Skip to main content

Synopsis of What did You do before Dying? and Why Did You die in the Park

What Did You Do Before Dying? (Marge Chirstensen Mysteries)  Marge christensen finds her husband , Gene slumped over the steering wheel of his car
                              Can she convince the local police that it wasn't suicide In spite of the medical reports that
                               say he had a terminal illness?

Why Did You Die In the Park? (Marge Christensen Mysteries)Marge Christensen, the artist turned dective finds a dead body in the Park in Seattle.
she thinks that she doesn't have to get involved until she discover that her Best Friend's Husband is involved
with the victim and ther friend Lori did help her with Husbands case in the  previous book.  What are friends for?  I would like to take the time to thank Denise from Progressive for allowing me the opportunity to do this
synopsis and thank the Author for the guest post below

Comments

Pat Batta said…
Thank you for highlighting my books on your blog. I was surprised only the Kindle version appeared when clicking on the titles, but I assure you and your readers the books are available through Amazon or through my web site.

Pat Batta
Anonymous said…
I like your blog !!Thank you. They are really great .
do not miss my goods , they are very beautiful !!
Fashion watches
Discount watches
Antique pocket watches
Engraved pocket watches
pocket watch

Popular posts from this blog

Poem: In Texas Grass by Quincy Troupe

All along the rail
                                road tracks of texas
                               old train cars lay
                               rusted &overturned
                              like new african governments
                             long forgotten by the people
                              who built & rode them
                                till they couldn't run no more,
                              they remind me of old race horses
                             who've been put out to pasture
                            amongst the weeds
                            rain sleet &snow
                            till they die,rot away
                            like photos fading
                           in grandma's picture book,
                         of old black men in mississippi/texas
                         who sit on dilapidated porches,
                        that fall away
                       like dead man'…

The Speed of Belief by Tracy K Smith (poem)

I didn't want to wait on my knees
In a room made quiet by waiting. A room where we'd listen for the rise
Of breath, the burble in his throat. I didn't want the orchids or the trays
Of food meant to fortify that silence, Or to pray for him to stay or to go then
Finally toward that ecstatic light I didn't want to believe
What we believe in those rooms: That we are blessed, letting go,
Letting someone, anyone, Drag open the drapes and heave us Bak into our blinding, bright lives When your own sweet father died You woke before first light And ate half a plate of eggs and grits, And Drank a glass of milk. After  you'd left, I sat in your place And finished  the toast bits with jam And the cold eggs, the thick bacon Flanged in fat , savoring the taste. Then I slept, too young to know how narrow And grave the road before you seemed--- All the houses zipped tight , the night's Few clouds muddy as cold coffee. You stayed gone a week, and who were we Without your clean p…

The Life I led by Nikki Giovanni (poem)

i know my upper arms will grow
flabby it's true
of all the women in my family
i know that the purple views
like dead fish in Seine
will dot my legs one day
and my hands will wither while
my hair turns grayish white I know that
one day my teeth will move when
my lips smile
and a flutter of hair will appear
below my nose I hope
my skin doesn't change to those blotchy
colors

i want my menses to be undifficult
i'd  very much prefer staying firm and slim
to grow old like a vintage wine fermenting
in old wooden vats with style
i'd like to be exquisite  I think

i will look forward to grandchildren
and my flowers  all my knickknacks in their places
and that quiet of the bombs not falling on Cambodia
settling  over my sagging breasts

i hope my shoulder finds a head that needs nestling
and my feet find a footstool after a good soaking
with Epsom salts

i hope I die
warmed
by the life I tried
to live