Ed Lynskey's Blog: Cracked Rearview Mirror - Posts Tagged "whodunit"

When I wrote my P.I. Frank Johnson Mystery Series (the latest and seventh title is After the Big Noise), I used the one protagonist to do all the work of solving the mystery, usually a murder. Then I wrote the Isabel and Alma Trumbo Sister Cozy Mystery Series. Suddenly, I had to share the spotlight, so to speak, between the two protagonists, Isabel and her younger sister Alma. I aimed to give each lady sleuth an equal billing without the one overshadowing the other. It was a balancing act. Isabel is the quiet and reserved sister while Alma is younger and also more outspoken. Their different personalities have helped me in giving them the same portion of dialogue. They usually appear in the same scenes together although each has also had their own moments alone. I like each of the sisters, so it's easy to switch between them when I'm writing their books. Their latest cozy mystery title (#4) is The Amber Top Hat. I've written each cozy title as a stand alone, so the readers can pick up any title without having to know what all has happened before it in order to enjoy the book. I hope you'll join Isabel and Alma on their sleuthing adventures.

Chapter 1 of The Ladybug Song, Book #3 in the Isabel and Alma Cozy Mystery Series. Phyllis Garner refuses to believe her best friend Ladybug Miles’ death is an accidental drowning. Phyllis thinks it was murder and asks her friends Isabel and Alma to do some snooping in Quiet Anchorage to dig up the truth and catch the guilty killer. For you dog lovers, Isabel and Alma’s pooch Petey Samson plays a key role in investigating the murder mystery.

Chapter 1

After the local authorities recovered Ladybug Miles’s dead body from the Coronet River, Phyllis Garner was reluctant to identify her best friend. Her preference was to remember Ladybug as she had been in life. Nonetheless Phyllis, with Sammi Jo accompanying her, went to the morgue. The attendant had dressed Ladybug in a tacky purple robe, and Phyllis gave him the stink eye. She couldn’t wait to leave after she did her duty. She cried out all of her tears on the way home, and Sammi Jo shed a few, as well.

One of Phyllis’s fondest memories was the time she and Ladybug had first met in the third grade during lunch period. Ladybug tapped Phyllis on the shoulder and asked if she’d like the other half of Ladybug’s twin-stick Popsicle. Since it was grape, Phyllis’s favorite flavor, she said, “You betcha and thanks.” They soon giggled at each other’s grape purple lips and tongues. Ladybug’s simple act of generosity started their lifetime friendship. Phyllis was now frank in stating her opinion that Ladybug had not died in an accidental drowning.

“Ladybug was murdered,” said Phyllis who looked on the downhill side of sixty, but she’d only admitted her age to Social Security. “There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

“I hear you, Aunt Phyllis,” said Sammi Jo, the twentysomething with the open smile, wheat blonde hair styled short, and the athletic build of a women’s lacrosse player. “Sheriff Fox hasn’t come out and said one way or the other about how he thinks she died.”

They sat on the almost new sofa with the pillows, velvety and turquoise-colored, in Sammi Jo’s efficiency apartment over the town drugstore. She’d painted the walls a tasteful forest green with the trim done in matte white before she moved into her first place. She’d also mounted framed pieces of Amish artwork depicting barnyard scenes and quilt designs on the opposite walls. She’d bought the artwork while on a bus trip to the Amish country in Pennsylvania. Her only quibbles with her digs were its lack of space and the traffic noise created below on Main Street, especially on Friday and Saturday nights.

Phyllis’s haggard face showed her grief, and she hadn’t worn her customary bag lady wardrobe. The room felt a bit chilly here in mid-October.

“Sheriff Fox had better get it right,” she said. “Ladybug did not drown while she was swimming in the river. Who else but a penguin would go into it for a dip now?”

Sammi Jo shrugged. “I imagine the water temperature is still comfortable enough from the summer heat.”

Phyllis didn’t relent. “Ladybug’s sneaky killer made it appear as if she drowned, but I’m not fooled by it.”

“If she was murdered, how will you convince Sheriff Fox of it?”

“Certain physical details will come to light. Does her body show any defensive wounds, for instance?”

“He’ll notice if any suspicious cuts or abrasions are found on her body.”

“So you’d like to think until we take into account his dismal track record.”

“He did better after Isabel and Alma stepped in and helped him investigate the murders of my dad Ray Burl and before that Jake Robbins. They are like a pair of bloodhounds in old lace, not that either sister is a fan of old lace.”

Phyllis nodded. “Two bloodhounds are just what I need.”

“Your hope is Isabel and Alma will get busy again and prove Ladybug’s death was murder.”

“I’m certain as the nose on my face somebody killed her,” said Phyllis. “I don’t care how long it takes, or how tough it turns, but I’m going to prove it and see that justice is done.”

Sammi Jo sized up her aunt. She was firm in her conviction, and when Phyllis dug in on something, there was no stopping her. Sammi Jo didn’t want Phyllis traipsing from house to house, buzzing door chimes, and asking the townies if they’d noticed a bloodthirsty killer slinking by lately. Sammi Jo decided her smartest course of action was to go along with Phyllis.

“All right, we’ll give your way a try,” said Sammi Jo. “When are you going to see Isabel and Alma?”

Elated Sammi Jo was now in her camp, Phyllis smiled. “Do you think they will consider taking my case right away?”

“Alma will be raring to go since she lives and breathes this private eye stuff, but Isabel won’t be so much these days.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She has grown leery about taking on any new cases because she says investigating mysteries leaves her drained. That’s a problem because they are a team, and they can’t unravel a homicide mystery unless they work together.”

“Aren’t they a private eye firm? Didn’t they get a state license to make it official?”

“They started out that way, but they have since let their license expire. Their aim is still the same, but now they work less formally.”

Phyllis turned more thoughtful. “As much as I want to catch Ladybug’s killer, I don’t want to put Isabel on the spot or be a pest. Is there anything we can try?”

“There might be one way if we are serious.” Sammi Jo leveled her eyes on Phyllis. “Are we serious?”

“We are nothing but serious so spill it.”

“First off, we approach Alma who I believe will listen to us. Once she is on board, maybe—but that’s just a maybe, you see—she can sway Isabel to accept your request. Alma is the only person I know of who can win over Isabel.”

“That’s great but how much pull does Alma have with Isabel?”

“Just enough for our purposes, I hope.” Then Sammi Jo frowned a little at her next thought. “It almost got by me, but there is a larger roadblock for us to overcome.”

“Oh no, what is it?”

“Scrabble.”

Phyllis smacked her forehead with her palm and gave a frustrated groan. “Don’t tell me they’re in the middle of a Scrabble marathon. We’ll never get their attention if they’re spelling out the words I’ve never heard of by arranging those little wooden tiles on the game board’s squares.”

“Ah, they’ve also cajoled you into playing Scrabble with them.”

“Have they ever. Isabel never misses a trick. Anytime I step into their foyer, she’s dropping hints all over the place. Don’t get me wrong because I love both women dearly, and I enjoy playing a game or two of Scrabble, just not on every visit. Why can’t we play Monopoly for a change of pace? I love squeezing the play money in my fist and snapping up the swanky properties like Park Place and Boardwalk.”

“Isabel is fixated on playing Scrabble like you are on playing Quiet Anchorage’s bag lady.”

Phyllis didn’t agree. “The difference is I’m pretending to be a bag lady for the kicks, but Isabel is all serious about Scrabble.”

“You should get a hold of Alma and lay out what our favor is. Be sure to tell her everything you gave me. Better yet, we both can talk to Alma. Then she’ll hit up Isabel when the time is right.”

“Suppose Isabel really has called it quits? What if she balks at Alma’s suggestion they should help us?”

“Aunt Phyllis, we have to put our faith in Alma’s ability to make Isabel change her mind. Alma can be tenacious when she has to be, so I like our chances. She has never let me down in all the time I have known her.”

Phyllis held up a hand with all her fingers crossed. “We’ll think positive Alma will come through for us.”

End of Chapter 1.

Sample Chapter 1 taken from THE LADYBUG SONG: An Isabel & Alma Trumbo Cozy Mystery Series Book 3 after QUIET ANCHORAGE (#1) and THE CASHMERE SHROUD (#2).

Chapter 1 from The Ladybug Song

Introduction: Chapter 1 of The Ladybug Song, Book #3 in the Isabel and Alma Cozy Mystery Series. Phyllis Garner refuses to believe her best friend Ladybug Miles’ death is an accidental drowning. Phyllis thinks it was murder and asks her friends Isabel and Alma to do some snooping in Quiet Anchorage to dig up the truth and catch the guilty killer. For you dog lovers, Isabel and Alma’s pooch Petey Samson plays a key role in investigating the murder mystery.

After the local authorities recovered Ladybug Miles’s dead body from the Coronet River, Phyllis Garner was reluctant to identify her best friend. Her preference was to remember Ladybug as she had been in life. Nonetheless Phyllis, with Sammi Jo accompanying her, went to the morgue.

The attendant had dressed Ladybug in a tacky purple robe, and Phyllis gave him the stink eye. She couldn’t wait to leave after she did her duty. She cried out all of her tears on the way home, and Sammi Jo shed a few, as well.

One of Phyllis’s fondest memories was the time she and Ladybug had first met in the third grade during lunch period. Ladybug tapped Phyllis on the shoulder and asked if she’d like the other half of Ladybug’s twin-stick Popsicle. Since it was grape, Phyllis’s favorite flavor, she said, “You betcha and thanks.” They soon giggled at each other’s grape purple lips and tongues. Ladybug’s simple act of generosity started their lifetime friendship. Phyllis was now frank in stating her opinion that Ladybug had not died in an accidental drowning.

“Ladybug was murdered,” said Phyllis who looked on the downhill side of sixty, but she’d only admitted her age to Social Security. “There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

“I hear you, Aunt Phyllis,” said Sammi Jo, the twentysomething with the open smile, wheat blonde hair styled short, and the athletic build of a women’s lacrosse player. “Sheriff Fox hasn’t come out and said one way or the other about how he thinks she died.”

They sat on the almost new sofa with the pillows, velvety and turquoise-colored, in Sammi Jo’s efficiency apartment over the town drugstore. She’d painted the walls a tasteful forest green with the trim done in matte white before she moved into her first place. She’d also mounted framed pieces of Amish artwork depicting barnyard scenes and quilt designs on the opposite walls. She’d bought the artwork while on a bus trip to the Amish country in Pennsylvania. Her only quibbles with her digs were its lack of space and the traffic noise created below on Main Street, especially on Friday and Saturday nights.

Phyllis’s haggard face showed her grief, and she hadn’t worn her customary bag lady wardrobe. The room felt a bit chilly here in mid-October.

“Sheriff Fox had better get it right,” she said. “Ladybug did not drown while she was swimming in the river. Who else but a penguin would go into it for a dip now?”

Sammi Jo shrugged. “I imagine the water temperature is still comfortable enough from the summer heat.”

Phyllis didn’t relent. “Ladybug’s sneaky killer made it appear as if she drowned, but I’m not fooled by it.”

“If she was murdered, how will you convince Sheriff Fox of it?”

“Certain physical details will come to light. Does her body show any defensive wounds, for instance?”

“He’ll notice if any suspicious cuts or abrasions are found on her body.”

“So you’d like to think until we take into account his dismal track record.”

“He did better after Isabel and Alma stepped in and helped him investigate the murders of my dad Ray Burl and before that Jake Robbins. They are like a pair of bloodhounds in old lace, not that either sister is a fan of old lace.”

Phyllis nodded. “Two bloodhounds are just what I need.”

“Your hope is Isabel and Alma will get busy again and prove Ladybug’s death was murder.”

“I’m certain as the nose on my face somebody killed her,” said Phyllis. “I don’t care how long it takes, or how tough it turns, but I’m going to prove it and see that justice is done.”

Sammi Jo sized up her aunt. She was firm in her conviction, and when Phyllis dug in on something, there was no stopping her. Sammi Jo didn’t want Phyllis traipsing from house to house, buzzing door chimes, and asking the townies if they’d noticed a bloodthirsty killer slinking by lately. Sammi Jo decided her smartest course of action was to go along with Phyllis.

“All right, we’ll give your way a try,” said Sammi Jo. “When are you going to see Isabel and Alma?”

Elated Sammi Jo was now in her camp, Phyllis smiled. “Do you think they will consider taking my case right away?”

“Alma will be raring to go since she lives and breathes this private eye stuff, but Isabel won’t be so much these days.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She has grown leery about taking on any new cases because she says investigating mysteries leaves her drained. That’s a problem because they are a team, and they can’t unravel a homicide mystery unless they work together.”

“Aren’t they a private eye firm? Didn’t they get a state license to make it official?”

“They started out that way, but they have since let their license expire. Their aim is still the same, but now they work less formally.”

Phyllis turned more thoughtful. “As much as I want to catch Ladybug’s killer, I don’t want to put Isabel on the spot or be a pest. Is there anything we can try?”

“There might be one way if we are serious.” Sammi Jo leveled her eyes on Phyllis. “Are we serious?”

“We are nothing but serious so spill it.”

“First off, we approach Alma who I believe will listen to us. Once she is on board, maybe—but that’s just a maybe, you see—she can sway Isabel to accept your request. Alma is the only person I know of who can win over Isabel.”

“That’s great but how much pull does Alma have with Isabel?”

“Just enough for our purposes, I hope.” Then Sammi Jo frowned a little at her next thought. “It almost got by me, but there is a larger roadblock for us to overcome.”

“Oh no, what is it?”

“Scrabble.”

Phyllis smacked her forehead with her palm and gave a frustrated groan. “Don’t tell me they’re in the middle of a Scrabble marathon. We’ll never get their attention if they’re spelling out the words I’ve never heard of by arranging those little wooden tiles on the game board’s squares.”

“Ah, they’ve also cajoled you into playing Scrabble with them.”

“Have they ever. Isabel never misses a trick. Anytime I step into their foyer, she’s dropping hints all over the place. Don’t get me wrong because I love both women dearly, and I enjoy playing a game or two of Scrabble, just not on every visit. Why can’t we play Monopoly for a change of pace? I love squeezing the play money in my fist and snapping up the swanky properties like Park Place and Boardwalk.”

“Isabel is fixated on playing Scrabble like you are on playing Quiet Anchorage’s bag lady.”

Phyllis didn’t agree. “The difference is I’m pretending to be a bag lady for the kicks, but Isabel is all serious about Scrabble.”

“You should get a hold of Alma and lay out what our favor is. Be sure to tell her everything you gave me. Better yet, we both can talk to Alma. Then she’ll hit up Isabel when the time is right.”

“Suppose Isabel really has called it quits? What if she balks at Alma’s suggestion they should help us?”

“Aunt Phyllis, we have to put our faith in Alma’s ability to make Isabel change her mind. Alma can be tenacious when she has to be, so I like our chances. She has never let me down in all the time I have known her.”

Phyllis held up a hand with all her fingers crossed. “We’ll think positive Alma will come through for us.”

End of Chapter 1 to The Ladybug Song: Isabel and Alma Trumbo Cozy Mystery Book #3.

So, I took an informal poll of my Facebook and Twitter friends about the time change rolling back one hour over the past weekend. I got a variety of responses, a few disliking it, a few with no opinion. and a few even liking it. At any rate, the time change does take a readjustment to our body clocks. I'm more of a fan of the longer evenings. Darkness falling at five o'clock just feels weird to me. On the other hand, I get up at four in the morning, so I can appreciate and experience the daybreak coming earlier. I was too involved this morning with writing my new cozy mystery to notice it, but I will by tomorrow morning, I'm sure. Our cat has already made the necessary readjustment since she wants breakfast when it turns daylight. I always take heart when the winter solstice comes on December 21st, and the days start getting longer once again.

I set one chapter from my Piper & Bill Robins Cozy Mystery Series Book #1 The Corpse Wore Gingham at the Farmers' Market. There's a good reason for it, too. The Farmers' Market begins the first Saturday in May. We like to get to ours early in the morning. I always enjoy going for the first time after a long, cold winter. The vivid colors of the fruits and vegetables out on display catch my eye. I like seeing our favorite vendors again and chatting with them. The ace barbecuers at one end of the Farmers' Market fill the air with their delicious smoky odors. Everybody is in a friendly, upbeat mood. Of course, the fresh fruit and vegetables are so tasty, especially in making our garden salads. We eat salads around the year, but the Farmers' Market provides us with more variety of the salad ingredients. We're big fans of the tomatoes and cucumbers. It's interesting to see which fruits and vegetables are in season as the summer progresses into autumn. If you're a cozy mystery fan, check out what Piper & Bill discover by going to their Farmers' Market, and how it helps them to solve the murder mystery they investigate in The Corpse Wore Gingham.

The Corpse Wore Gingham: A Piper & Bill Robins Mystery, Book #1 by Ed Lynskey.

NOTE: I'm finishing the final edits to book two, THE CORPSE WORE POPLIN. Look for it by the end of 2015.

Chapter 1

The wall telephone rang, and Bill Robins, frowning, picked up the handset. He’d just finished removing the last coffee mugs from the top rack of the dishwasher to put away on the cupboard shelf. He recognized Emily Davenport’s nasal voice from when she’d called him on previous occasions. Her octogenarian mother Anna, who lived one house down the street from the Robinses, had not answered Emily’s repeated phone calls or recorded voicemail messages over the past two days.

“I’m concerned about her,” Emily said. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Just name it, Emily,” he said.

“Would you mind going next door and check on her? She may have tumbled down the stairs and broken her leg or hip.”

“I hope not, and I’ll be glad to do it,” he said while shaking his head to mean he was anything but that. It was bad enough he went over to do the handyman tasks and sort of look after her. “I’ll call you right back as soon as I know something. Talk to you later.”

He hung up, grumbling to nobody in particular. Emily was about the only caller using the landline phone, and he regretted not getting rid of it. The Robinses were probably the lone holdouts on their city block to still have one.

“Quit grumbling,” Piper said from the kitchen doorway. She looked up at her husband who never put on any pounds. They dressed in cotton, hers the summery shade of beige and his taupe. “You sound like a sixty-eight-year old grump,” she said. “Who called us?”

His short, slim wife’s sudden appearance surprised him. “Who called us the last time on the landline?” he asked. “Who leaves me grumbling?”

“Just tell me.”

“Emily Davenport from Bakersfield, California, requested me to visit next door and see how Anna is faring.”

“Why? Isn’t she answering her phone?”

“You know she’s half-deaf and refuses to wear her hearing aid. Emily said she has been trying for the past two days to reach her with no success.”

“Did you agree to do it?”

He was annoyed. “Reluctantly, yes, I said I would like I always do.”

“Then we have no other choice but to take out five minutes and pop over to see what’s what.”

He pushed in the dishwasher’s top rack and lifted the door to close it. “Do you know what happened to the house key she lent me? She won’t hear our knock.”

“Didn’t she give it to you the last time you went over? Wasn’t it the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend? We’d just gotten home from the city parade.”

“I slipped the house key into my pocket, and after that where it went is anybody’s guess.”

“I know it didn’t fall out of your pocket during the washer’s spin cycle.”

“Let’s go on anyway. She seldom remembers to lock up despite all my reminders.”

“Has she grown so absent-minded? I hardly bump into her anymore for our chats. You’d better tell Emily her forgetful mother doesn’t keep her house secured.”

“The next time Emily and I talk, I’ll be sure to bring it up. For now, we have just enough time to touch base with Anna before we have to be off.”

“Noreen won’t mind hanging loose if we don’t arrive on the stroke of twelve noon.”

“Let’s still make it snappy.” He cut out of the kitchen, and she followed him.

The brilliant force of the June sun blasted them, leaving Bill to squint and wish he’d worn his sunshades. Piper led them across the ankle-high grass (he’d been lax on his mowing schedule) to Anna’s trimmed grass (she used the lawn care service he insisted they didn’t need).

Her dusty rose-colored brick and vinyl siding split-level followed the near-identical model design of their 1970s subdivision called Beverly Park. The real estate agents described it a “nice neighborhood,” meaning, among other amenities, the kids lived close enough to walk to middle school.

Anna’s door used a brass woodpecker for a door knocker. He’d installed it for her. Silly old lady, he thought again while he clacked it. They waited. He noticed her welcome doormat lay flipped over, a sign of bad luck. Three rounds of clacks with no responses later, he opened the unlocked door, Piper entering first.

She saw Anna’s step-down family room featured a well-appointed décor. The myrtlewood end tables flanked the three-piece sectional couch, cider brown with its nail-head trim and fringe skirt. Piper liked it.

The pair of overstuffed armchairs was comfortable for sitting in and staying awhile. There was no TV set. The baby blue Princess phone, once the rage, sat on the shiny, black marble top of the coffee table. It needed Lemon Pledge and a dust cloth.

He put the handset to his ear. “I get a dial tone,” he said.

“Even after her stroke, she never got a cell phone,” Piper said.

“She was too stuck in her ways.”

“You should know. I only hope she’s all right.”

“Anna! Are you home? It’s Piper and Bill from next door. Emily just called me, and we are worried about you.”

Only the foreboding silence filled the pause.

“She can’t hear me. I could bellow my fool head off, and she’d never respond.”

“She’s got to be upstairs taking a nap or reading.”

“I’m getting a bad feeling.”

“Should we go upstairs?”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.” His sight landed on the disturbing article. “See her bathrobe on the sofa arm?”

“Anna slipped off her bathrobe and forgot she left it there.”

“Are you wearing your contact lenses?”

“Of course I am. Without them, I’m blind as a bat.”

“Then take a closer look at her bathrobe and tell me what you see on it.”

After walking to the sofa, Piper looked down at the gingham bathrobe draped over the sofa arm before she switched on the end table lamp to brighten the spot. She saw the petite Anna wore a blue gingham bathrobe with a zip up front.

“Did she spill cranberry juice down the front of her bathrobe?” Piper asked. “I’d soak it in cold water and hand soap then try using a dab of hydrogen peroxide to get it out.”

“I only wish it was cranberry juice.”

“What is it then?”

“It’s a bloodstain.”

“Why is there so much blood on it?”

The shudder tracked up and down his back. His voice fell flat. “The blood is Anna’s. I believe she is upstairs where the killer stabbed her before taking off.”

Piper narrowed her eyes, gray and hard as granite, on him. “Why do you make such a lurid claim?”

“No other explanation makes as much sense.”

She wagged her head. “No, Bill, you are wrong. It can’t be. You’re jumping to conclusions. There are no bloodstains anywhere else.”

“The murder occurred upstairs, and the killer used her bathrobe to wipe off the blood.”

“How did the killer get in?”

“The same way we did, by turning the unlocked door knob.”

“We should have paid closer attention to her.” Piper used the resigned tone of acceptance. A surge of shock followed by sadness swept through her. “How did this happen under our noses?”

“Come on, we did the best we could for her,” he said.

“Who killed Anna Davenport, and why on earth would they?”

“I know as much as you do.”

The next emotion seizing Piper was moral outrage. Her blood pressure shot up fifty points. A lady’s home was her sanctuary. How dare a stranger break into Anna’s home. Right there, Piper resolved to take charge and do something positive and impactful about it. She sought a way to persuade Bill to assist her.

“An evil presence lurks around us.” He tried to fend off the next shiver. “Can you feel the creepy vibes I am?”

“You’re too superstitious for your own good. It’s just a split-level constructed of vinyl and brick.”

“The police should be in it, not us. We’re out of here.” He did an about-face to retrace their route to the door.

Piper whipped out a hand and snagged him by the shirttail. Her tone returned to crisp and decisive. “Slow down, Roadrunner. I’m not ready to leave. We’ve got work to do.”

Incredulous, he stared gape-mouthed at her. “You better explain,” he said.

She wiggled her nose. “I’m growing nosier by the second about the circumstances surrounding Anna’s murder,” she said.

He gave a headshake. “I’m growing leerier by the second hearing you talk crazy.”

"You love to figure out things as much as I do.”
“Like what?”

“You fix broken stuff.”

“Repairing a broken toaster or steam iron is far different than unraveling a murder mystery.”

She pointed at the bloodstained bathrobe. “Your discovery of the first clue has gotten us started.”

“Anna’s house is a crime scene, and we aren’t supposed to be muddling around in it. We are supposed to be getting with Noreen for lunch.”

“Just buzz her and say we’re running late. A murder has come up and detained us. She’ll understand.”

“Piper, have you lost your mind?”

She thought about it for a moment. “No, I’m quite sane.”

He was shaking his head. “Nothing should detain us. If we stumble over a corpse, we’re obligated to report it to the police. Murder is a capital offense, so it’s a police matter and not a Bill and Piper Robins matter.”

“It’s straightforward. Emily asked you—by extension, she asked us both—to look in on her mother. She’ll ask you for the details about what happened to Anna.”

“Emily can glean the details from the homicide detectives and police report. We’re the next-door neighbors who while doing a good turn found the dead body, and we alerted the cops. After that, we bowed out and exited the stage.”

Piper, her hands on her hips, stood between him and the door. “If it was me up there”—she jerked her head toward the stairway—“instead of Anna, you’d demand answers PDQ. Am I right or not?”

“Naturally, I’d never rest until your killer was behind bars. Remember Anna was our neighbor and not our loved one.”

“We owe it to Emily. Didn’t you promise her as much?”

“That’s a loose interpretation of what I said.”

“Be that as it may, a promise made is a promise kept. That’s one of the golden rules you taught Leif.”

Leif was the Robinses’ deceased teenage son. Just in the last year, they’d converted his old bedroom into a home office. Piper had donated what she could of his belongings, but she’d held on to his school yearbooks and swimming trophies.

“I meant I’d help Anna if she’d toppled down the stairs,” he said. “Not if she’d been left murdered.”

“You’re splitting hairs and wasting our time.”

“All right, have it your way. How do we begin? I’ve never tried my hand at following the trail of a murderer.”

Pleased he was in better step with her, Piper nodded in the same direction. “Go upstairs and check. If we are correct, then we notify the police.”

“You better steel your spine. It won’t be a pretty sight.”

“Stop trying to discourage me.”

“Piper, have you ever known me to discourage you from doing something once you’ve dug in on it?”

“I commend you for your sage wisdom.”

“I wished I’d had the sage wisdom to junk our landline phone. We’d be off to see Noreen and not poking around at a murder scene.”

“Nobody likes a grump for company.”

“Sorry I can’t be Mister Sunshine right now. Just be careful not to touch or disturb anything.”

“Thanks for the reminder.”

He gestured with an outstretched hand to the stairs. “I’ll go after you, milady.”

“Who says chivalry has gone out of style?” Piper said, encouraged how his dry sense of humor had returned.

He let her get in the last word before they crossed the point of no return by following the killer’s route. His white-knuckled fist gripped the wrought iron railing as they filed up the steps to take a firsthand look. He had a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach neither of the Robinses would forget it.

If only Anna had kept her doors locked as I told her, Bill kept thinking.

End of Chapter 1 to The Corpse Wore Gingham: A Piper & Bill Robins Mystery, Book #1
by Ed Lynskey.

NOTE: Please consider marking The Corpse Wore Gingham as "to-read" on your Goodreads account.

Say hello to Frannie (with me holding her in my arms). She's a tuxedo cat an animal group rescued from a local junkyard, and we adopted her a couple of years ago. She's a sweetie pie, and I've used her photo as an avatar on some of my social media spots like Facebook and here at Goodreads. She likes to sleep a great deal of the day. Currently, I'm working on my third cozy mystery series and have included a tuxedo cat like Frannie in it. So, when you're reading my cozy mysteries (or other crime novels) with the tuxedo cats in them, you'll know what their inspiration is.

Check out this short sample I took from Chapter 1 to my cozy mysteryThe Corpse Wore Gingham: A Piper & Bill Robins Mystery, Book #1 . I hope you enjoy reading it.

Chapter 1

The wall telephone rang, and Bill Robins, frowning, picked up the handset. He’d just finished removing the last coffee mugs from the top rack of the dishwasher to put away on the cupboard shelf. He recognized Emily Davenport’s nasal voice from when she’d called him on previous occasions. Her octogenarian mother Anna, who lived one house down the street from the Robinses, had not answered Emily’s repeated phone calls or recorded voicemail messages over the past two days.

“I’m concerned about her,” Emily said. “Can you do me a favor?”

“Just name it, Emily,” he said.

“Would you mind going next door and check on her? She may have tumbled down the stairs and broken her leg or hip.”

“I hope not, and I’ll be glad to do it,” he said while shaking his head to mean he was anything but that. It was bad enough he went over to do the handyman tasks and sort of look after her. “I’ll call you right back as soon as I know something. Talk to you later.”

He hung up, grumbling to nobody in particular. Emily was about the only caller using the landline phone, and he regretted not getting rid of it. The Robinses were probably the lone holdouts on their city block to still have one.

“Quit grumbling,” Piper said from the kitchen doorway. She looked up at her husband who never put on any pounds. They dressed in cotton, hers the summery shade of beige and his taupe. “You sound like a sixty-eight-year old grump,” she said. “Who called us?”

His short, slim wife’s sudden appearance surprised him. “Who called us the last time on the landline?” he asked. “Who leaves me grumbling?”

“Just tell me.”

“Emily Davenport from Bakersfield, California, requested me to visit next door and see how Anna is faring.”

“Why? Isn’t she answering her phone?”

“You know she’s half-deaf and refuses to wear her hearing aid. Emily said she has been trying for the past two days to reach her with no success.”

“Did you agree to do it?”

He was annoyed. “Reluctantly, yes, I said I would like I always do.”

“Then we have no other choice but to take out five minutes and pop over to see what’s what.”

He pushed in the dishwasher’s top rack and lifted the door to close it. “Do you know what happened to the house key she lent me? She won’t hear our knock.”

“Didn’t she give it to you the last time you went over? Wasn’t it the Sunday of Memorial Day weekend? We’d just gotten home from the city parade.”

“I slipped the house key into my pocket, and after that where it went is anybody’s guess.”

“I know it didn’t fall out of your pocket during the washer’s spin cycle.”

“Let’s go on anyway. She seldom remembers to lock up despite all my reminders.”

“Has she grown so absent-minded? I hardly bump into her anymore for our chats. You’d better tell Emily her forgetful mother doesn’t keep her house secured.”

“The next time Emily and I talk, I’ll be sure to bring it up. For now, we have just enough time to touch base with Anna before we have to be off.”

“Noreen won’t mind hanging loose if we don’t arrive on the stroke of twelve noon.”

“Let’s still make it snappy.” He cut out of the kitchen, and she followed him.

End of the sample taken from Chapter 1 to The Corpse Wore Gingham: A Piper & Bill Robins Mystery, Book #1
by Ed Lynskey. Please consider marking The Corpse Wore Gingham as "to-read" on your Goodreads account. Thanks for your interest!

My latest cozy mystery novel is The Amber Top Hat: The Isabel & Alma Trumbo Cozy Mystery Series, Book #4. Here's the sample taken from Chapter 1:

Alma was quick on the nod, thrilled the chase was on again. “Righter than rain, Isabel,” she said. “Don’t forget three Trumbos sleuth on your behalf.”

“That’s right.” Blue smiled for the first time. “I get three for the price of one.”

“You didn’t let me finish,” Alma said. “We’ll also call on Sammi Jo and Phyllis Garner as well as Petey Samson. He’s getting his beauty rest but don’t let that mislead you. He’s a ball of fire bloodhound when he’s called upon.”

“Is Petey Samson a bloodhound for real?” Blue asked. “I could’ve sworn he’s a mixed breed, what my folks used to call a pound mutt.”

“Oh, brother,” Alma said. “I wished you hadn’t said that.”

“I’ll have you know Petey Samson is no pound mutt,” Isabel said, shaking her finger at Blue. “His best breeding lies in his bloodhound line,” she said.

“I didn’t know that,” Blue said.

“Pay no mind to Isabel,” Alma said. “She’s just overprotective of her fur baby.”

Thank you for your interest in my cozy mystery. You can click on this link to the Goodreads page for The Amber Top Hat: The Isabel & Alma Trumbo Cozy Mystery Series, Book #4 to find out more about it.

You can read Chapter 1 to one of my cozy mysteries,The Ladybug Song: Isabel & Alma Trumbo Series, Book #3.

Chapter 1

After the local authorities recovered Ladybug Miles’s dead body from the Coronet River, Phyllis Garner was reluctant to identify her best friend. Her preference was to remember Ladybug as she had been in life. Nonetheless Phyllis, with Sammi Jo accompanying her, went to the morgue. The attendant had dressed Ladybug in a tacky purple robe, and Phyllis gave him the stink eye. She couldn’t wait to leave after she did her duty. She cried out all of her tears on the way home, and Sammi Jo shed a few, as well.

One of Phyllis’s fondest memories was the time she and Ladybug had first met in the third grade during lunch period. Ladybug tapped Phyllis on the shoulder and asked if she’d like the other half of Ladybug’s twin-stick Popsicle. Since it was grape, Phyllis’s favorite flavor, she said, “You betcha and thanks.” They soon giggled at each other’s grape purple lips and tongues. Ladybug’s simple act of generosity started their lifetime friendship. Phyllis was now frank in stating her opinion that Ladybug had not died in an accidental drowning.

“Ladybug was murdered,” said Phyllis who looked on the downhill side of sixty, but she’d only admitted her age to Social Security. “There are no ifs, ands, or buts about it.”

“I hear you, Aunt Phyllis,” said Sammi Jo, the twentysomething with the open smile, wheat blonde hair styled short, and the athletic build of a women’s lacrosse player. “Sheriff Fox hasn’t come out and said one way or the other about how he thinks she died.”

They sat on the almost new sofa with the pillows, velvety and turquoise-colored, in Sammi Jo’s efficiency apartment over the town drugstore. She’d painted the walls a tasteful forest green with the trim done in matte white before she moved into her first place. She’d also mounted framed pieces of Amish artwork depicting barnyard scenes and quilt designs on the opposite walls. She’d bought the artwork while on a bus trip to the Amish country in Pennsylvania. Her only quibbles with her digs were its lack of space and the traffic noise created below on Main Street, especially on Friday and Saturday nights.

Phyllis’s haggard face showed her grief, and she hadn’t worn her customary bag lady wardrobe. The room felt a bit chilly here in mid-October.

“Sheriff Fox had better get it right,” she said. “Ladybug did not drown while she was swimming in the river. Who else but a penguin would go into it for a dip now?”

Sammi Jo shrugged. “I imagine the water temperature is still comfortable enough from the summer heat.”

Phyllis didn’t relent. “Ladybug’s sneaky killer made it appear as if she drowned, but I’m not fooled by it.”

“If she was murdered, how will you convince Sheriff Fox of it?”

“Certain physical details will come to light. Does her body show any defensive wounds, for instance?”

“He’ll notice if any suspicious cuts or abrasions are found on her body.”

“So you’d like to think until we take into account his dismal track record.”

“He did better after Isabel and Alma stepped in and helped him investigate the murders of my dad Ray Burl and before that Jake Robbins. They are like a pair of bloodhounds in old lace, not that either sister is a fan of old lace.”

Phyllis nodded. “Two bloodhounds are just what I need.”

“Your hope is Isabel and Alma will get busy again and prove Ladybug’s death was murder.”

“I’m certain as the nose on my face somebody killed her,” said Phyllis. “I don’t care how long it takes, or how tough it turns, but I’m going to prove it and see that justice is done.”

Sammi Jo sized up her aunt. She was firm in her conviction, and when Phyllis dug in on something, there was no stopping her. Sammi Jo didn’t want Phyllis traipsing from house to house, buzzing door chimes, and asking the townies if they’d noticed a bloodthirsty killer slinking by lately. Sammi Jo decided her smartest course of action was to go along with Phyllis.

“All right, we’ll give your way a try,” said Sammi Jo. “When are you going to see Isabel and Alma?”

Elated Sammi Jo was now in her camp, Phyllis smiled. “Do you think they will consider taking my case right away?”

“Alma will be raring to go since she lives and breathes this private eye stuff, but Isabel won’t be so much these days.”

“What are you talking about?”

“She has grown leery about taking on any new cases because she says investigating mysteries leaves her drained. That’s a problem because they are a team, and they can’t unravel a homicide mystery unless they work together.”

“Aren’t they a private eye firm? Didn’t they get a state license to make it official?”

“They started out that way, but they have since let their license expire. Their aim is still the same, but now they work less formally.”

Phyllis turned more thoughtful. “As much as I want to catch Ladybug’s killer, I don’t want to put Isabel on the spot or be a pest. Is there anything we can try?”

“There might be one way if we are serious.” Sammi Jo leveled her eyes on Phyllis. “Are we serious?”

“We are nothing but serious so spill it.”

“First off, we approach Alma who I believe will listen to us. Once she is on board, maybe—but that’s just a maybe, you see—she can sway Isabel to accept your request. Alma is the only person I know of who can win over Isabel.”

“That’s great but how much pull does Alma have with Isabel?”

“Just enough for our purposes, I hope.” Then Sammi Jo frowned a little at her next thought. “It almost got by me, but there is a larger roadblock for us to overcome.”

“Oh no, what is it?”

“Scrabble.”

Phyllis smacked her forehead with her palm and gave a frustrated groan. “Don’t tell me they’re in the middle of a Scrabble marathon. We’ll never get their attention if they’re spelling out the words I’ve never heard of by arranging those little wooden tiles on the game board’s squares.”

“Ah, they’ve also cajoled you into playing Scrabble with them.”

“Have they ever. Isabel never misses a trick. Anytime I step into their foyer, she’s dropping hints all over the place. Don’t get me wrong because I love both women dearly, and I enjoy playing a game or two of Scrabble, just not on every visit. Why can’t we play Monopoly for a change of pace? I love squeezing the play money in my fist and snapping up the swanky properties like Park Place and Boardwalk.”

“Isabel is fixated on playing Scrabble like you are on playing Quiet Anchorage’s bag lady.”

Phyllis didn’t agree. “The difference is I’m pretending
to be a bag lady for the kicks, but Isabel is all serious about Scrabble.”

“You should get a hold of Alma and lay out what our favor is. Be sure to tell her everything you gave me. Better yet, we both can talk to Alma. Then she’ll hit up Isabel when the time is right.”

“Suppose Isabel really has called it quits? What if she balks at Alma’s suggestion they should help us?”

“Aunt Phyllis, we have to put our faith in Alma’s ability to make Isabel change her mind. Alma can be tenacious when she has to be, so I like our chances. She has never let me down in all the time I have known her.”

Phyllis held up a hand with all her fingers crossed. “We’ll think positive Alma will come through for us.”

End of Chapter 1 to The Ladybug Song: Isabel and Alma Trumbo Series Book #3 . If you enjoyed reading this sample taken from The Ladybug Song, please consider downloading it to your favorite e-reader. Thank you for your interest in my mysteries.