About the Author. . .

Katherine Shephard is a syndicated animal news columnist,
educator, and former political speechwriter.  Her writing has been
translated into languages spoken on all seven continents.  Critically
acclaimed Fraternity of Silence and Betrayed by Silence feature
Bowie Aloysia Dog. Partial proceeds from their sales benefits Animal
Rescue.  For more on Katherine, visit:
http://www.katherineshephard.com/Meet_Katherine/meet_katherine.html





A description of Betrayed by Silence by Katherine Shephard
appears below.

Featured Book:  Betrayed by Silence
ISBN: 1-931643-35-0
Publisher: Seven Locks Press (2004)
Hardcover - $19.95

Other books by this author:
Fraternity of Silence
ISBN: 0-9729071-06  
Publisher: Seven Crown Press/Seven Locks Publishing (2003)
Price: $14.95 paperback

Sources for books by this author:  
Autographed copies are available from Crime Time Books (both titles)
and Fraternity of Silence also available at Prairie Hill Books.

Both books are available from Barnes & Noble, Borders, Schulers
and other book stores, and all online booksellers.

Direct from the author: Personalized, autographed bookplates are
available from Katherine@KatherineShephard.com

E-mail: Katherine@KatherineShephard.com

Betrayed by Silence by Katherine Shephard

Book Description

Smoking can kill you - but trying to quit can be murder!
When an ex-judge disappears, and a talkative jailbird shows up out of nowhere, the governor-elect's career could go
up in smoke. Can Bowie Aloysia Dog (B.A.D.) root out the truth in time to save the inauguration? Or will they find
themselves . . .
BETRAYED BY SILENCE ?




Betrayed by Silence by Katherine Shephard, begins as follows:


My best friend, Victoria, thinks drama is a lifeform.
That morning she outdid herself.



"Bob! Chrissy! Get the hell out of bed. Now!" Victoria's shrill voice was not the alarm clock I had set the night before.
Come to think of it, I didn't set an alarm clock. Peeking under the covers, I realized we were safe. For once we were
wearing pajamas.

"Vic, what are you doing here at six in the morning on a Tuesday, and what are you doing in our room with a
negligee hanging below your jacket?" Panic set in, as I started wondering how she got in the house--not to mention
why she was hysterical.

"The Veep talks in his sleep and I think someone's dead, or is going to be."

"The Vice President? You're sleeping with the damn Vice President?" My palms began to sweat, my breath came out
in doubletime, and thoughts of what trauma awaited us began to bubble up to the surface of my conscience when
she interrupted my sense of dread.

"Good God, no! It's Blane MacGowan! He used to be a judge here in Michigan. But his dad died and he inherited a
whiskey company with his older brother. He's now the vice president of GlenGowan. Gave up the judge gig. He's
something else, too. Everyone calls him Veep. Well, except for me. I call him the Hot Scot. His kilts are almost floor
length. You can imagine why."

Bob, with eyes half-opened, brushed his hands through his hair and spoke. "Shit. Blane killed someone and decided
to unload on you when he was asleep? A slight grin swept across his face and he poured on his smooth Texas drawl.
"Missy, are you just paranoid, or have you gone into your hyper-theatrical mode?"

Drama should have been Vic's major. Instead, she went the poli-sci route at our alma mater, Michigan State. She
thought a major in politics would hook her up with powerful men. Looks like she was right.

Victoria planted her hands on her thin hips Her cat-like eyes seemed to be on fire. I could feel them burning holes
through the sheets. "No, I am not paranoid! He talked about you!"

Bob sat up and stared at my best friend. He's used to her melodrama and musical bed routine. "Not good. Doesn't
reflect well on you, Vic. A man thinking of me when you're snuggled up to him."

Vic and I have known each other our entire lives and are as close as Siamese twins. I've seen her freak out over a
missed period, a lost friendship ring, and my mother's death when we were only five years old. None of it came close
to this.

I reached up and pulled her down onto the bed, hoping a more comfortable spot would unruffle her feathers. "Calm
down. Start from the beginning. Skip the theatrics and the personal details, please." Vic has a way with men and she
seldom finds herself munching popcorn and watching reruns alone in bed.

"Well, Blane was tossing and turning. That meant the covers left me and ended up on his side. I had the ceiling fan
on and---"

"Vic! Stop already." I hate mornings. Anything before eleven a.m. should be out-lawed. Being awakened by anything
loud should be a felony . Vic's appearance ranked right up there on the "worst crimes of the century" list. She was in
our bedroom. She was upset. The sooner we have her tell the story, the sooner I get back to sleep. "What did he say
about Bob?"

"He said . . . okay, this is a quote. I got right up and wrote it down. He said, 'Larken. Larken jury. Okay I will. Minnie' --
or maybe it was Benny or something, it was kind of mumbled at that point. Anyhow, he was tossing and turning and
saying, 'Jail. A Pandora's Box. Larken. Can't get her out. Run.' That's when I got the hell out of there. Took me less
than thirty minutes to get my ass over here from Grand Rapids, too. Even with the snow."

Despite the early hour she had my attention. "Bob, do you know a Minnie or a Benny that's in jail?" I felt my
journalistic curiosity waking up. This was my man. My husband of two weeks, give or take a few days "Think, Bob.
There has to be someone out there. Someone with a grudge?"

My questions were cut off by the gorgeous voice I fell in love with. "Okay -- everyone up. Let's go downstairs and
figure this out. Beth, I know how your mind is thinking -- and Vic's mind. Let's not go there."

As the three of us started for the stairs, I saw our pup sleeping at the foot of our bed. Her rumpled pink blanket was
made into a cozy cocoon, and her gentle snoring was testament to why the unusual ruckus hadn't awakened her.
Once asleep it takes a major act of God or the smell of food to awaken her. I stopped in my tracks and turned
towards Vic. "Wait! How did you get in?"

"Through the front door. It was unlocked. Stupid, leaving your door like that." She cut her eyes towards Bob and I.
"The newlyweds rush to get upstairs last night?"

Remembering our haste to get upstairs the night before, we both blushed.

Bob motioned for us to continue down the stairs. "Move it Both of you."

Once in the kitchen I began the coffee-making ritual. Never begin the day without a fresh pot of Michigan Cherry
Java, that's my motto. As the coffee brewed, I looked out the large picture windows outlined in Christmas lights.
Winters in Grand Ledge are magical. I could see the frozen Looking Glass River through the white-blanketed
branches of the oak trees. A fresh coating of snow covered the ground, indented here and there by the tracks of
foraging deer.

As the aroma of fresh coffee started to fill the kitchen, I kept staring out the window and reflected again on how lucky
Bob and I were to have this refuge in the woods. Small-town living gave us the sense of belonging and the solitude
necessary for the life of a politician. With the Governor's inauguration only a week away, Grand Ledge was the
perfect place for us to be: out of the way. Yep, Grand Ledge suited us fine. Solitude, serenity, and people discreet
enough not to pry into our business.

Victoria stood over me glaring, with eyes reminiscent of Charles Manson. Being seven inches taller than I, she has
the physical advantage of intimidation by stature. "Chrissy, you're not listening to me!" Her rampage continued.
"You're off in another one of your stupid daydreams. That's what got us in this mess in the first place. You sitting
around pining for Mr. Dreamboat here. You just had to go off and hook up with a married politician, then his wife
dies, and tada. You get married and live happily ever after. Hasn't anyone bothered to tell you fairy tales are a
bunch of crap?"

With that snide comment, Vic tossed her hair back and crossed her arms. Her hair was black, straight, hung to her
chin on one side and was closely cropped on the other. Lopsided and totally Vic. When she was upset, the skin on
the right side of her scalp turned red. It was now three shades beyond the radiance of the Texas granite Bob adored.

"Great way to start my morning. Appreciate it, Vic." I really, really hate mornings.

Bob broke off our sarcastic banter. "Okay, ladies, listen up. This is about a dream. A guy who talks in his sleep. This
is not Watergate -- it's a dream! Vic, thanks for the concern but believe me, I don't know anyone in jail. Well, not
personally at least. I'll think about whom I might have alienated when I was a broadcaster, but nothing comes to mind
right now. Trust me, okay?"

Victoria, looking incredulous, continued. "Kind sir, excuse me if I don't take you up on that offer." Vic's eyeball rolling
was an art form. "You're a former politician. A former broadcaster. Definitely a man. Three strikes--you're dead."


__________________________________________________________________________________

Betrayed by Silence by Katherine Shephard ©2004.  All rights reserved.

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