Over My Live Body
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Delilah is accustomed to people seeing her naked. As a nude model – a gig that keeps food on the table while her career as a sculptor takes off – it comes with the territory.But Delilah has never before felt this vulnerable.Because Delilah has an admirer. Someone who is paying a great deal of attention to her. And he just might love her to death.The debut of a shockingly fresh voice in suspense fiction, OVER MY LIVE BODY will work its way inside of you.
Trade Paperback ISBN: 978-1-61188-118-9 E-book ISBN: 978-1-61188-119-6 Publication Date: March 18, 2014 280 pages Buy this book at: Buy Direct & Read Now or Later with The Story Plant App Amazon Barnes & Noble Apple Kobo Your Local Bookstore Chapters/Indigo Praise for OVER MY LIVE BODY “Smart, witty, and delightfully unpredictable, Susan Israel’s Over My Live Body is a truly wonderful debut. Highly recommended.” – Doug Corleone, author of GOOD AS GONE “A smart, savvy mystery with a very likeable heroine and a twisted and labyrinth plot.” – Cayocosta72 “Page turning goodness with a tinge of suspense and a twist of shock.” – Cassandra M’s Place “A definite page-turner for me. It kept my interest and attention to the very end and I will be looking forward to the second book in the series.” – The Butler Did It “Susan Israel has created an offbeat heroine, a strong woman intent on her career and determined to make it on her own regardless of what it takes to do so…recommended for mystery lovers.” – Booksie’s Blog “This book kept me riveted and entertained.” – Read Along With Sue “A well written, delightful, interesting and fun read. Looking forward to book two!” – Hotchpotch |
Over My Live Body by Susan Israel - Chapter One - Book Excerpt
Ivan is using The New York Times as a tablecloth again. I never get to read it anymore without seeing jelly stains, big blobs of coffee, and buttery fingerprints blotting out connecting words, smearing print.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” I tell him. “I have place mats.”
“It’s my paper.” He turns the page and I see crumbs fall on the floor. I hear my mother’s voice echo in the kitchen: You’re making more work for me. You never pick up after yourself. It’s my father she’s yelling at. I feel like I’ve flipped back the pages in some history book. My father never responded. I bite my tongue. Ivan is too argumentative lately, too quick to respond and not just with words any more. Silence is better. At least when we’re not at each other’s throats I can still appreciate what attracted me to him: the looks, the so-gorgeous-they-ought-to-charge-admission-for-this looks, looks that could kill. I can’t get off on this superficiality any longer; he scares me. The radio commentator droning in the background about some unidentified female homicide victim reminds me why I should be scared. I reach for the Metro section to see if there’s any mention of it there. Ivan pushes my hand away. “Look at this,” he points to something in Section D about bond trading. I scowl and open the refrigerator to get half-and-half for my coffee. The smell of it makes me wince and I pour it down the drain.
“I forgot to tell you,” Ivan says, “some one called you last night before you got home.”
“Who?” I remember that I didn’t bring my cell phone when I ran out to the store to buy marinara sauce, but Ivan wasn’t home then and when I came back he was. A lot can happen in ten minutes.
“He didn’t say.” The ‘he’ hums around the room like a menacing insect.
“What did he say?”
Ivan smiles. “Expecting a call, Delilah?”
“What makes you think I am?”
“It’s not the first time he’s called.”
“How am I supposed to know who it is? He didn’t leave his name, you said so yourself. It could be anyone. Anyway, why didn’t you tell me about this before? And why are you answering my cell phone? I don’t answer yours.”
“I figured it would all come out in a matter of time.”
“What would all come out?”
“The identity of your secret admirer.”
“Secret admirer? What are you talking about?” I sip at the black coffee and scowl at him. “You’re crazy.”
A siren screeches outside. Then another. Somebody downstairs screams. Wandering into whatever mayhem lurks outside would be preferable to dealing with the brutality of Ivan’s polite innuendo. I haven’t done anything to deserve this. I feel like screaming myself, but the last thing I need is the EMS people, not to mention the police, knocking down the door. “Hey, lady, lady,” they would holler, “are you all right? What’s wrong? Why’d you scream?”
And I’d have to say something like, “Never mind, guys, I’m sorry, he’s just shooting accusations at me and they’re not even loaded. Too bad you weren’t around the other night when he shoved me into the wall.”
Yes, too damn bad.
The ringtone of my phone revives me. Shrill even when it’s turned to low, it never fails to make me want to dance, but today it’s not a happy dance. Ivan’s eyebrows shoot up. “There he is now.”
I throw a crumpled napkin at him. “Hello?”
There’s a lot of static on the line, that and garbled voices in the distance, but no one jumping in to say, “Hi, Delilah.” No one saying anything.
“Telemarketer,” I announce cheerfully as I hang up.
“Sure.” Ivan folds the paper sloppily and puts it to one side as he gets
up. “Who’d he ask for?”
“No one. No one was on the line. Just a lot of noise. Must have been a bad connection or something like that.”
“Yes, something like that.”
A vehicle starts up outside, horn blaring, siren wailing, and then pulls away into the gridlock of downtown traffic, the general cacophony of other horns, other sirens. I’m still thinking about bad connections. Ivan gets ready to head out the door. “See you later,” he says. I take it as a threat and nod. Let him think he will. If he just simply vanished like the screech of the sirens I wouldn’t care, I’d be relieved. I have to be out all day and I’ve made up my mind that when he comes back tonight, he’s not going to be able to get in. I could stay out all night, wouldn’t he be surprised. No. He’d more likely suspect I’m with my ‘secret admirer’. If I’m lucky, maybe he’ll decide he’s had enough and pack his things and go, but he’s more than likely going to come back after work and lie in wait for me. The best thing for me to do is have a new lock put on the door, so I don’t have to worry about that. But first I’ve got to go to work.
Ivan is using The New York Times as a tablecloth again. I never get to read it anymore without seeing jelly stains, big blobs of coffee, and buttery fingerprints blotting out connecting words, smearing print.
“I wish you wouldn’t do that,” I tell him. “I have place mats.”
“It’s my paper.” He turns the page and I see crumbs fall on the floor. I hear my mother’s voice echo in the kitchen: You’re making more work for me. You never pick up after yourself. It’s my father she’s yelling at. I feel like I’ve flipped back the pages in some history book. My father never responded. I bite my tongue. Ivan is too argumentative lately, too quick to respond and not just with words any more. Silence is better. At least when we’re not at each other’s throats I can still appreciate what attracted me to him: the looks, the so-gorgeous-they-ought-to-charge-admission-for-this looks, looks that could kill. I can’t get off on this superficiality any longer; he scares me. The radio commentator droning in the background about some unidentified female homicide victim reminds me why I should be scared. I reach for the Metro section to see if there’s any mention of it there. Ivan pushes my hand away. “Look at this,” he points to something in Section D about bond trading. I scowl and open the refrigerator to get half-and-half for my coffee. The smell of it makes me wince and I pour it down the drain.
“I forgot to tell you,” Ivan says, “some one called you last night before you got home.”
“Who?” I remember that I didn’t bring my cell phone when I ran out to the store to buy marinara sauce, but Ivan wasn’t home then and when I came back he was. A lot can happen in ten minutes.
“He didn’t say.” The ‘he’ hums around the room like a menacing insect.
“What did he say?”
Ivan smiles. “Expecting a call, Delilah?”
“What makes you think I am?”
“It’s not the first time he’s called.”
“How am I supposed to know who it is? He didn’t leave his name, you said so yourself. It could be anyone. Anyway, why didn’t you tell me about this before? And why are you answering my cell phone? I don’t answer yours.”
“I figured it would all come out in a matter of time.”
“What would all come out?”
“The identity of your secret admirer.”
“Secret admirer? What are you talking about?” I sip at the black coffee and scowl at him. “You’re crazy.”
A siren screeches outside. Then another. Somebody downstairs screams. Wandering into whatever mayhem lurks outside would be preferable to dealing with the brutality of Ivan’s polite innuendo. I haven’t done anything to deserve this. I feel like screaming myself, but the last thing I need is the EMS people, not to mention the police, knocking down the door. “Hey, lady, lady,” they would holler, “are you all right? What’s wrong? Why’d you scream?”
And I’d have to say something like, “Never mind, guys, I’m sorry, he’s just shooting accusations at me and they’re not even loaded. Too bad you weren’t around the other night when he shoved me into the wall.”
Yes, too damn bad.
The ringtone of my phone revives me. Shrill even when it’s turned to low, it never fails to make me want to dance, but today it’s not a happy dance. Ivan’s eyebrows shoot up. “There he is now.”
I throw a crumpled napkin at him. “Hello?”
There’s a lot of static on the line, that and garbled voices in the distance, but no one jumping in to say, “Hi, Delilah.” No one saying anything.
“Telemarketer,” I announce cheerfully as I hang up.
“Sure.” Ivan folds the paper sloppily and puts it to one side as he gets
up. “Who’d he ask for?”
“No one. No one was on the line. Just a lot of noise. Must have been a bad connection or something like that.”
“Yes, something like that.”
A vehicle starts up outside, horn blaring, siren wailing, and then pulls away into the gridlock of downtown traffic, the general cacophony of other horns, other sirens. I’m still thinking about bad connections. Ivan gets ready to head out the door. “See you later,” he says. I take it as a threat and nod. Let him think he will. If he just simply vanished like the screech of the sirens I wouldn’t care, I’d be relieved. I have to be out all day and I’ve made up my mind that when he comes back tonight, he’s not going to be able to get in. I could stay out all night, wouldn’t he be surprised. No. He’d more likely suspect I’m with my ‘secret admirer’. If I’m lucky, maybe he’ll decide he’s had enough and pack his things and go, but he’s more than likely going to come back after work and lie in wait for me. The best thing for me to do is have a new lock put on the door, so I don’t have to worry about that. But first I’ve got to go to work.