This is the first chapter from Kindred Spirits:
Chapter One
Before Deputy Tempe Crabtree could see evidence of the forest fire, she could smell it.
Smoke was heavy in the air and got thicker as she drove up the highway into the mountains. Monday was one of her days off, but when something happened in her jurisdiction she was often the first responder. Her instructions from the sheriff’s sub-station in Dennison were to make sure everyone who lived in the path of the fire started in the higher elevations of Bear Creek canyon had obeyed evacuation orders.
As resident deputy of the large but sparsely populated area around the mountain community of Bear Creek, Tempe’s job usually consisted of making traffic stops, arresting drunk drivers, solving problems among neighbors, and looking for lost children or cattle. Along with the highway patrol, Tempe was the law in the community located in the southern Sierra where the foothills turned into mountains.
The last estimate Tempe had heard about the fast moving fire in rugged country was that it covered more than 1100 acres. She was stopped at the staging area by a highway patrolman she knew by sight though couldn’t remember his name.
Though his uniform still had sharp creases, large circles of dampness crept from his underarms. Opaque sunglasses covered his eyes. He put both hands on the open window of her Blazer as he bent down to speak to her. “Where’re you headed, Deputy?”
“My orders are to check out some of the houses in the path of the fire. Make sure everyone’s out.”
“Be careful you don’t put yourself in danger. It’s one fast-moving fire. It’s in a rough area where they haven’t been able to get in any personnel yet. They’re doing lots of water drops. All the roads are closed from here on up.”
“Thanks for the warning. I know some of the folks who might not have received the word yet.”
Tempe drove by the private airstrip that had been taken over as the fire command post. Men and equipment, fire engines, water tenders and bulldozers were being dispatched from there as well as truckloads of hand crews.
Leaving her window down, Tempe drove around the traffic cones that temporarily blocked access to the road. She planned to stop at the Donaldsons’, but they were loading horses into a trailer, obviously on their way out.
The higher she drove on the winding road, the darker the sky, the thicker the smoke, the harder it was to breathe. Ashes showered on her white Blazer. She passed fire trucks and men heading upward to fight the fire. In her heart she was thankful her son, Blair, was already back on the coast for his last year in college or he’d be on the fire lines. Fighting fire had been his first love since the age of sixteen when he began hanging around Bear Creek’s fire station.
Tempe stopped at several homes hidden down winding trails or perched on hilltops, surrounded by pine and cedar trees and underbrush. Most homes were deserted with signs of hurried evacuation.
Loaded pick-up trucks drove down the hill, some pulling horse or cattle trailers, not getting out any too soon from the looks of the black sky and the large amount of falling ash.
She had one more place she wanted to check. A beautiful home and separate studio built of sugar pine stood atop a knoll surrounded by Chaparral and a thick pine forest. Tempe had been there once on a domestic abuse call. The owner, a well-known artist, Vanessa Ainsworth, now lived alone since her boy-friend had been served with a restraining order. If Vanessa wasn’t gone already, Tempe hoped to help her collect her animals and paintings and carry some of them out for her. When Tempe made the last turn before Vanessa’s she was halted by a horrifying sight.
***
Contest Rules:
I will give away an autographed copy of Calling the Dead, the sixth in the Deputy Tempe Crabtree series to two people who leave a comment on this post or email me privately (mmeredith@ocsnet.net). All names will be put into a hat, or like container, and two drawn out for the books. I will not do the drawing until Wednesday, September 24. Good luck!
Marilyn
Whoops, It’s Tuesday and I’m Late
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangThough I try to do my posts ahead of time, I did forget today. Really, I do have a good excuse.
Last Thursday hubby and I left at 3:30 a.m. to fly to Phoenix and from there to St. Louis, MO. We then rented a car and drove to a little town called Taylorville, IL. (2 hour drive.) Thank goodness I brought along our portable Magellan as when we follow maps or something like Mapquest Directions, for some reason hubby tends to do the opposite of what I tell him. When the lady on Magellan warns him that the next turn will be to the right, he does what she says.
Taylorville has two motels, both rather mediocre. However, the one we stayed in was clean. We did have to ask for a hair dryer and more toilet paper and we got both. The bathroom light burned out, but it was fixed immediately.
Though the town is small, the streets are strange, going in all kinds of weird directions and changing names in the middle–so we continued to use the Magellan and still managed to get lost a couple of times.
There were two purposes for our visit. First, I was giving two presentations at the Prose in the Park writers’ conference and second, to sign a publishing contract. The publisher of my Rocky Bluff P.D. series quit the business so I had to find another publisher and fortunately did.
The conference was small, but the attendees attentive and friendly. Another presenter was J.D. Webb who I’d met at Love is Murder in Chicago. He did a great job and it was fun to see him again.
We left Taylorville on Sunday and headed home. Flying today is grueling. Though I’ve done it often enough I know to take off my shoes and jacket, put anything that squeezes and squirts and can’t be over 3 oz. in a quart size zip lock bag which must be tossed into a plastic box to be x-rayed, it’s still a pain. Now the airlines don’t feed you or give you anything to drink unless you pay for it, so we’ve learned to buy what we need after the screening process and take it on the plane.
When we landed in Phoenix we had about 10 minutes to get to our next plane which was in a different concourse and way at the end. Fortunately, one of those electric carts was there and we were offered a ride. Saved the day, otherwise we wouldn’t have made it. From Phoenix to Bakersfield we fly in one of those small commuter planes and we’ve decided we like them best. There’s actually more leg room and the stewardesses or whatever the politically correct name is today are more friendly.
On land, we still had an hour and a half drive ahead of us.
And as usual, we came home to piles of mail that had to be tended to, plus email that I couldn’t take care of via my Blackberry.
Phew! Anyway, that’s my excuse for being late and I’m sticking to it. Next up is a family reunion in Barstow.
Marilyn
In Honor of Kindred Spirits
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangMarilyn
Separation Anxiety
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangFor my day job, I’m working on a new book about baby’s first year. It’s been a long time since I had any infants in the house. Heck, even our dog is middle-aged. Many of the basics of newborn care haven’t changed, but the who, what, when, where, why, and how of baby’s sleeping habits has undergone a dramatic change since my kids were little. I’ll be devoting an entire chapter to what parents need to know about sleep – their own and their child’s.
I’ll also be focusing on separation anxiety, typical behavior in eight month old infants – and also in this mom whose “baby” is currently studying in Scotland. The news reports from the semester abroad student have been terrific. A little homesickness, a touch of shyness, but all in all, she’s having a grand time. Even willing to try vegetarian haggis – so the sense of adventure is strong.
But me? I have been surprised at how much I miss her. I’ve decided – and tell me if this makes sense – that my emotions are exaggerated because she’s in a different time zone. I feel like I’m watching a tape delay of the Beijing Olympics. The game is already over by the time I turn on the TV. I’m rooting for a winner when if I only go on the Internet, I can find the scores and know what happened. I’m not in “real time” with my kid.
On the other hand, my husband says I’m talking to her more now that she’s overseas, than when she was 120 miles away. Part of it (okay all of it) is my personal craziness, but Skype has dramatically changed my over-anxious life. If you’re not familiar with this free software, and have family and friends who live at a distance, you need to check this out. With Skype you can talk, and if you have a camera/microphone attached to your computer, you can actually see the person on the other end — all without charge! On the first day in Scotland, by moving the camera on her laptop computer around the room, I could actually see where my daughter is living. When we talk, she can show me what she is wearing to the “freshers” dance. Of course, I could also see the circles under her eyes from lots of late-night events.
Letting go – whether your children are four, fourteen, or forty – is never easy. But thanks to a daughter who is patient with her over-anxious mother and with the help of cell phones, e-mail, and Skype, I can watch as she takes wing and soars.
Only 95 more days to go (before she’s home!).
Evelyn David
Excerpt from Kindred Spirits and Contest
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangThis is the first chapter from Kindred Spirits:
Chapter One
Before Deputy Tempe Crabtree could see evidence of the forest fire, she could smell it.
Smoke was heavy in the air and got thicker as she drove up the highway into the mountains. Monday was one of her days off, but when something happened in her jurisdiction she was often the first responder. Her instructions from the sheriff’s sub-station in Dennison were to make sure everyone who lived in the path of the fire started in the higher elevations of Bear Creek canyon had obeyed evacuation orders.
As resident deputy of the large but sparsely populated area around the mountain community of Bear Creek,Tempe Tempe
The last estimate Tempe had heard about the fast moving fire in rugged country was that it covered more than 1100 acres. She was stopped at the staging area by a highway patrolman she knew by sight though couldn’t remember his name.
Though his uniform still had sharp creases, large circles of dampness crept from his underarms. Opaque sunglasses covered his eyes. He put both hands on the open window of her Blazer as he bent down to speak to her. “Where’re you headed, Deputy?”
“My orders are to check out some of the houses in the path of the fire. Make sure everyone’s out.”
“Be careful you don’t put yourself in danger. It’s one fast-moving fire. It’s in a rough area where they haven’t been able to get in any personnel yet. They’re doing lots of water drops. All the roads are closed from here on up.”
“Thanks for the warning. I know some of the folks who might not have received the word yet.”
Tempe drove by the private airstrip that had been taken over as the fire command post. Men and equipment, fire engines, water tenders and bulldozers were being dispatched from there as well as truckloads of hand crews.
Leaving her window down, Tempe drove around the traffic cones that temporarily blocked access to the road. She planned to stop at the Donaldsons’, but they were loading horses into a trailer, obviously on their way out.
The higher she drove on the winding road, the darker the sky, the thicker the smoke, the harder it was to breathe. Ashes showered on her white Blazer. She passed fire trucks and men heading upward to fight the fire. In her heart she was thankful her son, Blair, was already back on the coast for his last year in college or he’d be on the fire lines. Fighting fire had been his first love since the age of sixteen when he began hanging around Bear Creek’s fire station.
Loaded pick-up trucks drove down the hill, some pulling horse or cattle trailers, not getting out any too soon from the looks of the black sky and the large amount of falling ash.
She had one more place she wanted to check. A beautiful home and separate studio built of sugar pine stood atop a knoll surrounded by Chaparral and a thick pine forest. Tempe had been there once on a domestic abuse call. The owner, a well-known artist, Vanessa Ainsworth, now lived alone since her boy-friend had been served with a restraining order. If Vanessa wasn’t gone already, Tempe hoped to help her collect her animals and paintings and carry some of them out for her. When Tempe made the last turn before Vanessa’s she was halted by a horrifying sight.
***
Contest Rules:
I will give away an autographed copy of Calling the Dead, the sixth in the Deputy Tempe Crabtree series to two people who leave a comment on this post or email me privately (mmeredith@ocsnet.net). All names will be put into a hat, or like container, and two drawn out for the books. I will not do the drawing until Wednesday, September 24. Good luck!
Marilyn
Jane and Hercule Sittin’ in a Tree…
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangI’ve got a question – and apparently Agatha Christie has the answer.
My question is who owns the characters I love? The author who created them or the audience that sustains them?
According to a story in Monday’s edition of the New York Times, Mathew Prichard, Dame Agatha’s grandson, recently discovered 27 audiotapes, recorded by the legendary author as she prepared material for her autobiography (published in 1977). In it she responds to the repeated requests she had received about her characters: “People never stop writing to me nowadays to suggest that Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot should meet. But why should they meet? I’m sure they would not like meeting at all. I shall not let them meet unless I feel a really sudden and unexpected urge to do so.”
First, I agree with Dame Agatha. The concept of Jane Marple and Hercule Poirot working on a case together is, as undoubtedly my grandmother would have answered, just plain meshuganah (Yiddish for crazy).
But for those familiar with the fanfiction world, crossovers are a well-respected staple. In that genre, Miss Jane Marple might not just collaborate on a baffling whodunnit with the Belgian detective, but could be having his baby as well.
I know, I know – blasphemy. Mea culpa.
But in some ways, it’s a chicken and egg question. Dame Agatha – and Evelyn David, for that matter – is perfectly within her rights to decide what happens to her characters, including ***spoiler alert*** killing off Hercule Poirot when she saw fit. But like Arthur Conan Doyle, it is folly to ignore your readers when they are clamoring for a different outcome. Doyle took the “great hiatus,” as his fans referred to the period after he published The Adventure of the Final Problem, where Sherlock Holmes disappeared over the Falls and was presumed dead. The detective’s wondrous resurrection eight years later was motivated by many reasons, not the least of which was…$$$$
The collective Evelyn David has created backstories for all the main characters. These histories help us determine the motivations for Mac, Rachel, even Whiskey (it was hard being the runt of the litter…). So while you can do whatever you want with your characters – should you? Do you, the author, know them better than your readers?
The answer is: probably, sometimes, or it depends. Dame Agatha was undoubtedly correct that Jane and Hercule were destined never to be together. But like our real-life children, sometimes we need a fresh perspective. Our readers offer that. It may not change my decision on how a character will develop or change, but it will make me at least think through why I’m doing what I’m doing – and that’s never a bad thing.
Do you have a favorite character — in books, television, or movies — that you think was derailed by its creator?
Evelyn David
Good, Clean Fun
/in Uncategorized/by Stiletto GangI’ve given a lot of thought to the term “wardrobe malfunction,” being as I have had a few of my own over the years. Nothing approaching “nipple-gate” of that long-ago Super Bowl with Janet Jackson, but definitely your garden-variety toilet paper on the shoe problem, skirt tucked into underwear issue, blouse gaping open to display my amble bosom to everyone on the Communion line at Holy Name of Mary church, including our lovely pastor.
I was watching the Super Bowl when Justin Timberlake “accidentally” pulled at the front of Janet Jackson’s leather bustier only to expose a middle-aged breast and its accompanying parts. She didn’t look very shocked and neither did he, raising the question of whether or not this event had been planned. Frankly, our family didn’t even realize what had happened until the next day because that’s what happens when four people are fighting for a shot at the guacamole, stooping so low as to push the six-year-old out of the way because he weighs the least.
There was a great hew and cry after “nipple-gate.” But the NFL persists in having over-the-top, pyrotechnic extravaganzas whereby Tom Petty, Prince, the Stones, or some other over-the-hill, yet still somewhat relevant band performs for the massive crowds at whatever mega-stadium the teams are playing in that year. I honestly believe that most of the people in the stands are out in the hallways, waiting on line to go to the bathroom (particularly, the women), buying hot dogs, or milling about. Only the suckers who couldn’t afford the $5000.00 Super Bowl package who are stuck at home eating cold pizza and drinking warm beer are subjected to these musical spectacles.
I have a plan, though. It will be entertaining, keep people in the stands, and have relevance, particularly for some parents who have spent thousands on private music lessons. I have tried, without success, to figure out a way to communicate this plan to Roger Goodell, the general manager of the NFL, so I’m hoping he’s a faithful Stiletto Gang reader and will take this suggestion under advisement: the half-time show should consist of marching bands. Hear me out: I think that the Super Bowl halftime show should be dedicated to the best of the college marching bands in the country. Having gone to a college with no marching band, I have always felt left out, maybe because I play a mean glockenspiel and had nowhere to ply my trade. I’m a huge fan of the USC Trojans, and a host of other marching bands. I have watched the movie “Drumline” more times than I can count. It’s good, clean, wholesome fun. And it would spotlight some of the most talented kids in this country. What could be better?
The Northern half of Evelyn David and I discussed this over lunch the other day: what is it about the NFL that makes it cleave to this idea of presenting “cool” bands to the general viewing population on one Sunday a year? We decided that it was purely demographical: apparently, their thinking is that people (read: men) in the 25-49 year old demographic watch the Super Bowl. And what they want to see (besides naked women) are bands of waning popularity who either resemble their parents or them themselves. But how about appealing to a broader demographic? How about lighting the fuel of the marching band fire in some kid who’s in the 7-17 year old demographic? Because if my experience is any indication, just seeing a marching band perform in all of their synchronistic glory will definitely stoke the inner percussionist fire of more than one kid out there.
But, Evelyn and I decided, it all comes down to money. So, if you put up the band whose previously cool song now is the centerpiece of a 4×4 commercial, Joe America out there will feel that he is seeing exactly what he wants to see and getting exactly what he wants to get from his Super Bowl. Or, he doesn’t think that at all, and just resumes cutting the six-foot hero while the show is in session. The rest of us, apparently, can just stick it. Good, clean fun has gone by the wayside and the almighty dollar wins yet again.
Maggie Barbieri
Report on My Book Launch and One More Mistake
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangI’m back from Crescent City and the most successful book launch I’ve ever had, this was for Kindred Spirits, the latest in my Deputy Tempe Crabtree series.
Before the event, Junie Mattice, the Tolowa woman who inspired the story and two characters, stopped by to see me at the home where I was staying. We had a great reunion and I gave her a copy of the book, explaining about the mistake of the wrong name on the dedication. She laughed and thought it was funny because she’d given me that name. She took the book and went right home and read it.
We had two luncheons, one right after the other 11:30 and 1:30 at a historic B and B, the Ana Wulf House. Those who came paid $25 and received a copy of the book.
Junie was right there with me to autograph books. She told me she loved it, but she also found another mistake. That one I’m not telling anyone about and will wait and see how many will let me know. It’s another error with a name.
After the luncheon, the first setting, I spoke about the book and how I met Junie and what she’d told me about her people. Then Junie talked about being Tolowa and some of the history and near genocide of her people. One of her daughters came too and was extremely thrilled for her mom.
The second setting we did much of the same but one of Junie’s aunts and two sisters came. One of the sisters was a Tolowa storyteller and she honored us with two stories.
Both settings were full–and I was paid for the books and extra to help with the gas.
On Thursday evening Junie and I did a free repeat performance (if you can call it that) at the Crescent City Library to another full house. Sold more books and Junie sold some of her excellent art work. I also donated a complete set of my Deputy Tempe Crabtree mysteries to the library and was so glad I did because they have no budget for book.
It was a great week even if it did take us two days to get there and two days to get home.
Next up, I’m the keynote speaker for the Prose in the Park Writers’ Conference in Taylorville IL. (Flying to that one.)
Marilyn
The Art and Artistry of Wedding Gifts
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangWeddings are on my mind. Of course, here’s where I’ll give the expected plug for the forthcoming, Murder Takes the Cake (May 2009) – which is fun, furry, and festive. But both in the fictional world and the real one, I’m awash in tulle and lace. In the last 12 months, I’ve hosted or attended four bridal showers, one engagement party, and two weddings. I’ve got two more weddings on the calendar in the next couple of weeks.
All of which means, besides dusting off my dancing shoes for the ceremonial, raucous hora (Israeli celebratory dance), I’m also spending a lot of time and money on wedding gifts. Part of me is envious, as I scan the bridal registries of the young couples. I wish that I could start over with new unchipped dishes and glasswear. I swear I’d still pick the same husband – but I’d like to replace my faded, thin towels, as well as my pilled, shrunken bottom sheets which pop off the mattress in the middle of the night.
Picking the right gift is always a delicate balancing act of taste and budget. The registries are much more elaborate today. Within days of getting engaged, I picked out, at my mother’s insistence, good china and silver – and in fact, got full services of both. But today, there are registries for the honeymoon, for gardening supplies, computer and electronic gifts, luggage, camping gear – you name it, somebody has registered for it.
But despite the often elaborate registries, I think every couple still receives at least one wedding gift that defies explanation. Ours was a silver-plated, four-quart teapot that rested on an elaborate, ornately carved ugly stand, and was engraved with the Greek letters of some fraternity. I still have it in the basement, waiting for the occasion when I host Queen Elizabeth and her family for tea.
Of course, no one owes you a gift and we need to remember to be grateful and gracious for the gesture and goodwill. But I read one story from a bride who recounted receiving a box of condoms as a wedding gift which seemed, pardon me, slightly tacky; or another who recalled the elaborately wrapped brick she received with a note that advised her to use it as a cornerstone when she built a house, which probably takes “practical” to a new level.
What’s your worst wedding gift ever?
Evelyn David
NEW ENGLAND CRIME BAKE
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto Gang10. Early bird members who sign up soon (before October 1st) get a $30.00 discount. Put that in your gas tank for the drive to the commodious Dedham Hilton where Crime Bake will be held November 14-16.
9. After arriving at the Dedham Hilton, feast on pizza and conversation at the FREE pizza party where you can meet and greet mystery readers, writers, agents and editors.
8. Following the FREE pizza party, you get to choose to attend one of two fabulous and FREE Friday night workshops: Practicing Your Pitch with Lynne Heitman, a huge hit at previous Crime Bake conferences or Creating Your Wave with publicist Susan Schwartzman about how to effectively market your mystery in today’s tough market.
7. Yes, another FREEBIE! Crime Bake conference attendees are entitled to sign up for a FREE 5-minute one-on-one session to pitch their work to a literary agent. This year, attendees will have the opportunity to list their top three agent choices. Don’t wait to take advantage of this fabulous opportunity.
6. The agents are coming, the agents are coming and they include some of the finest, including Janet Reid, Donna Bagdasarian, Susan Gleason, Christine Witthohn, Ann Collette, Esmond Harmsworth, Sorche Fairbank and Gina Panettieri.
5. Great Master Classes are offered again. Choose two from PLANNING THE PLAYS – “Painless Research” with Kathy Lynn Emerson; WHO’S ON FIRST – “Point of View” with Hallie Ephron; HITTING IT OUT OF THE PARK – “Ten Key Ingredients For a Successful Thriller” with Gary Braver; and PEEWEE LEAGUE – “Writing for Young Audiences” with Peter Abrahams.
4. Manuscript Critiques are available. Attendees may submit a 15-page writing sample (novel or short story) in advance and receive a one-on-one critique with a published mystery author during the conference.
3. A fountain of forensic experts, including the popular Poison Lady, will hold panels where you can fill your writing well with ideas on how to commit those dastardly deeds.
2. You can dine elbow to elbow with agents, authors, editors and forensic experts at the SATURDAY NIGHT BANQUET where the menu includes delicious food and maybe even a book deal. Your fabulous Saturday night will be topped by “Mystery Bingo” hosted by our own prime-time Hank Phillippi Ryan.
1. The number one reason to register for Crime Bake today is the NUMBER ONE New York Times, Los Angeles Times and London Times author and our Guest of Honor, HARLAN COBEN.
Lost and Found
/in Uncategorized/by The Stiletto GangRiley Come Home plunges Mac, Rachel, and Whiskey into the high-stakes dog show circuit, searching for a missing Irish wolfhound whose pedigree is longer than Crystal Gayle’s hair. I wish I’d had this sleuthing trio when Snickers, our first dog, went missing.
It began on a rainy Saturday afternoon. My husband was not only out of town on business, but out of the country, so the Sherlock Holmes/Miss Marple role would have to be played by moi. I’d promised the kids that we could make chocolate chip cookies and had left a bag of the chocolate morsels on the counter (Mistake #1). I left the kitchen for what I swear was a total of two minutes, and returned to find the bag on the floor half empty and Snickers with a chocolate mustache.
I know that chocolate can be lethal to dogs, so I put in an emergency call to the vet who informed me that I had to make Snickers vomit in order to get the chocolate out of her system. Oy! Cursing under my breath – as well as loud enough for my husband to hear me five thousand miles away – I gave her an emetic and proceeded to spend the next hour cleaning up after the little darling.
The vet also told me that I should then give her rice and boiled chicken for the next few days. Oh goody. Another palate to placate since the only meal the four kids could agree on was a strawberry fruit roll-up.
So I prepared the delicacy for Snickers, then put her outside in the fenced backyard so she could do her “business.” Mistake #2.
It’s easy to get distracted in a house full of kids, so I confess it was probably a half hour or more (okay, more, she wasn’t exactly on my hit parade list that afternoon) before I went to let the dog back in the house and discovered…yes Mistake #3, the gate to the backyard was open and Snickers was nowhere to be found
Hysteria descended en masse as the children wailed about their missing dog, although were generally useless in actually searching for the hound.
The phone rang. It was the cops. Yes, they had found Snickers. Yes, they knew exactly where she was…the dog pound. And did I know that her license had expired, that there was a fine for letting a dog run around off the leash, not to mention a fine for the expired license?
I could find Snickers at the local pound…but couldn’t bail her out until the next day because the village office was closed so I couldn’t pay the fine and get the license renewed until then.
I took the boiled chicken and rice to the “inmate” since I certainly didn’t want her to have to deal with institutional food. Just to add insult to injury, I lost one of my favorite Tupperware bowls at the dog pound.
I wish I could say that Snickers learned her lesson(s) and that she returned a chastened dog who never again ate food off the counter or dashed out the door to freedom. I could write that because I’m a fiction writer…but as a woman of truth, the only one who learned a lesson that weekend was my husband….business travel can indeed be rewarding.
Evelyn David