Patricia Rosemoor

About Patricia Rosemoor

New York Times and USA Today bestselling author Patricia Rosemoor has had 98 novels with 8 publishers and more than 7 million books in print. All but two of her Patricia Rosemoor novels are romantic suspense or romantic thrillers. She also writes a less pulse-pounding combination of romance and suspense with a dash of humor with a partner as Lynn Patrick. Patricia has won a Golden Heart from Romance Writers of America and two Reviewers Choice and two Career Achievement Awards from Romantic Times BOOKreviews, and in her other life, she taught Popular Fiction and Suspense-Thriller Writing at Columbia College Chicago. View website View website

A Gypsy’s Curse — @PRosemoor #mgtab

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I’ve been a carnival junkie since I was a kid. There were a lot of them back then, and my mom was into them as much as I was, so she always took me to every school carnival in the area. I loved the rides and the games and the weird stuff.

 

Gypsy fortune tellers were nothing but fancily dressed manikins in a glass box. You put in your money and a card came out with your fortune. So to my disappointment, they weren’t real.

 

 

Mom also took me to Riverview Amusement Park, Chicago’s version of Coney Island (which I also loved when visiting relatives in New York). It was nearly a two hour haul to get to Riverview. The train downtown, the rapid transit, then a bus.

But it was as exciting as it got because they had high excitement rides like roller coasters, six of them!

(The wooden rollercoaster here is the Coney Island Cyclone)

I almost fell out of Riverview’s Silver Flash that didn’t have proper restraints for little kids. Mom caught me when I was nearly halfway off the ride. That did not squelch my enthusiasm for rollercoasters.

Riverview had a midway complete with games and barkers and kewpie dolls…and really weird stuff.  A human freak show—the four-legged girl, the armless wonder, the mule-faced woman. The one that freaked my young self out was a woman who had the bottom end of a baby coming from her stomach. I didn’t know about conjoined twins at that age. I doubt many people did.

 

What Riverview didn’t have was a live fortune teller, at least not when I was there. I had to satisfy myself with another colorfully dressed manikin in a glass box.

 

When Rebecca York and Ann Voss Peterson and I decided to write our Gypsy Magic serial novel set in the Louisiana bayou country, we wanted to start with a carnival gypsy. A real gypsy.

 

 

 

It was all over now. Her only son, her beloved son, was condemned to death. For a crime she knew he could not have committed.

She gathered her strength for what she must do. From the pocket of her long skirt the old Gypsy pulled the bandanna with the objects. The pen. The crumpled paper cup. The metal tack. None was of great value. But they held the power she needed. For each had belonged to one of the people she was going to curse tonight.

Her hand clenched the pen. “Justice is blind,” she whispered, then joined the curse with the name of Wyatt Boudreaux. “Love is death,” she intoned as she crumpled the paper cup in her hand and said the name of Garner Rousseau. Finally she picked up the tack and said, “The law is impotent,” linking those words with the name of Andrei Sobatka.

Pushing herself erect, she stood and shuffled to the edge of the bayou, smug in her satisfaction that she had evened the score.

We had a great time with the carnival background and three cursed heroes. Would they ever be able to end the curse and find happiness with the women they love?

Each of these compelling stories ends with an HEA for the hero and heroine.  But only the full set will finally get to the bottom of the murder mystery. Be sure to read them all!

Get links for major e-retailers through Pronoun.
https://books.pronoun.com/wyatt/
https://books.pronoun.com/garner/
https://books.pronoun.com/andrei/

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DO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR? by @PRosemoor from LOVE, CHRISTMAS #mgtab

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newsdo-youDO YOU HEAR WHAT I HEAR?

Christmas has always been my favorite holiday, so of course I agreed to write a novella for Love, Christmas, because I knew it would be fun writing a story inspired by a Christmas carol. I especially love Christmas carols and songs with music that sets an evocative mood. They make me feel, and that emotion is what makes me play them over and over. I had a difficult time choosing which carol I wanted to use. I write thematically, so for me, I wanted something I could spin my tale around. I went searching through the internet to check out the lyrics and backgrounds of several possible choices.

The lyrics and music of Do You Hear What I Hear? were written by a married couple as a plea for peace during the Cuban Missile Crisis, the scariest time during the Cold War with Russia. The couple didn’t personally perform the entire song because of the emotions stirred up by the threat of nuclear war. I knew the moment I read about Do You Hear What I Hear? that I had my theme.

The idea of a couple in a cold war over Christmas came to me immediately. But what couple? Of course it had to be Detective Shelley Caldwell and her live-in lover, Jake DeAtley, the heroine and hero of novels Hot Case and Hot Trick and short stories Hot Song and Hot Corpse.

Shelley loves everything Christmas. Jake loves nothing Christmas. His mother was turned by a vampire when she was pregnant with him, so he spent every Christmas Eve alone, while his mother found her blood lust stronger than her best intentions for the son she loved. Even though he wants nothing to do with the holiday, Jake agrees to let Shelley decorate “her half” of the house as long as it doesn’t include a Christmas tree. So when she brings home a very special  tree, the cold war between them heats up. If you click on the cover to make it full size and look carefully, perhaps you’ll figure out why the tree is so special…

Do You Hear What I Hear? is one of twenty all new Christmas novellas from NY Times, USA Today, and national best-selling authors that will put a song in your heart. Love, Christmas is on pre-order for a special price of $0.99 and will be published on October 18th:

lgboxsetcover Kindle

iBooks

Nook

Kobo

 

 

To celebrate the release of Love, Christmas, we are having a Facebook party with giveaways. I hope you’ll join us in the early holiday fun.

Happy coming holidays to everyone!

Patricia Rosemoor

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All 20 authors have a list of prizes that’ll blow your socks off!!!
It’s the event of the year so don’t miss it.
 and while you’re there…

please sign in for our Facebook Event taking place over Oct 17 & 18th.


Wait’ll you see the surprises the authors have in store for you then!!!

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Chapter One excerpt — Love Christmas Collection — Do You Hear What I Hear by Patricia Rosemoor #mgtab

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DoYouHearWhatIHeara Detective Shelley Caldwell “Hot Christmas” Novella

The song “Do You Hear What I Hear?” was written as a plea for peace during the Cuban Missile Crisis in the middle of the Cold War. Now Christmas is just around the corner, and Shelley and Jake are in a cold war of their own…

Chapter One

Four days before Christmas

Sleet hit Chicago like an icy whip early this afternoon, the Christmas gift that just kept giving. I love snowy Christmases, but getting pelted in the face with icy needles was sheer misery, reminding me of my current relationship with my live-in love, Jake DeAtley.

Putting him out of mind so that I could concentrate on the job, I carefully negotiated the ice-laden pavement and took a quick look at the Uniforms in charge of crowd control, the EMT guy at the body and the gathering spectator herd outside the yellow tape taking their damn selfies with the dead guy behind them.

“Nice one for the holidays.” Detective Mike Norelli shook his grizzled head. “Great last minute Christmas cards.” He glanced back at me. “C’mon, Caldwell, let’s get this over with. I actually got a hot date tonight.”

“Right,” I muttered, wondering what kind of a woman would go for the sarcastic cop. “I should rush to the scene and kill myself, too.”

Norelli snorted as he ducked under the Crime Scene tape. “That’s what you get for wearing killer boots.”

I wasn’t a fashionista like my twin sister Silke, but I had my moments. These knee length suede boots with high heels I’d seen in Westbrook’s windows had done me in. Or would do me in, I thought as I slid toward the dead man in the middle of the street. I regained control just in time to prevent myself from tripping over him.

“There’s the reason he’s dead,” Norelli groused, pointing to the tree on his other side. “Too into the Christmas spirit to get out of the way of traffic.”

“Nobody’s ever accused you of having too much spirit.”

But some kind of spirit was making my hackles rise. Sorrow…mourning…despair. A faint whisper in my mind froze me where I stood. This psychic thing had started between Silke and me when we were little kids and had grown into our being able to talk to each other without actually speaking. Now Jake and I could read each other’s minds, as well. Too bad I couldn’t change his when it came to Christmas. Whatever was going on here at the scene hit me in the gut. I took a good look through the gathered crowd but saw no one in tears or appearing distraught. Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that someone was on the edge, no matter how much I wanted to believe otherwise. I recognized woo-woo the instant it hit me.

“So did someone really run him down on purpose?” I asked the EMT, who was kneeling by the body.

“Don’t know for sure.” He got to his feet. He pointed to a small knot of teenagers behind him. “Those girls witnessed it. At least one of them picked up footage on her phone.”

“I’ll go talk to them,” Norelli grunted.

He left me staring down at the poor middle-aged dead guy spread out next to a gorgeous pine tree unlike any I’d ever seen before. There was something magical about it, because just looking at it warmed me inside. I steeled myself against showing any emotion, though, because there was nothing positive about his death. I didn’t want anyone to think I didn’t have the proper respect. Poor guy probably had been bringing the Christmas tree home for his wife and kids. Oh, Lord, I hoped I wasn’t the one who’d have to share the bad news with his family. Worst part of the job.

“The county medical examiner’s van is on his way to take him to the morgue,” the EMT told me. “Ah, crud, I forgot to call Streets and Sanitation to remove the tree.”

They would not only remove the beautiful Christmas tree, they would destroy it, run it through their grinder to make mulch. Something kept me from wanting that to happen, at least not while it was still alive. The van to take the body away was already pulling up to the crime scene.

“Don’t worry about it,” I said. “You take care of the victim. I’ll take care of the tree.”

And then I would have to deal with Jake when I brought it home.

***

“I thought we agreed on no Christmas tree,” Jake said the moment he laid eyes on it.

He wore nothing but an angry expression, the black diamond in his right ear and a towel low around his hips. I swallowed hard and tried not to admire what I couldn’t have. Not an early riser unless a little something erotic was involved—and there had been none of that in my reality since I’d insisted on decorating my half of the apartment for the holiday—he’d been dead asleep when I’d left for work that morning. Not literally dead, despite the vampire blood he’d inherited from his mother.

Sarge and Cadet were already circling the tree, no doubt wondering how long it would be before they could climb it.

“No!” I said a little too harshly. Sarge fell back on his haunches, his expression hurt and disbelieving, and scaredy cat Cadet ran behind the couch.

“I’m waiting for your supposed explanation.”

“I caught another woo-woo case. Really bad vibes.”

Jake rolled his eyes. “That’s your explanation for bringing home a Christmas tree against your sworn promise?”

“I’m telling you, there was something weird going on. I felt it right away.” Of course that’s not why I’d saved the tree from the chipper. “All right, then if you don’t believe me, don’t think of it as a Christmas tree. Think of it as a beautiful mountain pine that didn’t deserve to be destroyed while it was still alive. It’s just here temporarily to make the apartment smell nice.”

“Right. Justify it all, why don’t you?”

“I didn’t do this to hurt you, Jake. I won’t even decorate it. I promise.”

His dark gaze cut through the room, half of which was already decorated with boughs of holly and strings of lights and candles everywhere. I’d set out bowls of ornaments, most of which I’d bought one at a time, each with special meaning for me. Plus there were those from Silke’s and my childhood. “Santa” (Dad) had always brought a few for each of us along with our other presents.

“By the way,” Jake added, “that ‘not a Christmas tree’ is on my side of the room.”

The barren side.

Grunting, I tried lifting the tree to appease him, but I swore it had gotten heavier every time I moved it. Or maybe I just needed the meal I’d never gotten around to eating. “I suppose you wouldn’t consider helping me.”

In answer, he crossed his arms over his bared chest and raised one dark eyebrow.

My heart fluttering despite the tension between us, I did the best I could, dragging it, inching it along, finally leaning it against the wall next to the couch. At least I didn’t have to go down to the storage area and find the stand. I’d brought it up with the rest of my decorations, also with no help from Jake. How the heck was I supposed to lift such a heavy tree into the stand myself?

Jake and I stared at each other for a moment, and I swore I read regret in his expression before he turned away.

“I’ll be in the shower,” he growled as he made for the bathroom.

Normally, that would have included an invitation to join him.

What exactly did he regret? For disappointing me? Or because he couldn’t shake the memories of a horrific childhood when none of his Christmases had been anything to celebrate?

The mother who’d loved him as best she could had been pregnant with Jake when she’d been turned by a vampire against her will. Amazing that he’d turned out pretty normal other than having tremendous speed, strength and hearing. And an appetite for very rare, very bloody beef—couldn’t forget that one. From what he’d told me, he’d been as normal a kid as was possible, but his mother’s uncontrollable urge to feed on human blood came even before his needs at times. Definitely before Christmas. So after he’d spent holiday after holiday alone, no one to take him to Christmas services at midnight, no one to read him a Christmas story or to sing a Christmas carol with him, he’d given up celebrating, both religious and secular.

But now that we had found each other, had fallen in love, had bought a condo and moved in together, I’d convinced myself he would be open to something with such meaning for me. Until our Dad had died on the job, he’d made every Christmas special for Silke and me. I honored his memory every holiday. I’d told Jake that. I’d hoped that he would at least try to celebrate with me.

I’d been wrong.

And too stubborn to let it go.

So I’d come up with a compromise. “My half” of every room in our new condo would be decorated as I wanted. Same with “his half.” I’d thought that maybe, just maybe, he would loosen up a bit. Instead, while he’d agreed I could hang my lights and set out my candles and ornaments on my side, the biting part of the bargain was that there was to be no Christmas tree. I had reluctantly agreed.

Now this.

Saddened, I ran a hand along a branch of pine needles and it struck me again even harder.

Sorrow…mourning…despair.

I stood there for a moment staring at the branches, trying to discern exactly what was going on. The depth of feeling didn’t let up until I let go. And then I realized I hadn’t gotten the woo-woo from someone in the crowd earlier.

I’d gotten it from the tree itself.

 

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His Deception

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It’s always exciting when an author has a new release. His Deception (Random House/Loveswept) is no exception. I love the setting against which this romantic suspense is played: Lake Geneva, Wisconsin.

For twenty some years, an author and friend in my critique group invited us to have working retreats at her home on Geneva Lake. (Lake Geneva is the busy town at the east end of Geneva Lake.) The retreats not only gave us the time to share and critique work in depth, it gave us the time to get to know each other like family. The sisters I never had.

So it was my pleasure to create Lakeside Guest House and Cafe, the dream business my heroine Katelyn owns and runs. And it was fun to add all details about houses (okay, mansions) around the lake, as well.

It’s a shame that we no longer have our writers’ retreats there, because the house was sold, but His Deception will always remind me of how special those retreats were in bonding relationships.

HisDecWebsite

 

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Research Makes It Real

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One of the most common questions I get as an author is where do I get my ideas? Once upon a time there was no Internet, but the Sunday Chicago Tribune had a great magazine with articles that provided me not only with ideas but with the research I couldn’t get elsewhere. Research that helped make those stories feel real for me. I based several early novels on the terrific information I found in that magazine.

Ticket1000.1500

Today is release day for Ticket to Nowhere, the digital version of my backlist romantic suspense based on an article about carnivals.

A carnival is the temporary home/workplace of Chick Lovett and the refuge where Eden Payne hides to save her life after she is witness to a murder cover up and recognizes one of the men involved, who recognizes her in return.

Here are some fun facts I learned about carnivals, valid at least back when I originally wrote Ticket to Nowhere:

Chick is a jointee running a joint or game booth. There are three basic types. Slums give away slum or cheap merchandise like floating ducks. A hanky-pank is where kids and moms play, something like one-ball or basketball. And flat stores display expensive prizes but try to settle by offering an inexpensive one.

Chick runs a one-ball, a joint where you try to knock down a pyramid of three milk bottles with one soft ball, impossible to knock all down unless at exactly the right angle with the right amount of force. He “works the play” – that is, he sells the game, sets up a cadence, a rhythm, a flow and keeps it going.

To get the feel of being among real carnies, I found the following information useful:

Marks are anyone without carny blood.
Ride jocks are the people who operate rides.
Office men own most of the rides and a string of joints and more or less run the carnival.
A sucker job is any non-carnival work, especially a 9-5 job.
Going to the barn means going to winter quarters.
40-milers are carnivals that don’t travel long distances. They usually work shopping centers and neighborhood festivals.
A doniker is a portable toilet.
A cop shop is a police station.

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I hope this information helps make Ticket to Nowhere a fun read. It certainly made it fun to write. Ticket is the first in the Double Trouble duo — Eden and BFF Taffy Darling of Torch Job play parts in each other’s stories.

Both Ticket to Nowhere and Torch Job are available at Amazon only for now, and Ticket to Nowhere is only 99 cents for a limited time.

 

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Be My Valentine

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Valentine Day Heart on White Background

Did you know that on February 14th we are really celebrating ‘St.’ Valentine’s Day? So, who was this saint and what did he do that made him saintly? Actually, three different men named Valentine were martyred and recognized as saints by the Catholic Church.

History has contributed several Valentine legends.

Depositphotos_4962044_l-2015One such legend says that Emperor Claudius II outlawed marriage for young men because in his opinion, single men made better soldiers than family men. Valentine continued to perform secret marriages for young couples. His reward? Claudius had him put to death.

Another legend tells of an imprisoned Valentine sending the first “valentine” after falling in love with his jailor’s daughter. He wrote her a love letter signed “From your Valentine.”

The truth behind the legends may be a little murky, but all the stories describe Valentine as a heroic and romantic figure.

So what about St. Valentine’s Day? How did that emerge? Some claim the Christian church created St. Valentine’s feast day to “Christianize” the pagan celebration of Lupercalia, a fertility festival. Members of the Luperci, an order of Roman priests, gathered at a sacred cave where they sacrificed a goat for fertility and a dog for purification. They took strips of goat hide soaked in blood to the streets, using it to smack women to make them more fertile in the coming year.

Holiday Card. Heart from paper. Valentines day

Today, Valentine’s Day is not celebrated the same way around the world. For example, in Japan and South Korea, women give their men chocolate.

In Norway and Denmark, men send rhyming love notes to women anonymously. The woman must guess the sender. A correct guess and she wins an Easter Egg later that year; a wrong guess and she owes her secret admirer an Easter egg.

In Wales, the custom is to give love-spoons, a tradition started when a Welsh sailor carved decorated spoons of wood for a lady he was interested in courting.

 

I’m celebrating Valentine’s Day by offering a Book Boyfriend Valentine for .99 this weekend.DropDead.Twitter Is he Drop Dead Gorgeous or Drop Dead Guilty? You’ll have to read to find out!

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Happy Valentine’s Day!

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Merry Ethnic Christmas

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My dad’s mother cooked ethnic. She and my grandfather were from “the old country.” Grandpa Harry was Ukrainian and Grandma Anna was half-Ukrainian and half-Polish, so I ate a lot of Eastern European food as a kid. Now I usually only have those delicacies on my own table on Christmas Day when I add favorite foods of my childhood to traditional dishes.

Sometimes I make a beef rib roast but more often a pork roast or ham. I make fabulous cranberry sauce and sweet potatoes with brown sugar and pecans.

 

But the dishes that make Christmas special to me are potato pierogis browned in butter and bacon fat and topped with bacon bits and sour cream,

 

 

kielbasa (Polish sausage) with kapusta (sauerkraut),

 

 

 

a poppy seed roll

 

 

 

and chrusciki (fried bow tie pastries with powdered sugar).

 

I’m not saying I make everything from scratch…though I have done so in the far past. Thank goodness for Polish grocery stores in Chicago! I do know how to add my own touches to make everything taste great!

Which brings me to my Polish cleaning lady, who cooks for her extended family on Christmas Eve. I asked her what kind of food she would make, expecting her to say pierogis and kielbasa and kapusta. But no. To her, that is “cheap food.” She says she always makes fish. Which got me curious as to what people in Poland, the Ukraine and Lithuania (my mom was half-Lithuanian) would actually eat for Christmas.

To start, the big day in all three countries is Christmas Eve. People fast all day, then, at sight of the first evening star, sit down to twelve meatless dishes, which represent the twelve apostles (to those who are Catholic, that is). No meat, no eggs, no milk. Specific dishes may differ from country to country, but some are universal. Like fish (herring, carp or pike), mushrooms (pickled or in kapusta), and a variety of grain dishes (boiled or deep fried dumplings — Polish: pierogi, Ukrainian: varenyky, Lithuanian: auseles). Poppy seeds in dishes are common, because they symbolize abundance and prosperity.

Christmas Eve supper is served under candlelight after the first star appears, symbolizing the birth of Jesus in Christian tradition and the soul of a deceased ancestor in pagan beliefs. In Poland and parts of Ukraine, an extra seat and plate are left for a live or a deceased loved one, to be welcomed as a guest.

Whatever you celebrate — Hanukkah, Kwanzaa, Winter Solstice or Christmas — I wish you a Happy Holiday!

Decorative christmas background with snow.

The Crimson books are all on SALE! Fun holiday romantic suspense!
Crimson Holiday .99    Crimson Nightmare 2.99    Crimson Duet (both stories) 3.75
at Amazon     BN.com    and     Smashwords

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Marshall Field’s Christmas Memories

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When I was a kid living on the far south side, and later in a south suburb, the thing I looked forward to most was the occasional visit to downtown Chicago. Mom used to take me on that forty-five minute electric train ride two or three times a year, but the one  I most looked forward to was the day we would see the Marshall Field’s Christmas windows and have lunch in the Walnut Room. The Walnut Room is still there, but Marshall Field’s is long gone—bought by Macy’s.

In 1874, Macy’s in New York created one of the first major holiday window displays with a collection of porcelain dolls from around the world. Other department stores around the country followed. In 1897, Field’s got into window design, and Christmas meant displays of toys, windows that continued through World War II. Then a new idea made Marshall Field’s as unforgettable as Santa Claus himself. Theme windows spanned the length of State Street. From one end to the other, the windows told a story like The Night Before Christmas or The Nutcracker.

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I used Marshall Field’s as the model for Westbrook, the main setting for Crimson Holiday. In thinking about a holiday romantic mystery, I knew I wanted to use a department store like the one I loved as a child. I wanted to involve the Christmas windows. And I wanted the murder victim to be Santa Claus. No, wait! Not the real Santa. The department store one. Rather the one dressed as Santa for the annual Christmas party. Okay, so I have a bizarre sense of humor.

SOMEONE KILLED SANTA CLAUS!
Passed out after the Westbrook Department Store Christmas party, window designer Shelby Corbin wakens only to trip over Santa, the store’s co-owner and Shelby’s boss. Terrified that she will be blamed for the murder, she panics. CEO Rand McNabb sees a dark-haired woman wearing a crimson party dress fleeing the scene and thinks he knows her identity. His romantic attentions both thrill her and frighten Shelby. Is the sexy CEO really helping her search for the truth about that fatal night, or does Rand have a deadlier motive for courting her?

Part of me is in my heroine Shelby. The Yay! It’s Christmas! part. I used to have an annual Christmas tree-trimming party. I made dozens and dozens of Christmas cookies and gave most of them away I collected a new special Christmas ornament every year, just as Shelby does, so I could experience my holiday history every time I looked at the tree.

Because I always loved Christmas, I enjoyed creating this intricately plotted romantic mystery. A fun task, and a fun story, one I hope will make readers smile.

 

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