title: Corner Confessions: Everyone has a secret.  What's yours?
author: Kiersten L Hall
description: 'A story about stories, Corner Confessions is an intriguing tale of secrets and the humans who keep them....and of the sheer and utter relief one feels once unburdened by them. The confessions are riveting and the characters relaying them are fascinating, from the self proclaimed town liar, to the middle-aged unobtrusive super hero. Ms. Hall has the ability and talent of being completely conversational and engaging so that her readers feel as if they are hearing these confessions in person over tea and crumpets rather than simply reading words on a page. One is quite easily drawn into the web of the stories she weaves.' Melissa R. Leavenworth, KS 'Corner Confessions was a good read; definitely kept me interested and wanting more!' S.S. - Austin, MN 'I wish I had thought of such a fun job - listening to so many interesting stories. But the next best thing was reading the stories in Corner Confessions. It was hard to put the book down, and I am waiting with baited breath to read the second book in this series!' N.B. - Owatonna, MN 'Corner Confessions is my second book by K.Hall &amp; I'm loving it! The characters have real depth and real world issues we can ALL relate to. I can't think of a better way to enjoy a relaxing afternoon.' D.B. - Delavan, MN 'Corner Confessions had me hanging on the edge of my seat wondering "What will they say next?" This book is full of emotions!' D.S. - Sparta, WI
zlib_text: Guilty Little Secret
  By F. M. Land
  
  For Larry Gold and David Mose
  
  Copyright © 2018  Frances Mary Land
  All rights reserved.
   
  
  Dizzy (1977)
  Whore’s eyes, les yeux de la pute, that’s what Dizzy called the
  matched pair of knotholes set menacingly at eye level in the ancient
  oak door that opened into the kitchen of our house in Anjoie. I didn’t
  know exactly what a pute was, but I figured it had to do with sex.
  Dizzy had that know-it-all look in his eyes when he said it, “les yeux
  de la pute.” Then again, everything about my older brother, Dizzy,
  had to do with sex these days. Like the thing about Dizzy and that
  French girl down the lane. I heard my parents discussing it, that very
  moment, as I stood waiting in the hall between the backstairs and
  the kitchen, waiting for them to stop talking. I pressed my forehead
  against the rough oak door, my fingers tracing the flowery pattern of
  the China-silk wallpaper that my mother had imported from Italy.
  I had spent a good deal of my life, it seem