The Story Behind the Story with Author Chuck Bowie of Fredericton, NB, Canada.
Good news! Chuck is back with a newbook!
He’s been a popular guest on theScribbler many times and it pleases us to have him return.
If you missed the previous visit, please go HERE.
I’m a fan of his stories and I’m sureyou will be too.
Read on, my friends.
Chuck is both a writer and an author, with fourteen books/novelspublished and one just underway. Chuck has recently settled into exclusivelywriting mysteries: Suspense-Thrillers and Cozy Mysteries. All of his books arewell-reviewed, and he has sat on the boards of the Writers’ Federation of NB,The Writers’ Union of Canada, is a Fellow of the Kingsbrae InternationalResidency for the Arts, as well as being acknowledged as a member of theMiramichi Literary Trail.
His thriller series chronicles the adventures of Donovan, aninternational thief for hire, while his cozy series (written as Alexa Bowie)follows the adventures of the owner of an arts and culture centre as Emmasolves the crimes that swirl around her centre: The Old Manse.
Chuck lives in Fredericton as well as beside Miramichi Bay. Thrillernumber Six, Lost in London is now available, with Number Seven underway.
Title: , an Old Manse Mystery
Synopsis:
The Problem, the Secret, the Decision.
Emma’s friend Thom delivers a luxury cruiser from Canada to theBahamas, whereupon he promptly disappears. His employer hires Emma to go to theCaribbean to find him. Thom, however, left his girlfriend Sophie behind in themidst of a Christmas tiff, so…has he been abducted, or has he merely cut offcommunication with everyone?
During the voyage south a secret emergers: the boat may be usedfor an illegal, very profitable purpose. Now Thom knows this secret, but issubsequently kidnapped for his troubles. Thom has this information, but cannotshare it. Meanwhile, Emma must risk her life, navigating the beautiful butdangerous Caribbean waters in search of her missing friend. Will she find him?Will she fall prey to the dark side of the sandy beaches, blue sky, and waters?
The Story Behind the Story:
I’ve written a story—a series, really—about a small town and thewonderful, eccentric people who inhabit the tight-knit community. With theunfolding of each plotline, we come to know our heroine, Emma, but also get toknow (and love) the characters that bring the town to life.
So, when a beloved character leaves town and disappears, everyoneis naturally worried about him and want to help. Emma must leave her home atthe most inconvenient time of the year: Christmas, but as the British say,‘Needs must.’ I do add a separate narrative arc set in the town: it isan Old Manse Mystery, right?
Please go HERE.
Chuck is alsopresent on FaceBook/Insta, as well as on Threads.
Scribbler: Who was your favourite author, or story, growing up?Chuck: As an introvert, I read many, many books growing up. I took to series, early on, starting with L. Frank Baum (Wizard of Oz) and Trixie Beldon, and then on to Rex Stout and JR Tolkien. More recently, I’ve fallen in love with the Edinburgh mystery writer Kate Atkinson. Her writing is brilliant, convoluted, hilarious (at times) yet quite dark. She’s the best.
An Excerpt from Death Between the Cays:
* * *
“I’ve got a surprise.” Bobby’s facecarried a smirk. “Back at the boat.”
“Iwas hoping it would be food, but those two men loitering outside of your boatare painting a different picture. They are staring at us as if we are expected.Bobby, are they expecting us?”
“Absolutely.Remember how I tried to tell you about our project, and how it will make usrich? These guys are gonna explain it in such a way that no one could refuse,or want to. We’ll have a sit-down in a minute, so prepare to get excited.Please give them a chance to wow you, okay?”
Thomwas about to say ‘I already told you I’m out,’ but they had already reached theboat. The men shook hands without taking off their sunglasses, and Bobby washalfway up the gangplank before Thom could even say hello.
Thethree men followed Bobby onto the boat, and they sat on the bench seats infront of the transom. The first thing out of anyone’s mouth came from thestockier of the two strangers. He spoke with a French accent, and he had thatweathered face borne of many years under the tropical sun. The man directed hiswords to Bobby. “You told him about moving some product?”
Thomstood up. “No, Bobby told me nothing, and that’s because I am going home on thefirst flight I can catch. I can’t help you gentlemen out, since something hascome up and I can’t stay. Please don’t say anything, so we can easily forget weever met.”
Thestocky man with the French accent looked over to his partner. The partner’seyes were locked on to Bobby’s (Thom presumed this was taking place, since thesunglasses had not dropped). And Bobby stared goggle-eyed at Thom, silentlybegging him to change his words.
Thomdid not change his words.
Bothmen remained inscrutable. Bobby’s level of discomfiture rose with everyheartbeat. Thom stood, waiting. What else could he do? He knew that this littlebit of knowledge they shared might already be dangerous, and the next momentmight very well rest in Bobby’s hands. Eventually—Thom realized he had beenholding his breath—Bobby spoke.
“Look,guys,” his voice was in sell mode, persuasive and low, “Tommy here is justalong for the ride, you know, one last trip on the boat he loves. He says he’snot interested in making a few bucks. He’s got girl trouble, and that’s all hecan think of.”
Thomfelt himself nodding, desperately willing his face to look as placid and notquite as knowledgeable as a two-year-old heifer.
“Look.Tommy and me, we’ll head over to Moore’s Island and I’ll join you guystomorrow, okay?”
Thestocky man spoke in a lighter tone, easing the pressure. “That works. Listen Bobby, we have to go now, but beforewe do, can we have a word? In private?”
Thomwas quick to nod. “I’ll just head back to the beach. Can’t get enough of that,right?” He turned and left before anyone else had a chance to say a word. I’lljust go see if Edward is gone. I never did get his phone number. By thetime he got back to the shoreline, though, both Edward and his boat and motorhad vacated the beach. He spied an outbound ferry rounding the end of the longwharf, a boat attached by a rope. Ah. There he goes. I hope I’ll see himbefore I return home.
Thomsat on a patch of sand to ponder his possible dilemma. If I go back to theboat (where my passport is sitting in a bag with my possessions), those twogangsters just might kill me on the spot. And since my so-called new friendBobby is in thick with them, I now have to re-think my relationship with him.Do I cut and run with just my wallet, or do I take them at their word and partways after Bobby and I have dinner this evening? He wouldn’t hurt me, would he?And it’s not as if those two guys in sunglasses are coming over with us.
Withthat being said, though, what do you suppose they want transported? In theolden days, it would have been rum-running, using boats like that gaff-rigschooner, The Bluenose. Nowadays they’d use a cruiser like mine (well, she wasmine) to haul maybe drugs, or cash for laundering, or worse. What’s worse thandrugs? Either way, the less I know about it, the better. He stared up in the general direction of the sun,squinting. He was sweating, and it may have been the sun, but the issue mightalso be found a mere hundred yards away. It was time to get back to the boatand begin the hundred-and-forty mile trip over to Moore’s Island, check intothe resort and book a flight home. The shine had definitely worn off histropical vacation and it was time to leave.
Buy the book HERE.
To catch up on Donavan's latest caper, please go HERE.
Thankyou Chuck for being our guest once more. We wish you continued success with your writing.
And a BIG thank you to all our visitors and readers.
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