Cover Reveal and Chapter 2 of Have Yourself a Merry Christmas Murder

 by

Scott D. Parker

I'd like to share the cover of the new book as well as Chapter 2. The ebook goes on sale Tuesday, 5 November, and you can preorder today. 

Here's the cover!

Like I have on prior books, I worked with designers via 99Designs.com. The final design, created by Joy at practiqaldiseno.com, was spot on with what I had in mind. 

Chapter 2 - Liquid Encouragement

The town of Vargas, Texas, was a typical town in the southern Hill Country, an area west of Austin and San Antonio about ninety miles. Few of the buildings in and around the town square were larger than two stories, the grain silos next to the old railroad station being the exception. The buildings came in one of two major structurals varieties: post-Civil War Victorian or pre-Depression. The Twentieth Century buildings were almost all a dull brown brick, giving the city a general look of a town in the Rust Belt. 

“Well, doesn’t this look quaint,” Alex said as he slowed his car to match the posted speed limit just on the city’s outskirts.

“That’s one word for it.” Lauren realized she was breathing through her mouth and closed it. Her lips formed a thin line. “Glad you’re going the speed limit. Not a lot of local income around here so the sheriff is active on speed traps. We get a lot of tourists who pass through here and if they don’t obey the speed limits, he’ll ticket them.”

“Sounds typically small town.”

 “Austin is a small town considering you grew up in Dallas,” Lauren chided. 

“Hey, I’m a big city boy. What can I say?” He stopped the car at a red light. “And Austin’s way bigger than when my dad went to school there. He’s from Houston and he thought he was going to a small town when he attended UT in the late Eighties. He went back last year after almost twenty years away. Barely recognized anything.” He pointed out the windshield. “Speaking of which, anything here you recognize?”

“Everything.”

“Well, then, how about a verbal tour.” The light changed and Alex eased the car forward. “How about that? It’s not every day you see a fountain in a city park.” 

As the car passed a small bridge, off to the left was a large open space. The river flowed south through it, meandering in a gentle arc. Immediately below the bridge, the city had erected short cement walls along the banks. The bricks of the bridge and the fieldhouse on the far side all matched the brown of the Depression. In the middle of the river was a fountain, shooting water straight up forty feet into the air. The breeze caught the water and rained it back onto the surface of the river.

“Hang on a minute,” Alex said, slowing down, “what in the world is that?”

“That,” Lauren said, “is the site of our town’s Christmas party.”

On the east side of the river, garish red-and-green ornaments hung from the street lamps. Some of the light poles also featured oversized Christmas ornaments. Red, green, and silver streamers dangled from the branches of a large Christmas tree. The tree sat halfway between the bridge and the field house. Large boxes made to resemble presents were expertly situated at the base of the tree and next to a small wooden stage. On top of the stage was a red canopy and a lectern was ready for someone to speak. Behind the lecturn, empty chairs and music stands sat idle waiting for the musicians. 

On the west side, a large temporary structure was built. It resembled a manger scene from the Bible, complete with a wooden roof and support structures that looked like any strong wind might knock it down. The area was surrounded by a wooden fence. Light-brown hay was scattered inside the fenced-in area with a pathway marked for people.

“I’ve seen live manger scenes all over the place. Hell, I’ve even been in a few when I was growing up. Just like Sherman in the Peanuts cartoon, I was always a shepherd. Even had to wrangle a goat one year. But this,” he extended his hand Vanna White style in the direction of the park, “this is something else.”

“Yeah, well, thank my mom for that.”

Alex turned back his attention to the road. “Seriously? Your mom did that?”

Lauren screwed up her face. “Well, she didn’t start it, but she made it bigger than it ever was.” She took another sip from her water bottle. “Mom’s not from here. She’s from San Antonio, but when she and dad moved out west and started their company, she chafed at all the small town stuff. She hated Midland, where they started, and pretty much hated most of the small towns we lived in while the oil business boomed and busted. Finally, they decided to settle here, in Vargas, dad’s hometown.”

“Why?” 

“Wine. My mom loves wine and she used part of the income to establish the Cross Vineyard. She figured if she was going to be stuck in small towns for the rest of her life, she might as well do something she really loves. And mom loves wine. The Hill Country’s good for that, so, here we set down roots.” She sat silent for a few moments. “Dad had the oil company and golf. Mom had the winery. Michael and Sophie and Ethan all went into the family business.”

“And Lauren?” Alex asked. “Why isn’t Lauren working for the family business?”

She sniffed. “Because when I moved away, I realized I didn’t want to go back.”

He indicated a local bar-be-que restaurant. “Is that the only BBQ joint in town?”

Lauren didn’t have to look to know which eatery he meant. “No, that’s Joe’s bar-be-que. He’s not the only one, but he’s the best. Well, actually, second best, if you go by the contest we have every year on Memorial Day. Angel Gomez beat him a couple of years ago and has not let anyone forget it. Joe hasn’t forgotten it either. If you meet him, the over and under for him bringing up that contest is about three minutes.”

Alex chuckled. “Sounds kinda nice.”

“What does?”

“The small town life. You know, like the Mellencamp song. Or the Cheers theme song. Where everybody knows your name.”

Lauren shook her head. Bittersweet memories came to her, the good times, the bad times, and those in between. “It has its moments, I’ll grant you. There are some great things about a small town. But I’m really glad not to be living here.” She chuckled. “Back in the Eighties when that song came out, my brother would ask mom about it, her thoughts about being something like an LA doll who moved to the small town. Know what her response was? She never truly became a small town girl like Mellencamp’s lady in the song.” 

Alex shrugged. “Well, I’m not sure I could be a small town boy either.”

The memory of her brother relating that story flashed in front of her eyes. Michael told Lauren the story one of the times he came back for Christmas after he had moved away and married. Lauren still lived at home, was still in high school. Michael’s face was wistful, partly from memory and partly from the beer he had consumed that day. He held back what he really wanted to say, she could tell. But he had said enough. It explained why their parents fought from time to time. It wasn’t the only reason, but it was always just under the surface.

“Hey,” Lauren said, “pull over at the next intersection.”

“We don’t need gas,” Alex said.

“Not that. The liquor store just past the station.”

Alex cantered his head, turned on his signal, and eased into the parking lot. The liquor store sat on its own. Through the glass storefront, black iron bars peeked out. Neon beer signs were turned off during the day, but all could easily be read. The major brands were accounted for as was Texas’s own Shiner Brewery. 

Lauren unbuckled her seatbelt and opened the door after Alex parked. She glanced back at him over her shoulder. “I know mom’s got her bar fully stocked, but this is for me. I don’t want her or my sister or my sister-in-law to comment on how much I might need to drink to get through this.”

Alex reached over and touched her shoulder. “Is it really going to be that bad?”

Indicating the liquor store, she smirked. “Not if I have a little liquid encouragement.” She got out and he quickly followed. As she gripped the door handle, she said an inner prayer and hoped Buzz wasn’t working the day shift.

Inside, the store looked like every other liquor store. Rows of wine took up half the shelf space. Beer was stocked in the closed coolers lining the walls. The hard stuff took up the rest. The wall that wasn’t glass or a cooler was wood paneled and as old as the store. There was a mirror with Miller Lite’s logo on the bottom center of the wooden frame. Other neon beer logos hung unlit on the walls. The rest of the wallspace was taken up by framed photos and plaques. Dozens of them. It was to them Alex meandered.

“Don’t look at those,” Lauren said.

“Why?”

“Because if Buzz didn’t phase out old ones, then I’m probably in a few.”

“And now I’m really going to look at them,” Alex said, making a beeline for the photos.

Lauren walked up to the counter. Plastic lotto ticket dispensers took up one half of the counter space. It was from behind it a man’s voice came.

“He hasn’t changed a photo for twenty years.” The creak of a stool and the voice’s owner appeared. The African American stood just shy of six feet. His hair was cut close and merged with his beard and mustache to create one continuous range of hair, most of it sprinkled with gray. The eyes were bright and the smile was broad. He winked at Lauren, then spoke to Alex. “Third row, second from the right. That’s the one you want.”

“Don’t,” Lauren said through her own broad grin. 

“I already did,” came his response.

Alex meandered over to the picture in question. He leaned in, squinting his eyes, and then his own broad grin broke out over his face.

“Oh my God, you’re so young,” he said, pointing to the picture. “What are you, a senior?”

“Yup,” the man said. “Homecoming queen.” He gestured at Lauren who only shrugged. “As if there was any doubt that year. Prettiest girl in school, which made her the prettiest girl in town. Miss Lauren Cross.”

Taken up by the moment, Lauren mimicked a courtesy. “How are you doing, Mr. Washington?”

“How many times have I asked you to call me Darrel?”

“Doesn’t matter how old I get, you’ll always be Mr. Washington to me.”

Darrel inclined his head to her. “Fair enough. You in town for the city’s Christmas festival?”

Lauren rolled her eyes. “Yeah. And mom’s party tonight. She was quite insistent and you know how she gets when she gets insistent.”

“I do indeed.” He tapped the counter with his finger. “Did you know your old friend, Kelsey, is in charge of the decorations down at the park and the banners on the square?”

Lauren thought back. A year younger than Lauren, Kelsey Ritter ended up staying in town and marrying Jack Ritter, a guy from Lauren’s grade. She had seen Kelsey back in July at the Independence Day town party, but only briefly. 

“Oh yeah?”

“Yes, indeed. She’s doing great work, too. Getting lots of people involved. Even got my wife off her rehab chair and working on those banners for the downtown street lamps.”

Lauren frowned. “What happened to Miss Vivian?”

“Twisted her knee going down stairs of our front porch. It was wet, her shoes were slippery, and she just crashed down. I saw it happen but couldn’t do a damn thing except call 9-1-1. Was in rehab all September and October. Only got clearance around Thanksgiving. Didn’t matter if she got clearance or not, she was gonna host the big dinner no matter what.”

Grinning at what she knew of Vivian Washington, Lauren said, “I bet it was one hell of a great dinner.”

“The best ever. All the kids came home, brought their spouses and grandkids. Great day. A great day.” He tapped the counter again and lowered his voice. “So who’s that young man?”

Lauren’s grin broadened. “His name is Alex Morgan. We’ve been dating for about a month.”

“A month and he’s already coming home to meet the family.” Darrel made a show of standing back as if he had just seen something remarkable. “That’s pretty good. Fast, but good.”

“I know,” Lauren said, lowering her voice, “but I really needed someone who would have my back this weekend.” She lowered her voice even further. “I don’t really want to go home and see all of them.”

Darrel nodded sagely. “I know why you say that, Miss Lauren, but family is family. Even when you don’t like ‘em, you still gotta love ‘em. And it can be hard. Damn hard. But you’ll get through it. I’m certain.” He cocked his head behind his shoulder to the smaller bottles on the shelves. “Which one of these do you want to help smooth out the rough patches?”

“Mom’ll have more than enough gin for dozens of martinis, so let’s go with Dewer’s.”

Darrel pulled the thin bottle of scotch from the shelf and slid it over to Lauren.

“How much?”

“On the house.”

“Mr. Washington, I can’t do that. You know.”

Darrel beamed at her and rang up the purchase on the register. “I know. You’re made like that. Honest.” He told her the amount and she passed him her credit card. He scanned it and returned it to her. He wrapped the scotch in a brown wrapper and handed it to her as Alex sidled up.

“Young man,” Darrel said, his voice taking on a somber yet light tone, “you do right by Miss Lauren and she’ll do right by you.” He pointed at the bottle. “And make sure you have her back this weekend so she won’t have to drink all that.” He winked.

“I will, sir.” He hooked his thumb back to the wall of photos. “And thanks for pointing out the right one. Pretty funny to see her so many years ago.”

Darrel’s brows furrowed. “Wait a second. Isn’t your birthday around Christmas?”

Another eye roll from Lauren. “Christmas Eve. The birthday no one remembers.”

Darrel jerked his thumbs at his chest. “I remembered. Mr. Morgan here remembers. As long as someone remembers, ain’t that enough?”

“I guess. But I’ll be back in Austin by then and my friends are planning something big.” She grinned. “It’s good to have friends.”

“And family,” Darrel said. “Family is important, too.” 

“Yeah, sure.” She held up the bottle. “And it’ll be easier with this.” 

“And me,” Alex said, playfully sounding hurt.

Lauren bumped his shoulder with hers. “And you, too. We’ll just see which one I turn to most.”

Read a Preview of Have Yourself a Merry Christmas Murder

by

Scott D. Parker

It may be a week shy of Halloween, but Christmas is just around the corner. And so is my new book.

It's called Have Yourself a Merry Christmas Murder and it will be available next month. But today, I'd like to share a little background to the story and Chapter 1.

Hallmark Christmas Movies

I love the Hallmark movies even though nearly every one of them is predictable. You know the structure. City Girl returns home to her small town. We meet her family, including the quirky BFF from high school who never left town. There’s the ex-boyfriend/Cute New Guy who now works as a [Small Town Job] and volunteers at the dog shelter and retirement community. The meet-cutes are always fun and sparks fly. The Big Corporate Someone wants to change everything and City Girl gets together with the Guy having relearned what’s really important in life all within the magic of Christmas.

But what if there was a mystery thrown in the middle of all that? And a dead body? I think that might be a little more interesting. A few years ago, I started writing my own Hallmark-type Christmas story intertwined with a mystery. But my story started evolving, and I just ran with it. And now I'm ready to share the book.

Description

Lauren Cross does not want to go home for Christmas.

 

On the cusp of thirty, she's the youngest of four children, and the only one who doesn't work in the family business. When she surrenders to her mother’s badgering and agrees to attend the big Christmas party at the estate, Lauren brings her new boyfriend for moral support, and an easy excuse for spending just one night.

 

But when someone turns up dead, Lauren finds herself driven to figure out what happened. It shouldn’t matter that the deputy assigned the case was her high school boyfriend. Right?

 

With perpetual scorn heaped on her by her siblings and mother, the familiar sights and memories of her hometown, and the nearness of her ex who looks really good in a uniform, Lauren must come to terms with the passage of time and wonders if all her life decisions were the right ones.

Chapter 1: The Dreaded Trip Home

Lauren Cross tasted blood and pulled her finger out of her mouth and inspected it. The cuticles of her right hand were dry with the slight chill in the Texas air. The red on her nails matched her red sweater, the combo trying to conjure some Christmas spirit. She had been working the hangnail on her middle finger. The little piece of skin had long since found a new place in the tissue on her lap, but she had continued with the other fingers. Now, a small spot of blood seeped out. Shaking her head, she put her finger back in her mouth. 

“Did you finally draw blood?” The voice belonged to Alex Morgan, sitting behind the wheel of his Rav4. He glanced over at her, the slight quirk of his mouth curled up in a way she found endlessly endearing. It wasn’t the only thing.

His dark brown hair, usually tousled with a nice full body that many ladies had to pay to achieve, was styled and swept back from his face. She wanted to run her fingers through it, but he didn’t want her to. “I’m making a first impression on your family,” he had  said, “and I need to look my best.” He had shaved, trimmed his goatee to perfection, and even plucked the stray whiskers that traveled up his cheeks. He wore dark blue jeans, a white cotton button-up shirt with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, and a blue Columbia vest. He opted for his dark brown desert boots rather than his typical Doc Marten’s sandals. 

Lauren sighed and examined her finger again. The blood and her saliva mixed together, and she decided to put direct pressure on it with the tissue. 

“It won’t be that bad,” Alex said. He peeled his eyes off the Texas highway long enough to show the deep blue in them. He winked. “It really won’t.”

“How do you know?”

A slight shrug then another grin, this one a bit of his devilish wit. “Because I’m here with you.” He held the grin long enough for her to burst out laughing. A few seconds after she started, he joined her, drowning out the Christmas music playing on the radio.

The laughter proved the tonic she needed. Just the sound of it eased her mind and reminded Lauren of how easy the two of them had become after only four weeks of dating. It warmed her stomach to have Alex with her. She reached over and gripped his forearm. He took his hand off the wheel and entwined his fingers with hers, both of their elbows resting on the center console. His Fitbit smacked into her Apple watch, and the silver ring on his fingers clicked on the gold one she wore. He gazed over at her and the warmth in her stomach turned to butterflies. 

That smile of his. Sure, she knew it was early days in their relationship where everything was hunky dory, sunshine and rainbows, but this time, it felt different. They had covered a lot of territory since the party at her friend Whitney’s house on Thanksgiving Day. Eleven friends, all who didn’t want to go home and see their families for the holiday, ended up staying in town and having the big meal with their new family: each other. Whitney had invited Alex specifically to meet Lauren. Initially, after Lauren learned about that, she had taken Whitney aside and grilled her friend why. “You need to find someone, Lauren,” Whitney had said. “He asked about you at one of our office meetings. I told him about you, showed him your photo, and he’s really looking forward to meeting you.”

“Which one?” Lauren asked.

“Which one what?”

“Which picture did you show him?” 

A mischievous smirk lanced across Whitney’s face. “The one from when we went tubing in New Braunfels.” She winked. “The one in your bikini.”

Lauren had playfully slapped her BFF, the heat of a blush washing over her face. “You didn’t.”

“Well,” Whitney had admitted, “that wasn’t the first one I showed.” She had paused. “But it was one of them.”

The memory of that day flooded through Lauren’s mind now as she sat in Alex’s car. Her gaze softened as she thought about how embarrassed she had been at the prospect of some new guy’s first image of her was her in a bikini. It hadn’t taken too long before they grew intimate and he saw much more of her than that.

“What did you think about me when Whitney showed you my photo?” Lauren asked.

“I had already seen you. Remember when you showed up to the office the night y’all were going to the Midland concert. That’s when I first saw  you, dressed in your country girl chic, ready to dance the night away.” He looked at her again. “I just wanted to see your normal self, not all dolled up.”

Lauren thrust out her lower lip. “What? You don’t like me to look pretty?”

“You look pretty without any effort at all.” His voice has grown softer, taking on a tonality she couldn’t believe she had already come to love. That voice now made the butterflies flutter in her stomach.

Lauren sighed, this time more contentedly. She reached for the covered cup of coffee and took the last sip. The lukewarm liquid almost made her gag. She liked hot coffee and iced coffee, but not in-between coffee. Taking her hand away from his, she pulled the water bottle from the cup holder in the  door and opened the cap. She drank half the bottle in one gulp and put it back. She slid her fingers back into his on the console.

“Are your palms really that sweaty?” Alex asked.

Instantly self conscious, Lauren tugged her hand away and wiped both palms on her jeans. “No, no, I’m just hot.” 

“I know that,” he said through a suggestive chuckle, “but I’m talking about you being nervous about seeing your family. Has it really got you that wound up?”

Lauren sniffed derisively. “You don’t know my family.”

“Not yet. But I’m looking forward to meeting them.”

Lauren grunted and turned up the radio. “Little Drummer Boy” by Chicago came through the speakers. She got lost in the drum beats and began to sing along to the song.

Alex turned down the volume using the controls on his steering wheel.

Lauren reached over and turned the volume back up on the console. The music blasted in the car.

Alex turned the radio off. He looked at her with soft eyes, his eyebrow arching. “I can do this all day.”

Sitting back in her chair, Lauren crossed her arms. Those butterflies vanished as did her happier mood. 

“Oh, so we’re doing the silent thing now? I can do that, too.” He put both hands on the wheel and stared at the road.

Lauren looked at the brown terrain in the Texas Hill Country. A thousand thoughts and memories about her family swirled in her mind’s eyes, few of them good. Why did she always remember the bad things? Why not the good times? She focused her brain, zeroing in on good memories of home and family. One by one, almost as if it were some special effect in a movie, the bad memories were swept aside, yet for any one given happy memory, two bad ones took its place. No, that wasn’t right. There were good memories. Everyone had good memories about their families, all tinged in sepia like she was watching a Ken Burns documentary. She saw events and moments, birthdays and high school football games, band concerts and swimming in the river on a sweltering summer’s day. There were good times, she knew, but her brows furrowed at a realization.

“Some of my best memories about home were with my friends.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. 

“What’s that? We’re talking now?” Alex glanced at his watch. “That was only two minutes. That’s not too long for the silent treatment.”

Playfully, Lauren shifted in her seat and slapped his shoulder. 

“Watch it,” he said. “I’m driving.” He chuckled and turned the radio back on. Now, it was “Jingle Bells” by the Brian Setzer Orchestra. “But seriously, though, it’s not going to be that bad.”

“How do you know?”

Alex inhaled deeply and let out the air slowly. “How bad can thirty-six hours be? Like you said, your mom absolutely insisted you come home for the big Christmas party she throws every year. From how you’ve described it, it sounds like the Hallmark Channel should set a movie at your house. There’s gonna be some big announcement that she wants you to be there for. We’ll be there. Together.” He emphasized the word ‘together,’ giving it added resonance. 

“If how you describe your house is even remotely true…”

“It is,” Lauren said. 

“Fine, then we’ll stay in your room at the far end of the place. Say nice things to all your family and their spouses and their kids and the…what? The folks who are hired to put this thing together. And the cook and the butler and the gardener and all the other types of people you see in ‘Downtown Abbey.’”

Lauren snickered. “We don’t have a butler. Mom wouldn’t dream of giving up that kind of control.”

“Sure whatever. No butler. But how hard can it be to smile nicely, catch up with your brothers and sister, learn what your nieces and nephews are doing, and plaster a fake smile on your face? It’s no big deal. Besides, we’ll be gone by noon tomorrow.” He took his hands off the wheel long enough to pantomime wiping them and tossing an imaginary towel in the trash can. “Viola.”

“If it were only that easy.”

Lauren thought about the simplicity of Alex’s scenario. Could she put on a Hollywood smile and just glide through the evening’s big party like that? Sure, it might be possible. But what damage might ensue? Whose feelings might she mistakenly hurt? 

“C’mon, Lauren, how bad could it be? When did you say was the last time you went home?”

“July Fourth. It was one of mom’s seasonal parties. It’s second only to Christmas. This is the big one. You’re not far off on your Hallmark comment. The party’s been featured in magazines before.” She put up her hands and mimed a newspaper editor envisioning a headline. “Oil maven throws big Christmas bash. Whole town turns out for the party.” She smiled at the memory of how happy her mother was to see that article in print. “She hasn’t stopped talking about that for years. You know how restaurants often frame good reviews on the walls? Well, mom’s got that article hung everywhere, and not just at the office. It’s in the house, almost in every room. It was the best thing to have happened to her after dad died.” Her voice got silent at the thought of another Christmas without her father.

“Hey,” Alex said, his voice softening, “it’s gonna be okay.” He reached over and wrapped his hand around her arm. The warmth of his touch soothed her. She put her hand over his.

“Thanks for coming with me. You being here is really going to make a difference. It’s really going to help me get through this.”

“No problem. I’ll be honest, I know the article you’re talking about.”

Lauren frowned. “How?”

Alex shrugged. “I googled you.”

“Shut up. You didn’t.”

“Of course I did. And you googled me, too.” He arched his eyebrow and looked at her.

“Hey, eyes on the road, buddy.” 

“Not until  you admit you googled me.”

She waited another second or two before speaking. “Okay, okay, I did.” He returned his attention to the two-lane highway. “It’s what you do nowadays.”

“I know. It’s how I learned about that article. I read it, marveling at just how over-the-top it all is.”

“Well, if you’re my mom and there’s a chance to go over the top, she’ll easily do it. Over the years, she’s made sure that everyone knows just how much Christmas spirit she has.”

“The article made it seem like she loves the season.”

“She loves the attention. Her Christmas spirit is via her bank account.”

“It’s still gonna be great to see it all in person. I might even write about it.”

“What?”

“Yeah, I talked with my editor. She said I might be able to do a personal essay thing next week. A glimpse behind the scenes of the biggest Christmas event in the Hill Country.”

A tinge of sourness wormed its way through Lauren. She wasn’t sure why it rubbed her the wrong way, but it did.

“Hey, babe, it was only a suggestion. I don’t have to do it. You know what? I won’t do it.” 

“No, no, that’s okay,” Lauren said. “It just took me by surprise.” She looked out the side window again as Vargas, Texas, came into view. At the sight of her hometown, Lauren’s stomach sank to her feet.

“Well, I’m home.”

Another Visit to Patterson, New Jersey with Andy Carpenter

By

Scott D. Parker

What is it with storms, power outages, and Andy Carpenter?

Beryl: The Rest of the Story

I wrote last week’s post during my Friday lunch hour and went home to a house without electricity. Last Saturday, I returned to Lowe’s to buy two more 5-gallon gas cans (daily gas runs were getting old) and had half a mind to buy a second generator. An older worker at Lowe’s said I didn’t need to because my 6,500-watt generator was more than enough to run all the fans, window AC, and the fridge. The wife and I cleaned the fridge and plugged it in. Within the hour, the thing was making ice. Yay! No more ice runs.

Sunday morning after church, our street and the nearby Little League ball fields were swarming with utility trucks, mainly from Oklahoma and Michigan. I spent the afternoon tying up the debris I put in piles and at 2:54, electricity was restored.

And we kept the generator on and our fingers crossed for an additional two hours.

Sunday evening, we put away the generator and all the detritus it took to power fans and ACs and TVs and just breathed a massive sigh of relief. Xfinity was also working so we were back to normal. 

It was not a pleasant week, but we made it work. All of us Houstonians did. What choice did we have? The wife made a diagram of precisely how we deployed all the cords and parts so when it happens again—and there will be a next time, and a next time—we’ll know what to do from the jump. 

Just so very happy it is over…except for losing power again this past Thursday afternoon for about two hours. With daylight fading, we started to pull everything back out and had gone as far as raising the easy-up and starting the generator when the power returned. Seriously.

Another Visit to Patterson, New Jersey

Before the storm arrived and again afterwards with my phone, I maxed out my allowable number of checked out items from the library and loaded them on my Kindle Paperwhite. You just never know what reading mood you’ll be in at any given time.

Turns out I wanted comfort reading and I turned to an author I discovered in the Christmas season of 2020: David Rosenfelt and his sarcastic lawyer, Andy Carpenter.

Andy (and David) is a dog lover and his beloved golden retriever, Tara, is with him along the way. Not in a cozy mystery way—where Tara solves the crime—but as a regular dog. In fact, it’s Andy’s love of dogs, his ownership of a rescue facility, and the fact that he has represented a dog before that gets him his latest case, as related in New Tricks, the seventh entry in the long-running series.

Waggy is a Bernese puppy and the court assigns Andy to be the guardian. You see, Waggy is the child of a champion show dog which makes him coveted in a custody battle. Why is he in this position? His owner has been murdered so Andy visits the grieving widow and notices that she and her step-son do not get along. 

No sooner does Andy visit the house and get a sense of Waggy than an explosion erupts. The mansion is destroyed, the widow is dead, and local prosecutors have a prime suspect: the son. Why? Well, he hates his step-mom, he now is in line to inherit his dad’s fortune, and he can’t really explain what he was doing the night his dad was brutally murdered. Oh, and he served in the Marines where he specialized…in explosives.

I think you can see why Andy takes a second case: defense of the son. What makes it more complicated? (mild spoiler alert) Andy and his cadre of friends and associates discover the identity of the father’s killer. But he’s winds up dead before Andy can ask more questions. Now Andy has to figure out how to prove his client’s innocence without iron-clad proof and discover why so many people are after Waggy.

Coincidentally, I read the first Andy Carpenter novel during the February 2021 freeze here in Houston. I didn’t think about it when I started New Tricks, but realized it as my 2024 No Power For a Week life went on.

What made this book extra special was Waggy. He is a Bernese mountain dog. In June, we adopted a rescue dog with Bernese in the mix. Every time Rosenfelt described Waggy’s actions, I just nodded. My Bernese mix was pretty much exactly the same.

The Andy Carpenter novels are wonderful books, filled with a wry narrator whose sarcasm can get him in trouble, but makes for a fun read (or listen). Now I’m going to have to read one without living through a natural disaster.

You Would Never Know The Mysterious Affair at Styles Was a Debut Novel

by

Scott D. Parker

For the past four years, I’ve tried to read along with the reading plans hatched by the folks behind AgathaChristie.com. Each year I’ve not completed all twelve books but I’m always game for a themed list like this that carries a reader throughout the year so I'm giving this year’s list a try. Unlike past lists that were, say, arranged by styles of murders, this year is simply chronological, and it begins at the beginning.

The Time Period

The Mysterious Affair at Styles is not only the first time we’re introduced to famed detective, Hercule Poirot, and his friend, Arthur Hastings, but it also is the first book Christie ever wrote. Talk about coming out of the gate at full speed. I’m still a freshman when it comes to Christie’s works—as best as I can tell, this is about the fourth or fifth book of hers I’ve read—but how she weaves this plot through the entire book is very impressive.

I’ve been doing some reading on Christie and I learned that Styles was written to win a bet. Christie’s sister didn’t believe the new writer could come up with a story where the reader cannot guess the actual culprit in the novel. Like many of the then-contemporary reviews stated in late 1920 and early 1921, the bet was won. 

Christie started the novel in 1916, which is why the setting is still during wartime. We get a good sense of what it is like on the homefront, at least in terms of a large country manor. Hastings is on leave from the war and ends up at Styles manor to recuperate. Poirot is a part of a group of Belgian refugees living near Styles and he knew the rich owner, Emily Inglethorp. I particularly appreciated Poirot as a refugee and not some famous detective who has an office and solves crimes. 

The Plot

Well, let’s be honest: the plot is wonderfully convoluted. As a listener (I heard the audiobook) in 2024, I was keen to see if I could figure out the killer, what threads were red herrings, and who had motive. Turns out I couldn’t, I kinda did, and everyone.

Much like Sherlock Holmes, Poirot keeps Hastings and other characters in the dark as the investigation progresses. There is always a legitimate reason why this happens (after Poirot explains it all) but it’s also Christie using her skill as a writer to tease just enough to entice readers to keep turning pages. 

The murder in question is that of Emily Inglethorp. She is poisoned. Now the only question is who did it and why. 

Christie tosses eight people in the mix. Alfred Inglethrop, the younger man recently married to Emily. John and Lawrence Cavendish, stepsons from Emily’s first marriage. Mary Cavendish, John’s wife. Evelyn Howard, a companion of Emily’s. Cynthia Murdoch, a friend of the family who works at a hospital dispensary. Dr. Bauerstein, a toxicologist who lives nearby. Dorcas, the loyal maid at Styles.

There are moments in the book where Christie (via Poirot) purposely keep things away from readers (and Hastings). To be honest, it reminded me of the middle section of The Hound of the Baskervilles where Holmes has Watson accompany Henry Baskerville to that manor while the detective does his own thing. Every writer is a reader and we absorb so many moments from other stories so things like this are bound to happen. 

What this does, of course, is let Poirot have that final last chapter where he sums up everything, and it is immensely satisfying. While I don’t think Poirot is as smart as Holmes, there were still a few moments when I heard the explanation and I realized I should have caught a clue. Shrug. I’m too busy enjoying the story. 

I borrowed my mom’s edition of the novel and it includes a different version of the final chapter. Christie originally had Poirot deliver the summation as part of a trial. Her editors encouraged her to change it up and just have Poirot relate all the details in the manor house. Much more effective because the Belgian detective can deliver all the clues with the flourish that reader have now enjoyed for over a century.

What's Scary Is If You Don't Read Trick or Treat Murder by Leslie Meier

by
Scott D. Parker

As I wrote last October, if there’s a holiday and you want to read a mystery featuring that holiday, Leslie Meier has you covered.

Starting in 1991, Meier has written 36 mysteries starring Lucy Stone, a mom, wife, and citizen of Tinker’s Cove, Maine. The first book I read, Back to School Murder (the 4th overall), Lucy fills in at the local newspaper and that’s what gets the crime on her radar. Trick or Treat Murder (1996) is the third book, but first of her Halloween stories and I reckoned I might as well start there.

It’s Almost All a Domestic Story…

A series is nothing if you don’t like the main character, and Lucy Stone is one of the most likable characters in mystery fiction. There were whole chapters where she baked cupcakes, helped her kids with Halloween costumes for the big Halloween party, and city council meetings about the historical society and renovations. It is super charming.

It’s domesticity, and it’s nice to be able to step into Tinker’s Cove and just forget about real life for a time. Even when there’s a bad car accident that has no bearing on the mystery, I felt for the victim as well as the driver.

…But There is a Mystery

There have been a series of arson events in the area. The police don’t have any good leads and the potential suspects they’ve got their eye on don’t pan out.

Unlike Back to School Murder, here, Lucy doesn’t actively work on the case. It’s kind of a low simmer. If you’re a writer, you know that even when you are not writing, you are thinking about your story. Same thing applies with Lucy. She asks a few questions, does some research, and keeps coming at the crimes from different angles.

When the villain is finally revealed, Lucy is put into some serious peril. I’m far from a cozy mystery expert, but in the ones I’ve read, there’s not a lot of dire threats. Not so this one. It made for a nice and dramatic ending.

A couple of weeks ago, I wrote about David Rosenfelt’s Andy Carpenter series as literary comfort food. Specifically there’s not a dang thing wrong with it. Same is true for Leslie Meier’s Lucy Stone books. Love them. Love Lucy as a character and Tinker’s Cove as a location. And I will always read these books. There’s still time in October to get in one of her three Halloween books.

The Dog Isn't Who He Really Is In Play Dead by David Rosenfelt

By
Scott D. Parker

Who doesn’t love comfort food? There’s a reason why we call pumpkin spice lattes, chocolate chip cookies, queso, ice cream, or McDonald’s French fries comfort food. When we eat these foods, we are comforted, usually by a past memory that soothes some current problem. Everyone loves and needs comfort food from time to time.

So when I call the Andy Carpenter novels by David Rosenfelt comfort reading, I am not dogging them (yes, pun intended). I love them, but my ADHD reading style usually prevents me from reading a lot by the same author back to back to back. When the clock turned to “fall” post Labor Day, I had a hankering for an Andy Carpenter novel. Thankfully, the Libby app reminded me where I left off: five books done, time for book 6 in the series.

Play Dead starts with a scene I, as a dog owner and lover, can easily relate to. Attorney Andy Carpenter visits the kennel he owns, he discovers that Yogi, a golden retriever, is on doggie death row. That is, about to be put down for biting its owner. But Carpender, like Rosenfelt, knows dogs—a key co-star in these books is Andy’s own golden retriever, Tara—and he doesn’t think Yogi is at fault. So he decides to represent the dog in court and earn the pooch his freedom.

It’s Andy Carpenter so he wins, but the victory is short lived. No sooner was Andy walking his new dog that it runs to a lady. She’s not the owner. It’s her brother’s, Richard. And he’s been in prison for five years for the murder of his fiancée. Oh, and the dog’s name is Reggie. Among the oddities of the case is the dog. It was not found on the boat where the murder supposedly took place. In fact, Reggie was reported dead five years ago.

But if Reggie survived being thrown overboard from the boat in the stormy sea when everyone said that he died, then maybe there’s something to the imprisoned man’s story. Maybe Richard really is innocent. Andy is skeptical at first, but what really turns him around is the gunman who opens fire on the New Jersey highway, trying to take out Andy.

That would do it for me, and Andy’s prodigious legal mind is on the case.

What makes an Andy Carpenter novel fun is his eccentricities that go along with his legal shenanigans. He’s got a long-distance relationship with his girlfriend, Lorrie, and sometimes when Andy’s being his cowardly self, I couldn’t help but wonder what she sees in him. Likely it’s Andy propensity to take runs at windmills. Why else would he have initially represented a dog in court. BTW, that’s a fun sequence. Completely unreasonable, but remember: this is a novel, a comfort food novel, and we’ll let lots of things slide in a book like this.

Grover Gardner narrates the audiobook which is how I’ve consumed most of the Rosenfelt books so far. He’s great and add just a little bit extra snark to Andy’s first-person POV story. In fact, hearing Gardner as Andy is pretty much like an old friend telling yet another tall tale.

There are just so many books to read that I know I can’t get to all of them. But David Rosenfelt’s Andy Carpenter series is a gem and I always enjoy reading a new one every year. By the way, he’s written a number of Christmas-themed stories so if you want to start with one of those in the next few months, you’ll enjoy it. That’s how I started.

Mary Robinette Kowal and the Five Words That Sold Me a Novel

by

Scott D. Parker

She had me with five words: The Thin Man in space.

Still, I hadn’t read the book yet so I honestly waffled over whether or no to attend Mary Robinette Kowal’s author event promoting her new novel, The Spare Man, at Houston’s Murder by the Book. I ended up saying ‘yes’ and I’m so glad I did. Not only was the event one of the more entertaining I’ve been to, but the writing advice—and the personal advice—was more than I could have expected.

Knowing next to nothing about Kowal other than she wrote The Calculating Stars (a book I’ve not read but know it won multiple awards), one of the questions I was going to ask if I got the chance was how she came to be the narrator of her own books. Well, that question never needed asking because soon after her event began, she did a reading. Or, rather, she performed a passage from her new book. She had a narrator voice, a female voice as her main character, and then a good male voice as that character’s husband. Not only was she reading, she acted as well as she could holding up her laptop. Moreover, unlike some narrators who are challenged when speaking for the opposite gender, Kowal does a great male voice. Now that I've started listening to The Spare Man, I can say that not only does she do good male voice, she does multiple ones. I know I'll have a lot of great listening time as I consume her audiobooks.

(Speaking of the audiobook of The Spare Man, literally as I'm typing this post (on Thursday), Kowal just posted on Instagram that Audible has named the book one of the Best of the Year.)

The folks in the audience were clearly existing fans of Kowal because they asked specific questions almost as if it was a continuation from an earlier speaking event. A curious one was about her cat, Elsie, who, evidentially, can communicate with her. At the live event, Kowal described a panel of buttons in which a word (spoken by Kowal) is activated when Elsie presses the button. It is a fascinating idea and I had to see for myself. There are multiple videos on her Instagram page (MaryRobinetteKowal) and it's so fun and cool to watch. The funniest story she told to those of us gathered at the bookstore was a time when Elsie pressed the buttons to say "lie down, sleep" and Kowal interpreted that as Elsie wanted a nap. When her cat hadn't joined her on the bed after a few minutes, Kowal investigated and discovered Elsie eating Kowal's sandwich.

But this is an author event and the focus turned back to books, the writing of books, and how her experience as a puppeteer helps her create good prose. Using a small stuffed dog--to represent Gimlet, the little dog the two main characters in The Spare Man own (modeled after Nick and Nora Charles's dog Asta in the Thin Man movies)--she explained how puppeteers create emotion with only movement. Her ingrained knowledge of that craft permeates into her fiction as she breaks down the body language her characters show and reassembles them into words.

When I rose my hand, I asked her how she came up with the concept of The Spare Man. After all, I told her, she sold me the book in five words. She revealed she often has an elevator pitch to describe her current writing projects because it gives her more focus on what the story's DNA is. Too often, we writers, when asked about a book we've written, start to blather on and on about this character or that setup. It happened to me just a few weeks ago. Having the story's idea condensed to a few sentences at the beginning of a project can sure streamline the writing. I've actually got that in mind on my current work in progress and I'll admit, it's a great idea.

If these pleasantries were all that Kowal offered, it would have been worth the trip. But what I wasn't expecting was some excellent writing insight, and it was prompted by a question about NaNoWriMo.

Kowal was diagnosed with ADHD at age 49. Like many folks with ADHD--I likely have it although not formally diagnosed--there are moments of hyper focus and then there are other moments when you just can't get things done. One of the reasons why Kowal mentioned she enjoyed NaNoWriMo so much was of four factors: Novel, Interesting, Challenging, and Urgent.

In this case, Novel is both the literal novel someone is writing as well as the other meaning of the word, 'new.' Typically, writers who do NaNoWriMo start a brand-new novel in November. Thus, we're all excited. Interesting is self-explanatory. You have to be interested in your story for you to actually write it. Challenging is also self-evident. It is challenging to write a book, but it is even more challenging to do NaNoWriMo which is 50,000 in the 30 days of November (that's 1,667 words per day). I've done it numerous times but I have also failed so I know what it's like to be on both sides. But when you hit the groove, boy is it something. And Urgent. Again, with the 1,667 words-per-day threshold hanging over your head, if you miss a day or two, it can be daunting to catch up. Thus the urgency embedded in NaNoWriMo is a motivating factor.

When Kowal mentioned these four things, a light bulb went off in my head. It helped to explain, in part, why I've been so challenged this year in regards to writing. There are other major factors as well, but her short list helped me see myself in a different light.

It also made me wish I'd have started NaNoWriMo this year. But there's always next year.

In my research on Kowal, I found two immensely helpful posts. One is an interview on the Strange Horizons website entitled "Writing While Disabled" (2021). In this lengthy interview, Kowal uses her own experiences and diagnoses to explain how she works through her challenges and produces the award-winning works she does. I ended up printing it out and highlighting multiple passages.

The second is from her own website (and it's referenced in the interview). In a 2015 post called "Sometimes Writers Block is Really Depression," Kowal describes how her depression knocked her away from writing and the tools (both tech as well as interpersonal) she uses to overcome her challenges. The links she provides might be helpful to some writers who might be struggling.

To top off this wonderful author event, in each chair were the best handouts I've ever seen. Here's what she provided.

That's a "brochure" for the inter-planetery cruise liner the characters in The Spare Man are in. That's Gimlet, by the way. The laminated card on the left is a "baggage tag" while the center one is a "boarding pass" (the number on which was used for a drawing to give away the plush of Gimlet). And, of course, an actual "do not disturb" door hanger (with "service requested" on the back). Seriously, how cool is that? Plus check out the design. It is so 1930s.

Mary Robinette Kowal has been on the peripheral of my radar for a few years now, but with The Spare Man, she is firmly in my sights. In fact, I already have my next selection for my science fiction book club already picked. Have a look at her website. I bet there is something there that you'd like to read. For mystery fans, I'd recommend starting with The Spare Man.

I mean, why not. She sold me in five words.

How about you?