POINT OF NO RETURN

Create, Pitch, Sell

From Me To You

LUNA TOUYE

The first two episodes in my psychological thriller series—LONG NIGHT MOON & WOLF MOON—are free for the month of December.

By day, BJ Donovan is a best-selling crime writer and a New Orleans chef.

By night, Bonnie June Donovan (aka Suite Sue) is a serial killer.

Excerpt from Chapter 1 of LONG NIGHT MOON
Virgil awoke late at night to find his wife gone. He kicked off cold and clammy bedcovers, box springs screeched when he got up. A steady breeze, weighed down with humidity, carried the vanilla-like fragrance of Joe-Pye weed and the barely audible sound of laughter through an open window.

He stood behind fluttering white sheers and watched Marie trot across the back yard, her long black curls bouncing with each footfall. The opaque security light above the barn doors cast an eerie pallor through the limbs of an old elm draped with Spanish moss. He noticed her belly, in the narrow space between her shirt and shorts, seemed rounder than normal. He lazily scratched his ass, wondered what the hell she’s doing.

A man stepped out of the shadows, and drew her into an embrace. They kissed for a moment, then entered the barn.

Marie came back out. She turned her head side to side, looked up. Virgil leaned back without thinking.

The man clasped her hand. “C’mere, baby.” He brought a shiny metal flask to his lips and took a long swig.

She giggled again. “Gimme some.”

Sh! Not now.” He pulled her into the barn, loosely swung one door shut, the other already latched at the top.

*|*|*

Virgil slipped through the half closed door. Stood beneath the loft and listened to the rough’n ready sounds of raw lust. Glossy photos in his dog-eared girlie magazines flashed through his mind. He hiked the leather rifle strap onto his shoulder, gripped the sides of the wooden ladder. Slowly mounted the rungs; aware one always squeaks.

He found them in a clearing behind short stacks of hay. Virgil recognized him. He was the same slick salesman who’d come sniffing around last April trying to sell them some kitcheny crap. He didn’t know if his wife got any. He’d left the house to spend the rest of the mild and sunny morning planting eggplants to be sold at the farmers market and to local chefs.

A July heat wave made the guy come a-knocking again. Now he was a-rocking, in the hayloft, with a young wife and mamma.


LUNA TOUYE: Psychological suspense with a touch of romance.
These stories are available individually (13 books) and in bundles (5 books).

Merry Christmas