A look at Author Rolynn Anderson’s Inspiration
Her suspense novels are spiked with romance and set in exotic locations. She calls her stories inexpensive, exciting trips to foreign locales. This one, Cézanne’s Ghost http://a.co/bQdl7jp takes place in Aix-en-Provence, France. She spent a whole month in Aix, aware that the ghost of Cézanne accompanied her during her stay. Not only did Rolynn’s apartment once belong to Cézanne’s mother, but Rolynn spent her time in Aix gathering information about Cézanne’s art and philosophies.
A ghost sat on her shoulder to make sure she wrote her book about him. Ever have a ghost muse you?
More about Rolynn (a consummate traveler):
Scandinavian, Army Brat, Wife, English Teacher, High School Principal, Golfer, Boater, World Traveler, Author. Now add a competitive nature and a love for ‘makeovers.’ As a principal, Rolynn Anderson and the staff she hired, opened a cutting-edge high school; as co-captain with her husband on INTREPID, she cruised from Washington State to Alaska and back. As a writer, she delights in creating imperfect characters faced with extraordinary, transforming challenges. Her hope: You’ll devour her ‘makeover’ suspense novels in the wee hours of the morning, because her stories, settings and characters, capture your imagination and your heart.
Three young American women vanish in Aix-en-Provence, France.
The FBI suspects their American tour guide.
Leon Beaudet, formerly a U.S. Olympic wrestler, is proud of his five-star guide business, but when tourists disappear on his watch, the FBI dredges up a violent episode in Leon’s past and tap him for the crime. Worse, his new tour group includes Aline Kerig, who is as beautiful and carefree as the three missing women. Leon is fascinated and puzzled by Aline even while he fears for her safety. She refuses to go back to the States, forcing the FBI and local police to involve her in the hunt.
With the French tourist industry about to collapse and Leon as a prime suspect, how does he protect Aline and find his lost tourists?
The moment he saw her, framed by the doorway of the airport express bus, his inclination was to rush to the opening, push her backward, signal the driver to close the door, and wave the shuttle out of the dock.
“She can’t be mine. Don’t let her be mine,” he begged under his breath, while his heartbeat kicked up a notch, warning: She’s yours, Leon. She’s your tourist.
The woman hoisted a backpack, hopped off the bus, and walked his way, eyes focused on the sign he held with ‘Aline Kerig,’ printed on it. She was a ghost sauntering toward him; how could he muster a welcome?
“Leon Beaudet. My guide.”
Though she vocalized the silent ‘t’ at the end of his French name, like most Americans would, he answered in French: “Bienvenue à Aix-en-Provence.”
Aline blinked away the greeting. “I speak no French, but back at ya.” She raised her black cowboy hat, and ran appraising eyes from his hair down to his boat shoes. “Trip Advisor did not lie. You look like a heavyweight wrestler.” She cozied up close and smiled up at him, “Hell, you make me look downright petite.”
A half smile for politeness, a step back, then: “Uh-leen,” he said, pronouncing carefully. “As in Aline, the name chosen for Cézanne’s granddaughter.”
“Good handle in Aix-en-Provence since this was the artist’s favorite haunt.” He paused for a response. When Aline gave him a big-deal look, he said, “Let’s get your bags.”
They waited in silence while passengers arriving from the Aix Aerodome hauled luggage from the belly of the bus. She fiddled with her nose ring and brought a finger to the brilliant decorations on her ear, five silver studs. Six on the other lobe. Leon couldn’t help but stare, remembering the sketch he’d made of Tiara Foss, with four gold loops hanging from each ear.
“I travel light. Backpack and carry-on.”
“Smart,” he said.
When she pushed down her black hat, gilded with a gold band, her straight blond hair lengthened to her shoulder. “I know how to travel. First time on a European tour, though.” She clicked her tongue in a way that was sexual as well as cautionary. “Hope you’re as good as Trip Advisor says.”
Leon’s chest tightened with the click and the flirty tone. Tiara Foss all over again.
Aline stepped up to the bus to claim her black roll-on, and Leon observed her stylish ripped jeans and flip-flops, cardboard-thin. Red tank top; braless. While Leon wore a zipped jacket over a polo shirt and khaki pants in the fifty-five degree morning, Aline Kerig dressed for the beach.
“We good to go?” he asked, as he took charge of her suitcase.
When he opened the back of the Mercedes van, she smiled. “Nice wheels for a big car. I’m guessing I’m not your only rider.”
“Eight of you with me for ten days. Plenty of room for everyone.”
“We picking up anyone else here?”
“No. I take you to your apartment where you catch up on sleep. I gather the rest of the group this evening and we have a small welcome party at our office on Rue Rifle Rafle. The tour begins at our shopping and eating district, the Cours Mirabeau. Restaurant Les Deux Garçons, noon tomorrow.”
She tipped her hat back, revealing eyebrows set on alert and shamrock green eyes. How could the whites of her eyes be stunningly bright after a day’s travel from the East Coast? Helped by uppers, maybe? Or coke, Tiaraʼs drug of choice.
“I don’t need to rest.”
With her hand-wave, a scent of verbena, citrus with a hint of grassiness, came his way. Tiara had favored patchouli, Leon’s least favorite perfume.
“I’m in Aix and ready to rumble. Forget sleep,” she said, in a voice that brooked no argument. “Once I dump my stuff, I’m gonna wander.”
Leon’s experience with Tiara weighed in. Hell, weighed on him. Would Aline Kerig go missing from his tour, too?
Cézanne’s Ghost (E-book and paperback)
Eight Suspense Novels Spiked with Romance and Exotic Settings
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