In this area you can purchase/download Meat Cove – Chapters 1 through 11.
Meat Cove will be serialized, weekly. Think Charles Dickens meets the Digital domain. You can download a sample free chapter of Meat Cove here. Then for only $0.99 per chapter, via PayPal, download a new chapter in the Gandhi MacKinnon adventure every Monday, Wednesday and Friday from September 24 concluding December, 2012, when the final chapters will be posted.
4 additional chapters will also be made available for free during the release of Meat Cove.
Meat Cove is now also available as a single download for $19.99.
Meat Cove will also be available in MP3 Audio Book format for $0.99 per chapter very soon.
If ordering from within Canada applicable tax will be added when you complete your purchase on PayPal.
Provider lay at anchor beneath the fogged-in hills of Meat Cove. She’d limped to her moorings in the cove like a beaten dog, shook the brine from her sails and waited. The two-masted Lunenburg schooner had capsized before. She’d never done a barrel roll—a complete three sixty. Until yesterday.
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(Excerpt)
Charlottetown, the small-town capital of Canada’s smallest province, sat two hundred and fifty miles north and a little west of Meat Cove, Nova Scotia. In the Gulf of St Lawrence. Across the Northumberland Strait.
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Gandhi MacKinnon had come home to die a slow death or to heal. He didn’t much care which. At the moment, he favoured the former. He felt half dead anyway.
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The white van with vanity plates was shielded from detection by the black SUV, which swung out a side-road and followed close. Both vehicles pulled off highway 225, onto the Bannockburn Road.
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Cezar snored in the passenger seat. The four a.m. traffic on the Pierre-Laporte bridge over the St. Lawrence River at Quebec City was light. The Escalade and its four passengers were ten hours out of Charlottetown, two and a half hours from Montreal.
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Gandhi sat up too quickly. His head was thick and throbbing. He thanked God he’d quit smoking. Ash-tray-lung made a rum hangover that much worse.
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Esther waited on Gandhi’s veranda, her apple-green Prius hybrid parked in his spot. She invited Gandhi into his own house for a cup of her ‘hippie’ tea, brewed in his tea pot.
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The RCMP cruiser parked by the side of the road idled. Gandhi’s binoculars sat on the hall table. Ident # 3B4. Summerside detachment.
Running Esther’s plates, no doubt.
The passenger side was closest to him. He couldn’t get a fix on the officer. He appeared to be in civvies.
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Nikos Giannopolous pressed the ignition. Sea Biscuit’s dual engines roared in response. His Jamaican wife Honey loosed the lines. The high power pleasure craft left the San Quentin Island marina, Trois-Rivières, Quebec, just as Provider sailed into view on the St. Lawrence river.
Noon. On the nose. As arranged.
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Val followed Gandhi into Esther Cohen’s yard. She was on her cell in the kitchen when Gandhi knocked on the screen door. She acknowledged his presence, turned her back, focussed on the conversation.
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Sixteen year-old Gemma Cohen-Chisholm, Esther’s oldest grand daughter, uncapped her Zippo. She sparked the doobie cousin Joel had just twisted up.
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