Death And Disappearances

by Richard Smiraldi

Overview

Death and Disappearances is a psychological thriller. Young, rich and promising novelist, Manhattanite, Montgomery Clark, “Mont.” has had one un-successful book, and an interesting marriage to Petula Beaujolais, a Parisian artist he met while attending Columbia University. They’d been married about two years when life as they know it began to unravel. Petula was unhappy because Mont didn’t take her career as an artist seriously. To make matters worse, Mont belongs to that elite class of first American families –to which Petula could not find acceptance. After a heated argument at a club function on Gramercy Park, Petula leaves their apartment at 2am in nothing but her sable coat and a pair of fuzzy pink slippers –never to be seen or heard from again. Did she go back to Paris to visit her twin sister at the asylum (Clarenton)? Where is she? Mont elicits the help of his friends Bea, and Peter. Bea discovers a cancerous lump on her throat and is advised by her psychic root worker to leave the country. While rushing to his parents’ home in Westchester, Peter’s Astin Martin careens off the cliffs of Bear Mountain and crashes into the Hudson River. With nowhere else to turn, Mont files a missing person’s report with Detective, Draza Vicaru, (a first generation American of Slovakian descent and a Coney Island resident). Together, with the help of Bea’s psychic and a little time travel, Mont uncovers the truth about the disappearance of Petula Beaujolais-Clark and the deaths that surround it.

Product Details

BN ID:	2940033162253
Publisher:	Richard Smiraldi
Publication date:	01/27/2012
Sold by:	Smashwords
Format:	eBook
File size:	674 KB
Age Range:	18 Years

About the Author

After having graduated from a small college in Westchester with a degree in English literature, I moved into Manhattan in order to find a life of which to write about. I was young and eager. I wandered around the town with only F. Scott Fitzgerald to guide me. Most of the places he mentions in his novels no longer existed, like Club El Morrocco, which at the time I was there, had become a trendy rave bar. I spent a good deal of time at The Plaza Hotel Oak Bar but I never really was able to meet anyone who could help me with my quest to become the greatest living American novelist. I donned the attire and the snappy pseudo-British dialect that is common in so many of the 1930's flicks I enjoyed and in no small time at all I found my self in the company of Janet Sumner, a dowager from Gramercy Park. She took me all about the town and introduced me to "society." It was wonderful. I tried for a time my hand at Art dealing, but I was never so good at selling those contemporary artist's works at $14,000 a piece, which I detested myself. I would say things like,"It reminds me of a dream I had in my childhood." But what I actually meant was "a nightmare!" I had my share of billionaires come after me with their eager glares, attempting to bed me or wed me, male and female. But some small town scruples kept me from ever taking them up on it. Offers, I've had many, but never was I able to take a single one. And so my youth was swallowed in the bottom of a bottle of gin - good gin mind you. The years went by and I meandered from temporary administrative assistant job to job. Eventually one company sent me for graphics training and I developed into a graphic designer. I still enjoyed for a few seasons the private club life that exists in New York City, such as National Arts Club, Salmagundi, Century, Union League, New York Athletic Club or that wonderful club at fifth and 60th street- Metropolitan. Those of you who are familiar with club life will know of what I speak. It is a very e,lite regal and dignified world. You'd better put on your patrician best! I went from ball to ball and pillar to post. I had a wonderful time in Tarrytown on Cobb lane at The Davis', or at the Rockefellers. A few times I went yachting with one of the Hughes. And now there's a movie out, go figure! Yes, it would seem I was finding a world to write about. I plummeted for a season and hung in the village at Dixieland jazz bars, piano bars, and any nightclubs where talent lie. I think I was searching for Jack Kerouac. But where have all the beatniks gone? I drank with the best and the worst of them. And then I took a different slant and for a time I traveled around Lancaster,Pennsylvania. I wanted to give my nerves a break from the high life of Manhattan. It became very quickly very dull, although I never tired of watching the Amish with their dour costumes and horses with carriages. Next I flew to Seattle for the coffee and lobster and then on to Las Vegas with another woman who insisted I call her Lee Lee, and who was a member of The Colony Club in England. I've been to London and Grantham, to Dublin, and all over the world. I was searching for that great piece. I spent last season in Philadelphia. I think that's all that needs to be said about that. And now I am here in bucolic New Jersey at my mother's house. Every day I face my brother who calls me a lazy sack of .....you can fill in the expletive. I have written the novel. It's a wonderful book, a mystery if you will. It involves a retired Playboy bunny who runs an Inn, a town Doctor, sheriff who are in desperate need to save their town from its poverty and depopulation. Reilly, my protagonist,(a fading bunny), writes a letter to an old chum who has since become a star. The star visits, stalked by her ex husband and his publicist. All three are murdered. Naturally, like most of you, I believe that this is not just fiction, but great literature. It is very simply written, but there's so much there, as Flannery O'Connor would call it, it's anagogical. And it is destined to become a film. I have just begun that long road to having this work published. I wrote it in close third person narrative, because it needed to be written that way, although I'd have preferred first person. I've written to several agents. Three have responded with rejection.