In the heart of the Kologha Forest lies a little haven where man and nature seemingly live harmoniously together in a little piece of Utopia. The Kibbutz is run by a family who practice subsistence farming and invite guests from around the world to join them for an unforgettable stay. But above and beneath the surface lies another world that reeks of death and evil. Will guests, Harish Ramkissoon and Sue Mitchell, uncover the mystery of the missing guests and unmask the Killer at the Kibbutz?
Targeted Age Group:: 13-100
What Inspired You to Write Your Book?
I wanted to create a plot with multiple characters that was fast-paced and retained the tension throughout the story-line. I set it in a rural area known as the Kologha Forest near a town called Stutterheim in the Eastern Province of South Africa. My characters came from places around the world and from the local community. I tried to make them diverse and controversial.
How Did You Come up With Your Characters?
The story has a rather dark setting and many of the characters have traits that are questionable in order to create twists in the ‘whodunit’ plot.
Harish watched her walk away and then turned to the tiny message-bearer. “I am Harish . . . Harish Ramkissoon,” he said, smiling. And what is your name, little one?”
“I’m Cristal . . . Cristal Lotts . . . and I’m not so little . . . I’m six.” She held up the fingers on one hand and one finger on the other.
He grinned at the sweet, freckled face with the streak of mud on its rosy cheek and the mud-caked knees protruding below the ragged hem of the sunflower-colored dress or what had once been a sunflower-colored dress. Her straw-colored hair was platted into two long pigtails, one fastened with a yellow bow, the other with a loose knot with its ends trailing down. “Such a pretty name for such a very pretty, little girl!”
Her sapphire-blue eyes widened as she eyed him warily. “I’m not allowed to speak to strangers.”
“Then you have no problem because I am not a stranger. I work here.”
She seemed satisfied with his explanation.
“Why do you speak so funny?”
“That’s because I come from a faraway land called India.”
“Oh yes. I am an Indian.”
“Huh! Indian? Then where are your feathers?”
“No . . . no! The feathered varieties are from the Americas. I am from the East . . . colorful clothing—no real feathers to speak of.”
She gave him a puzzled look, shook her head, and then decided that it was safe to sit beside a featherless Indian.
She slapped her knees. “I’ve been feeding the pigs,” she said.
“I gathered as much. Do they make you work here too?”
“Only on some days.”
“And where do you go to school?”
“Oh, I learn on the Internet.”
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