Guest AuthorFebruary 2004
Katherine Shephard
author of Betrayed by Silence
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Author Bio:
Syndicated animal news columnist, educator and former political speechwriter, Katherine Shephard's writing has been translated into languages spoken on all seven continents.
Ms. Shephard's writing career began in kindergarten when she'd write tales involving a cute puppy and a sweet princess. That trend continues with the introduction of B.A.D. who is spinning off with her own series of children's books.
Her comfortable style behind a microphone can be traced to her entertainment background. She sang and danced her way onto local and national television as well as traveling with Youth for Understanding throughout Europe. As a violinist with the Scandinavian Symphony, Ms. Shephard discovered her love of national and international affairs as well as uncovering her innate sense of humor. When, in Norway, she discovered she was allergic to herring and bleu cheese, she still went on stage, covered with welts, explaining that her bow came to life and whipped her when she hit wrong notes.
Ms. Shephard has been active in state and national politics most of her life. While living in Grand Rapids, Michigan, she began as a volunteer with Senator Hal Sawyer's campaign. She then moved to California and worked as a volunteer, campaign coordinator, fund-raiser and implemented the "Recycle for Rogan" program for Congressman Jim Rogan. Her most notable speaking engagement was speaking in front of the UN in New York on the role of youth in world affairs.
Calling both Southern California and Texas her homes, she became a speechwriter and part of the 1996 political campaign entourage. At the GOP Convention in San Diego she had the opportunity to research "first hand" the life of politicians. Much of what gave her the inspiration for this series was garnered through conversations overheard in ladies restrooms! She has been dubbed "the mole in the hole."
Katherine Shephard was raised in Michigan and is a graduate of Michigan State University with a degree in Criminal Justice. After graduation she moved to East Grand Rapids where she worked in criminal law, taught school and became enmeshed in politics.
She is an active member in: The Texas Coalition of Authors, The Texas Writers League, the Great Lakes Literary Association, Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, Romance Writers of America and Romance Writers – Kiss of Death. She is also active in supporting her sorority, Alpha Gamma Delta and the proud mother of RJ, a gorgeous 17-year-old high school athlete.
This month's featured book giveaway:
This highly acclaimed genre-bender Fraternity of Silence is about a naïve, young journalist who is mesmerized by the voice of a politician. Spiked with tongue-in-cheek humor, this apolitical romantic suspense takes a hard look at the question, "How far would you go for someone or something you love?
Katherine will be giving away a copy of Fraternity of Silence to the fifth person to email her with "Fraternity of Silence" in the subject line.
Excerpt from Fraternity of Silence:
There's a dead body in the dome and no one's talking.
March 20, 1998. Robert Bentley Larken's thirty-ninth birthday. Even a non-numeric like myself could figure out his birth year to be 1959. Truth be told, I used a calculator. I'm the first to admit that I'm a wordsmith, not a number cruncher. I'm also a worrier. This dead body thing ranked right up there as number one on my fret list.
I'd spent months researching Bob Larken, the former political broadcaster who was now, by hasty Senate resolution, the new lieutenant governor of Texas. Of course there was the sticky detail of the untimely death of William Glinnis, the former lieutenant governor. He was found dead at his desk at the capitol building in Austin.
I'd heard Larken a few months back on CNN and became mesmerized by his voice and every word he spoke. Tonight, thanks to my best friend, Victoria, I was headed to his birthday party at the governor of Michigan's mansion on Mackinac Island. And I had every intention of quenching my almost insatiable curiosity concerning Larken. Going from broadcaster to lieutenant governor is quite a leap. According to Victoria, I was obsessed. Then again, that's Victoria.
As an aide for the Michigan state legislature, Victoria's not privy to insider information - unless she's heard one of our state's finest talk in their sleep or when they've had a bit too much to drink. Normally, a lieutenant governor from another state is a "who cares" scenario - except when he has the means to get on air and sweet-talk the press into spreading his own agenda. Larken's background as a well-known broadcaster gave him the inside track with the media. They'd handled him with kid gloves ever since Billy Glinnis died of an apparent heart attack and Larken two-stepped into his spot as lieutenant governor.
It was the kind of story to put a gleam in the eye of any investigative reporter. Glinnis had been in the peak of health and poised to run for governor in the fall. He had no family to speak of, no autopsy was performed and no one was talking. One day Larken was doing a brief on-air eulogy for "Billy G" and the next day he was taking the oath of office. Victoria reported the jokes going around the Michigan rotunda: "Check your coffee, you could be next." No one likes a dead body in the dome. Any dome.
It's a strange feeling, being on the periphery of a party. You're an outsider amid all the excitement and action going on around you. I stood there wondering if I should walk across the room and join the lieutenant governor in the coffee he had offered me, or simply disappear. I noticed two cups on the table just to his left, but Mrs. Larken was with him now. She was not at all what I'd expected. I'd only read one article that mentioned Margaret Larken, although I did see a photo of her in a feature shortly after his appointment. She looked much younger in the photo. In person, her skin was starting to show the signs of living too long in the sun. I bet that I could find surgical scars from a very adept plastic surgeon behind her ears. Margaret Larken's heavily woven blonde hair was cut short in a severe style. She was petite and well groomed, but her smile - there was something about her smile. She seemed to speak through a constant, forced smile. Tension surrounded her. To be the wife of such an enthusiastic and effervescent man - there was something that just didn't seem to fit.
As I continued my internal speculations Governor Melvin rose, holding a champagne flute in one hand.
"Friends. Before the lieutenant governor's charming wife cuts the cake, I would like to propose a toast. To Robert Bentley Larken - who has gone from covering politicians to making excuses for politicians!" Laughter broke out and I could see the second-in-command for the state of Texas looming behind the governor. Once the applause died down, I noticed Larken passing his drink to his wife. He was starting back toward me.
"Beth! Things got a little hectic over there. I'm sorry I forgot your coffee."
"You know, I never even remembered to wish you a happy birthday, sir."
"That's okay...Oh. Here comes my wife. I'll introduce you."
As Margaret Pullen approached, I noticed that she carried a piece of cake. Our eyes locked as she coolly nodded her head toward me.
"Margaret, this is Beth Pullen, a freelance writer and friend of a friend of a friend." Again, the chuckle and sly grin. "She's doing a piece on me."
"It's a pleasure..."
She interrupted me and in a testy voice said, "I'm sure it is. Bob, I know how much you love seeing your name in print."
He looked down at the piece of cake she handed him and noticed the icing letters.
"BO - . That's a start. Maybe if I'm in office long enough I'll get the whole name!"
Everyone around us seemed to enjoy this bit of humor, except for his wife.
I saw an opportunity and took it.
"Mrs. Larken, I'm wondering how you feel, having been thrust into the role of political wife. Rumor has it that your husband is now in position to run for governor come the fall. Governor Biltmore will be term-limited. How have you transitioned from private to public life?"
"Dear, I've been asked that a million times. I'll give you the same answer I give to everyone else. I am Bob Larken's wife. "Whither thou goest I will go" - I stand beside my husband no matter what his choices may be. It, of course, was very unfortunate that he decided to enter the political arena this way - with the unfortunate death of our beloved Billy G."
She glanced down and attempted to look heartbroken. Instead, Mrs. Larken seemed to have a twinkle in her eyes rather than tears.
"Oh yes, I'm sure it was a great shock. There have been rumors of foul play."
"To that I have no comment!"
Turning on her ever-so-perfect heels, Mrs. Larken headed back to the cake table, picked up the knife and began cutting and delivering squares of cake. It seemed to be her mission in life.
"Excuse me, please, I need to get something," I explained as my eyes darted around the room. Margaret Larken had apparently become perturbed. I wasn't sure why but for now I needed to regroup and recapture some lightheartedness. That always put people at ease. With their guard down you could always get more info.
I have a nasty habit of muttering to myself. Somehow it keeps me focused. "Lighten up," I told myself. Out of nowhere I started murmuring, "Get the other B" as I approached an elderly man standing next to Mrs. Larken. Noticing that he'd put his cake down on the table next to him, I quickly snatched up the plate and returned to the small group that had gathered around the birthday boy.
Marching right up to Larken with my find, I declared, "Investigative reporter Beth here, sir. I found the other B. I know how people hate to have their names misspelled in print."
With a look of amazement, the lieutenant governor asked, "Where did you get that?"
"Over there. That man - the one walking towards us. I didn't think he'd notice."
The man appeared to be in his seventies and was rather dapper in appearance. A slender man, he stood at about six feet with a full head of gray hair. In his tailored brown tweed suit he looked like he'd walked straight off the cover of a GQ magazine for seniors. Heading toward us with a swaggering gait and a grim look, he bellowed, "Okay. Okay. Explain to me exactly why you took my cake and ran off to give it to our fine guest of honor, young lady!"
I knew I was going to ramble, but all of a sudden I was nervous.
"Well, Mrs. Larken gave the lieutenant governor the first piece of cake and the final B was missing from his name. I noticed she gave you the second piece with the missing consonant." Somehow, I felt like Vanna White.
Governor Melvin was standing right next to Mrs. Larken. Why had she crossed the room to give this man the second piece of cake, ignoring the governor?
Noticing the look of puzzlement on my face, Bob intervened. "John and I have been best of friends for years. I guess you could call him my mentor. John, this is Beth Pullen. Beth, meet John Gaynor, the person formerly in possession of the final B."
John Gaynor. I made a mental note of the name.
"Mr. Gaynor, I'm doing a piece on the lieutenant governor. It was nice to have met you. Would you mind if I gave you a call?"
"Certainly not, young lady. I love talking about Bob and I certainly do appreciate the boldness you showed in getting what you want!" He handed me his card and when I looked up to thank him, I noticed how his eyes sparkled. Despite the years that had weathered his once-fine features, he had a delightful, boyish grin.
"If you need anything at all, please do give me a call."
"Thank you, thank you so much. I appreciate it."
John Gaynor returned to the festivities and I walked through the crowds looking for the nearest bathroom. Walking down the hall I spotted an open door to what appeared to be a den or library. Inside I noticed walls of books lining the cozy room, which had a second door. Luckily for me, it led to a half bath. I closed the door, grateful for a reprieve from the commotion of the party. Within minutes I heard a voice that began to escalate into a fevered pitch.
"Dammit, I don't care! That woman has got to learn. I know, I know. But she's Bob's wife for God's sake. If he's going anywhere she has got to tone down that attitude. She got this ball rolling, now she'd damn well better get in the game!"
The voice was that of John Gaynor. He was obviously on the phone. He wouldn't be foolish enough to be on a cell phone, so I assumed he was on a hard line. The line would need to be secure for a private conversation. What did he mean by "She got this ball rolling?" I remained as silent as I could.
"No. Absolutely not. No more money. The matter is not open for negotiation. I'm telling you it was a heart attack!"
With that the conversation ended. I stayed, motionless for a few more minutes, to allow him to exit the room.
I needed to write an article. Any article. Just write an article and get it to Larken. Keep the lines of communication open. There was something here and it was more than his smooth drawl and handsome face. I didn't think he was involved in whatever was being hushed - but Margaret Larken might very well be another story.
Bob Larken fascinated me. There was something innocent, yet strong about him.
He was personable, approachable - everything his wife was not. I'd been somewhat sheltered but I was, if nothing else, astute.
Blending my way back among the crowd, I spotted Gaynor standing alone, looking around the room. He almost appeared to be summing up each person in attendance. I smiled and headed directly over towards him.
"Mr. Gaynor, a handsome man like you shouldn't be alone at a party."
I poured it on.
"You know, I recently graduated as a journalism major. I did my senior thesis on political broadcasters. That's how I began researching Lieutenant Governor Larken. That was, of course, while he was still with KFIX in Austin. He did quite a few broadcasts for CNN - when I saw his broadcast on daycare issues I spotted a man with great talent, perseverance and drive. I believe Texas will benefit from a man like him in government."
"That's our Bob, all right. He's headed for the top. No doubt about it."
His smile was genuine - almost boastful.
"How did you get to know him?"
"Oh that's a story in itself. Best saved for another time, or when you interview Bob he can tell you. It's quite a tale!"
"I have the entire night ahead of me, sir."
"That's too bad - a cute girl like you should be having fun, not spending it with an old codger like me." He winked. It was almost an identical wink to that of Bob Larken's.
"Thank you for the compliment - and we will talk another time."
At that point, he nodded his head and disappeared among the partygoers.
Walking back over to where the lieutenant governor was standing I tried to just blend in. I'd no more than arrived by his side than his wife appeared, seemingly out of nowhere.
"Miss, oh, I'm sorry, I've forgotten your name."
"Miss Pullen. Beth Pullen." I loved saying my new name, although I was not yet entirely comfortable with it.
"That's right. Miss Pullen, is there something I can help you with? My husband is a very busy man, as you can see." Why did she want to keep me away from him?
"I just wanted to ask a few questions."
"I'm sure I'd have the answers. Please feel free."
This seemed odd to me since she'd cut me off so abruptly earlier.
"All right, then. There is some speculation as to the health of the former lieutenant governor." Before I could finish my question, she again cut me off.
"Miss Pullen, I'm sorry. This is a birthday party in honor of my husband. This is not a press conference. I can assure you we are all distressed by Billy's loss. It was a great blow to the state of Texas. You can quote me as saying that."
Once again, she left with no further explanation. The lieutenant governor turned his head and glanced at me, but was unable to break away from his admirers. Perhaps it was best to leave and get started on my outline, I decided. Above all else, I needed to clear my head of the sights and sounds of the party.
This was insane. I'd heard about actors, singers and politicians - men who mesmerize women beyond their ability to cope. It was an unfathomable concept - until tonight. Now it was unnerving.
Publication date: April 2003
Publisher: SevenCrown Press/Seven Locks Publishing
ISBN: 0-9729071-0-6
Copyright © 2003Excerpt from Betrayed by Silence:
My best friend, Victoria, thinks drama is a lifeform.
That morning she outdid herself."Bob! Chrissie! 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 double time, 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 unruffled 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 re-runs 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, well, 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."
