Christmas Memories

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My family moved around a lot when I was growing up (my dad worked for IBM, aka I’ve Been Moved). So every few years, we celebrated the holidays in a different place. My mom was good about keeping up traditions so that Christmas was Christmas, no matter where we lived. Sometime after Thanksgiving, she’d pillage packing boxes marked “Xmas Stuff;” and once she got going, there was no stopping her. The scent of evergreen permeated the house as she wrapped boughs of it tied with red bows up and down the banisters. Other decorations crowded table-tops, bookcases, mantles, and the piano. Mom’s mix was eclectic: an elaborate nativity set from Italy, trees made from tuna cans, sculptural metal angels, and paper-mache snowmen. No surface remained free of holiday cheer.

But before any counting down of days ‘til Christmas could commence, we had to do two things: (1) Bake my great-grandmother’s shortbread cookies (that had at least 150 ingredients and all had to be iced in appropriate colors), and (2) Get a real tree. The cookie part was almost easy compared to the tree trip. Mom had to bundle up three kids in enough layers to nearly render us immobile then we’d pack into the station wagon, bound for the nearest lot. My dad would grab the first tree he saw and ask, “How’s this?” A half hour and two dozen trees later, my mother would nod and say, “That’s it!” She always liked the biggest, fattest balsam that took eons for them to tie up. Once home, Dad stuck the tree in a bucket and prayed the water didn’t freeze overnight. The next day, he’d stuff it into the stand and put the lights on, and Mom would spread the skirt beneath. Ta-da! Let the tree-trimming begin!

Hanging the ornaments was a huge honkin’ deal. My mother made sure the whole family was present before she put out eggnog and placed a holiday album on the stereo. While my sibs and I unearthed equal parts hand-made doo-dads and delicate glass baubles from the tissue stuffed cavities of cardboard boxes, Nat King Cole crooned of chestnuts roasting on an open fire. I loved glass birds with clips for claws so I could stick them on the ends of branches, like they’d flown in and were just resting. I adored silver orbs that reflected every color in the rainbow. But one pair of ornaments remained the most special for years: a burlap man and woman my sister and I had named “Speed” and “Trixie,” after the characters in Speed Racer. Every Christmas, their ink faces rubbed off a little more and their yarn hair disappeared, but Molly and I couldn’t wait to place them on the tree next to one another so they could chat about Spanky and Racer X.

Once the ornaments were up, it was tinsel time! We were tinsel-flinging fools back then. Despite Mom’s instructions to put it on one piece at a time—“like a dripping icicle”—we’d toss fistfuls at the higher branches and see what would stick. By the time we’d finished, our tree looked gaudier than a Vegas showgirl.
We had our big family dinner on Christmas Eve. The menu echoed our Thanksgiving meal: turkey, spiral ham, green bean casserole, corn casserole, cranberry mold, and fat black olives that my sister plucked off the garnish tray and stuck on each fingertip. After dinner, we opened one present from a far-away relative before we put on our coats to attend Christmas Eve service. I loved to warble with the choir on “O Come All Ye Faithful” and “Hark! The Herald Angels Sing” and sit in silent awe as the star vocalist belted out “Ave Maria” and “Oh, Holy Night.” Once home and sleepy, we’d set out cookies and milk for Santa, glance at our empty stockings, and head up to bed. Before I nodded off, I’d listen for reindeer on the rooftop (I swear, one night, I heard them!). At the crack of dawn, I’d awaken and fling on my quilted robe as the rest of the house slowly roused. My dad would bark a reminder not to go downstairs until he had his camera ready.

While Dad played Spielberg and Mom sipped coffee, my siblings and I tore through whatever Santa had brought, usually something like Tonka trucks, games, and trains for Jimmy; stilts, a slide-making kit, and a baseball mitt for Molly; a rock tumbler, dolls, and books for me. Always books. My favorite part of Christmas, once the chaos had ended (and it was always over quickly), was curling up somewhere quiet with Nancy Drew, Black Beauty, or Laura Ingalls Wilder. Bliss!

Much about the holidays has changed since my childhood as my husband and I strive to keep life—and Christmas—simple. We don’t go heavy on decorations and never get the biggest tree in the lot. I don’t bake shortbread cookies with 150 ingredients, and I’m not much for turkey. But, as long as I have a pulse, two things will never change: the pleasure of being with family and the joy of un-wrapping a book. Honestly, was there ever a better gift?

Any favorite Christmas memories you’d like to share?

P.S. And don’t forget to leave a comment today and on each weekday post through December 31 to be entered to win a $70 gift card at Amazon! See the right-hand sidebar for details. And good luck!

Why Set a Mystery at a Trade Show?

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Why Set a Mystery at a Trade Show?

The quick answer: because it’s almost the perfect setting for a mystery.

A trade show is a cross between a three-ring circus and Christmas Eve at K-mart. Okay, so actually it’s an event where a large group of vendors of a particular product category get together to display their product lines to retail buyers, the trade press, and other dealers. They’re usually huge affairs, held in large convention centers or merchandise marts, often over a long weekend. These are important events for the exhibiting vendors because those retail buyers don’t go shopping very often, so when they do they tend to buy product in enormous quantitites.

Many product manufacturers make the bulk of their sales at a show or soon after. There are only a few of them a year in any given industry and they may be the only opportunity the vendor has to impress buyers. Exhibitors drag out every trick in their arsenal to be sure that buyers will come by their booth and be impressed by their products. They’ll erect elaborate and eye-catching booths, display their products with as much panache as possible, serve fabulous food and drink, give away lots of trinkets bearing their logo, have contests for bigger prizes, set up huge video displays, and even sponsor live shows. Just about any gimmick you can think of to attract attention has been done.

The very first time I attended a trade show, I was struck by how so many of elements were in place for a terrific mystery story. The stakes are high for most of the attendees, since their business success or failure can ride on it, adrenalin runs high, the time is short, and the interaction with others heavy and charged.

In the exhibitors, you have a group of people who know each other, who may be friends, competitors, bitter rivals, and sometimes even lovers. They have a lot invested in the outcome of the show both financially and emotionally. They’re usually away from home, which can mean changes in their normal behavior patterns.

The show itself confines the events of the story to a single place and a short time period, since most shows are held in a single large exhibition hall over a long weekend, or sometimes a week. If you set a murder mystery at a trade show, you have built-in suspense because the time is so limited. If you don’t find the killer before the end of the show, the odds aren’t very good you’ll solve it later.

And the stories I’ve heard! Amazing things go on trade shows and not all of them are directly related to commerce. I hope to use this one in a book some day, but at one show I attended, I was told a story about the president of one company actually hiding beneath a cloth-decked table at a rival’s booth in order to eavesdrop on the deals the rival was offering their customers! On the other hand, if I put that in a book some people might complain it was too far-fetched.
None of the people, companies or events in my first trade show mystery, A GIFT FOR MURDER, are real. But they’re built from my experiences in that environment. It was a great ride writing the first one. I hope readers will find it equally fun.

Karen McCullough

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Karen McCullough writes mystery, fantasy and romantic suspense. Her first in a new series of mysteries set at trade shows, A GIFT FOR MURDER, will release in January, 2011, from Five Star/Gale Group. Recent releases include a Gothic romance novella, HEART OF THE NIGHT, from Red Rose Publishing and a re-release of romantic suspense A QUESTION OF FIRE for the Kindle. She invites you to visit her website (soon-to-be-revamped) at http://www.kmccullough.com/ and her site for the trade show mysteries, http://www.marketcentermysteries.com/

Leaps of Faith

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I have been known to have flights of indecisiveness, particularly when it comes to things that don’t really matter or have little consequence. Chicken or steak for dinner? Cous cous or pasta? The blue sweater or the black one? Paper or plastic?

See what I mean?

But when it comes to life’s big decisions, e.g. buying a house, picking an oncologist, I have laser-like focus. When I watch shows like “House Hunters,” which you all know I love, I usually recommend that the buyers purchase the first house they see as it always seems perfect for the family. Why do these people need to see more houses? To see if something better exists? Who knows. All I know is that when it comes to the big decisions, I jump in head first.

Maybe I trust my intuition. Or maybe I’m just crazy. (No answer required.)

Malcolm Gladwell summed this type of thinking up in “Blink,” in which he asserts that all major decisions can be made within the first two seconds of looking. Basically, the less—but better—input we have, the better equipped we are to make the right decisions about just about anything. Interesting concept.

I was thinking about this the other day because I have been mulling over getting a new dog. You all know how much I love my little Westie, Bonnie, but sometimes I feel like she’s lonely. The kids are at school all day, as is Jim, and I’m up in the attic all day, a place she only dares to venture up to if she’s got a burst of energy. After all, it’s three floors up, and the loveseat is nice and comfy and warm. Worried about her mental health, I’ve spent a few minutes searching Petfinder.com, where with a couple of search words, you can find the dog of your dreams in an instant. If I had gone with my initial instinct, with the blessing of my husband, of course, I probably would have already adopted a dog. But I have made the mistake of having everyone weigh in and of course, have heard my share of “bad dog” stories which has led me off the path of dog adoption and onto the path of showing Bonnie more love so that she doesn’t get any lonelier.

Yes, getting a new dog is a big decision, but is it really that big a decision? Jim and I saw five houses and made offers on two. I’ve been known to walk into a car dealership and walk out with a new car. I have made decisions that come with a host of possible negative consequences in an instant. Try this new melanoma clinical trial even though you may have ulcerative colitis or the rest of your life? Where do I sign?

So I am trying not to over think it. All of the major decisions that I’ve made in my life have been made in a split second and they have all turned out incredibly well. Heck—I decided to quit my job while driving over the bridge from work one night just because it was a beautiful night and the sun was hitting the Hudson a certain way. That was a great decision and I’ve never looked back. The only difference between that decision and the dog decision is that these other decisions might not have come with the predilection for barking or urinating on the floor. Or worse.

I’m going to stop thinking about this for a while. If the time is right, and Jim buys in, I’ll head to a shelter to see if someone begs me with their eyes to take them home.

Right now, however, I have bigger decisions to make as lunch is approaching. Peanut butter or chicken soup?

Maggie Barbieri

My Biggest Fan

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I know there are others, but the person I count as my biggest fan has also become a friend. We met at one of my book signings several years ago. She was in Springville looking for a house to buy.

At the signing, she bought a book and the previous ones in the series. Since then she’s been to every book launch or signing I’ve had for any of my books.

Once she presented my books at a literary luncheon where each table was devoted to a book or a series of books. She decorated her table with Native American artifacts and dressed up like my heroine, Tempe Crabtree, going so far as to wear a black wig with long braids, a deputy outfit complete with badge. She gave a short talk about Tempe and her latest adventure.

We have something else in common, we love to go to movies–especially the ones like Harry Potter and the Twilight series. We’ve gone to all of them together and then out to lunch afterwards. My husband goes along with us though he’s not thrilled with our choice of movies.

At Christmas time she invites us over to watch General Hospital, see her Christmas decorations (believe me, she goes all out) and serves us tea and cookies. Yes, you read it right, the three of us watch General Hospital–even hubby is hooked on it. Here it comes on at 2 p.m. and it’s a good time to take a rest from whatever we’re doing. However, if we have to go somewhere and miss out, all I have to do is call my biggest fan and ask her what happened.

My biggest fan wants me to make her a character in one of my books and her request is to be a murder victim. Not sure I want to do that. She’s certainly interesting enough to make a character of some sort. I’m considering making her a suspect, not sure at this point, but after all she is my biggest fan.

Marilyn
http://fictionforyou.com

I’m Gleeful for Glee

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by Evelyn David

I’m not a teenager. Heck, at this point, even my kids aren’t teenagers. So what is it about Glee, the must-see TV show that has me glued to my DVR each week, humming top-40 hits that would be otherwise completely unknown to me, and scanning YouTube for videos of this ragtag group of fictional high schoolers? Yep, I’ve been bitten by the Glee Bug.

I was late to the party. I didn’t tune in until my daughter moved home after college and immediately revised the family DVR taping schedule. Sure, the Barefoot Contessa of cooking fame is still on the list, but she’s been supplanted in my affections by Glee, a weekly musical about high school outcasts who burst into song at the drop of a pencil.

It reminds me of those old Judy Garland/Mickey Rooney musicals of the 1940s, where a group of kids with marvelous voices all lived on the same block and were forever breaking into song or chirping, “let’s put on a show.” In those movies, unlike the television show of today, you didn’t see the full orchestra playing backup. Here, a fun part of the conceit of Glee is that they show the professional musicians walking the halls of this high school to immediately back up any student who starts warbling. And Bob Fosse would swoon over the choreography on the show. In an interview I watched of the making of the show, it’s also one of the inside jokes that the best dancer of the group is the actor who is playing the part of a paralyzed teenager and confined to a wheelchair.

But for all the over-the-top humor, improbable plot lines, and subtle teasing of pop culture and its stars, the show has also shown a sharp insight into the concerns, interests, fears, and desires of today’s adolescents. Bullying, teen pregnancy, sexual orientation, the show has dealt squarely with all of these topics and more. It’s a modern day morality play – but with a hip-hop beat.

And as an added bonus, watching Glee lets me share something special with my daughter, an avid fan. It’s a doorway into her world, into a world that on the surface I have outgrown. It makes me feel younger, “with it” (which by using that phrase, automatically banishes me from the cool kids table).

I don’t know what will happen with Rachel, Finn, and the rest of the gang, but I’ll be checking in each week to find out.

How about you? Do you watch Glee? Why?

Marian, the Northern half of Evelyn David

——————
Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries– Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah– Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah– Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

The Sullivan Investigation Series
Murder Drops the Ball (Spring 2011)
Murder Takes the Cake – Paperback – Kindle
Murder Off the Books – Paperback – Kindle
Riley Come Home (short story) – Kindle – Nook – Smashwords

Just Put the Word “Club” at the End

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by Maria Geraci

First off, I’d like to thank Susan and the rest of the Stiletto gang for hosting me on their blog today. The minute I heard the name of the blog it brought a smile to my face, and I immediately knew the theme of my post. I’m here to talk about gangs (not the east LA kind. That would be a different post all together). I’m talking about the sort of gangs we women know and love–and that would be Clubs.

I looked up the word in my handy dandy online thesaurus because I was curious how many synonyms I could find for the words gang or club. There were roughly a few dozen. Here are some examples: bunch, circle, clan, clique, cronies, assemblage, pack, posse, bunch, clump, galaxy, squad and yes, even mafia. I could go on, but you get my drift. There are a lot of words to describe the same thing. The word gang itself has several different meanings, but the bottom line is this: it’s a group of people with something in common.

I think I must be drawn to gangs. My first two books were about a group of women who play Bunco. If you don’t know what Bunco is, I’ll tell you. It’s a fun, fast paced dice game usually played by women. Think men’s poker night but substitute the cards and the cigars and the beers with dice and gossip and frozen margaritas. What it really is is an excuse for women to get together. Women crave the company of other women. The phenomenon starts all the way back in preschool, when little girls are drawn to each other to play and hold hands and giggle and talk. That camaraderie is something I think we crave till the day we hit the nursing home. I also think it’s the reason why books with the word “club” in the title are so popular. As women, we love reading about the relationships we have with other women and the word “club” is keyed in our brain to trigger some sort of pleasant reaction (work with me here).

Here’s a few examples:

The Friday Night Knitting Club
The First Love Cookie Club
The Sex Club (he!)
The Babysitter’s Club (starting us out early with that theme)
The Joy Luck Club
The Hot Flash Club (yes, this is a book and I just might have to go get it!)
The Professors’ Wives Club
The Coffin Club (not one club I’d necessarily want to join…)
The Wildwater Walking Club
The Cougar Club (great read!)

I could go on and on because there are dozens more literary titles that end with the word club. And while there are countless awesome synonyms that mean the same thing, somehow The Cougar Mafia or The Joy Luck Posse just don’t sound quite right.

So I’m hoping that my latest foray into literature, The Boyfriend of the Month Club, will be as successful as some of those books I just mentioned. It’s a romantic comedy about a woman who turns her dysfunctional book club into a boyfriend club, where women discuss the men they’ve dated comparing them to classic literary heroes and villains. I got the idea for the book while attending a friend’s book club meeting (book clubs–another great excuse for women to get together!) It’s getting some great reviews, but the one I personally like best comes from Julie at What Women Write, who calls it “Dorothea Benton Frank Meets My Big Fat Greek…er Cuban Wedding.” How perfect is that?

The Boyfriend of the Month Club
Berkley Trade Paperback
December 2010

At thirty, Grace O’Bryan has dated every loser that Daytona Beach has to offer. After the ultimate date-from-hell, Grace decides to take matters into her own hands and turns her dwindling book club into a Boyfriend of the Month Club, where women can come together to discuss the eligible men in their community. Where are the real live twenty-first century versions of literary heroes such as Heathcliff and Mr. Darcy? Could it be successful and handsome Brandon Farrell, who is willing to overlook his disastrous first date with Grace and offers financial help for her parents’ failing Florida gift shop? Or maybe sexy dentist Joe Rosenblum, who’s great with a smile but not so great at commitment? Unfortunately, just like books, men cannot always be judged by their covers…

If you’d like to know more about me and my writing, please visit my website at http://www.mariageraci.com/. I’m currently holding a fabulous contest. Purchase The Boyfriend of the Month Club on or before December 12, and you can enter to win a grand prize of a $100 Amazon gift card, plus a bag filled with some wonderful autographed women’s fiction. There are also 5 runners-up prizes of a $20 Amazon gift card and a special edition Boyfriend of the Month Club desk top calendar. Contest details on are the homepage of my website. I’d also love it you joined my facebook page http://www.facebook.com/MariaGeraciBooks

**Maria, thanks so much for visiting our little gang (hee hee) today! We loved having you and wish you loads of success!!! Also, Maria is giving away signed copies of The Boyfriend of the Month Club and Susan McBride’s The Cougar Club today on her Facebook page! All you have to do is comment to be entered!

Sleazy Protagonists

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L.J. Sellers is an award-winning journalist and the author of the Detective Jackson mystery/suspense series. The Sex Club, Secrets to Die For, and Thrilled to Death have been highly praised by Mystery Scene and Spinetingler magazines. Her fourth Jackson story, Passions of the Dead, has just been released. All four novels are on Amazon Kindle’s bestselling police procedural list. L.J. also has two standalone thrillers, The Baby Thief and The Suicide Effect. When not plotting murders, she enjoys performing standup comedy, cycling, social networking, and attending mystery conferences. She’s also been known to jump out of airplanes.

Alcoholics, sex addicts, porn stars, thieves, and kidnappers. In today’s crime fiction, these characters are often the protagonists, and as a reader, I’m expected to root for them. I rarely can. I’ve put down many well written and well plotted novels lately because the main character was not someone I could relate to.

For example, in one story, the protagonist—a reformed criminal, living a good life—participated in a kidnapping to keep himself from going to jail. If I had not been reading the book for discussion, I would have put it down immediately. I skimmed through the rest, uncaring. For me, there was little point in reading about a protagonist I wanted to see caught and punished. Especially since I predicted the book wouldn’t turn out that way (and it didn’t).
In another story, the character was well developed, resourceful, and good-hearted and I really wanted to like her. But the world she inhabited was sleazy and everyone she encountered gave me the creeps. Despite the terrific writing, I finally gave up, because spending too much time in her world was a little revolting.

Don’t get me wrong. I love crime fiction! And I’m certainly not a prude. I write a mystery/suspense series, and the first book is called The Sex Club. My main character is a homicide detective who’s a hardworking family man. Not perfect, by any means, but he’s also not a cynical, pill-popping alcoholic with dysfunctional relationships. I’m tired of that cop stereotype, and I want my character to be someone readers can relate to.

But it’s not a clear-cut issue for me either. Two of my favorite books this year had protagonists who were criminals…or at least they had been. In Beat the Reaper, the main character is an ex-hit man who becomes a doctor. But he’s trying to redeem himself, and it’s a terrific (and often funny) story. The Lock Artist, another novel I loved, is about a psychologically mute safecracker. But the reader knows from the beginning that Michael goes to jail and hopes to change his life. So I rooted for both characters all the way.

For me, good characterization for a protagonist, especially a recurring character, means creating someone readers will care about, like, and/or respect in some way. (I make an exception for Elmore Leonard’s stories, in which everyone is shady, but often likeable, and I can always cheer for a charming thief, especially if he’s played by George Clooney.)

I realize I may be somewhat alone in this thinking (except for the George Clooney part). In my book discussion groups, many other readers say they don’t have to like the protagonist to find the story compelling.

How do you feel about protagonists who are unlikable, deeply flawed, or simply not someone you’d ever spend time with? Does it spoil the story for you? Can you name a novel you thoroughly enjoyed even though you didn’t like the protagonist?

The Time Is Now

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Last week, I received a lovely note in the mail from the Assistant Principal at my former high school, asking me to be the commencement speaker for the 2011 graduation. I was beyond thrilled. My four years at this all-girls, Catholic high school were some of the best of my life; I just didn’t know it at the time. The heavy academic workload saw to that. Surrounded by some of the best and brightest the tri-state area had to offer, it was an intellectual hotbed of young women striving to be the best they could be. Seriously. I’m not joking. Many of us are still in touch years later and I am astounded by what these women have accomplished. Some are business executives; one is a doctor of theology and expert on the subject of medical ethics; another is the mother of five and grandmother of four; another works tirelessly on various fundraising activities, all on the volunteer level.

I have been thinking a lot about what wisdom I can impart to these young ladies and believe me, I’ll need every day of the next seven months to figure out what I want to say. Here are a couple of thoughts I’ve had. Feel free to add your own after you read this post. (I need all the help I can get!)

1. You’re thin enough, you’re beautiful enough, and gosh darn, you are smart enough. So stop sweating the small stuff! When I think back to my twenties and how I exercised for two hours every day and watched every morsel I put in my mouth, I shudder. I was slim, in excellent shape, with energy to spare, yet I criticized my own appearance every day when I looked in the mirror. As long as you’re healthy, you’re set. Enjoy your youth, because someone who is happy in their youth will look great as they age. (At least this is what I tell myself.)

2. Do it now. Whatever “it” is. Don’t put off gratification until a later date. I’m not heading down a morbid path here—although I could; I’m Irish after all—but there really is no time like the present. You’ll always make more money, there will always be time to work, but don’t underestimate the joy of travel, or writing, or singing, or dancing, or doing whatever it is that makes you happy. When we’re young, I think, we’re racing toward the next step in our lives instead of enjoying the life that we are leading at the time.

3. Don’t settle. For anything. Be it a husband, a wife, a job, a meal at a restaurant, you deserve the best and don’t let anyone tell you differently. You are the author of your story and it is up to you to make sure you live the best life you can.

4. Give back. Make sure that your life plan includes a healthy dose of volunteering, works for social justice, or just plain giving. Studies show that people who give back are healthier, happier, and may live longer. So look around, identify the need, and do something about it. The world will thank you for it.

Obviously, I’ll come up with more, but these are my top four for now. What words of advice would you give to a group of 18-year-olds, or to the 18-year-old who you once were?

Maggie Barbieri

What Do You Do When You Have a New Book Out?

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My latest book in the Deputy Tempe Crabtree series came out a bit later than expected due to something wrong with the way the bar code was printed on the back of the cover. It made things a bit crazy for awhile. My book launch had to be put off and because I had a blog tour planned and some of the stops needed reviews, those had to be put near the end of the tour to make sure the blog hosts had time to read the books.

Fortunately the reviews have all been terrific and I just found a new one on Amazon.

Speaking of Amazon, do any of the rest of you authors check the numbers on your Amazon page? During my tour the numbers went way down (a good thing, though not sure it means people are buying books or just peeking at the page) on both the trade paperback and on the Kindle version. Now that the tour is over, the numbers have risen on the regular book, but have continued to go down a bit on the Kindle version. Whether this really means much I won’t know until I get my royalty report.

In the meantime, I’ve sent off the next book in this series to the publisher which meant I had to come up with a short synopsis and a blurb for the back of the book. Leads to a bit of confusion since both books have the same main characters just different crimes to solve. I have to think a bit, “No, it’s Invisible Path that has the murder on the Indian reservation and the para-military group in the mountains, this new one is all about bears and dementia.”

Oh, and it’s Christmas time. I’ve been squeezing in shopping, wrapping presents, and putting up some decorations so that people know I really am celebrating a holiday I love.

And back to the writing. I’ve just finished the next one in my Rocky Bluff P.D. series, and it’s time to seriously do some rewriting. This can all get a bit overwhelming at times. I love writing–but when ordinary life is busy too, it’s sometimes hard to fit in all the things needed to do when your latest book is out.

I can remember when I got a contract for a book and hubby and I went out to celebrate. We haven’t done that for a long time, maybe we ought to start doing that again. Would certainly be a lot more fun than checking Amazon ratings.

Marilyn
http://fictiionforyou.com

Buried But Not Dead in Lottawatah

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To celebrate our new e-book series we’ve providing an excerpt from one of the two stories in the first volume of our Brianna Sullivan Mysteries e-book series. The following is from I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries – the second story, Buried But Not Dead in Lottawatah

Chapter 1
If you’ve ever wondered why souls don’t stay buried,
Just try it for yourself sometime.

The soil of Rosie Kilpatrick’s flowerbed smelled like cedar mulch and weathered cow manure. The cow manure must have been put in by the last gardener. The mulch was from a pile, next to the flowerbed. The shooter wasn’t doing it right. The mulch was supposed to go on top. The lily bulbs, then the soil, and the mulch on top. Odd, I couldn’t smell the bulbs. I guess they don’t have an odor. Or at least the ones lying near my nose didn’t. They were probably the reason I was still alive, that and the bullet-dented garden trowel stuck in my back pocket.

I had lost some time. Five minutes, ten, I’m not sure. I hit my head on the edge of Miss Rosie’s stone angel when the bullet knocked me face first into the lily bed. A cut over my eye was starting to swell and I had the worst headache I’ve ever had in my 35 years of life. Last week I’d been hired to renovate the flowerbeds on the Kilpatrick estate, although I’m not really a gardener and it’s not really an estate. More like four acres of overgrown weeds surrounding an ancient house with flowerbeds.

My name is Brianna Sullivan and I’m psychic.

I grant you I must not be a good psychic or I would have seen this coming.

***

Matilda, my 30-foot motor home, has a hearty appetite for gasoline. This wasn’t the first time, and I’m sure it won’t be the last time, that economics, and a crush on a totally unsuitable man, had forced a pause in my cross-country odyssey. Ten days ago I’d landed in Lottawatah, Oklahoma, population 1452 living souls and a couple of dozen in spirit-world transit. Detective Cooper Jackson, the unsuitable man mentioned above, introduced me to the elderly owner of the flowerbed and the stone angel that had knocked me senseless. Okay, maybe some people wouldn’t give the angel all the credit.

After I got sick a few years ago, I quit my job with an airline (I was in charge of finding lost luggage), and with the help of a small inheritance, bought a motor home. I was in hot pursuit of romance and adventure on the open road. Of course, every couple of months I had to pull over, park my dreams, and earn a little cash.

The gardening project was running late into the fall season. Miss Rosie had been through a trio of gardeners in the last few years. One had died of old age, one had been more interested in growing something he could smoke, and the other had just up and disappeared. Not that anybody missed him much—especially Miss Rosie who only put up with any hired help because Cooper and a local social worker insisted.

“Damn fool Cooper. Won’t leave a body alone.” The old lady had made it abundantly clear that I was to sleep in Matilda, stay out of her house, and damn well plant exactly what she wanted, where she wanted. She warned me not to get attached—the job was short-lived. It appears she was correct.

Did I mention my head hurts? That damn angel! Miss Rosie wanted it moved, but couldn’t settle on the perfect spot. She wanted a place where the birds would leave it alone. Personally, I thought the birds enjoyed using the old concrete statue for target practice and moving it wasn’t going to make any difference. Even if I moved the angel, which I was supposed to be doing today instead of planting lilies, I fully expected to be hosing it down until the birds flew south again. In any other part of the country, that would have happened a month ago. But here in Oklahoma, sometimes the heat of summer and black birds hung around like unwelcome guests, well into November.

Birds, angels, cow manure, and lilies—why these things were important to me at a time like this, I couldn’t say. I’m sure you’re thinking I should be praying or fighting.

And it’s not that I’m against a good prayer or a knock-down drag-out fight when need be, but the lily bed I’d been working in was less than a foot deep. And even with the dirt that the shooter was currently piling on top of me, if I kept playing dead, I should be able to rise from my grave when it was safe. All I had to do was keep calm and resist the urge to sneeze.

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Brianna Sullivan Mysteries – e-book series by Evelyn David
I Try Not to Drive Past Cemeteries- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Dog Days of Summer in Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords
The Holiday Spirit(s) of Lottawatah- Kindle – Nook – Smashwords