I have always loved getting caught up in the thrill of a good mystery novel. The first time I read an Agatha Christie book, I knew I wanted to be a writer, to master the art of deception and create compelling characters with flawed personalities. I have been dabbling in the creative arts for three years, and I am currently seeking a literary agent to help me take my passion to the next level. Below are the summaries for my two works.

Buried Secrets

On the outside, English Professor, Claire Devereaux, seems to have it all: a promising career, a nice house, a handsome husband, and an ambitious young daughter. However, Claire houses many secrets in her private journals, including a murder committed and covered up by her and her three college roommates and an affair with one of her colleagues. When Claire wills her journals to her daughter, everyone in Claire’s life has a motive for seeing them destroyed before they can be read. Each must ask how far they are willing to go to ensure these secrets are never leaked. The 96,300 words of my mystery novel, Buried Secrets, is told from the perspective of each potential suspect for Claire’s untimely death.

Murder in the Ivory Tower

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Pieces of Me

Students at Bedford Baptist University have lost, thrown, or dumped various personal items into the university pond over the years, but when human remains are found at the bottom, a cold case is reopened and all items must be accounted for. Each chapter traces an item back to its owner as readers unravel the mystery: Who is this person? What's uncovered  threatens to destroy the reputations of past, present, and future students, professors, and staff at the small christian institution. 

Indian Eyes


I sifted yellow crinkled pages--
family heritage, lineage records
forgotten photographs.

Brown eyes, dark hair, prominent noses
remind me I'm connected to these strangers,
a continuation of their stories.

Could they picture me
while trudging the trail of tears
through lost loves, land, limbs?

I never walked the misery miles
marked by blood, bound by chains
on hands and feet.

Mother says the card is retribution.
I shuffled it in my hands,
my name and tribe proof of past pain,
a thin piece of paper, token of regret..

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