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Jaime Jo Wright Biography

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“There must be a reason to smile, Miss François. Will you supply one?" It was Daisy's turn to stare. For a long moment they held each other's gaze. His dark, hers a bright green that probably made him unhappy that her eyes naturally smiled. But then, to Daisy's surprise, the corner of his mouth quirked. Just a bit. "Perhaps having you here will provide a reason to smile. There is so little in Castle Moreau that inspires joy." Daisy nodded, this time refusing to put her thoughts into words. Lincoln Tremblay drummed his fingers on the book while searching her face. "You are not what I expected." Daisy bit the inside of her upper lip. He smiled then. It was small, but it reached his eyes and tilted the sadness that lingered there into a hint of admiration. "Green eyes are compelling," he admitted, and it struck Daisy with surprising force. "As are others who care for those in need.”

SmileAdmirationGreen Eyes
Book:The Vanishing at Castle Moreau
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“I can hear the darkness. It is like a breeze on a frigid winter's night that rattles the leafless branches. It is like the cold that travels through your open mouth and down your throat, a frozen kiss stealing your breath. It is like a blizzard that swallows you in its swiftness, blinding behind and before, and side to side. Darkness is winter. It is the end. It is death.”

HauntingSpooky
Book:Night Falls on Predicament Avenue
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“She would no longer speak fear into my world with good intent, but instead she would leave it for me to inherit. To warn other women through story that wickedness lurks, but hidden in the words was a secret. A clue. To escape to the Castle Moreau. Each story called to the downtrodden, to the woman who had no place to find freedom. In every story the woman with the crooked hand ever told me, it always ended with the words, "Beauty is found in walls of stone, beauty where love begins." Hidden among the travesties and nightmares of violence, all the abused must know that of this place. Only they would recognize the words for what they were. For only the broken are searching for a place to heal.”

RefugeSanctuaryAbused WomenHidden Truth
Book:The Vanishing at Castle Moreau
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“He was a dark, handsome man. The kind who just needed a shave and he'd be perfect. His chiseled jawline was covered in stubble that was almost a full beard, his eyes were gold with a dark-brown perimeter, and he had curly raven-black hair combed back from his forehead. Overall, he had a definite Mediterranean look to him. It was Deacon Tremblay. She didn't need the internet to verify his identity. His picture, his profile, his every feature were embedded in the minds of all American women. Probably in the minds of international women too.”

AuthenticHeartthrobHandsome Man
Book:The Vanishing at Castle Moreau
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“I'm not a scared kitten," Cleo protested, though she wasn't so sure she believed it. "No?" Deacon tilted his head to study her. A bunny then?" "I'm not a rabbit." "Fish?" "I don't swim." "Ah!" He snapped his fingers. "You're a leopard gecko!" "A what?" Cleo frowned. She'd not expected that at all. "You know, one of those lizards people have as pets. They prefer to stay hidden but can be very loyal and friendly companions once you earn their trust.”

ComparisonFlirtingGecko
Book:The Vanishing at Castle Moreau
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“Still afraid of people, are you?" "Never afraid, Grand-mère, only distrusting. Have you ever had your face on the internet with the headline 'American Royalty Does the Director's Daughter' touting your previous night's adventure?" Cleo was glad neither of the Tremblays was looking at her. A hot blush covered her face at how cavalier Deacon was about his past escapades, not to mention his choice of words. Virgie gave a little snort. "No, because I never fooled around. In my day, we remained faithful for the sake of appearances, if not morality." "Mmm, good advice, but a tad too late for me, Grand-mère," Deacon said. Cleo's cheeks were blazing hot now. She studied the water in her glass as if it were a fascinating exhibit at an art museum.”

PlayboyAwkwardnessRascal
Book:The Vanishing at Castle Moreau
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“You could fire me and send me away. Then where would I be? You know what happens to girls like me, who have no home to speak of? We end up riding the trains westward, picking up work at brothels, being worthless women in the eyes of society. Castle Moreau is a terrifying place, Mr. Tremblay. Your grandmother is horrific, and you, sir, are nothing short of a beast behind a desk ready to spring on me. So no, I do not speak my mind. I bite my tongue to stay alive, stay employed, and stay free of the defiling way of life many women in my shoes find themselves." She bit her tongue, contrary to what she'd just said, and everything inside of Daisy quivered at the realization. Perhaps her red hair did hide a smart wit after all, but a smart wit didn't imply a smart mouth, and she'd shown little wisdom in allowing Lincoln Tremblay to goad her into an honest outburst.”

RedheadSpeaking Your Mind
Book:The Vanishing at Castle Moreau
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“Moreau, the guy who built the castle at the beginning of the nineteenth century, built it for his wife. But she died shortly after. That's when others began to vanish. It's like a Star Trek vortex. Sucks in women and never spits them back out." "That's morbid," Cleo said. Stasia waved her off. "So is crime TV, but I watch it all the time. You don't?" "No." "That sucks." Stasia shrugged again, her mouth twisting in a look of pitiful apology. "Crime TV prepares you. Like, you'll never vanish if you know how a killer thinks. You'll be ready for them. True preparedness and survival skills.”

Ghost StoryPrepared MindCrime Scene Investigation
Book:The Vanishing at Castle Moreau
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“Just because my ancestor built a flipping castle in a place like Wisconsin, this is the kind of attention we get?" "It's not the only castle in the Midwest," Cleo offered, hoping to diffuse the situation. They stood around Stasia's car, no one getting in. Dave leaned against the trunk of his own vehicle parked ahead of Stasia's. "No. It's not," Stasia agreed. "There's one in Ohio. Built by German immigrants.”

MidwestHaunted Castles
Book:The Vanishing at Castle Moreau
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