AND NOW FOR AN UPDATE. OF SORTS

Every six months or so I like to let you know what's going on. 🤪

Let's see... My last post was at the end of the Advent Calendar. So...

Well, we started a new year. How's that working out for you? 

The last wide release I had was Ghosted. JF Harding is doing the audiobook on that one, which should be finished by the end this month. Fingers crossed. 

I started The 12.2 Per-Cent Solution, but stalled. I'll be honest, I just didn't have the heart for a funny book. No laughs in me. And if you've been following along, you know why. It's been a hellacious couple of years. 

However, I seem to have finally shaken the rain clouds off, so this month I'll be back to work on The 12.2 Per-Cent Solution. No preorders. No promises. But it's next on the list as far as wide releases.

I have been writing, of course, and I do have a new book out. Well, available for preorder: Kill Your Darlings  (The preorder is listed everywhere except Google, but I haven't had a chance to update my website or do a universal link--sorry about that! I'll try to update shortly)

At this mystery conference, murder is more than just another plot twist...

Nobody likes conferences, but they’re part of the job.

Millbrook House senior editor Keiran Chandler has spent years curating the best voices in crime lit, but when an unsolicited manuscript is handed to him at the Noir at the Shore mystery conference, truth collides with fiction. I Know What You Did is more than just another slush pile submission—it’s a direct threat. 

U.N. Owen seems to know what really happened in Steeple Hill all those years ago. Who is Owen? How does he know these things? Clearly the mysterious author is after more than a book deal. But what? 

With a potentially career-ending publishing merger on the horizon, the end of his affair with bestselling author and former homicide detective Finn Scott, and not so subtle threats from someone in his past, Keiran has a lot bigger problems than coming up with something witty to say on discussion panels. 

The book is being released on the 27th of this month. It's already been delivered to Patreon subscribers so, yes, it's coming out on schedule. It will also be available in print. And Kale Williams has been contracted to do the audio (which I'm so excited about -- it's been WAY too long since we've worked together!) 

OH. SALES. 

So there are several sales going on right now that I should mention: At B&N I've got a BOGO (Buy One Get One free) for three of my series: The Adrien English Mysteries, Secrets and Scrabble, and Holmes & Moriarity. If you've wanted to try one of my series--or fill in the blanks of your collection--this is a pretty good opportunity. 

Also the Holmes & Moriarity series has been knocked down to $2.99 each on Amazon. Maybe the AE series as well? And Murder in Pastel is also $2.99 (when you read Kill Your Darlings, you'll understand.) Actually, MIP is also $2.99 on B&N.

Also, after consulting with the patrons, I've decided to make a couple of exclusives--the Secrets and Scrabble Jack POV novellas (in ebook and audio)-- available through Fourthwall. The compromise is that you pay more than you would if I were to make these wide (which I don't plan to do) BUT pay less than if you actually subscribed to Patreon. 

The next wide release after The 12.2 Per-Cent Solution will be The Medicine Man Murders (Art of Murder 6). Again, life is just too unpredictable right now to commit to preorders or promises. But that is a book that will absolutely happen. (I mean, unless something untoward happens to me.) 

Let's see. What else? It's swimming weather and we're out in the pool almost every evening. The hummingbirds are buzzing around demanding greater portions of nectar and I've got about 15 plants I need to re-pot STAT. We cleaned out our library and donated 16 boxes of books to our local library. And in about two weeks our dear friends from Finland will be arriving.  

I hope you're well. I hope you're happy and healthy and creative (or just doing what you love).

Talk to you soon--or in six months (whichever comes first) 😄

Aaaaaaaand we're off!!!

 

Hm. Maybe I should have added AND RUNNING! :-D 

But yes, it's a whole new year, a whole new world, and I am feeling alarmingly hopeful. 

But seriously, I do feel different. Of course part of that is the clear mandate of both the presidential election and the Georgia runoff. Part of it is (and this is kind of sad) I'm just getting used to living in a pandemic and a country teetering on the brink of slipping into Fascism. 

Hey. So it's true. You really CAN get used to anything.

I have a lot planned for this year. And I'll be the first to admit that I may (as is my wont) be overly optimistic about what I can achieve in these twelve tiny months. I'm not immune to what happens in the world around me. Like most of the country--most of the world--I was glued to my television set last week while we watched insurrection happening in real time. Needless to say, not a lot of writing happened. Impeachment? Another distraction. Necessary, sure. But not good for the creative process.

So I'm excited and energized and I'm setting stretch goals for myself. Which means I might be shooting for the moon. We'll see. 

YES, I REGRET SETTING UP ALL THOSE PREORDERS. BUT THEY'RE UP AND THERE'S NO GOING BACK. OKAY? I KNOW. I ALREADY KNOW.

So first up is Mystery at the Masquerade. Why the switcheroo with BB&S? I felt I needed something easy and light to begin with. I mean, I haven't really written--other than managing to complete one little short story--in almost a year (ten months) so I felt like I needed an easy win before I tackled Bell, Book and Scandal. 

If I can hit both of those targets, I'll feel a lot more confident of tackling the rest of the year. If I slip on either of those, well, I still might pull manage to pull off most of the year, but it's going to be more slippery, more fraught with peril. 

Usually at this point I'd list what I have in mind for the year, but like I said, I'm optimistic but also cautious. The last couple of years have been BRUTAL on my productivity and ability to hit deadlines. So we'll see. 

Take this list as more of a My Publishing Hopes and Dreams than my hard and fast schedule for the year. 

Mystery at the Masquerade

Bell, Book and Scandal

Scandal at the Salty Dog

Body at Buccaneer Bay

The 12.2% Per-Cent Solution

Murder is Served

The Movie-Town Murders

Mr. and Mrs. Murder 

Anyway, that's it. That's the plan. Let's hope life cooperates this year. 

 

Advent Calendar Day 21

 

Happy Solstice!

I'm delighted to share with you this last minute surprise offering from Haldis. I'm not going to spoil this by telling you anything more than that (but I think it's so funny and charming AND WHEN YOU THINK ABOUT IT, IT MAKES PERFECT SENSE). ;-D

Mr. Pinkerton looked back over his shoulder to Miss Butterwith standing at the door to their cozy cottage.

“You go ahead, Mr. Pinkerton,” said Miss Butterwith. “I’m sure you will have a much nicer time with Pyewacket, then at my Orchid Society meeting. I’ll be fine for one evening. I promise not to find any dead bodies without you.” She waved cheerily to Mr. Pinkerton.

Mr. Pinkerton turned forward and walked through the falling snow, wondering idly if Miss Butterwith ever found bodies that weren’t dead. He joined Pyewacket where he waited by the swirling portal, and together they stepped through to a dark hallway.  

Mr. Pinkerton followed as Pyewacket led the way down a set of stairs, the bannister decorated with fresh pine garlands, to the living room below, lit only by the fire in the hearth and the white, twinkling lights of the tree in the corner. It was very warm and comfortable, with soft holiday music playing, and Mr. Pinkerton tried to remember every little detail so he could share it with Miss Butterwith when he returned home.

As they headed for the rug in front of the fire, Pyewacket pointed out his two people on the couch: John, sitting on the couch, and Cosmo, who was lying on the couch with his head on John’s lap. Well, Pyewacket clarified, Cosmo was his. John apparently belonged to Cosmo. Pyewacket had told Mr. Pinkerton earlier that if they wanted the room to themselves, all they had to do was start staring at John. He wasn’t a cat person. But Cosmo liked him, so Pye was willing to tolerate him. For a time.

Both men were reading, but Cosmo turned his head, noticing Pyewacket’s entrance, and sat up when he saw Mr. Pinkerton.

“Hey, Pye. Who’s your friend?”

“Meow”, answered Pyewacket.

“Meow”, greeted Mr. Pinkerton.

“Ah, British,” said Cosmo. “It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Pinkerton.”

“Uh,” John whispered to Cosmo. “How do you know his name is Mr. Pinkerton? And that he’s British?”

“The accent,” answered Cosmo. “And he said his name was Mr. Pinkerton.”

“Is he like yours?” John continued to whisper, as if Mr. Pinkerton and Pyewacket wouldn’t be able to hear him. “Does he have a witch?”

“Meow”, answered Mr. Pinkerton.

“Oh yes, I see,” acknowledged Cosmo. “Botanist,” he whispered to John.

John seemed to think about that for a moment, shook his head, leaned back into the couch, and lifted his book to continue reading, while mumbling something about witches and botanists.

Cosmo smiled fondly at him before settling himself back in his original position, also lifting his own book to continue reading.

Mr. Pinkerton stretched out with Pyewacket in front of the fire, Pyewacket rolling over onto his back. He was such a little flirt. Mr. Pinkerton thought about making him wait, maybe contemplate the flames for a bit, but in the end, he decided he did not want to wait, and snuggled in close to Pyewacket, enjoying the warmth and the music and the quiet companionship.

              

Mr. Pinkerton was awoken from a light doze by a snort from the couch. He was pretty sure it came from Cosmo, who was shaking his head and looking with disbelief at his book.

               “I don’t know why you’re even reading that,” muttered John, without lowering his own book.

               “Jinx wanted to know if the witches were accurately depicted,” answered Cosmo.

               “I take it they’re not.”

               “Yeah, no, it’s the boyfriend. He’s a shifter, and a…”

               “Shifter?” asked John.

               “Yeah. And a homicide detective and he is going on about his wolf said this, or his wolf thought that, or howled or whatever. Like it’s a separate identity, or he’s got multiple personality disorder or something. And like ten paged ago he was just explaining to his witch girlfriend,” he grinned up at John. “Who happens to also be an amateur sleuth because trouble always seems to find her.” He batted his eyelashes up at John. John scowled. “Anyway, the good detective was just saying how he was the exact same whatever shape he was in, so same personality, same identity, right?”

               “He’s a werewolf?”

               “Yeah.”

               “Why didn’t you just say werewolf, then?”

               “That’s not very inclusive. What about tigers, or foxes, or penguins?”

               Mr. Pinkerton had not thought about penguin shifters before. However, there was a constable up in Ingleby Barwick that was said to be a platypus.

               “Penguins? You know what, never mind.” John went back to reading his book for a moment. “It’s probably a euphemism.”

               “What is? Oh, yeah, ‘his wolf’. Cosmo snorted a laugh. “Of course it is.”

               John whacked him with his book.

               “Hey,” Cosmo protested, but continued laughing.

               They went back to their reading.

               Pyewacket was purring next to Mr. Pinkerton, kneading his paws into Mr. Pinkerton’s fur. It was very soothing. And very…. other things. Mr. Pinkerton thought it was about time to send the two humans elsewhere. Time to start their staring campaign.

It took about a minute and a half.

               “Now I have two cats staring at me,” muttered John.

               “You’re worth staring at,” Cosmo replied.

               “Why don’t we call it a night?” said John.

               “But,” answered Cosmo. “They just found an undead body.”

               Mr. Pinkerton perked up at these words. So, there were other bodies that weren’t dead bodies.

               “All the more reason. And I can assure you that my little wolf has a lot more to offer than their undead body,” John said

               “Little wolf?” Cosmo had lowered his book and was grinning up at John. “Big bad wolf, I’d

say”

               “If that gets you upstairs quicker.” John stood up, dislodging Cosmo, and then held out his hand to help him up. “Although, if you bring up Little Red Riding Hood, all bets are off,” John practically growled as he pulled Cosmo up the stairs.

               “Nice to meet you, Mr. Pinkerton,” Cosmo called over his shoulder as he trailed John. And then they disappeared upstairs.

               Mr. Pinkerton turned to Pyewacket. Pyrwacket stared back. They were alone. He touched his nose to Pyewacket’s.

               Merry Christmas, Pyewacket.

               Merry Christmas, Mr. Pinkerton.

              

              

 

              

                

              

 

CHRISTMAS CODA 59

 

Christopher Holmes and JX Moriarity

(NOTE: this coda takes place in a world without COVID19)

 

“So what you’re saying is you don’t want to spend Christmas with my family.”

“I didn’t say that,” I protested.

J.X. said darkly, “It’s what you don’t say.”

Clearly this was not going to be the quick and cheerful conversation I’d (foolishly) anticipated when J.X. strolled into my office, coffee mug in hand, flannel shirt distractingly unbuttoned. I took my glasses off, rolled my chair back a few inches.

“That’s not fair.”

Maybe J.X. agreed—he was nothing if not fair-minded—because he said, “Okay, but you’re not making it easy for me to figure out what you do want to do for the holidays.”

“What’s the hurry here? Christmas is nearly a month away.”

“Kit, it’s less than two weeks. People need to make plans. We need to make plans.”

I sighed--more loudly than I’d intended.

“You said you don’t want to spend Christmas with your family, and you clearly don’t want to spend the day with mine—”

“Again. Not what I said.” I couldn’t help adding, “Anyway, we spent last year with your family.”

J.X. began to splutter. “You left midway through Christmas day and flew back to LA.”

“Well, yes, but that’s not the point. The point is we—”

“That is entirely the point,” J.X. interrupted. He wasn’t yelling, exactly, but he was definitely getting irritated, despite his obvious good intentions. And on that topic, is there anything more annoying than someone showing how hard they’re trying to be patient with you?

I snapped, “Look, if it means that much to you, we’ll spend Christmas with your family. Again.”

Which I freely admit was not conducive to peace on earth and goodwill to men. 

But it wasn’t just peevishness on my part. The problem is, when you marry someone who loves his kinfolk as much as J.X. does, you marry the whole family—and J.X.’s family was not all that keen on me or our impending nuptials. I mean, I did try to get along with them. I really did. And we had made some headway over the past months, but…it was my Christmas too.

And—this is not fair, I agree—I couldn’t help feeling like J.X. ought to instinctively understand that and be maybe a little more sensitive to my feelings. It’s not like I haven’t expressed them often enough.

Maybe too often.

J.X. flushed. His dark eyes got sparkly with emotion, mostly temper. “Oh no, you don’t,” he said. “One martyr on Christmas day is enough.”

To which I replied, “It’ll be three, won’t it? Counting your mother.”

Yeah, I know.

Bad habits, bad relationship habits, take time to break. I don’t know why I instantly reverted back to how I used to argue with David. Maybe the same reason J.X. turned without a word and walked from the room—a tactic he knew drove me crazy.

 

I blame it on Christmas.

That viral load of emotion and expectation that comes with the holidays—especially for new couples—it makes everyone nuts.

Not that J.X. and I were a new couple, exactly, but we were still learning how to be together, and this was our first real Christmas now that we’d pledged our troth. Or pledged to pledge our troth. The wedding was still six months away.

Which brought up a whole ‘nother set of emotions and expectations: this impending wedding of ours. Because I knew exactly what would happen on Christmas. We’d sit around that long formal table in the Moriaritys’ tastefully decked out dining room, and someone would, for the sake of politeness, ask J.X. how the wedding plans were coming, and the floodgates would open, and Mr. Moriarity’s eyes would glaze over and Nina would shrink smaller and smaller in her chair, and Mrs. Moriarity’s smile would get tighter and tighter, and I would start praying for an earthquake. Something in an 8.5 or higher.

Seriously, though, I just couldn’t take the idea of another excruciating family dinner, especially this particular one which would be topped off by another agonizing gift exchanges. How many ties did those people think I needed? Were they hoping I'd take the hint and hang myself? Why couldn’t J.X. see this from my point of view?

For a few minutes, I brooded over his insensitivity, pecking out the occasional word on my computer and pretending I could still concentrate on Miss Butterwith’s ongoing investigation, while I relived the last few minutes of the first argument we’d had in months.

I mean, J.X. was right. At best, I only deserved partial credit for last year. And I had vetoed the idea of Christmas with my parents, so how fair was it to nix spending the holiday with his? What did I want? To spend the day together? Alone?

Well, yes. That was exactly what I wanted.

But was that even allowed?

Probably not.

Anyway. Wasn’t this was supposed to be the Season of Love? Maybe I could stop thinking of myself for a little while and could try showing a little of that love to the man who mattered most to me in all the world.

 

I barreled out of my office straight into J.X., who staggered back a foot or two.

“Ouch.”

“Sorry,” I said. “And sorry for earlier. I’m being a jerk. I love you and we’ll do whatever you want for Christmas. So long as we’re together, what does it matter?”

I only hoped Santa was taking note of what a really good boy I was.

I'm not sure J.X. heard me. He waved what appeared to be a glossy brochure in front of my face.

“Okay. What about Pacific Grove?” he demanded.

“I didn’t have anything to do with that. Whatever it was. I have an alibi. I'm sure.”

He held up the brochure and read aloud, “Pacific Grove’s unique coastal take on holiday romance includes festive lights, picturesque Victorian architecture, a brisk ocean wind, and the sound of waves crashing against the rocky shore. A host of holiday events evoke memories of Christmases past, kicking off with the annual Holiday Parade of Lights and a night of caroling.”

“That sounds…really nice.”

It sounded like a Hallmark movie, frankly. Not that there’s anything wrong with that.

“I can book us into the Seven Gables Inn right now. Just say the word.”

Now it sounded less like a Hallmark movie and more like a soon-to-be crime scene. I could already envision the whole cast of sinister guests.

“Uh…”

J.X. said, “Wine and cheese in the afternoon, milk and cookies in the evening.”

“I appreciate your appeal to my love of the finer things—” 

“Stained glass windows, crystal chandeliers, Persian rugs, fine linens, and every room has a stunning view of the coast. The lighthouse is just a few minutes' walk.”

“That sounds pretty darned charming,” I said. “Are you really saying you want to spend Christmas alone? Because I’m more than happy to--”

J.X. smiled and, like the Grinch, I felt my heart expand about three sizes. “I won’t be alone, will I? I’ll be spending Christmas with you, and I can’t think of anything I want more than that.”

I was torn between hope and doubt. “Really? You really don’t mind--”

“Really.”

I sighed. “Now I feel totally guilty.”

“You’ll get over it.” J.X. laughed at my glare, tossed the brochure aside and pulled me into his arms. “But if you would like to make it up to me, I have one or two ideas…”

 

 

 

KINDLE COUNT DOWN DEALS THIS MONTH

 

At the end of this month, most of my titles will be back in wide distribution, so if you've been aggravated by so many series being exclusive to Kindle Unlimited, good news. 

But before I yank everything, I'm doing a bunch of Kindle Countdown Deals, starting today.

Here's what is currently on sale through Amazon.com.

KINDLE COUNTDOWN DEALS

THE HOLMES AND MORIARITY SERIES

Somebody Killed His Editor:

November 13, 2020 at 8:00 AM (PST) $0.99

November 15, 2020 at 4:00 AM (PST) $1.99

All She Wrote:

November 13, 2020 at 8:00 AM (PST) $1.99

November 14, 2020 at 1:00 PM (PST) 29h $2.99

November 15, 2020 at 6:00 PM (PST) 30h $3.99

Boy With the Painful Tattoo:

November 13, 2020 at 8:00 AM (PST) 29h $2.99

November 14, 2020 at 1:00 PM (PST) 29h $3.99

November 15, 2020 at 6:00 PM (PST) 30h $4.99

In Other Words...Murder:

November 13, 2020 at 8:00 AM (PST) 29h $2.99

November 14, 2020 at 1:00 PM (PST) 29h $3.99

November 15, 2020 at 6:00 PM (PST) 30h $4.99

SHORT STORIES VOLUME 1

November 13, 2020 at 8:00 AM (PST) 29h $0.99

November 14, 2020 at 1:00 PM (PST) 29h $3.99 

November 15, 2020 at 6:00 PM (PST) 30h $6.99 

THE DANGEROUS GROUND BOX SET

November 16, 2020 at 8:00 AM (PST) $2.99

November 18, 2020 at 5:00 AM (PST) $4.99

November 20, 2020 at 2:00 AM (PST) $6.99

There are many more sales coming this month, so don't forget to check back! 

Tying Up the Loose Ends

This is going to be a sort-of end-of-the-year round-up because tomorrow I Buried a Witch goes live and on Sunday the annual Advent Calendar begins.

2019 was...an interesting year. A lot of things changed. Some of those changes had to do with the whole publishing industry and some of the changes had to do with what's happening with me personally. And some of the changes had to do with how I feel about those other changes. If that makes sense.

From a publishing perspective, a challenging business has gotten even more challenging. But some of the things I put into motion in 2018 are beginning to pan out. My print sales through IngramSpark are now higher than my Amazon print sales! That's cool--and what's even cooler is my books are now available for order in libraries and bookstores. That's a win. Also about a third of my audio backlist is now wide. I can't say that the sales rival Audible :-D but the sales are climbing, so that's good. That's the direction it needs to go. I just have to bite the bullet and put some of my series wide too.

I also resigned myself to the fact that Kindle Unlimited is a reality of writing life, and I'm cutting my nose off to spite my face if I refuse to participate in any way. So in addition to my foreign translations, I've begun rotating older titles in and out of KU. For a time I had the Dangerous Ground series, the Holmes and Moriarity series, the I Spy books, and some assorted standalones in KU. Those will all be pulled by December 10th and the only things still in KU will be Man Oh Man and the two collections of Christmas codas.

Financially? Well, the way it works now is most of my earnings come right at the start with preorders. That's a big chunk of change because my preorders remain high. And that's fortunate because it's very hard for anyone to stick on that bestseller list for long given the insane rate of turnover due to new titles. Most readers are shopping off the best-sellers list, and if they don't see your book on those first few pages, they're not going to keep scrolling--unless they're specifically searching for you. And now days there's just so much to read. So I usually have a good first month and then it's done. So in order to keep a few things on the lists so that I don't get completely forgotten, I made the decision to use KU when and where it makes sense.

The books I've pulled out will be updated and reformatted--and two of the series will get brand new
covers! LC Chase redesigned the Holmes and Moriarity series. I think these covers are SO fresh and SO fun--even though I loved those old covers so much. And then the Dangerous Ground series is getting a facelift too. Ron Perry at Ron Perry Graphic Design redid that series. Aren't these great?? I plan on a lot of repackaging my backlist next year.

I still haven't tried putting anything new straight into KU, but I'm trying something (at least I think I am--unless I chicken out) in January. I'm working on a new series--a classic cozy mystery series but with gay characters. I envision these as fun, fast light reads--I mean, that is the point of a cozy mystery. Off-screen violence, off-screen sex, hopefully funny, hopefully comforting, and a bit of slow-burn romance...just classic cozy mysteries but with a gay protagonist. Now the prevailing thought is that M/M readers will not be interested in such a series because of the no on-screen sex rule (yeah, it's a rule, not a guideline), and maybe that's true now. It didn't use to be but we do have an increasingly different readership for M/M fiction.

But as we all know--and to the frustration of some of you--I like experimenting, I like trying new things. It keeps the writing fresh for me--which pays off for all my readers, even the readers who don't like the experiments.

Oh, but to return to my point, the new series, Secrets and Scrabble, will be wide for the period of preorders (at a reduced price) and then it will go into Kindle Unlimited. I'm announcing this ahead of time so that everyone has time to buy it wide. I'm trying to minimize the frustration for all of us. If you don't do Kindle or if you're a re-reader, buy the book during the presale period so you can take advantage of the sale price. Having said that, they're not up for sale yet. :-D TBA

What else?

Blind Side (also not yet listed on Amazon) comes out in December. The sixth novella will complete the series. Also in December, Hide and Seek begins. That novel is a Patreon exclusive--and will probably remain so for some time (although I'm not sure about print--and I will probably put the audio wide). You can find out more about Hide and Seek on the Works in Progress section of my website.

This was one of my most productive years in a while, and I'm hoping that trend continues. I plan on it continuing--in fact, I plan on stepping up my productivity--but life is a precarious business, so you never can tell. I'm still thinking over the schedule, so I won't go into detail now (seeing that I don't have the details).

Hey, there's still PLENTY of room in the Advent Calendar if you'd like to contribute art or a story or whatever!  

I'm always interested in your thoughts. And I like to know what you're enjoying and what other authors are doing that you wish I'd consider doing. I've gotten some of my best ideas from listening to you guys! 

Advent Calendar Day 14

Happy Friday!

Whether you plan on spending the weekend working, holiday shopping or just enjoying the general merriment of the season, we're giving you a cheery little send off with another fictional charmer from Haldis.

Enjoy!

Knit One, Murder One, Miss Butterwith

 

Haldis

“Oh hollyhocks!”, swore Miss Butterwith with the force and vehemence she usually reserved for indiscriminate herbicides. It was enough to make Mr. Pinkerton abandon his nap and investigate the potential disaster.

               “Meow”, inquired Mr. Pinkerton as he left his cozy perch to join Miss Butterwith.

               “I can tell you the genus and species of every single plant in our garden, Mr. Pinkerton, but I can not for the life of me figure out how to purl. I think I’ve managed knit, but purl…. look at this, Mr. Pinkerton.” She pointed out an illustration in the book on the little table beside her chair. “And now this.” She held up the tangle of multicoloured Christmas yarn hanging from her knitting needles, silver and gold threads appearing to mock in their cheerfulness. “They’re are supposed to look the same!”

               Mr. Pinkerton jumped lightly up on to the table and looked at the picture. Then he turned his attention to the knitting. The only resemblance that he could see was the inclusion of both knitting needles and yarn. That was the end of any similarities.

               “Meow”, offered Mr. Pinkerton, his best attempt at a combination of both sympathy and encouragement. Though probably a bit heavier on the sympathy.

               “Yes, you’re probably right, Mr. Pinkerton. I don’t know what possessed me to come up with idea to knit matching jumpers for Inspector Appleby and Geoffrey for Christmas.” Miss Butterwith leaned over to whisper conspiratorially into Mr. Pinkerton’s ear, “Honestly though, they would have looked so cute together.” 

               Honestly, if you asked Mr. Pinkerton, he could not picture the gruff Inspector Appleby in anything in silver and gold cheer whether matching Geoffrey or not. Although, Inspector Appleby had loosened up a bit since he started seeing Geoffrey, so maybe Miss Butterwith was right. But probably not.

            

   “I really hate to give up on anything, Mr. Pinkerton. Dear me, I don’t know if this is supposed to…. oh, my….” Miss Butterwith was pulling at a loop near the beginning of her work and the whole piece was starting to unravel. “I do believe this might be the death of it, Mr. Pinkerton.”

               “Meow,” agreed Mr. Pinkerton.

               “Well, you also know how I also hate to waste anything.” She held up the ball of yarn and then tossed it across the floor.  “It’s all yours. Happy Christmas Mr. Pinkerton!”

               Mr. Pinkerton pounced.

New Release IN OTHER WORDS... MURDER

Either late today or sometime tomorrow** (SEE BELOW!)  In Other Words... Murder goes live.

Just finishing up the bits and bobs of edits and all the front and back matter -- and then formatting. This has been quite the month. But anyway, the book is pretty much done and now it's just a matter of getting it up.

It's available for preorders through Amazon, iBooks, and maybe Smashwords? (I don't think Smashwords actually does preorders--they just act as a funnel for preorders at other sites?)

BLURB:

Mystery author and sometimes amateur sleuth Christopher Holmes is now happily (all things being relative) engaged to be married and toying with starting a new career as a true-crime writer when he learns a body has been discovered in the backyard of his former home.

Then, to complicate matters, Christopher’s ex turns up out of the blue, suggesting the body may belong to Christopher’s former personal assistant.

It’s life as usual at Chez Holmes. In other words… Murder.

EXCERPT:

Oddly enough—or maybe not so oddly, because I did have that third drink and then a fourth—it was easier from that moment on. David and I were able to talk about Dicky and even our own past almost like old friends. It probably helped that he was so complimentary. No, not that he was complimentary, because I didn’t trust his compliments, but that he was genuinely bowled over by the change in me. It was funny really. What a difference a good haircut and a few pounds made. Not just to David. To me. Because I was confident in a way I hadn’t been for years.

But then that wasn’t really about new clothes and fancy-schmancy moisturizer. It was about J.X. About the way he made me feel. Valued. Cherished. Loved.

I resolved to call him as soon as I got back to my room. To hell with who was right and who was wrong. I missed him like crazy. And I wanted him to know that.

“I know you don’t want to hear this,” David said suddenly, “but you’re the perfect person to find out what happened to Dicky. You’ve already solved four murders that I know of. And this happened in your own backyard.”

“First of all, I didn’t solve four murders.” It was more like six if you counted secondary and appended victims. “And definitely not on my own. Anyway, are you so sure he’s dead?”

“Yes.” David’s eyes were dark and sad. “I think I knew something was wrong almost from that first day when he never came home. I tried to talk myself out of it. Tried to convince myself he changed his mind, but I knew.”

“Okay, maybe you’re right. It’s alarming that he’s never turned up in all these months. But neither of us has any useful information as to where to even start looking for what could have happened to him.”

“You must have his old résumé and his job application somewhere.”

“Maybe in a box. I might have dumped it all, though.”

“Exactly.” David leaned back in his chair, smiling. “And if something brilliant should occur to you while sorting through those papers, well, it can’t hurt to make a couple of phone calls. Right?”

“Hm. I suppose not.”

He grinned. “Elementary, my dear Holmes!”

I felt a twinge as he said it because that was J.X.’s little joke with me. Then, with an uncomfortable flash, I remembered it had been David’s joke first.

Funny I’d forgotten that.

I glanced at my watch and was surprised to see it was nearly ten. We’d been drinking and talking in the dining room for over four hours. The dinner crowd had come and gone, and it was back to just the two of us.

I said, “Wow. Look at the time. I should say good night. I’ve got a long drive home tomorrow.”

David looked surprised and disappointed. “Are you sure?”

“Yep. But thanks for dinner.” I rose, and he rose too.

He said, “My pleasure—and I do mean that.”

“Yeah, it was…good.” Good to confront old ghosts, good to let go of the old anger, the old bitterness anyway. Not an event I was in a hurry to repeat, however. More like a rite of passage.

I started to turn away, and David said quickly, urgently, “Christopher.”

I looked my inquiry.

“I owe you an apology. Not just for Dicky, though for Dicky, yes. That was the worst one, I know. But for…all of it. All the times I hurt you. Whatever I felt, whatever you did, you didn’t deserve that.”

I hadn’t expected an apology—or rather, I’d figured this dinner was his apology—so I didn’t know what to say. Especially since I didn’t miss the whatever-you-did comment. 

I finally came up with what I thought was a gracious, “It takes two people to ruin a relationship.” 

Which actually isn’t true. One determined and resourceful person can do it all by himself.

David offered another of his stock smiles. “True. Well, then…” He came around the table to hug me. I think I stood there about as responsive as one of those blank-faced department-store mannequins they prefer these days.

He whispered into my ear, “What about one last time? For old times’ sake.”

I drew back. “What about—huh?”

His smile grew rueful. “You know. We never got to say goodbye.”

“Yeah, we did. I gave you Dicky as a going-away present.”

He leaned in, still smiling, charming and purposeful. His breath was warm against my face. “No, I mean really say goodbye.”

“I think get-the-hell-out-of-my-life is really saying goodbye.”

I’m not sure he even heard me. “You have to admit, the sex was always good between us. Really good.”

Yeeeeaah. About that. 

And even if sex with J.X. had been the worst ever, I still loved him too much to ever think of hurting him the way I’d been hurt. Not in a million years.

I laughed, but not unkindly, not mockingly. “Man, you really are incorrigible,” I said.

David heard me that time. His shoulders slumped, and he sighed. “Yeah. I am. But I mean, we were married.”

“It was a commitment ceremony.”

“Same thing. To me, anyway.”

Did he really not see the irony? I said, “Uh…yeah. Okay. Your point is?”

“We’re allowed to have goodbye-forever sex.”

“I’m sure we had it, we just didn’t notice it at the time.”

He scrutinized my face. “I can’t tell when you’re laughing. Was that your final no or—?”

I was still laughing. “That was final.”

“Maybe one more drink would help?”

“One more drink and I’ll pass out. Besides, these people want to go home.” I nodded at the waitress and bartender, who were watching us with weary wariness.

David gave another of those heavy sighs. “All right. Have it your way.”

We bade farewell to the relieved-looking staff and walked out to the lobby.

At the elevators, I turned to him and said, “Good night, David. Thanks again for dinner.”

“You’re sure you don’t want to—?”

“I’m sure.”

“Absolutely, positively—?”

I said firmly, “’Night, David.”

I stepped into the elevator, punched the button for the third floor. I nodded cordially as the doors closed on David’s glum expression.

I chuckled quietly to myself as I strolled down the brightly lit hall and let myself into my room. I flipped on the lights and moved to pull the drapes across the windows.

I was buzzed but not drunk, and I felt pleasantly…pleasant. I’d have a leisurely hot shower, get in bed, and phone J.X. If all went well, we could maybe even manage a little phone sex. Phone sex with J.X. was still better than live and in-person sex with anybody else.

These agreeable plans evaporated at the tentative knock on my door.

I stopped smiling.

I admit being propositioned by David—urgently propositioned at that—had been good for my ego, but this was not flattering or amusing. Jesus Christ. He couldn’t be that desperate to get laid.

I yanked open the door, prepared to tell him that very thing.

But it was not David standing in the garishly bright hallway. 

Or maybe it wasn’t the hall that was garishly bright. Maybe it was the green-haired guy wearing whiteface and a blue polka-dot clown suit.

 The clown said nothing.

He gazed at me with his sad clown face, complete with painted downturned mouth and eye drips. His costume was one of those ruffled, old-fashioned things—I forget what they call them—and he was holding a single red heart-shaped balloon.

I stared silently back at him. I was thinking—and at this time the defense wishes to call upon the four G&Ts, two of which had occurred on an empty stomach—that maybe J.X. had sent some kind of weird floral-delivery apology. Except I did not see any flowers and J.X. did not like clowns.

I transferred my gaze from the clown’s black eyes to his red balloon. I said, “Where are the other ninety-eight?”

The clown’s blue-gloved hand released the string of the balloon, which went sailing to the ceiling, bouncing against it with an eerie whispering sound.




**It's so long since I've done preorders at Amazon I didn't realize I couldn't release immediately. SO the book goes live Tuesday July 17 at Amazon. It's already live at Kobo and B&N. Smashwords actually pushed the book back three days because it turns out their deadline also includes their own approval time, which pushed it back to July 23 there and iBooks. 

IN OTHER WORDS...MURDER playlist

Happy June!

I don't know about you, but May was a bit of a weird month for me. There were just a lot of...things that happened. Normal but unpredictable things. Family health crises, family job crises...the kind of stuff that pops up eventually in every life, but can't really be planned for. Or at least, I have trouble doing that kind of planning--probably because I don't like to, well, open the door to dark possibility. (I think that's called hiding your head in the sand, but whatever.)

Anyway, it was a trying month, and that's a fact. But now it's June and summer is just about here, and on we go, one foot in front of the other, and little by little we make progress.

Anyway, I thought I'd share the playlist for IN OTHER WORDS...MURDER. I don't think it contains spoilers, but maybe it does.

Anyway, I think of it as my easy, breezy murder music. ;-)

Real Love, Baby - Father John Misty

Lonely Boy - The Black Keys 

Better Together - Jack Johnson 

I'm Only Joking - Kongos 

Love Runs Out - OneRepublic

I'm Yours - The Script 

Come With Me Now - Kongos 

I Got You - Jack Johnson

Howlin' for You - The Black Keys 

Lovely Day - Bill Withers 

Here's What's Next...

Moving right along... :-D

So two weeks ago (it seems like a lifetime) my dad wound up in the ER with a very slowwwww and erratic heartbeat. He's 87 and in pretty good health, still sharp as a poniard...but clearly not immortal. Much angst and drama commenced, but the long and short of it is he now has a brand new pacemaker and is recovering at home.

That's the good news, and really all things considered, there is no bad news, but I did not do a lot of writing during that time. As in none. It's just really difficult to write funny, wacky stories when you're worried and anxious and not sure what's happening.

Anyway, I'm back to work now on In Other Words... Murder. Yep, it's going to be late. We're now looking at the end of June.  And after that comes The Ghost Had an Early Check-out. 

While I'm not working as quickly as I'd hoped, I am working and producing more steadily than last year, and that's the other good news.

And here's the proof of life (just keep in mind this is rough, rough, rough):

Chapter One

“That’s one word,” J.X. said.

“Hm?” I was studying the colorful travel brochures littering my lap and the raw silk ivory comforter. Walk in the footsteps of the Colosseum’s ancient gladiators, cruise canals in a golden gondola and live La Dolce Vita! read the cover of the brochure I held. I could practically feel the blue of the Roman sky beneath my fingertips.

There was a bewildering array of options. Everything from private guided tours with personally tailored itineraries to culturally themed coach tours.  We could do an eight-day Adriatic cruise or a fourteen-day grand tour by rail.

The only option not available to me was staying home.

“Kill. Slang. Three words,” J.X. said. “First word starts with ‘D’.”

It was eleven o’clock on a Friday night in late October and we were cozily tucked up in our master bedroom at 321 Cherry Lane. J.X. was doing the San Francisco Examiner crossword and I was figuring out our spring vacation plans. It really doesn’t get much more domesticated than that.

“Do away with,” I replied absently.

He was silent as his pencil scratched on paper. He made a disgusted sound. “You’re right. How’d I miss that one?”

I glanced at him. “Bad clues. ‘Do away with’ isn’t slang. It’s a phrasal verb.”

“Right?”

He regarded me for a moment, then nodded at the scattered brochures. “What do you think? What looks good to you?”

“I don’t know. They’re all pretty expensive.”

“Money is no object.”

I snorted. “It might not be the object, but it should be a consideration.”

He got that dark-eyed earnest look he always wore when applying the thumbscrews. “I want to do this for you, Kit. I don’t care about the money. I want us to have this. We’ve never gone away on vacation together.”

“Yeah, I know. Possibly averting an international incident.”

His mouth quirked, but he said coaxingly, “Think about it. You and me. Hot, naked sex in a gondola.”

I gave him a look of horror. “They have gondoliers, you know!”

He laughed. “Okay, then how about a gondola ride at sunset and candlelight dinner on the terrace of our private villa--followed by hot, naked sex beneath the stars?”

I cleared my throat.

“We could explore Rome’s catacombs—or just visit a few museums and galleries. We could see the Pantheon and the Colosseum. We could go to Florence and see the Ponte Vecchio. Or spend a couple of days swimming with dolphins off the Isle of Capri.”

Despite the fact that I don’t like to travel—hate to travel—a lot of that did sound kind of appealing. I said, “Private villa, huh?”

“Whatever you want, Kit.” He was suddenly serious, gaze solemn, the line of his mouth soft. Such a romantic guy. Especially for an ex-cop. Well, really, for anyone.

“It sounds…nice,” I admitted. It sounded better than nice. Maybe even kind of lovely.

His smile was very white in the lamplight. He tossed the newspaper and pencil aside and drew me into his arms. We fell back against the mattress. The brochures whispered and crackled beneath us as his mouth found mine. He kissed me deeply, sweetly, whispered, “Maybe we could make it a honeymoon…”

My eyes popped open.

Before I could reply—not that I had a reply ready—the bedroom door pushed wide and a small voice said, “Uncle Julie?”

J.X. sat up. “Hey, honey.” He sounded only the tiniest bit flustered, plus got bonus points for not springing completely off the bed as I had done the first few times this happened. “You’re supposed to knock, remember?”

“I forgot.” Gage said huskily, “I had a bad dream.”

Gage was J.X.’s five-year-old nephew. He was spending the weekend with us, as he did a couple of times a month.

“A bad dream, huh?” J.X. opened his arms and Gage climbed into bed between us, snuggling against him. “We don’t have bad dreams in this house.”

I threw him a look of disbelief. He meant well, but come on. Everybody has nightmares.

“What did you dream?” I asked.

Gage rolled me a sideways look. Over the past four months we’d forged a truce, but he still largely took me on sufferance. Which was okay because, frankly, I’m an acquired taste: best consumed with cream, sugar and, yeah, a generous heaping of sufferance.

“Monsters,” he said tersely.

“Hm.”

“Monsters?” J.X. repeated thoughtfully. “There are no monsters here. This is a monster-free zone.” He gave Gage a little squeeze. “You know what we do to monsters in this house?”

Gage shook his head, his gaze wary.

He was right to be wary because J.X. pretend-growled, “We tickle them,” and pounced.

Gage squealed and the two of them rolled around on the travel brochures, Gage wriggling and kicking—managing to land a few well-aimed blows at me in passing—before finally sitting up and resettling themselves against the pillows bulwarking the headboard.

J.X. winked at me. I shook my head resignedly.

“What you want to think about is all the fun we’re going to have tomorrow when you and me and Uncle Kit—”

“Christopher,” I interjected.

“—Uncle Christopher go to the Halloween Hootenanny.”

Gage and I looked at each other in complete understanding. He knew I did not want to attend this Halloween Horror any more than he wanted me there. He knew, as did I, we neither of us had any choice. It was in these moments we could actually walk a mile or two in the other’s mis-sized shoes.

J.X. continued to extol the ordeals—er, delights—of the day ahead which was scheduled to conclude with the movie Smallfoot and dinner at Giorgio’s Pizzeria. 

“So, no more bad dreams, okay?” J.X. concluded.

“Okay,” Gage said doubtfully. And then, “Can I sleep in here?”

J.X. wavered, but stayed strong. “No, honey. You’re getting too big to bunk in here. There’s not enough room for all three of us. Uncle Christopher and I would fall right out onto the floor!”

 And then the monster that lives under the bed would get us.

But see, I was getting fond of the little imp because I didn’t say it. Gage, however had no doubt who the villain of the piece was. His bleak and beady gaze fell on me.

“What about a night light?” I suggested.

His face brightened.

“Nn.” J.X. grimaced. “I don’t think we want to get in that habit, do we?”

He seemed to be asking Gage--who looked to me like a kid who very much hoped they could maybe get into that habit.

“As habits go,” I began. I remembered that I was technically only an honorary uncle and should be not be debating Gage’s real uncle’s child rearing decisions in front of him. I shrugged. But couldn’t help adding. “It’s a big house and it’s still strange to him. I had a night light when I was his age.”

J.X. frowned. “Did you?”

“Sure.”

 “Night lights can disrupt sleep patterns. Maybe that’s why you have these bouts of insomnia.”

“You know what disrupts sleep patterns? Being scared there’s a monster under your bed or in the closet.”

Gage gulped. J.X. exclaimed, “Kit.”