Title: Morgan's Run
Published by: TamboWrites
Release Date: May 5th, 2020
Contributors: Tambo Jones (author), Michelle Maakestad (illustrator)
Genre: Women's Fiction
Pages: 334
ISBN13: 978-1951023133
ASIN: B085Q68PRZ

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Abuse survivor Morgan Miller doesn't do complicated or Tricky.
She runs.

When the one person she trusts - her online employer and best friend, Darcy Harris - dies, Morgan lands in rural Minnesota, stranded with Darcy's messy house and a smashed hard drive, locking away access to her website and work. Morgan hires IT Specialist Nick Hawkins who promises to unravel the damage and get her up and running again.

Disturbing phone calls and recovered data arouse the suspicions of local police. Morgan's first instinct is to break ties and flee. But Minnesota's so welcoming, and Nick's so sweet...

And Darcy's killer is watching her every step.

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ONE

Darcy can’t really be dead, Morgan thought, clutching damp
tissues and trying not to feel overwhelmed. After spending much
of her twenty-seven years running through large cities, she stared at
the sedate, wide-open space of rural Minnesota as if it were an alien
landscape. She’d been born in Madison, fostered in Milwaukee, ran
away to Chicago, to Detroit, Indianapolis. Always cities. A person
could disappear in a city, become another bug in the swarm, but
everything stood out in the country. One little deviation from the
norm brought notice. One little tree. One stone. One farmhouse.
One city girl with nowhere else to run to.
At least until her only friend and website partner had
unexpectedly died.
A copy of Darcy’s will lay on Morgan’s lap, the top page
speckled and smeared by her tears. Pages three and four had
insisted Morgan visit rural Minnesota and endure an apparently
endless sales pitch from Ms. K Bennet, the financial advisor
driving her to Darcy’s house.
After hearing at least five miles worth of gibberish on
the benefits of using the firm to convert annuities to equity
instruments—whatever that meant—Morgan sighed and pressed
her forehead against the window. God, she wanted to run, to feel
pavement and earth beneath her scuffed Nikes, the wind tugging at
her ponytail, and hot summer sunshine on her shoulders instead
of being cooped up in a leather-scented car with a woman who only
cared about selling market indices and accounts.
Bennet insisted Morgan, as the new sole owner of Pony
and Mule Web Development, should consider the ease of asset
allocation services and integration options on her websites.
“I just write articles and reviews for FrugallyUrban. I don’t
know anything about the business end,” Morgan said, but Bennet
continued, assuring her that putting links back to her financial
consulting office was simple and would provide added benefits to
Morgan’s site customers.
Morgan barely listened as they drove past a farmhouse with
a partly-built addition off one side; just golden wooden studs,
plywood floor, and a roof. Morgan bet pretty much everyone within
five miles knew exactly who was building the addition, why they
were building it, how much they spent, and who did the work.
Then they’d debate the merits of all of those things over coffee in a
diner or farmhouse kitchen somewhere. She shuddered.
Maybe a mile, mile and a half past the farmhouse, Bennet
braked, slowing to a sedate pace as they passed a large, cheery sign
saying Welcome To Hackberry, Pop. 586 - along with smaller signs
for Hackberry Lions, Hackberry Lutheran Church, Hackberry
VFW, and a cardboard reminder to donate to the Hackberry
Youth Can Drive.
Darcy’s hometown. Only she wasn’t in it anymore.
Morgan pushed a wayward strand of dark hair aside and rubbed
her forehead. I can’t do this. I just can’t. Darcy, I’m so sorry, I ca—
Bennet pulled into a driveway and turned off the car.
“We’re here. Are you ready to examine the real estate portion
of your portfolio?”
Morgan jumped as if slapped and slowly lowered her hand. The
house looked exactly like the pictures Darcy had posted—yellow
craftsman bungalow with some trees here and there, marigolds
and petunias in the flowerbeds, and a swing on the porch. Kids
rode by on bikes, their chatter barely heard over the pained slam of
Morgan’s heart.
C’mon, Darcy, she thought, eyes stinging. Open the front door
already. You’re still here. You’re still alive. You have to be. You can’t leave
me all alone with this pushy woman.
Morgan sat, shaking and staring at the porch swing, until
Bennet came around and opened her door.