Empty Eyes Janet Lorimer. The Cent Son Janice Greene. The Ritual Janice Greene. Book ratings by Goodreads. Goodreads is the world's largest site for readers with over 50 million reviews. We're featuring millions of their reader ratings on our book pages to help you find your new favourite book. Her boyfriend got killed a few months 8 ago, and she really freaked—so be extra considerate of her, okay? She wore a mauve pullover and jeans in a darker shade of the same color.
A golden necklace was around her throat. When they parked at the club, Monique got out her wallet and showed Greg pictures of her parents and siblings.
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There were other pictures, too, pictures of young guys mostly. Were they all her boyfriends? To prepare for this date, Greg had done some reading about countrywestern music. Monique seemed to be impressed. What looked like a middle-aged man was sitting behind the wheel. In the dim light, Greg could 10 see the angry scowl on his face. He makes me furious! Sometimes I wish he would just die!
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Watching the dark sedan leave the parking lot, Greg wondered if the man had a screw loose. A father of a young teenager might keep an eye on his daughter while she was out on a date— but not a grown young woman! I had to stand there by his grave all alone. Lew shrugged his shoulders. I met Larry, the guy who ended up with a broken neck in the ravine.
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First, the female spider attracts the male spider, and then she kills him. I dated her once—but then I decided I value my own neck too much. The following Saturday, Greg took Monique to the beach. It was a perfect early summer day, and Greg had a great time surfing the mid-sized waves. Although Monique just waded in the surf, she kept a close eye on Greg. The three of them spread out a 13 beach towel and sat down to eat. Ginger seemed glad for the opportunity to be alone with Greg. She gave him a big, warm smile. Ginger stared out over the waves for a minute.
A s Greg finished his sandwich, a wild thought crossed his mind. Was it Ginger who caused that fatal tailspin into the ravine? No, he told himself. The poor guy went down three stories and splat—he hit the ground dead. He was dating Monique then. I was there, Greg. I know what happened.
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You need to hear this. About Pierre, I mean. Monique dated him in college. It was so awful. She thinks she looks so beautiful in black, and I guess she does. But she was still too far away to overhear their conversation. You can ask her. When we were all in high school together, there was this weird aura about Monique. Monique gave the pigeon the evil eye and that darn bird fell out of the sky, dead! Monique looked anxiously at Greg. He watched a little TV and then headed for bed.
Within a few minutes he fell fast asleep. It was a warm evening, and the wind blew the curtains through the open window. Greg had chosen an apartment on the first floor of the complex. He slept for half an hour, but then he was wide awake.
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He wondered—did three guys who dated Monique really die as violently as Ginger said? Or was she just spreading spiteful gossip? It was almost Lew Denison was usually 18 up until after midnight. Lew had gone to high school with Monique, so he should know. I thought you might know if it was true. It sounded off the wall. Rafe was in our biology class. He was dating 19 Monique at the time. At the funeral she was the picture of grief in her little black dress.
We dedicated the yearbook to him. Then, a year ago, Lew had found his own place. Sarah had been born about on a cotton plantation in the South. Life had been horrible for Sarah and the other slaves. Slave children were not educated. If they did, they might try to escape. Besides, all the owners agreed that slaves were meant to work, 12 not learn. When the slave children were old enough, they were forced into labor. They had to work long hours, rain or shine, even when they were sick.
They had very little food and usually lived in terrible conditions. When Sarah was five, her mother died in childbirth. She could imagine the pain the little girl must have felt when she lost her mother and then her father. So much pain for someone so young! And Sarah also made quilts. Rachel wiped away the tears. No, this quilt was made for a different reason—a special reason.
She knew that if she could get to Canada, she could 14 have a new life. But getting there was another story. Slaves who ran away were hunted down like animals. If they were caught, they were whipped or tortured.
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Sometimes they were branded on the cheek with the letter R, which stood for runaway. Butler explained to Rachel. I know that the Underground Railroad was a network of safe-houses.
Those were secure places where runaways could rest and get dry clothing and food. They said one thing, but meant another. Her needle whipped in and out of the blue plaid fabric. Butler said with a sigh. Rachel glanced from her mother to her grandmother. You guys are ganging up on me! Every time she made that trip, she risked her life. Her people called her Moses.
She was a remarkable woman. A sly grin transformed her face. Her grandmother shook her head. You can find out for yourself what that secret was all about. I need all the help I can get. Saturday will be too late! She cornered a reference librarian and explained her problem. By doing a little digging, Rachel discovered that the plantation house had been turned into a museum and education center.
That night, when she told her mother, Mrs. It was a singlestory wooden house—now painted yellow with white trim. Their tour guide, John Whitman, laughed. And not all white Southerners owned slaves. He was a student at state university, majoring in black studies. History has never seemed very interesting to me until just recently.
Abolitionists were the 20 people who helped slaves escape. It had to be that way. What they were doing was against the law. If they were caught, they, too, would have been punished. But most people believe the oral tradition is as sound as any written document. These included small cabins where slave families had lived. Most of the cabins had held two families, so the people had no privacy. Worse, the crudely built cabins were cold in the winter and hot in the summer.
Rachel gazed in despair at the dirt floor and leaky ceiling. Outside one of the slave cabins, a quilt hung over a railing. Not even if you saw this quilt hanging out to air. But to the slaves it was a signal. It meant that someone was coming to help them escape. What a story of intrigue! Did you know that one slave actually crated and shipped himself to Philadelphia? History is my favorite subject. I can comb through the old plantation records while you check out the Underground Railroad.
The slaves then passed that information on to other slaves by using codes in songs. John looked at the expression on her face, and his smile widened.