Boo Who
Autor Rene Gutteridge, Gutteridgeen Limba Engleză Paperback – 31 aug 2004
“Who’s there?”
Nobody in Skary seems to know for sure…
It appears that everyone in Skary, Indiana, is having an identity crisis of epic proportions–including the town itself. Once known as the haunt of the world’s most popular horror writer, Wolfe “Boo” Boone, Skary started losing tourist business after Boo abruptly abandoned his career. Now the little town with the big marketing hook is up a creek–and on the brink of bankruptcy.
Meanwhile, the former best-selling author is hawking [or selling] cars and wondering, like the rest of the world, if he’ll ever write again. Yet even as Boo’s literary career gracelessly plummets, his fiancée, wholesome Ainsley Parker, is shooting to stardom as the media’s darling new domestic diva.
Weave in a dreaming bride with a bargain dress and a few too many pounds on her hips, an unconventional therapist who has Skary in his thrall, a depressed cat, a dogged busybody, and a horde of strange, ghostly figures traipsing in and out of the woods, and it’s easy to see why Skary is the quirkiest–and most charming–town around.
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Specificații
ISBN-13: 9781578569854
ISBN-10: 1578569850
Pagini: 352
Dimensiuni: 140 x 213 x 18 mm
Greutate: 0.43 kg
Editura: Waterbrook Press
ISBN-10: 1578569850
Pagini: 352
Dimensiuni: 140 x 213 x 18 mm
Greutate: 0.43 kg
Editura: Waterbrook Press
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Notă biografică
Rene Gutteridge is the author of Boo, Ghost Writer and Troubled Waters and has been published extensively as a playwright. She graduated Magna Cum Laude from Oklahoma City University and is a full time writer.
Extras
Chapter 1
“Step back.” Tension made Garth Twyne’s tone harsh and his stomach sour. Everyone in the room kept a watchful eye on his shaking hand as it wielded the knife.
The two sheriff’s deputies flanking him, each with one hand on his holster, glanced at each other nervously, then obeyed. Garth noticed a trickle of sweat rolling down Deputy Kinard’s temple. It glistened its way down his puffy cheek and under the fat rolls of his chin. Garth pulled at his hair and looked at the knife he was holding. Barely holding. His limbs shook as badly as if he were on a date. And now he had a sudden urge to go to the bathroom. What timing.
“Why don’t you set that knife down,” Deputy Bledsoe said.
“Why don’t you shut your trap!” Garth barked.
Both deputies gasped then swallowed down the air.
“Look, let’s just all settle down here,” Kinard said.
Hyperventilation declared its warning in the center of Garth’s lungs. This was not a good sign. He’d performed a lot of different opera-tions under a lot of different kinds of stress, but this was just absurd.
“Can’t you two put your guns somewhere else?” he growled. “What are you going to do, shoot me?”
Bledsoe snorted. “We’re just following the sheriff’s orders, Garth. Besides, they’re not even loaded.”
Garth shot a skeptical glance to Kinard, who shrugged and said, “It’s Skary, Indiana, for crying out loud. The only thing we’d need a bullet for is to kill a snake.”
“I know a few of those,” Bledsoe chuckled. His smile faded when he glanced at Garth and then the very real knife he was holding. “Anyway, what’s the problem here?”
“The problem,” Garth seethed, “is that this is a delicate procedure, and it’s a little freaky having two men with guns breathing down my back.”
“And add the fact that you’ll probably be thrown in jail if you botch this thing again.”
It was true, he’d botched it years before and then let the sheriff believe his cat was neutered, hence creating the cat crisis in town. No thanks to old Missy Peeple, who had exposed the scandal, he now was having to reperform the operation. At gunpoint.
“Quiet, Bledsoe,” Kinard said. “Garth, just do what you need to do. We’re just here to, um, supervise…make sure it’s done right.”
Garth gripped the knife, clenched his teeth, and swallowed. By the sheet-white expressions on their faces, he knew Bledsoe and Kinard probably didn’t have the stomach to handle this. Skary’s bravest, huh? They should step into his shoes for a day.
Kinard let out a gentle sigh. “That cat is a legend.”
“A feline’s feline,” Bledsoe said with a salute. “A real lady’s man. I could probably use some pointers from that guy. I haven’t had a date in a year.”
“All right,” Garth sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Just remember, you kill this cat and you’ll have to face the sheriff,” Bledsoe said. “That cat is like a child to him.”
All three men glanced down at the cat slumbering peacefully on the cold, metal table. This was a hard sight for any man to witness. Garth was about to make his first incision when Bledsoe stepped away from the table and toward the only window in the room, opened slightly to relieve the humidity that had suddenly formed when these two men first announced they’d be joining Garth for the operation. Outside the day was gray and sputtering a mix of snow and rain. It was as if the earth mourned for its most notorious cat.
“I can’t watch,” Bledsoe whispered.
Garth tried to concentrate on the task at hand. The knife still shook, but he wasn’t about to delay any longer. He remembered quite well when, not long ago, this cat looked dead to the world, then suddenly came alive without a moment’s warning. And this time the feline hadn’t gone under without a fight, either. He’d scratched the daylights out of the vet twice. Thief knew his time carousing in the streets of Skary, Indiana, was about to be over.
“You’ve had a good life,” Garth murmured. He hated cats. Always had. Besides an aggravating allergy to them that brought hives to his skin and water to his eyes, they were snobs. All of them. Always thought they were better than everyone else. Tails high in the air. Noses turned up. Eyes that always looked as though they were bored to tears at the thought of spending another second around you. Yet needy. So stinkin’ needy. But as much as he hated cats, he couldn’t help feeling a bit of remorse for this poor fool, who had single-handedly populated the town with his offspring. Thief had even inspired a book by their town’s celebrity horror writer, Wolfe Boone. If only Garth’s life could be so exciting.
He glanced over his shoulder. Kinard had turned away, too, and was staring at the table of instruments that glinted in the room’s fluorescent lights. A satisfied smirk formed on Garth’s face, and finally his hand stopped shaking.
He looked back once more, and now both men peered out the window. He began the operation.
After a few moments, Bledsoe said. “Hmm.”
“What?” Kinard asked.
“Look. There. In this tree next to the window.”
“What? I don’t see anything.”
“See? Near the top. It’s an owl.”
“An owl? Oh, I do see it,” Kinard said. “You know, I can’t remember ever seeing an owl in these parts.”
“Come on, give us a little hoot. Come on! Come on, little owl,” said Bledsoe.
“Bledsoe, you sound like a moron,” Kinard said. He turned back toward the vet. “Garth, how’s it going over there?”
“You want to come and look?”
“No. No, um. Just keep it up, whatever you’re doing.”
Garth rolled his eyes as Bledsoe continued to call to the owl as if it were a one-year-old. “Hewwo, wittle owl. Hewwo. Gimme a hoot. C’mon. Gimme a hoot.”
This continued for several more agonizing seconds until finally Garth stopped what he was doing and said, “Bledsoe! Knock it off! Owls only hoot at night or early morning.”
“Oh.” Bledsoe turned back around and observed the owl. The room was silent for several minutes, allowing for the concentration Garth needed to get it right this time. At last he set his instruments down, wiped his forehead, and was about to pronounce the operation a success when the silence was undone by a single sound, coming from outside the window.
“Whooo.”
“Step back.” Tension made Garth Twyne’s tone harsh and his stomach sour. Everyone in the room kept a watchful eye on his shaking hand as it wielded the knife.
The two sheriff’s deputies flanking him, each with one hand on his holster, glanced at each other nervously, then obeyed. Garth noticed a trickle of sweat rolling down Deputy Kinard’s temple. It glistened its way down his puffy cheek and under the fat rolls of his chin. Garth pulled at his hair and looked at the knife he was holding. Barely holding. His limbs shook as badly as if he were on a date. And now he had a sudden urge to go to the bathroom. What timing.
“Why don’t you set that knife down,” Deputy Bledsoe said.
“Why don’t you shut your trap!” Garth barked.
Both deputies gasped then swallowed down the air.
“Look, let’s just all settle down here,” Kinard said.
Hyperventilation declared its warning in the center of Garth’s lungs. This was not a good sign. He’d performed a lot of different opera-tions under a lot of different kinds of stress, but this was just absurd.
“Can’t you two put your guns somewhere else?” he growled. “What are you going to do, shoot me?”
Bledsoe snorted. “We’re just following the sheriff’s orders, Garth. Besides, they’re not even loaded.”
Garth shot a skeptical glance to Kinard, who shrugged and said, “It’s Skary, Indiana, for crying out loud. The only thing we’d need a bullet for is to kill a snake.”
“I know a few of those,” Bledsoe chuckled. His smile faded when he glanced at Garth and then the very real knife he was holding. “Anyway, what’s the problem here?”
“The problem,” Garth seethed, “is that this is a delicate procedure, and it’s a little freaky having two men with guns breathing down my back.”
“And add the fact that you’ll probably be thrown in jail if you botch this thing again.”
It was true, he’d botched it years before and then let the sheriff believe his cat was neutered, hence creating the cat crisis in town. No thanks to old Missy Peeple, who had exposed the scandal, he now was having to reperform the operation. At gunpoint.
“Quiet, Bledsoe,” Kinard said. “Garth, just do what you need to do. We’re just here to, um, supervise…make sure it’s done right.”
Garth gripped the knife, clenched his teeth, and swallowed. By the sheet-white expressions on their faces, he knew Bledsoe and Kinard probably didn’t have the stomach to handle this. Skary’s bravest, huh? They should step into his shoes for a day.
Kinard let out a gentle sigh. “That cat is a legend.”
“A feline’s feline,” Bledsoe said with a salute. “A real lady’s man. I could probably use some pointers from that guy. I haven’t had a date in a year.”
“All right,” Garth sighed. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“Just remember, you kill this cat and you’ll have to face the sheriff,” Bledsoe said. “That cat is like a child to him.”
All three men glanced down at the cat slumbering peacefully on the cold, metal table. This was a hard sight for any man to witness. Garth was about to make his first incision when Bledsoe stepped away from the table and toward the only window in the room, opened slightly to relieve the humidity that had suddenly formed when these two men first announced they’d be joining Garth for the operation. Outside the day was gray and sputtering a mix of snow and rain. It was as if the earth mourned for its most notorious cat.
“I can’t watch,” Bledsoe whispered.
Garth tried to concentrate on the task at hand. The knife still shook, but he wasn’t about to delay any longer. He remembered quite well when, not long ago, this cat looked dead to the world, then suddenly came alive without a moment’s warning. And this time the feline hadn’t gone under without a fight, either. He’d scratched the daylights out of the vet twice. Thief knew his time carousing in the streets of Skary, Indiana, was about to be over.
“You’ve had a good life,” Garth murmured. He hated cats. Always had. Besides an aggravating allergy to them that brought hives to his skin and water to his eyes, they were snobs. All of them. Always thought they were better than everyone else. Tails high in the air. Noses turned up. Eyes that always looked as though they were bored to tears at the thought of spending another second around you. Yet needy. So stinkin’ needy. But as much as he hated cats, he couldn’t help feeling a bit of remorse for this poor fool, who had single-handedly populated the town with his offspring. Thief had even inspired a book by their town’s celebrity horror writer, Wolfe Boone. If only Garth’s life could be so exciting.
He glanced over his shoulder. Kinard had turned away, too, and was staring at the table of instruments that glinted in the room’s fluorescent lights. A satisfied smirk formed on Garth’s face, and finally his hand stopped shaking.
He looked back once more, and now both men peered out the window. He began the operation.
After a few moments, Bledsoe said. “Hmm.”
“What?” Kinard asked.
“Look. There. In this tree next to the window.”
“What? I don’t see anything.”
“See? Near the top. It’s an owl.”
“An owl? Oh, I do see it,” Kinard said. “You know, I can’t remember ever seeing an owl in these parts.”
“Come on, give us a little hoot. Come on! Come on, little owl,” said Bledsoe.
“Bledsoe, you sound like a moron,” Kinard said. He turned back toward the vet. “Garth, how’s it going over there?”
“You want to come and look?”
“No. No, um. Just keep it up, whatever you’re doing.”
Garth rolled his eyes as Bledsoe continued to call to the owl as if it were a one-year-old. “Hewwo, wittle owl. Hewwo. Gimme a hoot. C’mon. Gimme a hoot.”
This continued for several more agonizing seconds until finally Garth stopped what he was doing and said, “Bledsoe! Knock it off! Owls only hoot at night or early morning.”
“Oh.” Bledsoe turned back around and observed the owl. The room was silent for several minutes, allowing for the concentration Garth needed to get it right this time. At last he set his instruments down, wiped his forehead, and was about to pronounce the operation a success when the silence was undone by a single sound, coming from outside the window.
“Whooo.”
Recenzii
“Two weddings that might or might not take place, a gown four sizes too small, plans for one of the brides-to-be to become the new Martha Stewart, a town on the verge of bankruptcy–and just what's up with those owls? Rene Gutteridge has done it again! Just as she did in Boo, Rene takes the quirky, yet quite likeable, characters of Skary, Indiana, adds some even quirkier plot twists, tosses in some pop culture references, and mixes it all together for a fun read. Boo Who is definitely a good thing.”
–Nancy Kennedy, author of Move Over, Victoria–I Know the Real Secret and When He Doesn’t Believe
What a funny, happy, redemptive book. It was a joy to immerse myself in the town of Skary, Indiana, with its quirky, lovable, but very real people. I hope to make many more visits to Skary!
–Linda Hall, author of Steal Away and Chat Room
“Boo Who was a one-sitting read that kept me riveted with its stunning characterization. Rene Gutteridge’s tightly-written novel wrapped humor, mystery and romance into a sumptuous feast I couldn’t put down.”
–Kristin Billerbeck, author of What a Girl Wants and She’s Out of Control
–Nancy Kennedy, author of Move Over, Victoria–I Know the Real Secret and When He Doesn’t Believe
What a funny, happy, redemptive book. It was a joy to immerse myself in the town of Skary, Indiana, with its quirky, lovable, but very real people. I hope to make many more visits to Skary!
–Linda Hall, author of Steal Away and Chat Room
“Boo Who was a one-sitting read that kept me riveted with its stunning characterization. Rene Gutteridge’s tightly-written novel wrapped humor, mystery and romance into a sumptuous feast I couldn’t put down.”
–Kristin Billerbeck, author of What a Girl Wants and She’s Out of Control
Descriere
As the world's favorite horror writer watches his literary career plummet, his fiancee shoots to stardom as a domestic diva. Together they must discover how to nurture love while carving out new identities in their quirky--yet charming--hometown.