An Agent's Inbox #13

Dear Secret Agent,

The Orange Lake sheriff has ruled Hap Taskett’s death a simple drowning. But for Hap’s eighteen year old daughter, Leanne, there’s nothing simple about it. Especially when her wild older sister Claudette insists--despite all evidence to the contrary--that she is responsible, then disappears down the highway without even a goodbye.

With her father's dilapidated motel crumbling around her in the slick North Florida heat, Leanne prepares an escape of her own: college, marriage and all the trappings of a normal life. Then Citra Starke, a strange backwoods girl, appears on her doorstep and despite her instincts, Leanne takes her in as a sort of surrogate sister.

But Citra has more connection to the family than she lets on, and she hopes to uncover keys to what she believes was Hap’s murder. Now, careful Leanne must track her missing sister and piece together the secrets of her father’s life--and death--if she is to salvage what’s left of her tattered family.

ORANGE LAKE is contemporary, “book club” fiction, an edgier, Southern Where the Heart Is. It is told in alternating points of view and is complete at 83,000 words.

I grew up in Florida and spent several years teaching in the rural communities around Orange Lake. I’ve also attended the ***’s Master’s program in Creative Writing (where I won a teaching assistantship) and have been fortunate to work with many talented writers--including ***, ***, and ***-- while developing my craft. I’ve published several poems and a few short stories in literary magazines such as *** and ***. I am an active member of *** Writers community.

I've included the first 250 words of my manuscript below.

Sincerely,
P.W.


ORANGE LAKE

Leanne watched as Daddy pushed the canoe into the shallows, his rolled-up jeans already soaked through at the knees. Her sister Claudette sulked in the bow. They expected Leanne to come along but it’d been years since family outings, and today was no day for one: wind hissing across the lake, sky the dull white of an old sheet.

Daddy tilted his head toward the vacant middle seat. “Come on.”

Leanne hesitated. She had no desire to witness this latest argument, whatever its origin. Claudette was pissed, Daddy too, though also jittery and tense.

Leanne would be off to college soon. She didn’t need them.  The wind plowed her short bangs from her forehead and numbed her cheeks. She shook her head, started up the slope to the lodge. It was the one time she’d refused them.

And later this seemed the hinge on which the whole day turned.  If she had just gone ahead and played her part, the good girl, the calm in all their bluff and bluster, none of the rest would have happened.

She was standing at the kitchen sink when she heard the shouting: tourists with high, frightened voices. “Holys***! Holys***!” honked over the lake, like the call of some strange bird.

She ran out to the stoop, but the canoe was nowhere in sight. Instead, a bass boat headed for the put-in. And Claudette hunched inside it, her face all fury and fear. The boat scraped up on the ramp.

Where was Daddy?