Judith Post's Blog, page 10

Love/Hate

It happens every time. While I’m writing a book, I love it. When I finish a book, I hate it. I can hardly make myself read it. That’s why I rewrite as I go. I write a chapter one day, rewrite it the next, then write another one. Once I finish the last chapter and polish it, I’m over it.

This book, Facing the Music, gave me more grief than usual while I wrote it. I still loved it, maybe more than usual, because it made me work so hard. It worried me, though. Did it actually turn out the way I wanted it to? So, I decided to give it one more start to finish rewrite. A terrible idea. I should know better.

Every chapter was boring. My wording was clumsy. I should just take the whole thing and toss it in the trash. I got pretty disappointed. And then I remembered. I’ve never liked one book, not one, once I finished it. So I can’t tell. I don’t know if this book is good or not. I’ll have to let my critique partners decide. If they say to fix something, I do. Because my opinion isn’t worth much. They can be objective. I can’t.

There are so many things I like about the story. It kept surprising me. But they’re not surprises anymore. Been there. Done that. Anyway, someday in the near future, the book will be ready to publish. I hope.

Farewell, Can Stock

For years, when I needed a royalty-free image, I went to Can Stock to download one. So, I was sad when I got an email, telling me Can Stock was going to be no more. Once I thought about it, though, I realized that these days, I pay once a year for the pro version of Canva, and more often than not, I use the images provided on there. I only went to Can Stock when I couldn’t find what I wanted at Canva. Lots of other people must be doing the same thing.

A lot has changed since I first started writing. And most of the changes have made things easier. Canva sent me an email that they now have AI generated images, so I spent some time yesterday playing with photos to try to create a few twitter posts. And just like everything else I try to learn, because I’m not very tech savvy, the learning curve is going to take me some time. I scrapped everything I came up with, but I’ll play with it off and on until hopefully, I get better at it. Losing Can Stock was sort of an eye opener for me, though. I do a lot more than write stories these days, and I enjoy all of it. But I’ll miss scrolling through all of the images on my old friend Can Stock. Some of them really inspired me.

Almost There

I only have to write two more chapters, and I’ll have the first draft of FACING THE MUSIC done. This WIP has been a love/hate relationship from the start. Every book is different. When I first started writing, I thought there’d come a day when I’d master everything I needed to create great characters, tell a story that kept readers turning pages, and get everything right from the first page to the last. Not so much. Some books leap from my mind like Venus rose from the sea, fully formed, almost writing themselves. Some books start great and my fingers can’t type words fast enough, then they hit the middle muddle and I slog through, trying to keep some momentum until finally I hit the last fourth of the book and it’s a race to the finish line. Then there are books that fight me every inch of the way.

FACING THE MUSIC, so far, has made my writing life more difficult than any book I’ve ever worked on. But the truth is, it’s surprised me with neat ideas over and over again. I love writing it. I hate fighting with it. But I love the way it’s turned out. First off, I usually get an idea for a story, jot down notes as they pop in my head, and then I write a chapter or two to see the setting and hear the characters. After that, I stop writing to outline. I like to have 35 to 40 plot points AND a character wheel for any major players before I write another word. But FACING THE MUSIC wouldn’t cooperate. It would only throw out two or three chapter ideas at a time. So, I’d write those chapters and pray there’d be some kind of inspiration for more. Time after time, I’d write a chunk of the book and then worry I’d be stuck and never finish the thing. But every single time, when I thought I was going in one direction, a spark of a new one would show up. And I’d scribble down the next four or five chapter ideas to work on. Over and over again, I’d hit a wall, but the next day, an AHA! moment arrived. The entire book came to me in sections and made me a little crazy. But every time I panicked, the story showed me how to proceed.

I don’t like surprises. I like having plot points and to feel secure that I have enough to flesh out an entire novel. I don’t like pantsing. But I really like the end result, so I’m glad I stuck with it. But I sure hope this never happens again.

The End

I finally posted the last chapter of my short paranormal story, Hidden Magic, on Vella. I’ve been trying to polish and post its chapters while I’m writing FACING THE MUSIC, my second Nick and Laurel novel. It’s been sort of a fun balancing act, going back and forth between the two. And I like them both for different reasons.

Every once in a while, I just love to write a paranormal where I have so much more freedom for my imagination. When I first signed with my agent, I wrote a lot of urban fantasy, and I enjoyed it. But the market was glutted, so I had to try something that might actually attract a publisher. I went to romance and eventually to cozy mysteries. And I enjoy those, too. Somewhere in there, I played around with some short horror stories and sold them to anthologies, but horror’s not easy for me. I can only write dark for a short time, and then I need to go lighter. The older I get, the more I like upbeat endings.

Paranormal has a nice balance for me. It’s sort of like cozies. Yes, a good person or two might die, but the good always win at the end. And there’s magic. I love the idea of magic. Of course, in stories, magic can make your life more difficult, because someone always has magic that wants to misuse it. And the protagonist has to defeat him or her to keep the world safe. The battles are bigger with more consequences.

But Hidden Magic is finished, and the good guys–as usual–win. Now, I’m getting close to the last chapters of Facing The Music, so I can concentrate on finishing that book. In cozies, sometimes good people die and sometimes the victim has so many enemies, for good reason, that it’s hard to decide which one of them finally killed him. This time around, I ended up with a sympathetic victim. No one can figure out why anyone would want to hurt Asher. But someone stabbed him over and over again. Why?

HH’s brother is coming to stay with us for a week in mid-October for a visit. I’m hoping to have my first draft of Nick and Laurel done by then. But that’s pushing it. With me luck.

Loglines, taglines, and blurbs are all hard for me. Staci Troilo’s suggestions might help:

Blurbs

Villains

I just finished reading Ilona Andrews’ MAGIC CLAIMS. I love her Kate Daniels series. She writes urban fantasy and always creates strong, almost impossible to beat villains. That’s what makes her novels page turners. Add one battle after another, and we cross our fingers the heroes won’t be defeated in the big, final battle at the end of the book.

In MAGIC CLAIMS, the writers created some of my favorite villains yet. For one thing, Kate and her husband Curran–a wear lion–are battling enemies they can’t even identify. The shifters are too big and oddly shaped. What are they? Where did they come from? They all wear golden collars. Why? The heroes finally realize it’s because someone is controlling them. They have to defeat hunters controlled by black collars. And worst of all, they’re pitted against priest/mages whose magic is ancient and wild. That same someone or some THING controls them, too. So, what IS the thing that has enough power to do that? The mysteries add to the allure so that the BIG villain becomes really intriguing.

To make the secret opponent even more formidable, she’s taken over an entire town and demands that they pay her people as tributes so that she doesn’t destroy everyone living there. Kate and Curran lead their team to find her and protect the town. They soon learn that their opponent is willing to lose or kill even her own hunters and shifters to accomplish what she wants.

While I read the book, I kept wondering what Kate and Curran were really up against. As usual, Ilona Andrews delivered on a worthy enemy. I write some urban fantasy and I write cozy mysteries where I try to create a believable reason for a killer to kill. But I’ll never come close to writing page-turners like Ilona Andrews. Ilona explained once that she and her husband purposely differentiated their urban fantasy from others by making them action-packed, and it works.

Do you have any favorite villains who kept you turning pages? Hannibal Lecter? Jack the Ripper? Moriarty? What made them stand out for you? They sure up the tension in a story and make the protagonist work harder to win.

So Many Types of Good

I had writers’ club last Wednesday, and the thing I love about our group is that we all write different things. Les is writing a thriller–and he’s pulling out all the tricks. Lots of villains. Murders. Sex. And tension. He told us he was going for shock value this time around, and I think he’s outdone himself. I hope he finds an agent and a publisher.

Karissa is writing a family young adult type novel. She’s SO GOOD at writing emotional scenes. Each chapter tugs at your heart somehow. She still has a lot to write, and I’m glad. I love listening to her read.

My critique partner, M.L. Rigdon/Julia Donner is working on one of her Regency romances. And I personally think her books are hard to beat. Witty. Dry humor. And usually some steam. I love them!

My friend for years, D.P. Reisig, is writing a historical mystery using Abraham Lincoln when he was still a lawyer. It’s a true case, and she’s buried herself in research, and it’s WONDERFUL. She hopes to have it finished later this year and available next spring.

Larry, an ex-cop, is writing a memoir about his years on the force. And how could that NOT be interesting? Jeez, cops meet a lot of weird people!

Ruth Baker is a playwright and writes novels. She wrote a book about Edith Hamilton’s life. I fell in love with Hamilton’s book, Greek Myths, when I was in high school. I never realized her family lived in Fort Wayne, Indiana, and that her two sisters were almost equally as famous as she was. Three women WAY ahead of their times! So interesting! She’s sending it out, and I hope she finds an agent and publisher, too.

I just finished Kyra Jacobs’ romance, ONCE UPON A BEAST, and I LOVED it! She’s a fellow author friend, too. If you’re in the mood for a fun romance with great characters, major and secondary, I highly recommend it. https://www.amazon.com/Once-Upon-Beast-Bourbon-Falls-ebook/dp/B0BSL8413V/ref=sr_1_1?crid=130EKR3L4H0N5&keywords=once+upon+a+beast+bourbon+falls+%231+by+kyra+jacobs&qid=1694897576&sprefix=%2Caps%2C112&sr=8-1

Anyway, I was just thinking about how many good books I’ve read lately, and how many styles they are. Good writing is good writing. Good stories hook and grab me. My favorites are mysteries, but I’ve sure enjoyed branching out and trying a few new things. My opinion right now? If you create wonderful characters, come up with a good story (it doesn’t have to be tense or splashy, just appealing), and your writing is vibrant, that’s probably enough for me.

Hidden Magic

I’ve having fun creating twitter posts for chapters of Hidden Magic. These are what I’ve made so far:

That’s it so far! These have been fun to make.

A new Noira and Speed Mystery (#4)

Noira and Speed #4

It was early afternoon.  Speed was at the grill.  The man loved to throw cookouts in their apartment’s tiny backyard.  He’d put up a tent with netting sides to keep bees and bugs away from the tables he’d set up on the patio.  But bugs or not, it was too warm and humid for Noira to enjoy being outdoors.  She’d rather be inside.  Air-conditioning was a gift from the heavens.  Why not appreciate it?

“Stop whimpering and help me out.”  Speed didn’t get too bent out of shape about much but his cookouts. 

Noira made a face but didn’t comment.  She loved the idiot.  She could forgive him.  “I’m bringing the sides, okay?  Give me a break.”  She put a big bowl of baked beans with bacon on the table.  Then she limped into the apartment and came out to add a big bowl of potato salad.  Her mom’s recipes.  Her mom was a good cook.  Not very attentive, but an okay mother.

Speed looked at her.  “Did you make those yourself?”

“They’re your favorites.  Of course, I did.  You don’t like any I’ve bought.  So, you owe me.”

He grinned.  “I bought a special bottle of red wine for you after everyone leaves.”

He was forgiven.  Noira grabbed her cane and wobbled back to their apartment.  She’d bought two watermelons for his cookout, too, and needed to slice them.  Along with a few boxes of Texas toast to heat in the oven.  He’d be kissing her knees soon.  She’d lived with Speed six years and knew what made him happy. 

Cars started pulling into the spaces in front of their apartment.  His friends were arriving.  Speed left his grill to greet them.  For the first time ever, she’d bought six whole chickens, halved them, and put them in the oven to roast.  Salt and pepper, some garlic powder and onion powder.  They’d taste good.  When they were cooked through, Speed took them to the grill to crisp the chicken skin and add barbecue sauce.  He was pretty happy with himself.

Husky and his wife Juanita came first.  The paramedics he worked with had all given themselves or each other nicknames.  That’s how they talked.  Husky was tall with broad shoulders and a heavy build.   Speed led them back to the grill so he could keep an eye on the chicken while they talked.  He motioned to the cooler beside it filled with beer.  “Help yourselves.”

Roly and Stringbean came next, both single.  Their names suited them.  Standing next to each other, they made Noira think of Mutt and Jeff.  Red and Eloise joined the drinking and gab fest a few minutes later.  Both women were fitness fanatics, but they let themselves cheat at Speed’s cookouts.  Irish and Akari had stopped to pick up Ditto on their way, so they arrived last.  They helped Noira carry the watermelons and Texas toast to the table.

Husky handed Ditto a beer.  “It’s a good thing Speed drives the EMS when he works with you, or the patient wouldn’t make it to the hospital in time.”

“This wasn’t an emergency,” Ditto told him.  “I took time to gussy up for the party.”

Red looked him up and down.  “You call sports shorts and an I.U. T-shirt gussying up?”

“I shaved this morning.”  Ditto ran a hand over his clean chin.  He usually had scruffy whiskers.

“Doesn’t matter.  You made it.  Now we can eat.”  Speed looked at the spread and smiled at Noira.  “You done good.”

His idea of a compliment.  None of the other guys threw parties or had people over.  It made him happy that Noira pitched in when he invited his friends.  People stood in line to load food on their plates, then sat at the picnic tables protected by the netting.  They’d had enough get-togethers that the wives felt comfortable together and started to gossip.

Juanita glanced at her husband, her lips tilted in a mocking smile.  “Husky and I were at the store yesterday and ran into his high school crush, Connie G.  And honest to goodness, he acted like a sixteen-year-old, all awkward and geeky.  It was fun to watch.”

Husky turned to Speed.  “You remember Connie, don’t you?  Every guy in our class had a crush on her.  She was lightyears ahead of us, and you’re the one she went steady with.”

Noira’s ears perked up.  This was the first she’d heard of Speed’s high school sweetheart. 

Speed grimaced.  “We dated two years until she went off to college and broke up with me.  Met a guy her first year there.  He was a senior, so she dropped out to marry him when he graduated.”

“What kind of guy?” Red asked.

“Business or finances, someone who made big bucks.”

Irish leaned forward.  “I remember Connie.  I was a few years behind you guys, but she was the head cheerleader.  Everyone knew who she was.  She never finished college?  What does she look like now?”

Husky gave a long sigh.  “She still looks great.  She’s working on her third husband, another Polo shirt dude.  She asked about you.”  Husky raised an eyebrow at Speed.

“Water under the bridge.”  Speed’s gaze settled on Noira.  “Do you have an old crush I haven’t heard about?”

“You’re not going to,” she told him.  “High school girls aren’t at their brilliant best.”

He laughed and looked at Red.  “Any heartbreak for you in high school?”

They all started talking about their school days, and Noira remembered that being a teenager came with a lot of angst.  She’d never want to go back to those days.  She might have a limp and had to use a cane, but she was much happier in her own skin now that she was older.

The cookout didn’t end until after six.  Noira had gone all out this time and picked up a cake from Costco.  It was to die for, and people stayed until it was gone.  When Roly finally pulled away, Speed threw an arm over Noira’s shoulders. 

“You’ve earned that special bottle of wine.  You kicked butt this time.  Thanks.”

She loved making him happy.  “Let’s clean up before I start drinking.  I’m fizzling, and I might crash on you if we don’t do it now.”

It didn’t take long.  They loaded the baked beans casserole dish and the bowl for the potato salad in the dishwasher.  She’d used foil pans to make the chicken halves and threw them away.  They served everything on sturdy paper plates and plastic cups that they pitched.  Easy.  She wasn’t Little Miss Homemaker and didn’t try to be.  If she ever found store-bought baked beans and potato salad Speed liked, she’d buy those, too. 

They sagged onto the couch to watch TV at seven.  For once, she finished her red wine without getting mouthy.  And by ten, they were in bed.

Two months later, a clerk dropped a bundle of paperwork on Noira’s desk so she could set a court date for a trial.  Noira worked for Judge Hershel, one of the few female judges in the city.  Her friend, Hunter, was the detective on the case.  She pulled everything out of the file to start sorting through it when she froze. 

Speed’s first crush, Connie, had been killed on the same weekend as Speed’s cookout.  Why hadn’t they seen it in the newspapers?  And then it hit her.  They probably had, but it didn’t register.  A grainy photo of a man on the front page announced that Joseph Wilburn’s wife, Constance, had been shot in a break-in at their residence.  The husband wasn’t home that weekend.  He was out of town on a business trip.  A robber who’d been working that area was on trial.  He’d never killed before, but the cop who’d caught him thought that Connie had surprised him and he’d panicked.  Glancing through the documents, Noira wasn’t so sure.

She organized everything for trial but didn’t think Judge Hershel would be impressed with the evidence either.  It would be interesting to see what happened–if the case would go to trial or not.  She was surprised Hunter thought he could get a conviction but then noticed Hunter hadn’t signed off on anything.  He wouldn’t be in court.  The cop would, and the prosecutor was going forward without him.

She left work that night and stopped to buy Speed’s favorite vodka along with her wine.  She was going to tell him about Connie, and he wouldn’t be happy.

Unhappy was an understatement.  Speed took the news hard. 

“Someone killed her?”  He shook his head as though she had to be wrong.

“Her husband’s arranging her funeral.  The hours will be in the paper in a few days.”

Speed ran a hand through his thick, wavy black hair.  He had beautiful chocolate-brown eyes.  The man was a looker.  “And the guy they arrested?”

“Has never killed anymore before.  He breaks into houses, but that’s it.  From the reports I looked at, Hunter doesn’t think he did it.”

“We should have Hunter over, pick his brain.”

“The man’s married with three kids.  He doesn’t have a lot of free time.”

“He’d come for you.  You’re friends.”

“Better yet, on one of your days off, we should meet him downtown for lunch on us.  His pick where we meet.  Three kids cost money.”

Speed grinned.  “Got it.  I have Thursday off.  Can you set something up?”

She reached for her phone and texted Hunter.  She got an almost immediate yes.  “The Gas House?” 

She rolled her eyes.  “He’s going for broke.  But why not?”  She texted back a smiley face and “one o’clock?”

Another affirmative.  On Thursday, Speed could pump Hunter for information.

That done, she took a long breath.  “They think the burglar broke in and didn’t realize Connie was home.  Her husband was on a business trip.  She usually goes with him.  She surprised him in the middle of a robbery, and he panicked.”

“That could happen.”

“But the burglar swears he doesn’t own a gun.  Hunter’s waffling on this.  The cop says the gun belonged to Connie, and he thinks she heard noises, came down with it, and the burglar wrestled it away from her and shot her with it.”

“That sounds reasonable, too.”  Speed took a sip of his vodka.

“But Connie’s gone on every trip with her husband.  Hunter’s curious why she stayed home this time.”

“Was she sick?”

“No.  She’d gone shopping that day.  There were bags from Victoria’s Secret and Nordstrom in her bedroom.”

“Victoria’s Secret?”  Speed frowned.  “Isn’t that where you go once in a while to buy sexy lingerie to wear for me?”

“Exactly.”  And every time she did, it was worth it.  She might be a cripple and a little overweight, but Speed loved her unruly chestnut hair and extra padding.

“And her husband was out of town?”

“A week in Europe.”

Speed closed his eyes and rubbed his forehead.  Typical for when a headache was starting. 

“You okay?” she asked.

“Were two people drinking?”

“A wine glass and a whiskey glass were on the bedside table.”

“She was having an affair, wasn’t she?”

“That would be my guess.  Get the hubby out of the country, buy new sexy underthings, and have some fun.”

Speed poured himself another drink.  “She was no angel.  Not ever.  But she was faithful.  When she was with you, you were it.  When she was done, she moved on.  She married this guy.  I didn’t think she’d cheat.”

“You knew her a long time ago,” Noira said.  “People change.”

“I guess.”  He didn’t sound happy.  “I want to talk to the robber.  Is he locked up?”

“With no bail.  He’ll be happy to see a friendly face.”

He circled the table to hug her.  “You never have to be jealous of anyone.  You know that, don’t you?  You and me…we work.”

She leaned into him.  “I know that.  Why do you think I told you about Connie?  I felt safe doing it.  I knew it would bother you, though.”

“Some things are for old times’ sake.  I haven’t thought about her for years.”

“I know.”  She reached for her cellphone.  “But I’m ready for supper.  What do you want for take-out?”

“Wings.  Maybe your robber can fly the coop.”

She rolled her eyes.  “Even if he doesn’t get charged with murder, he’s in trouble for robbery.”

“Maybe he wasn’t even at her house that night.  Maybe the killer tried to make it look like a robbery.”

Noira laughed.  “If the guy gets that lucky, he should go straight.  He’s used up all his luck.”

Speed reached for his cellphone.  “Mild buffalo?”

She arched an eyebrow.  “Unless you want to heat things up tonight and go for medium.”

He punched the number and ordered mild, delivered, in an hour. 

“An hour?” Noira asked.

“We’ll need the mild to cool down, because we have some time to enjoy ourselves before supper gets here.”

Whoa!  This was going to be a good night. 

Speed drove downtown to pick her up on Thursday, then headed to the Gas House.  They met Hunter walking into the lobby. 

“Give me a limit, and I’ll be good,” he told them.  “You don’t really have to pay to get information from me.  Noira and I are friends.  She’s helped me out lots of times.”

Speed waved that away as the waitress led them to a table.  “We’re here to go for broke,” he said.  “If you want a steak, get it.  Get anything you want.”

Hunter rubbed his hands together as though he’d hit the jackpot.  “Then steak it is.”

Speed ordered steak, too, but Noira decided on crab cakes. 

Once the bread and drinks came, Noira looked at Hunter.  “I get the idea you aren’t happy with the way this case went.”

His lips turned down.  “I’m not.  We got rushed.  Doug Evans, the prosecutor, keeps telling me the husband’s breathing down his neck to find who killed his wife.  But so what?  He’s a bigwig.  That’s for sure.  But I don’t feel comfortable with what Doug and the cop have come up with.  It’s all conjecture.  They found the gun but no fingerprints on it.  And it belonged to Connie.  So who knows who shot it?  She was in some really skimpy baby doll pajamas when she was supposed to be sleeping alone.  And there were two glasses on her night table.  My guess is she had a guest.  And it wasn’t the robber.”

“But the guest wasn’t there when she was killed?” Speed asked.

Hunter locked gazes with him.  “Maybe he was.  Maybe he’s the one who pulled the trigger.  Not much was taken.  For a professional burglar, the only things missing were some electronics, a couple pieces of art, and Connie’s purse.”

Their food came, and Speed grew quiet, lost in thought.  Noira made small talk with Hunter while Speed wore his faraway look.  When he blinked and came back to them, he asked, “Have you talked to Connie’s close friends?  Was she seeing someone?”

“Every friend told us that Connie doesn’t talk about it if she plays around on the side.  She doesn’t trust anyone to keep her secret.”

“Smart woman,” Noira said.  “Things like that always leak and spread.”

“Not good for us,” Hunter countered.  “It’s going to be almost impossible to find who she was seeing.”

Noira pursed her lips, thinking.  “Have you got her cellphone?  Any number she called often?”

“She’s smarter than that.”  Hunter finished his baked potato and went back to his steak.  “Husbands check cellphones, especially if they’re suspicious.”

“Has she called for delivery on the way when her husband wasn’t home?”

Speed frowned.  “What are you getting at?”

“If her side guy is like every other man she goes for, he’s rich and powerful.  He isn’t the type of man you order a pizza for.  They probably don’t want to be seen together in public, which means they probably stay at her house to eat and have fun.”

“Why not go to his place?” Hunter asked.

“Because he’s probably married, too, or she wouldn’t have been home when she got killed.  So, they get together when poor Joseph is out of town.  At her place.  And they order in food.  I hope.”

Hunter leaned forward, excited.  “She had deliveries from Ruth Chris and Paula’s Seafood restaurant.”

Noira stopped to consider that.  “Both expensive.  She’d probably go to those places with Joseph, so I’m guessing those were nights he was gone.  If you could find out who delivered the food those nights, maybe he saw something.  If not the man, maybe his car.”

Hunter laughed.  “I love running ideas past you.  You always think of something I don’t.  I’ll get on this.  And I’ll let you know if I find anything.”

Speed studied her, looking slightly amazed.  “Not bad, Sherlock.  Let’s hope we find a new lead.”

“I hope so, too.  I think our burglar is getting railroaded.”  And that offended her.  It’s not that she thought of him as an innocent, but she didn’t think he was murderer. 

Hunter called a few days later and asked to meet at her apartment. 

“What do you want me to order?  Wings?  Pizza?”

“Ribs?”  He loved ribs.  She knew that.

She laughed.  “They’ll be here.”

Speed was home when he came.  She’d thrown away all of their take-out boxes before Hunter got there.  The apartment looked decent.  Hunter arrived, and the ribs came a few minutes later. 

“Let’s eat while we talk,” Speed said.

“I finally tracked down a driver who remembered a silver Lexus in the driveway.  He remembered because he delivered a two-hundred-dollar order, and the woman only tipped him ten bucks.  He was ticked.”

“I would be, too,” Speed said.  “Who drives a silver Lexus?”

“Now, that’s the interesting part,” Hunter said.  “Connie’s husband drives a BMW.  The only person I know who drives a silver Lexus is Doug Evans, our prosecutor.”

Speed blinked, trying to process the information.  Then he smiled.  “Now it makes sense, doesn’t it?”

“Doug has his fingers in what’s happening in the city.  He’d know about the robberies in Connie’s area.  And Doug’s wife said that he had to be out of town the night Connie died, but when we checked into when he arrived at his hotel in Indy, it was after midnight.  He’d left his office at five that night.  There was a whole lot of missing time.”

“Can you prove he killed her?” Speed asked.

“Oh, yeah, we’ll get there.  But I’d have never focused on him without Noira.”  He turned to smile at her.  “Thanks for the assist.”

She smiled, too.  “I’m just glad the right man’s going to be charged with the crime.”

The rest of the meal felt a little like a celebration.  When Hunter left to go home to his wife and kids, Speed took her hand and led her to the refrigerator.  He opened it and motioned to a bottle of cabernet.

Her jaw dropped.  She loved cabernet but stayed away from it.  When she drank dry red wine, she always got snotty, then Speed would kiss her and put her to bed. 

He kissed her now.  “Go for it, Miss Marple.  And when you get to be too much, I’ll kiss you and tuck you in.”

She reached for the corkscrew.  How she loved this man.  He understood her and loved her anyway.  Not that he was perfect.  But that’s why they were perfect together.

99 cents

Just wanted to let you know I made The Body in Someone Else’s Bed 99 cents from now through September 15th. I’ve missed Jazzi and Ansel, and it will be a minute before I can get back to them.