Readers, please join me in welcoming PeggySue Wells to Christina's corner--I appreciate so much how kind you are in commenting and making our guests feel welcome. Blessings!
So nice to meet you and thanks for stopping by Christina Sinisi’s fun and interactive website.
I’m PeggySue Wells and yes, I was named after the Buddy Holly song you are too young to know. Great drum beat and cue the song, American Pie.
Unnatural Cause is book four in the Marc Wayne Action-Adventure series. In this adventure suspense, a mysterious man appears in patent attorney Marc Wayne’s office. Listing the recent deaths of political leaders, the man demonstrates a device that can create a deadly embolism from a remote location.
Though the frightful research to commit consequence-free murder has been locked away since World War II, killers are using this lethal invention to shape world power. With the President of the United States in the murderous crosshairs, Marc and his FBI special agent sister, Mallory, thwart the assassins, only to find he and Mallory played right into the mastermind’s plan.
There are two long-unsolved mysteries around brave and beloved family members who were in World War 2. Their lives impacted generations of my family. In Unnatural Cause, I wove those events into a fictional story that had closure—mostly. Unnatural Cause was an opportunity to honor them.
Here’s an excerpt from Unnatural Cause.
Something rattled the windows. Not a lot, but enough that Marc wondered if the widow Miller had been checking her hair in the rearview mirror again and had forgotten for just a tiny minute that she was driving.
Last time she had merely gone up on the sidewalk and bumped a mailbox. This time, the thud sounded like her Mercedes with better than 300,000 miles may have come to rest against the front door of his office.
“Marc, was that you?” Brandishing a fire extinguisher, Violet stood in the doorway of his office.
He hit the save button on his computer file. “Why would you think it was me?”
“Because it sounded like a small explosion.”
He started down the hall toward the reception area at the front of the building, “And explosions—big or small—are naturally accredited to me?”
Violet trailed behind him. “A fair assumption since this is the second case of fire extinguishers I ordered for you this month.”
“Well, this disruption was not me.” He glanced back pointedly at the canister in her grip. “Have you ever used one of those things?”
Scanning the front of the office where her desk looked as efficient as one would expect Violet’s workspace to appear, she held the extinguisher at the ready. “Not yet.”
“All clear here.” Marc opened the front door. “Not so clear out here.”
“Oh my.” She followed him outside. “Is Dr. Thurmond all right?”
The door to the veterinary office that occupied the other side of the narrow brick building swung open. The elderly landlord, Dr. Thurmond Yoder, strode outside. “Marc? Is that you?”
Long ears framing serious eyes, a Nubian goat peered around the veterinarian’s legs and bleated. “Or one of your inventions?”
Violet gave Marc that I-told-you-so look.
“Not this time.” Nor did Marc see the anticipated Mercedes anywhere near the building.
“My plants …” Violet put down the fire extinguisher and picked up the remains of several flowers.
Dr. Thurmond’s goat tiptoed to Violet and with soft lips folded a pink blossom into her mouth, chewing from side to side.
“What happened to the window box?” Violet tried to stand a lily in the planter but the limp stem refused to lift the bloom to its formerly vertical position.
The garden Violet cultivated between the patent attorney's office and the hospital for Dixon’s quadrupeds looked like a watermelon-shaped shambles.
“When I was a kid, we used to stash cherry bombs in mailboxes and pedal away on our bicycles before the explosives blew.” Thurmond shook his head.
“Maybe around Halloween.” Violet separated the bulbs from the blooms and fed the petals to the appreciative goat. “But now?”
Poking around in the dirt, Marc found a curious collection. “It wasn’t a cherry bomb.”
Dr. Thurmond adjusted his bifocals and studied what Marc held in his hand. “What do you make of that, my boy?”
Turning it over, Marc considered. “This muddle of circuit components and battery acid looks like the remains of a self-destruct mechanism.”
“An implosion,” Dr. Thurmond said.
“But why in the window box?” Violet fetched a broom from the coat closet and began tidying.
“Why indeed?” Marc ran his fingers through the soil that remained on one side of the garden box and lifted out a package. Encased in a plastic freezer bag was a book. Marc brushed off the dirt and read the title aloud. “She Jumped the Tracks.”
Dr. Thurmond whistled through his teeth.
On the cover was a sobering black and white photo of a train wreck. “Oh my,” Violet said again. “What’s this about?”
Dr. Thurmond took off his glasses, wiped the lenses on his clinic coat, and settled the cleaned spectacles back on his nose. “The greatest troop train wreck in the United States took place during World War Two. Some thought it was sabotage but they never found solid proof.”
A Subaru parked in front of the veterinary office. Marc could hear the mouthy Chihuahua before the equally verbal owner lifted the dog crate from the car. “There you are, Dr. Yoder.”
The short woman balanced on tiny ankles. “Waiting for Samson's arrival.”
Marc raised his eyebrows and glanced at Violet. “Samson?”
“Now, I’ll be in Florida for a month.” The Chihuahua owner outlined instructions as if leaving her child with a babysitter.
“A month?!” Marc mouthed the words to Violet. “Awesome.”
The woman handed the crate with the yipping Samson to Dr. Yoder. She linked her arm through the veterinarian’s and continued her detailed list of doggie preferences as they went inside the animal clinic. Clearly sharing Marc’s opinion of the newcomer, the Nubian looked askance of Violet who sympathetically scratched behind the long ears.
Then the Florida-bound traveler was back outside. “Good-bye, Dr. Yoder. Take good care of Samson. He’s such a comfort.” She stopped to dig through her oversized purse. “Now, where are my keys?”
She glanced around as if seeing Marc, Violet, and the disturbed garden container for the first time. “Oh, I just love what you are doing with the place.” Triumphantly, she pulled keys from her purse and drove away in a southerly direction.
Considering the coast to be clear, the goat lay in the sun and chewed her cud. Inside the vet’s office, Samson barked loud enough to be easily heard outdoors. With a sigh, Marc pulled the book out of its protective plastic. “What is someone trying to tell me with this title?”
Violet put her hands on her hips. “And couldn’t whoever it was just mail the book?”
Now it’s your turn.
Is there a mystery in your family? Questions around a relative or ancestor?
Marc Wayne lives in a small Midwest town characterized by unique people like the veterinarian and Mrs. Miller, flavors like sugar cream pie, and traditions like middle-grade boys riding bicycles around town. What do you like best about where you live?
As a patent attorney, Marc deals in inventions. What invention do you use most often? What yet-to-be-created invention would make your life easier?
From my website, I’d be delighted to send you a free ebook for The Patent, book one in the Marc Wayne Adventure Series. Connect with me at
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Thank you so much, PeggySue! I hope everyone is doing well and hope you all have a great week. School is super busy so if I don't reply to a comment right away, know that I am still thinking of you and praying!