Foolish Aspirations by M. Scott Swanson

Foolish Aspirations

Foolish Aspirations by M. Scott Swanson (April May Snow Psychic Mystery #1)
English | 2020 | Mystery/Thriller| ePUB | 1.7 MB

Papa Snow, rest his soul, always said, “April, when life hands you lemons, make me a lemon meringue pie.” It’s a good thing he’s not around anymore. There’s not enough sugar in Alabama to sweeten the lemons life gave me for that pie. Yes. It’s a metaphor. You know darn well I can’t bake.

Dusty is researching his next ‘Thirteen Haunts’ novel and offers me an obscene amount of money to work on his paranormal investigation team. They have an excursion planned for the Osborne hotel in Paducah Kentucky, this weekend. If you’d told me last year my ‘Gifts’ would be more valuable than my law degree, I’d have laughed. I’m not laughing now.

Mama arrives home an hour later, and I still haven’t put together an argument that I believe will carry my case. And I fancy myself a defense attorney.

I know I’m in deep trouble. Mama acts as if she’s genuinely pleased to see me and begins preparing chicken enchiladas for dinner almost immediately after she gives me a hug. Mama all but hung up the apron and potholders on the weekdays ten years earlier when she started her real estate company. Today is Monday. She also didn’t mention the strange truck and trailer in her driveway piled high with my possessions.

I get the impression she thinks if she doesn’t bring it up, the truck will magically disappear.

She slides the two enchilada trays, one chicken and one faux chicken, Mama is vegan, into the oven. She turns her attention to making fresh guacamole and salsa. Mama is like that. She can make the most challenging task seem simple.

The deft slicing with her paring knife is so quick it’s mesmerizing. I can’t imagine how many nicks I would have on my fingers if I attempted to emulate her.

I stare at her face in hopes she will look up and break the silence. I need to talk to her about my plans, whatever they may be. She’s not ready. She’s working through her aggravation.

Despite the present rigid set of her full lips, Mama is one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever met. She’s a tall woman at five-nine with a generous portion of her height being long legs. Her cheekbones are high, and her eyes a rich brown that reminds me of hot cocoa on a cold winter’s day. Her most stunning feature by far is her luxurious head of hair. The few silver strands that have appeared in her otherwise chestnut brown mane only highlight and enhance her beauty. Mama, with her hair, combed out is an impressive sight.

‘Baby, can you set the table for five?’

Every muscle in my body relaxes. The exile is over. ‘Yes, ma’am.’

‘Thank you.’

Grateful for the break from the silent treatment and pleased to be given a task I decide now is my opening to broach the subject of the orange pickup truck in the driveway. ‘Mama, what would you say if I decided to move back home for a while?’

‘I’d say someone kidnapped my daughter and replaced her with an imposter. Why?’

I feel my ears heat up with embarrassment and carry the silverware to the kitchen nook. ‘I’m just not sure if I’m ready to live by myself in a big city just yet. Maybe I should come home for a year and then try it out.’

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