{"id":8028,"date":"2022-08-11T10:46:42","date_gmt":"2022-08-11T15:46:42","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.logikalsolutions.com\/wordpress\/?p=5598"},"modified":"2022-08-11T10:46:42","modified_gmt":"2022-08-11T15:46:42","slug":"the-bones-of-amoret-by-arthur-herbert","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/interestingauthors.com\/blog\/publishing\/the-bones-of-amoret-by-arthur-herbert\/","title":{"rendered":"The Bones of Amoret by Arthur Herbert"},"content":{"rendered":"
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Mystery<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

Date Published:<\/span><\/b> April 1, 2022<\/span><\/span><\/p>\n

Publisher:<\/b> Stitched Smile Publications<\/span><\/p>\n

Narrator:<\/b> Victor Warren<\/span><\/p>\n

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Run Time:<\/b> 10 hours, 59 minutes<\/span><\/p>\n

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“Great action, well-told, and authentic with all the nuances and
\nspirit of small town Texas. Don’t miss it.” -Lone Star Literary Life
\nReviews<\/i><\/span><\/p>\n

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In this enigmatic follow up to his critically acclaimed debut novel The
\nCuts that Cure, Arthur Herbert returns to the Texas-Mexico border with this
\nchilling mystery set amidst a small town\u2019s bloody loss of
\ninnocence.<\/span><\/p>\n

Amoret, Texas, 1982. Life along the border is harsh, but in a world where
\ncultures work together to carve a living from the desert landscape, Blaine
\nBeckett lives a life of isolation. A transplanted Boston intellectual, for
\ntwenty years locals have viewed him as a snob, a misanthrope, an outsider.
\nHe seems content to stand apart until one night when he vanishes into thin
\nair amid signs of foul play.<\/span><\/p>\n

Noah Grady, the town doctor, is a charming and popular good ol\u2019 boy.
\nHe\u2019s also a keeper of secrets, both the town\u2019s and his own. He
\nwatches from afar as the mystery of Blaine\u2019s disappearance unravels
\nand rumors fly. Were the incipient cartels responsible? Was it a local with
\na grudge? Or did Blaine himself orchestrate his own disappearance? Then the
\nunthinkable happens, and Noah begins to realize he\u2019s considered a
\nsuspect.<\/span><\/p>\n

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Paced like a lit fuse and full of dizzying plot twists, The Bones of Amoret
\nis a riveting whodunit that will keep you guessing all the way to its
\nshocking conclusion.<\/span><\/p>\n

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Excerpt<\/h2>\n
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While most of the group trudged behind Chebo with their heads down and mindful of their footing, the last person in line shuffled along staring in our direction, not looking where she was going. A slight woman, she appeared dazed, and as the rest of the group advanced, she lagged behind with her head up and eyes locked on the truck. Zombie-like, she scuffed her feet forward, arms dangling limply by her sides until she stumbled on the uneven ground and fell to her knees. She managed to get to her feet, but once upright her eyes stayed fixed on the vehicle like a lost sailor who\u2019d suddenly located the North Star. Then, unnoticed by the group, she inexplicably peeled off at a tangent from their path, blazing her own trail through the underbrush on a beeline for the truck.<\/p>\n

Her track took her ten feet from the group’s conga line, then fifteen, then twenty. The brambles on her path became thicker. She tried to push through, eyes still up and unwavering as she willed herself forward, throwing one foot in front of the other with a shambling, Frankenstein gait.<\/p>\n

The thorny vines clawed and scratched at her, yet she still churned forward robotically until eventually the underbrush won out. When the scrub became an impassable wall, she seemed to realize her predicament, but by that point her exhausted body and mind failed her. Unable to go forward, too fatigued to turn back, she went limp, without even the reserves to call for help, the sharp vines suspending her like a marionette.<\/p>\n

I shouted at her, “\u00a1No se muevea, no se muevea! \u00a1Le voy a ayudar!” Chebo had almost reached the highway\u2019s asphalt when he heard me, and for the first time turned to see the straggler. I waved him off and made my way down the slope, then when the thorny scrub got too thick, faced backwards and folded my arms to push through to reach her.<\/p>\n

Up close she seemed brittle, with buck teeth and wiry hair, pipe cleaner arms and sandals held together by duct tape. As I stripped away the brambles, her scratched face and glassy eyes drifted toward me, then turned back to rest on the matted spikey runners, unable to help me help her. I felt like I was releasing a rabbit from a snare.<\/p>\n

Once I had her free, I hoisted her and pulled her in close to shield her bony frame as best I could, then waded backward up the slope as thorns clawed at me. Eventually the spiked vines thinned, and I could face forward again before taking the last few steps onto the pavement at a trot and gently depositing her on her feet. She stood stock still for a few moments, then shambled in the direction of the truck once again without acknowledging me. I followed, picking thorns from my hands and sucking at the worst of the scratches.<\/p>\n<\/div>\n

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About the Author<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

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Arthur Herbert was born and raised in small town Texas. He worked on
\noffshore oil rigs, as a bartender, a landscaper at a trailer park, and as a
\nsocial worker before going to medical school. For the last eighteen years,
\nhe\u2019s worked as a trauma and burn surgeon, operating on all ages of
\ninjured patients. He continues to run a thriving practice in New Orleans
\nwhere he lives with his wife Amy and their dogs.<\/span><\/p>\n

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Contact Links<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

Website<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

Facebook<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

Twitter: @herbertwriter<\/span><\/p>\n

Bookbub<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

Goodreads<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

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Purchase Link<\/b><\/span><\/p>\n

Amazon<\/a><\/span><\/p>\n

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a Rafflecopter giveaway<\/a><\/div>\n
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