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."
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."
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."
Links
Excerpt
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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