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Friday, November 16, 2007

The Hunt is On!

Welcome to the Scavenger Hunt!

Playing is easy. Get the list of clues—questions you need to answer. Visit the authors’ below, and read the Q&A with Miralee Ferrell. You’ll find the answers you need! Once you have them all, just email the answer to the Christian Review of Books!

Everyone with the right answers will be entered to win a signed copy of Miralee Ferrell’s The Other Daughter.

Need the list of clues for the Scavenger Hunt?

Go to www.ChristianReviewofBooks.com

Well, you all should have all but three answers now, if you’ve read everyone else’s blogs. The last three answers can be found in the following excerpt from The Other Daughter’s opening scene.

Dark clouds mushroomed and thunder rumbled over the house on Mountain Brook Road, disrupting the peace of the late May afternoon. Above the diminishing rumble, a motor roared and the sharp ping of flying gravel sprayed the side of the house. Susanne ran from the laundry room and peered out the front window in time to see a battered old pick-up tear down the lane away from her home, sounding like a steam boiler ready to explode. What in the world? Some teenagers out playing a prank?
They must have turned down the wrong lane, an easy thing to do this far out of town. She headed across the living room and stopped in the kitchen doorway, stifling a groan. The kids had tracked in mud before they left for school and dirty dishes still littered the kitchen counters. She’d been busy changing beds and catching up on laundry all morning and forgot about the kitchen.
She leaned against the wall, feeling about as energetic as the loser of a ten-mile race, her enthusiasm drained by the recent phone call from her husband setting back their plans for her birthday.

The door bell rang. The truck had disappeared down the road and she hadn’t heard anyone else arrive. Great. The last thing she needed was company. The house certainly wasn’t in its usual neat state. She sighed and smoothed back her rumpled curls. She should have stayed in bed this morning.
The door bell rang again, it’s insistence pulling her away from the wall where she leaned.
“I’m coming, I’m coming!”

A glass of wine and a hour to relax would help put her back in the mood for tonight, if David kept his word and made it in time for their reservations. She'd get rid of whoever was at the door and try to pull herself together. This needed to be a special evening. They'd had so few of those lately.
She swung open the door. “May I help yo..”
A bedraggled girl who appeared to be about twelve stood before her, clutching a battered, well-worn suitcase. Small boned and petite, she could’ve been pretty but for the greasy dark hair and dirt streaked face.
Staring up at her were a pair of strangely familiar eyes that gazed at her shyly before darting away in apparant fear.
A prickle of apprehension ran through her as she’d looked in those eyes, but she’d brushed it away. Her imagination must be working overtime today.

“Is Mr. David Carson here, ma’am?” The waif shifted her weight from one foot to the other, glancing over her hunched shoulders to the base of the driveway.
What was someone thinking, dumping a child off and driving away. If she was selling something, or needed directions, the driver could have stayed nearby, not headed down the road.

“I’m afraid he’s at work right now. Is there something I can help you with?” Susanne pushed open the screen, curiosity and sympathy drawing her forward. "Are you selling something? Do you need help?"
The youngster’s gaze returned to Susanne’s face, a worried pucker showing around the corners of her mouth. “I’ve come to live with him.” Her voice was barely audible but hit Susanne like a clap of thunder. Confusion raced through her mind. Was this someone's idea of a joke?
“Live with him? What do you mean?” She pushed the door open a bit wider. Had David offered to take this poor girl in without discussing it with her? Of all the times for David to drop a strange child in her lap.
The girl took a deep breath, pulling her suitcase a little closer to her trembling legs. “My mama’s dead. He's my daddy.”

Visit these other authors’ sites for the rest of the clues!

www.roseannamwhite.com

www.triciagoyer.blogspot.com

www.roseannamwhite.com/christybarritt.htm

www.roseannamwhite.com/deborahpiccurelli.htm

www.roseannamwhite.com/mollynoblebull.htm

www.susanmeissner.blogspot.com

www.miraleesdesk.blogspot.com

Have all the answers? Then email the list to review@christianreviewofbooks.com with a subject line of “Hunt Answers.”

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