Thursday, April 26, 2018

Mirnda Bay

About the Book
Title: Miranda Bay
Author: Susan Tarr
Genre: Women’s Fiction
Miranda, a strong-minded and lovable young woman, splurges her inheritance on the old Miranda Bay Sanatorium in the sub-tropical Bay of Islands, New Zealand, simply because it bears her name. She knows little about running a business and depends heavily on loyal cousin Pansy's expertise. 

In her frantic drive for success Miranda hires a local character to get cracking on the property. Hamilton, her lascivious financial advisor, seizes the opportunity to undermine her. But now with paying guests expected, she must make some serious decisions. 

So the guests trickle in - hardly the sophisticates Miranda has envisaged. 

At the brink of despair, she experiences deepening depression and manic behavior. She contrives an outlandish economic solution to the problem. What follow is intrigue and terror, and an emotional and tender unfolding of events in the face of financial ruin. 

"Witty and wicked, scandalous and scary, this is a story to make you laugh and cry."

Author Bio
Susan Tarr has been writing for 25 years, drawing on her international travels, work within the NZ tourism industry, and her work in various psychiatric hospitals within New Zealand.

She lived in Kenya, East Africa, for some years where she began her family.
Although she writes from personal experience, she also uses anecdotal information from conversations and other peoples' stories, resulting in her characters taking on a life of their own and becoming larger than life. She enjoys a wide variety of personalities.

Susan says, "As I write their stories, my characters will often lead me to places I couldn't imagine. So I relax and let them form as they will. I am passionate about my writing and I usually have three books on the go at any one time."

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This night, she took refuge in the dank darkness of the spa room where the windows were misted over and there was not a trace of light or movement within. Yet Hamilton was there with his door-tapping and knob-turning. Rigid with inordinate fear, she stifled a high panicky cry with her fist shoved in her mouth.
And as he stood outside the door, for the first time since all the crazy stuff started happening, she felt she was in the presence of pure evil.
The spa room was clammy, almost airless, and from the deep shadows inside, she could hear labored breathing. She shivered uncontrollably. Evil was not that tangible. Evil was a thing of the soul, self-contained, not pervasive.
In the ensuing silence, the sound of the knob turning had her belly barreling into her ribs. A scrunching of feet as he shifted his weight. Then she watched frozen in fear as a hand moved back and forth across the steamy window in an attempt to clear a space, his face pressed close to the glass, peering, trying to see her in the gloom. As her senses reached out into the darkness she forgot to breathe, resuming abruptly with a gasp. She had flattened herself down into the water, waiting motionlessly. The silence went on for a long time, and in the tepid fugue of the chlorinated water she shivered. Fear brushed the walls in her chest.
Her hair was hanging in cold locks against her shoulders, her teeth chattered and her lips were quivering.
But now her bladder pressed heavily. Silently, and very slowly so as not to ripple the water, she slid the foam cover back across the pool until only the top of her head was showing. Then, as she peeked over the top, Hamilton wiped a hand across the window once more, and pressed his bloated face against the glass, his ghostly white, flattened cheek devoid of shape. The pressure on her bladder was intolerable.
At what seemed like midnight but was probably much earlier, she heard Hamilton’s uneven gait as he made his way from the fern garden edging the spa room and back to his suite. Just an insignificant little man with no power over me. Her waterlogged brain chimed in, Of course, he has. He’s got lots of power over you. Success or failure. Yours. What if he hasn’t gone? What if it is all a trick, something elaborate and terrible?
She retreated into herself, consoling herself. In the morning she would unlock the door and walk out into the safety of a bright new day. Meanwhile, in the cool water, she dozed fitfully.
A hand shook the door handle, jerking and straining at it.
She screamed. She struggled toward wakefulness through a morass of dreams, fighting to breathe, her mouth doughy with sleep and dread.

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