Saturday Sample and Weekend Writing Warriors

 Welcome to my blog. Today I'd like to share an excerpt from my all time favorite book Blue 52. On Sunday when you finish here you can go to www.wewriwa.blogspot.com for more excerpts from a talented group of authors. 

Blurb:

First Lady Kills President Lovinggood" 

December 5, 2018 

Thirty years later, Hank Lovinggood embarks on a quest to prove his mother's innocence and punish the killers who took his family from him. Together Hank and lovely physicist Dr. Kathryn Sinclair confront an implacable, twisted, and merciless enemy who'll do whatever it takes to hide the truth forever.

Last Week's Excerpt: 

Piqued, Senator Lovinggood rudely turned off the phone and thrust it at Tim. “Damned petty flunky,” he shouted. “Are the transportation people too wimpy to tell me themselves?”

Tim pursed his lips, reminding the senator of an overgrown guppy. “The state attorney general’s office has to approve all exhumations, Senator. Anyway, the president should have been in Arlington all along.”

The senator skewered Tim with a fiery glare. “As you doubtless know, a sitting president is required to make his funeral arrangements so that his wishes are followed in the event of his death. President Lovinggood made his wishes very clear. He wanted to be buried here in California with his family.”

Tim flushed as his lips thinned. The senator saw both apprehension and contempt in his eyes, but he had too much sense to back talk his boss. “Can I get anything for you, Senator?”

"Yes. Some coffee."

Today's Excerpt:

As Tim vanished, the senator gave a brief, inward sigh. He had recruited Tim ten years ago and had regretted it many times. Tim had expected an exciting life in Washington; instead, he had gotten a quiet life in California with a senator who seldom even went to Washington anymore, not unless there was a vote he didn’t want to miss. He made his displeasure known in countless little ways. I guess I should replace him, but why bother? I’m retiring in eighteen months.

The senator heaved himself to his feet and shuffled across the study. Damned arthritis; I move like an old man, and my snot-nosed kid of a doctor had the gall to lecture me about my attitude. “You should be glad you aren’t crippled,” Grant had scolded. “Thirty years ago you wouldn’t be walking at all. You’d also be in severe pain.”

What did Grant know? He’d complain if he wanted to.

He sat down behind his desk and stared at a conspicuously displayed photo of his son, Richard. The photo had been taken on inauguration day. Richard’s wife Elizabeth stood at his side, looking so beautiful that even now it made his heart ache to see her.

Her face glowed with pride and happiness. How could anyone believe that two years later she would kill Richard and take her own life? “They’re all wrong,” he muttered as he made a gesture of repugnance. “I don’t care what anyone says; she did not shoot him.”