I Can’t Wait To Read This!

I’ve mentioned how much I love Mae Clair’s writing before. I’ve been waiting and waiting for her to publish a new book, so I’m really excited that she’s going to have a new novel out soon! I’ve invited her on my blog to share the news. Drum roll. Here’s Mae!

Hi, Judi! Thank you so much for hosting me on your blog today. I’m delighted to be here, sharing my upcoming release The Keeping Place, a dual timeline mystery which is now available for pre-order!. Most readers know me as someone who loves weaving urban legends and threads of the supernatural into my stories. The Keeping Place took an entirely different turn.

Well… there is a small thread that does involve an old town legend and a ghost, but nothing that takes center stage as in my other books. This one is about relationships, and what happens to an estranged mother/daughter when the remains of the youngest daughter are discovered ten years after she disappeared. It’s more of a “quiet” mystery than I usually write.

BLURB:
In the town of Hornwood, the past is always present . . .

Nicole Seabrooke has been wracked with guilt since the night of her younger sister’s disappearance ten years ago. Her mother, Glory, tasked her with watching over Janie. Instead, Nicole dragged her to a high school party, then failed to keep an eye on her. Police believed she drowned, but her body was never found.

A decade later, her remains are discovered.

Nicole returns to Hornwood when new evidence indicates Janie’s death may have been a homicide. With the help of Detective Vin McCain, her high school boyfriend, Nicole begins to piece together what took place the night her sister disappeared—a task that further complicates her relationship with Glory and places Nicole in the crosshairs of a killer. One who will do whatever it takes to keep the truth about Janie’s death from being revealed.

Even if it means killing again.

++++

One of the key components of the story is the rail shack. I got the idea for the property from a run-down hovel that stood for more than two decades several miles from where I live. For twenty-plus years I drove by the site, marveling that it hadn’t been torn down. My guess is that the property was tied up in litigation, likely after the death of the original owners. Maybe the heirs (if there were any) lived out of state.

Picture a one-story ranch home, roof caved in, windows busted out, front door missing. Then imagine every single opening jammed full and overflowing with cast-off junk. This place had to be a breeding ground for rats and snakes.

It seemed an ideal place to dispose of a body—which became the idea that launched The Keeping Place.

The excerpt below is from my “past” timeline of 2013, and provides an even better idea of what the place looks like:

EXCERPT:
Sweat beaded the back of Janie’s neck. It soaked into her ponytail by the time she reached the Boone rail shack. Two metal signs pitted with rust holes, partially obscured by clumps of foxtail, marked the place as private property. What remained of an orange NO TRESPASSING notice was nailed to the door, the lower half sheered away, the top bleeding into washed-out pink.

She walked her bike around the back, her path flushing half a dozen grasshoppers from hiding. The hot June sun ripened the smell of woody decay, adding to the pungent reek of toadstools and moss. Catbirds and crows kept up a noisy ruckus in the trees backed by the chatter of insects. Closer to the rail bed, fat nettles and clumps of yellow rocket sprouted among wild blackberries and pigweed.

She propped her bike where no one could see it. Few people bothered with the derelict shack, but it was better not to advertise her presence. Older kids sometimes crept around for a thrill late at night when they wanted to split a six-pack or smoke, safe from prying eyes. During daylight hours, the shack was all hers.

As she threaded through the weeds, she shot a glance at the Hornwood Oak. The massive tree marked the town boundary, the ground on the opposite side of the rail-bed forking into Drem County and Eyelet. Sometimes in an emergency, when Drem County cops couldn’t reach Eyelet fast enough, Chief McCain would take the call. At least that’s what Vin told Nicole when he talked about wanting to be a cop. After graduation, he planned to attend a local college in Bottleneck for a two-year criminal justice degree. His dad told him he didn’t need to go to a four-year university, which made Nicole happy.

Marshall, on the other hand—Marshall who liked looking at creek water and spongey funguses under a microscope—had received a full scholarship to some uppity college in Connecticut. Janie would miss him. He never treated her like an outcast. Maybe because he was one, too.

Avoiding the door at the front of the shack, she bent to paw aside a clump of blackberry fronds. An exterior board had worked loose, hidden by the heavy vegetation. Over the last few weeks, she’d pried another plank free. The opening wasn’t large, just wide enough for a skinny twelve-year-old to slip through. She thrust her backpack in first, then squeezed behind it, immediately scrunching her nose at the putrid mix of mouse droppings and cat urine. Piles of dried leaves clustered in corners, white with spider webbing, edged with mold. Clumps of dirt, broken twigs, and worm-riddled acorns littered the floor. Elsewhere, cast off junk and rubbish covered boards hollowed by rot. Some of the locals used the shack for dumping despite POSTED notices warning off trespassers.

Janie picked her way across the room before scrambling up a narrow ladder to the loft. Last week, she’d wedged a blanket into the corner under the eaves. She’d brought other things, too. Jagged rocks and baubles she’d found by the rail-bed behind the shack. A piece of green glass she’d buffed clean on her sleeve. A stray marble, fat and clear like a lidless eye. A broken keychain with a four-leaf clover for the fob. Treasures kept on a pitted tin lid she’d stumbled over in a mire of weeds. Turned upside down, it served as a makeshift tray, the raised edges corralling her collection like a tiny herd of animals. Everything was secreted away behind a few loose boards, that when pried free, created a cubby-like hole under the eaves.

Her special keeping place.

++++

Thanks again for hosting me today.. I appreciate the opportunity to share The Keeping Place with your readers. I’ve held onto this novel for two years, uncertain how I wanted to publish it. As an author, I naturally like every book I’ve written, but The Keeping Place is my personal favorite—perhaps because it’s so different in tone from my other mysteries.

I still utilize dual timelines, but rather than having centuries between them, my timelines are separated by a mere ten years.

It’s my sincere hope readers will enjoy the story.

RELEASE DATE IS MARCH 5 TH

PRE-ORDER FROM AMAZON

Connect with Mae Clair at BOOKBUB and the following haunts: