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  • Format: ePub

Hank Green, age seventy-seven, had never imagined his retirement years would bring anything more exciting than a surprise raccoon in the attic or the occasional lost hiker. After nearly five decades of work as a small-town detective, the quiet had grown on him, and he'd settled into his one-bedroom log cabin at the edge of the Maine woods with a sense of contentment that surprised even his grown children.
The cabin, located so far from the main road that GPS units became existentially confused, was his sanctuary, a place where he could indulge his lifelong appetite for murder mysteries and,
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Produktbeschreibung
Hank Green, age seventy-seven, had never imagined his retirement years would bring anything more exciting than a surprise raccoon in the attic or the occasional lost hiker. After nearly five decades of work as a small-town detective, the quiet had grown on him, and he'd settled into his one-bedroom log cabin at the edge of the Maine woods with a sense of contentment that surprised even his grown children.

The cabin, located so far from the main road that GPS units became existentially confused, was his sanctuary, a place where he could indulge his lifelong appetite for murder mysteries and, of course, science fiction.

Hank's love of all things space-related was legendary in the county. The local librarian joked that Hank had single-handedly kept their interlibrary loan system afloat with his appetite for battered paperbacks and specialty magazines, and she wasn't far off. His favorite by far was a certain space franchise that had launched in the 1960s, and he still wore his replica communicator pin with a certain proud, nerdy gravitas.

For years he'd dreamed of seeing something unexplainable, and if he was honest, he'd spent more than a few hours a week scanning the night sky with an old, slightly lopsided telescope.

On the morning it happened, Hank's first clue came not from the heavens, but the ground: A vibration, low and steady, that rattled his mug of tea and sent a shelf of mystery novels tumbling in slow motion. At first Hank suspected a mild earthquake or a logging accident, but the shake lasted longer than felt natural. He put on his battered barn coat, grabbed his ever-ready field notebook, and stepped outside. He was met not by the usual birdsong, but a profound silence.


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Autorenporträt
I was born in England, but have lived in Southern California for many years. I m now retired and live in the Pacific NW in a little seaside city amongst the giant redwoods and wonderful harbor, almost at the Oregon border. My husband and I have one cat, called Midnight and she is featured in two of my latest Sci-Fi short stories. I love Science Fiction, animals, and trying to help others. I publish under Doreen Milstead as well as my own name. My photo was taken right before the coronation of QE II in the UK.