RHP—Scavengers!


I met Paul Hennrich a year or so ago, when I went to speak to the SEMO Writers’ Group in Cape Girardeau, Missouri. He gave me a copy of his first novel, Definitions, and I was absolutely hooked on the story: a “retired” DEA agent, Kent Baker, is hanging around St. Louis and trouble just seems to find him—trouble as in murder and mayhem.

So when Paul mentioned that he’d like RHP to publish the next book in this suspense series, I jumped on it—and here it is, Scavengers, with the return of Kent Baker.

 Scavengers

Kent Baker once again finds himself chasing the criminal element and rescuing the good guys, this time heading into Illinois farm country. His buddy Kevin’s grandmother has met an untimely end in a pigsty, and Kent takes a road trip to check into the situation.

What he finds there leads to a classmate reunion of sorts, a couple of knife fights, and a trip to UMSL. Oh, and a few altercations here and there. All in a day’s work for a semi-retired, perhaps on a leave of absence, certainly almost washed up and burnt out DEA agent.

And here’s a little about Paul:

Paul Hennrich was born and raised in the rolling farmlands of Southern Illinois, the same as Kent Baker, the protagonist of his mystery/suspense novels. He eventually married and settled in Southeast Missouri, first in Cape Girardeau and then in Jackson where he now resides. He and his wife are the proud parents of a daughter and a son, and grandparents to three grandchildren, all of whom are puzzle pieces of a large, extended family. He wrote his first short story in the third grade and has been forever grateful to his young teacher who took the time to read it to the entire class, even the part about a head rolling down the stairs. That story and his classmates’ reactions to it started him on is love affair with writing.

By the way, we’re having a giveaway for Scavengers over on our Facebook page . . .

Writer Wednesday—The New WIP


For your reading pleasure, my new WIP:

 

Aurora hated her name. It was so weird. None of her friends had weird names, they had normal names like Beth and Michelle and Tammy and Carrie. Or Lisa or Tina.

She sighed. It was hard being seven years old. She tenderly tucked in her doll, Mary Elizabeth, for a nap, and returned to picking up the rest of her toys before her mom called her for supper. If she hurried, she’d have time to read.

When Aurora was thirteen, she got a new bicycle, a red one. A grown-up bike, with gears and handbrakes and everything. She rode all over the neighborhood, to the park, and once she and Carrie went all the way down the main road to a pizza place.

At seventeen, she graduated high school and went off to college; at twenty-two, she was married and had a daughter. Throughout the next three decades, Aurora’s life was quite normal in spite of her name, but it was never boring.

And now, she was fifty years old.

And the unthinkable had happened. The world had ended.