Outskirts Press, INC.

World War II is the backdrop for mystery, love, and murder.

This compelling novel exposes the undergarments of love and hate that unites and destroys two brothers that battle for the love of one woman - Meredith, a sensuous yet naive young woman with alabaster skin and blazing, auburn-colored hair. Clint, the older brother, is pulled into W.W. II and is thousands of miles away from the prize, and Meredith is left in the care of Stephen. A voluptuous young woman, Donna, with large, innocent-looking blue eyes and unruly, rebellious, brown hair with an uncertain past wants Stephen for herself. Donna’s mother, Margaret, is presumed crazy. At night her ghostly, white face can be seen at her open bedroom window. With her long hair flailing in the night air, she rubs her white, cotton nightgown violently as if she is taking a hurried bath. She has a secret, a secret that she will take to her premature death; a secret that once revealed will change Donna’s life. Harold Quickbaum, a dishonest junk dealer, attempts to rape Donna, hides in the shadows, and ties his son, Tom, to a tree and violently whips him, because Tom is a “bastard child”. All of Quickbaum’s scorn and hatred for Tom’s mother who disappeared years ago appears as large, festering welts on Tom’s back. Quickbaum keeps the prying eyes of the law out of his junkyard with a high fence, ex-cons, and fierce dogs while he makes a killing off the war. The little Illinois town will be shocked by the revenge of a scorned woman. There is more than one prize and may the better man win!

Stephen stared blindly out the window, licked his lips, and wished for a cold glass of water. He didn’t hear the child crying over the loss of an ice cream cone that lay melting on the sidewalk, nor did he notice the black ’37 Ford at the curb spewing white steam into the already humid air. A large, buffalo-shaped cloud momentarily blocked the sun, and the window was bathed in shade. Stephen felt helpless. He looked at his watch. He had arrived last night around ten, and now it was almost noon. Stephen slumped into a straight-back chair that was only slightly more comfortable than standing. On another hot, summer day four years ago, he fell in love with Meredith. He was a fifteen-year-old boy with raging and misunderstood hormones, and Meredith was a young woman of seventeen. Stephen was searching for blackberries for his grandmother when he saw Meredith bouncing through the hay field that separated their farms. Stephen followed at a safe distance, hiding behind trees and shrubs. Meredith arrived at the creek; she looked around cautiously for several minutes before shedding her clothes and plunging into the cool, spring-fed water.