Biker Gurls

For information contact: Pink Flamingo Publications P.O. Box 632 Richland, MI 49083 USA © Sergey Ryzhov - Fotolia.com Email Comments: comments@pinkflamingo.com With the exception of quotes used in reviews, no part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, by any means, including mechanical, electronic, photocopying recording or otherwise without prior written permission of the publishers. “The villainy you teach me, I will execute, and it shall go hard but I will better the instruction” Shakespeare Merchant of Venice Prologue June Twenty Five 7:00 P.M. Corrie sat on the edge of her bed, staring into the open and empty night stand drawer for a long time, regretting that she had not burned the damned book long ago, burned it and buried the ashes. Every night Corrie faithfully documented all of her moral failings and locked them in that drawer. Most diaries are merely private, but hers was positively incriminating. Barring the early onset of Alzheimer’s disease, there was no way that she could possibly have mislaid the damned thing. Considering what it would cost her if the book fell into the wrong hands, such carelessness was unthinkable. She closed the drawer and immediately opened it again, as though the power of her imagination might correct an error of perception and make the book magically reappear. It was gone- just GONE! Impossible The key had been right where it should be, under the Southwest corner of the bedroom carpet. The drawer lock showed no signs that it had been forced or deceived. There was nothing of monetary value missing. The flat screen was still hanging on the living room wall with the DVD player connected. Her collection of classic films was intact, still carefully alphabetized and arranged on the shelves with the spines in perfect alignment. Her Grandmother’s crystal and silverware were undisturbed. Her Mother’s wedding ring still languished in the jewelry box. The spare house key was still under the fake rock by the hydrangea. If the book had been stolen, the culprit was no ordinary burglar. The light outside was fading when the bedside phone startled her from her daze. “Hello?” No one answered her at first, and Corrie was struck by a dreadful certainty. On the other end of the line a woman chuckled. “You have been a very bad girl, Corrie.”