The Mortimer & Mrs Morris Trilogy Book 1

by Tammie Painter

Spices. Succulent Cuisine. Potioneer.

The clock is ticking.

Ebba Mignon, a naturally gifted chef and owner of The Mignon’s Place, never envisioned partaking in the witchery craft or having half-sisters, Opaline, and Narda. But here she was with only 45 days to find her soulmate/future husband and her witch talents to reveal themselves to her.

How was she expected to accomplish this burden in order to defeat Alyaaluladonati, the ancient one, from killing the three of them?

Neal James, writer for the Best Places to Eat in MN, schedules an interview with Ebba Mignon, in the small town of Onamia. He isn’t prepared for the deep affection he experiences for her or to admire her culinary art skills when they meet.

Believing in the supernatural takes Neal and Ebba on a journey that neither thought possible, transforming their passion into the right ingredients to last a lifetime.

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Ebba took the chance to glance at him. He had sunglasses on, which hid his eyes. Would they be blue? To go with his brown hair? Realizing he was waiting for a

reply, she sighed. “My booth is the one with all the people lined up in front of it. Over there to the right.” She pointed in the direction they were walking.

 “Wow. What are you serving?”

 “The same thing I’ve done for the last two years.Subs.”

 The man stopped suddenly. “Subs? That’s it?”

 “Yes. I have only two things on my menu. One is a chopped Italian sub. I bake bread in the shape of a fish and add chopped-up prosciutto, pepperoni, and salami, along with lettuce, onion, tomato, and provolone cheese. I have my own special Italian vinaigrette dressing that I add to it too. The second item is my bestseller, a dill pickle sub.”

 They continued walking toward her booth.

 “A dill pickle sub? Never heard of that or had one before. What is it?”

 “Glad you asked. I use sliced dill pickles that I order from a local Amish woman. The key is to use a small layer of mayonnaise on the pickles. This seals in any leftover juices from the pickle. Then I layer on turkey and prosciutto with cheddar cheese, a tomato, and a lettuce leaf.”

 “Ebba! Hurry up. We need those plates.”

 She waved to Narda, who was signaling to her. “Oh my. We better hurry. The line has gotten very long.” With hurried steps, she directed the man carrying the bin to the back of the booth.

 “It’s about time. Did you see all the people waiting?”

 Ebba looked at Narda. “Be glad we have plates. I almost dropped the bin. This man saved it—and me—from falling.”

 “Where do you want this?”

 She and Narda looked at the man in unison.

 “Oh, sorry. Just set it down there.” Narda pointed to an empty spot on the table. Once he set it down, she opened it and took out a stack of plates. “Thanks for saving my sis. I’ll take these up front and let Opaline know you’ve returned.”

 Ignoring Narda’s sarcastic reply, she turned to the man.

 “Thanks again—”

 “Neal, I’ve been looking for you. I see you’ve met Ms. Mignon. I was setting up the equipment before she left.”

 What the heck? This man, who helped her, was the one and only Mr. James? She’d literally run into him. He’d sent her pulse raging, and she’d had sexual thoughts about

him. His first name was Neal. Could he be the one? Her soulmate?

No, she didn’t have time for this. It was just a coincidence his name started with the letter N. “You’re . . . My goodness, you must think I’m the worst person ever.”

 “I don’t. I didn’t know you were the person I’d come here to meet. Let’s forget about why I’m here. How can Seth and I help you with the crowd of people waiting for food? What can we do?”

 “Do? You want to work?” She hesitated, her mind still reeling.

 “Yes, it looks like two more sets of hands would be helpful.”

 “If . . . you’re sure. I could use your help. First, you both have to wash your hands and put on the plastic gloves. The dill pickle subs are almost gone. And I need to make another batch of ingredients for the chopped subs.”

 “Yes, ma’am,” the two men said.

 Ebba smiled and watched them do the safety protocol procedures for serving food, as she did the same. Taking out the three meats, cheese, and tomatoes from the coolers, she placed them onto the cutting board. Her nerves at Mr. James’s arrival and his offering to help had her doubting herself. The pendant throbbed against her skin.

 “Ready to help. What can we do?”

 His deep, rich voice was sexier in person than on the phone.

 Stop! It was time to concentrate. She had customers to serve. “Okay. Once I have the chopped salad ready, I need you to fill the fish-shaped bread with three scoops. You can start by opening and laying out the bread on the flat pan. While you’re doing that, it will allow me time to whip up some of the dill subs after I finish with the chopped Italian mixture.”

 Within a few minutes, she had chopped the ingredients and added the vinaigrette. She slid the bowl over to the two men.

 “Ebba, we need more subs,” Opaline said.

 Looking up, she saw her sister standing in front of her.

 When had she come over? “Mr. James and his cameraman are just finishing with the next tray of them.”

 “Mr. James?”

 She gave Opaline a look that said, ‘Don’t ask questions.’ “Yes. I ran into him, and he was kind enough to help. I’m working on the dill subs, and then I’ll do up another batch of the chopped Italian subs again.”

 “Narda said he was a looker. I’ve been working on a spell to help you find—”

 “Dear sister, this is not the time or place. Please take the tray of subs up to the front.”

 “Of course. Sorry, but we will talk about it tonight.”

 And just like that, her sister took the tray of finished subs and left. Out of the corners of her eyes, she saw Neal and the cameraman engaged in a conversation. Opaline was right. The three of them were going to have a lot to talk about later. Even now, just hearing his soft voice was rendering her pulse to pound erratically.

 Again, the thought crossed her mind that Neal might be the one that fate had chosen for her. Suddenly, she realized he was staring at her. He smiled, and she nearly crumbled to the ground. With as much control as Ebba could gather within herself, she returned his smile. Was he interested in her?

 

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Narda’s Truth

The Witch DNA #2

 

about the book

Angel numbers & scents unearth a truth that has been hidden for years.

 

Reach for the Soap, owner, Narda Hunt, has been receiving signs in the form of numbers telling her she needs to find her half-sisters, Opaline and Ebba. An imminent threat is about to force them to combine their witch powers to survive.

 

One set of angel numbers brings Narda closer to Owin Waters, whom fate has determined is her soulmate. Their special connection sends them to another realm where Narda meets her deceased mother. She reveals the truth behind the special powers that Narda and her sisters possess.

 

With this knowledge, Narda brings to light the evil that is waiting for her and her sisters on their twenty-fifth birthday.

 

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read an excerpt

“I’m usually not this forward on a first date—or any date, as a matter of fact—but I would like it very much if you kissed me.”

Owin gathered her closely against his body. “As a gentleman, your wish is my command.”

His sweet and teasing reply didn’t allow her time to respond as his lips touched hers. Then his mouth covered hers, and she opened her lips. Their tongues touched, and shivers of uncontrolled desire racked her body.

She wanted the moment to never end. It did, however, when the sound of a car horn tore them apart. They eyed each other and laughed. It was as if they were teenagers being caught doing something they shouldn’t have been doing.

“Wow. That was some kiss. Did you hear horns too?”

Narda laughed harder. “I think it was more of a beep. I see we have arrived at my new store location. Shall we go in?”

“I’m game if you are. The front window is great for lookers.”

She dug into her purse to withdraw a set of keys and opened the front door. Once inside, she flicked on the lights. Owin followed her inside. Light flooded the open area.

 

Opaline’s Discovery

The Witch DNA Trilogy Book 1

about the book

Love. Magic. Danger.

Could these three words articulate distinct spiritual essences to fuse together?

Bookstore owner, Opaline Lunn, facilitates a Speed Dating Event, in hopes of finding her soulmate. She meets attendee Detective Eamon Dayan, who wasn’t looking for love, but sparks fly at their first kiss.

Together they unearth Opaline’s powers which lead to the discovery that she has two sisters, and someone called The Ancient One who wants to kill them.

Unraveling a myriad of mysteries, with Opaline’s newfound ability to do spells, the soulmates must find her sisters by her twenty-fifth birthday to be able to confront the evil force and save all of them.

 

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read an excerpt

Now she was waiting for her fourth and final date.

  Eamon.

  Goodness, anticipation is everything.

  She couldn’t believe he wanted to go out with her on a real date. Most guys found her too intellectual. It wasn’t her fault she owned a bookstore and loved to read.  History, fiction, romance, fantasy, sci-fi—it didn’t matter.  Everything was interesting to her. No genre was off limits.

  The buzzer sounded, and she waited for Eamon. He arrived and took his seat. He didn’t say anything. She didn’t either. They sat for a moment, looking at each other, his blue eyes to her green eyes.

  Abruptly, the air surrounding her turned hot, but it wasn’t the kind of hot that made you sweat. It was the kind of sexual intensity that could consume a person, only to let go once it had been satisfied. Opaline fought the urge to fan herself.

  Like a foggy night, the room around the two of them became hazy. Eamon reached across the table and touched her cheek. Her body had a will of its own, and she leaned into his hand, closed her eyes, and waited for him to kiss her.

  “Opaline? Opaline, are you all right?”

  “Wha-what?”

  The room was clear again when she opened her eyes.

 Eamon hadn’t kissed her. She had imagined the kiss. He hadn’t reached out to her. But he was now. He didn’t touch her cheek. like she had envisioned. Instead, he was touching her hand. Until he wasn’t.

  Goodness sakes alive.

  “Sorry. I guess the excitement of the night has gotten to me,” she said, recovering. “Did you ask me something?”

  “No problem. I asked what you like to eat. If we’re going to go out on a date, I’ll have to find a restaurant because I don’t cook.”

  “I haven’t technically agreed to go out with you.” She laughed nervously.

  “I’m not going to let you say no.”

  “Oh, is that how it’s going to be?” Opaline reached across the table and took his hand. “I guess I don’t have a choice, then. Yes, I would like to go out with you.”

  “Great. Does tomorrow night work for you?”

  “You do work fast,” she said, lowering her voice, which came out in a low silvery tone.

  “Only when I need to.”

  She knew he was implying other things, and she smiled again, wishing he had kissed her.

  The buzzer ended their date, and Opaline stood. Most of the other attendees had finished their dates too. “I hate to rush things, but I need to wrap things up for the event.”

  “If you would like, I can help you with the cleanup,” Eamon said.

  “That’s so thoughtful, and here I was thinking you only liked to give the orders.”

  She saw by the way his head tilted to the side that her reply had caught him off guard. He looked like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar, and he was having a hard time coming up with a comeback. He mustn’t be used to word games like her customers at the bookstore were.  They usually gave it right back to her. Eamon, on the other hand, was still at a loss for words.

  “Yes, I’d love your help. I have to stick around until everyone leaves. I’ll make an announcement to let them know what time we have to be out of here. Then I can—no, we—can start.”

  “Sounds good. I’ll round up my sister to pitch in too,” he said.

  Opaline heard him chuckle and wondered if he had offered his sister’s help without her knowledge.

about the author

I was born and raised in the cold and beautiful Minnesota, but I escaped to Illinois for seventeen years to raise my two boys, and now I call Florida home. My husband Andy, who’s always been my hero, has put up with my late night computer typing and endless stacks of papers with my stories on them. We have one furry friend as family: Chip, a sixteen year old ragdoll cat.

Life has been full of ups and downs, but I’ve made it through the hard times. I love to travel and go to Disney World to trade pins.  I’ve been a bowler for many years, and you can catch me writing my next novel at the lanes.

I encourage you to check out my web site for more info and don’t be surprised if I let my Norwegian heritage come through in my stories.

Go Vikings! You betcha!

 

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A Story of Parenting Across Two Cultures

by Marguerite Welch

Genre: Multicultural Contemporary Fiction, Drama

For fans of Little Fires Everywhere, a novel that explores the ambiguities of motherhood and salvation through the anguished relationship between a troubled, undocumented Mexican teenager and the grieving, upper-middle-class mother who takes her in.

After the drug overdose of her teenage son, Helen, a privileged white woman, takes in Mia, a troubled and undocumented Mexican teenager.

Although they initially fill each other’s voids, Helen’s lofty expectations of Mia eventually test that bond and Mia, tortured by guilt and starved for affection, runs off with Diego, an MS13 gang leader. While Helen, bereft over losing another child, tries to reconstruct her life, Mia’s life with Diego spirals into a nightmare: Just after she has his baby, he goes to jail for multiple murders. As each woman moves forward through her own challenges, Helen confronts her deep-seated prejudices, while Mia battles her own demons in search of self-identity and meaning in her life.

A haunting and suspenseful cautionary tale, Borrowed Child is about what happens when a well-meaning inclination toward “salvation” goes awry. 

what readers are saying...

 

[A] detailed and occasionally heartbreaking portrait that pays special attention to the physical and emotional struggles of a young undocumented immigrant." —Kirkus

“With the grace and complexity of The White Album by Joan Didion, Borrowed Child examines how intention and action, especially for white people, might misinterpret the complexities of race and power in the United States. With gorgeous writing, Welch subverts expectations and gifts us a nuanced view of prejudice.”—Melissa Scholes Young, author of Flood and The Hive

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CHAPTER 1: HELEN

For more than a week I could not make myself open the door to Mia’s room. When I finally raised the shades, light illuminated the space like a stage set: the rumpled bed, the hot pink lipstick on the dresser, the closet door agape, revealing the outfit I gave her for church. Gray wool slacks dangled awkwardly from a plastic hanger, the silk blouse discarded in a dusty corner along with one dirty sock—all clues, remnants of a life lived on this stage. But was it the beginning of the play or the end?

Mia had just started her senior year in high school. I knew she was intimidated by all the college visits and apprehensive about submitting the applications, but I had convinced myself that she was ready to say goodbye to her old life and start anew. Sure, we’d experienced difficulties and detours, what family doesn’t? But I believed all was resolved; believed, that is, until one random Wednesday in late September when she never came home. No one saw her—not her teachers, the office staff, or her counselor. No one knew where she was.

At first, I thought Mia had gone off with friends and simply forgotten to call. She would have called, wouldn’t she? Maybe she had gone back to her birth mother’s home. But that seemed unlikely. I pulled out my cell phone every few minutes to see if I had missed a text. By 8:00 p.m. I called her mother.

“Maybe she go off with drug dealer boyfriend,” Carmen said in broken English.

What drug dealer boyfriend? I wanted to cry out, but knew it was pointless. I couldn’t understand her rapid-fire Spanish and our adversarial relationship over the years had made meaningful communication impossible. Carmen’s lack of concern for Mia’s welfare had always mystified and infuriated me.

“You no call the police, okay?” Carmen added. It had been my experience that people in the Hispanic community often panicked when they saw a uniform. It wouldn’t do any good to get the police involved and might make it worse.

“Okay, but please call me if you hear anything,” I pleaded.She never called.

I cried on my husband’s shoulder. “How could Mia do this? Something must be very wrong.” Don was upset too, but couldn’t resist giving me that “I-told-you-so” look, patting my hand with a restrained sense of obligation rather than genuine concern, or so I read it at the time. Now I understand how needy and unfair I was. He had always been so loving and supportive no matter how crazy my schemes and passionate my interests, whether he understood them or not.

The saying “opposites attract” could not have been truer in our relationship. He was a man of science. I was a dreamy artistic type. He read Naval Institute Proceedings. I read poetry. He liked spaghetti. I liked sushi. He couldn’t tell a petunia from a daisy. I was a gardener. And yet, life together was better than apart. When our boys came along, he was an involved, loving father who disciplined with love and loved unrestrainedly. But, at that moment, if I could have gotten beyond my own conflicted feelings of hurt and worry, I could have seen by the way his hand shook as he picked up his Maker’s Mark on the rocks and took a couple of quick gulps that he was genuinely concerned about Mia’s absence.

It was too hard. Both of us felt the stab of an old, only partially healed wound, for which Mia had been a temporary anesthetic. Don banged his drink down on the table, half surprised by the noise, and hugged me silently, afraid to say a word, one pain masking another. An image swam to the surface: Sammy’s grin and tousled mop of blond hair. How could we have been so unaware of the troubled waters beneath that sunny smile? The dark, anxious place that became his secret home beyond our reach and knowing. Now, clueless again, we had let another child slip through the cracks and I was left clutching her abandoned lipstick until my palm bled.

Marguerite Welch is a writer, artist, photographer and sailor whose essays and reviews on fine art photography have been published in the NEW ART EXAMINER, WASHINGTON REVIEW OF THE ARTS, AFTERIMAGE and other local and national art publications. Short personal essays and travel pieces have appeared in BAY WEEKLY, WANDERLUST and CHESAPEAKE BAY MAGAZINE. Her travel memoir, WATERBORNE: A SLOW TRIP AROUND A SMALL PLANET, published by Seaworthy Publications in September 2019, documents a 14-year world circumnavigation undertaken with her husband in their 38-foot sailboat Ithaca. In her spare time she tends her garden on the banks of the Severn River in Annapolis, Maryland where she and her husband have lived for 40 years.

 

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