Josh Lanyon's Blog, page 41

New Release MURDER TAKES THE HIGH ROAD

In print, audio, and ebook!

MURDER TAKES THE HIGH ROAD 

Librarian Carter Matheson is determined to enjoy himself on a Scottish bus tour for fans of mystery author Dame Vanessa Rayburn. Sure, his ex, Trevor, will also be on the trip with his new boyfriend, leaving Carter to share a room with a stranger, but he can't pass up a chance to meet his favorite author.Carter's roommate turns out to be John Knight, a figure as mysterious as any character from Vanessa's books. His strange affect and nighttime wanderings make Carter suspicious. When a fellow traveler's death sparks rumors of foul play, Carter is left wondering if there's anyone on the tour he can trust.(His strange affect... (Not something you hear every day) ;-) 

EXCERPT
“Hey, you’re back,” I said.
“Hey, you’re sneaking out of Rose’s room,” he returned.
I looked around, making frantic shushing motions. His eyebrows rose.“Rhymes with gurgleyme?” he suggested.
“No! Of course not.” I was both charmed that he played charades and irritated that he thought I was the world’s worst burglar. “Can we discuss this elsewhere?”
He turned the doorknob to our room and made an after yougesture. I slipped inside our room and turned to face him. “Sally told me Rose’s journal wasn’t found among her personal effects. She suggested I have a look for it just in case Rose might have hidden it.”
“If Sally suggested you jump off a bridge, would y—”
“Funny. No. I wouldn’t. And I wouldn’t have done this either except…”
“You read too many mysteries?”
“That’s not possible. And no.” I admitted grudgingly, “I know it’s a crazy thing to have done. I’m not sure why I gave in to temptation.”
He looked taken aback. “This is your idea of temptation?”
“The opportunity arose, that’s a lot of it.”
“Other opportunities have arisen. I didn’t see you jump at those.”
At first, I didn’t understand what he meant, but as I gazed into his solemn—too solemn?—brown eyes, I remembered the night before and that very casual suggestion we strip naked and share a sleeping bag. Not even a suggestion. A joke.
Or maybe not.
Judging by the faint twinkle in the back of his eyes, it seemed not.
I felt a totally unexpected—and probably inappropriate—rush of elation. I’d figured after he’d blown me off that morning, I’d misread John’s invitation of the night before. I’d been, well, disappointed. And now I was…not.
I did my best to tamp down my revived, um, interest. “Ben confirmed at lunch that there was a mysterious death on the last tour. A woman drowned in the bath.”
The twinkle in John’s eyes pinched out. He scowled. “There’s hardly anything mysterious about it. It might interest you to know that deaths from drowning in bathtubs have gone up seventy percent in the last decade. Someone in the US drowns in a bathtub, hot tub or spa Every Single Day.”
“You’re kidding.”
“No. I’m not kidding.”
“But surely most of those are little kids?”
He said severely, “The point is, drowning in a bathtub is not as mysterious or suspicious as you seem to think. Bathtub drownings are one of the most common causes of accidental death.”
It seemed he really did work for an insurance company. Not that I had actively doubted it, but I had started to wonder after the morning’s cloak-and-daggery.
“Did you find the journal?” he asked.
“No.”
He studied me for a moment. His disapproving expression relaxed. He seemed amused. “Do you really think Rose found some incriminating piece of evidence, and that piece of evidence got her killed?”
“No. Not exactly. I was curious though. The weird coincidences seem to be piling up. I feel like something is going on. I can’t put my finger on it, but… If I may say so, your own behavior is a little sketchy.”
“Mine?” There it was again. The wary look. “How so?”
“Let’s start with the midnight rambles. Insomnia or not, that’s not normal behavior. Most people read a book or have a glass of warm milk. I take half a sleeping pill when I can’t sleep.”
His face took on a bland look. “I do have a preferred method of dealing with it. However, you weren’t interested last night.”
I guess he’d given up on innuendo.
I’m too old to blush, but there’s something undeniably warming about flattery. I studied his face. Yeah, I did find him attractive. No question. I liked him. I wasn’t sure if I trusted him, but I didn’t have to trust him. This was the equivalent of a summer romance. Minus the romance.
I flipped the lock on our door, and said, “That was last night.”



You can buy this book at:
Amazon (print, audio, paperback)
Barnes & Noble
Kobo
iBooks

5 Books That Taught Me Everything I Know About Writing

Okay, not really. It took more than five books. And everything I know about writing didn't solely come from reading--a huge part of it came from working with editors through the years, starting with Jacqui Bianchi back at Mills & Boon  (!?).

But a lot of what I've learned did come simply through reading.

Here are five of what I consider my "break-thru" books.


SUBTEXT - The Hollow by Agatha Christie 

What the hell are these people talking about??!!! That was my initial reaction reading The Hollow. I was in high school and I was on a mission to read every book written by Christie. The Hollow turned out to be one of my all time favorites by her, but when I started reading it I was confused by the fact that the Angkatells were clearly speaking in code to each other. Even the servants were speaking in code to the Angkatells! So much of the conversation was verbal shorthand. In fact, most of the key communication was unspoken or delivered in the personal, private language of families.

This was the first time I understood what was meant by subtext and saw how very effective it could be in, amongst other things, illustrating relationship dynamics.








 BACKSTORY - Weep and Know Why by Elizabeth Ogilvie 

Did I miss something? This was another book I read in high school, and a lot of it takes place in flashback, which I was a little confused by. Not because I hadn't read stories with flashbacks before, but because the flashbacks were woven so subtly, so craftily throughout the text. No asterisks, no double spaces, no time stamp. Just the memories of Mirabell as she's working her way through some pretty terrifying events.

Not just that, it was clear that all the characters had complicated histories and relationships, i.e., backstory and Ogilvie did not painstakingly explain them all in convenient info dumps for the slower kids in the class. I had to read the whole book to understand both past and present--which is how it's supposed to be, though that didn't dawn on me until this very book.





SETTING - The Moonspinners by Mary Stewart

I read The Moonspinners in junior high school. I'd seen the movie and I was a little taken aback at how very different the book was--but in the end was won over entirely. It was wonderful, and one of the most wonderful parts about it was how vivid the descriptions were of...well, everything. Everywhere. Every single place the heroine went...from the goat-scented interior of a gassy, groaning bus to the chilly dank interior of a tomb... it was all so real.

In fact, the writing was so evocative, I didn't skim past all "The Description" as I usually did with the generic settings in so many novels. This was the book where I realized that setting was a key element of making the story world come to life.










DIALOG - The Masqueraders by Georgette Heyer

Okay, this--possibly my all-time favorite of Heyer's work--is a beautiful illustration of how to handle subtext, backstory, and setting, but what really made Heyer stand out for my junior high school self was the dialog. It wasn't just what Heyer's characters said--though my God, she was funny--no, witty--it was their delivery too. The timing! The expressions! The tone! It was a revelation to see how someone who understood how to use descriptive tags could enhance already really strong dialog.

Even as a very inexperienced aspiring writer I couldn't help noticing that every single conversation was either amusing in its own right or served to advance the story. There was no filler, no babble, no turning pages to get to the action because there was plenty of entertaining action in the dialog itself.









METAPHOR - The Lady in the Lake by Raymond Chandler

I didn't get around to reading Chandler until I was in college, and had it not been part of the course curriculum I probably wouldn't have read it then (which means...holy moly! I might not have ended up marrying the SO--because it was at least partly our love of hard-boiled fiction and Chandler that
brought us together)! Anyway, until college I assumed Chandler, Hammett, Macdonald were all on a par with Mike Hammer and The Executioner. :-D So imagine my surprise when I stumbled across lines like:

“He looked about as inconspicuous as a tarantula on a slice of angel food cake.”

“She gave me a smile I could feel in my hip pocket.”

“Dead men are heavier than broken hearts.”

Coming from the world of He was as tall as a six-foot, three-inch tree, this was enlightenment. Until that moment my use of metaphor had been constrained to similes.





BREVITY - Fadeout by Joseph Hansen

Ironically, Hansen was a writer who knew his way around a metaphor or two--as evidenced by his work as James Colton--but part of what set him apart from his contemporaries, was his sparing, occasionally spartan, use of language. Less is more was the lesson I learned from Hansen--and it was a lesson that came long after college and after I had published my own first novel. Quality over quantity. Cut, cut, cut down the bone. Brevity, may or may not be the soul of wit, but the tighter the prose, the sharper the point.









Any books change the way you write or even the way you read? Share them below!

Book Trailer - MURDER TAKES THE HIGH ROAD

New book trailer!

MURDER TAKES THE HIGH ROAD - Playlist

I'm going to be honest here and admit this playlist is completely self-indulgent. I threw in some of my favorite Gaelic songs and a few odd things from my misspent past--they don't really have ANYTHING to do with this kooky, quirky cozy mystery about murder stalking a busload of tourists visiting the haunts and habitats of their favorite Scottish mystery author Dame Vanessa Rayburn. And yet they do.

Anyway, this music seems perfect for this book, for a number of reasons--which I hope will be clear once you've read the book. :-)  It comes out April 23rd from Carina Press.











Gabhaim Molta Bríghde -Aoife Ní Fhearraigh
Big Country - Big Country 



Eurythmics - Here Comes the Rain
Dark and the Rolling Sea - Al Stewart
Calum Sgaire - Christine Primrose



500 Miles - The Proclaimers
This Love Will Carry - Dougie Maclean
Black Water - Of Monsters and Men
When I Was Young - Catherine Ann MacPhee
The Lumineers - Hey Ho



The Cruel Sister - Old Blind Dogs
Why Does it Always Rain on Me - Travis 
Lament for Red-Haired John - Ishbel NicAsgaill
Island Moon - Calum Kennedy 

New Release THE MAGICIAN MURDERS

Yes, it's live!

Sort of. Kind of.

It's live on Amazon. I'm leaving it at the $4.99 preorder price for one week.

So that's the good news.

Unfortunately, for the first time Smashwords was unable to release early when requested. That's beyond frustrating and the result is I won't be doing my Kobo or B&N preorders through Smashwords.  In all honesty, I shouldn't be going through Smashwords for Kobo and B&N anyway, but it's easier and sometimes I just get lazy.

So ironically, if you preordered, you're getting the book after everyone else. Which is... not that funny really. But it's a holiday weekend, so a lot of you wouldn't have time to ready anyway, right?

Worst case scenario is the book will be live on Monday, which is still better than the 9th of April.

Originally, I was going to do a trilogy like the All's Fair series, but I really, really enjoy writing Sam and Jason --and people really seem to enjoy reading them. So the series does not end with book three, as you will see when you read the last chapter. ;-)

So it's a midpoint book and the various story arcs reflect that. Which is all I want to say because SPOILERS. I will say it's very much a relationship book.

YES, IT IS A KISSING BOOK. I admit it. But plenty of people die too!

Anyway, there you have it.

Abracadabra, Alakazam, and Bibbidi-Bobbidi-Boo!

Kale Williams on THE ART OF MURDER series

The story of how Kale Williams came to narrate the Art of Murder series is kind of an interesting one. I originally contracted Chris Patton to do The Mermaid Murders, but some things came up in Chris's life and, to make a long story short, I started hunting around for a brand new voice for this (then) brand new series. I asked Facebook readers who they were listening to and one of the books mentioned was a title from Tara Lain's Pennymaker series. I believe Tara's was the only M/M title Kale had done at the time, but when I heard his voice, I was all Hey there, Jason West! ;-)

And the rest is history.

I've since used Kale for a number of projects and I really love the fact that he's as professional as he is talented.

So without further adieu, meet Kale Williams!

Tell us a little bit about your background. How did you get started in narrating audio books? How many audio books have you narrated? I started my narration work recording textbooks for the blind & dyslexic. Most of my work at the time was as a theatre actor and I was traveling a lot for jobs. It was nice side work that I could take with me wherever I went. Leading up to my wedding about 5 years ago, I was looking for more work I could do from home, so I built a home studio and fell in love with narrating audiobooks. Since then, I’ve recorded over 100 titles, and I work not only with independent authors, but also big publishers like Penguin Random House and Audible Studios. 
 How much acting is involved in narrating a story? Most of the work I’m doing while narrating is acting work, but there’s also a good amount of directing that goes into it as well. I need a good sense of the overall arc of the story, and the shifting moods of each chapter and section, to really escort the listener along on the journey. And on top of that, I’m basically playing every character, so I need to understand each of their points of view and major character traits as well. It’s exciting as an actor to do so because I get to bring to life characters I would never ever play on stage or on camera. 
 What kind of prep do you do before you start a project? How much thought goes into choosing the types of voices you use for different characters?
My first step in prepping a book is consulting with the author, if possible, to get any strong ideas they have on their story and characters, be that an overall mood or specific accents or character traits they deem important. Then I read the manuscript to get my own sense of the story and characters as a reader. Hopefully the two views coincide, if not we find a happy medium together. 
In terms of voices, it really depends on the genre as to how far I go with characterizations. Usually I try to err on the more subtle side, and focus on the predominant character traits to bring out the voice of a character. Then I layer on any extrinsic aspects that are mentioned in the text, be they accent or timbre or rate of speech. That said, these processes take place more subconsciously for me nowadays. The writers I work with often draw such vivid characters that, once I read the book, I have a solid picture in my head of each character and know how they sound to me.   You’ve narrated a number of titles for me including standalones and the Art of Murder series. How is narrating a series different from narrating a standalone book? I guess what I’m getting at is as the author of an ongoing series, I’ve got to show character growth and a progression in the characters’ relationship in each book. Is there a similar challenge for you as the narrator?
Series narration has its own unique challenges and benefits. The benefit is, I get to know the main characters so intimately that the prep work is usually quicker for each subsequent book. That said, if it’s months or years between books, I may have forgotten my original pictures of these characters, or those mental pictures may have changed. I often narrate 2-5 books per month, so there are many more characters living in my brain after that time has passed. Plus, if a character takes a dramatic turn further on in a series, I need to marry those changes with the original character I created. This can be a big challenge if there are dramatic shifts that occur.   One of the projects you took on for me was narrating So This is Christmas, the final installment of the Adrien English series. How difficult was it to pick up where another highly regarded narrator left off?
This was one of the biggest narrating challenges I’ve faced so far. With five audiobooks already recorded by someone else, and a fan base very loyal to this series, it’s inevitably jarring to the listener to hear a new voice for this world. But as there have been many actors playing characters like Batman or James Bond, there will inevitably be comparisons, but each lives in his own world of interpretation. I tried to stay true to the characters as they read to me, and hoped to convey the author’s story in the clearest way possible. At the end of the day, that’s always my job.   I think you did a terrific job, so thank you for taking that one on. ;-)  Anyway, The Art of Murder’s BAU Chief Sam Kennedy has been described as “cold, ruthless and a hard-ass.” How do you make that kind of character likable? (Personally, I think you give a very nuanced narration of Kennedy).
I love complex characters like Kennedy, or playing well-drawn antagonists and villains. I try to understand why they are the way they are. Why does Kennedy distance himself from intimate relationships? What in his past made him this way? And what is his ultimate goal with his behavior? He can be incredibly selfless in his pursuit of truth and justice. That may not always manifest itself in kindness and warmth, but I think to him the ends may justify the means. And if we see glimpses of his true self along the way, hopefully those shine brighter when we understand him on a deeper level.   I hope the same! Readers tend to be #TeamSam or #TeamJason. Which are you? Or is a narrator allowed to take sides? :-D
#TeamLanyon4eva  HAHAHAHAHHA. Very diplomatic. Which character is most fun to narrate? Sam or Jason? Why?
I can’t really separate each of them from the story. They provide a yin and yang element for me. I get to bring out more humor and wryness with Jason, and leave it all out there, especially since we see this world through his eyes. We don’t get that inner voice with Sam, so there’s more to layer and reveal just through his dialogue. And he has his own very dry wit, though maybe not as intentionally as Jason. I love them both.   Which character is the most difficult to narrate? Sam or Jason? Why?
Probably Sam, for the reason just stated. We are seeing him through Jason’s eyes, so we really only see the pieces of him that Jason allows himself to see (and that he allows Jason to see). POV is always an interesting aspect to keep in mind when I narrate.  
Is there a particular scene in either of the first two books you think you read especially well? Or that you particularly enjoyed reading?
One scene that stands out for me is when Jason is trapped in the mausoleum in The Monet Murders. There is so much mystery happening at that point, and the listener/reader really has no idea who could have locked him in there. The mood is so heightened and dangerous at that moment. Plus I love the description of the Tiffany windows and the mental gymnastics Jason goes through in assessing his situation and surroundings, admiring the art, and struggling with his temptation to break them to escape, but unable to conceive of a situation where he could justify doing so. The complexity of that moment remains vivid in my mind.   You’re doing a lot of M/M Romance these days, which means you've read a LOT of sex scenes. How awkward is it to read erotic scenes aloud?
LOL yes I have! It’s not so much awkward anymore. Sometimes it makes me laugh because every author has a different set of colorful language used to describe anatomy and erotic acts, and it can be so creative and evocative that it sometimes catches me by surprise.    Aside from getting paid in timely fashion 

What I Did on My Winter Vacay

MOSTLY what I did was write. Sloowwwwly but suuuuurely The Magician Murders is taking shape. But while I was on Catalina Island (which is where I go for vacations) I also walked, slept, ate (too much) and drank...a bit.

By accident I discovered something called Caramel Appletinis and I'm determined to master them.

However, it turns out there are a lot of different recipes and they don't bear a lot of resemblance to each other.

This one from allrecipes is the right color, so I'm thinking I'll try it first.

Ingredients

white sugar
ice
1 fluid ounce vanilla-flavored vodka
1 ounce sour apple schnapps (such as DeKuyper® Sour Apple Pucker)
1 fluid ounce butterscotch schnapps (such as DeKuyper® Buttershots®)
1 maraschino cherry

NOTE TO SELF: The version I drank skipped the cherry (just as well, since we don't like them) but drizzled caramel syrup artistically along the sides of the glass. ER, WHY ARE WE REFERRING TO OURSELVES AS "WE," PRECIOUS?

Enywhoo...


Directions

Pour sugar onto a small, shallow plate. Moisten the rim of a martini glass with water and dip the moistened glass into sugar. CHECK!

Fill a shaker with ice. CHECK!

Pour in vanilla vodka, sour apple schnapps, and butterscotch schnapps. CHEK/

Cover the shaker and shake until chilled; strain cocktail into prepared martini glass. CH--hmm... GULP!

Garnish with maraschino cherry. (STILL GULPING)

The Magician Murders - Playlist

In the initial stages of writing, I usually listen to a Pandora channel my nephews refer to as the "Funeral Channel" or the "Death Channel". (Outside my family circle it's actually known as "Meditation by the Sea".) Sometimes I listen to the "Wind Chimes channel," which the nephews assure me is indistinguishable from the "Funeral Channel," though I beg to differ. Sometimes I listen to classical music. Basically I listen to stuff that does not have words.

But eventually I always hit a point where I am longing for something a bit peppy--and emotional. I go back to One Republic and Lifehouse and Muse and start to develop a playlist that keeps me in the right mood for each phase of the story. I'm at that point in the creative phase of The Magician Murders. The point where I am driving the SO and Marlowe the Mutt crazy playing the same songs over and over. ;-)

I like this phase though because it means the story is becoming real to me and I'm thinking less about the order of words and more about how the characters feel about each other and all the dreadful things happening to them.

Anyway, here's the official unveiling of The Magician Murders playlist.


The Conjuring - Megadeth  Feel Again - One Republic 



Buried Treasure - Grant Lee Phillips  Still - Matt Nathanson  Can't Take My Eyes Off You (Ruby's song) - Englebert Humperdick


Reborn - Stone Sour  Hold Onto What You Believe Mumford & Sons  Only You're the One - Lifehouse


Unpack Your Heart - Phillip Phillips  Wherever I Go - One Republic  Five Magics - Megadeth  

Exclusive to Patreon - Seance on a Summer's Night

I posted a few weeks back about my decision to start a Patreon account.

One of the things I'd really hoped for from building what has turned out to be part community and part super-fan club, is simply the energizing effect of interacting with truly engaged readers. This has turned out to be the case. It is energizing--and it's also inspirational in a way I didn't expect.

Anyway, one of the "rewards" I'm giving at the three dollar contribution level is access to an exclusive serialized novel called Seance on a Summer's Night.

It is a wacky tale of possession and murder and, well, male/male romance.

Here's the Blurb:

Theater critic Artemus Bancroft isn’t sure what to expect when his aunt summons him home to California with vague but urgent pleas about being unable to cope with “the situation.”
What the situation turns out to be is the apparent haunting of Green Lanterns Inn--and rumors that Auntie Halcyone may have murdered her philandering husband.
In fact, the rumors seem to have been started by the late Mr. Hyde himself—from beyond the grave. 

And here's a wee snippet of an excerpt:

I started down the brick walk leading to the lower garden but found the path ended in a tangle of weeds. Looking beyond, I saw that the maze, an intricate pattern of hedges covering an acre of ground, was as neglected as the rose garden. Good luck finding your way out of there now. The shrubs, which had always been clipped to geometrically precise forms and whimsical topiaries of deer and lions, were now unkempt blobs, the new leaves a pale, eerie green. The smooth velvet lawns that had rolled like a carpet down to the swimming pool were dotted with yellow dandelions.
What the hell was the excuse for this? Okay, Aunt H. and Liana were currently living like nuns, but what did their lack of social life have to do with the upkeep of the grounds?
I turned back toward the house, cutting through a break in the vegetation. Turning the corner, I spotted a man leaning on a hoe and staring intently at the house. He wore one of those brown felt Aussie hats, and though it was still early and cool in the shade, he was shirtless. Though his back was turned to me, I knew he was a stranger. Presumably the new gardener, who wasn’t afraid of ghosts. He had an exceptionally nice back—lean and lithe. Wide shoulders and narrow hips. What was he looking at so intently?
The gardener must have heard something because he turned suddenly, studying me with a hard, blue appraisal. Or maybe I imagined the hardness because the next instant he was smiling cheerfully.
“Hey there. Lose your way through the woods?” He was about my age, his voice friendly.
That broad white grin was hard to resist, like stepping into sunlight after miles of deep shade. My spirits rose for the first time since my return to Green Lanterns.
“Nope. I’m Artemus Bancroft, Mrs. Hyde’s nephew.”
“Ah.” He cocked his head, his gaze quizzical. Really, his front was just as appealing as his back. In fact, he was unexpectedly good-looking in a rugged, dirt-under-the-fingernails way. His eyes gleamed in his sunburned face. His dark stubble looked almost fashionable. “Right. Ulyanna said something about you visiting. Well, I’m Cassidy, the head—and so far only—gardener.”
“Nice to meet you, Cassidy.”
To be honest, he was not like any gardener I’d ever met before. A feeling reinforced as he reached automatically to shake hands but then realized his were stained with mud. Not that I’m a big believer in the Upstairs Downstairs paradigm, but I’d never known one of the gardeners to try and shake hands before. I stared at his hand. His fingers were long and slender, his palm newly blistered.“I was weeding the dahlias,” he said. 

I glanced down at his feet. He wore boots, which were firmly planted in the midst of a clump of the flowers he had been weeding. “Those aren’t dahlias,” I said. “They’re begonias.”
His brows knitted. He gazed down at the flowers, then offered that grin again. He probably got a lot of mileage from that expression. “You say potato, I say potahto.”
“Oh? Because it seemed like you were saying tomato,” I retorted.
He laughed. “They should have told me you were a horticulturist.”
“Nope, just a regular subscriber to House and Garden.”
“Gotcha.” He continued to smile at me. “What is it you do, then?”
Again, I couldn’t ever recall a gardener—or any employee at Green Lanterns—asking me what I did for a living. It wasn’t that I minded him talking to me like a peer—he was a peer, if we were going to get philosophical about it—but it also wasn’t typical behavior.
“Theater critic.”
His brows rose. “You don’t say.”
“Sure I do.” I had the funniest feeling he’d already known what I did for a living before I answered.He continued to give me that direct blue stare. Not just direct. Admiring. It had been a while since anyone looked at me like that. And while I can’t say I minded, this too was kind of odd coming from the new gardener.
“So you’re out here taking your morning constitutional?” he inquired. There was a little edge of mockery in his tone.
I responded in the same tone, “Surveying my domain.”
“It’s Mrs. Hyde’s domain, isn’t it?”
“True.”
“Your aunt’s a late sleeper, is she?”
“Not really. She didn’t use to be.”
“And the other lady. Mrs. Hyde-Kent? On the eccentric side, I’ve heard.”
Yeah, not like any gardener I’d ever met.
“Where did you hear that?” I inquired.
He shrugged. “Holds séances, doesn’t she?”
I stared back at him. Said nothing.
His eyes flickered. “Well, duty calls.” He lifted his hat in a parody of servility. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d tugged on his forelock. Assuming he had one under that wide brim.
“Uh-huh,” I said.
His eyes continued to search mine, and disconcertingly, I saw a smile lurking in those blue depths.
“I’ll see you around.”
My momentary irritation vanished. Rude, impertinent, odd, whatever, there was something inexplicably likable about Cassidy.
“Like it or not,” I said.
The smile was back. “I do like it,” he said.
I decided to get the last word by saying nothing.
As I went up the stairs to the front portico, I couldn’t help considering Cassidy. He was attractive, no question, but there was something…off about him. Kind of like his clothes. It wasn’t that they were wrong—although I’d never seen a gardener in one of those Akubras before—but they reminded me of a costume rather than work clothes. That was it. Something about Cassidy reminded me of an actor playing a part—and a slightly miscast actor at that.
Never mind not knowing the difference between a dahlia and a begonia. Shouldn’t a gardener, someone who worked day in and day out in the open, be a lot more weathered-looking? He was as sunburned as any frat boy on the first day of spring break. And surely, if he used garden tools over any length of time, his hands would have become hardened, calloused, stained. They weren’t. He had blisters.
The way he spoke too. Not just the choice of words. His very voice. He sounded, well, more educated than was usual in the gardeners I’d known through the years. And a hell of a lot nosier. Not just nosy—there had been a certain assumption of authority. Like he thought he had the right to ask questions. No, not even that he thought he had the right, because no thought was involved; he simply took it for granted he had the right.
Interesting.

And strange.


You can start reading the first two chapters when you subscribe through my Patreon page here.

Sneak Peek - THE MAGICIAN MURDERS

Good morning!

This morning I'm sharing a snippet from The Magician Murders, Book Three in The Art of Murder series. This book goes live March 27th, come hell or high water.

The book is still available at the preorder price on Kobo, iBooks and Barnes and Noble. If you follow this blog regularly you know Amazon is not currently permitting me to do preorders, which means no preorder price on Amazon. :-(  Way to go, Zon!

So personally, I suggest you preorder from one of the other sites--it's not hard to send your Kindle an epub file. OR maybe the convenience of Amazon is worth paying a bit more?

Here's the Blurb:

Nothing up his sleeves. Nothing but murder...Jason West, hot shot special agent with the FBI's Art Crime Team, is recuperating from a recent hit-and-run accident at the Wyoming home of BAU Chief Sam Kennedy when he's asked to consult on the theft of a priceless collection of vintage magic posters.But before Jason can say "presto change-o," the owner of the art collection turns up murdered in a National Forest.When the dead man is revealed to be the Kubla Khanjurer, a much-hated part-time magician accused of revealing the highly guarded secrets of professional illusionists, it seems clear this is a simple revenge killing--until Jason realizes an earlier suspicious death at the trendy magic club Top Hat White Rabbit might be part of the same larger and more sinister pattern.

And here's the Excerpt:

Chapter One
Rain flicked against the apartment windows in random, off-beat splash and dissolve. It was sort of soothing, and Jason had not had much sleep the night before, but he could not afford to drift off in the middle of a conference call with his boss.
“If the legendary West charm has failed to convince Ursula Martin to file charges against Fletcher-Durrand, maybe Uncle Sam should take a swing at her,” Karan “Respectfully, I don’t think that’s the approach we want to take with Martin,” Jason replied. “I think there’s still a good chance she’ll ultimately come through for us, but not if we push her. Her situation is complicated.”
“Isn’t everybody’s?”
Jason waited politely.
Karan sighed. “I had a feeling you’d say that, so…okay. I’ll let you make the call. she’s your complainant. Or was.”
Jason winced. The collapse two months ago of charges against the Fletcher-Durrand art gallery was still painful. He had worked his ass off building a prosecutable case of fraud, grand larceny and forgery—only to have the rug yanked out from under him when his original complainants had agreed to settle out of court with the Durrands.
There had been a hell of a lot more to it than that, of course, but the bottom line was the US Attorney’s Office would not be filing charges against Fletcher-Durrand at this time. Especially since the Durrand most wanted by law enforcement and everyone else seemed to have vanished off the face of the planet.
Not that Jason was so naïve as to imagine hard work and determination alone ensured the successful prosecution of every case—luck always played a role, and his luck had definitely been out. At least as far as the Durrands were concerned. In other ways…
His gaze traveled to a large Granville Redmond painting of California poppies beneath stormy skies, hanging on the opposite wall. 

In other ways, his luck had been very much in, which was how he came to be lying on BAU Chief Sam Kennedy’s sofa waiting for Sam to get home. Two months ago, he’d feared his relationship with Sam had run its blink-and-you-missed-it course, but against the odds, here he was.
“All right,” Karan said more briskly, her attention already moving on to bigger or more winnable cases. “Keep me posted.”
“Will do.”
She was clearly about to ring off, but Jason being one of her protégés, Karan asked suddenly, “How’s training? You’re still at Quantico?”
“Yeah. I fly out tomorrow night. Training is…training.”
“Always,” Karan agreed gravely. “Okay. Have a good flight home.” She did hang up then. Her timing was perfect. Jason heard Sam’s key in the front door lock.
He clicked off his cell and rose as the front door swung open. The scent of April showers and faded, but still slightly jarring, aftershave wafted in.
“Hey.”
Sam was a big man and he filled the door frame. Instantly, the quiet, slightly dusty rooms felt alive again. Occupied. The stale, centrally heated air seemed to break apart as though before a gust of pure, cold oxygen.
 “Hi.” Sam looked tired. He always looked tired these days. His short blond hair was wet and dark, the broad shoulders of his tan trench coat splattered with rain drops. He was not exactly handsome—high cheekbones, long nose—hard mouth—but all the pieces fit perfectly in a face that exuded strength, intelligence, and yes, a certain amount of ruthlessness. His blue eyes looked gray—but they warmed at the sight of Jason coming towards him. He dropped his briefcase and took Jason into his arms, kissing him with full and flattering attention.
Sam even tasted tired—too many cups of coffee, too many breath mints, too many conversations about violent death. Jason kissed him back with all his heart, trying to compensate with a sincere welcome home for what had probably been a shitty day.
Not that Sam found a day of murder, rape and abduction as depressing as Jason would. Sam wouldn’t be so very good at his job, if he did.
As always, the softness of Sam’s lips came as surprise. For a guy who was rumored to have a heart of stone, he sure knew his way around a kiss.
They parted lips reluctantly. Sam studied him. “Good day?”
“It is now.”
Sam smiled faintly, glancing around the room, noting Jason’s coffee cup and the files and photos scattered across the coffee table. “This looks industrious.” His pale brows drew together. “It’s hot as hell in here.”
Jason grimaced. “Sorry. I turned the heat up. I was freezing when I got in.”
Sam snorted, nodding at Jason’s jeans and red MOMA t-shirt. “You could always try putting on a sweatshirt. Or even a pair of socks.”
“True, I guess.”
Sam grinned. “You California boys.”
“Known a lot of us, have you?” Jason was rueful. At forty-six, Sam had twelve years and a whole hell of a lot of experience on him.
“Only one worth remembering.” Sam pulled him back in for another, though briefer, kiss.
Jason smiled beneath the pressure of Sam’s firm mouth.
When Sam let Jason go, he said, “Sorry I’m late. Any idea where you want to eat tonight?” He absently tugged at his tie, probably a good indicator of what he’d prefer. Jason too, for that matter.“We don’t have to go out. Why don’t we eat in?”
Sam considered him. “You’ve only got another day here.”
“I didn’t come for the night life. Well.” Jason winked, but that was just in play. He suspected it was going to be a low-key night. Sam pushed himself too hard. There wasn’t any good reason for it because the world was never going to run out of homicidal maniacs. There was no finish line in this race. “Anyway, it’s not like I don’t get to eat out enough.”
The corner of Sam’s mouth tugged in acknowledgment. “Yeah. But you must’ve noticed there’s nothing to eat in this place.”
Jason shrugged. Sam’s fridge reflected the state of his own—the state of anyone whose job kept them on the road most of the time.
“I did notice. Not a problem. I’ll run out and pick us something up.”
Sam opened his mouth, presumably to object, and Jason said, “You look beat, Sam. Let me take care of dinner.”
“Why, thank you.” There was the faintest edge to Sam’s tone.
He didn’t like being reminded he wasn’t Superman. Jason had learned that over the past ten months. Sam worked hard and played—when he did play, which was rarely—harder. He had the energy and focus of guys half his age, but part of that was sheer willpower.
“You know what I mean.”
Sam grimaced. “I do, unfortunately.”
“So? You must have a favorite Chinese restaurant.” Jason was smiling because he didn’t take Sam’s flickers of irritation all that seriously—and because the first meal they’d shared had been Chinese food.
Ah, memories. They’d pretty much detested each other back then. Which had made the sexual tension that flared instantly between them all the more—and mutually—exasperating.
“Sure. But…”
Sam didn’t finish the thought. Weariness vying with his sense of obligation. Their relationship was such—the nature of their jobs was such—that there was not a lot of time for dating as most of the world understood it.
Jason got it. Anyone in law enforcement got it. But Sam still suffered these occasional bouts of guilt. Or whatever. Sam’s obsession with the job was always going to be a challenge to their relationship. Initially, Jason had figured it had to do with losing Ethan, but for all he knew, Sam had always been like this.
And maybe that single-minded drive had been an issue between Sam and Ethan too. Ethan had been Sam’s boyhood love. They’d grown up together, planned to spend their lives together, but Ethan had been murdered while they were still in college. That was about all Jason knew because Sam was not informative on the topic of Ethan.
“Take out and staying in is actually what I’d prefer,” Jason said.
“Yeah?” Sam scanned his face, then relaxed. “Well, if that’s the case. The China King restaurant on Hope Road is pretty good. Tell me what you want—”
“Nope. You tell me what you want. I’ve been sitting around here for a couple of hours. I need to stretch my legs anyway.”
Sam hesitated. “You sure you don’t mind?”
Jason half closed his eyes, consulting his memory of that first night in Kingsfield. “Hot and sour soup, shrimp with lobster sauce…what else? Steamed rice or fried?”
“Steamed. Good memory,”
“You need it in my line of work.” Jason wiggled his eyebrows, as though he was involved in some nefarious occupation and not just another cop with a fancy title. He hunted around for his shoes, locating them beneath the coffee table. His leather jacket was draped over the autumn colored accent chair in the corner of the room.
He was pretty sure Sam had taken this “apartment home” furnished, because the décor had a definite Overstock.com vibe. Comfortable, attractive, generic. Other than the four paintings by Granville Redmond that decorated his living room, office and bedroom walls, the place could have doubled as a very nice hotel suite.
“Hope Road, you said?” He checked his wallet.
“Go north on US-1. It’s less than a mile.” Sam was shrugging out of his raincoat, preparing to get comfortable, and Jason smiled inwardly.
“Got it. I’ll be back in a few.”
“West?”
Jason glanced back. “Mm?”
Sam grinned. “Don’t forget the fortune cookies.”

“Roger that.” Jason touched a finger to his temple in mock salute and stepped outside.