Facing the Music
I’m finally ready to publish Nick and Laurel Mystery #2, Facing the Music. It’s darker than Jazzi and Ansel AND darker than Loretta and Harrison (the ghost mystery). I include the POV of the killer in these novels. I want the murderer to be real, not off stage. But I still try to give the mysteries a cozy feel. My agent thought that was a mistake. And maybe it is. Maybe dark and cozy don’t mix, but I kind of like it. Because Nick and Laurel, both widows, have found happiness together. Nick, an ex-newspaper crime reporter, investigates murders now to freelance and write true crime novels. And Laurel has quit most of her jobs as a volunteer to travel with him and help him investigate.
Anyway, for now, I like the mix. So, I thought I’d share the first chapter of Facing the Music with you to see if it intrigues you, too:
Chapter 1
She stared at the bloody blade, lying on a towel on the passenger seat. Her fingerprints were on its handle. If anyone found it, the police would be coming for her. And how bad would it look? She’d been in the front row, listening to Asher’s band last night. He usually made eye contact with her, but not this time. No, this time, his pretty ex, Daniella, was in the front row, too.
She’d waited to follow them home after the band finished its last song. She knew where he lived, so didn’t have to keep them in sight. She’d had hope for a while, heard the rumors. Asher and Daniella had broken up, gone their separate ways. But they must be back together again, and where did that leave her? She’d attended every single one of his concerts lately, and he’d recognized her and even smiled at her a few times. He wanted her, she could tell. He just hadn’t worked up the nerve to make a move, but he would have…if Daniella hadn’t come back.
Just like that, he’d dumped her. Tonight, every time he looked at the crowd, he looked at his ex. And then, they’d hooked up after the last note of the last song faded away. He put his arms around her the minute he got off stage. Hugged her close. Looked ecstatic, like he’d won the lottery.
Then, hand in hand, they left the arena together. And she’d followed them, watching his apartment’s window from the shadows across the street.
He’d forgotten her, treated her like some disposable flotsam he’d scrape off the bottom of his shoes. That was a mistake. Her father had done the same thing. He’d visited her room every night after her mother died, and he’d loved her with his hands and lips, treated her like a woman instead of a child. She’d always been close to Daddy, not to her mom. And once Mom was gone, Daddy was hers. Until he met Padma—lovely and sensual.
After that, he didn’t want anything to do with her. Treated her like tainted rubbish just because she was plain, easy to overlook. A while later, he disappeared. Got in his car and left town. Or, so people thought.
The door of Asher’s apartment building opened, and Daniella stepped outside, turned, and walked away. She was leaving already? That angered her even more. Asher had ignored her for a one-night stand. Her hands balled into fists. Blood pounded in her ears. She stalked across the street, unable to think. The next half hour was a blur.
When she could think again, Asher was dead, lying naked on his king-size bed with blood draining from the multiple stab wounds in his chest and abdomen, his sheets stained red.
No one would believe it wasn’t her fault. But he’d made her do it. How could she not? His door had been open. When she passed the kitchen, a butcher knife lay on the counter beside a block of cheese. She’d picked it up. She stepped into his bedroom and when she approached him, asleep, he’d drowsily opened his eyes. “Daniella?”
She slammed the knife into his chest, then couldn’t stop. She washed his blood off her face and arms in the bathroom, then buttoned one of his shirts over the one she wore. Taking the towel with her, careful to leave no trace of herself behind, she left his apartment.
Pink tinged the horizon as she drove down an empty street lined with garbage cans. She pulled up beside one of them and wiped the knife clean. Jumping out of the car, she lifted the lid, tossing it inside. She could hear the garbage truck in the distance.
She drove to a second can and tossed in his shirt and the towel, then pulled to the curb a block away. The rumble of the truck grew louder. It turned the corner and headed toward her. She watched it empty both cans, dumping their contents into its crushing jaws, before she drove on. In a few hours, the knife and towel would be buried with tons of other garbage at the city’s dump.
She pulled a hoodie she kept in the car over her bloodied shirt. She’d throw both of those away, too. For now, though, she could go home. And next weekend, she’d find a new band to follow.
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I know it sounds weird, because the killer murders innocent, nice people, but the longer I wrote the book, the more I felt sorry for her. She’s damaged goods. But she’s also dangerous. And she gets a few surprises, too. Things that throw her even more off balance. All in all, this book kept me on my toes!
