Saturday, November 15, 2014

Blog Tour-The Dreamer of Downing Street by Roberta L. Smith

The Dreamer of Downing Street by Roberta L. Smith
Title: The Dreamer of Downing Street
Author: Roberta L. Smith
Series: The Mickey McCoy Series (Prequel)
Genre: Paranormal/Mystery/Romance/Historical
Publisher: Self Published
Release Date: Aug 23 2014
Edition/Formats Available In: eBook & Print
In 1944 Denver, twenty-six year-old Franklin Powell is doing
what he does best, helping clients with his psychic gift. Then
his brother causes the past to come crashing into the present
and a memory Frank has kept buried since the age of six
surfaces. Now his life is in an uproar. He must prove that what
he remembers is true or his mother may spend the rest of her
life in prison. But even if he succeeds, it appears there is a
powerful someone behind the scenes who could care less if she
is innocent. Why? Because of a seething hatred for Frank. To
make matters worse, the woman he loves needs his help with a serious problem of her own—a
problem that could get him killed. Frank can’t let that stop him. He dives right in and while his
psychic gift doesn’t seem to be doing him any favors, it’s a good thing that a couple of newly-acquired
ghosts appear to be on his side.
The Dreamer of Downing Street by Roberta L. Smith
Book Links
Author Information

Roberta L. Smith was born and raised in Southern California. She is a
graduate of the University of Redlands and lives in the High Desert with her
husband. She is an active member of the High Desert Branch of the
California Writers Club. Roberta had always been intrigued by the
unexplained. Her favorite stories growing up involved ghosts and
sometimes the macabre. As a child, she wrote a letter to Boris Karloff telling
him she knew he didn’t mean to kill the little girl in “Frankenstein,” so it’s
no surprise that the four novels she has published thus far are in the
paranormal genre.
Author Links
Authors Other Works
The Mickey McCoy Paranormal Mystery Series
The Dreamer of Downing Street Prequel
The Secret of Lucianne Dove #1
Chapel Playhouse #2
The Accordo #3
One of Life’s Distorted Moments
Bed of Thorns #1
In His Shoes and The Miracle #2 & #3 {2 in 1 Book}
R.I.P. Katherine Colton #4
Skyglow Undercover #5
The Dreamer of Downing Street by Roberta L. Smith
Distorted: Five Imaginative Tales on the Dark Side
Stand Alones
The Year in a Live of a Civil War Soldier: The 1864 Diary of Frank Steinbaugh
Leadville, Colorado - 1924
I COULD FEEL Mother’s anxiety the moment she took my hand to pull me out of the canvas top
touring car. I landed with a squishy sound as my boots hit the sloshy ground and I righted myself. The
sight before me was forlorn to say the least: a couple of cabins―shacks really―a privy, shed and the
hoist frame of a mine shaft no longer in use, all dusted with snow. It was spring, but just barely. And it
“You’ll be all right with the boy,” our driver called to my mother from his seat inside the car, arm
outside the window, finger pointed. “Just remember what I told you. Call her Mrs. Tabor. She don’t
like when people address her as Baby Doe. Show her respect. If she opens the door with a shotgun in
her hand, just talk real nice. She guards the Matchless like a rabid dog and don’t trust people much. I
ain’t sayin’ I blame her, just that’s how she be.”
Mother nodded and started toward one of the cabins, my hand in hers. I nearly cried out that she
was hurting me, her grip was that tight. But I thought better of it. A tongue lashing would most likely
result and that would be more painful. I stuck my free hand in the right-hand pocket of my coat and
grabbed hold of one of the toy cars I kept there.
My heart beat rapidly. I was anxious, too. Not because of where we were or who we were about
to meet. I was concerned for Mother because I’d never seen her in such a state. She paused for a
moment and took several deep breaths as she stared at the small, one-room shack ahead of us. It cast
a friendless feel out here on the hill amid the other wooden structures that were all part of the derelict
mine. Constructed of planks that had weathered many winters, it wasn’t exactly ramshackle, but it
was close. Not that I would have thought of that word at the time. I was six.
After a few more steps, my anxiety left me and the happiness I felt at being on a trip with Mother—just
me, not my older brother Bobby nor my older sister Jane, just me—took hold. My siblings got most of
Mother’s attention at home. With only me in tow, I would be foremost in her mind.
I looked at the front door of the cabin and “knowings” hopped into my head. Back then, that’s what
I called the psychic thoughts that came to me. I knew we were about to meet an old woman who had
been beautiful at one time. So beautiful that other people had been jealous. I knew that she was hated
and that she lived alone.
I will just have a talk with that woman. So what if she’s peculiar, if they say she’s lost her
The Dreamer of Downing Street by Roberta L. Smith
I glanced up at Mother. “Here, Mama,” I said, offering her a fistful of aggies and cat’s-eyes I kept
stashed in my pocket along with the cars.
“What?” Her brows knit together as she looked at the contents of my hand.
“You said she lost her marbles. She can have these.”
Immediately my mother’s face turned to granite. I’d responded to something I thought she’d said
aloud. “Why do you like to torment me?” There was a frantic undercurrent to her tone and the lines
around her mouth deepened.
My heart seemed to freeze as it always did when I said something wrong and she glared at me with
disapproval. La-la-la-laa. La. La . . . I sang in my head to block any more of her self-talk.
Mother took another step and the front door creaked open a few inches.
“Stop!” a sharp, clear voice rang out. “What do you want? Who’s that boy with you?”
Mother stalled. The word “ostracized” came to me. My brain changed the word to “ostrich-size” which
made me think the woman we were about to meet was big like an ostrich.
Mother’s voice cracked when she spoke. “This is my son, Franklin.”
The door opened farther and my jaw dropped. We were in the presence of the old woman I had seen
last night amid one of the strangest experiences that had ever happened to me.

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