Maggie walked away. Why contact him now? Who would want to kill her? Can he help her and then walk away from her? Or can he convince her to return to Montana and let him protect her?

Buy links:

Excerpt

“Why would anyone want to kill you?”

“Like I said, it’s a long story.”

“Well, darlin’, you asked me here. It was a long drive from Montana, so go ahead and let’s hear the whole story.”

“I was a witness to a murder. Maybe we should talk after dinner, when Matt is asleep. Will you be staying at the hotel tonight?”

“I wasn’t sure where I would spend the night. Hadn’t planned on staying in this expensive tourist trap, but if what you’re telling me is true, then, yes, I’m staying here tonight.”
“I’ll call down to the desk and book you a room.”

“No, if I’m going to protect you, I’ll be sleepin’ here, in your room tonight.”

She squirmed in her chair and he forced himself not to smile. He could only imagine what she was thinking about the two of them spending the night together in this small hotel room.

“If someone wants you dead, I need to be here, in this room, to keep you both safe. Now that’s settled, why would someone want to kill you?”

“Six years ago, I witnessed a mafia shooting in Chicago. I’ve been in the witness protection plan ever since. It looks like they finally found me.” She glanced across at Matt.

A cracking sound pierced the room. A jagged pattern cut across the window, scattering shards of glass on the floor.

Maggie screamed.

Cody threw himself at her, pushing her to the ground. Another bullet embedded itself in the wall, inches above where she’d sat minutes before.

“Mommy,” Matt yelled.

“It’s okay, honey. Lie still. Don’t move.”

Using his elbows, Cody cautiously raised himself. Sliding off Maggie, he crawled across the floor to the bed where he reached up and pulled Matt into his arms. Clutching the boy tightly against his chest, he could feel the little heart pound wildly.

“Hey, buddy, it’s going to be okay. What were you watching?”

“The Roadrunner, Wile E. Coyote is going to drop a rock on him.”

“Think he’ll get him?”

“No. of course not,” Matt laughed. “The bad guy never wins.”

Cody smiled. If only life was that simple. The bad guy never wins.

“How about you watch it from down here?”

“Why? Why are you and Mommy on the floor? What was that loud noise?”

“It’s sort of a game. We want you to play, too, so you have to watch TV down with us.”

“Okay.” Matt slipped from Cody’s arms to lie on the plush hotel carpet. He stared up at the cartoon still playing on the TV and became mesmerized by the colorful action on the screen.

“Are you all right?” Cody flashed a look at Maggie.

“I’m fine. Take care of Matt.” She clenched her upper arm, but the red continued to trickle down to her elbow and drip onto her jeans.

“We’re doing great, aren’t we, buddy?” He patted Matt on the head.

Another crash filled the room as a third shot shattered the mirror. The glass sprayed across the bed and floor like pebbles spread across the shore by ocean waves.

Matt and Maggie screamed.

Cody tightened his arms around Matt and glanced at Maggie.

Any color left had fled her face, her body shook, and the blood continued to ooze between the fingers she had clamped around her arm.

“You’ve been shot. You’re bleeding.”

“Brilliant diagnosis, Sherlock, like they say in the movies, it’s just a flesh wound. I’m fine.” She pulled herself to a sitting position and leaned back against the chair, pasting a smile on her face. Her body shook hard enough to rock the chair.

“It’s not that serious. It just burns like I’ve been branded.”
“Keep the pressure on and stay down.”

“Don’t worry, I’m not going anywhere.”

“Matt, go stay with your mother.”
Matt crawled to his mother’s side. “Are you okay, Mommy?”
“I’m fine, honey.” Maggie attempted a smile. “Shouldn’t we get out of here?”
“Hang on. We don’t know if anyone is out in the hall. There could be a second person waiting to get you if you survive the shooter and try to escape.”
“I didn’t think of that.” Maggie dropped her chin to Matt’s head. “Now you know why I want you to take him away from here.”
It had been a few minutes since the last shot, so Cody inched his way to the window on his knees, carefully avoiding shattered glass and mirror. When he reached the wide windowsill, he pulled himself up by his arms, cautiously peering out over the ledge. A turret blocked part of the view of the harbor, but there would be a clear view into Maggie`s room from the higher floors in the tower. Using his finger, he drew an imaginary line from the bullet hole in the wall, to the middle of shattered area of the window, attempting to gauge where the shots had come from. It looked like the fifth floor of the tower. He double-checked but couldn’t see anyone moving around over there.
Reaching for the cord, he closed the thick heavy curtains. Then he stood and edged to the hotel room door. He carefully unlocked it and opened it a crack.
He waited a second, then opened it a little more and slipped into the hallway.
A few minutes later, he reappeared.
“I think it’s okay now. Let’s check the damage.” He dialed the front desk to get a doctor.
He hadn’t expected any of this when he came here; someone shooting at them, a six- year old who wanted to come to his ranch and Maggie with a bullet in her arm.
What the hell had she gotten herself into? And how the hell could he protect her and her son?

The Holiday Season has arrived. Thanksgiving is over and December is here. I hope everyone had a good Thanksgiving. I haven’t put up my Christmas tree or started decorating yet. It’s on my list. At the top of my list is Finish the Damn Book. I am writing and editing Death Southern Style. My goal is to send it for editing December 5th. I also have a beta reader ready to read and share her opinion If anyone would like to be a beta reader for me, please contact me at babateman@shaw.ca . I’d love to have another person share their honest opinion of my book. I’ve also got my cover artist working on a cover for Death Southern Style. Check out my blog site in a week and I should be posting draft copies of a cover and asking for your input.

I am getting more done being down south with warmer weather and no snow. I’m signing up for guest blogs for next year. I’m planning my goals and priorities for 2020. My dog is holding her own, which is great. My health is better. I don’t do well in the cold. I’m busier but more organized – I hope.

 

Did you realize we have reached the end of another decade? What are your goals for the next decade? I find that a scary thought. I usually do one-year goals and priorities, sometimes five-year goals but ten years – yikes!

Here’s s short excerpt from Death Southern Style

 

Marie uttered another growl. The hairs on the back of Julie Ann’s neck stood on end. She could hear a noise downstairs. Footsteps? A door?

Julie Ann hesitated then moved to the closet and pulled the hangers aside. She closed the secret room door and climbed on to the cot. She wrapped her arms around her legs, listened and waited. She couldn’t believe someone was back again, especially after the attack on Savannah. The stakes appeared to be getting higher. What did they want? What were they afraid she knew and might expose?

She heard Marie growling and barking.

A man’s voice shouted, “Go away and get out of here. Damn dog, go.”

The barking continued.

Julie Ann heard steps come into the bedroom. The cupboard door was opened and slammed shut. The man swore and stomped off into Perrine’s room. Marie continued to bark and follow him. Julie Ann could tell where he was by the sound of his feet.

She sat quietly and shivered at the sound of someone wandering through her home, sure that it was the same man who had killed her mother and probably attacked Savannah.

Why was he back here? He hadn’t found anything on his previous visits so the only reason she could think of for this one was that he wanted to kill her, too.

Still shivering she listened to the steps move downstairs and out the door, Marie barked at his heels.

There was silence, then a scratching at the closet door.

“No, Marie – go away.” Julie Ann whispered.

Marie continued to whine and scratch. Julie Ann jumped up, opened the door and let the dog in. “Shh, be quiet.”

Marie jumped up on the cot and snuggled next to Julie Ann. Julie Ann patted her absently, “Good dog, good girl.”

Everything had gone deadly quiet.

She waited for another few minutes. There still wasn’t a sound. “Okay girl, let’s check and see if he’s gone.”

Julie Ann slid the door open and slipped out into her bedroom. She stopped, pressed her back against the wall and listened.

Silence.

“Okay girl, we’re going downstairs to make sure he’s gone, so no barking.”

The house was in total darkness. Julie Ann crept out into the hall and down the stairs. Silence echoed through the house.

She flipped the light switch. A soft yellow light flooded the room. There was no one there. The front door had been closed and locked

Julie Ann noticed a scrap of paper caught under the front door frame.

He must have dropped it when he left.

She scuttled across the room and grabbed it. It was folded in squares. She opened it and read it. Blindly she reached for a chair and collapsed into it, the note clutched in her hand.

I can’t continue. The guilt is too much.

I don’t want to live without her.

This is the only way I can escape.

Julie Ann

 

 

This month check out:

December 4th for my cover and post and the rest of the month Christmas Holiday Festival and  four Amazon or Barnes and Nobel gift cards from $10 - $50 at https://www.nnlightsbookheaven.com/christmas-holiday-festival

 

 

All month my cover and book Missing and give away at https://www.redcarpetfiction.com/author-giveaways-contests

All month you can check out my book and be eligible to win a $50 amazon gift card at Rafflecopter http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/e226730a42/?

December 27 - Group Blog – start at https://beverleybateman.blogspot.com/and we’ll be writing a short story, flash fiction, or excerpt from one of our books.

Don’t forget to check out my blog and some great authors with their new books and other information at https://beverleybateman.blogspot.com/ and post comments.

And come back next month to see if I’ve got Death Southern Style on sale.

 

 

Here’s here is a favorite Christmas recipe of mine if you like Cranberry sauce with your turkey

 

Cranberry “N” Cot Relish (Makes 4 cups)

 

3 cups raw cranberries

1 cup sugar

1 28 oz can of apricots

1/3 cup rum

Measure cranberries into a 13x9x2 inch baking dish

Sprinkle with sugar

Cover with foil and bake in a slow oven, 300 deg F, for 45 minutes

Drain apricots, reserve ½ cup of syrup

Remove foil and add drained apricots and syrup

Cover and return to oven.

Bake an additional 15 minutes.

Stir in rum.

Cover and chill

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Happy Holiday Season everyone!