Linda Bennett Pennell stopped by to share her latest book.
Let her tell you about it.
Thank you so much, Nancy!! Here are some of the details you
asked for about my latest release from Soul Mate Publishing, Miami Days, Havana Nights.
Sometimes our biggest debts have nothing to do with money.
1926. When seventeen-year-old Sam Ackerman witnesses a mob
hit, he is hustled out of New York under the protection of Moshe Toblinsky,
A.K.A., the mob’s bookkeeper. Arriving in Miami with no money, no friends, and
no place to hide, Sam’s only choice is to do as the gangster demands. Forced
into bootlegging, Sam’s misery is compounded when he falls in love. Amazingly,
the beautiful, devout Rebecca wants only him, but he cannot give her the life
she deserves. When Prohibition ends, Sam begs the mobster to set him free. The
price? A debt, as Toblinsky puts it, of friendship. A debt that will one day
come due.
Present Day. History of American Crime professor Liz Reams
has it all - early success, a tantalizing lead on new info about Moshe Toblinsky,
and a wonderful man to love. Life is perfect. So what’s keeping her from
accepting her guy’s marriage proposals? Confronting a long-standing personal
debt sets her on a journey of self-discovery. While she delves ever deeper into
Sam’s and Toblinsky’s relationship, her understanding of her own relationships
increases as well, but the revelations come at a price. The emotional and
physical dangers of her dual journeys may prove too big to handle.
Excerpt from Miami Days, Havana Nights
Chapter 1
May 18, 1926
105 South Street
New York City
Knocking
- sharp, loud, rapid - echoed through the empty speakeasy. Sam froze, the notes
of a tune stuck in the roof of his mouth. He glanced at the entrance and leaned
the handle of his push broom against his shoulder. Puffs of dust settled on the
floorboards around his feet while he remained motionless.
It
was late, too late, to be admitting customers, even for the city's illegal
watering holes and gambling joints. Although a thick crossbar and several stout
locks protected the heavy iron door, an uneasy feeling crawled down Sam's spine.
Growing tension over control of the Fulton Fish Market, in fact the entire
South Street area, was making a lot of people jumpy, including him.
Several
seconds passed without noise from the other side of the door. Sam let out his
breath and laughed at himself. Working at the fish market in the afternoon then
staying up half the night at the speakeasy didn't leave much time for sleep. It
kept him on edge. All the rumors and threats floating around these days weren't
helping either. Inclining his ear and hearing nothing, he relaxed and gave his
broom a shove.
Bam, bam, bam.
Sam's
heart jumped into his throat.
"Open
up, Monza. I know you're in there." The shout, colored by an Irish lilt,
came from the second floor landing accompanied by renewed pounding. "I
come to talk with ya. We need to settle this business. I got a proposition for
ya."
Sam's
breathing kicked up a notch as he looked over his shoulder toward the office.
The boss didn't like to be disturbed when he was meeting with his guys. The
pounding from outside in the hall returned in earnest, but the office door
remained fixed.
"You
gonna open this damned door or do I break it down?" The doorknob rattled
and jerked.
Behind Sam, the office door clicked open an
inch. He watched in the mirror over the bar as the muzzle of a .38 Special
emerged from the opening, its nickel-plated barrel glittering in the overhead
lights. One of the gangsters stepped into the room, met Sam's eye in the
mirror, and jerked his head, then the room went dark. Sam dropped his broom and
backed into an alcove next to the bar. The office door opened wider. Several
shadows scurried across the floor. Metal locks and bolts snapped and clanked,
then the entrance door swung inward……
Chapter 2
Present
Fall Semester
Gainesville, Florida
Crap. Not one blessed
thing gained.
Liz
bookmarked and closed the archival records web page she had paid a small
fortune to access. Frustration knotted the muscles at the base of her skull.
She stretched her back against the living room sofa and rolled her head and
neck. Months of research and all she had to show for it was a regurgitation of
everything everybody already knew. Maybe she was what she most feared – a one
hit wonder destined to fade from her fifteen minutes of glory into ignominious
mediocrity.
Jeez.
How was that for a pretentious mouthful? Liz's lips thinned into a smirk
accompanied by a quiet snort. Well, at least she could still laugh at herself.
Unfortunately, some people might not find her so amusing.
She
glanced across the room at Hugh. Liz drummed her fingers against the edge of
her computer. He would probably understand if she didn't meet the deadline.
Hugh was a good boss and a good... What? She never knew what to call the man
she lived and worked with. Boyfriend sounded so lame, childish even. Boss
tended to raise eyebrows. Fiancé would work if she had said yes to his most
recent proposal.
Liz
sucked the corner of her lower lip between her teeth. Of all the things she had
ever thought herself to be, a commitment-phobe was not one of them. And now she
was on the verge of disappointing him twice in one week. The new course she was
designing could still be taught in the spring, but it would be incomplete as it
stood now. She had incorporated a plethora of original details about Al Capone,
et al., but new, riveting details on Moshe Toblinsky and the Jewish gangsters
were proving elusive. As a consequence, Florida's
Underbelly, 1920-Present: the Mob in the Sunshine State would probably fail
to accomplish what the dean expected despite its titillating title. What a
depressing thought.
Buzzing
against Liz's thigh made her jump. She dug the phone out of her jeans pocket
and looked at the caller ID. Her heart rate kicked up a notch. She slid her
finger over the screen to take the call and listened to the monologue coming
through the ether.
Liz tapped the end call icon,
slumped a little lower into the sofa cushions, and sucked her lower lip between
her teeth. Apparently, nothing was going to go right today.
Next
to the living room window, Hugh lounged in an armchair with the latest
historical monograph spread open on his lap, pretending he hadn't listened to
her side of the phone conversation. When she didn't speak, he looked up from
the book and raised his brows.
"Well?"
His voice was kind but direct.
"Well
what?"
"What
was in that call to make you look so stormy?"
Liz
sighed and crammed her phone into her jeans pocket. "Aunt Mildred says
Daddy is going downhill faster than anyone thought possible, something Mom
decided to keep from me. Yesterday, he wandered away from the house and was
gone for hours. Mom was on the verge of calling the police when a neighbor
brought him home. The neighbor stopped Daddy trying to board the ferry to
Whidbey Island. He said he had to report for duty at the naval air
station." Liz hunched her shoulders and shook her head. "He retired
from the Navy in 1995."
Buy link for Miami Days, Havana Nights
Anything with a history, whether shabby
or majestic, recent or ancient, instantly draws me in. I suppose it comes from
being part of a large extended family that spanned several generations. Long
summer afternoons on my grandmother's porch or winter evenings gathered around
her fireplace were filled with stories both entertaining and poignant. Of
course being set in the American South, those stories were also peopled by some
very interesting characters, some of whom have found their way into my work.
As for my venture in writing, it has
allowed me to reinvent myself. We humans are truly multifaceted creatures, but
unfortunately we tend to sort and categorize each other into neat, easily
understood packages that rarely reveal the whole person. Perhaps you, too, want
to step out of the box in which you find yourself. I encourage you to look at
the possibilities and imagine. Be filled with childlike wonder in your mental
wanderings. Envision what might be, not simply what is. Let us never forget,
all good fiction begins when someone says to her or himself, "Let's
pretend."
I reside in the Houston area with one
sweet husband and one adorable German Shorthaired Pointer who is quite certain
she’s a little girl.
"History is filled with the sound of silken
slippers going downstairs and wooden shoes coming up." Voltaire
Connect with Linda
Bennett Pennell here:
