Tag Archive for: Desolation Row mystery

KK Exposed—Author Interview

/in /by
By Kay Kendall
Here
is a revealing interview I did some months back with Kings River Life, the
California-based online weekly magazine. See if you can spot the secret I divulge!
How long have you been writing?    

I began with my own
version of “The Night Before Christmas” at age seven. Later I wrote essays,lots of English major/then history grad student papers, then news releases and
annual reports during my long career as a public relations executive. In 1998 I
began writing fiction. Gloria
Steinem said it best: “Writing is the only thing I do that I don’t feel like I
should be doing something else.”

When did your first novel come out
and what was it about? My first novel is
DESOLATION ROW—AN AUSTIN STARR MYSTERY, published in March 2013 by Stairway
Press of Seattle. After Austin marries her college boyfriend, they move from
their native Texas to a foreign country. She has trouble coping with so much
change—and then her husband is jailed for murder. Alone, far from home, Austin
must find the real killer. When she also becomes a captive, things go from bad
to worse. Danger stalks two young lives and a new marriage. This fraught love
story rages through social upheaval and anti-war protests. Canada in 1968—surprisingly
hazardous.

Have you always written
mysteries/suspense? If not what else have you written?  My
first completed fiction manuscript was a literary novel. It did not sell. I put
it away and gave up writing fiction, but only temporarily. I still felt called
to write so I took up genre writing. I devoured nothing but mysteries for two
whole years and then began to write my own.

Do you write to entertain or is there
something more you want the readers to take away from your work? I’m
an anomaly in this modern world. I love learning about the past. It helps me
understand how we got from back there to here. If I can tell an entertaining
story that has some accurate historical detail to it, then I figure it’s an
easy way to help people swallow some history that I think they should be aware
of.

Do you have a schedule for your
writing or just write whenever you can? Pretty
much I write whenever I can. That said, I do have a pattern, based on sharing a
house with a husband who is now retired and, although respectful of my writing
life, deserves attention. Generally I write from noon until six in the evening.  
Do you outline or just wing it? I
work from a basic outline. It’s like a road map. I know the basic route but add
colorful detail—and red herrings—as I travel down that road.
 If you had your ideal, what time of day would
you prefer to write? I work routinely from noon to about six p.m. However, in an ideal world I’d
continue into late night. When I’m revising for publication under an editor’s
hand—a stage I adore—then I can write for forty-eight hours straight—with brief
timeouts for an occasional nap.  
Did you find it difficult to get
published in the beginning?
Oh
heck yes! Almost everyone does!
Do you have a great
rejection/critique or acceptance story you’d like to share?  A
well-respected publishing house for mysteries almost took my book, DESOLATION
ROW. Three editors liked it, the fourth—the
head honcho—did not. When she and I talked on the phone, she voiced two
quibbles. First, she didn’t like that it was set in Canada, since “Americans
don’t want to read about Canada.” (I bit my tongue to keep from saying—“You’ve
heard of Louise Penny, haven’t you?”) Then she said that my writing about draft
resisters during the Vietnam War did not tally with her memories. She concluded by saying that she usually didn’t
revisit a manuscript, but if I made some changes, she would review mine again.
I thanked her and hung up. She and I would not have been a marriage made in
publishing heaven. Two weeks later I had a contract from Ken Coffman, publisher
of Stairway Books in Seattle. He and his crew are ideal to work with. 
What are your future writing goals?  I’ve
embarked on my Austin Starr mystery series. My next will be out in June 2015, RAINY
DAY WOMEN. I plan at a minimum four books and hope for even more. God willing
and the creeks don’t rise…as the saying goes in Texas.
What kind of research do you do?  Because
I write about an era that I lived through, I do little research. I write from
memory, and then when I throw in specific place details or real historical
figures, I do a bit of online research to ensure accuracy. For DESOLATION ROW,
I had a justice of the Ontario Supreme Court read it to ensure accurate representation
of the criminal justice system in Toronto in 1968.
What do you read?  Historical
fiction, the occasional literary novel, and masses of mysteries and spy
stories. Also well-written thrillers, but I’m picky about those. Most of them
are just slam-bang things so they don’t interest me much. However, my favorite
novels of all time are JANE EYRE and ANNA KARENINA. 
What is something people would be
surprised to know about you?  I married
a Canadian and lived in Canada for two decades, an American in an unexpectedly different
land. I also was offered work with the CIA, but decided to study history in
graduate school instead. The spy world has always fascinated me, still does,
but now I’m glad I didn’t end up there. But I sure do love it in fiction.  
            
                     
                     
                     
                     
                     
               *******    
          


Kay Kendall set DESOLATION ROW–AN AUSTIN STARR MYSTERY in 1968. The sequel
is Rainy Day Women, will be out in 2015. Her amateur sleuth Austin
Starr must prove her best friend didn’t murder women’s
liberation activists in Seattle and Vancouver. A fan of historical
mysteries, Kay wants to do for the 1960s what novelist Jacqueline Winspear
accomplishes for England in the 930s–write atmospheric mysteries that capture
the spirit of the age. Kay’s an award-winning international PR executive living in Texas with husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel Wills. Allergic to bunnies, she loves them anyway! Her book titles show
she’s a Bob Dylan buff too. 
 *******

My First Three Authors—or RIP P.D. James

/in /by
By Kay Kendall
     When I was the age of 20 through 45, I only had occasion to see
live, in person, three authors of note. The first was Truman Capote, soon after
In Cold Blood became a bestseller. He stepped out on the basketball court of
Allen Field House at the University of Kansas, a diminutive figure in a place
usually dominated by giants. 
     He smiled faintly at a crowd of a thousand people
and began to read immediately from his non-fiction account of the murder of the
Klutter family on a farm in western Kansas. He hypnotized the audience with his
performance, despite his voice being so high-pitched that it almost squeaked.
In Cold Blood went on to become today’s second highest selling true crime book
of all time—behind only Helter Skelter about the Manson murders.
P.D. James, 1920-2014
          One of my majors in
college was English literature so it was natural for me to be in awe of famous
authors whose work I admired. While I never got closer to Mr. Capote than the length
of three cars, I sat at the feet, literally, of Margaret Atwood when she read
her poetry to an adoring throng of women at the University of British Columbia
some four years later. Strangely, this author’s gig also occurred in a
gymnasium—although much smaller in size of room and audience than Capote had
had. When Atwood finished reading one poem that really captured my heart, I
embarrassed myself by gasping aloud and clapping ahead of the other audience
members.
         Twenty years after
the Atwood encounter, I saw a notice in the Houston Chronicle stating that P.D.
James would appear at a Border’s bookstore on a coming Sunday. Excitement
flooded through me at this news. I’d read and enjoyed all her mysteries and
decided to attend this book signing. I’d never been to one before and figured
she would be an excellent choice to start with.
         That hallowed day
dawned wet and gloomy. Undeterred by the rain, I drove half way across Houston
(no small undertaking) to meet P.D. James and to have her sign her latest
mystery, Original Sin. The ninth book in her series starring Commander Adam
Dalgleish featured murder afoot in a publishing company in London.
         I arrived early at
the bookstore but rather bedraggled from tramping across the parking lot in
torrents of rain. Houston was experiencing what I’d learned to call its version
of a monsoon. Once inside the store, I was told by staffers that Ms. James’s
plane was delayed by the weather, but she was expected to appear shortly. We
were encouraged to wait. A group of thirty did so.
         After an hour had
passed, the throng had dwindled by half. The restless remnant was told the
author would come, no matter what, but it might be a long while. I turned to a
women beside me and said, in honor of the author’s British heritage, “In for a
penny, in for a pound.”
         After a total of
three hours, P.D. James finally arrived. By that time only five dauntless
readers remained. I was second in line. She signed my book and talked
pleasantly with me for several minutes. I was so thrilled I thought I might
levitate.
         Looking back two
decades later, I no longer recall what we talked about. I do remember how kind and
gracious she was. Meeting P.D. James remains a high point in my life.
         When I read of her
passing last week at the age of 94, of course I recalled my shining moments
talking with her. Knopf Vintage, her longtime publisher, calls P.D. James “the
everywhere adored queen of crime fiction,” and she certainly was that for me. 
          I
think it is important to meet one’s heroes, to learn that they are flesh and
blood like you, in order to be inspired to follow in their foot steps, in
whatever small way possible. Had the august author been too tired and cranky
after her travel delay to appear or to be gracious when she spoke with me, who
knows if I would have gone on to write my own murder mysteries?
My generation of boomers coined the term groupie.  I realize now that term applies to me. I am a
groupie of certain authors. No, not in the regular sense since I don’t want to
sleep with my favorite authors. I simply want to BE them.
Have you had similar memorable encounters with authors
who resonated with you? I hope you have, and if so, I’d love to hear your
tales. Please share.
*******
                                                                                                                                               

 Kay Kendall set her
debut novel, DESOLATION ROW–AN AUSTIN STARR MYSTERY in 1968. The sequel
is Rainy Day Women, will be out in 2015. Her amateur sleuth Austin
Starr must prove her best friend didn’t murder women’s
liberation activists in Seattle and Vancouver. A fan of historical
mysteries, Kay wants to do for the 1960s what novelist Jacqueline Winspear
accomplishes for England in the 930s–write atmospheric mysteries that capture
the spirit of the age. Kay is also an award-winning international PR executive
who lives in Texas with her husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel Wills.
Terribly allergic to the bunnies, she loves them anyway! Her book titles show
she’s a Bob Dylan buff too. 

 *******

Changing My Life Style

/in /by

by Kay Kendall

Five years ago I left my
public relations career of three decades and devoted myself to writing full-time.
I thought I knew what this would be like, but I was so wrong. My expectation
was that my life would be solitary, with little outside contact. My world would
shrink and my conversations grow few and far between—held mostly with my
husband, my dog Wills, and our three house rabbits. Well…wrongo!
Instead, my friend
list—both real and virtual—has multiplied like crazy. I converse with new people
all the time and have never been happier. Sure, I do spend hours in what I
fondly call my writer’s lair, dreaming up mystery plots and scheming villains.
But when I need a break, I go online and talk to my virtual friends all over
the continent or attend an author’s event. If it’s my own, I hang out with my
readers, and if it’s for other writers, I talk to writers I admire.  

T. Jefferson Parker and me

I don’t know if this is
true for authors who write in categories other than mystery/thrillers, but in
this genre, the writers are fantastically warm and welcoming. I expected the readers to be generous, but the
friendliness of other mystery authors was a wonderful surprise.
A case in point was a
signing event last night at Houston’s great Murder by the Book. T. Jefferson
Parker talked about his latest novel, FULL MEASURE.  He has written twenty acclaimed mysteries
over the course of his thirty-year writing career, and I’ve read and enjoyed
many of them. I first met him at the annual ThrillerFest conference held by
International Thriller Writers each July in New York City. That was in 2013
when my debut mystery was released. We shared experiences of writing a
book with the Vietnam War as a background. I talked to him again at
ThrillerFest in 2014, introducing myself again because I didn’t expect him to
remember me, even though we had emailed a few times. He said, “Of course I
remember you, Kay.”
His opening words at
last night’s event were, “Great to see you, Kay.” Well, if one of your writing
heroes says that, of course your sense of well-being soars. We talked about books, and he shared the
genesis of his new book, his first literary novel. A young Marine returns from hard duty in Afghanistan to find his America riven
by discord and his family farm under threat from the economic collapse of 2008.
I’m eager to read what this wonderful author has to say on these important
subjects. (He is only one of three writers who’ve won more than one Edgar Award.)
Some of my new friends are writers on this blog.
As a matter of fact, I am a participant because Linda Rodriguez invited me into
the Stiletto Gang after I met her just briefly. Gang member Majorie Brody and I did a book tour together in Alabama and met another gang member at Killer Nashville a few months ago, Debra H. Goldstein. So far other gang members are online friends whom I hope to meet some day soon. Again, mystery authors are
wonderful! My life is now quite literally a dream come true.
Lest you think it’s this
way with all groups of writers, I hear it is NOT so! A mystery novelist on a
Bouchercon panel a few years ago said he often went to meetings with his wife, a poet, and when poets gather, it gets downright chilly, and even vicious. Therefore he was stunned at his first attendance at
Bouchercon to find all the mystery authors so welcoming. That was my first
Bouchercon too, and I had just put my toe into the big ocean of mystery authors.
 I can’t speak for poets (Linda Rodriguez can though), but I guarantee you, mystery/thriller authors are
wonderful people.
Have you had similar experiences
with mystery authors or readers? I hope you have, and if so, I’d love to hear your tales. Please share.
 *******
                                                                                                                                                                        

Kay Kendall set her debut novel, DESOLATION ROW–AN AUSTIN STARR MYSTERY in 1968. The sequel, RAINY DAY WOMEN, comes out next year. Amateur sleuth
Austin Starr must prove her best friend didn’t murder women’s
liberation activists in Seattle and Vancouver. A fan of historical mysteries,
Kay wants to do for the 1960s what novelist Jacqueline Winspear accomplishes
for England in the 1930s–write atmospheric mysteries that capture the
spirit of the age. Kay is also an award-winning international PR executive who lives in Texas with her husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel
Wills. Terribly allergic to the bunnies, she loves them anyway! Her book titles
show she’s a Bob Dylan buff too. 

 *******

Holiday Gift Giving, the Beatles and Joni Mitchell

/in /by
By Kay Kendall

Yes, of course, I admit
to rushing the season. Christmas, Hanukkah, and Kwanza are all more than two
months away and here I am, discussing holiday gifts. Although on the one hand I’m
irked at the Christmas decorations going up so early all around Houston, on the
other hand I shopped online today for gifts. It was such a snap that I bought more than half of my Christmas gifts in less than two hours.

Ah, the ease of the
online wishlist. I have battled against the wishlist concept for several years.
Now I’ve succumbed. I give up. I’m going with the times.


If you happen to be over—let’s
pick a number—forty (as I am), then you recall when things were different. You
tried to surprise the gift recipient—surprise and delight. I picked up my joy of
gift giving and wrapping from my maternal grandmother who reveled in every
aspect of gifting. 

In the decades of my boomer youth, I watched her
decorate packages so imaginatively. She could have hired on for Neiman Marcus—a
store back in the day that did elegant gift wrapping. (Their efforts today are
a sad, pale imitation, fie!) What my grandmother could not do—not to save her
very soul—was to keep her gifts a secret. She got so excited that she just had
to give you hints–hints so major you could easily figure out what
your gifts would turn out to be. I took such pleasure in her enjoyment that I
didn’t mind.

Perhaps the idea of
telling Santa what you wanted for Christmas grew into the concept of wishlists.
But the wishlist of today has more power. Woe be to you if you give your under-forty
offspring something that is not on his or her wishlist. I fought against using
wishlists until a few years ago a dear friend said she had given up trying
to surprise her offspring with delightful gifts. Instead she chose from
the dreaded wishlist or gave gift cards. There was no pleasing her
grandchildren or children otherwise. 

This friend’s example was my first glimmer hinting at a mass societal change. A generational difference, clear and simple. And
that’s when I threw in the towel.

But I remember a different
time. I recall a December when I was a graduating high school senior. How I
wanted several Beatle albums and 45s to add to my collection. When any grownup
relative asked what I wanted for Christmas, “Beatles please” was my instant answer.


Meantime my mother and grandmother
would sit in the kitchen making cranberry loaves, fudge, and mounds of cookies…all the while talking about the Christmases of their youths. My mother said she’d been
pleased with mandarin oranges and pecan nuts in the toe of her Christmas
stocking, back in the 1930s. My grandmother recalled helping her mother go into
the farmyard in Ohio and select a goose for neck twisting, in the first decade
of the twentieth century–the holiday meal to be! I loved their quaint tales of
the good old days. (Probably these stories helped grow my lust for history.)

The following week saw
the morning of December twenty-fifth dawning. I went into the living room with
my parents (I, an only child, admittedly a tiny bit or more spoiled). I had expected
to call this my very own Beatles Christmas. But it was not to be. Arrayed in
front of the brightly lit tree was a set of three luggage pieces.

“You’re going off to
college next year,” Mother explained, delight shining in her eyes. “We knew you
could use some nice suitcases.” I murmured what I hope sounded like a sincere
thanks but kept eyeing other presents, looking for the telltale signs of even
one 33-long-play album lying under the tree branches. But John, Paul, George, and
Ringo were nowhere to be found.  

All was not lost however.
My paternal grandparents sent a check that I promptly cashed and turned into
the longed-for Beatles albums. But, oh, the rush of emotion, up and down, the
dramatic upheaval.

Things are so different
now in the high season of gift giving. Well
something’s lost but something’s gained in living every day. That’s the way
the song goes, Joni Mitchell’s beloved “Both Sides Now.”

So then, what’s your
opinion of the wishlist phenomenon? What do you remember about gift giving and
receiving in the “good old days?” What’s the routine at your house? I’d sure love
to know.

*******
Kay Kendall set her debut novel, Desolation Row—An Austin Starr Mystery,
in 1968, in an anti-war group. The sequel is Rainy
Day Women, set for 2015, and this time her amateur sleuth Austin Starr must
convince police her best friend didn’t murder women’s liberation activists in
Seattle and Vancouver. A fan of historical mysteries, Kay wants to do for the
1960s what novelist Jacqueline Winspear accomplishes for England in the
perilous 1930s–write atmospheric mysteries that capture the spirit of the age.
Kay is also an award-winning international public relations executive who lives
in Texas with her husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel Wills. Terribly
allergic to the bunnies, she loves them anyway! Her book titles show she’s a
Bob Dylan buff too. 
*******

More from BAKE, LOVE, WRITE–advice on love and writing!

/in /by

By Kay Kendall


The last time I posted here on The Stiletto Gang, I talked about the new cookbook of desserts called BAKE, LOVE, WRITE. I shared the recipe I contributed, called Aunt Martha’s Oatmeal Cake. Now I will also share my contributions for the love & writing parts! 
What’s your recipe for a lasting, loving relationship?

 Four ingredients make for a lasting,
loving relationship. The four C’s are: 
Caring           
Commitment 
Communication  
Conflict resolution.
If your relationship has those elements,
then chances are yours will go the distance. If things feel rocky, then analyze
against those four C’s. Get yourself to a trained therapist if you are having
trouble with conflict resolution, which of course rests on being able to
communicate well. 
Many couples have the first two—caring and commitment—but
founder on the next two. Luckily, with help and persistence, communication and
conflict resolution can be learned. And just because you and your partner talk
all the time does not mean that you are actually communicating. That’s a tricky one.
 What’s the best writing advice you ever received?
Be persistent and never give up. Most authors I know
make some false starts before they publish their first novels. It may take a
decade to accomplish your goal, but if you burn to write, then do keep at it.
The manuscript for my first novel I cannibalized for my second, so all that
work was not wasted. And my second manuscript became a published book last
year. One male mystery author says that writing
is like an informal game of golf—you get all the mulligans you want. While
you are practicing, take time to learn the craft. The internet provides a
wealth of information.
Take writing classes. Attend book signings. Find a
mentor. Participate in a writing group, as I have for many years, but finding
the right fit for yourself is key. Constructive criticism should be the rule,
and if the group or even one member delights in tearing people down, then run
for the hills. Writers’ psyches are fragile, and you want to be around
supportive folks. Also, attend writing conferences. You can learn from them,
but they’re also networking opportunities. All writers should
network—publishing is a relentless business.

A dessert cookbook with contributions by 105 authors…Bake, Love, Write is for sale in the major e-book formats at 99 cents and also on Amazon in paperback. 

*******

 Kay Kendall set her debut novel, Desolation Row—An Austin Starr Mystery, in 1968 in an anti-war group. The sequel is Rainy Day Women (summer 2015), and this time her amateur sleuth Austin Starr must convince police her best friend didn’t murder women’s liberation activists in Seattle and Vancouver. A fan of historical mysteries, Kay wants to do for the 1960s what novelist Jacqueline Winspear accomplishes for England in the perilous 1930s–write atmospheric mysteries that capture the spirit of the age. Kay is also an award-winning international public relations executive who lives in Texas with her husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel Wills. Terribly allergic to the bunnies, she loves them anyway! Her book titles show she’s a Bob Dylan buff too.  


*******




Bake, Love, Write—3 Stiletto Gang Members Contribute to Dessert Cookbook — NEW!

/in /by
By Kay Kendall
Bake Love,
Write is a brand new cookbook full of delicious desserts. It is the brain child
of Lois Winston, a USA Today

bestselling, award-winning author
who currently writes the critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting
Mystery series.

Authors
from the US, UK, and Canada contributed their favorite recipes. Of the
participating 105, three are Stiletto Gang bloggers. We are Lynn Cahoon, Debra
Goldstein, and me—Kay Kendall.

Here
is information about this unique cookbook that may tempt you to buy it soon,
available online. Lois writes, “What do most
authors have in common, no matter what genre they write? They love desserts. Sweets
sustain them through pending deadlines and take the sting out of crushing
rejection letters and nasty reviews. They also often celebrate their
successes—selling a book, winning a writing award, making a bestseller list, or
receiving a fabulous review—with decadent indulgences. And when authors chat
with each other, they often talk about their writing and their lives. Recipes.
Writing. Relationships. In this cookbook 105 authors not only share their
favorite recipes for fabulous cakes, pies, cookies, candy, and more, they also
share the best advice they’ve ever received on love and writing.”

I contributed the beloved
family recipe of my Aunt Martha from Texas. Her recipe for Oatmeal Cake is given below. But, to read what I advise on Love and
Writing, you’ll have to buy the cookbook! 
Aunt Martha’s Oatmeal Cake
Deliciously moist cake that keeps and travels well, handed down
through the Texas side of my family for decades. If you can’t eat nuts, then
omit them and double up on the coconut for the topping.Note: This cake is easy to mix by hand. Does not require an
electric mixer.
 Ingredients for the cake:
1 1/2 cups hot water
1 cup oatmeal
(uncooked) 
1 cup brown sugar
1 cup white sugar
1 cup cooking oil
2 eggs
1 2/3 cup sifted flour
1 teaspoon cinnamon
1 teaspoon soda
Dash of salt
 Ingredients for the topping:
6 tablespoons
margarine or butter
¾ cup brown sugar
2 tablespoons canned condensed
milk (Pet, Carnation, etc. NOT sweetened condensed milk)
1 cup chopped nuts
(pecan or walnut—can be toasted ahead of time too before baking as a topping)
1 can angel flake
coconut
 Instructions:
1. Turn oven to 350
degrees. Grease and flour a 9X13 inch pan.
2. Place oatmeal in a
bowl and pour hot water over oats. Let stand while you do next steps.
3. Blend brown sugar,
white sugar, and cooking oil in a large bowl.
4. Add eggs, sifted
flour, cinnamon, soda, dash of salt to the sugar mixture. Blend with a large
spoon.
5. Now add the
water-oats mixture and stir until all ingredients are well blended.
6. Pour into greased
and floured pan.
7. Bake at 350 degrees
for 35 minutes. Remove from oven.
8. Make the topping. In
a saucepan combine margarine, brown sugar and canned condensed milk. Boil for
one minute. Remove from heat and add chopped nuts and coconut. Blend.
9. Before cake cools,
spread the topping (from step 8) thinly over top.
10. Turn oven up to
500 degrees. Return cake-with-topping to oven and bake for 4-5 minutes. Watch
that nothing burns since the heat is now so high.
11. Remove from oven
and cool.
 This cake is delicious immediately, but even more moist and
yummy on the next day. If kept tightly covered with foil or clear wrap, this
cake stays moist and lovely for many days. It never lasts a week at my house,
but I bet it would be good even then.
Bake, Love Write will
sell in the major e-book formats at 99 cents and will be available on Amazon also
in paperback. Watch this space for more news.
 *******

Kay Kendall
set her debut novel, Desolation Row—An
Austin Starr Mystery, in 1968 in an anti-war group. The sequel is Rainy Day Women, set for 2015, and this
time her amateur sleuth Austin Starr must convince police her best friend
didn’t murder women’s liberation activists in Seattle and Vancouver. A fan of
historical mysteries, Kay wants to do for the 1960s what novelist Jacqueline Winspear
accomplishes for England in the perilous 1930s–write atmospheric mysteries that
capture the spirit of the age. Kay is also an award-winning international
public relations executive who lives in Texas with her husband, three house
rabbits, and spaniel Wills. Terribly allergic to the bunnies, she loves them
anyway! Her book titles show she’s a Bob Dylan buff too.  
 *******

Big Macs, Moscow, and My Epitaph

/in /by
By Kay Kendall
Twenty-four years ago I
decided to write my own epitaph. On my tombstone would be these words—She led the worldwide publicity when
McDonald’s opened in Moscow. Although I sensed my PR career was not near
its end, I also realized I would never have a greater triumph.
The first Moscow
McDonald’s opened on January 31, 1990, when the world held five billion people.
Media monitoring showed the success of our publicity. Three billion knew 

the
Golden Arches of capitalist fame were now installed only blocks from Moscow’s
Kremlin, behind whose walls worked Soviet communism’s leaders. Russians will
recall the symbolism—how the restaurant’s opening heralded their government’s
increased openness to the West. In the two-plus decades since the flagship
store debuted in Moscow’s Pushkin Square, the number of McDonald’s in Russia grew
to more than 400.

Now Russia’s relationship
to the West is changing again, while media commentators herald a renewed Cold
War. And one aspect of that relates to McDonald’s. Two weeks ago, the Russian
government closed the McDonald’s flagship for so-called health violations, and
gradually more and more McDonald’s are being shuttered, across Moscow and in
other Russian cities too. Once again, Moscow McDonald’s has become a symbol and snagged worldwide media attention. My pals in the US, UK, and Canada email news reports that show photos of the opening, and I know I was there, in that crowd. 
Two decades of
negotiation by the Canadian wing of McDonald’s lay behind the event.
George Cohon, CEO of Canadian McDonald’s, led the charge. It was personal for
him. His grandfather was born in the same Russian village as the grandfather of
Brezhnev, leader of the USSR when Cohon began his quest.  For political
reasons, the U.S. parent company kept hands off. Back
then only joint ventures with foreign companies were allowed by Soviet law, so
McDonald’s partner was the Moscow City Council.

The
restaurant accepted only Russian rubles, not hard currency. Due to Soviet shortages, the company developed
its own supply chain in the Soviet Union, and the company prided itself
on sourcing everything within the USSR. I remember meeting potato experts who
had come from the province of New Brunswick (Canada’s equivalent to Idaho in terms of potato excellence) to teach Russian farmers
how to grow better potatoes for their fries. When Cohon wrote his autobiography
he called it To Russia with Fries.

Just as Cohon’s long
campaign to take McDonald’s into Russia was personal for him, so my
participation was emotional for me. Not only was it the triumph of my public
relations career, it also took me back to the USSR at an exciting time, made
even more meaningful because of an earlier seminal visit.
By a fluke,* as an
undergraduate I had studied Russian at a language institute in the USSR and
then got bitten by the Russian bug. The tragic past, the indomitable spirit of
the Russian people, the exotic architecture of the tsars—all this and more
intoxicated me. I also wanted to understand America’s Cold War enemy. Russia
was novel for someone who knew only Kansas and Texas well. My love affair with
Russia was deep and compelling, driving me to earn degrees in Russian and
Soviet history.
That student trip to the
USSR was in the sixties, and I only returned two decades later with McDonald’s.
My four long stays in Moscow during 1989-1990 came at a critical time. The
Berlin Wall fell, and Soviet leader Gorbachev indicated the Soviet Union might
be allowed to grow more democratic overnight. With all the Russian history I
had been immersed in, I understood the enormity of the potential change and was
beyond thrilled with my good fortune, working in Russia at such an electrifying
time.
On my final trip to Moscow
for the grand opening, I walked up to the airline counter in Toronto. The woman
checking me in asked how many pieces of luggage I had to declare. “One hundred
twenty,” I replied.  Yes, the launch of
Moscow McDonald’s was a mammoth undertaking—and my load was only for the
publicity.
Many scenes at the grand
opening were intense. Moscow police warned us terrorists were driving around
the city in a van with a small nuclear device inside. Chechens intended to make
a statement by blowing up the new McDonald’s, and hundreds of world media were on
hand to report the catastrophe. (That is, if they survived!)  My PR team grew nervous, but we were too busy
to stop and worry much.
One photojournalist sent
from a London tabloid wept when he got scooped by another paper. He had failed
his assignment—to capture on film the first sale of a Big Mac in Moscow.
Speaking of tears, on
opening day, one elderly babushka cried when she got her package of sandwiches
and french fries. One man bought two bags full of Big Macs to carry home to his
relatives living thousands of miles away in Novosibirsk. All the customers on
opening day (also for months afterwards) stood in line for hours before they
were served. Even with twenty-seven cash registers working full-time, the lines
stretched for blocks outside Moscow McDonald’s.
Memories of those
glorious days fill me now. I recall the severity of Russian weather that
January of 1990—even though I had already endured the snows of Ontario for many
years with my Canadian husband. In Moscow I trudged through knee-deep drifts,
visiting international media outlets in person, hand-delivering news releases.
Just imagine—how quaint. Yet that was more efficient than faxing, since there
weren’t enough telephone lines for use in Moscow. Our team already monopolized too
many with calls back to North America. I stayed long enough in Moscow to hear native speakers say I had developed the accent of a Muscovite.
Finally, my Russian language ability was gaining traction.
But those recollections mean
more to me than they would to you. Suffice it to say, with my love of the sweep
of history, the latest change in Russia’s relations with the West saddens me. I
would like to think that history marches on towards harmony and light, but my
studies tell me that is not true. So I cling to precious memories of my last stay
in Moscow.
My room was in the
National Hotel, only two doors away from the room Lenin had occupied—right after
he grabbed ultimate power in Russia. That was long before, in 1917, when workers and soldiers hoped for a brighter future after their revolution. We
never do know where history will take us, do we? 
________

 * I believe in lucky flukes. The headhunter who called me for the McDonald’s assignment had no idea I knew Russian. She was looking for someone to “take a tough assignment” and figured I could handle it since I was already VP of public affairs for another huge American corporation at its Toronto office. When she gave me sketchy details on the job possibility, I said, “I have visions of Big Macs.” She laughed and replied, “Oh, could be.” Thank goodness I read the papers and knew all about McDonald’s Russian adventure. In fact, the year before at a cocktail party, I had met George Cohon and offered my PR services. The headhunter’s call had nothing to do with that. It was mere luck. 

~~~~~~~

Kay Kendall is an international award-winning public relations executive who lives in Texas with her Canadian husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel Wills. Growing up during the Cold War, she grew excited when an ICBM (intercontinental ballistic missile) was installed near her hometown in Kansas. A fan of historical mysteries and the brilliant spy novels of John le Carré, she set her debut mystery DESOLATION ROW during the Vietnam War, a key conflict of last century not already overrun with novels.

A Summertime Tease

/in /by

Here’s my addition to your end-of-summer reading, an excerpt from my first mystery. I’m hard at work now finishing up the second, to launch next June. Hope you enjoy this tease meant to tantalize. Let me know how you like it! I’d love to hear from you. Kay


DESOLATION ROW—AN AUSTIN STARR MYSTERY BY KAY KENDALL


CHAPTER ONE–1968

Austin hurried down Harbord Street in the deepening twilight. She’d tried the usual meeting place at the University of Toronto, but some bearded hippie said the anti-war group had moved, gone to the United Church on Bathurst. Which she was having trouble finding.

She was tired of rushing, her feet hurt, and her skirt was too tight. Carrying the container of muffins was awkward and slowed her down. Why did she bother to bake anything anyway? David’s anti-war colleagues would just gobble up her food and keep on arguing.

Hiking several more blocks, Austin reached Bathurst and turned north, searching for the flashing lights that marked Honest Ed’s. The popular cut-rate department store was near the church, and she hoped her weary legs wouldn’t collapse during those long, final blocks.

She stopped and slumped against a lamp post, catching her breath. Why didn’t she throw the blueberry muffins away and be done with them? That would be foolish and wasteful though, given how little money the transplanted Americans had. The draft resisters didn’t often thank her, but they’d be grateful for free food.

“Boo.”

Her heartbeat tripled while her gaze pierced the darkness. After an eternity, a small figure slithered out of the shadows. A devil’s red face, topped with horns, loomed before her.

Her jaw dropped open and she stifled a scream. What the hell?

“Trick or treat.”

Damn it. Halloween had completely slipped her mind.

“My goodness, you’re very scary.” Austin tried to slow her thudding heart by taking deep breaths, then leaned closer to view the devil better. He stared back, swinging a pillowcase no doubt filled with treats.

“I’ve got goodies. Do you want some?”

The devil child nodded solemnly, then grabbed the offering and skipped away shrieking. His cries were probably joyful, but to Austin they sounded sinister, like a ghoul howling into the urban wilderness.

She turned in a circle and examined her surroundings, noted for the first time the jack-o-lanterns decorating the stores. In her frantic rush to make the meeting on time, she’d ignored the signs of Halloween. A wave of homesickness washed over her. Back home in Cuero, Texas, Daddy would be dressed like an abnormally tall ghost and doling out candy with a lavish hand.

She set out once more, tramping past tacky storefronts that hadn’t seen a paintbrush in years. While she’d never dream of walking alone at night in a similar American neighborhood, she assumed it was okay in Toronto. Everyone did it. Everyone said the crime rate was low here. But while she’d felt safe just moments before, if worn-out and cranky, now she was rattled, even a little scared. Phantom lizards hopped around in her midsection.

When she finally reached the United Church, it opened its brick arms to her, representing a safe haven. Puffing, she raced through the side door, only to slam into a deathly silence. She’d expected the usual cacophony of arguing voices to greet her, to lead her to the meeting, but the old building felt like a mausoleum, not a meeting place or house of worship. The frustration of failure crashed against her fatigued body.

Summoning her last few ounces of energy, she dashed down the dim hallway.

“Ye better watch out,” an ethereal voice called. “I mopped the floor, and it’s still wet.”

Austin jerked to a stop and lost hold of the box she was carrying. It hit the floor, and the muffins burst out. She watched her baking—a labor of love shoehorned into a too-full day—rolling across the wet floor. She howled, sounding just like that devil child.

A stooped old man emerged from the shadows and shuffled to her side as she fought back tears. He leaned on a mop, using it like a crutch, and then reached down to help her.

“It’s okay, lassie.” He wheezed between words. “Your treats are only a wee bit dented. Look—some are still wrapped up pretty.” His hands trembled, but he managed to tuck a few wayward muffins back in the box. He tried to scoop up another, but had to stop, both hands gripping his mop, as he struggled to catch his breath.

“Thanks for your help, but I’ll get the rest.” She crouched down to finish cleaning up while the old man stood by and watched. Straightening, she said, “Do you have any idea where the anti-war meeting is? I’m late.”

“Those lads ran off somewheres. Maybe try the university, eh?” The janitor tried to lift up his mop, but his hands were so unsteady that he dropped it. The mop clattered on the linoleum, making Austin jump.

What was wrong with him? Austin inhaled a long breath—what was wrong with her? She felt guilty that he’d exerted himself to help her. He looked as old as her grandfather, and Gran was eighty. Now drenched in remorse and stymied, she simply wanted to flee.

“I can’t carry this stuff another step. Think I’ll just leave everything in the kitchen for y’all to enjoy tomorrow.” She shifted several steps away down the hall.

“But I must go,” he called after her, “and canna help you.” A violent coughing spasm interrupted him.

“That’s okay,” she stopped to yell over her shoulder. “I’ve been here before and know my way around.” Then remembering her manners, she swung around to thank the old man, but he’d already faded back into the dark, a slick move appropriate for Halloween.

She began to jog in the direction her memory dictated, listening to her footsteps echo in the empty hall. When she turned a corner to see a sign pointing to the kitchen, she grinned with relief.

“Something’s finally going right,” she murmured.

Austin pushed the door open and entered a room as dark as puddled ink. Promising herself never to bake for the group again, she inched through the murk, feeling along the wall for a light switch. Her ears seemed to catch the sound of scampering feet, and she quivered; mice gave her the creeps. After several cautious steps, one foot slipped. She almost fell, but instinctively grabbed the counter and righted herself.

With greater care, she edged ahead.

Her left foot hit something solid. She pitched forward, not managing to catch herself a second time. But the object she’d tripped over had some give to it and cushioned her fall.

“Damn, that was a close one.” She spoke aloud in the darkness, needing to fill the silence. Lying on the floor, she thought about just staying put. That had to be better than anything else she’d tried that day. Yet the smell of dust and something oddly metallic made her change her mind. She sneezed and reached for her purse, needing a tissue, but instead her fingers met a sticky, moist goo.

Her heart slammed against her breastbone, and she gasped.

The dark was no longer her biggest worry.

She lunged to her feet and felt her way back along the wall. Her quivering fingers found the switch and flipped it. Florescent lights crackled and illuminated the room.

Austin’s eyes slowly adjusted to the sudden flood of light.

Before her sprawled a man in a pool—no, a lake—of blood, and her blueberry muffins covered the most beautiful suede jacket she’d ever seen. She knew not to touch anything and squelched an urge to brush crumbs off the body. The blanket of baked goods made the man’s condition appear comical.
It was anything but.

She recognized him. No one who’d seen Reginald Simpson in action would ever forget him. But she mustn’t think ill of the dead.

Her legs were unresponsive planks. Frozen in place, Austin could only stand and gape at the corpse. Or what she guessed was a corpse.

Reg lay on his back. Blood covered one side of his head, catsup-colored and slick, shimmering in the light. She needed to check but hesitated, trying to recall her CIA Mentor’s advice for daunting moents like this.

“When you need to forge ahead but don’t really want to,” Mr. Jones used to say, “then just breathe deep and focus. Empty your head of expectations so you can absorb all the data that surrounds you.”

One gulp of breath was not enough. She took three more. Emptied her mind of fear and crept back toward Reg. Leaned down close, turned her face away to breathe deeply again, placed her fingers on the skin beneath his beard, and felt the truth. This was an inert thing, not a man. Reg was gone.

Warm bile rose in Austin’s throat. She needed to vomit but swallowed and gagged instead. Eyes closed, she willed the wave of nausea to pass. She’d never seen a dead person before, other than an aunt who had passed away peacefully of old age. But that frail body, lying in a satin-lined coffin in a pristine funeral home, belonged in a reality much different from this grotesque one with its figure laid out on a worn tiled floor.

Austin began shaking and grabbed the kitchen counter to steady herself, then jerked back, afraid to leave more fingerprints. After a few moments, her racing heart slowed and her curiosity overcame her initial fright. Here was an event plucked from one of her favorite mystery novels. It was morbidly compelling.

Using the hem of her blouse, Austin rubbed the place where she’d clutched the counter. Okay now, she told herself, get it together. What should she do first?

She’d often wished she could step into an Agatha Christie novel or work alongside Nancy Drew. Once Austin startled a friend when, upon entering a room, she abruptly declared, “That brass candlestick would make a good murder weapon.” However, surveying this scene, Austin didn’t see a single candlestick—or any other obvious implement good for killing.

She stepped back from the body and moved around the kitchen slowly. She peeked into an open container for trash, but it held nothing. Either the trash had been cleared away before the murder or the killer had taken it with him.

The closed cupboard doors called to her. “Open me,” they clamored. And so she did, again covering her fingertips with her blouse. This operation took a long time—using her blouse was awkward and added complexity to the process. And the kitchen was enormous and held many cupboards. Twenty-two. She counted them. Twice. The tedious process calmed her teeming brain.

Her gaze swept the room, searching for clues. For anything out of place. Anything unusual. Satisfied that there was nothing suspicious, she decided it was time to call the cops.

—and the story continues!

*******

Kay Kendall set her debut novel, Desolation Row—An Austin Starr Mystery, in 1968. The Vietnam War backdrop illuminates reluctant courage and desperate
love when a world teeters on chaos. Kay’s next mystery, Rainy Day Women (2015) finds amateur sleuth Austin Starr trying to
prove a friend didn’t murder women’s liberation activists in Seattle and
Vancouver. Kay is an award-winning international PR executive living in Texas
with her Canadian husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel Wills. Terribly
allergic to bunnies, she loves them anyway! Her book titles show she’s a Bob
Dylan buff too. #

The Oldest Web Mistress in Captivity!

/in /by
By Kay Kendall
Once upon a time—let’s
say 1994—I directed public relations for a science institute that developed the
second website in all of the great state of Texas. The scientist who designed this
strange bird was proud, knowing it was The Future. However, try as he might, he
could not get the other scientists to understand how important it was, this new
wave of communication.
Finally, at long last, a
second scientist got with the program and complained in a Faculty Meeting,
august body that it was, how sad this institute’s website was, how deplorable,
how it needed so much work to become great. Yada yada yada. Ego being what it
is, scientist #1 got furious, said, “Fine Then you run the danged thing. I quit.” And so he did.
Suddenly the scientists
realized their website was indeed a precious commodity and needed tending…but
who was to do it? Certainly they
could not do the work. They were far too important for such a mundane chore. So
the scientists looked around and found, lo and behold, the PR lady, beavering
away in her office. She only wrote news releases and newsletters, such silly
little things. Surely SHE had time to do a website, even though SHE was not at
all technically inclined. (Yes, of course there was an IT department, but those
folks also were far too busy and important to manage a website.)
And that is the tale of
how I—a liberal arts person to the core with nary a technical bone in my body–got
dragged kicking and screaming into the digital world. The journey was arduous
and the climb to competence was steep, but eventually I learned to develop and
maintain this website. I confess I knew all along in my
non-technically-inclined bones that this endeavor would be good for me. What I
never suspected, however, was that it would turn out to guarantee my job
security.
Soon I began to joke about my web work. I called myself…The Oldest Web Mistress in
Captivity. I often wondered how many other aging baby boomers were handling institutional
websites circa 1995. Not many back in the day, I bet.
Recently I got to musing
about my dalliance with all things digital as I fiddled with my author
homepage, placed ads for my mystery DESOLATION ROW on my Facebook page, and
Tweeted about an online interview I’d done. If I had not been forced into the
digital world almost twenty years ago, how would I be doing today? Would I be
like so many of my friends and age-mates, scared of All These New Things?
I am reminded of my
mother and how she never learned how to operate the new hi-fi that my father
brought home as a surprise for her one day in the 1950s. If she wanted to
listen to a 33-rpm LP, then she had to ask him or me to do it for her. Now, she
was not a stupid woman, far from it. Yet she would just throw up her hands, say
“I can’t do things like that” and add “Please do it for me.” I believe some of
that wariness towards all things technical rubbed off on me, made me scared. Alas,
I’m sure I lost many decades of growing competence that way.
Now of course I thank my former scientific colleagues who insisted I do the institute’s web work. And thank heavens I’m
comfortable in this digital new world order.
And my mother? Shortly
before her death at age 91, she confided to me that it had all been an act,
pretending not to understand how to use various machines. Grinning, she told me, “That
way, I could always get someone to do it for me.” But, as for me…well, I’d rather do
it myself! 
Kay Kendall is the author of Desolation Row–An Austin Starr Mystery. You can view the book’s trailer on YouTube or catch up with her on Twitter, Facebook,and Goodreads. Kay blogs here with the Stiletto Gang every first and third Wednesdays of each month.