Advent Calendar Day 9

In keeping with yesterday's lost scene from The Monet Murders, Johanna Ollila contributed today's gorgeous offering.

Advent Calendar Day 8: Missing Scene – The Monet Murders

This is not a coda. Instead, it's a missing scene from The Monet Murders (Book 2 in the Art of Murder series)

**Spoiler alert: this scene takes place after the dramatic events at Camden Castle—and before Jason gets back to Los Angeles.

“Where the hell did you learn to swim like that?” Sam asked. His voice sounded a little thick, a little indistinct. He was slightly stoned from the painkillers, and Jason smiled to himself. It wasn’t often he had Sam at any kind of disadvantage.

“I used to be a lifeguard. Remember?”

“I remember. That wasn’t…that was…” Sam tailed off, wincing. He cautiously touched the neat white bandage on his forehead.

It was about eight in the evening. They were in bed in a motel in Watertown, which sounded more promising than it was. No. Not true. After the afternoon they’d had, having a few quiet minutes with Sam safe and mostly unhurt, was all Jason could ask for—and more than he’d expected. After a cursory examination, Sam had, against medical advice—no surprise there--checked himself out of the hospital. Places to go and bad guys to catch. Although, and this had been a surprise, he had not fought too hard when Jason insisted he not head straight to Cape Vincent to join in the interrogation of Eric Greenleaf.

“Can I get you anything?” Jason asked. Sam looked pale, and lines of pain were etched around his eyes and mouth. All things considered, he looked great. A lot better than he would have had Greenleaf managed to blow his head off.

“Nah,” Sam muttered. “You being here is exactly what I need.”

Okay. That was definitely the pain meds talking. Jason smothered a grin.

Sam, must have heard something in his silence though, because he cocked a bloodshot eye and then put his hand on Jason’s shoulder, drawing him down. Jason settled his head on Sam’s bare chest, closing his eyes and listening to slow, heavy thump of Sam’s heart.

Thank God. Thank God. What if I’d been too slow? What if I hadn’t been able to find him? Thank God.

He said, “I had asthma when I was a kid. The doctors recommended swimming as a way to strengthen my lungs and just, I don’t know, build me up. So from that day on, my parents had me in the water and involved in every possible aquatic activity known to man or fish.” He shrugged. “And I outgrew it. The asthma, I mean. I love the water.”

“Activities known to man or fish, huh?” Sam dipped his head and kissed Jason’s eyebrow.

That was probably a miss, but Jason would take it. He would take every gesture Sam had to offer.

They were silent for a time. Jason thought Sam had probably drifted off again, but Sam said suddenly, “Did I even remember to thank you?”

“For what?”

Sam laughed and Jason realized he’d been close to dozing himself. He chuckled drowsily. “Oh that? You’re welcome. My pleasure.”

He did not say any time. He was afraid that there might be other times. In his heart, he knew there would be. 

Advent Calendar Day 7

BOOO! Er, I mean BRRRR!!!

Or do I?

Happy Holidays! Today I'm giving away a hardcover copy of  Classic Ghost Stories: Spooky Tales to Read at Christmas to one randomly selected lucky reader.  (The book will not be available until after Christmas though, just so you know.)

I don't know about you, but I especially love spooky stories and vintage mysteries around the holidays. There's something peculiarly delightful about that weird blend of cozy and creepy.

To be eligible for this giveaway, share a real life spooky experience with us in the comment section below. It doesn't necessarily have to be your own experience, but you have to have got the story by word-of-mouth. And if it's a eerie story from around the holidays, even better!!!

And in the spirit of sharing spooky stories, here's a link to a three public domain ghost stories which you can read for free. A little something different for you coffee break (just don't walk home from work alone!) ;-)

Count Magnus by M.R. James  

Afterward by Edith Wharton

The Striding Place by Gertrude Atherton

**********

Thank you all for sharing your own intriguing ghostly encounters! Those were really entertaining (and possibly good material for a story or two).

The randomly selected winner of a copy of Classic Ghost Stories: Spooky Tales to Read at Christmas   is David Warner!

Congratulations, David!

Advent Calendar Day 6

Happy Holidays! It's already the 6th! Holy moly (no pun intended). Have you completed your holiday shopping? I am ALMOST finished, and that's kind of a record given the last few years.

Today's offering is especially entertaining. If you're not a member of my Goodreads group, you're probably unaware of the really fun--and absolutely unique--launch parties we have. One of more entertaining "games" is when members create haiku for the stories. They're clever, often funny, and usually right on point.

KC's and Ulrike's lovely gift to you this morning is no different.

Haiku for Petit Morts

by Ulrike and KC 

Slings and Arrows: 

Three pounds of chocolate

Off balance falling in love 

First stern - then tender

Critic's Choice:

Tree blocking the road

Bizarre things at Faust's mansion

Crispin, Rey, beware!

Just Desserts:

Chocolates vengeance filled

Melt against Tug's cheerfulness

Leaving Ridge perplexed

Other Peoples Weddings:

Accused of murder

When taking chocolate hostage

Sheriff Valentine

Sort of Stranger than Fiction:

Rashly spoken words

Extra virgin olive oil

Finally happy

Advent Calendar Day 5

Happy Holidays!

Today we have six winners (yes, I doubled the number) of a signed print copy of IF ONLY IN MY DREAMS. That's the new print collection of my five Christmas-themed novellas (all but one in print for the first time).

Our winners are:
Ingrid
Mini
jcollyer
Linda Nasuta
booksandmore
riverdaughter

Please drop me a line through my website contact page or Facebook or Goodreads with your snail mail address.

And if you didn't get a prezzie this time, don't despair. Santa's little elves have many more giveaways in mind this month.

Meanwhile, this morning's holiday treat is about twenty minutes of vintage B&W holiday shorts.

Advent Calendar Day 4

Happy Holidays!

Today I'm thrilled to bring you an offering of fiction.

Meg Perry, author of the Jamie Brodie mystery series has contributed a wee bit of a story called "Paternity" which crosses the worlds of Jamie Brodie with that of Adrien English. Grab yourself a nice hot cuppa and duck down behind your cubicle for a few enjoyable minutes of holiday cheer.

Paternity

Young Research Library, UCLA

The end of each term in an academic library is an idyllic time...for the librarians. Students are furiously writing final papers and studying for exams, fueled by vast quantities of caffeine and panic. Instructors are buried to their elbows in those papers and exams, up against the university’s deadline for turning in grades, bitching to whomever will listen about how much student writing sucks.

At the library reference desk, however, a sense of peace reigns. The students’ research is done; they couldn’t write those final papers otherwise. Faculty are too busy grading papers to work on their own writing and research.

We librarians still cover our reference shifts, though; right up until the library closes for the holidays. Just in case.

It was December. There were two days left in fall quarter. It was nearing 2:00 when the kid approached the desk. Clinton Kenneally had already come, bestowed upon us his word of the day (levivah, meaning a fried potato pancake served on Hanukkah), and gone. I was scooted back from the desk, my feet propped on the garbage can, reading an advance copy of Oscar Wilde and Classical Antiquity. Beside me, Liz Nguyen was on her phone, in a five-way text conversation with her mom, aunt, and cousins about Christmas dinner.

The kid - young man - that appeared before us seemed to be agitated, yet also came across as oddly defiant. He was older than an undergraduate. He was tall and blond, with wispy facial hair. His deep tan didn’t fit with his overall presentation, which was that of a roadie for an impoverished garage band. He was wearing baggy black pants, a green t-shirt with a peace symbol, a ratty gray hoodie, and John Lennon glasses complete with blue lenses.

He looked vaguely familiar. That wasn’t surprising. If he was a UCLA student, he’d probably visited the reference desk before.

His straggly hair was flopping into his eyes, and he kept pushing it out of the way. He planted himself in front of us, looking back and forth between Liz and me, his expression a mixture of anguish and challenge.

Liz dropped her phone into her lap; I lowered my feet from the garbage can and swung around to face front. Liz said, “Hi. Can we help you?”

“You have to help me.”

Liz had been in a snarky mood all day. I saw her tip her head to respond in a manner that might not be entirely empathetic, and jumped in before she could. “That’s what we’re here for. What can we do for you?”

“I need information about paternity testing.”

Okay, that wasn’t a query we’d heard before, here in the graduate social sciences library. I said, “Did you know that we have a medical library on campus? They might…”

“No.” He gripped the edge of our desk, his knuckles white. “I need information for laypeople. I need to be able to understand it. But it has to be peer reviewed.”

So he knew what peer review was. He must be a graduate student. I said, “Why don’t you sit down?”

He glared at me. “Can you help me or not?” His voice cracked on the word not.

I figured the guy either needed a hug or a whack in the head. I tried to project an air of calm and serenity. “Yes, and I’m going to, but it’ll take a few minutes. Why don’t you sit down? You’ll be more comfortable.” As would I.

He dropped heavily into the chair across from me. I wiggled my mouse to activate the screen and re-entered my credentials. “I’m Jamie, and this is Liz. What’s your name?”

“Angus.” He started gnawing on the knuckle of his left forefinger.

I adopted my finest Highland accent. “Aye, it’s a good Scottish name, that.”

He blinked at me. “What?”

“Never mind.” I turned to the king of general-subject databases, Academic Search Complete, and typed paternity testing.

Apropos of nothing, it seemed, Angus asked me, “Do you have a girlfriend?”

“Uh - no.” I held up my left hand. “Married to a man.”

Liz said, “Me, too.”

Angus muttered, “Shit,” and fell silent.

I scanned through the results that the database had produced. “Jeez. One study - and it’s from China. What the hell is wrong with Academic Search Complete?”

Liz said, “Dunno. Try CINAHL.” 

“What??”

She made a “tsk” sound and turned to her own computer. “You didn’t take a class in medical research?”

“No, I didn’t. Why would I? Why would you?” Liz was a political science subject specialist; my area was history.

“So I’d know where to find health information for my own use, duh. What do you do when you want to look up something about your asthma?”

“I ask Karen Lewis to do it.” Karen worked at the Biomedical Library. “Why…”

Angus smacked the desk, making me jump. “Are you helping me or not?”

Liz frowned at him. “Yes, I’m helping you. Cool your jets.”

The phrase produced a burst of cackling laughter from Angus. I was starting to wonder if he was in a manic phase. “Cool your jets? How old are you?”

Liz slowly lifted her hands from the keyboard, crossed her arms, and cast her “evil eye” expression onto Angus. “You are an incredibly rude young man. For your information, that is a phrase that I picked up from my parents.”

Angus quailed in the force of Liz’s fierce scowl, demonstrating that he retained some shred of sanity and self-preservation. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. It’s just…” He took a deep breath. “Yesterday, I found out that my girlfriend is pregnant.”

I said, “Um - congratulations?”

Angus slumped in his seat. “My life is a fucking disaster.”

Liz asked, “Is the baby yours?”

He snorted. “You’re one to talk about rude.”

I needed to end this confrontation before it deteriorated. “She didn’t mean it that way. We’re just trying to help, right, Liz?”

Liz was still frowning at Angus, her arms still tightly crossed. “Yeah. Sure.”

I said, “You asked about paternity testing, so…”

Angus removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes. “I don’t care if it’s not mine. I want to marry her. I’ll raise the baby as my own. But Natalie...she’s crazy right now. And her family hates me.”

Sounded like the definition of a fucking disaster to me, all right. I said, “I have a couple of articles here about the legal and social ramifications of paternity testing. I’ll print them for you. Liz, you’re checking CINAHL, right?”

“Right.” She turned back to her computer with one last baleful glance at Angus.

I sent the articles to the printer under the desk. “If her family knows the baby’s yours, maybe their attitude toward you will improve.”

“Yeah, right.” Angus was gnawing his knuckle again. “Her stepmother won’t say my name. Calls me that boy. Her father’s never even spoken to me. Her stepbrother is my boss, and he’ll probably fire me as soon as the holidays are over. Although he said he wouldn’t.”

Being married to a psychologist, I was steeped in the belief that airing your problems had the power to improve your outlook. I decided to keep the conversation going. “Where do you work?”

“Cloak and Dagger Books. It’s a…”

Aha. That’s where I recognized him from. I said, “A mystery bookstore in Pasadena. I’ve been there several times. I think I’ve seen you there.”

Angus looked warily hopeful. “Yeah? Do you know Adrien?”

“Only to say hello to when I’m in the shop. He seems like a decent guy.”

“He is. Most of the time. But his boyfriend kind of hates me, too.”

“Why?”

He winced. “He - um - arrested me once.”

Oh. That would certainly color one’s perceptions. I was deciding how to respond to that when Liz said, “CINAHL wasn’t an improvement. But there’s an article here on the ethics of paternity testing. I’ll print it.”

I said, “And I’ll print this Chinese study for you, too.”

The printer whirred, spitting out pages. Angus appeared to be even more morose than when he’d arrived. I said, “There’s another benefit to paternity testing. If the baby is yours, the other guy can’t appear at some point in the future and demand parental rights or custody.”

Angus sat up straighter. “Yes. That’s mostly why I want the test. Warren is a scumbag loser asshole. He cheated on her. He wants her to have an abortion. I don’t want him to have any contact with my kid.”

I asked, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but...how sure are you that the baby’s yours?”

He shrugged. “I’m not. Natalie says it could be either of us. I told you, she’s crazy emotional.”

Liz said, “Discovering that you’re pregnant can do that. Take it easy with her.”

“I’m trying.”

I stacked the articles and stapled each one. “There you go. If you have any questions after you read them… Are you a UCLA student?” Maybe he could avail himself of the campus counseling services.

“I was. I - uh - kinda got off track.”

Not surprising, with the whole arrest thing. I said, “You’re girlfriend’s going to need to see a doctor. If you have any questions about these articles, you should discuss them with him or her.”

“Yeah, okay.” Angus riffled through the papers, then stood. “Thanks for your help.”

I said, “You’re welcome. Good luck. And happy holidays.”

He grunted and walked away.

Once he was out of view Liz said, “Whoa. That kid has issues.”

“Ya think? I hope he’s the dad, though. If Angus thinks the other guy is a loser…”

Liz snorted a laugh. “Seriously.”

Her phone beeped. She read the screen and said, “Oh, hell to the no. We are not eating lasagna on Christmas…” and began to text furiously.

I reopened my book and propped my feet on the garbage can.



***

Find out more about Meg and her work here! 

Advent Calendar Day 3

Happy December 3rd!

Today's Advent Calendar entry is a download of a very cool little Irish Christmas song called "Christmas in Carrick" recorded by The Browne Sisters & George Cavanaugh (AKA me and my kinfolk). The album is called Christmas Travelers, but it's long out of print.

You can download an mp3 of the song right here (it will download directly to your computer, so if it doesn't start playing, be sure to check your download folder).

Christmas in Carrick

The Clancy Brothers

On the road the frost is glistening.

People stream from Midnight Mass.

Friendly candles glow in windows.

Strangers greet you as you pass.

Home then to the laden table;

Ham and goose and pints of beer,

Whisky handed 'round in tumblers,

Christmas comes but once a year!

Puddings made with eggs and treacle,

Seeded raisins and ground suet,

Sated breadcrumbs and mixed spices,

Grated rind and plenty fruit,

Cinnamon, ginger, cloves, and nutmeg,

Porter, brandy, and old ale.

Don't forget the wine and whisky!

Christmas comes but once a year!

Women fussing in the kitchen,

Lay the food on every plate.

Men impatient in the hallway,

Guinness and porter while we wait.

Who cares if we work tomorrow?

Now's the time to spread good cheer!

Pass the punch around the table!

Christmas comes but once a year!

Advent Calendar Day 2

Today's Advent Calendar offering is a link to YouTube and the 1971 animated version of A Christmas Carol featuring Alistair Sim and Michael Redgrave.

The vintage-style animation is really gorgeous and it takes about half an hour to watch.

Enjoy!

Advent Calendar Day 1

Happy Holidays!

Welcome to my Annual Advent Calendar Holiday Extravaganza. ;-)

We've already received a couple of lovely fictional morsels for your enjoyment. Every morning there will be something to start your day off with a smile. Maybe I'll share a favorite holiday song or a lovely photo or maybe I'll give something away. Some days we'll have fiction, some days we'll have art, but one thing for sure, every day will have something for you to enjoy. 

There really is nothing for you to do but show up and enjoy. It's just my way of saying Thank You.

Today I'm giving away three signed copies of If Only In My Dreams. This is a print collection of my five Christmas novellas--most of them never in print before. Just share what you like best about the holiday season in the comment section below, and I'll randomly pick three of you to win a signed copy of If Only in My Dreams.

It's Beginning to Look a Lot like Christmas

OR the winter holiday of your choosing.

December 1st kicks off an annual tradition here at ye olde blog. The Annual Josh Lanyon Advent Calendar.

Now for those of you new to the blog, this is not a super traditional Advent Calendar.  How it works is like this: every day through the month of December I try to post something of interest or good cheer. Sometimes it's just a nice photograph, sometimes it's a giveaway like print books or audio codes or...well, who knows? Sometimes it's a holiday coda.

A coda, for those of you joining us for the first time, is an ending part of a piece of music or a work of literature or drama that is separate from the earlier parts. The fact that the coda is separate from earlier parts of the story is what makes it different from, say, an epilogue wherein all the story parts are pulled together and we have a final last word on what it all meant.

The codas are all bits and bobs from my existing stories -- in some cases they're bridges to new stories and in other cases they are a final glimpse of the characters. Sometimes they are really short -- just a couple of lines. Sometimes they're an actual vignette. Sadly, there will not be many codas from me this year because I'm working hard to finish The Ghost Had an Early Check-Out in time for Christmas. So while I hope to do a couple of codas, well, we'll just have to see.

BUT last year we opened the Advent Calendar to readers like you, inviting you to submit your own holiday offering--and it turned out to be brilliant. We got artwork, we got codas, we got games and giveaways. It worked so well that we're going to do it again. You are invited to submit to the 2017 Advent Calendar. Anything related to any of the stories is welcome.  (The idea being that no one better understands what a fan might enjoy than another fan!) So if you want to submit artwork or a snippet from a scene you wish I’d written or a poem or a song or anything at all really, send it to me through my website contact page and we’ll put those into the calendar as well. (All donations gratefully accepted!)

As for why I do the Advent Calendar? It's just a way of thanking you all for your kindness and support during the year. Yes, you buy the books because you like the stories, but there are lots of stories and lots of authors out there, so I appreciate the fact that so often you choose Josh Lanyon stories. Thank you very sincerely. I truly hope you enjoy this year's calendar.

Happy Holidays to each and every one of you.

Happy Thanksgiving!

Thanksgiving is one of my very favorite holidays. For me, it kicks off the entire holiday season. Halfway through the meal, the background music changes to Christmas music, and when our guests leave tonight the Christmas lights will be shining.

I know that some people have mixed feelings about this particular holiday, but when you boil it down to its essence what you have is...gravy! No, just kidding. When you boil it down, what you have is people helping other people, even when it goes against their own self-interest. And people honestly grateful for that help. Celebrating that help.

We could use a little -- heck, a LOT -- more of both in our world.

So Happy Thanksgiving. I hope you have many things to be grateful for in your life. And that many more good things will come your way in the future.

Reality Check Please

Coming in December!

As regular viewers know, I had a very different plan for this year.

Following last year's skimpy (and largely experimental) spate of late autumn releases, I had intended to come back with a slew of long-promised sequels or installments, such as Blind Side, next book in the Dangerous Ground series and The Ghost Had an Early Check-Out (sequel to The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks).

But real life has a way of elbowing its way into the best laid plans. Starting with the SO's stroke (God, has it really been a year?!) things just didn't roll out as anticipated for 2017. I feel like I've gone on enough about this stuff, so I won't rehash, but in the words of the philosopher known as Siri... Recalculating.

I've got two months left and I need to be realistic. I HATE THAT. But still.

Right now I'm working on the rewrite of Murder Takes the High Road, a standalone cozy mystery novel for Carina Press due out next April-ish. For reasons that have zero to do with the book, it's taking me a hella long time to finish this story. This project has to take precedence over anything else.

Once it's done, I'll begin The Ghost Had an Early Check-Out. Why this book and not the much-delayed Blind Side? Because, simply, I ran expensive print ads on it in mainstream mystery mags.

That pushes Blind Side back again--this time all the way back to next spring because I'd rather be slightly late on the two remaining projects than hugely late on everything for the next four months, which is what happens if I try to force Blind Side out.

It's complicated, my friends.

Advertising, narrators, editors, translators are lined up for these projects, and missing deadlines, switching things up, have consequences for others as well as myself.

Coming in April 2018

That said, here's what I promised in September:

"Halloween is Murder" (a short story)
Murder Takes the High Road (although it doesn't come out until next spring)
Blind Side (now pushed back to May 31st)
The Italian translation of The Monet Murders
The Ghost Had an Early Check-Out (sequel to The Ghost Wore Yellow Socks) 
In Other Words...Murder (the fourth Holmes & Moriarity)
So This is Christmas audio book (narrated by Kale Williams)
If Only in My Dreams - print collection of all my Christmas novellas

So far the only thing being seriously shoved back is Blind Side. The rest of that happened, is still on track, or is only delayed by a few months.

I feel confident enough, that I'm going to go ahead and list TGHaEC-O and IOM on Smashwords (which includes Kobo, B&N and iBooks) for pre-orders. No Amazon pre-orders because Amazon took my pre-order privileges away for a year due to missing the date on The Monet Murders. *snort* Not sure how punishing readers by not allowing them to take part in pre-order pricing is teaching me a lesson, but whatever, Zon.

Still on track for next year are The Magician Murders (Book III in the Art of Murder series) and Haunted Heart: Spring. But (along with Blind Side) that might be it for next year. The SO and I have our non-fiction project to work on, and that's going to take several months, so...next year might not see a lot of new work from me.

There. I've said it.

I feel like it would be better to under-promise and over-deliver rather than give in to my normal optimism. Then maybe we'll all be happily surprised. Or not. But at least I won't be creating unnecessary stress for myself by setting up a terrifying gauntlet of deadlines.

I know it's risky in these days of multiple monthly releases, but oh well. I didn't become a writer so I could make a quick and easy buck. I want to tell stories that entertain, engage and, yeah, maybe to some small extent educate. I want--need--to enjoy writing them as much as I want readers to enjoy reading them. That's been my goal from the beginning--and I don't see that changing.

New Release: HALLOWEEN IS MURDER

What a weird year this has been--and my release schedule (or lack therein) has been one of the weirdest things about it.

But anyway, I did manage to squeeze out a little bit of tongue-in-cheek Halloween goofiness just before the cockcrow.

Halloween is Murder. It's a short story about vampires, private eyes and Irish myths and legends in 1950s Los Angeles. I think it's fun. Or I think it's fun. Your italics may vary.

Where to Buy it:

Amazon
Smashwords
Kobo
Barnes and Noble

I don't think it's on iBooks yet, but you could always check!

The Blurb:

When his enigmatic partner takes off on an annual fishing trip, City of Angeles gumshoe Barry Fitzgerald is left to handle an All Hallows’ Eve kidnapping case on his own.

The victim? A murdered millionaire’s penny-pinching son and heir. The culprit? That’s where it gets tricky. According to the missing man’s sister, vampires are behind Patrick O’Flaherty’s disappearance.

Barry doesn’t believe in ghosts, goblins or vampires, but when the case goes—literally—to hell…er, who you gonna call? 

The Excerpt:

In a way, it was Mike’s fault.

It was his big idea to go out of town. Who the hell went fishing on Halloween? But Barry would have gone along with it. Partly because he’d started thinking he wouldn’t mind some time alone with Mike—and if he had the wrong idea about things, well, it would be better to find out in the middle of nowhere where nobody would notice a black eye. Or two.

He didn’t think he had the wrong idea, though.

Partly he’d have gone fishing with Mike because he knew this was a bad time of year for him. Nobody knew better. Barry was the one who’d pulled Mike off the railings of Suicide Bridge three Halloweens earlier.

They didn’t talk about it. Hadn’t talked about it since the night they’d met. If “met” was the word. More like collided.

Barry had been driving back to the office after a demoralizing interview with the Grand Duchess of Hillcrest Avenue AKA Mrs. Andrew Millar. There was the matter of a missing pearl necklace. Barry had traced that necklace to young Andrew Millar the Second who was in hock up to his shell-like ears to a certain bookie by the name of Griggs Malone. Instead of being pleased to have her missing necklace located, Mrs. Millar had been royally irate at the implication her weedy offspring was a crook. Not only had she not paid Barry, she’d threatened to sue him for defamation of character.

That’s the way it went sometimes.

Anyway, it had been a real witches brew of a night. Not fit for man nor beast, as the poets—or maybe it was the weatherman—said. The rain had been coming down in buckets, buckets of glinting needles—stinging, biting, blinding rain—and he’d had been hunched over the steering wheel of his Ford Crestline, trying to peer through the fogged-up windscreen, when all of a sudden, he’d seen a vision straight out of Central Casting: a man—at first glance he’d looked like a gargoyle—hunched over and poised to jump from the Colorado Street Bridge. White-faced, wild-eyed, soaked to the skin...

Barry had yanked the wheel, car brakes screeching as he pulled to the side of the road. He’d jumped out, and raced back in time to stop Joe Doe from going over—and been socked in the nose for his trouble. Mike was a big guy and that wallop had nearly set Barry on his heels, but Barry had been Glendale College’s lightweight boxing champ for two years running, and he knew his way around a difference of opinion. Besides which, Mike was very drunk. Soused. A hard shove would probably have done the trick, but Barry had piled into him and then dragged a stunned and stumbling Mike to his car and taken him for coffee, eggs and bacon at Bob’s Big Boy on Riverside Drive.

“Why’d you do it, buddy?” Barry had asked when Mike had dried out a little. Dried out physically and figuratively. Barry watched him mop up the last bit of fried egg with a corner of toast. Mike’s fingers were white with the cold, nails ragged—but clean. “What drives a guy like you to pull such a dumbass stunt?”

Mike had stared at him for a long moment. “Demons,” he’d said briefly, bluntly. The way Mike said everything, as Barry was eventually to learn.

That night he’d been willing to accept Mike’s answer since it was demonstrably true. Every man had his demons and Mike Cathan’s had driven him to the edge. Anyone could see that.

Some things you could fix for a guy. Some things you couldn’t. Mike needed a job, and Barry had been able to throw him some work. When Mike came through for him, Barry had put more work his way. To say that a friendship sprang to life that night would sound corny, but yeah, they had grown to be…well, it was hard to say.

Close was maybe not exactly the word. Barry was pretty sure no one was close to Mike. What did that really mean anyway? He liked Mike though, and Mike had saved his life once or twice (three times, according to Mike—but really you couldn’t count the time Vince Mezza pushed Barry out the window of the Astoria Hotel Apartment since he’d mostly landed on the fire escape) so Mike probably liked him back. Or just found it hard to line up a real job.

Barry liked Mike so much that he’d even considered bringing him on as a partner at the agency. At the moment that would be more like asking him to buy shares in the Keely Motor Company. But maybe one day.

Or maybe not.

Being inclined the same way, he’d recognized the truth about Mike pretty quick—he often wondered if that was what had driven Mike to climb up on that rain-slick railing Halloween night. If Mike had ever broached the subject, Barry would have been happy to give him pointers on how to squelch such feelings—he considered himself an expert, having had the devil of a fight to get his own impulses under control. (Mike didn’t even have the excuse of a Catholic school education.) But Mike had never broached the subject, though he must surely have recognized what was in Barry too.

Nor was he a guy you could offer advice to. Even Barry, who was prone to offering unsolicited words of wisdom, knew better than to try to tell Mike what to do. For one thing, Mike was older than Barry. Not so much in years. Mike had been with the Marines on Iwo Jima. He didn’t talk much about it, but that first night he’d admitted to Barry that he’d enlisted when he was only fourteen years old.

Because he was tall, had a muscular build, and even back then weighed 180 pounds, he’d managed to convince the Marine Corps Reserve at Norfolk he was seventeen. He’d forged his mother’s consent and was sent to the Marine Corps Recruit Depot Parris Island, South Carolina, where he qualified as a sharpshooter.

Barry was a little jealous of Mike’s military service. It would never have occurred to him to try and lie his way into any branch of the service, and he’d been too small and skinny to have succeeded anyway. He’d been with the Army National Guard, the “Sunshine Division” when Korea started, and had been deployed to Japan for training. But his tour of duty had ended before his division shipped out to Korea. He’d come home safe and sound and enrolled in college while a lot of his friends had ended up dying at Heartbreak Ridge.

College had not worked out for Barry. He didn’t miss the army, but civilian life was a little too tame. He’d quit school to become an “apprentice” to Sam Bell at Bell, Book and Cannon Investigations. Cannon was long dead by then, there had never been any partner named Book—Sam just thought it sounded classy. Anyway, Sam died two years later leaving the business to Barry.

Barry had been working overtime to keep things afloat ever since, but still, he’d have taken time off for Mike, if Mike had come up with a good reason—or any reason—why they should suddenly leave town.

“It seems kind of sudden,” Barry had said, when Mike proposed a three-day weekend trout fishing at Crowley Lake. “We’re still in the middle of the Rothman case. And the Ciciarelli case.”

Mike had shrugged.

“Any special reason it’s got to be this weekend?”

“It’s a good time to get out of town,” Mike said.

“Sure. But the Rothman dame will be at that Halloween party Saturday night, and we’ll get the goods on her then.”

Mike made a face. He did not like adultery cases. Well, who did? But beggars couldn’t be choosers. He liked getting a paycheck, didn’t he? He sure as hell liked eating.

The expression of haughty distaste on Mike’s rough-hewn features should have been funny, but it stung Barry.

“Wouldn’t it make more sense to clear the decks here first and then take off? The fish aren’t going anywhere, are they?”

Mike said grimly (which didn’t mean anything, because he said everything grimly), “This is not a healthy time of year. Not for me. Not for you.”

“What does that mean?” Mike was being even more cryptic than usual.

Mike shrugged.

Barry wanted to go with him. It was the first time Mike had ever asked him to come along on one of his fishing trips, and Barry couldn’t help thinking—hoping—that maybe it signaled a kind of turning point in their friendship. Over the past few months he had started thinking of Mike differently—he wasn’t even sure when or how that unsettling change in feelings had crept over him—but he wanted to believe it was something to do with sensing a change in Mike. Because with Mike…well, everything would be probably okay. At least, that’s how he’d been thinking lately.

“Do you have something in mind?” Barry asked. “Something specific?”

Mike looked at him like he was trying to make his mind up.

Barry said tentatively, feeling kind of silly putting it into words, “Is it to do with what happened…that other Halloween?”

Right then he’d seen Mike’s face close up like a slammed door.

Mike rose. “I’m taking some time. You’re welcome to come,” he said. “Or not.”

The take-it-or-leave-it tone naturally put Barry’s back up.

“So you said. And like I said, I can’t just flit. I’ve got responsibilities. Clients. Cases.” Few enough of ‘em that he couldn’t walk out on the handful he still had.

 “It’s your funeral,” Mike said, which seemed a little somber given they were only talking about fishing.

Weren’t they?

The door had closed softly after Mike.

That was how Barry Fitzgerald (that’s right, wise guy, his mam had a fondness for “the flickers”) came to be sitting in his office at Bell, Book and Cannon Investigations the Saturday night before Halloween. He was drinking bourbon and feeling a little sorry for himself when Margaret Mary O’ Flaherty showed up.

The wrong place at the wrong time.

Miss O’Flaherty said she was looking for a shamus.

Maybe she meant shaman.