Judith Post's Blog, page 48

More Than a Turkey for Thanksgiving

I don’t want to treat Thanksgiving worse than I did Halloween, so here’s a short story to celebrate our day of thanks, too. Hope you enjoy it as much as Lux did.

[image error]

The Works

(a Thanksgiving story from Lux)

by

Judi Lynn

Thanksgiving was fast approaching, and Keon and I had volunteered to serve a Thanksgiving meal at the community center his brother worked at, but we were doing it on the Tuesday before the holiday, because as always, my hunky chef had to work on actual turkey day.  Restaurants did a booming business then, and his was no exception.

The same people who’d contributed food to the center last year agreed to do it again.  That meant hams and turkeys filled its large refrigerators, and items were piled on its counter tops.  The center served free lunches every day, and usually seventy-five or eighty people went through its line.  Some of them came to the cooking classes on Thursdays, but only one winner was drawn to take home the food made during the class, so that crowd was thinner.  For Thanksgiving, though, it was easy to serve over one hundred people.

The Catholic church’s soup kitchen downtown was older and more established.  It often served three hundred people a day, but Tyson and Abraham’s center was farther away on Broadway and newer.  It wasn’t as big either, so the crowds were smaller.  We could still use extra help to make the big meal, though, so Abraham had put out the word he needed volunteers.

On the Monday before the meal, Keon and I drove his white work van to the center to start prep work.  We wanted to make as much of the food ahead as possible.  Keon didn’t work on Mondays, so we had plenty of time.  I was sautéing diced celery and onions to make dressing when a thin, young woman I’d never seen before, with short brown hair, knocked on the kitchen door.  When I opened it to invite her in, she glanced at Keon and asked, “Is this the person I talk to about volunteering to cook here?” 

I shook my head.  “Wait here, and I’ll get Abraham.  He’s the director.”  I knew that he and Tyson were circulating around the dining room, stopping to chat with the people there.  I went to get him.  When he stepped into the kitchen, I almost bumped into him, he stopped so abruptly.

I squeezed past him to see what was the matter.  Staring, he asked, “Libby?  I thought you’d joined the army.”

 She looked as caught off guard as he did.  She nodded.  “Right out of high school.  Meant to make a career of it until this happened.”  She nodded to her left leg and raised the hem of her jeans.  A metal pole was attached to a fake foot.

“Lord.  When did that happen?”

“Two years ago.  Ended my days as a cook at the mess hall.  Cost me time in physical therapy, too.  Now I get a monthly government check, but money’s tight.  I tried working a desk job, but it’s not for me.  I want to get back in a kitchen.”  She studied him.  They were almost the same height, an inch shorter than my five six, and both of them thin.  “What about you, Abe?  How long have you worked here?”

No one else called him Abe.  He preferred his full name of Abraham, but he smiled when she used the nickname.  “Started here two years after college.  I like it.”

“You always did want to help people.”

He nodded, then turned to us.  “Libby and I went through middle school together, then she went to one high school, and I went to a different one.  We lost track of each other.”

She grimaced.  “I lost track of everyone, didn’t have any free time back then.  Went to school and then to my job.  My folks needed the money.”

“What brought you back to Summit City?”  He moved farther into the room, letting the door close behind him.  “Your parents moved away after you joined the military.”

“My grandpa.  I took care of him until he died.”  She looked around the kitchen at all of the supplies.  “I was hoping that if I helped cook the Thanksgiving meal, you might give me good references to find a job.”

“You don’t need to volunteer to get a reference from me.  Anything for you, Libby.”

Her cheeks colored, and she ran a hand through her short hair.  “Thanks, but I’d like to help out anyway.  Do you still need someone?”

Abraham nodded.  “You’ll be working with them, Lux and Keon.  Keon’s a chef, so he might be picky.”

She frowned.  “Are you two together?”

We got that a lot.  I have fair skin and long, wavy copper hair.  Keon’s eyes and skin are the color of milk chocolate—delicious.

I nodded.  “We live together.  We’ve been friends for forever.”

“Is that why you’re brave enough to cook with him?  Is he picky?

Keon laughed at that.  “At my restaurant maybe.  Not here.  I brought recipes for everything we’re making.  They’re scaled for big amounts, but if you cooked in a mess hall, you’re used to that.  You up for green bean casserole?  Can you start today?”

“I can start right now.”  She took off her coat and hung it on a hook by the door, rolled up her sleeves, and washed her hands.  Her gaze didn’t quite meet Abraham’s when she said, “It was nice to see you again.”

It was his turn to glance away, looking awkward.  “Same here.”  He started to leave, then hesitated.  “If you need anything now that you’re back in town, let me know.  I’m glad you’re here.”  Then he scooted out the door before she could respond.

As we cooked together, I asked, “Were you two an item before you went to separate schools?”

Keon tsked and shook his head at me.  He was making the brine for the turkeys.  “Libby just met us.  You’re not allowed to get personal right away.”

Libby grinned.  “I was in the military, remember?  The guys didn’t tiptoe around anything.”  Her expression took on a faraway look.  “Abe and I had huge crushes on each other, but we were just kids.  And I was dirt poor.  He was bound for college, and I signed up for the army to get some training and make some money.”

I could feel a small smile tug at my lips, and Keon gave me a look.  It said Don’t Play Matchmaker.  He was no fun.  But I had helped to bring Pete, our detective friend, and his sister, Gabbie, together.  All it had taken was a small nudge.  And that’s all I’d do this time.  He rolled his eyes.  He knew my looks as well as I knew his. 

We spent a long time cooking together, and the more I got to know Libby, the more I liked her.  When we’d prepped everything we could and were getting ready to leave, I said, “It’s too bad the center can’t hire a part-time cook to make the free lunches it passes out.  The meals would be a lot better.”

Libby covered the cranberry sauce she’d made and put it in the refrigerator.  “Where do the meals come from now?”

“Tyson makes them from whatever he can get at the food bank, but he’s no chef.  Not even a cook.  The meals are pretty basic.”

She pursed her lips, thinking.  “Maybe I can talk to Abe and plan out some meals if he gives me ideas what ingredients they usually get.”

“That would be nice.” 

Keon raised an eyebrow.  When we finished cleaning the kitchen, and Libby left, he shook a finger at me.  “You’re weaving your web, Spider Lady.”

With a smile, I reached for my heavy jacket.  “I hope so.  Now I need to talk to Abraham a minute, then we can leave.”

Sighing, he tossed his jacket over his shoulder.  “I’ll hang out with Tyson till you get back.”  The Johnson brothers were pretty tight.  They enjoyed each other.

I went in search of Abraham.  I found him in his office.  “I was thinking,” I said when he looked up.  “You got a large donation for the center at Halloween, and if you had a part-time cook, you could serve a lot better meals than you do now.”

“How so?”

“Good cooks can take the same ingredients but think of a dozen different ways to use them.” 

He narrowed his eyes at me.  “You’re trying to tell me to hire Libby, aren’t you?  But maybe she needs full-time work instead of part-time.”

“Maybe, but you’ll never know if you don’t ask.  Just something to think about.”  And I started to the door.  “See you tomorrow.”

We’d have to be there early in the morning to get everything in the ovens and roasters to cook fully.

###

Libby walked into the kitchen on Tuesday a few minutes after we did, and we all got busy.  By the time it was one p.m., Tyson had the tables ready, Abraham had the beverage table set up, and we had a row of tables laden with food.  When the regulars got in line, Tyson stood behind one table to dish up, Libby behind another, Keon behind the meat to carve it, and I was at the dessert table.  Abraham manned the drinks. 

People came back for seconds and thirds.  The side dishes disappeared, and so did the desserts, but we had plenty of leftover meat.  When it was finally time to tear down the tables and put things back to normal, Libby went to Abraham.

“If we cut the leftover meat off the bones, we can use it to make more dishes.  Is that all right?”

“That’s a great idea.  I’ll help.”  As he started into the kitchen with her, he said, “A donor gave a large check to the center at Halloween.  I was thinking that hiring a part-time cook might be a good use for it.”

She turned to him.  “Would you consider me?  I’d like to start working part-time to see how my leg holds out before committing to a fulltime job.”

“That would be perfect.  It would work for both of us.”  He turned to Tyson.  “You wouldn’t mind giving up the cooking part of your job, would you?  Then you could spend more time tutoring and planning activities.”

“I’m no cook and know it.  I can help more people if I’m not stuck in the kitchen.”

Abraham grinned from ear to ear, and when he turned back to Libby, their gazes locked.  “When can you start?”

“Tomorrow?  Maybe I can stay a while today to talk to you about menus.”

Keon cleared his throat to get their attention.  “Does that mean you’re finished with us today?  Can you take care of the rest on your own?”

“We’ll be fine.”  Libby didn’t look away from Abraham.

“I’ll help in the main room, see if everyone’s doing all right.”  Tyson followed us out the door.  His dark eyes glittered with humor.  “Three’s a crowd in there, don’t you think?”

I walked with a lilt in my step, I was so happy.  “They’re going to make a great team.”

“Yeah, they got a lot more for Thanksgiving than just food,” he said.  “I’m betting they got the works.”

I liked that phrase.  The works.  The full meal deal.  Everything they wanted and more.  And both of them deserved it. 

Keon wrapped an arm around my waist as we walked to his van.  “You aren’t allowed to volunteer anywhere on Valentine’s Day.  Who knows what might happen?”

I leaned into him.  “We got the works, too, when you moved in with me.  I hope they’re as happy as we are.”

“Looks like they will be.  We all have a lot to be thankful for this year.”

True.  With Cook, one of my favorite people in the whole world, moving to Summit City when the lease on her apartment ran out, things were only going to get better.

Mystery Musings

Endings. There’s a reason I like mysteries. The bad guy gets caught and justice is restored at the end of the book. If it’s a series, you know the sleuth/P.I./detective, police protagonist/etc. isn’t going to die at the end. He might get shot, beat up, trampled on, but he won’t die. Unless the author’s sick of the series and decides to end it once and for all, which doesn’t happen often. Usually, the repeat recurring characters are safe, too.

Let’s face it. Even in cozies, some minor character is often bumped off somewhere near the middle of the book to give the story a twist, a surprise, more impact. But readers are expecting that. I know, I am. In thrillers, almost always, the author creates characters for the sole reason to make us care about them so they can die. But we always know that one or more of them are expendable to up the ante of tension and make the antagonist look like a force to be reckoned with. Even more, we can almost guess which minor character is going to be sacrificed. It’s part of the rhythm of the story.

But at the end, even when there might be sadness, there’s also triumph. Not always the case when we wander into other genres. I feel pretty safe when I read urban fantasy. I mean, there are huge battles and horrific foes, but the good guys (in the ones I’ve read) win the final battle. There might be casualties, but usually no one major. And there might be a touch of the bittersweet, like when Kate’s adopted daughter goes off on her own, at the end of Ilona Andrews’ Magic series. But I haven’t read one book yet where the evil wins.

And I guess, I must really like the old, trusted good triumphs over evil idea. Because I’ve read two books now that really bugged me when I read the last chapters. And I have to say. I’m the ONLY one they bothered. Both books have great reviews. But they bothered me so much, I had to stop to think about why. I’ve read tragedies. I mean, Shakespeare was pretty good at them. I even liked them. I could see the end coming. And I think that’s the difference.

When I read horror (and I do sometimes), the end of the story is less predictable. Sometimes, evil wins. But not in the Stephen King and Dean Koontz novels I’ve read, and not in Ray Bradbury’s Something Evil This Way Comes. I liked those, because even though a lot of people were overcome by whatever monster (supernatual or human) mortals battled, the main protagonists survived. In short stories, it’s more of a toss-up. The haunted house might “eat” the person who wanders inside it. But I always know, as I read, that the ending might let the bad guy win. I’m ready for it.

The two recent books I read didn’t prepare me for such downer endings. That pleased a lot of readers. They liked being surprised. I’m not fond of surprises, not in real life, and not in books. I’m beginning to think I’m a bit of a curmudgeon. My kids might have always suspected that:) So I didn’t let the endings affect my reviews, because I think they were more about who I am than the books. But come on, I have to be a little honest, if the endings made me want to throw my Kindle at a wall, I had to at least mention that. What aggravated me, I’m thinking probably pleased most readers.

The thing is this. If a writer’s tone lets me know that someone I care about (even if they’re minor characters) is doomed, I prepare myself. It’s like watching a pet go downhill until you know you have to call the vet and do what you DON’T want to. But if the ending comes out of thin air, and you didn’t see it coming, it’s more of a shock than a surprise. And I DON’T LIKE IT. I’ve followed someone I like through one book, and sometimes more, and then the end is a COMPLETE DOWNER. And I feel gypped. Tricked. Cheated. But I’m alone, and that’s a good thing. Because any author who can make me care that much about characters is one fine writer. And the stories they write are wonderful. I just don’t like the endings.

[image error]Photo by Nadi Lindsay on Pexels.com

Happy Book Birthday to Me!

HEIRLOOMS TO DIE FOR, my second Lux mystery, is alive on Amazon today. And my first Lux mystery, BAD HABITS, is FREE on Amazon, Nov. 8-12. Hope you check them out!

I love this cover!

Just a quick share. Kensington sent me the cover for my sixth Jazzi Zanders mystery, The Body in the Beauty Parlor. And when I looked at it, I laughed out loud. I think it’s so cute!

What do you think?

November in Muddy River

October and Halloween are always fun, but November and Thanksgiving make me think of all of my blessings and the things that I’m grateful for. And November makes me think about family. In Muddy River, friends are often almost like family, so Hester and Raven invite Birch and her new coven to their house for the holiday. And they get a special surprise.

[image error]
A Thanksgiving To Remember
(Muddy River short story)
By
Judi Lynn
 
 
Something was scratching at our back door.  I straightened from rolling out pie dough to glance around the kitchen.  Claws was sprawled across the wooden floor near the archway to the living room, and Blackie, Raven’s hellhound, was stretched in front of the oven.  I swear, that hound was always under foot, especially when Raven and I were cooking together.
The noise finally made Claws curious enough that he rolled to his feet to investigate.  Sniffing, he turned to me and a low noise rumbled in his throat, telling me to open the door.
Grumbling, I wiped the flour off my hands onto my apron and went to see who…or what…was there.  Raven stopped wrestling the turkey into a cooler filled with brine and came to stand behind me.  I didn’t need protection.  Whatever it was couldn’t be an enemy or it wouldn’t have gotten by my wards.  I pulled the door wide and stared in surprise.  A mother cat—gray with a white chin and a patch of white on her stomach—gazed in at us along with a dozen kittens of all varieties, one an orange tabby, another a tiger with dark gray stripes, a calico, and even one that looked Siamese.  What the Hecate was going on?
When I stared in surprise, my ocelot raised his paw and pressed on the storm door to open it, inviting them inside.  With a flip of her tail, the mother cat strode past us and headed straight to the living room, where she and her kittens curled on the rug by the fireplace. I turned to Raven, too shocked to speak.  He looked as surprised as I felt and shrugged.  “They must have come for a reason.”
A stiff breeze pulled at the storm door and I yanked it shut, closing the door as I returned to our wooden table.  Claws padded past us and went to lie with the cats.  I blinked.  “I don’t get it.  Familiars all get along, but these cats don’t belong to anybody.  They’re strays.  And the kittens are too young to be any protection for anybody.”
My fire demon’s lips curled.  “Maybe Hecate sent them here to grow up safely.”
I couldn’t stop a grimace.  “Thirteen cats.  We’re going to kill ourselves tripping over something furry.”
He laughed.  “We’ve survived worse than kittens.  I think we’ll manage, but we’ll have to buy big bags of dry cat food.  If they want any meat, their mom will have to teach them to hunt.”
I watched the way Claws kept a close eye on them and shook my head.  “My familiar’s besotted.  He’ll probably catch food to bring to them.”  And I’d never have believed it, but I’d never seen Claws so protective before.  Even Blackie wandered into the living room to lie with them and tolerated the kittens climbing all over him.
Raven went back to tinkering with the turkey.  “Birch and her coven are coming to celebrate Thanksgiving with us tomorrow.  Thirteen girls, thirteen cats . . .”
“I thought of that, but kittens?  No one gets a kitten as a familiar when they come into their power.”
He shrugged.  “Times are changing.  Demons never get familiars, period, but Blackie decided to stay with us.”
“With you.  He chose you.”
“And now we’re one big, happy family.”  Raven chuckled as a kitten swatted at the hound’s ear.
I pressed a hand to the bag filled with herbs and magic that always dangled from the leather cord around my neck.  Hecate, help me.  First, she’d sent Blackie to Raven, and now she sent us kittens?  I already trained young witches.  Was I supposed to be a nursery for familiars now, too?
I huffed out my frustration and got busy baking pies again. 
My coven and I always celebrated Yule Eve together, but they celebrated with their own families on Thanksgiving, so this year, I’d invited Birch and her new young coven to our house for the holiday.  Birch’s parents had retired from Muddy River and left her to run their shop so they could move away.  And her coven was finally full.  She had twelve young witches who’d joined.  Most of them had graduated from my school of magic, and they were all talented, but not very powerful yet.  That would take time.
Mates were always invited, too, so Lir would be coming with Birch.  Most of the other girls were still single, living with their parents.  I expected eighteen people at our house tomorrow.  When I’d first moved into the old, yellow Victorian, I’d knocked down the wall between the kitchen and dining room, so that I had a big enough area to seat my coven and their families.  Now, all I had to do was cook enough food.
After I slid two pumpkin, a pecan, and a pear pie into the oven, I started on two pumpkin rolls—Raven’s favorites.  He loved to help me cover the sponge cakes with a cream filling and roll them up.  Then I started making the dressing while he cut diamond shapes into the ham to stud it with cloves.  We worked all day, preparing the rest of the side dishes, and by the time we’d done all the prep work we could, we reheated leftover chili for supper.
As usual, Blackie came to sit beside Raven and beg.  Claws wasn’t partial to people food, and the cats didn’t show any interest either, but a hellhound was just a big, overgrown dog, and Blackie whimpered for treats.  I shook my head and went to the pantry, returning with a ham bone.  Lots better than feeding a hound something spicy.
Blackie took it into the living room to gnaw on in front of the fireplace.  When I looked again, a dozen kittens lined up to chew on it, too. 
After dinner, we carried wine into the living room and tried to read.  Kittens crawled up and down us and jumped at our books, knocking them out of our hands, until my patience was gone.
“Enough.”  I shooed them all away, then called for a protective bubble to circle Raven and me.  Then we could read in peace.  I put another shield over the opening to the kitchen so that no one nibbled on any of the food we’d prepared.  And after we climbed the stairs to bed, I closed our bedroom door, locking them outside.
When we opened the door in the morning, the rejoicing was downright comical.  Everyone wanted attention.  The kittens tugged at our pajama pants, begging to be petted.  Blackie and Claws wanted outside.  When I opened the kitchen door for them, everyone followed them through the backyard to the river bank at the back of our property, looking for breakfast.
I shook my head, watching them hunt.  There was no breeze today, so the temperature felt almost mild.  “Nothing will be open today, but we’ll have to drive to town tomorrow to buy food for them.”
We got busy, loading things into the oven for the big meal.  Birch and her coven were coming at two.  We drank coffee, then sipped wine while we worked.  Birch and Lir were the first to arrive.  Lir stopped in the arch to the kitchen and sniffed the air. 
“It smells good in here.”  The aroma of roasting turkey mingled with the onions and spices I’d added to the roasted vegetables.  The mulled cider and wine added a fruity note.
Birch hung her jacket on one of the hooks by the back door and went to ladle some of the cider into a glass mug I’d put on the counter.  She frowned, glancing around the kitchen.  “Where’s Claws?  He always comes to greet me.”
I nodded to the river.  “He’s hunting with his new friends.”
“New friends?  You mean Blackie?” 
But before I could answer her, there was a quick knock at the door, and more people streamed into the kitchen.  We were lining up to fill our plates, buffet style, when Claws scratched at the door.
“Prepare yourselves,” I warned, letting him inside.  He was followed by the mother cat, sleek and white with green eyes.  She stalked directly to Birch, and I realized she was a perfect match for Birch’s white-blond hair and emerald eyes.  The kittens followed in single file, and each went directly to a girl with the same coloring they had.  The Siamese went to Alizon with her straight, sandy-colored hair and dark eyes.  A tawny kitten with blue eyes chose Opal with her creamy complexion and pale baby blues.  The orange tabby meowed for Allegra–with wild, carrot-orange, curls–to pick it up.  And the tiger cat sat on Selma’s shoe, claiming her with her streaked, highlighted dark hair and light brown eyes.
Raven shook his head.  “Hester sent kittens who were color coordinated for each girl.”
I smiled.  Familiars chose their owners, not the other way around.  But these kittens were handpicked by Hecate for the witches they’d bond with.  Even their powers matched.  These girls had a long way to go to reach their full magic, and the kittens would nurture them and grow with them.  “I’ve never seen anything like it.”
Birch reached for the mother cat and pressed her to her chest, hugging her close.  “I was beginning to think I’d never get a familiar.  This is the best Thanksgiving ever.”
Laughter and purrs filled the kitchen.  Claws came to sit beside me, and Blackie nuzzled against Raven’s leg.  I let out a long, contented breath.  Hecate meant for this new coven to prosper.  Joy surged through me, and I pressed my hand to my pouch and whispered a thank you.
Raven wrapped his arm around my waist, joining in the blessings.  Then he laughed and called, “Time to eat!  There’s plenty of food for everyone, even familiars.”
Blackie raised his ears and hurried to Raven’s seat at the table.  Each person filled their plate, and a cat sat next to each of us, waiting for tidbits of our feast.  As I looked around the room, I knew this would be a Thanksgiving to remember.  One of the special ones.  Food and friends and blessings.  What more could a witch want?
 
 

Tooting My Horn

I’ve been waiting a LONG time, and I’ve been patient (for me), but I can finally announce that my new Lux mystery, HEIRLOOMS TO DIE FOR, is available for pre-order on Amazon and will be out officially on November 9th. Lux is more impulsive than Jazzi, so she’s a fun contrast to write about. In book two, she’s happy because her beloved Cook, who was always there for her when she was growing up, is moving to Summit City to live close to her. Cook’s bringing her older sister with her to help care for her. Even better, Cook’s following the moving truck from Chicago to the storage units Lux has rented in town, bringing the items and furniture Lux wanted to keep after her parents died. A double win. One of her favorite people will be back in her life, and her cherished keepsakes will be available to decorate her house. Except, nothing’s that easy in a mystery. So, of course, when Lux goes to look through her things, she finds a dead body in the unit, too.

I know this cover is a little out of the ordinary, but for me, it fits the story. I didn’t want it to look very serious. Lux, to me, is fun. And I wanted her covers to have a different feel from the Jazzi or Muddy River covers. So I hope you like it.

To bring a little more interest to the new Lux 2, I’m making the first Lux, BAD HABITS, free on Amazon from Nov. 8 – 12. Book one is where we meet the Johnson family and learn why Lux loves them so much.

My wait is finally over. Lux is about to drive her yellow Bentley into a new mystery. I hope you check her out.

Mystery Musings: Binges

I just read 5 books in D.L. Cross’s Astral Conspiracy series. First of all, I’m not a sci/fi fan. BUT, her characters are so strong, they lift sci/fi into the suspense category for me, because I cared so much about the major AND minor characters in her books. Not an easy thing to achieve. I mourned deaths (because these books didn’t spare people we cared about) and victories (because the characters who were left got to live to fight another day. And maybe the one after that. Fingers crossed.).

BUT these books were purposely published close together. And I have to tell you, by the time I finished book 5, I was tired. These books were so jam packed, I needed a breather each time I finished one. Which is good. Usually. Except the next book came out pretty soon after I finished the one before it. And I COULD have just bought the next book and waited to read it, BUT she left me with so many cliffhangers at the end of each book, I couldn’t make myself wait THAT long before I started the next one. Which means the cliffhangers worked:)

I love series. I loved each and every book in it. And I usually complain when I have to wait months for the next book in my favorites to come out. But now, I’ve changed my mind about that. A three month wait, for me, is a good thing. Four months is fine. I can read a few other books while I wait. A year…well, that’s a long time. More than a year (like Elizabeth George’s Thomas Lynley mysteries) is hard. But, as much as I loved flying through D.L. Cross’s books, I never want to do it again.

And I think that makes me a rarity. I have friends who once they find a favorite book, TV show, or movie series, binge watch them. They fly through the stories, back to back. That’s why so many people loved how fast D.L. Cross’s books came out. I don’t binge on anything. I like moderation and variety.

O.K., I binged on D.L. Cross, but it’s my first time. And I loved the books. But I felt drowned in them. It’s not my thing. I like to read a cozy, then maybe a thriller, then an urban fantasy, then a historical, and finally back to a cozy. I like to switch it up. But I don’t think I’m in the majority. I think, when most people find something they like, they delve into it.

What about you? Are you a binger? When you find an author you like, do you read everything else she’s written? I’ve noticed a lot of my friends are hooked on Jim Butcher right now. They’re flying through the books in his series. I recently found him, too, but it will probably take me years to catch up to what he writes now. Same goes with J.D. Robb. There are some drawbacks to being a reader like I am. Are you hooked on anything now? What is it? Do you find a new author, then devour her work?

BLACK CAT

This is the last short story I wrote for October and Halloween this year. Lux has her hands full when she rescues a black cat:

BLACK CAT

by

Judi Lynn

[image error]

Where did the keys to my yellow Bentley get to?  Probably in the bottom of my purse.  I was digging for them on my way out of the office supply store when I heard a cat yowl behind the building.  A loud, panicked screech.  It made the hairs on my arms rise.  And then silence.  Something must have scared it.

I tossed my paper and ink cartridges on the passenger seat when the yowl shrieked again.  Nuts!  That cat sounded like it was in trouble.  I went to see what was happening. 

As I rounded the corner of the building, I spotted a teenage boy with a sharp stick poking a black cat.  He’d tied its back paw to a dumpster.  What a little sicko.  “Hey!  What are you doing?”

The kid whirled to look at me.  With a smirk, he jerked his thumb toward the front parking lot.  “Nothin’ to do with you.  Keep moving unless you want poked, too.”

A real charmer.  I raised an eyebrow and pulled my cellphone out of my purse.  “You know there’s a large fine for hurting animals, don’t you?”

“If you get to make the call.”  He stared at me.  A challenge.

This kid had pushed his luck.  I put my purse on the cement and took the stance I used for martial arts when I sparred with Keon.  “Do you think that little stick’s going to help you?  Let’s see who walks away from this.”

His eyes widened in surprise, then he tossed his stick down.  “I can find other strays.  He’s yours, lady.”  And he sprinted away. 

I shivered.  I didn’t want to think about the kid roaming the streets, looking for something else to torture, but what was I going to do?  Try to follow him to turn him in?  He’d be way faster than I am.  I’d lose him in no time. 

I turned to the cat.  It stared at me with unblinking green eyes.  If I tried to untie it, would it claw my hand to shreds?  I talked to it in a soothing voice as I slowly approached, hand out, palm down, for it to sniff.  It flinched when I stroked its head but didn’t fight me.  I petted it for a while before trying to untie the string that held it.  No luck there.  I dug in my purse for my nail clippers and worked more to cut through the string.  Then I picked up the cat and held it close to me.

Its shivers stopped, and purrs started deep in its throat.  The poor thing had been scared to death.  I would have been, too. 

“Do you have a home?  You don’t look like a stray.  You’re too healthy.  What if we go to my house, and I try to find who you belong to?”

It had good manners.  When I moved my stuff off the passenger seat, it curled there as I drove away. 

Once we were home, I hunted for the lost pets section of the paper.  Nothing about a black cat.  I called the Humane shelter and SPCA.  No hits there either.  I didn’t have anything for a cat, but I found a low, heavy cardboard box in the garage and filled it with a plastic liner and lots of paper to use as a litter box, then I opened a can of tuna to feed it.  If I couldn’t find an owner, I’d have to go to a pet store. 

The cat went to the French doors that led to our patio, meowing, and I figured it wanted out to go home.  I went to pet it and firmly said, “No.  I’m sorry.  I know you want to find your owner.  So do I, but I don’t want you to get lost or hurt again.  You’ll have to stay here until I figure out where you belong.”

The cat never took its gaze off me as I talked, then curled on the floor, satisfied.  It was almost as though it had understood me.  But that’s silly, right?

When Keon came home from his restaurant that night, he stopped and stared when a cat padded to greet him.  “You’re full of surprises, Lux.  Did you decide we needed a black cat for Halloween?”

It was nearing the end of October, but I shook my head and told him what had happened.  He stooped to scoop the cat into his arms and stroked his fur.  “You’ve had a rough time, fella.  I’ll get you a litter box tomorrow and some food.  Enjoy your stay here until we find your owner.  Someone’s missing you right now.  Probably worrying about you.  You’re such a nice boy, you’ve had lots of love.”

He grabbed a beer, and I poured myself a glass of wine, and we went to the living room to relax.  The cat curled on Keon’s lap when he stretched out his long legs.  “If no one advertises in the paper, what are you going to do?”

Good question.  I pulled my legs under me on the couch and gave a frustrated sigh.  I’d been wondering that myself.  “Maybe I’ll take the cat and drive around town, hoping someone stapled up posters for a missing cat.”

 His chocolate brown eyes sparkled.  Glad I could amuse him.  “You’re going to a lot of bother.  You must like this guy.”

“No animal should be mistreated.  That kid’s lucky I couldn’t catch him.  He’s the one who should be kept in a cage.”

Keon scratched behind the cat’s ears.  “Well this fella’s safe, and that’s all you can do for now.”

True, but in the morning, I was going to load the cat in my Bentley, and we were going to search the city for posters with his picture on them.

###

The freaking cat was smart.  When I talked to him, he listened, and I swear he understood.  I waited until Keon left for his restaurant after lunch, then the cat and I took off to drive up and down streets, looking for his home.  I was going to turn east when I left our subdivision, but the cat meowed and shook its head. 

I stared.  “Not this direction?”

It turned its head toward the west.  We drove toward the highway.  When we reached it, I was going to turn right.  The cat meowed and looked straight ahead.  I drove straight.  I did as the cat said until we reached a little town twenty minutes from Summit City.  There was a smattering of houses, a church, a school, and a bar.  All the important things.  The most important thing, though, were papers tacked on trees, with the words LOST CAT on them.  No description.  No address.  No phone number.  How was I supposed to find who posted them?

The cat jumped up to press its paws against the side window and meowed for me to go that way.  I did, and after I drove another five minutes, the cat meowed again, clawing at the glass.  I turned into a gravel lane and bumped my way to a ramshackle house with a crooked front porch and chickens running in the yard.  Was this where the cat lived?  It looked like the kind of place someone with a shotgun would step out of, hopefully only to warn me away.

Goosebumps covered my arms, but I parked my car, got out, and opened the door on the passenger’s side for the cat.  He ran toward the house.  Before he reached it, the door flew open and a thin, middle-aged woman dressed all in black ran onto the porch to meet him.  The cat leapt into her arms, and she hugged him close.

A lanky young boy followed the woman outside.  His face and hands were covered in red blotches, and he couldn’t stop scratching them.  His voice desperate, he said, “Cinder’s home again.  I’m sorry I played a mean trick on him, but he scratched me.  Will you remove my curse now?”

The woman gave him a withering glance, snapped her fingers, and the blotches disappeared.  The boy let out a sigh of relief, then ran as if chased by hounds.  I swallowed hard and was turning back to my car, anxious to get out of there, when the woman turned to me.

“My cat found you?”

I shook my head and told her how I’d rescued him.  “I live on the south side of Summit City.  How did he wander so far?”

She stepped closer, and I got a good look at her.  Nothing like I’d expected.  Downright pretty with luxuriant sable hair, sparkling green eyes–an exact match to the cat’s–and a creamy complexion.  Her brows dipped in vexation.  “Cinder never wanders.  That silly boy lured him into his car with a treat, then drove to town and dumped him.”

“What is it with teenage boys?”

She pressed her face to her cat’s, nuzzling him.  “He’s a nice kid, but he and Cinder had a disagreement.  He wanted to teach the cat a lesson.”

“He went too far.”  And she’d made blotches appear on his skin.  But no one could do that, right?  Except…I’d just seen her make them disappear.

She smiled.  “I never cause real harm, but I wanted him to learn his lesson.  I like that boy.”

Did that mean she had caused the blotches?  How?  I felt tongue-tied but stammered, “Are you a witch?”  Then I cringed.  How stupid did that sound?

She shook her head, her eyes sparkling with amusement.  “There’s no such thing as witches.  You and I both know that, but if there were, I’d send you home with a blessing for rescuing my familiar.”

Familiar?  Was she messing with me?  I gave a shaky laugh.  “I’m just glad I could help.  No need for blessings, but I’m glad Cinder’s back with you.  He’s a wonderful cat.”  And I turned to make a beeline for my car.

“Thanks again,” she called after me as I started the engine.  “And I hope this Halloween is your best one yet.”

I didn’t see how that could happen.  My life was pretty good, as was.  Keon had moved in with me.  His family was all here.  The only person I missed from growing up in Chicago was Cook, and after my parents had died, they’d left her enough money to get a place of her own and happily retire.

Imagine my shock, then, when on Halloween day, Cook called to tell me that she was bringing her sister with her to move to Summit City, and she wanted to find a condo close enough to where I lived that we could visit often.  I disconnected the call and looked at Keon, rubbing my arms.

When I told him the news, he shook his head.  “You think it’s the witch’s blessing, don’t you?”

“What else could it be?”

He started to answer, then shrugged in defeat.  “I never thought I’d say this, but I’m glad you met a good witch instead of a bad one.  And from now on, when I see a black cat, I’m going to be especially nice to it.”

Me, too.  All cats, for that matter.  We lifted our glasses to toast each other.  “Happy Halloween.”

An October Read

I want to welcome C.S. Boyack back to my blog. I love having him here. He’s a friend and fellow writer, and I’m a fan. This time, he’s promoting his latest book perfect for October reading, THE BALLAD OF MRS. MOLONY. This is the third book in his Lizzie and the Hat series, but it can easily stand on its own. I’ve downloaded it, and it’s next on my TBR list. I visit Craig’s blog many times, and he’s a contributor to Story Empire, offering valuable tips on all things writing. Please show him some love while he’s here. And with that, I’ll let Craig take it from here:

Thank you so much for having me over, Judi. We’ve all had a good time on this tour, and the Ballad of Mrs. Molony is still only 99¢ for a limited time. I’ll put it at its regular price sometime in early November. Don’t miss out on this fun bit of Halloween reading at the introductory price. I’ll let the blurb sell the story at the end.

I like to make all my tour posts unique, and our topic today is the evolution of the series. Specifically, recurring characters.

As the series extends, it occurred to me that Lizzie and the hat don’t operate in a vacuum. They are going to revisit some locations and come across some people more than others.

In the first story, The Hat, it was all about getting acquainted and forging the bond they have. I mentioned some people from Lizzie’s life, but we didn’t really get to meet them. There’s Mike with the landscaping company, along with Dave & Sandi. All of them own places Lizzie works for. It was functional, because of the focus of that specific story.

Viral Blues was the second story, and because these are supposed to be campy and silly, I wrote my version of a comic book team up adventure. The participants all appeared in my previous books. It took some doing, but you can read this one without having ever read any of the other stories.

Then came The Ballad of Mrs. Molony, the current story. It dawned on me that Lizzie is going to need some recurring characters to take this much further.

Our heroes have a small cover band, and I fleshed that out in Viral Blues. These characters give some of the continuity I’m looking for, but they have nothing to do with the paranormal world. They wouldn’t even understand it. That leaves me with Evelyn, the witch from The Hat.

I needed some recurring characters that fit into the paranormal side of these stories. Welcome Kevin Mugford. He’s a vampire, and has to be the crappiest vamp in history. He has gnarly teeth to the point of deformity, and a speech impediment to go along with it. In Mrs. Molony, he’s a frequent target of the hat’s barbs. He might even be more trouble than he’s worth.

I figured if The Rockford Files could have Angel Martin, maybe Lizzie and the hat could have their own street informant. I probably won’t drop him in every book, but he’s going to stick around.

Since I decided to pull characters from other books, I decided why stop now? Once upon a time, I wrote a book called Will O’ the Wisp. One of the supporting characters was Pete Rogers. Pete earned a short story in one of my collections called Night Bump Radio. I brought Pete into this series with his late night radio show. Callers dial in to tell Pete what goes bump in their night. Turns out it’s Lizzie and the hat, who they’ve given a terrible nickname. This helps me add a bit of tension and keeps them looking over their shoulders. I intend to make this a regular part of the series.

I have more recurring characters planned for future stories. The trick is to keep the focus on Lizzie and the hat. These won’t be regular characters, but recurring. Think Inspectors Lestrade and Gregson from the Sherlock Holmes stories.

The even bigger trick is to keep writing the books in such a way that people can read them out of order without feeling lost. I’m determined to do this. I don’t want someone to discover these stories years from now and feel like they can’t pick up any volume they’re interested in because it’s part of a series.

I can afford a tiny little intro for Kevin whenever he appears and not lose the long term readers. They might appreciate a reminder if it’s been a while.

One example happened in Viral Blues. Lisa Burton, the robot girl, helped Lizzie out with some suitable outfits for her nocturnal monster hunting activities. The fact that Lizzie is wearing some of these things in Mrs. Molony doesn’t leave new readers feeling lost.

I’ve rambled long enough, and I promised you a cover and blurb to get you excited about the new story. I’ll also throw out a purchase link and some links for the previous stories. Hope you’ll give The Hat Series a chance for your Halloween reading.

***

Blurb: Lizzie and the hat are back, and this time they’re chasing vampires across a subculture of America. A pair of rodeo cowboys are holding a woman captive to use like a milk cow since they joined the undead.

The person who put them onto the trail is also a vampire, but he has to be the worst vampire in history. Is he really that pitiful, or is he setting a trap for our heroes? Does the woman even exist? Can Lizzie and the hat find her before she also takes up blood sucking?

Follow Lizzie and the hat as they use their cover band to stalk vamps across the country music scene.

Purchase your copy here: The Ballad of Mrs. Molony

[image error]

Other stories in the series are:

[image error]

The Hat

[image error]

Viral Blues

[image error]

You can contact Craig at the following locations:

Blog | My Novels |  Twitter | Goodreads | Facebook | Pinterest | BookBub

Thanks so much for stopping by, Craig. I enjoy reading (and writing) series. When I like characters, it’s fun to see them in more stories. I’m excited about vampires and monster hunters for Halloween reading! Along with your ever present dose of humor. Have a great October!

A teaser

HEIRLOOMS TO DIE FOR will be out Nov. 9th. It’s on pre-sale now, so I thought I’d share a snippet to tease you. If you like it (and I hope you do), don’t order BAD HABITS now. I’m making it free Nov. 8-12, so I’m trying to save you some money:)

Keon had a knack for reading my thoughts.  He smiled now.  “You’re not going to hug Cook so tight, you crush her bones, are you?”

I snorted.  “Like I could.  You haven’t met her.  She’s short and plump and full of energy.  Don’t let her gray hair fool you.  Or the housedresses she always wears.  They make her look old, but it’s hard to keep up with her.”  And I loved her.  She was the constant in my life growing up. 

I had a string of nannies who came and went.  I wasn’t attached to any of them.  Only two servants lived in our home—Cook and the maid.  The maid was devoted to my mother and avoided me if possible.  When Mom and Dad died, they’d left each of them five million dollars in their will.  As far as I was concerned, they’d earned it.  Everything else went to me, their only child.

When I left Chicago to follow Gabbie and her brothers to Summit City, I never expected to see Cook again.  She’d moved into an apartment close to her sister and her sister’s boys, and she planned to travel a lot. 

I snickered.  Keon raised an eyebrow.  “What’s so funny?”

“Cook was going to see the world when she retired, but only traveled to Scotland to see where her great-grandparents lived.  She hated the airplane flight, didn’t like the people in her tour group, and came home, swearing she never wanted to get on an airplane again.”

“So she’s decided to move here instead?”

I went for a second cup of coffee and brought the pot over to pour him another cup, too.  “Her sister, Margie, is in her mid-seventies, and she can’t get around as well as she used to.  Cook bought one of those condos we looked at for your parents—the ones close to the Outback restaurant and the big grocery store.  It has enough room for Margie to move in with her.  They’re looking forward to living together.”

Keon grimaced.  “She’s going to be a caregiver again.”

“It’s what she likes.”