Today I am hosting Marilyn Leach, author of Into the Clouds.
Author’s
Bio for Marilyn Leach
At the age of nine, Marilyn wrote her first play with
a childhood neighbor, “The Ghost and Mr. Giltwallet”. It was a mystery. And she’s been writing, whether hobby or
livelihood, since. A graduate of
Colorado State University, she has worked in domestic missions and taught both
English acquisition and art in underserved populations. She’s had the opportunity to co-author
several plays that have been performed on both church and secular stages, as
well as two screenplays, one of which was a semi-finalist in the John Templeton
Screenwriting Competition. Marilyn’s Advent of a Mystery, was released in
September of 2010, Candle for a Corpse in 2012, Up From the Grave in 2013 and Into
the Clouds in 2014. She has written
numerous Biblical meditations and essays printed in various publications
including Guideposts, Big Dreams in Small
Spaces, and Quiet Hour. Marilyn is a dyed-in-the-wool British
enthusiast and it colors her work. She lives
lakeside in a cottage on the outskirts of Denver near the foothills. Stop by her website: marilynleachteaandbooks.com.
Though Marilyn grew up in the Western United States,
she became a dyed-in-the-wool British enthusiast after exploring the UK and
making friends there. She has
co-authored plays that have been performed in both secular and church
venues. Her many devotionals have
appeared in such works as The Quiet Heart, Big Dreams in Small Places, and
Guideposts. In her current British
mystery series with Pelican Books, Berdie Elliott is the intrepid vicar’s wife
who solves crime with a little help from above.
Marilyn lives in a lakeside cottage on the front range of the Rocky
Mountains.
Into the Clouds Excerpt
With
the ferocity of a sudden clap of thunder in a spring storm, the vicarage door
bell invaded the treasured moment.
Hugh
sighed.
“I’ll
get it.” Berdie pulled herself away and
made way to the front door, deciding not to grumble but cherish the past
uninterrupted hours shared with Hugh.
“Lillie,”
Berdie greeted her nicely dressed but unexpected guest at the opened door. “Come in.”
“Must
get on, but just wanted to tell you that Mrs. Mikalos was not seen by any local
doctors nor admitted to any of the area hospitals including their morgues.”
“Well
done, Lillie.” Berdie looked past
Lillie’s shoulder to see Granville Morrison and his idling black Ford Fiesta
with the word Transport painted on
the side of the vehicle. He and his
brother were the newest entrepreneurs in Aidan Kirkwood’s village
services. “Having dinner with Loren in
Timsley? Setting out plans for the Aunt
Margaret visit, are we?”
A
blues guitar reverberated from Berdie’s bag in the hallway while at the same
moment Granville sounded his horn.
Lillie
turned in a flash. “I’ll tell you all
about it later,” she called out while walking briskly out to the taxi.
“Good,
I’ll look forward to it.” Berdie closed
the door and lunged toward her bag just in time to hear Hugh’s voice.
“What
is that?” he called out.
Berdie
grabbed her mobile and put it to her ear.
“Mrs. Elliott”. She heard what
sounded like a hoarse gasp of air.
“She’s
in danger,” the graveled voice pronounced.
This
person was not a playful lad. Berdie
tried to keep her wits about her.
“Who’s
in danger?”
“She’s
in danger,” the wheezing voice repeated.
“No police.”
“Who
is this?” Berdie hoped she didn’t sound
as alarmed as she felt. A course wheeze
and a click were her only response.
“Who
was at the door?” Hugh asked as he bounced into the hallway.
Berdie
shoved her mobile in her bag. “Lillie,”
she worked at appearing nonchalant.
“She’s already gone.”
“Are
you all right?”
Hugh’s
question bored into Berdie’s veneer, but she held her own. “I just hope Lillie and Loren get on well at
Aunt Margaret’s.”
“Someone
on the mobile?” He pointed to her bag.
Berdie
was not about to tell him the whole of it.
“I
have no clue who the person was.” She
laughed hoping Hugh would not catch the nervous edge of it.
He
smiled. “Oh, I had one of those the
other day.”
“You
did?”
“Some
bank I think it was, a survey. Those
computer generated calls, so garbled and impersonal. Invasive as well.”
“Yes,
invasive,” she improvised.
“Care
for a cuppa?”
“Splendid.” She could use one at the moment.
“I’ll
put the kettle on.” Hugh advanced toward
the kitchen.
Berdie
sunk to the bottom step of the hall stairway.
She pulled her mobile out and tried to retrieve the call but it showed
as number withheld. “She’s in danger, no police,” she repeated
the words to herself. “Dear Lord have
mercy.”
