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The inspiration for the Lifetime movie and a guide for parents confronting their autistic children's journeys to adulthood.

Parents of autistic children often wonder: What will happen to our kids when they grow up? Can they work? Have relationships and their own families? Here is the poignant story of one woman watching her autistic boys reach adulthood.

A single mother barely making ends meet, Corrine Morgan-Thomas could hardly afford doctors for her twins, Stephen and Phillip. After their diagnosis of autism, no one else thought these boys would ever amount to anything. But Corrine managed single-handedly to keep the boys out of institutions-and in "regular" school. And their inspiring story became Lifetime television's Miracle Run.

The real miracle, though, was what happened where the movie left off-when Stephen and Phillip graduated to face adult autism. From their diagnosis to the present day, when the boys have grown into young men leading happy lives, Corrine's eye-opening story is full of candor, humor, and most of all, hope.

• Sales Rank: #1958204 in Books
• Published on: 2009-03-03
• Released on: 2009-03-03
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 8.24" h x .91" w x 5.50" l, .64 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 336 pages

About the Author
Corrine Morgan-Thomas is the president of the Miracle Run Foundation for Autism, which raises funds and promotes awareness. She also founded a support group to provide information, networking, and emotional aid to families with autistic children.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
In any teen’s life, two rites of passage stand out: first love andgetting a driver’s license. As complicated as both those matterscan be, when you factor autism into the equation, you have tohave a mastery of higher math and a grasp of the chemistry of the volatile emotions of teenagers firmly in your mind.

Although I had mixed feelings about them falling in love, Ifirmly believed that Stephen and Phillip had the right to applyfor and to try to get their driver’s licenses. If they passed thewritten and the driving tests, demonstrating the competencythat any other citizen possessed, then why not?

On the other hand, I had some pretty good why- nots inmind. The anxiety level they both exhibited in new situations,especially when exposed to things like loud noises, would potentiallymake them a danger to themselves and to other drivers.All the medications that Phillip was on and the unpredictableinteractions among those drugs didn’t make him a good candidatefor driving. When I stacked those reasons up against theirstrong desire to drive, and what more potent symbol of a teen’sfreedom and independence exists than driving, I was torn. Ididn’t want to be the one to stand in the way of their dreambeing fulfilled. To give you a better idea of how much drivingmeant to him, Phillip had written a song aptly titled “TheDMV Song.” I didn’t like to ever play favorites, but I could reasonablyimagine Stephen being able to earn his license. With Phillip, I thought the odds were stacked against him.

On one occasion, I took them both to the DMV office. Iturned them loose after telling them which line to stand in.I sat in a waiting area with my fingers crossed, hoping thatthey’d both fail the written test. I knew that would greatly disappointthem both, but failing on their own was better thanme not allowing them to do something they wanted so badly todo. The first time Phillip took the written test, I could see thathe was struggling. I don’t know if it was nerves or what, but Icould read the panic in his eyes as he scanned the questions.

That surprised me since they had both studied very hard forthe test. When Phillip completed his test and brought it to theclerk, he kind of shuffled up and looked as though he was aboutto collapse with in himself. It took a few moments for him toget his score, and when he was called back up, it was clear thathe hadn’t passed. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. Stephen hadalready passed the written portion of the exam and was in lineto take the vision test. I now only had one to worry about.

Then I noticed that the clerk had taken Phillip aside. I didn’twant to make a scene, so I stood up and inched my way closer towhere the pair was standing. The clerk, obviously very sympatheticto Phillip’s plight, was asking him a series of really basicquestions about driving. The next thing I knew, he was shakingPhillip’s hand and congratulating him for passing the writtentest. I couldn’t believe it. It was a nice gesture, but all I couldthink of was that he was hoping that Phillip wouldn’t make itpast some of the other hurdles he had yet to face.

As it turned out, neither of the boys passed the drivingportion of the exam. I was so relieved. They both vowed to workharder and to pass the next time. As bad as I felt rooting againstmy sons, I knew that in the end their not getting to drive was agood thing. I would hate for them to do harm to themselves andto another driver or pedestrian. Balancing what is right for themwith the needs of the larger community is an ongoing task.

I believe that someday they will both be able to drive. Quitea few high- functioning autistics do, and I feel that once thetwins mature a little more and learn to deal better with loudnoises and such, they will be good drivers. One thing is for sure:they would never get lost. Stephen especially is like a humanGlobal Positioning Satellite. I’m not fond of driving, and I frequentlyget lost, but if Stephen or Phillip is in the car with me,I never have to worry about finding my way. It is uncanny howwe can be traveling in some unfamiliar place and they alwaysmanage to get me back on the road to home.

The twins still talk about getting their licenses, and I thinkthat one day they will. They just have to be patient, a virtue whoseimportance we all became acutely aware of throughout the years.

As for that other major adolescent rite of passage— first love—I knew I wouldn’t be able to have the proverbial birds and the beesdiscussion with Stephen and Phillip. I knew that my nervousnessand awkward attempts to communicate with them aboutreproduction and sexual intimacy would send the wrong signalto them. If I stuttered and stammered, hemmed and hawed,turned beet red and blanched at any of their questions I thoughtwere too frank, all I would do was add to their confusion. I alsoknew that I owed it to them and to my daughter to make certainthey received the proper information about sexual matters. Thereis a five- year age difference between Ali and the twins, they havedifferent fathers, and though there was never any suggestion of inappropriate conduct on their part, I was paranoid about custodyissues due to my previous experiences with child welfare folks.

For that reason, I sent the boys to a psychologist when theywere about to enter their teens. The boys had received someinstruction at school about reproduction, mostly a very clinical,very scientific parts- and- process inventory that had little to dowith their real world concerns. I wanted them to go to someonewho could speak with them on their level about all kinds of matters that I would have never been able to bring up: nocturnalemissions, masturbation, intercourse, spontaneous erections,and all the other things that had a blush factor of 10 or more.

Along with a discussion about those issues, I wanted thetherapist to help me instruct the boys on what was appropriatebehavior— not simply sexually but socially— with members of the opposite sex. I knew that the boys had developed an interestin girls and women. I used to bring home outdated magazinesfrom the off ice— People and Cosmopolitan, mostly— andStephen and Phillip would read them. They both seemed tobe drawn to the ones with the photos of female celebrities onthe cover. That was fine and normal, but I also wanted them tolearn that what they saw on the covers of the magazines andwhat was in store for them in reality were two different things.

Because of patient- client confidentiality issues— and even If there weren’t those constraints placed on a therapist, I wouldn’thave asked anyway— I don’t know and can’t tell you the detailsof the discussions the boys had with him. I respected their privacyenough and trusted in the therapist enough to simply takethem to the appointments, sit patiently in the waiting room forthe hour to lapse, and then drive the boys home. Later, whenDoug learned that the boys had received some additional sexeducation through the therapist, he referred to him as “DoctorLas Vegas— what they discuss in his off ice stays in his off ice.”And that’s exactly as I intended it.

I knew my limitations, and I didn’t want them to interferewith the twins getting the information they needed anddeserved. I was willing to let go of my control over the situationand let someone with far more expertise than I possesseddo the job for me.

Stephen and Phillip have both expressed a desire, as I’vementioned before, to date and to eventually marry. Stephen’sfirst foray into high school romance serves as an object lesson inthe ways of the autistic heart.

Stephen’s self- confidence was boosted enormously by thepress attention he was receiving. As one student told me when Iwent to pick the boys up from school— they were now consideredBMOCs. I had no idea that kids in the nineties still used a phrasefrom my teenage years, an expression that even predates me, butif being a Big Man on Campus was what the twins were, then Iwas glad. I knew, of course, that this description was exaggerated.Agoura High was like most schools, where the football quarterbackand the homecoming queen garnered the attention of thejocks and preps, were silently mocked by the skater dudes andthe other social outcasts, and looked at with envious longing bythe wannabes. There were other cliques, I’m sure, and Stephen’srunning achievements meant he was no longer among the anonymous,faceless crowd who secretly hoped for attention but foundcomfort in blending in. Though the Supreme Court had outlawedone kind of segregation in the schools, another remained deeplyentrenched— the cool kids and the not- cool kids could occupy thesame physical space, but in a physics- defying fact of high schoollife, the cool kids could render the others invisible and mute.

One young woman who seemed to operate beyond all thelaws of the social physics of high school was Laura Jakosky.She was the lead runner on the girls’ cross- country team, sheexcelled academically, she was a student leader, and she was oneof the most popular and attractive girls at the school. A leggyblonde with long hair and eyes the color of the Pacific, she wasa walking Beach Boys’ song. One day, she did the unexpected.She broke ranks and asked Stephen his name. Who couldblame him for falling instantly in love?

Each spring, the school held a Vice- Versa dance, their variationon the Sadie Hawkins Day dance, when the girls wereexpected to ask the boys out. Stephen convinced himself thatLaura liked him and was going to ask him, so he purchased ticketsto the dance and waited expectantly for her to call. We learnedmuch of this after the fact. We knew that Stephen liked Laura.Doug and I both tried to talk to him about what was appropriatebehavior and how he could go about asking her out on a date If that was what he wanted to do. Doug tried to impress upon Stephenthe importance of not just being a gentleman but being confident and specific. He said that he should have a plan in mindfor what he wanted to do on the date. He showed Stephen themovie section in the newspaper and told him that instead of justlamely asking a girl if she wanted to go out, he should say that hewanted to take her to the movies and that X was playing at thistime at this theater and would she like to go.

We made it clear, or so we hoped, that we weren’t talkingabout Laura specifically but with girls generally. We were tryingto remain neutral on the Laura issue. We were in a tough spot.We knew Laura because of her association with the cross- countryteam, and we knew her by her very positive reputation. We knewthat a girl like Laura could pick and choose from among thecream of the crop of young men at Agoura High School. How doyou explain to your teenage son, one whose self- confidence was sonewly formed as to be especially fragile, that he was aiming toohigh, that, as the expression goes, Laura was out of his league?

We could sense that Stephen was setting himself up for apainful fall, but who among us hasn’t been in the same position?Though the inevitable would likely hurt, we felt that if we reallywanted Stephen to socialize and integrate himself fully into life,some painful lessons were going to come his way. As hard as itwas for me to let go, I knew in this case that my interfering wouldreally disrupt Stephen’s development. I had one ally in this regard.

Apparently, Stephen had made his feelings for Laura known.He didn’t verbalize them, but when he was at track practice, atevery opportunity he would maneuver around so that he couldstand next to her. He lacked the courage and skills to say hello andengage her in conversation, so he was essentially lurking around.Of course, Laura knew about Stephen’s condition and was patientwith him, but she must have expressed her discomfort to her teammates.Word got back to Coach Duley, but he refused to interveneon their behalf. He later told me that no matter who was involved,unless something illegal or potentially threatening was goingon (which there wasn’t), he would have expected the kids to sortthings out themselves. He wasn’t the type to cross the line and getinvolved in their personal lives unless there was a clear need to doso. We didn’t know anything about this until after the fact.

Days before the dance, Stephen must have learned that Laurawas not going with him but with someone else. He ran off insteadof going to practice, a less- than- mature thing to do and a habit of his when he was disappointed. When I went to school to pick himup after practice, I immediately called the police when I learnedhe hadn’t shown up. He had already been missing for three hours.The Lost Hills Sheriffsent forty deputies and park officers; theywere joined by what must have been a hundred volunteers from thecommunity— athletes, parents, store owners, and even one elderlywoman whose self- sacrifice and compassion had me in tears.

The search went on, and desperate for clues, one of the deputiesasked Phillip if he had any idea where Stephen might havegone. Not one to willingly disappoint anyone, Phillip said, “Yes.”For two more hours a trio of deputies trailed after Phillip as he ledthem around and through the campus. He talked to them abouthis heroes, John Lennon and Eric Clapton. He asked the officers if they played a musical instrument. They tried to keep Phillipfocused on finding Stephen, but Phillip had found three newfriends. He would have kept them out there all night, but whenthe deputies worked their way back toward the front of the school,they spotted Stephen in a squad car. He was clutching a note inhis hand. He’d written a love letter to Laura while hiding in theAndy Gump Porta- Potty less than a mile from the school.

I went to get him and did my best to find the words to consolehim, but he really didn’t want to hear anything from me.I felt so bad for him. Coach Duley was sympathetic and calledStephen the next day to give him the “other fish in the sea”speech. I knew it was too soon to talk to Stephen about makingmore appropriate choices in terms of how he expressed hisdisappointment. Running away wouldn’t solve anything, but Iknew that he was angry, embarrassed, and possibly hoping thatby running away he was showing Laura and everyone else thedepths of his feelings for her. Though his choice didn’t demonstratethe greatest degree of emotional maturity, he was stilljust a kid, as much a victim of his hormones and lack of impulsecontrol as any teen. He was confusing getting someone to feelsorry for him with really having a deep affection for him, a trapthat quite a few adults I know sometimes fall into.

Laura’s family called us to explain her position. She wantedto be sure that Stephen understood, and that we understood,that she did like Stephen as a friend but that was all. I thankedthem for phoning, wishing that Laura had made the call herselfor, more especially, that she’d spoken to Stephen directly. Weweren’t in any way blaming her, but we were still left with thedifficult task of explaining some of the social complexities andnuances of the situation to our brokenhearted autistic son. Stephentended to exist in a more black- and- white, on- or- off worldof absolutes. I think that was why running appealed to him somuch. You knew who the winners and losers were because of theabsolute certainty of the stopwatch. There were few gray areas inathletic competition. If you did lose, you knew by exactly howmuch, and you could measure the amount you needed to improveto become a winner. Games of the heart, Stephen was coming torealize, were played by an entirely different set of rules.

While Stephen’s instincts and emotions led him to pursueLaura in the way he thought and felt was best, I was feelingmy way along in the dark in dealing with the twins and theirautistic adolescence. Letting go and learning to trust that mysons were resilient enough to deal with life’s bumps and bruiseswas by far, and remains, the most difficult thing I’ve ever hadto do. Maybe this has been God’s way of testing me and makingme a better person. I come from a long line of worriers, andmaybe it was destiny to break that cycle somehow.

I know all parents worry about their kids. I know that my parentsdid and still do about me. I worry about all my kids equally.Ali is away at college, and I worry about her. She told me about anattempted rape in a campus parking garage, and I started to worryfor her safety. Richard is in the Navy and away at sea on duty, andI worry about what might happen to his ship. I also worry aboutDoug. I worry about my dogs. I worry about my neighbors andthe fires that swept through this part of Southern California. Butwith my autistic kids, the level or degree of worry I feel for andabout them is somehow different from all the other worries I haveand different from what I imagine other parents experience.

Maybe I’m wrong about that; maybe all this worrying andwondering and struggling to let go is normal. Maybe I’m nodifferent and no more special than any other parent when itcomes to the twin desires to hang on and to let go, to honorPhillip’s cry of “Freedom” and to protect them from the harmthat independence might sometime bring.

Most helpful customer reviews

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
A Mother's Journey
By Sandra L Baughn
As I read Miracle Run I realized this was truly and honestly written from the view point of a mother who traveled a difficult journey not only in her life as the mother of autistic twins but also as a women fighting to find answer's for her son's diagnosis. This is more of a journal of her adult life written from her heart. As I read there were tears of sadness more often tears of joy, also there is laughter she has a witty sense of humor. I found it an amazing journey and highly recommend the book.

1 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
Back and forth ... back and forth
By Jessica
It's a decent story - the survival of this family alone is impressive.

I would have appreciated it more if the co-author had helped Morgan-Thomas streamline the story a bit. In every paragraph, she goes back and forth between her memoires and her reflections in the same breath. It was kind of like, "I was miserable, but I wasn't; well, I was, but I don't want you to get the wrong idea - because I was grateful, even though I was ungrateful."

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> Ebook Free Motherhood is Murder (A Maternal Instincts Mystery), by Diana Orgain

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The author of Bundle of Trouble delivers a new Maternal Instincts mystery.

Nights out are hard to come by for new mommy Kate Connelly. So when Kate and her husband are invited to a dinner cruise hosted by her new mommy club, Roo & You, they jump at it. But when the president of the club takes a deadly spill, everyone becomes suspect-and Kate's on deck to solve the mystery.

• Sales Rank: #442421 in Books
• Published on: 2010-03-02
• Released on: 2010-03-02
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.85" h x 1.00" w x 4.25" l,
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 320 pages

Most helpful customer reviews

1 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
STUPID!!!
By Haven
I don't know why some authors delight in making their lead female characters so idiotic. The lead character, Kate, wants to be a PI and yet she spends her entire time jumping to conclusions without a shred of evidence and thinks it is fine to detect without a license. Plus this is supposed to be a new first time mom who is devoted to her baby and yet she either carts that two month old around on a murder investigation interviewing suspects or leaves the baby to her husband. All the mother talks about are her needs. I have zero empathy or interest in this character and this author and will not be reading anything else from her if she thinks this type of irresponsibility and stupidity in a character is "cute" or "endearing". I am so glad I didn't have to pay anything for this junk book but got it free on a special.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
3.5 stars: decent mystery, and fun look at boutique baby-rearing
By Cissa
This was an entertaining, cozy-style mystery, probably of most interest to fairly new mothers, since various aspects of mommy-culture feature here- especially for humor.

The humor resides mostly in satire on snobbish mommy culture- like the swimming pool for which one has to apply practically upon conception to get a slot in their classes. And better think about applying for the prestigious preschool ASAP! It has a subtle but snarky attitude toward boutique baby-rearing, and that is fun.

Unfortunately, the characters don't live up to the premise. Kate regularly asks her husband- Laurie's actual father- to "babysit" his own child. This annoys me greatly. When dads care for their kids, it's called "parenting", not "babysitting"! Similarly, if Jim is not drugging the kid, I do not see how Laurie could sleep as much as she does- basically to keep her out of Kate's hair when Kate is meddling in mysteries.

I did rather like Kate's mom- after her husband died, she's taken a new lease on life and is dating TWO hunks of her own age! You go!

The other mommies in the group, though were a pretty sad lot, and the dads were worse. No one seemed to care about much of anything, so all their reactions seemed arbitrary. The eventual resolution fit, but because of this was not especially satisfying.

It's not a bad book, and recent mothers will probably like it more than I did because it will relate more to their experiences.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Cozy mystery--balancing motherhood with work
By j.r.
I have not read the first book in this series, but for the most part, I was able to follow this book. My biggest question was why the mom of an almost 2 month old would want to be a P.I. (and perhaps that is answered in the first book).

Kate is asked to join a mother's group. She is introduced to most of the members on a dinner cruise where the husbands, but not the children, are in attendance. So many characters are introduced at once that I did find it hard to keep track of who was who and which husband belonged with which wife. During this cruise, one of the mother's group members dies. Another member of the group hires Kate to find out if her husband is having an affair--somehow this translates in Kate's mind as also investigating the murder. I did like that the author did not portray the police as incompetent and that Kate did not think that the police couldn't solve the murder without her help--two things that seem rampant in this genre!

The plot takes many twists and turns. I didn't guess the murderer until close to when it was revealed. I think the author did a good job at portraying the struggles that mothers, particularly first time mothers, have with balancing motherhood and life.

Kate gets serious about becoming a P.I. and finds a supervising P.I. as well as does some research on what a P.I. is supposed to do.

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View our feature on J.D. Robb’s Eve Dallas series. The phenomenal series set in a future New York City continues, as Lieutenant Eve Dallas hunts for the killer of a seemingly ordinary history teacher-and uncovers some extraordinary surprises.

• Sales Rank: #61167 in Books
• Brand: Berkley
• Published on: 2007-08-28
• Released on: 2007-08-28
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 6.80" h x 1.10" w x 4.20" l,
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 400 pages

Features

• Great product!

From Publishers Weekly
Once again Lt. Eve Dallas shows why she's "New York City's top murder cop" in Roberts's 24th thriller under her Robb pseudonym set half a century into the future (after 2006's Born in Death). Dallas tries to close a case at the exclusive Sarah Child Academy, where two bright 10-year-old girls discover the body of Craig Foster, a popular history teacher who proves to have been poisoned by ricin-laced cocoa. Dallas wonders if another staff member or a parent might be involved, but after the prime suspect, a promiscuous teacher who's been harassing another employee, turns up dead, the investigation takes a shocking turn. Besides a provocative puzzler, Robb provides an intense relationship update on Dallas and Roarke, her Irish power broker hubby, whose dark past—in the form of a crooked ex-girlfriend—returns to cause trouble. This prolific author, a recent Quills romance winner, is still at the top of her game. (Feb.)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

About the Author
J.D. Robb is the pseudonym for a number one New York Times bestselling author of more than 190 novels, including the futuristic suspense In Death series. There are more than 400 million copies of her books in print.

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
Prologue

Pop quizzes were killers. like ambushing assassins they elicited fear and loathing in the prey, and a certain heady power in the hunter.

As Craig Foster prepared to take his lunch break and finish refining the quiz, he knew how his fifth-period U.S. history class would respond. Groans and gasps, winces of misery or panic. He understood completely. At twenty-six, he wasn’t so far removed from the student section of the classroom to have forgotten the pain or the anxiety.

He got out his insulated lunch sack. Being a creature of habit, he knew that his wife—and wasn’t it just mag being married—would have packed him a poultry pocket, an apple, some soy chips, and his favorite hot chocolate.

He never asked her to pack his lunch, or to make sure his socks were washed and folded in pairs and stacked in the right-hand side of his top drawer. But she said she liked doing things for him. The seven months they’d been married had been the best of his life. And it hadn’t sucked before that, either, he decided.

He had a job he loved, and was damn good at, he thought with a quick burst of pride. He and Lissette had a very decent apartment within reasonable walking distance of the school. His students were bright and interesting—and, bonus time, they liked him.

They’d grumble and sweat a bit over the pop quiz, but they’d do fine.

Before he got down to work, he shot his bride an e-mail.

Hey, Lissy! How about I pick up that soup you like, and the big salad on the way home from work tonight?

Miss you. Love every sweet inch of you!

You know who.

It made him smile thinking about how it would make her smile. Then he switched back to the quiz. He studied his comp screen as he poured out the first cup of hot chocolate and lifted the pocket bread filled with soy products masquerading as thinly sliced turkey.

There was so much to teach; so much to learn. The history of the country was rich and diversified and dramatic, full of tragedy, comedy, romance, heroism, cowardice. He wanted to pass all of it on to his students, to make them see how the country, and the world they lived in, had evolved into what they were in the early months of 2060.

He ate, added questions, deleted others. And he drank deep of his favorite chocolate as a soft snow fell outside the classroom window.

As the days of his own short history ticked minute by minute closer to their end.

Schools gave her the willies. It was a humbling thing for a tough-minded, kick-ass cop to admit, even to herself. But there it was. Lieutenant Eve Dallas, arguably New York City’s top murder cop, would rather have been stalking through an abandoned tenement in search of a psychotic chemi-head juiced on Zeus than striding down the pristine hallways of staunchly upper-middle-class Sarah Child Academy.

Despite the bright, primary colors along walls and floors, the sparkling glass of the windows, it was, for Eve, just another torture chamber.

Most of the doors along the maze were open, and the rooms beyond empty but for the desks, tables, counters, screens, boards.

Eve glanced over at Principal Arnette Mosebly, a sturdy, heading-¬toward-statuesque woman of about fifty. Her mixed-race heritage had given her skin the color of caramel cream and eyes of misty blue. Her hair was a glossy black worn in a ball of corkscrew curls. She wore a long black skirt with a short red jacket. The heels of her sensible shoes clicked and clacked on the floor as they walked along the second-floor corridor.

“Where are the kids?” Eve asked.

“I had them taken to the auditorium until their parents or guardians can pick them up. Most of the staff is there as well. I thought it best, and most respectful, to cancel afternoon classes.”

She paused a few feet away from where a uniformed cop stood in front of a closed door.

“Lieutenant, this is beyond tragic for us, and the children. Craig...” She pressed her lips together, looked away. “He was young and bright and enthusiastic. His whole life ahead of him, and—” She broke off, held up a hand as she struggled for composure. “I understand this sort of thing, I mean to say, having the police involved is routine in matters like this. But I hope you’ll be as discreet and efficient as it’s possible to be. And that it will be possible for us to wait to—to transport the body until after all the students have left the building.”

Now she straightened her shoulders. “I don’t know how that young man could have become so ill. Why would he have come in today if he was feeling unwell? His wife7mdash;he’s only been married a few months—I haven’t contacted her yet. I wasn’t sure—”

“You’re going to want to leave that to us. If you’ll give us a few moments.”

“Yes. Yes, of course.”

“Record on, Peabody,” Eve said to her partner. She nodded to the guard who stepped to the side.

Eve opened the door, stood at the threshold. She was a tall, lanky woman with a choppy cap of brown hair, with brown eyes that were flat and dispassionate now as she scanned the scene. Her movements were easy as she took a can of Seal-It from her field kit, coated her hands, her boots.

In nearly a dozen years on the force, she’d seen a lot worse than the doomed history teacher sprawled on the floor in pools of his own vomit and shit.

Eve noted the time and place for the record. “MTs responded to the nine-one-one, arriving at fourteen-sixteen. Pronounced victim, identified as Foster, Craig, at fourteen-nineteen.”

“Lucky we drew a couple MTs on the call who knew better than to move the body,” Peabody commented. “Poor bastard.”

“Having lunch at his desk? Place like this probably runs to a staff lounge, cafeteria, whatever.” Remaining at the threshold, Eve cocked her head. “Knocked over a jumbo insulated bottle, the chair.”

“Looks more like a seizure than a struggle.” Peabody skirted the edge of the room, her airboots squishing slightly. She checked the windows. “Locked.” She angled so she could study the desk, the body from that side of the room.

While her body was as sturdy as Arnette Mosebly’s, Peabody’s build would never be statuesque. Her dark hair had grown past the nape of her neck and curved up at the ends in a flirty little flip Eve had yet to resign herself to.

“Working lunch,” Peabody noted. “Lesson plans or grading papers. Allergic reaction to something he ate, maybe.”

“Oh, yeah, I’d say.” Eve crossed to the body, hunkered down. She’d run prints, do the standard gauge for TOD, all the rest, but for a moment she simply studied the dead.

Spider legs of broken vessels ran through the whites of his eyes. There were traces of foam as well as vomit clinging to his lips. “Tried to crawl after it hit him,” she murmured. “Tried to crawl for the door. Get the formal ID, Peabody, verify TOD.”

Rising, Eve moved carefully around the puddles of what Craig’s body had voided, and picked up the insulated cup she saw, which had his name engraved in silver over black. Sniffed.

“You think somebody poisoned this guy?” Peabody asked.

“Hot chocolate. And something else.” Eve bagged the cup into evidence. “Color of the vomit, signs indicating seizure, extreme distress. Yeah, I’m thinking poison. ME will verify. We’ll need to get clearance to access his medicals from the next of kin. Work the scene. I’m going to talk to Mosebly again, and pull in the witnesses.”

Eve stepped out again. Arnette Mosebly paced the hallway with a PPC in her hand. “Principal Mosebly? I’m going to have to ask you not to contact anyone, speak with anyone just yet.”

“Oh...I7mdash;actually, I was just—” She turned the PPC around so Eve could see the miniscreen. “Word game. Something to occupy my mind for a bit. Lieutenant, I’m worried about Lissette. Craig’s wife. She needs to be told.”

“She will be. Right now I’d like to speak with you, in private. And I need to interview the students who found the body.”

“Rayleen Straffo and Melodie Branch. The officer who responded said they couldn’t leave the building, and had to be separated.” Her lips thinned now in obvious disapproval. “Those girls were traumatized, Lieutenant. They were hysterical, as one would expect under these kinds of circumstances. I have Rayleen with the grief counselor, and Melodie with our nurse practitioner. Their parents should be with them by now.”

“You notified their parents.”

“You have your procedure, Lieutenant. I have mine.” She gave one of those regal nods Eve imagined were required in Principal Training 101. “My first priority is the health and safety of my students. These girls are ten years old, and they walk into that.” She nodded toward the door. “God knows what damage it’s done to them, emotionally.”

“Craig Foster isn’t feeling so well himself.”

“I have to do what needs to be done to protect my students. My school—”

“Right now, it’s not your school. It’s my crime scene.”

“Crime scene?” Color drained from Arnette’s face. “What do you mean? What crime?”

“That’s what I’m going to find out. I want the witnesses brought in, one at a time. Your office is probably the best place for the interviews. One parent or guardian per child during the interview.”

“Very well, then. Come with me.”

“Officer?” Eve looked over her shoulder. “Tell Detective Peabody I’m going to the principal’s office.”

His mouth twitched, very slightly. “Yes, sir.”

Chapter I

It was a different kettle altogether, Eve discovered, when you were the honcho instead of the one in the hot seat. Not that she’d particularly been a discipline problem in her day, she remembered. Mostly, she’d tried to be invisible, just get by, just get through and get out of the whole educational prison the day it was legal to do so.

But she hadn’t always managed it. A smart mouth and a bad attitude had surfaced often enough to earn her a few trips down to that hot seat.

She was supposed to be grateful the state was providing her, a ward thereof, with an education, with a home, with enough food to sustain life. She was supposed to be grateful to have clothes on her back, even if someone else had worn them first. She was supposed to want to better herself, which had been tough when she hadn’t remembered, not clearly, where she’d come from in the first place.

What she remembered most were the smug-toned lectures, the disappointed frowns that didn’t quite hide the superiority.

And the endless, the terminal, the all-pervasive boredom.

Of course, it hadn’t been smart and spiffy private schools for her, with state-of-the-art educational equipment, sparkling clean classrooms, stylish uniforms, and a one-teacher-per-six-students ratio.

She’d be willing to bet her next paycheck that the Sarah Child Academy didn’t run to fist fights in the hallways, or homemade boomers in the lockers.

But today, at least, it ran to murder.

While she waited in Mosebly’s office with its homey touches of live plants and stylish teapots, she did a quick run on the victim.

Foster, Craig, age twenty-six. No criminal. Both parents still living, she noted, and still married to each other. They lived in New Jersey, where Craig himself had been born and raised. He’d attended Columbia on a partial scholarship, earned his teaching certificate, and was working on a master’s degree in history.

He’d married Bolviar, Lissette, in July of the previous year.

He looked fresh and eager in his ID photo, Eve mused. A handsome young man with a clear complexion the color of roasted chestnuts. Deep, dark eyes, and dark hair worn in what Eve thought they were calling a high-top. Shaved close on the sides and back, brushed high on the crown.

His shoes had been trendy, too, she recalled. Black and silver gels, with ankle wraps. Pricey. But his sports jacket had been dirt brown, worn at the cuffs. Decent wrist unit, which had struck her as a knockoff. And a shiny gold band on the third finger of his left hand.

She imagined, when Peabody completed the scene, there would be under fifty credits in Craig’s pockets.

She made a few quick notes.

Where did the hot chocolate come from?

Who had access to the insulated cup?

Shared classroom?

Time line. Last to see vic alive, first to find body.

Insurance policies, death benefits? Beneficiaries?

She glanced up as the door opened.

“Lieutenant?” Mosebly stepped in, one hand on the shoulder of a young girl with milky skin dotted with freckles that went with her carrot-red hair. The hair was long and brushed back into a sleek tail.

She looked slight and shaky in her navy blazer and spotless khakis.

“Melodie, this is Lieutenant Dallas, with the police. She needs to speak with you. Lieutenant Dallas, this is Melodie’s mother, Angela Miles-Branch.”

The kid had gotten the hair and skin from Mom, Eve noted. And Mom looked just as shaky.

“Lieutenant, I wonder if this could possibly wait until tomorrow. I’d prefer taking Melodie home now.” Angela had Melodie’s hand in a death grip. “My daughter isn’t feeling well. Understandably.”

“It’ll be easier all around if we do this now. It shouldn’t take long. Principal Mosebly, if you’ll excuse us.”

“I feel I should stay, as a representative of the school and as Melodie’s advocate.”

“A representative isn’t required at this time, and the minor child’s mother is present as her advocate. You’ll need to step out.”

There was an argument in Mosebly’s eyes, but she tightened her jaw, stepped out of the room.

“Why don’t you take a seat, Melodie?”

Two fat tears, one for each big blue eye, spilled out. “Yes, ma’am. Mom?”

“I’m going to be right here.” Keeping hands joined, Angela took the seat beside her daughter. “This has been terrible for her.”

“Understood. Melodie, I’m going to record this.”

With the nod came two more silent tears. At the moment, Eve wondered why the hell she hadn’t taken the scene and sicced Peabody on the kids. “Why don’t you just tell me what happened?”

“We went into Mr. Foster’s class—um, Rayleen and I. We knocked first, because the door was closed. But Mr. Foster doesn’t mind if you need to talk to him.”

“And you needed to talk to Mr. Foster.”

“About the project. Ray and I are project partners. We’re doing a multimedia report on the Bill of Rights. It’s due in three weeks, and it’s our big second-term project. It counts for twenty-five percent of our grade. We wanted him to see the outline. He doesn’t mind if you ask him questions before class, or after.”

“Okay. Where were you before you went to Mr. Foster’s classroom?”

“I had lunch period, and my study group. Ray and I got permission from Ms. Hallywell to leave study group a few minutes early to speak with Mr. Foster. I have the pass.”

She started to reach into her pocket.

“That’s okay. You went inside the classroom.”

“We started to. We were talking, and we opened the door. It smelled awful. That’s what I said, I said: ‘Holy jeez, it really stinks in here.’” Tears rained again. “I’m sorry I said that, but—”

“It’s okay. What happened then?”

“I saw him. I saw him on the floor, and there was like, oh, gosh, there was all this vomit and every¬thing. And Ray screamed. Or I did. I guess we both did. And we ran out and Mr. Dawson came running down the hall and asked us what was the matter. He told us to stay there and he went back. He went inside. I watched him go inside. And he came out really fast, with his hand like this.”

She clamped her free hand over her mouth. “He used his talkie, I think, to call Principal Mosebly. And then Ms. Mosebly came and called the nurse. And then the nurse, Nurse Brennan, came and took us to the infirmary. She stayed with us, until Mr. Kolfax came and he took Ray with him. I stayed with Nurse Brennan until my mom came.”

“Did you see anyone else go into Mr. Foster’s room, or leave it?”

“No, ma’am.”

“When you were walking from your study group to the classroom, did you see anyone?”

“Um. I’m sorry. Um. Mr. Bixley was coming out of the boys’ restroom, and we passed Mr. Dawson on the way. We showed him our pass. I think that was all, but I wasn’t paying attention.”

“How did you know Mr. Foster would be in his classroom?”

“Oh, he’s always in his classroom before fifth period on Mondays. He always has his lunch in there on Mondays. And the last fifteen minutes is when he allows students to come in and talk, if they really need to. Even before that he doesn’t mind if it’s important. He’s so nice. Mom.”

“I know, baby. Lieutenant, please.”

“Nearly done. Melodie, did either you or Rayleen touch Mr. Foster, or anything in the classroom?”

“Oh, no, no, ma’am. We just ran away. It was awful, and we ran away.”

“All right. Melodie, if you remember anything else, any little thing at all, I need you to tell me.”

The child rose. “Lieutenant Dallas? Ma’am?”

“Yeah?”

“Rayleen said, when we were in the infirmary, Rayleen said that they would have to take Mr. Foster away in a big bag. Do you? Do you have to?”

“Oh, Melodie.” Angela turned the child into her, held tight.

“We’re going to take care of Mr. Foster now,” Eve said. “It’s my job to take care of him, and I will. Talking to me helps me do my job, it helps me take care of him.”

“Really?” Melodie sniffled, sighed. “Thank you. I want to go home now. May I go home now?”

Eve met the girl’s drenched eyes, nodded, then shifted her gaze to the mother. “We’ll be in touch. I appreciate your cooperation.”

“This has been very hard on the girls. Very hard. Come on, sweetheart. We’re going home.”

Angela draped her arm around Melodie’s shoulders and walked her from the room. Eve pushed away from the desk, followed them to the doorway. Mosebly was already heading for the pair.

“Principal Mosebly? Question.”

“I’m just going to escort Mrs. Miles-Branch and Melodie out.”

“I’m sure they know the way. In your office.”

Eve didn’t bother to sit this time, but simply leaned back on the desk. Mosebly steamed in, fists knotted at her sides.

“Lieutenant Dallas, while I perfectly understand you have a job to do, I’m appalled by your dismissive and arrogant attitude.”

“Yeah, I get that. Was it Mr. Foster’s habit to bring his own lunch and beverage to work?”

“I...I believe it was. At least several days a week. We have a nutritionist-certified cafeteria, of course. And state-approved vending. But many members of the staff prefer to bring their own, at least occasionally.”

“He generally eat alone? At his desk?”

Mosebly rubbed her thumb and forefinger over her forehead. “As far as I know he took his lunch in his classroom two or three days a week. A teacher’s work encompasses more than can be done during school hours. There are lesson plans, grading, reading, lecture and lab prep¬ara¬tions. Craig, like most of the staff, was also pursuing his own further education, which requires study and writing, and so forth. He’d lunch at his desk so that he could work while he ate. He was dedicated.”

The anger seemed to drain out of her. “He was young and idealistic. He loved teaching, Lieutenant Dallas, and it showed.”

“Did he have any problems with anyone on staff?”

“I’m really not aware of any. He was a friendly, easygoing young man. I felt, both personally and professionally, that we were fortunate to have him on our faculty.”

“Dismiss anyone lately?”

“No. We have very little turnover here at Sarah Child. Craig was in his second year with us. He filled a hole left by one of our teachers who retired after fifty years of ser¬vice. Twenty-eight of those years were given right here, at Sarah Child.”

“How about you? How long have you been here?”

“Three, as principal. I have twenty-five years in education, and in administration.”

“When did you last see Mr. Foster?”

“I saw him briefly this morning.” As she spoke, Mosebly went to a small cold box, took out a bottle of water. “He’d come in early to use the fitness facilities, as he did routinely. All staff are permitted to use the machines, programs, the pool, and so on. Craig made use of the privilege nearly every morning.”

She sighed as she poured water into a short glass. “Would you like some, Lieutenant?”

“I’m good.”

“I had a swim myself this morning, and was just leaving the pool area when he came in. We said good morning. I complained about the traffic, and kept going. I was in a hurry. I heard him dive in,” she murmured, then took a slow sip of water. “I heard the splash as I opened the locker room door. Oh, God.”

“What time was that?”

“About seven-thirty. I had an eight o’clock phone conference, and I was running behind because I’d spent too long in the pool. I was annoyed with myself, and barely spoke to Craig.”

“Where’d he keep his lunch?”

“Why, in his classroom, I suppose. Possibly the lounge, but I don’t recall I’ve ever seen him put anything in or take anything out of the friggie or cupboard in there.”

“Would the classroom be locked?”

“No. The school is, naturally, secured, but individual classrooms aren’t locked. There’s no purpose, and the Sarah Child program is based on trust and responsibility.”

“All right. You can send for the second witness. Rayleen Straffo.”

Mosebly nodded, but there was nothing regal about it this time. “What about the other students? My staff?”

“We’re going to need to interview the staff before any leave the building. You can dismiss the students, but I’ll need your registration list.”

“Very well.”

Alone, Eve pulled out her communicator to tag Peabody. “Status.”

“The body’s just being transported. The ME on the wagon concurs with your poisoning assessment, though he won’t commit until the vic’s on the slab. The sweepers are on scene. It looks as if the vic was working on his comp at TOD. Putting together a pop quiz for his next class.”

“There’s a motive,” Eve said dryly.

“I hated the pop quiz, and question its constitutionality. I did a quick check of the comp, and found the vic sent out an e-mail from that unit to an LFoster@Blackburnpub.com at twelve-oh-six today. No communication in or out prior to.”

“Wife’s name is Lissette. Content?”

“Just a sweetheart note, offering to pick up dinner on the way home from work. Recipient responded in the same tone, in the affirmative, at fourteen-forty-eight. Return post was not read.”

“Okay. I’m waiting for the second wit. I’ll send the principal back to you, have her set you up somewhere. Get started on interviewing the staff and let’s nail the time line in each case. I’ll take my share of them in here once I finish with the kid. Meanwhile, verify the wife’s residence and place of employment. We’ll notify after we leave here.”

“And the fun never ends.”

Eve clicked off as the door reopened, and again Mosebly entered with her hand on the shoulder of a young girl.

This one was blonde, with a cascade of curls held back from her face with a violet band. The band matched her eyes. They were puffy at the moment, red-rimmed, dominating a face of dewy skin with a slightly tipped-up nose. The mouth, rosy and bottom heavy, quivered.

She wore the same kind of uniform as Melodie, with the addition of a small gold star pinned to the lapel of the blazer.

“Rayleen, this is Lieutenant Dallas. Lieutenant, Rayleen is here with her father, Oliver Straffo. I’ll be just outside if I’m needed.”

“Have a seat, Rayleen.”

“Lieutenant.” Oliver kept his daughter’s hand in his. His voice resonated in the room, like a good actor’s in a theater. He was tall, gilded like his daughter. But his eyes were a cold steel-gray. She’d met them before. In court.

High-powered, high-dollar, high-profile defense attorney, she thought.

Crap.

Most helpful customer reviews

48 of 51 people found the following review helpful.
An Emotional Roller Coaster
By Cherise Everhard
This is book # 28 in the In Death Series.

Right from page one J.D.Robb has the reader captivated as she spins her newest tale. She walks us through the victims last moments of life and then sets the graphic stage of his death. Each time I read an In Death book I am impressed at how well her words can create such vivid images in my head. It is so easy to get wrapped up and all consumed by one of her books. I don't know how she does it.

Eve Dallas, Lt. of the NYPSD, and her partner, Det. Delia Peabody are investigating the murder of a young teacher at a pricey private school. The staff and students are in shock and Eve can not find one motive for killing this man.

This book flowed a little differently to me than the previous books. Usually you have the homicide investigation as the center of the story and then the personal storylines either run side by side with the investigation or they play second fiddle. In Innocent In Death the personal issues between Eve and Roarke took center stage for me. For the first time in their relationship a woman from Roarke's past is really causing problems between the two of them. J.D. Robb takes the reader on a roller coaster ride of emotions, both Eve and Roarke's; you suffer with both of them.

It's hard to say anything about this book without giving away vital information. The homicide investigation takes some interesting twists and turns and it shocks and surprises. Summerset and Eve form one of their rare alliances in this book, and Eve shows a softer side of herself.

This would definitely rate as one of the top In Death books, so far. I can't remember feeling so much while reading one book. Between the gripping mystery and the front row seat to Roarke and Eve's marriage, it is impossible to be bored.

44 of 47 people found the following review helpful.
.Wow.
By I. Daco
As always with any Nora Robert or JD Robb book, I finished this in one sitting! I just couldn't let go. I even went to the bathroom with it! (sorry for sharing)

I think out of all the books in the series this is my favorite. The emotional turmoil Eve went through because of that blonde tarts reappearance in Roarke's life really had me going! I just wanted to reach in and strangle her and smack some sense into Roarke. What I love about their relationship is that it's very well developed. Like what the other reviewers say there's none of the petty fights and stupid misunderstanding that are blown way out of proportion! Every motion in the relationship is well-developed and believable (a choreography that is executed beautifully). Even though, I wish Eve would have drop kicked the bimbo a lot sooner--she did what we all were begging for in the end! I just loved it!

As for the mystery, the turmoil between Eve and Roarke almost took precedence but I just love the twist and turns the book took me through! The end was not shocking, if you catch it quickly you already know who the killer is--but your in so much denial that you keep fighting the truth! It was in itself a very shocking ending!

A must read! Bravo!

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
J. D. Robb keeps her stride.
By D. A. Welch
Another entertaining story about Lieutenant Eve Dallas and the gorgeous, enigmatic Roarke. Along with "In Death" murders to be solved, Eve and Roarke have some marital challenges to overcome when a flame from the past catches Roarke's eye in the wrong place and at the wrong time. Sparks erupt between Eve and Roarke as she struggles with insecurity and he tires of expounding on his devotion to her. The blond bombshell who insinuates herself into their marriage draws Summerset into the fray. Readers may be surprised by the direction his allegiance takes. As with most J. D. Robb stories, once I start one, I can't stop until I reach then end.

If you like Nora, try Flashback: A Low Country Novel

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~~ Ebook Prom Night: Making Out, by Megan Stine

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The dresses. The hair. The makeup. The hookups. It all happens on prom night...

Best friends Lisa Marie, Marianna, and Heather are totally psyched. Senior prom-the night where anything goes, and everything changes-is just two months away, and already, things are starting to get wild. Who would have thought that Lisa Marie would suddenly find herself single and juggling way too many boys? Or that Marianna's dream of going with her super-hot crush Luke would actually come true, only to be ruined by her super-strict father? And then there's Heather, who's hiding the biggest secret of them all...

The sexiest moments, the wildest parties, the most unexpected, unforgettable surprises-it all happens on prom night.

• Sales Rank: #11191836 in Books
• Published on: 2006-10-03
• Released on: 2006-10-03
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 7.14" h x .70" w x 5.00" l,
• Binding: Paperback
• 256 pages

About the Author
Megan Stine is the author of more than 100 books of both fiction and nonfiction for young readers. Her fiction titles have appeared on the New York Times bestseller list.

Most helpful customer reviews

2 of 2 people found the following review helpful.
Courtesy of Teens Read Too
By TeensReadToo
It's prom season once again, which translates to expensive dresses, finding the perfect date, and having the best time of your life. The prom is the perfect excuse for anyone to look their best, even though it may result in a little overspending. For Lisa Marie, Heather, and Marianna, it is all they can think about. It's the event of the school year and they want to make the best of it.

Marianna, the cross-country star, just received the best present ever when her crush, Luke, asked her out. Unfortunately, the only thing standing in their way is Marianna's controlling father, who watches her every move. But finally going out with the one person she really likes could lead to the perfect prom night...and maybe even a long-lasting relationship.

Lisa Marie has everything she's ever wanted; well, not exactly. Her longtime boyfriend dumped her two months before the prom. Which wasn't fair at all, since it--the breakup--was so close to prom and, well, she was going to dump him first. She has found the perfect prom dress, but she just doesn't have the cash to back it up. So now Lisa Marie gets a job at a Starbucks, since she is the "coffee queen," to pay for the dress. But with a new job comes a whole new batch of guys flirting with her. No sooner does Lisa Marie go from dateless to having multiple dates available to take her to the prom.

Heather isn't really feeling the whole prom thing and tries to avoid it but can't, since her two best friends keep on trying to find her a date. But the problem is her friends, and even Heather herself, do not know exactly what kind of date she wants. Turns out the only thing Heather can think about is her sexuality, which is completely confusing.

Will prom night, the event that they all have been waiting for, turn out to be too much to handle?

At first glance, MAKING OUT seems like any other novel about a high school prom. But it is far from regular. The first in the PROM NIGHT series, Megan Stine takes the prom and gives it a reality check. Every chapter is a different girls' perspective, letting readers truly see how each girl feels. This is a fast-paced read full of twists and turns until the very last page. Megan Stine takes some of the realistic situations of prom and turns them around to let readers discover some of the things that some teens do not seem to know about.

Reviewed by: Randstostipher "tallnlankyrn" Nguyen

0 of 1 people found the following review helpful.
An unusual prom-themed adventure
By Midwest Book Review
Megan Stine's MAKING OUT PROM NIGHT is an unusual prom-themed adventure which will strike a note with female readers who are enamored with the romance of prom. Best friends determined to make Senior Prom their most memorable find many challenges ahead, from parental restrictions and lack of romance to an ultimate Prom Night unexpected adventure.

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~~ Download PDF Ten Commandments of Working in a Hostile Environment: Your Power Is Your Purpose, by T. D. Jakes

Download PDF Ten Commandments of Working in a Hostile Environment: Your Power Is Your Purpose, by T. D. Jakes

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First time in paperback from the New York Times bestselling author of Reposition Yourself--the man Time magazine called ?America?s best preacher.?

For those dealing with an abusive boss, gossiping coworkers, demanding deadlines, or the sheer boredom of unfulfilling work, T. D. Jakes offers reassurance that God has placed everyone where they are for a reason. And when people learn to work with Him, they?ll fulfill their true purpose? while feeling strength instead of stress. This is an inspiring volume for those who dread the day ahead, and want to turn their job into a more positive experience.

With simple, surprising strategies, ranging from Don?t expect to be appreciated to Do not pledge allegiance to cliques and groups to Always keep your song near you, T. D. Jakes shows readers how to find true success at work, and extend that Sunday spirit through the long work weeks in between.

• Sales Rank: #76704 in Books
• Brand: Jakes, T. D.
• Published on: 2009-10-06
• Released on: 2009-10-06
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 8.26" h x .58" w x 5.56" l, .45 pounds
• Binding: Paperback
• 224 pages

From Booklist
How many of us dread waking up on a weekday . . and trundling in to yet another less-than-happy day at the workplace? Texas-based bishop T. D. Jakes--author of Maximize the Moment (2000), among other books, and pulpit raconteur and on-air celebrity--summarizes his new approach to vocations by drawing on the stories in the Bible, and on quotes and prayers based on that liturgy. Imploring all to remember that God has reasons for people to stay and leave jobs, and that work is all about fulfilling missions, he articulates his 10 commandments, and the benefits of looking at work through positive and spiritual lenses. Order number two, for instance, admonishes readers not to "expect to be appreciated"; he goes on to explain that to strive for that is to pander to please people, not to please a higher being. In his fifth "thou shalt," he offers alternatives to letting work get the best of you: consider exercise, find new relationships, take advantage of vacation, among others. The end goal? To enlighten, inspire, and energize. Barbara Jacobs
Copyright © American Library Association. All rights reserved

About the Author

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0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Five Stars
By KP
This book is truly inspirational helpful for those in hostile work environments.

16 of 16 people found the following review helpful.
One of the Best Resources of Its Kind Anywhere!
By Dr. W. G. Covington, Jr.
This book is a lifeline for people who feel trapped in a job that seems meaningless. Bishop Jakes shows you where the meaning can be found, using God's Word as his guide. He starts by explaining that it is a compliment from God that you have been placed in such inauspicious surroundings and cites precedents from the Bible of others who were favored by God who faced similar challenges.

The ten commandments of making the most of the "hostile season" during the process of overcoming are valid. Each one is described in detail. His grandmother taught Bishop Jakes by example. I won't spoil the surprise, but the lessons she imparted carried over from one generation to the next.

The reader is reminded, "No matter where you are right now...God has not abandoned you of the dreams that He's seeded in your heart." Each chapter concludes with a prayer designed to help you apply what you have just been taught. I didn't want the book to end. I read it slowly, relishing it, marking it, highlighting key points, and adding margin notes. This is my reading style anyway, but for this book my interaction was intensified due to the book's richness. This is the kind of book that can be read, re-read, and read some more.

43 of 50 people found the following review helpful.
A Working-Place Guide of Principles.
By Betty Burks
The ten principles explained in detail in this book are for the secular, "work" world, and should be remembered along with the Ten Commandments of the Bible. Written by a "bishop" who authored the book and produced the movie, WOMAN, THOU ART LOOSED!

His Ten committments:

1. Know that you are anointed for the job or position you now hold!

2. Don't expect to be appreciated.

3. Embrace opportunities for change.

4. Do the job well while remembering the vision.

5. Don't let the environment get inside of you.

6. Increase your capacity to work with difficult personalities.

7. Where you are is not where you are going!

8. Achieve optimal results with minimal confusion.

9. Do not pledge allegiance to cliques and groups!

10. Always keep your song near you.

As can be seen throughout all ten of these commandments, you are gifted with special and unique abilities to succeed in the workplace where you find yourself; make the most of the opportunities as this chance may never come again. Count Your Blessings!

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@ Get Free Ebook Phantom Prey, by John Sandford

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After one troubled college-age student disappears and two are found slashed to death, Lucas Davenport finds himself hunting what appears to be a modern-day Jack the Ripper. But Lucas keeps getting the sneaking suspicion that there is something else involved. Something very bad, very dark, and as elusive as a phantom.

• Sales Rank: #50583 in Books
• Brand: Berkley
• Published on: 2009-05-05
• Released on: 2009-05-05
• Original language: English
• Number of items: 1
• Dimensions: 7.50" h x 1.03" w x 4.23" l, .60 pounds
• Binding: Mass Market Paperback
• 480 pages

Features

• Great product!

From Publishers Weekly
In bestseller Sandford's solid 18th Prey novel (after Invisible Prey), Minnesota Bureau of Criminal Apprehension agent Lucas Davenport, who's received numerous promotions in the course of the series, ought to be taking the desk aspects of his job more seriously. But the man remains more comfortable working a stakeout, interviewing suspects and taking down bad guys than he is filling out personnel evaluation forms on his staff—which explains why he's still getting shot at, peeping at a cocaine dealer's wife hoping for a glimpse of her husband and, at his wife's behest, looking into the unsolved kidnapping and presumed murder of a wealthy young woman into the goth scene. It becomes clear that a serial killer is targeting goths as well as anyone, including Lucas, who gets in the way. While some pretty murky psychology encumbers the plot, Sandford delivers the kind of riveting action that keeps thriller fans turning the pages. (May)
Copyright © Reed Business Information, a division of Reed Elsevier Inc. All rights reserved.

From Booklist
Frances Austin is a missing heiress. Traces of blood in her well-connected mother Alyssa’s home lead Lucas Davenport, head of Minnesota’s Bureau of Criminal Apprehension, to assume the worst, but without a body, he can’t be sure. The investigation centers on Frances’ involvement in the Twin Cities’ goth community. The goths’ collective obsession with death and darkness makes them an obvious starting point, but Davenport believes it’s a form of youthful angst rather than an inherently evil social trend. But when other young goths connected to Frances are murdered, Davenport is forced to rethink his theory. Like all good investigators, he follows the money, in this case, a $50,000 withdrawal from Frances’ account and its subsequent disbursement over a 20-day period preceding Frances’ disappearance. When Davenport is wounded coming out of a goth club after conducting a series of background interviews, he realizes he’s closing in on the killer but has no idea who or why. The eighteenth entry in the best-selling Prey series is Sandford’s usual mix of clever plotting, gallows humor, and explosive action, but this time he mixes in a bit of the seemingly supernatural. Davenport doesn’t realize it—and neither will readers—but he’s actually working on two cases. The solution to one is mundanely tragic; the second genuinely disturbing. Expect another trip to the best-seller lists for one of the most consistently entertaining crime writers working today. --Wes Lukowsky

Review
"LUCAS DAVENPORT DEVOTEES WOULDN'T MISS IT FOR THE WORLD."
-St. Louis Post Dispatch

"INFINITELY CHILLING."
-Richmond Times Dispatch

"IMPRESSIVE."
-Washington Post

Most helpful customer reviews

60 of 65 people found the following review helpful.
Another excellent Lucas Davenport police procedural
By Jerry Saperstein
Back for his eighteenth appearance, Lucas Davenport of the Minnesota State Bureau of Criminal Apprehension (BCA) is not only on the job, but in top form.

The main story concerns Alyssa Austin, recently widowed when the airplane carrying her millionaire pilot husband Hunter crashed in Canada, comes home to discover the alarm system of her tony suburban home turned off, but no one in the house. Knowing the housekeeper Helen is gone for the day, Alyssa calls out for her daughter Frances who might be visiting. Alyssa searches the house and finds what turns out to be a small blood stain on the wallpape. The blood belongs to Frances and the police find that more blood has been wiped from the floors.

But there is no corpse.

A sub-plot concerns Lucas Davenport and colleague Del staking out the apartment of the wife of dope dealer, who apparently is immodest of often peels off her top with the shades up. The cops are trying to nab her currently absent drug kingpin husband.

Lucas Davenport is independently wealthy because he developed and sold a software company. He doesn't have to work, but he likes being a cop and solving the really tough cases, which just happens to be what the BCA does. In earlier stories, Sandford spent a lot of time developing Lucas Davenport. This time around, Davenport, married to surgeon Weather, with a young son and adopted teenage daughter is less introspective and more action oriented.

And there is plenty of action. As it turns out, the distraught mother, Alyssa Austin, owns several exclusive fitness centers, knows Weather and asks her to get her husband involved in the case. Reluctantly, Lucas gets involved - just in time for a series of gruesome murders of young Twin Cities "Goths". Frances, the missing daughter, was into the Goth scene.

Sandford is one of the best police procedural writers around today. He doesn't miss a beat in this one. Davenport is a cerebral cop who is constantly dogging a case, wondering how the leads and clues fit together. Almost as an aside, he tracks a money trail through the Goth community as one after another is murdered. Davenport himself comes in for a close call.

It's a taut thriller, with Davenport displaying more than the occasional flash of brilliant inspiration that brings him one step closer to solving the crimes.

The only unfortunate part of the plot is that Davenport relies upon a device he used to great effect in an earlier "Prey" novel, but it doesn't work so well here. Nope, I'm not going to spoil it for you. You'll know when you see it, even if you haven't read the prior Davenport novels.

It's a small thing that doesn't take any pleasure from the reading because John Sanford is simply one of the finest authors of police procedurals in the business. The nice thing about the "Prey" series is that if you start with one, you might be drawn to reading the others. Start with the first and work your way through all of them. They really are excellent reading.

Jerry

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
Each John Sanford novel is a high quality treat!
By Gary L. Rezeau
I am a hard core fan of John Sandford because all his novels are fascinating and believable plot lines and involve multiple action threads that become related to each other and effect the outcomes of the characters. Lucas Davenport is a man with problems like any of us in real life, and how he meets the challenges of his job and his personal life make him an exemplary folk hero. Mr. Sandford is one of the best story tellers I know of and enjoy. And I am an avid reader. Save his books, because you will want to re-read each one of them.

0 of 0 people found the following review helpful.
not that great
By JOE42
I am not into the sprit world. it made the book move to slow.

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