The very reason I started this Blog about a year
ago was to announce the release of my first, ever, novel,’Beatlemaniac.’ Therefore,
if any of you have enjoyed reading various articles mingled inside the archives,
or simply kept up to date waiting for the current weekly post, then please bypass
a gift for me, and rather, gift yourself, plus a friend, a copy of my eBook for
only $2.99 each. To me, that tiny gesture floods my heart with gratefulness toward
all Beatles Fans, your awesome. Here is what you can expect upon receiving this
crime thriller story:
SOMETHING NEW FOR EVERY BEATLES FAN
A climatic work of suspense fiction
filled with premium Fab Four trivia, invented characters named after the lad’s recognized
associates, and a tall tale of criminal activity that stands head and shoulders
above the perfect crime, all interwoven among buried Beatles song titles,
concealed within the text that will amuse any John, Paul, George and Ringo
devotee’s search throughout the chapters. eBook Price in the United States is just $2.99
“BEATLEMANIAC”
Don W. Maeder’s Thrilling Debut eBook Novel
When
female city employees of Ash Lyn, California, start to die after being bilked out of their life savings and show no signs
of struggle or point of entry wounds, FBI headquarters in D.C. assigns young
and sexy Agent Heath Wilson to apprehend the killer. However, the only useful clue
that links the deaths are mysterious e-mails
that brilliantly mask references to the Beatles. Once they're read, the intended victim has only hours until she’s dead. Can Heath capture the Beatlemaniac
before he strikes again?
Beatlemaniac
is a fatal whodunit game of cat and mouse chase on a tight schedule.
If
you like twist
and turn action, a powerful reciprocated love
at first sight romance, and an FBI agent with a quirky sense of humor, you will
love Don W. Maeder’s original first book. Buy this eBook today for a fun and
exciting read.
Right
before your eyes, an evil grudge unfolds the driven madness of greed pitted
against the wit and charm of a hotshot lawman inexperienced with women, who
can’t help but wonder if the perfect
crime has finally been committed. . . over and
over again.
Also, be sure to surprise those special Beatle Fan family
members and friends around you by clicking on the Give as a Gift button now.
Kindle users in the UK, click here:
http://amzn.to/2s0yGFi
Kindle users in America, click
here:
https://www.amazon.com/Beatlemaniac-Don-Maeder-ebook/dp/B01I0SU8D2.
Kindle users in Canada, click here: http://amzn.to/2sBL1i8
iBook users, open the app and inside the
search window type, Beatlemaniac or Don Maeder
Nook by Barnes and Noble users, click here:http://bit.ly/2rfRG5S
Nook by Barnes and Noble users, click here:http://bit.ly/2rfRG5S
Enjoy the first pages opening of my novel ‘Beatlemaniac.'
Chapter 1
December 8, 1989
Oahu, Hawaii.
Alone near the dinner table, Yulie
cringed and held her breath when the ragged screen door banged against its
weather-beaten split wood frame. In silent
gloom, her child, Davy, stared into the plate of last night’s canned tuna over
rice. For nine long years, this of all days resurrected the worst upheaval
forced on a living soul. And now, her youngster suffered horrible nightmares
alongside five anguish anniversaries of his disgusting bloodline. He agonized
over terrible dreams of people ripping out his father’s heart with razor-sharp
fingers, and then turning on the lad,
chasing him, yelling, “Kill the son.” Yulie
tried consoling her little boy, saying his dreams were make-believe and only
silly nonsense. However, each year the dreams grew bloodier, forever haunting
his mind, and severely changed the way he developed. He always asked his mother
what would people really do to him if
they actually found out who his father
was. “They will do nothing,” she assured him, “except feel sorry for you.”
Davy’s disappointed
gaze on the hot-scooped serving shifted toward Yulie,
but only in pity, and returned to the unappetizing goop. His tightened,
crumpled lips spoke louder than their defeated manner and reached her same
conclusion. Both hated leftovers, but money problems long ago kept them from
enjoying more.
She tried to fake a
smile. “Remember, Davy, your father
cherished the Beatles as we do.”
His piercing eyes
lifted fast from the plate, bolted onto hers colder than Iceland, but all the
same burned the woman’s flesh like scorching steam. “No. As grandma says, I
wish Father never existed. I wish you’d married a Beatle. Father didn’t cherish
the Beatles, I love the Beatles. I hate
Father.” The boy dragged out his table chair with a rough jerk but refused to
sit. “I’m glad he never saw me, Mom, and I never want to see him or his grave.”
“You’re upset at today,
not at Father.”
“No. Everything wrong
comes from Father.” He scooted his chair back in place and softened his tone.
“I’m not hungry. I’ll wait till breakfast.”
“Expect to fix yourself
a bowl of cold cereal. I’ll use tonight’s dinner and make you a plump tuna with
rice sandwich stored in the fridge for lunch. I have an early shift tomorrow
and can’t upset Ms. Yoshida clocking in late.”
“You shouldn’t let that
rotten woman treat you like she does. It’s evil.”
“I’m sorry you saw
that, but try to overlook her faults; I do.”
“Good night, Mom.”
__________________________
4 Years Later, December 9, 1993.
County Courthouse conference room, Oahu, Hawaii.
“Please have a seat Mrs. Chapman; I appreciate you taking time
from your employment,” said the young doctor.
Her spine stiffened,
upper teeth bit hard against her lower lip and like a shot, both arms folded
tight under her breasts. “Davy’s father is Mr. Chapman, but I’m Ms. Tanaka, Yulie Tanaka.”
“Oh, my mistake; I
apologize, Ms. Tanaka.” He waited for her to settle into the chair. “Mr. Lundy,
our juvenile corrections director, called me in last night to begin behavior
counseling for your 13-year-old son, Davy.” Her chin tilted south, forcing her
eyes to stare at the ground, which threw an uneasy mood into the room. “Before
meeting the boy, I read through the officer’s incident report, as a head start
to find a method best suitable.” His pause lasted longer than customary.
She raised her head.
“And?”
“His conduct showed
severe bi-polar characteristics, but after hours of psychoanalysis, I can vouch
that his hate stems from an abandonment disorder.”
In shame, the meek
woman accepted a facial tissue. “Yes, Doctor, Mr. Chapman left a solitary
shadow of shame hanging over me and uprooted a rocky wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am
romance. He deserted us during the fourth month of my pregnancy, and the denial
of Davy by his father has multiplied fits of anger streaks to our son.”
“Ms. Yoshida’s screams
saved her bodily harm from the silver hammer Davy possessed during their heated
conflict. Your boy’s public defender seeks a reduced six-month sentence, but I
urge you to reconsider. The needed therapy for personal happiness may succeed
if we’re given a full year and can
rehabilitate his hostility. My staff and I will uncover any clinical disarray
and redirect delicate emotions from his negative thoughts wedged inside his
head. Moreover, the process comes free.”
“That’s next to all I
can afford, free, but must he live here for a whole year? Davy hasn’t slept in
another bed besides his own until last
night.”
“He must, or our
no-cost treatment disappears, Ms. Tanaka.”
She rose to her feet
while the mangled tissue again wiped her dampen eyes. “I understand.”
“Good. I’ll make Davy’s
arrangements with the public defender this afternoon. Don’t look so worried; this
is a positive thing, and we welcome your visits from two to five p.m. Come
release time, you will see young Davy well-grounded and able to serve society
as opposed to engaging in violent
criminal activity.”
“Thank you, Doctor, for
looking after him.”
__________________________
18 Years Later, Late March 2011.
Los Angeles County
To commemorate three decades of service to the Main Headquarters
Library in Ash Lyn, California, appointed as CEO to the entire seven branches
and three bookmobiles 20 years ago, Freda Kelly was ready to clean out her desk
and call it quits.
50-years old, she
seldom strayed from any goal, short or long, and looked forward to her $2,000
per month pension. With over $3,450,000 in reserves, she was ready to ignite
her new dream.
Fewer than five weeks
and the garage sale will include my awful alarm clock, she told herself, and
when the house sells, I’ll launch my patented reading program in Central
America. Ten months ago, Panama’s Department of Education had learned that
Freda’s new course, Getting Better - A Child’s Right to Read, could offer the
equivalent of a day-by-day confidence booster shot to any child four through
fourteen. For the last two years, not a week went by without her e-mail account
filling with hundreds of testimonial triumphs from pre-school, elementary, and
middle-school staff who admired her teachable recipe. Each message brought
complete fulfillment. How these educators located her e-mail, though, remained
unclear. Last August, Panama made a perfect offer suited for her career. Small
group lessons from border to border, conducted Tuesdays through Thursdays, and
when travel exceeded 100 miles from her new residence, the department would
provide an automobile, lodging, and meals.
Unmarried, although
several men pursued her, Freda decided in high school to serve others rather
than devote her best to a husband with baggage, or to juggle a selfish family
who resents giving away her time. Her success as campaign manager to elect
Mayor Dave Chapman soared into shape as if a cakewalk compared to the four long
years designing, planning, and editing her smart software curriculum. Since the
program’s debut, the educated tool became a Godsend to teachers and a gold mine
to its author.
A home in Panama
presented no problems for her thriving DVD business. Freda’s Getting Better web
page directed all inquiries and product purchase dealings through a major
manufacturer in Bombay, India prior to
its one-year anniversary in 2010.
The ring from the phone
broke her pleasant-life-abroad daydream, but Freda, conscious of being on duty,
assisted the caller. “Ash Lyn Main Library, Freda speaking.”
“Hello, Freda, I
applaud and salute your 30 unsurpassed performance years to the city. Deeds
proficient by few saved those you inspire to follow your example in leadership
skills, for our future.”
Unsure who this caller
with a hinted Asian accent was, she said, “Why, thank you.”
“I understand you reach
discomfort with idle small talk, so let me disclose the reason for my call. I
need to verify you received the $100,000 grant prearranged by the American
Library Association in Chicago.”
In all her years
collecting donated funds from different reliable authority, never had a soul requested a verbal record. “We received
the deposit Monday. Is anything wrong?”
“Not at all; I wanted
to authenticate its actual arrival and appearance.”
Freda was baffled.
“Authenticate its actual arrival and appearance? Who are you?”
“Call me Pang.”
“Please forgive me, Mr.
Pang, but I . . .”
“Not Mr. Pang,” he
interrupted her. “Just Pang.”
“Alright, Pang, as I
said the money is safe, and I have confirmed it, so if nothing else?”
“One important item, if
you please. I necessitate the account number and its password that secure the
main branch grant fund.”
She channeled a
defensive attitude. “I beg your pardon?”
“You heard me. Unless
you cooperate, disturbed consequences will follow, so I suggest you conform.”
A quartet of
townspeople formed a line for service near the checkout desk, and each
shouldered at least six books. “I’ve got a few patrons near the counter,” she
said. “I’ll take your call in my quarters.”
Pang agreed.
After entering her
office, she slammed the door with an inflamed temper and clenched her jaw.
“Now, Mr. Pang, I mean Pang, why must you make such a doubtful demand?”
“You ask a fair
question, indeed, justifiable of an immediate, precise answer. I alone shall
remove either 20% from the grant fund balance under your care or 100% of the
currency from your personal savings
sheltered by Wells Fargo. You have 10 seconds to render its password and 20
seconds to divulge its account number, or
say goodbye to three and a half million dollars and the cash flow it supplies
for your abundant fortunes in India.”
“Now look here, you son
of a bitch . . .”
“It appears you
affirmed which account to defile. In my opinion, an unwise choice, but you are
young and in another fourteen years earning wages with your current employer,
money lost today will build back.
Regrettable that you still must sell your home, because how will
you subsidize the expenses Bombay requires each week? At least, any apartment
community should welcome you based on superb references, plus the library’s
gratitude you’re staying on must feel nice.”
“Why trounce on me, and
how did you uncover my personal
livelihood?”
“I’m privileged to have
known just a little extra. Farewell, Freda.”
“No, wait,” she said,
but Pang’s phone disconnected.
In a rush, she logged
her PC to the internet, and from her favorites list, double-clicked the Wells
Fargo Bank website. Her heart pounded as the screen loaded its sign-in page.
Afterward, she typed her username, password, and clicked go.
____________________________
Finished with a morning customer, the strange noise beyond Freda’s
closed door startled Cilla from her chair. Looking toward the sound, and to the other side, no one else showed
concern. Cilla White, assistant director,
moved up the promotion ladder quickly and was tickled pink to work alongside
Freda.
Not wanting to appear
too inquisitive, Cilla fixed her gaze on the door, hopeful her boss would exit
with a humorous reason. Minutes had gone by but not another sound. “I know,”
said Cilla, “I’ll phone and remind her the Friends of the Library gratitude
luncheon begins this Saturday.” She dialed Freda’s extension and listened to
the rings in the next room. Bewildered at hearing the line ring after ring and
no pick-up, she approached the door and knocked. Still silence. She entered
slowly, calling Freda’s name, but saw Freda drooped
face down, motionless, gun in hand and a bullet wound to her temple. Cilla
screamed for help, and others rushed to the gruesome scene.
A male volunteer
commanded, “No one touch a thing and leave the room. Let the police handle this.”
All Cilla could say was,
“Why.” Freda’s PC monitor had darkened, and the screensaver had seconds until
it rid the vital clue needed to solve the atrocious act. Just a slight nudge of
the mouse might have told detectives the answer to Cilla’s question, but no.
The screensaver gave up its exposure. If anyone was to revive the image now,
first, her password required consent acceptance, and the monitor could
reproduce what devastated Freda to take her life by the consequent
display: Wells Fargo account number 909-17-642: Transfer $3,459,783.44
to Ping Gou You Han Gung Ci Bank of Hong Kong. Transaction completed and
accepted today at 10:41 a.m. local time. New Balance: 00.00
________________________
Please feel free to leave any comments and share these articles plus the blog's website with your friends, especially Beatles’ fans. I look forward to sharing many more fun facts with you soon. Enjoy the weekend.
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