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Montgomery Vale: Shadows: MONTGOMERY VALE, #2

Montgomery Vale: Shadows: MONTGOMERY VALE, #2

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Montgomery Vale: Shadows: MONTGOMERY VALE, #2

130 страниц
1 час
9 февр. 2017 г.



It’s 1937, and after probing the murderous conspiracy behind the Hindenburg downing, London’s renowned bi-racial investigator, Montgomery Vale, continues his quest for answers to his parents’ deaths. However, this new path wedges him in-between a murder, German agents, a blackmailing widow and killer mute swans.

From an Amazon bestselling author, Montgomery Vale: Scorched, will enthrall historical mystery detective thriller readers. Montgomery Vale: Scorched is perfect for fans who have devoured Alex Rosenberg’s, The Girl from Krakow, Jeffrey Archer’s Best Kept Secret, or Anthony Doerr, All the Light We Cannot See.


9 февр. 2017 г.

Об авторе

Patrice Williams Marks is an author, Sensitivity Reader, founder of courses that teach Sensitivity Reading, founder of a non-profit charity, founder of several film festivals with diverse entries from filmmakers and writers. She also has a background in public relations, marketing, and journalism with an emphasis on research. She penned her first book in third grade; The Day Snoopy Got Married. While it didn't make the New York Times Bestseller List, it was an instant classic with the Nunaka Valley Elementary School staff. From that moment forward, Patrice knew she was a writer. Patrice uses her investigative journalism background to excavate untold/unknown stories from times-past to populate her historical fiction novels based on true stories. She also writes non-fiction with the intention of sharing knowledge.  >> FOLLOW HERE or visit her website to be notified of new releases and limited time offers.  SensitivityReviews.com PatriceWilliamsMarks.com (Sign up here to be notified of full novel release) Twitter: @PWilliamsMarks @Unfinished_The Facebook.com/Author.PatriceWilliamsMarks

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Montgomery Vale - Patrice Williams Marks


The House

There it was , right in front of him… A simple, two-story brick home; a carbon copy of the homes to the right and to the left of it. Montgomery compared the photograph of the home in his hand to the house that stood before him. He was unaware that a murderous conspiracy laid within its pristine walls; a conspiracy which would soon engulf him.

The shrubs had been dug up and discarded, the French Antique Renaissance Revival front door made of walnut had recently been re-varnished, but the hardware remained untouched. Perhaps the overly-ornate door was an attempt to stand out within this carbon copy community.

Despite these changes, Montgomery was indeed sure that this was the house… The same house that his parents stood in front of. His father, a bi-racial man, and his mother, an African-American woman, stood tall in front of this home, yet their faces, lined with apprehension, betrayed them.

Montgomery carefully placed the worn photograph into his finely-tailored vest pocket. Vale approached the home with concise steps that became heavier with each forward motion. He paused for a moment with his body steadied by his cane, before taking the necessary steps toward the front door. He was surprised at the rush of adrenaline that had surged through his body. He felt his heart beat in a steady rhythm, in time with a steam engine at full throttle with pearls of sweat populating his forehead.

Montgomery ignored every signal his body gave him and bound up the front stairs. He removed his hat and gloves before he rapped on the front door, but there was nothing but stillness on the other side of the door.

After a few moments went by without anyone coming to the door, Montgomery used his knuckles more forcibly against the door this time. The door gave way from the pounding and gently swung open.

Montgomery peered inside the darkened home, Hello? Is anyone there?

Receiving no response, Montgomery then looked through the door crack in order to determine if anyone was standing behind it. No one was, and in fact, it seemed no one was even home.

Montgomery called out, Hello? May I have a word with you?

Once again, his question was met with silence.

Montgomery walked over to the window and observed the inside of the home. Although the drapes were pulled, there was a small gap which allowed Montgomery to survey the home from the outside porch.

The home was darkened with no illuminating lights. The occupants were either asleep or away at the time of Montgomery's arrival. But why was the home left open? Was it customary in these parts?

Montgomery took several steps inside the home and scanned his new surroundings with a critical eye toward detail that he had learned from his many years as an investigator in London.

But this was not London, and this was not a case Scotland Yard had asked for his assistance with.

This was personal.

Montgomery Vale was a stranger to this part of the country; only here for one reason— to find out why his parents stood in front of this particular house in a photograph his grandfather had hidden.

Although Montgomery was born an American and raised by his African-American mother and bi-racial father, he felt no kinship to the United States. And this was to be expected, as his memories of living in the States all focused around losing his parents in a traffic accident, while the city official who caused the accident was never charged in their deaths, and Montgomery's subsequent whisking away to live with his aristocratic grandfather in England.

Montgomery felt guilty for being lavished with all the things his father should have had, but didn't have the opportunity, as he was a bi-racial child not accepted by their society. His father's birth had caused a split within their aristocratic family, resulting in Montgomery's grandmother taking her son, Montgomery's father, and leaving the country for America.

Montgomery's grandfather regretted every decision he made that created distance between him and his son. But his grandfather was born into a family of power and influence, which only allowed for the shadow romances between races and class.

His grandfather spoke of his only romance just once to Montgomery. He spoke of how his affections grew strong for a woman named Elizabeth. Elizabeth was an unusual English Negro. She was hired to condition and train the prize-winning thoroughbreds the family owned. Elizabeth rode her first mare by age three and had established a reputation as the premier trainer in England before she hit age twenty.

Montgomery's grandfather increased his time at the stables from one day a fortnight to daily; a fact not lost on his family.

During his daily training sessions, his grandfather fell hard for Elizabeth and wanted to make her his wife. He was foolish enough to believe that her skills as a horse trainer would supersede all prejudices and that he would get the approval of his family.

But he was wrong.

Not only was his grandfather banned from ever seeing Elizabeth again, but her reputation was destroyed by lies made to bury her and her family. Her father lost his job working for a mill yard where he had been since he was a boy of ten, while Elizabeth was banned from every stable which once welcomed her.

However, Elizabeth counted herself lucky as she knew that most people in her situation would have simply disappeared.

Montgomery's grandfather used what little influence he had to keep her and her family safe from immediate harm, but that was all he was capable of doing.

Months later, one of the stable hands stuffed a note inside his grandfather's coat pocket which informed him that Elizabeth had given birth to his child, a boy.

His grandfather fell to his knees in agony, as he knew he could never be a part of his son's life. But he would indeed swear to the heavens above that he would make sure that Elizabeth and his son, his blood, would be provided for.

That was a promise his grandfather kept; even after Elizabeth took their son and moved to the United States. It was there that Montgomery's father met and married his wife, and had Montgomery, their only-born.

After his parents’ accident, Montgomery arrived at his grandfather's estate, where he was lavished with everything a guilty conscience could afford.

But now his dearest grandfather had passed away, and still insisted that he knew nothing of his son's and daughter-in-law’s deaths, other than the official records.

Yet, buried, among his personal paperwork, was a photograph of the couple in front of a home in New York.

Montgomery was inside that very same home now. With a bit of trepidation, he shut front door behind him.


The Cellar

Inside the home , Montgomery found everything in its place; a home well-maintained and cared for. And for some reason, the home's tidiness comforted him and gave him reassurance.

Montgomery entered a den, a room customarily littered with family photos. This home had no photos on the desk, on the walls, nor on shelves. Montgomery surmised that whomever lived here did not have a life here.

Montgomery spotted a candle in its holder on top of the desk. He placed his cane against the desk while he searched for a

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