Tag Archive for: Historical Mysteries

Process Delayed Can Still be Progress…of a Sort

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By Lois Winston

I’m not someone who immediately jumps into the next book as soon as I finish writing the previous one. My latest Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery, A Crafty Collage of Crime, released on June 6th. Other than promotional blog posts, I haven’t written anything Anastasia-related since then. Haven’t even given much thought to the next book beyond the fact that I know I’ll be picking up Anastasia’s story shortly after the recent book ended.

It’s not that I’m tired of writing about my reluctant sleuth or have no ideas. It’s more about a process I’ve found that works best for me. After a book goes off into the world, I devote the next month or so to promotion. Once the flurry of promotion wanes, I give myself permission to clear my head before once again hitting the keyboard in earnest. We all have our process, and I’ve discovered over the years that this keeps me from burning out or developing terminal writer’s block. We all need the occasional vacay, even if it’s only a vacay from the keyboard.

With that in mind, I had set a schedule to start in on serious pondering, mulling, and research the week of August 21st, the day after the Killer Nashville writers’ conference ended. I’d plant butt in chair and fingers on keyboard in earnest September 5th, the day after Labor Day.

Of course, I didn’t factor into testing positive for Covid shortly after Killer Nashville ended. And I certainly didn’t factor in the far from mild case of Covid that broadsided me and still continues haunting me with lingering symptoms. I haven’t felt this tired since suffering through mono when I was nineteen or dealing with an infant who exited the womb never needing to sleep—ever!

About the only things I’ve been able to accomplish when not napping are watching TV and reading, more of the latter than the former, thanks to the writers’ strike and the absence of many of my favorite shows. For someone who has never been a napper, I’m beginning to suspect I harbor some cat DNA. Don’t they sleep about seventeen hours a day?

At least during my daily seven hours of wakefulness, I was able to make a decent dent in my overflowing Kindle virtual TBR pile. For someone used to juggling multiple balls, if nothing else, I’ve achieved a small sense of accomplishment during my illness and recovery.

Not every book I read is worth mentioning. Several fell way short of expectations. However, there were two books that I thoroughly enjoyed: The Book Woman’s Daughter, the follow-up to Kim Michele Rchardson’s The Book Woman of Troublesome Creek, and Kopp Sisters on the March, book 5 in Amy Stewart’s Kopp Sisters series. However, if you’ve enjoyed the other Kopp Sisters books, be forewarned that this book is a bit of a departure from the previous books in the series. Although labeled as a mystery, the mystery element is a minor subplot.

One of the perks of being a published author is getting to read some books before they hit bookstore shelves. I had the absolute pleasure of losing myself in advance reading copies of two books that I highly recommend. If you enjoy women’s fiction, you won’t want to miss the recently released Picture Perfect Autumn by Shelley Noble. It truly is a picture-perfect novel.

If romantic amateur sleuth mysteries are more your speed, you’ll want to read The Body in the News, the third installment in the Samantha Newman Mysteries by The Stiletto Gang’s own Gay Yellen. I was hooked on this series after reading the first book. When I finished this newest addition, I wanted to pick up the fourth book right away. I hope Gay is a fast writer!

What about you? Read any good books lately? Post a comment for a chance to win a promo code for a free download of the audiobook version of Scrapbook of Mystery, the sixth Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery.

~*~

USA Today and Amazon bestselling and award-winning author Lois Winston writes mystery, romance, romantic suspense, chick lit, women’s fiction, children’s chapter books, and nonfiction under her own name and her Emma Carlyle pen name. Kirkus Reviews dubbed her critically acclaimed Anastasia Pollack Crafting Mystery series, “North Jersey’s more mature answer to Stephanie Plum.” In addition, Lois is a former literary agent and an award-winning craft and needlework designer who often draws much of her source material for both her characters and plots from her experiences in the crafts industry. Learn more about Lois and her books at her website www.loiswinston.com where you can also sign up for her newsletter and follow her on various social media sites.

Finding Calm in a Fraught Time

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by Kay Kendall
 
Originally I planned another subject for today’s blog post. Then more and more things began hitting me. Not personally, you understand. The damaging stuff is happening out in my world, and yours too. But the last straw was the dreadful conflagration two days ago at the iconic Notre Dame Cathedral.
 
So when I saw this Pueblo Indian prayer on a friend’s Facebook page, I was relieved when it brought some peace to my soul. Here it is. I hope it will also soothe you, just in case you need it as I did.
 
                              

Hold on to what is good,
Even if it’s a handful of earth.
Hold onto what you believe,
Even if it’s a tree standing by itself.  
Hold on to what you must do,

Even if it’s a long way from here.
Hold on to your life,
Even if it’s easier to let go.
Hold on to my hand,
Even if someday I’ll be gone
Away from you.                                   

In the frantic lives too many of us in North America lead these days, it’s hard not to feel pushed by modern priorities. But the wisdom of the ancients can still stand us in good stead. We should never forget what the beauty of nature, of a friendship, of a tiny perfect moment in time can bring us. And this prayer reminded me. I’m now breathing more deeply, and slower too. Of course I’ll need to be reminded often. Thus the prayer is now pinned to the cork board that faces my PC.
Here’s wishing you peace and a slower pace, y’all.

(To see more of this nature photography that helped cure a man’s clinical depression, go here: https://www.boredpanda.com/travel-nature-photography-depression-rescue-william-patino/
He writes, in line with the Pueblo prayer above, “Depression had stripped my life of its color but looking through a lens was slowly painting it back. Places and objects I once walked right past were now standing out to me….My life hasn’t been the same since.”)

~~~~~~~
 


Author Kay Kendall is passionate about historical mysteries.  She lives in Texas with her Canadian husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel Wills. Visit Kay at her website  http://www.austinstarr.com/   or on Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/KayKendallAuthor 
 

Lasting Fiction–7 Books That Matter Most to Me

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By Kay Kendall

I can’t recall when I wasn’t
surrounded by books, even when my age was in single-digit years. I had a strict
time for lights-out but always wanted to keep reading. One year someone gave me
a small pin-on Santa. It lit up when I pulled a string dangling from Santa’s
beard and provided enough light for reading under the covers. Fortunately,
Santa’s battery lasted for months and months. This made me so happy, although
it’s a miracle I didn’t ruin my eyesight.

These memories illustrate how
important books have been for me, like, forever. I once told my mother
that “books are my friends.” I felt silly saying it, but years later she recounted
my words back to me. Both of my parents were great readers. Unusual for their
generation—the Greatest—both graduated from college. My father continued his quest for learning throughout his life, while my mother devoted herself
to fiction.


A few years ago, I came across my
baby book, bound in pink leather. On one page, space was provided to answer this
question: What
was baby’s first statement about religion?
My mother filled in the answer: “At the age of
two years, my daughter asked if Jesus went to college.”
Oh yes indeed, books and book
learning were inculcated early in me.

Like many of us who are inveterate
readers, I’ve encountered many favorite books over the years. I could probably
rattle off one hundred right off the top of my head. Recently I attempted to
winnow the list down to those that have stuck with me—those that left
lasting memories—and boiled that list down to seven. Here are the first five, in
the order that I read them:

Black Beauty by English author Anna Sewell, published 1877
Little Women by American author Louisa May Alcott, published 1868
Jane Eyre by
Charlotte Bronte, published 1847
Anna Karenina by
Russian author Leo Tolstoy, published 1878
Tinker Tailor Soldier Spy by
British author John le Carré, published 1974

Each of these novels I’ve read at least three times, with the exception of Anna Karenina, read only twice. (After all, it is by far the longest on my list.) Since I adhere to the motto of “so many books so little time,” I rarely reread anything. These five stand out because I devoured each of them many times. And even today, when paging through them,
I stop at passages that astonish me. The words leap off the pages and seem to
shout, “See. See. THIS is why I grabbed you and will never release you from my
clutches. You STILL believe in these things.”

Horse crazy as a young girl, I read many
books about horses, but only Black Beauty
had staying power. Its message of kindness to all creatures great and small was
important in my grade school years. The American classic of Little Women gave me a heroine named Jo
March with whom I could relate. Not her three sisters—they were too sweet or
dazzling or bossy. Then around age eleven, the adventurous Gothic romance of Jane Eyre swept me away.  I never looked for my own Heathcliff—oh no,
not him—but searched instead for my own Mr. Rochester. And I found him, dear
reader, I found him.  
To prepare for my SAT exams and for
college, I read classic literary novels in high school. I tried Anna Karenina then but could not get
past the first twenty pages. In my twenties I tried again, and that time it
took. I also read the great War and Peace,
and it was almost a toss-up for which I loved more, but poor Anna with her sad
tale won out. For anyone who has never read Tolstoy, I recommend that you begin
with something short to see if his precision writing draws you in. Try The Death of Ivan
Ilyich, a novella considered a masterpiece of Tolstoy’s late
fiction. What the author sees, understands, and describes is sheer brilliance,
even in translation.
The only
contemporary novel of my first five is my favorite spy story of all time, by my
favorite living author, John
le Carré. On first reading I could scarcely understand
it. There were too many code words and triple dealing and nothing was as it
seemed. I couldn’t even understand the ending—I was that confused. When I
reread it a year later, then I began to “get it.” The depth of deception
on both political and personal levels was astounding, and the puzzles were
dazzling. I have read le Carré’s  masterwork several
more times for sheer pleasure.
All five of
these works I watch again and again as new versions come out for the screen. I
am particularly picky when I watch Jane
Eyre. No actress ever lives up to my vision of the heroine, although there
are some darned good Rochester’s, mind you. Conversely, actresses who play the
role of Anna Karenina have never disappointed me. Well, let’s face it. My
favorite book, ever, is Jane Eyre,
and nothing can compete on the screen with what I see in my own imagination.
Finally, in a somewhat different category
are books six and seven. These are seminal works—ones that contain the seeds of
later development. My own later development, to be exact. One inspired me to
try writing for the first time, and much, much later the other encouraged me to write
historical mysteries. These two are
“A Visit from St. Nicholas” by American
academic Clement Moore, first published anonymously in the Troy, New York Sentinel on December 23, 1823, and
Maisie
Dobbs
by British author Jacqueline Winspear, published in 2003.
Even when I could read, my grandfather read
the beloved Christmas poem to me every holiday season. When we weren’t together, he read it to me over the phone. To this day I love its language and
can recall most of its lines. When I was seven, I wrote and illustrated my own
version, paying special care to decorate the opening line, “Twas the night
before Christmas when all through the house….” Then for decades I proceeded to
write and write and write some more, but none of it was fiction. Instead I
wrote a graduate thesis and then media releases, annual reports, and the like
for corporations and educational institutions during my PR career. While I sometimes longed to write novels, I didn’t think I had anything worthwhile to say.
Finally in 1998, I began my first attempt, empowered by a seminar for women
leaders in Texas.
While that completed manuscript will stay
hidden in a drawer forever, my next effort was successfully published. My historical
mystery, Desolation Row, was directly
inspired by Winspear’s Maisie Dobbs. That
debut book in her mystery series contains the critical elements I now try to
incorporate in my own mysteries—a tough yet tender female sleuth, an exciting
period of history for the setting, and crimes committed out of deep personal
anguish. . . . So, now that I’ve told you about the books that have lasted for me, do you know which ones did that for you? Please do share your comments below. I would love to know.
~~~~~~~
 

Read the first 20 pages of Kay Kendall’s second mystery, RANY DAY WOMEN here! http://www.austinstarr.com/ 
That book won two awards at the Killer Nashville conference in August 2016—for best mystery/crime and also for best book.  Her first novel about Austin Starr‘s sleuthing, DESOLATION ROW, was a finalist for best mystery at Killer Nashville in 2014. Visit Kay on Facebook https://www.facebook.com/KayKendallAuthor

WRITERS WHO INSPIRED ME

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BY KAY KENDALL

Earlier this month, Bethany Maines asked us Stiletto Gang members the
question so many authors struggle with: “what other authors are you
like?”

My answer to this question has evolved over the past twenty
years. At first I didn’t even know it was a question—one I was supposed to be
readily able to answer. Then a kindly bookstore employee explained that
publishers and booksellers find it helpful in publicizing authors if they can
be compared to other more famous writers. Okay, so I do get that. After all, I
didn’t spend my whole previous career in public relations not understanding the
point of publicity.

Jacquelin Winspear


Then the difficulties set in. How could I presume to compare
myself to a well-known author? How presumptuous. I took an online test that
suggested it could analyze my writing and figure out where my style matched
someone else’s. The answer was ludicrous—and instantly forgettable. (For
example, someone like Herman Melville. No, I think not.)

Next I realized that there were certain authors of historical mysteries
who had inspired me. Here I began to
strike pay dirt. Jacqueline Winspear is the most relevant for me. Her Maisie
Dobbs mystery series is a direct inspiration for my Austin Starr mysteries.
Winspear began her early stories in the 1920s in England when the entire
society was trying to recover from the horrors of the conflagration that was
erroneously labeled “the war to end all wars.” We now call it, sadly enough,
World War One. She successfully evokes that time period and makes us readers
believe we are back among those fraught times when my grandparents were young.

Before I discovered Winspear’s books, I had only read historical mystery
series written by men with their male protagonists. Many of these tales were
set in the 1930s, emphasizing events that led up to World War Two, and then
also during that war itself. British author Philip Kerr writes about Bernie
Gunther, a Berlin detective who gets co-opted by the Nazis. Kerr’s plots are
unusual and his historic research is impeccable. Alan Furst also describes the
interwar period in a set of loosely related (very loosely) mysteries that are
steeped in atmosphere. His evocations of Eastern Europe and France are so
successful that when I read his books, I feel as if I am walking down a Parisian
street and smelling the Gauloises cigarettes smoked by passersby.

Sara Paretsky


There are other mystery writers who inspire me by setting their
stories against a background of important social issues. Sara Paretsky is the
queen of this group. After all, she was a pioneer of the female private
investigator V.I. Warshawski as protagonist. When she saw the difficulty women writers were
having getting published in America in the 1980s, she did something about it.
She was a founding mother of Sisters in Crime. How’s that for being a
successful author and activist too. Write on, sister!

There are easily ten more authors I could mention whose work
inspires my writing, but those I’ve listed here are the ones who continually bubble
up in my mind first. I would never dare say that my writing is like theirs, but
I am happy to give them a tip of my metaphorical hat and say, “Thank you for
being you, thank you for writing what you do. And please, do write on and on
and on.”  

~~~~~~~

Kay Kendall’s Austin Starr mysteries <http://www.AustinStarr.com> capture the spirit and turbulence of the 1960s. DESOLATION ROW
(2013) and RAINY DAY WOMEN (2015) show Austin, a 22-year-old Texas bride, set
adrift in a foreign land and on the frontlines of societal change. Austin
learns to cope by turning amateur sleuth.



My First Four Chapters…and a Giveaway

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By Kay Kendall

Yesterday was my birthday, and I had a lovely time. I got to feeling so buoyant I decided that today I would give a present to someone. Two presents, actually.

I have written two mysteries, and the latest one is RAINY DAY WOMEN. If you haven’t yet read it, check out the first four chapters online for free.
Go here http://austinstarr.com/
Then click on the link on the upper left to open a PDF file containing the beginning of the book. That is the first present.

 If you’d like a chance to win a free copy of this mystery, then leave a comment below and include a few words about why you’d like to read it. That’s the second present a lucky person will win.

RAINY DAY WOMEN is rated 4.7 stars (out of 5) on Amazon, and people have enjoyed it a lot. It tells the story of Austin Starr, a young married woman with an infant who chooses to fly across the continent to help out a dear friend in trouble. So much trouble that she is accused of murder.

The time is 1969, and Austin Starr stumbles into the budding world of women’s liberation because both the victim and the prime suspect (Austin’s pal) belong to a women’s consciousness raising group. The historical details are accurate, but not heavy-handed. Women who lived in that era have told me how surprised they were at the memories my book brings back, saying they had forgotten how different it was, way back then. Younger readers express shock at some everyday happenings.

I hope you’ll take a look at the free pages and be enticed to read more. Deadline for comments: Sunday evening, 6 pm central time, February 21.

~~~~~~~

Kay Kendall

Kay Kendall’s historical mysteries capture the spirit and turbulence of the 1960s. Kay’s degrees in Russian history and language help ground her tales in the Cold War, and her titles show she’s a Bob Dylan buff too. DESOLATION ROW (2013) and RAINY DAY WOMEN (2015) are in her Austin Starr Mystery series. Austin is a 22-year-old Texas bride who ends up on the frontlines of societal change, learns to cope, and turns amateur sleuth. Kay lives in Texas with her Canadian husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel Wills. In her former life as a PR executive, Kay’s projects won international awards.

Mystery Writers Who Inspired Me—Part 1

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By Kay Kendall

Jacqueline Winspear is a marvelous author whose books have been
inspiring me for more than a decade. Most of the stories in her Maisie Dobbs
mystery series are set in England, and the series begins after the War to End
All Wars, which is alas now called World War One. The eleventh book in the
series came out this year.

Maisie Dobbs was a young nurse at the front, and her fiancé was
wounded in the fighting. In the first book, he is a hopeless invalid, unable to
speak and suffering from the gas attacks that occurred during the infamous
trench warfare. The initial offering—simply titled Maisie Dobbs—won many prizes for first novel and wide spread praise
from both reviewers and readers alike.

Author Jacqueline Winspear
What drew me into this mystery series was the depiction of
the ravages of war on those who did not fight. Winspear describes long-lasting
horrors that saddled a whole society after the war was won by the British and
their allies, the Americans, French and Russians. Calamitous events arose from
that disastrous war—the Russian Revolution, the Great Depression, and Hitler’s
rise.

Maisie becomes a private investigator and is taught how to
approach her cases from a psychological perspective by a wise, older male
mentor. The first books are set in the late 1920s and then carry into  the 1930s. We readers know that Europe is crawling
steadily toward another world war, and we see how Maisie adapts to changing
conditions and threats. Although several young men wish to wed her, she shies
away from commitment and maintains her independence steadfastly.  She helps others find happiness but doesn’t
seem able to do that for herself, at least in the area of romance.

I began reading these fine, unique mysteries by Jacqueline
Winspear before I began writing my own mysteries, and the more I read, the more
they inspired me. I wanted to develop my own tales to show another young woman
challenged by her own era’s battles—of war, politics, and changing values. It
is no exaggeration to say that without reading about Maisie Dobbs, I might
never have written about my own female amateur sleuth, Austin Starr.

Over the years I’ve been fortunate to hear Jacqueline
Winspear speak several times about the genesis of her series, how her own
grandfather survived his participation in World War One and how his military
service deeply affected her family. Plus, one of her grandmothers worked in a munitions
arsenal during the war and was partially blinded in an explosion. To commemorate the hundredth anniversary of the beginning of
the war, Winspear published a standalone novel last year set during the cataclysm.
Her historical research is personal and impeccable.

Recently, a funny thing happened. I believed that I had read
all the volumes in order and that I was totally up to date with Maisie’s doings—with
the exception of the eleventh escapade. I bought it and added it to my
to-be-read pile—the enormous stack at my bedside. Yet, one thing had always
puzzled me. There was a jump in Winspear’s storytelling. A squabble between
Maisie and her mentor was referenced, and I didn’t know what to make of it or
where it came from. There was also the introduction in the middle books of a
character treated as continuing but one I had not been introduced to before. I double-checked
to ensure I had read all the books in order and kept on reading them.

And then last week, a sale grabbed me. The audiobook version
of the third mystery, Pardonable Lies,
was offered at a deep discount. Since it had been about a decade since I first
read that book—or so I believed—I bought the CD and popped it into my car’s
audio disc player. Imagine my surprise—no, my shock!—when the plot was new. I
had never read Pardonable Lies. In it
Maisie and her mentor quarrel over national security matters and she reconnects
with an old friend from college. No wonder I didn’t know about those threads in
Maisie’s story. I had missed them entirely.

This is delightful serendipity, stumbling upon a lost
treasure that I didn’t even know I had misplaced. Now when I get into the car
and face Houston’s clogged traffic, I enjoy the ride. Perhaps I will reread all
the books, or listen to them in traffic.   

I heartily recommend this series to you. Find Maisie’s
stories listed in order here: http://www.jacquelinewinspear.com/novels.php
~~~~~~~
Kay Kendall is a long-time fan of
historical novels and writes atmospheric mysteries that capture the spirit
and turbulence of the sixties. She is a reformed PR executive who lives in
Texas with her husband, three house rabbits, and spaniel Wills. Terribly allergic
to her bunnies, she loves them anyway! Her book titles show she’s a Bob Dylan
buff too. RAINY DAY WOMEN published in July. It is the second
in her Austin Starr Mystery series. The audiobook debuts soon. 
http://www.amazon.com/Rainy-Day-Women-Mystery-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B00W2X5SCS

A Summertime Tease

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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 CIA…and Gloria Steinem

/in /by
By Kay Kendall

Gloria Steinem said it best: “Writing is the only thing I do
that I don’t feel like I should be doing something else.”
I began writing fiction fifteen years ago. My first
manuscript was a literary novel that I worked on forever and put aside when I
failed to get an agent. That was important eight years ago, much less so now
under different publishing conditions. But I found I still was compelled to
write so I immersed myself in crime fiction, let the patterns of the genre seep
into my head, and then began to write my mystery.
Within the mystery genre, historical fiction is what I like
to read best. Many authors locate their sleuths and their spymasters during the
great wars of the twentieth century. The two world wars and Cold War are amply
represented in mysteries and spy fiction. The Vietnam War is comparatively not
“taken.” Besides it is the era I grew up in. I decided it was an historic niche
that needed filling and that I was the one to do the filling.
I wanted to show what life was like for young women of that
era, the late sixties—not the type who made headlines, the Angela Davises and
Hanoi Janes, but the moderates who nonetheless got swept along by the tides of
history during that turbulent time. All that turmoil lends itself to drama,
intrigue…and murder.
I don’t consider myself a daring or courageous person. My
heroine Austin Starr feels fear, is often anxious but keeps on pushing
regardless. I picture her as myself with more moxie.
Recently I gave a book reading and said that to my audience.
Imagine how startled I was therefore, when a long-time family friend said,
“That’s nonsense, Kay. You are so adventuresome. You went to the Soviet Union
for a summer when you were only twenty to study, you moved to a different
country (Canada), and you’re always trying new things.”
I must confess that opinion made me feel good, although I
still regard it as unfounded.
Still, I will tell you a secret.
Imagine how surprised that old friend would be if she
knew that the CIA training of Austin Starr was based on my own
flirtation with that spy agency. I really did interview with the CIA. When
offered a position, instead I chose to attend grad school and continue
studying Russian history…. Just as my protagonist Austin Starr does. 
Maybe I have more moxie than I give myself credit for after
all.
All that said, it’s no surprise that I’m excited for the
second season of the TV spy thriller The Americans to start up in a few days on
the FX Network.  Any movie or TV show,
put spies in it and some derring-do, and I will be there, front and center, for
the vicarious adventure.

 ~~~~~~~
Kay & house bunny Dusty

Kay Kendall is an international award-winning public relations executive who lives in Texas with her husband, five house rabbits, and spaniel Wills. A fan of historical mysteries, she wants to do for the 1960s what novelist Alan Furst does for Europe in the 1930s during Hitler’s rise to power–write atmospheric mysteries that capture the spirit of the age.

Discover more about  DESOLATION ROW, here at
http://www.KayKendallAuthor.com

Fashions of the Times

/in /by

By Kay Kendall

I adore fashion. I can’t help it. It’s genetic. Both my grandmothers and my mother enjoyed clothes, jewelry, and dressing up. At the age of ten I had a weekly hair appointment at a salon. Shopping trips to the big city of Wichita from my hometown of 12,000 were a monthly highlight. In early years Mother and I even donned gloves for the 25-mile trip. When my Texas grandmother took me to the original Neiman Marcus in downtown Dallas, I almost swooned.

Now, flash forward to the eighties. Shoulder pads made the scene. Love at first sight! They helped balance my proportions, counteracting my hips. My mother, however, was appalled. “My dresses had big shoulders in the forties, and I’m not excited about things I wore before.” I didn’t understand. How could she be so stuffy?

With this new millennium, boho chic arrived. But it’s all sixties fashion to me. Retro hippie would be an even better name. The first time I saw nouveau bell-bottom trousers in an issue of Vogue ca. 2003, I groaned. Oh, surely that will never catch on again, I mused to myself, throwing the magazine aside in disgust. Then came the beads, the peasant blouses, and all the other hippie accouterments. The only thing not seen in redux-land is a version of my old macrame purse.

 Soon celebrities in the under thirty-five age group staked out hippie chic as their own look. Try an online search of images for entertainers Nicole Richie or Sienna Miller, and fashion stylist and designer Rachel Zoe. Every image of them is heavily influenced by the sixties. Nicole even wears macrame occasionally.

At first, like my mother twenty-five years ago, I spurned the return of styles I’d worn before. But boho chic gained strength and crept into more and more clothes. I’ve been thinking about this a lot since Stairway Press of Seattle published my debut mystery set in the sixties. Desolation Row—An Austin Starr Mystery features a young bride from Texas who gets swept along by the tides of history during that turbulent time.

The choice of cover was tricky. The design had to evoke the Vietnam War era without turning off potential readers. Real photos from the period are too grungy, but countless current pictures are for sale of young female models dressed like hippies. We chose one of those photos, and the result has drawn raves. “Isn’t she, er, fetching?” a bestselling male author gulped as he stared at my book cover, almost drooling.

To set the mood at my book signings, I often wear blouses and boot-cut pants (not bell-bottoms) like those I wore back then and throw on some beads and ethnic-y earrings to complete the effect. Luckily for me, there’s no dearth of such clothes and jewelry to choose from.

How about you? Are there styles that have returned (from the dead, as it were) that delight you? That you are happy to wear again? Or are there other styles that have as yet to resurface and you wish they’d hurry and return?

Personally, I think how one dresses is a great form of self-expression. I love playing with style. Sure, it’s vain, I guess, but it is still fun!

~~~~~~~
Kay Kendall is an international award-winning public relations executive who lives in Texas with her husband, five house rabbits, and spaniel Wills. A fan of historical mysteries, she wants to do for the 1960s what novelist Alan Furst does for Europe in the 1930s during Hitler’s rise to power–write atmospheric mysteries that capture the spirit of the age.

Aubrey Hamilton

/in /by

Aubrey Hamilton began reading the adventures of Nancy Drew, the Hardy Boys, Cherry Ames, and Donna Parker at an early age and became enthralled with the mystery literary genre and its many subcategories. A long-time member of and occasional poster on DorothyL, she also reads manuscript submissions for Poisoned Pen Press. She lives in northern Virginia with several cats and thousands of books.

At last month’s Bouchercon in Baltimore, I attended a forum on historical mysteries. One of the authors on the panel mentioned that historical mysteries didn’t sell much before 1989. which struck me as odd. Have we only been reading historicals for 20 years?

I checked the index on Stop! You’re Killing Me to establish the entrance dates for some of the long-running historical series: The first of Edward Marston’s many series was published in 1988; Australian flapper Phryne Fisher solved her first case in 1989; William Monk, the Victorian police inspector, made his bow in 1990; Gillian Linscott’s books about a suffragette in England began in 1991; the first adventure of Gordianus the Finder was published in 1991; Dame Frevisse first appeared in 1992; Laura Joh Rowland’s samurai series emerged in 1993; the Pennyfoot Hotel opened its doors in 1993; Sister Fidelma debuted in 1994; Bruce Alexander immortalized Sir John Fielding in 1994, and Daisy Dalrymple joined the journalistic corps in 1994.

Only a half dozen of those I looked up were published prior to 1989: Peter Lovesey’s Victorian detective duo in 1970; Amelia Peabody in 1975; Brother Cadfael in 1977; Thomas and Charlotte Pitt in 1979; and Max Allan Collins’ Depression-era PI in 1983. Oldest by far was Judge Dee, the Chinese magistrate from the 600s, who appeared in print for the first time in 1952.

So I asked myself: what was I reading before the deluge of historical mysteries? I distinctly remember working my way through Margery Allingham, Ngaio Marsh, Erle Stanley Gardner, and the stray unread Christie. A librarian in Louisville introduced me to the classic series by Patricia Moyes, Maj Sjöwall and Per Wahlöö, Emma Lathen, Sara Woods, and Gervase Fen. “Merry-Go-Round”, a short story in Fen Country, is one of my all-time favorite stories even now.

I stumbled on Richard Stark’s professional thief Parker in graduate school, when I picked up a paperback of Slayground. The concept of the anti-hero was new to me and I was enthralled. Seldom do I remember how I discovered a series but that one was so utterly unlike anything else I had read that the memory has stayed with me.

I was a huge fan of Elizabeth Linington’s police procedurals. My mother first discovered the Luis Mendoza series through that Halloweenish entry, Coffin Corner, about an indigent family who took a creative approach to avoiding burial expenses and passed it on to me. I was elated to learn that Linington wrote similar procedurals under other names and I carefully acquired every title in each series, which I still have. Sadly, these books did not stand the test of time. Linington recreated the Los Angeles of the 1970s so vividly that it is hard to read past the anachronisms to the sharp plots and careful characterization.

Unlike Linington, Richard Lockridge created an almost timeless character in Merton Heimrich, a New York State police detective whose stories could have taken place any time in last half of the twentieth century. I preferred reading about Lt. Heimrich to Lockridge’s better known characters, Pam and Jerry North. The same is true of John Creasey, who wrote prolifically under many names, but I liked his Commander Gideon of Scotland Yard’s Criminal Investigation Division the most.

Of course Sharon McCone, Kinsey Milhone, Carlotta Carlyle, and their sisters began to appear in the 1980s and my attention was diverted to them. I was delighted by Charlotte MacLeod’s gently ditzy stories with clever plots that materialized about the same time.

I suppose the real question is not what I was reading before the onslaught of historical mysteries, but what happened around 1990 to suddenly make historical mysteries so popular?

Any ideas of why 1990 is the turning point for historical mysteries?

Aubrey Hamilton