Monday, October 28, 2013


Category: MG
Genre: Historical Mystery
Word count: 63,000

With the spark of independence crackling in Colonial Philadelphia, three girls dress as boys and head to the river at night to put a perilous plan into action, but only two return and one of them, Perdy Rogers, is accused of treason. When the constable builds a case against the 13-year-old upholsters’s apprentice with circumstantial evidence, she must unravel the traitorous web woven around her that protects the real spy. With a grandmother so distraught she’s helpless and her best friend called to testify against her, assistance comes from the most unlikely sources—her 4-year-old sister, a Scottish cabin boy she barely knows and a general destined to lead the new country.

Q1: In your MC's voice, what costumed character do you most relate to and why?
I relate to Batgirl because during the day we both lead quiet, ordinary lives—
Batgirl as a librarian and I’m an upholsterer’s apprentice.  But by night she dons her mask and Batgirl costume and I dress in boys clothes to help friends, solve mysteries and protect the innocent.

Q2: As an author, what makes your manuscript a tasty treat (unique/marketable)?
The tasty treat – No proof exists that Betsy Ross made the first American flag. Twice Betrayed suggests her apprentice, my MC, made the flag as a quilt top for her sister and both boys and girls will be interested in crafting 5-pointed stars and decoding secret spy letters in the story.

First 250:

A shout rings out in the crowded street. “Help! My child! Help!

I glance up, drop the ascot I’m hemming and rush out the shop door, the doorbells overhead tinkling wildly.

A toddler, dressed in a pale-colored coat and bonnet waddles across the slippery cobblestones. The pouring rain makes it difficult to see her and a wagon bears down on the spot where she stops.

Her mother, on the far side of Arch Street, desperately clutches a baby to her breast, screaming for someone to save her child from certain harm.

Heedless of the rain, I quickly judge the distance the wagon must cover and dash out to the child, swooping her up in my arms. As I twirl away, the wagon passes so close my skirt ruffles in its breeze.

The child wails, not from the danger she was in, but from suddenly finding herself in a stranger’s arms. I cradle her head against my shoulder and rock her like I used to do with Abby when she was upset.

Her mother darts through the traffic to reach her. “Thank you. Thank you,” she cries, her tears mixing with raindrops trickling down her cheeks. 

Her baby stares wide-eyed at her big sister, also crying in my arms. 

“She just let go of my hand,” sobs the mother, “and when I turned around she was lost in the crowd.”

Shielding my eyes from the rain with my hand, I gaze at the traffic, heavier than usual. “Where is everyone going?”

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