November 22, 1963, a day that changed America forever. Who killed
I've been a HUGE JFK assassination buff since that very day.
Everyone who was alive on November 22, 1963 knew exactly where they
were and what they were doing when they heard the news. I was in my
first grade classroom. The teacher got a call on the classroom phone
and told us ‘the president was shot.’ A collective gasp went around
the room. I was 6 years old and in first grade. It was ten years
before I saw the footage of Ruby shooting Oswald, on an anniversary
But it was my grandmother who got me interested in the
biggest mystery since 'who killed the princes in the Tower?' (I'm a
Ricardian; that's for another post). She got me embroiled
right along with her.
She listened to all the radio talk shows (those who lived in
the New York area might remember Long John Nebel, on WOR, WNBC, and
WMCA, all on AM radio (FM was really 'out there' at that time).
She recorded all the radio talk shows. She bought whatever
books came out over the years, along with the Warren Commission
Report, which I couldn't lift at the time, it was so heavy. But my
interest never waned in the 51 years that followed.
In 2000, I began the third book of my New York Saga, set in
1963. The heroine is Vikki McGlory Ward, daughter of Billy McGlory,
hero of the second book, BOOTLEG BROADWAY, set during Prohibition.
This was my opportunity to write a novel showcasing all my current
theories, and continue the saga. It took a minimum of research,
since I remember all the 60's brands, (Bosco, Yum Berry, Mr.
Bubble...), the fashions, the songs, and I even included a scene set
on that unforgettable night when the Beatles first appeared on the
Ed Sullivan Show, February 9, 1964.
About THE END OF CAMELOT
The third in the New York Saga,
The End of Camelot centers on Billy McGlory’s daughter Vikki,
whose husband is murdered trying to prevent the assassination of
John F. Kennedy. Vikki uses her detective skills to trace the
conspiracy, from New York to New Orleans to Dallas, and at the same
time, tricks her husband’s murderer into a confession. A romance
with her bodyguard makes her life complete.
November 22, 1963: The assassination of a president devastates
America. But a phone call brings even more tragic news to Vikki
Ward—her TV reporter husband was found dead in his Dallas hotel room
Finding his notes, Vikki realizes her husband was embroiled in the
plot to kill JFK—but his mission was to prevent it. When the Dallas
police rule his death accidental, Vikki vows to find out who was
behind the murders of JFK and her husband. With the help of her
father and godfather, she sets out to uncover the truth.
Aldobrandi Po , the bodyguard hired to protect Vikki, falls in love
with her almost as soon as he sets eyes on her. But he's engaged to
be married, and she’s still mourning her husband. Can they ever hope
to find happiness in the wake of all this tragedy?
It was New Year’s Eve, they were alone, and he was harmless. So far.
So she took the necessary two paces over to him and placed the honey
ball between his custom-made choppers.
He closed his eyes, and she watched him savoring the sweetness. She
didn’t dare say another word as she ran her index finger over a glob
of cream on the cannoli plate, raised it to her lips and licked. “Mmmm,”
she voiced, wishing she hadn’t.
Their eyes met and locked. Faster than lightning, they came together
like magnets. Their lips met, sweet and sticky and hot. She didn’t
want him to stop, but her inner voice screamed how wrong it was—It’s
forbidden!—echoing the nuns in Saint Gustina’s. She shooed it
away like an annoying fly.
Leave me alone, I’m not a kid anymore. Her arms circled his
neck, and his hands slid down to the curve of her back. Dare she
move in closer, pelvis to pelvis, an unthinkable act three seconds
ago? Her body was betraying her, betraying Jack, taking on a will of
its own as she crushed herself to him. The kiss intensified. She
tasted cannoli, and her fogged mind told her he’d been sampling them
all day. She breathed in his cologne, so foreign it repelled her, so
new it aroused her even further. Her tiara slipped off her head. She
caught it just as he pulled away.
He held her at arm’s length as in a tango. “Oh,
cara mia,” he growled—and
if he said another word in Italian, she knew she’d explode. A
passion long dormant stirred inside her.
My favorite passage from the book:
Billy came down the stairs for a nightcap and glanced into the
living room. He noticed the glow in the fireplace, Vikki’s
eyeglasses and the anisette bottle on the table. The couch faced the
other way, but nobody was sitting on it. “Where’d they go?” Then he
realized they hadn’t gone anywhere—and they were on the couch, but
not sitting. Before he got out of their way, he placed a
long-playing record on the phonograph. Jackie Gleason’s “For Lovers