scarberryfieldsForever

2012-03-05T03:56:00.001-08:00

This week's mini-story from Ballymore, "Moon Rise", is now posted on BeAChildAgain. It is based upon the characters in my new children's book: Tales From The Glades Of Ballymore. Please visit when you can.

Thank you,

Bob Brooks

2012-02-27T00:55:00.001-08:00

This week's mini-story from Ballymore, "A Pond Adventure", is now posted on BeAChildAgain. It is based upon the characters in my new children's book: Tales From The Glades Of Ballymore. Please visit when you can.

Thank you,

Bob Brooks

Story - "Flags Fly Again"

2012-02-20T13:17:00.000-08:00

This week's mini-story from Ballymore is now posted on BeAChildAgain. It is based upon the characters in my new children's book: Tales From The Glades Of Ballymore. Please visit when you can.

Thank you,

Bob Brooks

First two chapters of my novella wirtten for young adults

2012-02-17T12:37:00.005-08:00

Messages From Henry

A Novella by Rebecca S. Scarberry

CHAPTER 1

The first thing I notice when I walk out onto my wooden front porch is the unusual silence. The birds, normally tweeting away as they hop from branch to branch in the cedar tree above my bird feeder, are nowhere to be found. Not even a buzzard can be seen overhead, in search of its morning feast. I feel a strange tension in the air.

I sit down in my rickety pine rocking chair, bundled up in my puffy red down jacket on this chilly November morning. My longhaired orange and white female cat, Cinnamon is startled by the loud creak of the chair. She runs out from under the chair, sits under the table and gives me a sneer as though I scared her intentionally.

I place my mug of coffee on a nearby wrought iron table and search the meadow and the cow pasture for any movement whatsoever. Not even the sound of a distant dog barking, hawk squawking or wild turkey gobble can be heard in the distance. Even Cinnamon sits under the table, her head turning from side to side, searching the trees and bushes for any sign of life.

We are suddenly startled from our wonderment.

“Henry, what are you doing here?” I ask my neighbor Evelyn’s pure white homing pigeon, sitting atop my bannister. “You better skedaddle before Cinnamon decides to jump up there. What’s that tied to your foot? Evelyn joking around and sent a note to me?”

Henry stares at me with his bright yellow eyes and tilts his head to one side as I move towards him. I have grown quite fond of Henry over the years since his mother, having laid only one egg for some odd reason, refused to care for him once he had hatched. Evelyn, my elderly neighbor and close friend took Henry into her home and hand fed him. While visiting, I always enjoy helping. Her husband, Des passed away one year ago. My husband, Frank, had passed away two months later. Des raised and sold white homing pigeons and made quite a bit of money doing so.

Once Henry could eat regular feed, Evelyn put him in her yard where he could roam freely. Her other trained pigeons of the same breed are confined to a large aviary.

I untie the note from Henry’s leg and read it aloud. “Help, he is going to kill me, Evelyn.”

My swollen, arthritic hands tremble as I hurry inside the house. I let Evelyn’s phone ring eight times before disconnecting and dialing the sheriff.

“Sheriff, Kincaid here, how may I help you?”

“Warren, you have to go over to Evelyn White’s house right away. Henry just brought me a note from her. She’s in trouble.”

Ever since childhood, the three of us have been good friends. I suppose the three of us were drawn together by our red curly hair and our unusual aqua blue eyes. Warren knows all about Henry’s devotion to Evelyn. Henry was bred from quality Rock Pigeons and has the capability to find his way home from extremely long distances.

“Is Henry still at your house?”

“No, once I took the note off his leg, he flew away.”

“Wait a half hour and then meet me at Evelyn’s house. I want to secure the scene before you arrive.”

When I pull up in front of Evelyn’s house, Sheriff Kincaid and a team of three investigators are there. As I walk towards the house and before I reach the front door, Sheriff Kincaid grabs my arm and says, “We’ve found evidence of a struggle inside. I can’t allow you to enter. Investigator, Ryan Hobbs will be in touch with me just as soon as they know more. Hobbs is the tall, thin man with blonde hair. He just came out of the house.”

“Was blood found inside?” I ask as my hands tremble.

The look on Warren’s face reveals the answer and I start crying. He takes me in his arms and tries to comfort me. He says, “We will know more once the investigators run tests. Tammy, how do you suppose Evelyn was able to get paper and pencil to write that note?”

“Evelyn always has this tiny little pad of paper with a small pencil attached that she either stuffs in her bra or a pocket. She’s writing her memoirs and whenever she thinks of something she wants to add, she has it handy.”

Warren walks me back to my Jeep. I have a heavy heart and fear I may never see my close friend ever again.

He hesitates before opening the driver’s side door for me and asks, “Does Evelyn have a substantial amount of money or do any of her relatives?”

“Evelyn isn’t rich so to speak, but her one and only child, Dean Young as you know is a very successful wealthy novelist. Why do you ask?”

“It’s possible the kidnapper might call him and ask for a ransom.”

CHAPTER 2

The next day, while I am cleaning out my chicken coop, I feel the same unfamiliar tension in the air as I did the day before. There isn’t even a slight breeze and there is silence all around. The sun has just peeked over the mountain, setting the sky ablaze in lavender. There’s a thin layer of frost on the tops and outer branches of the trees. The frost sparkles in the early morning light with a kaleidoscope of color. The reddish brown bark of the nearby madrone trees stands out against the forest of pines. Any other day the chickens are pacing and clucking, anxious for their morning feed. Today they are all quietly standing in a row, looking out through the chicken wire. I begin to wonder if the chickens are staring at something behind me. As soon as I turn around I see Henry. He is quietly standing on the ground, motionless as he stares up at me with fear in his eyes. I can see he has a note attached to one leg and hurry over to him. “Henry I see you have brought another note.”

I carefully remove the note from Henry’s leg. I don’t want to contaminate any evidence, so I immediately take it into my house and place it inside a plastic bag. In order to save precious time, I put the plastic bag into my purse, get into my Jeep and head for the sheriff’s department. When I get inside Warren is on the telephone. I lay the plastic bag on Warren’s desk. He tells the person he is talking to that he will call them back.

Warren has a look of concern and says, “Another note from Henry?”

“Yes, I didn’t even read it. I took it right into the house and put it inside this bag.”

Warren opens one of his desk drawers, pulls out a pair of white plastic gloves and puts them on. He then says, “Sure wish you would have brought Henry with you also. He might have some evidence on him that could be helpful.”

“As soon as I removed the note, he fought to get away. He pecked my hand and it hurt, so I let him go. Sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it, Tammy. Let’s see what the note says.” He then reads aloud, “Riverside Park, outbuilding.”

I say, “I’m glad the person holding Evelyn captive isn’t taking her out of state. Riverside Park isn’t far from here at all.”

“I’ll call you later with our findings. Riverside Park is a big park with lots of outbuildings. Don’t get impatient, it will take quite a while to search and collect any evidence, if there is any to be found.”

I open my mouth to protest, but Warren raises his arm in a halting manner and rushes towards the front door.

Warren calls me two hours later and tells me what took place at Riverside Park. He says, “Just as I pulled into the eastern parking lot, coming towards me was a dark blue 2010 Honda Civic, traveling at a high rate of speed. There was a Josephine County police vehicle on its tail.”

I ask, “Could you see Evelyn in the Honda?”

“Yes, Evelyn was looking out of the back window. She had both hands pressed against the back window. Her hands were cupped as though she was having trouble seeing out through the dark tint. Without hesitation, I made a quick U-turn in the parking lot and attempted to catch up. The driver had thick curly black hair, with bangs dangling over dark glasses and a thin face without facial hair. Does that sound like anybody you know or any of Evelyn’s relatives or acquaintances?”

“Not right off hand.”

Warren continues, “Within minutes, the suspect reached the busy streets of Grants Pass, with us a full block behind. There was an arts and crafts fair set up in the street, from first to second street. A heavyset police officer was in the process of placing the last portable plastic A-frame barricade across the road ahead. The officer, driving in front of me, began to slow down, forcing me to do the same. The suspect never slowed down. He drove right through one of the barricades causing the officer, adjusting his last barricade, to jump back. He threw both arms into the air and yelled something at the fleeing vehicle.”

“That poor man. He could have been run down and killed.”

Warren continued, “When the patrol officer, with me a short distance behind, reached the barricades, four pedestrians walked out in front of him. One of them was pushing a small child in a stroller. The police officer, ahead of me, beeped his siren a couple of times, signaling them to beware, but the adults were talking and laughing with one another and continued to walk across the street.”

“Neither of you called for a roadblock?”

“Tammy, you aren’t thinking. If we didn’t have a clue which direction he would go next, how could we instruct anybody on where to set one up?”

“True, go on.”

“We were forced to wait for the people to get out of the way before we could continue our pursuit. As I followed, I saw the suspect make a sharp right on 2nd Street. We were an entire block behind him at this point. Then we lost him. We never could figure out where he went.”

I sat, staring into space, racking my brain. I ask myself, does Evelyn know anybody fitting the description of the suspect? She has a lot of relatives and friends, but I can’t recall any of them that I have seen, having thick curly black hair. I remember she hired a maintenance worker and a gardener after Des died, but I can’t remember what either of them look like.

Warren interrupts my concentration, “Tammy, are you still there?”

“Yes, Warren, I am here. Why did the police officer start chasing the Honda to begin with?”

“A park visitor thought she heard a woman moaning when she walked by the Honda, parked near one section of restrooms. There was nobody inside the vehicle that she could see. She got concerned and called it in. When the police officer arrived, he said there was a white pigeon on the roof of the Honda. He could see a man inside. Seconds later, the driver took off, heading for the parking lot exit.

I am so shaken by this news, my knees weaken and I have to sit down at the dining room table. My mouth becomes dry.

“The police officer described the pigeon and it sounded exactly like Henry. We’ve put out an all-points bulletin. Hopefully someone will call with some valid information.”

“What about the license number? I assume the officer on his tail must have gotten it.”

“He’s switched plates with a white 2000 Cadillac. Have you ever seen any dark blue Hondas parked outside Evelyn’s house?”

“Not that I recall.”

Story - "Signs of Spring"

2012-02-13T02:52:00.001-08:00

Story - "School Day"

2012-02-06T06:32:00.001-08:00

This week's mini-story from Ballymore is now posted on BeAChildAgain. It is based upon the characters in my forthcoming children's book: Tales From The Glades Of Ballymore. Please visit when you can.

Thank you,

Bob Brooks

Story - "From Nuts To Reading"

2012-02-01T09:51:00.000-08:00

Rebecca's First Blog

2012-01-20T11:49:00.000-08:00

Well, I finally have my very first Blog. I have been tweeting for two weeks that I would be Indie publishing one of my short stories, "Rag Doll". I'm here now to tell you I have changed my mind. I am posting all of my writings here. You will see "Rag Doll" here today. In the future, I will be posting novella, Messages From Henry in chapters.

As most of you know, I wrote "Rag Doll" and Messages From Henry for two different short story contests. I then went on to write my second novel. Several young adults and author, Chris James told me I should expand "Rag Doll" and publish it. Once I decided "Rag Doll" was exactly the way I want it, I changed my mind about publishing it.

All I really want to do is read, write and promote my fellow authors. I don't want to be thinking about whether or not my works are selling, how many 5 * reviews I have gotten, none of that stuff that comes with publishing. I just want my works to entertain those who chose to visit this blog.

~Rebecca Scarberry (Scarberryfields on Twitter)

Rag Doll

A Short Story by Rebecca Scarberry

“Todd?” Jeremy put his hands on his hips and looked at his son.

“What?” the boy asked.

“Come here, what is that on your hands?” asked Jeremy.

“Nothing,” Todd squinted his eyes and gripped his hands tight, still resisting.

Jeremy bent down and pulled his son’s hands out from behind, twisted the palm of his hands upward and his eyes opened wide in shock. “Oh my God! Is that Blood?”

Todd shook his head nervously, eyes filled with guilt, boots covered with mud.

Jeremy looked at his four-year-old and tried to imagine where the wound had originated.

Tears welled up in Todd’s eyes and his chin started to quiver. “Am I in trouble, Daddy?”

Jeremy examined his son’s hands and realized that there were no lacerations.

Jeremy Martel, his wife, Rita and their son Todd had decided to celebrate Jeremy’s thirtieth birthday in Murfreesboro. Jeremy had always dreamed of prospecting in the Crater of Diamonds State Park, the only reserve of its kind, open to the public. Rita, being five months pregnant, planned to stay in the hotel room and work on a knit baby blanket.

The three of them had arrived at three in the afternoon. It had taken them four hours to drive from Fayetteville, Arkansas to the small town of Murfeesboro, a drive that was beautiful and awe inspiring, but long and tiresome. And not unlike most children, Todd questioned their arrival a minimum of six times. In a whiny voice, “Are we there yet?”

Jeremy knelt down, gripping Todd’s hands. He knew that blood on a little boy’s hands couldn’t be a good thing.

“What is this?” asked Jeremy, showing Todd the blood.

Todd looked surprised to see the caked blood on his hands and tried to get it off by wiping them on his puffy down jacket.

“It’s nothing, Daddy. I’ll show you,” Todd said.

Jeremy followed his son, carrying a small trowel. His leather boots sank into the mud as they walked closer to the crevice.

Todd shuffled through the damp earth and his father observed the rocky terrain, suspicious and guarded. He could feel a sense of dread. He smelled an odd odor and an eerie quiet roused a protective fear.

He stepped over a protruding pine root and lifted his son over a stony rut in the earth.

“See, Daddy.” Todd pushed his knit cap up and then pointed to something in the mud. “It’s a rag doll.”

Jeremy put his hand on Todd’s shoulder and gave the child a gentle shove to the side when he saw the misplaced mound of mud. He fell on his knees as the figure took form.

He felt his heart stop beating for a split second. His eyes tried to make sense of the shape.

A woman’s head protruded from the mud. With her face and hair covered with dried blood, Jeremy stared at her dead eyes and was forced to hold back his gag reflex once the horrific odor hit him. He covered his eyes with both hands, hoping that when he opened them, she would have disappeared. When he realized she was still there, tears ran down his cheeks. He attempted to stand, but his legs were too weak. He fell forward and both of his knees began to sink into the mud. He pulled his knit cap down over his thick curly black hair with trembling hands.

Todd had lost interest and had gone back to fill his small red bucket with mud as Jeremy tried to reach the authorities on his cell phone. “Oh my God, I can’t get a signal! Come on, Todd we have to go to the Discovery Center.”

To get to the Discovery Center as fast as possible, Jeremy carried Todd on his shoulders. Todd giggled as he held his tiny hands, still covered with dried blood, around Jeremy’s chin.

As soon as they entered the building, Jeremy set Todd down and held one of his hands. “Call the police, there is a dead woman, buried in the mud,” Jeremy told a tall, thin man who stood behind a long counter.

The man’s mouth opened, but no words came out. He stood and stared at Jeremy.

“I’m serious! Make the call. I would have, but I can’t get a signal on my cell.”

The man immediately reached for his cordless phone and made the call.

Todd looked up at his father and said, “Can we go back and dig now, daddy?”

“In a minute, Todd.” The child quickly pulled his knit cap and muddy boots off and ran across the slick linoleum floor. He stopped suddenly and glided forward. The room filled with his laughter and he turned to see if his daddy was watching. He realized he wasn’t and said, “Watch this, Daddy.”

The man behind the counter said to Jeremy, as he pressed the phone against his chest, “The sheriff is asking me the identity of the woman found. Do you know the victim?”

Jeremy hesitated a few seconds, took a deep breath and answered, “Yes, her name is Selena, Selena Montgomery.”

Two minutes later, the man ended the call and sat the phone back in place.

Todd walked up to the desk and looked up at the man. “I found a rag doll in the mud.”

The man stared at Jeremy and he could see the man’s quick realization that the child had no idea he had found a dead body.

“Hush, Todd,” Jeremy instructed. Go on over there and look at the pretty rocks in the display cases.”

“The sheriff is on his way,” the man informed Jeremy.

Jeremy walked towards the man and asked, “Do you mind if I use your phone to call my wife? She’s in a local hotel room?”

“No, go right ahead.”

Jeremy let the phone in their room ring eight times. “There was no answer,” he said to the man behind the counter as he handed the phone back to him. “I’ll try her cell phone in a little while. Maybe she went to get a soda. Come here, Todd, let’s go back and get our tools.”

“I’m sorry, sir, the sheriff told me you are to stay right here with me until he arrives.”

Todd tugged on Jeremy’s puffy down jacket. “Come over here, Daddy. I want you to find a rock for me just like the one over here in this picture.”

Jeremy walked over to the display case and bent down to see what Todd found so interesting.

Out of curiosity, the desk clerk walked over to see also and said, “Oh, that’s a picture of a fourteen-carat Amarillo Starlight. It was found here in the park two years ago by a gentleman by the name of Javian Hughes.”

Todd looked up at the man and said, “I don’t like carrots.”

The man had a slight grin on his face as he glanced at Jeremy.

Jeremy asked, “Is it all right if we go to the restroom?”

“I suppose that will be okay. Make sure you come right back.”

Without a reply, Jeremy took Todd by the hand and led him to the front door. The restrooms were located in a separate building behind the Discovery Center. Todd grabbed at the fly of his jeans and said, “How did you know I have to pee, daddy?”

“Daddies just know these things.”

Just as Todd and Jeremy turned the corner on their return to the Discovery Center, they saw two uniformed officers enter the building.

As soon as Todd and Jeremy entered, the man behind the desk, said, “Here they are now.”

The sheriff and his deputy walked towards them and asked, “Your name sir?”

“My name is Jeremy Martell. This is my son, Todd.”

“Mr. Blom tells us you know the victim. Would you please tell us her full name and what your relationship was with her?”

Jeremy’s skin grew ashen. Todd ran back to look at the picture of the Amarillo Starlight again.

Jeremy scratched the top of his head through his cap and said, “I won’t lie to you. Won’t do me any good anyway; some quick detective work would soon reveal the truth.”

The sheriff became impatient, “Just answer the question, Mr. Martell.”

Before Jeremy answered, he looked to make sure Todd was not within earshot. “I had an affair with the victim, Selena Montgomery, six months ago while here on business. We’ve been seeing one another off and on since we first met.”

“What kind of business was that, Mr. Martell?”

“I’m the corporate manager for the Knights Inn hotel chain.”

The sheriff asked, “Did you murder Selena Montgomery?”

“No. I love her.”

“Do you know if Selena had any enemies?”

When Jeremy replied, his voice cracked, “No, she was the sweetest person I have ever met.”

“Do you have a wife, Mr. Martell?”

“Yes, she stayed behind at the hotel, the Knights Inn. She’s five months pregnant and has no interest in prospecting for diamonds.”

“What did you drive into the park today, Mr. Martell?”

“That red Mustang convertible, parked right out front.”

The deputy walked towards Jeremy and said, “Please hand me the keys Mr. Martell.”

Jeremy retrieved his keys from his front left pocket and handed them over.

“Please give me the hotel phone number and your room number, Mr. Martell,” the sheriff said.

Jeremy did as he was asked and the sheriff opened his cell phone as he walked outside to call the hotel.

Todd asked his father, “When can we go find one of these rocks like in the picture, Daddy?”

Jeremy ignored his son and began to pace. He watched the sheriff through the large picture window and didn’t like the look of concern on the sheriff’s face.

The sheriff came back into the building moments later and said to Jeremy, “One of the hotel clerks says he saw your wife get into a taxi three hours ago, Mr. Martell. Do you know where she might be headed?”

Jeremy stared at the sheriff in disbelief. He was speechless.

The deputy walked into the building. He held a hatchet in his gloved right hand. It had blood on the cutting edge, long strands of blood-soaked blonde hair and clumps of gray matter. “The trunk of the Mustang was open and I found this inside, Mr. Martell. Do you have an explanation?”

Jeremy replied with a questioning expression, “No I don’t. I don’t own a hatchet.”

The sheriff turned to Mr. Blom, “Are there security cameras in the parking lot?”

“No, sorry.”

The sheriff then turned to Jeremy, “I have a deputy at your hotel room now.”

The sheriff’s cell phone rang and as he walked away he flipped it open.

When the sheriff returned, he said, “Mr. Martell, my deputy went into your room and found a note to you from your wife.”

Jeremy asked, with hesitation in his voice, “What did the note say?”

The sheriff answered, “She basically said you didn’t need to kill Selena. The baby she is now carrying is not yours and she planned to take Todd and leave you anyway.”

Jeremy’s mouth grew dry and he felt beads of sweat forming on his forehead. His legs grew weak and he felt faint.

“I have more bad news for you, Mr. Martell,” the sheriff said.

Stunned and speechless, Jeremy looked up at the sheriff.

“My deputy said there has been a Greyhound Bus accident. No survivors. Your wife was on that bus, headed for Florida. Do either you or your wife have any relatives living in Florida or do you have any friends living there?”

Jeremy took a couple of deep breaths, tried to swallow and said, “I have never been to Florida and I don’t know how Rita found out about Selena.” Before he continued, he made sure Todd was out of earshot. Todd was still having fun gliding across the slippery floor. “I know I look like the guilty one here, but I can account for each and every minute I’ve spent here in Murfreesboro.”

“My deputy also found a love letter to you from Selena lying on one of the beds in your hotel room.”

“I don’t understand any of this” Jeremy said. “I never received any love letters from Selena. There has to be some explanation for all of this. I am so confused.”

“Please cuff Mr. Martell, read him his rights and call social services,” the sheriff instructed his deputy.

As the deputy cuffed Jeremy, Todd ran towards the deputy and shouted, “What are you doing to my daddy?”

When the sheriff reached down to take Todd’s hand, Todd grabbed his arm and bit down hard. He let out a loud screech and shouted, “Knock it off young man. That hurt!”

Jeremy was so stunned by all he had just heard, he didn’t even notice what the child had done.

It took two years for Jeremy to clear his name. During his two-year imprisonment, Todd lived with Jeremy’s parents. The boy had always favored his father instead of his mother. Rita wanted a girl and never tried to hide the fact that she was disappointed her first child was a boy.

Todd never seemed to miss his mother for his grandparents lavished him with toys and let him eat anything he wanted.

It was a very happy day when Todd’s daddy proved his innocence and was reunited with his son. The money trail led right back to Rita. She had paid her boyfriend, Jean-Paul Cleary to kill Selena. He was sentenced to life in prison, without parole.