Q&A with Josh Lanyon discussion
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From Josh's Latest WIP
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Oct 31, 2016 01:23PM
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Elliot was not late and that comment was rich coming from a guy who believed punctuality meant arriving two minutes before the curtain rose—or sometimes before it fell—but Elliot restrained himself to a curt, “Traffic.”
They had first met as agents in the Seattle field office nearly three years earlier, and had reconnected over the Sculptor case, so in a way Elliot’s involvement in this phase of the investigation was bringing things full circle. But some kinds of synchronicity you could do without. Certainly in Tucker’s opinion.
He was a big guy. A guy you noticed. Big shoulders, big chest, powerful arms and legs. Big but not fat. There was no extra bit of anything on his large-boned frame, unless you counted the freckles. He wore expensive, tailored suits that emphasized his size and authority—today’s number was a black Versace two button notch lapel jacket perfectly complemented by a gray silk tie and crisp white shirt. Very striking with his red hair and dark blue eyes.
Those union-blue eyes met Elliot’s, but Tucker said nothing.
Elliot got it. Even sympathized. This was Tucker’s party and Elliot was pretty much the out-of-towner visiting cousin your mom insisted you invite to the festivities. As far as Tucker was concerned, Elliot was part of the taskforce because Special Agent in Charge Theresa Montgomery wanted him there. Period.
As far as Elliot was concerned, he didn’t have much of a choice.
He returned the nods and murmurs of greeting as he took a place at the long conference table. Everyone else was ready to go, files lying open on the mahogany table as they surreptitiously checked their phone messages. A photographic portrait of J. Edgar Hoover stared stoically down on the proceedings.
“Water, Professor Mills?” Special Agent Yamiguchi inquired.
“Thanks.”
Yamiguchi poured water into a clear plastic cup and pushed it Elliot’s way.
Tucker’s second was young—mid-twenties—and looked even younger. Her hair was cut in a classic bob and she was built like a girl gymnast. Like Tucker, Yamiguchi did not believe a civilian—even if that civilian was a former special agent—belonged in the middle of this high profile case. Tucker’s reasons, at least on the record, were personal; he and Elliot were romantically involved now. He worried about Elliot and he worried about the potential stress on their relationship.
Yamiguchi just worried about the case. She did not trust Elliot to not mess up the investigation. And maybe in her shoes Elliot would have felt the same.
All the same, he hadn’t forced his way in. The request had come from the top. And deciding to join the taskforce hadn’t been an easy call. Especially knowing Tucker’s feelings on the matter.
In addition to the feebs and Tacoma PD, the multi-agency taskforce included reps from King’s County Sheriff’s Department, Black Diamond Police Chief Caleb Woll, and Pierce County Prosecutor John Marquessi. A full house, and, judging by the electricity in the air, an uneasy one.
Elliot took that to mean Yamiguchi—or possibly Pine—had already dropped the bombshell.
Tucker let the door swing shut, took his place at the head of the table and said, “Let’s get started.”
Marquessi said flatly, “I think everything is moot until we hear Professor Mills’ report on his meeting.”
A battery of eyes turned his way. Elliot said, “I take it you’ve all heard that the Sculptor is now hinting he had an accomplice?”
(From Fair Chance ETA March 2017)
Ooh, did he? :oThank you for this awesome (terribly teasing) snippet. I like Elliot. I don't feel comfortable saying I love him; I think Tucker might find a way to disappear me. ;) Weirdly, I always forget he's a redhead - it's a surprise every time I read it.
I can't wait to see the conclusion to the Sculptor case. Very exciting!
Mod
Thank you! Me neither! :-D
Mod
Thank you for this awesome (terribly teasing) snippet. I like Elliot. I don't feel comfortable saying I love him; I think Tucker might find a way to disappear me. ;) Weirdly, I alw..."
:-D I am endlessly fascinated by how readers picture the characters -- different hair color, different eye color, no facial hair or different build.
It's so interesting. Why do we care? But I'm the same way.
Josh wrote: ":-D I am endlessly fascinated by how readers picture the characters -- different hair color, different eye color, no facial hair or different build.It's so interesting. Why do we care? But I'm the same way."
I had the same conversation with someone yesterday about one of my characters she insists is blond. He's not. Not to me. But it's all in the eye of the reader.
Which means Jake is so not blond. ;) I can't even figure out how I decided it - perhaps affixing qualities of similar people we know in RL? It's intriguing.
Mod
When is it out again?"
:-D
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It's so interesting. Why do we car..."
I hear that so often! :-D
You kill me here :-DWANT is sitting next to me on the sofa and is holding my hands.
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It's so interesting..."
LOL
Tell WANT to move over and quit hogging the sofa!
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Thank you, Goge! :-)
Mod
And yeah, I definitely think that at least Special Agent Yamaguchi should be worried... :-D
Josh wrote: "Debbie wrote: "Ooh, did he? :oThank you for this awesome (terribly teasing) snippet. I like Elliot. I don't feel comfortable saying I love him; I think Tucker might find a way to disappear me. ;)..."
Thank you for this Josh!!
Why do we care (what characters look like)? I care because I fall at least a little bit in love with these guys! If I don't have some sort of visual of them in my head, then they aren't "real"!
It happened to me when I was listening to an audiobook recently - I was actually surprised when the narrator described one of the MCs as blonde! I had already read the book (and in fact, the character shows up regularly in other books in the series) and without question in my mind he is dark haired.
And I'm also in the camp that refuses to picture Jake as blonde! His hair isn't as dark as Adrien's, but he's definitely a brunette!
:)
Mod
Thank you for this awesome (terribly teasing) snippet. I like Elliot. I don't feel comfortable saying I love him; I think Tucker might find a way to dis..."
LOL
Well, the beauty of fiction is it is kind of an interactive sport. The reader has to participate, and if the reader wants to overrule the author and believe the characters have a different build or different hair color or no facial hair...so be it.
I did mention that Jake has one of those hipster beards, right? Like really long. All the way to his navel.
:-D
Mod
*splutter*
:-D :-D :-D
Josh wrote: "Peg wrote: "Josh wrote: "Debbie wrote: "Ooh, did he? :oThank you for this awesome (terribly teasing) snippet. I like Elliot. I don't feel comfortable saying I love him; I think Tucker might find ..."
Oh no! I have to stop liking him now ;)
Just love Elliot and Tucker and love Tuckers protective streak where Elliot is concerned. this case should be a cracker ending.
Josh wrote: "Peg wrote: "Josh wrote: "Debbie wrote: "Ooh, did he? :oThank you for this awesome (terribly teasing) snippet. I like Elliot. I don't feel comfortable saying I love him; I think Tucker might find ..."
YES, PLEASE AND THANK YOU!
(for the beard ;) )
Mod
Uh-huh.
Josh wrote: "I did mention that Jake has one of those hipster beards, right? Like really long. All the way to his navel."LOL!
But seriously.
I don't appreciate facial hair, but I don't think it is my business what other people have on their face. Still, sometimes I wonder about some ridiculous looking beards and mustaches and I wonder what's the reasoning behind them. For ex. I've just seen a young fellow with thin mustaches like a very long question mark...
((I'm glad of a safe conversation topic at the moment)).
Mod
LOL!
But seriously.
I don't appreciate facial hair, but I don't think i..."
I HAVE DECIDED TO GROW A BEARD!
;-D
Josh wrote: "Peg wrote: "Josh wrote: "Debbie wrote: "Ooh, did he? :oThank you for this awesome (terribly teasing) snippet. I like Elliot. I don't feel comfortable saying I love him; I think Tucker might find ..."
I've made peace with the fact that he's blond, but....... NO BEARD!!!!!!
Josh wrote: "Peg wrote: "Josh wrote: "Debbie wrote: "Ooh, did he? :oThank you for this awesome (terribly teasing) snippet. I like Elliot. I don't feel comfortable saying I love him; I think Tucker might find ..."
No, HE DOES NOT! End of discussion! :)
Mod
Thank you for this awesome (terribly teasing) snippet. I like Elliot. I don't feel comfortable saying I love him; I think Tucke..."
Very long. Birds nest in it.
:-D
Mod
Thank you for this awesome (terribly teasing) snippet. I like Elliot. I don't feel comfortable saying I love him; I think Tucke..."
LOL
Sara wrote: "Josh wrote: "Peg wrote: "Josh wrote: "Debbie wrote: "Ooh, did he? :oThank you for this awesome (terribly teasing) snippet. I like Elliot. I don't feel comfortable saying I love him; I think Tucke..."
I wouldn't say I made peace with the fact but I can accept it as it's there on paper... doesn't have much impact on the image in head though. :-D :-D
Calathea wrote: "Sara wrote: "Josh wrote: "Peg wrote: "Josh wrote: "Debbie wrote: "Ooh, did he? :oThank you for this awesome (terribly teasing) snippet. I like Elliot. I don't feel comfortable saying I love him; ..."
That's a metaphor for so much of my life right now...
:)
Mod
They were running slightly late by the time Elliot let Tucker off at his car and their goodbyes were affectionate but brisk.
“If it’s okay, I’ll stay at your place tonight,” Elliot said.
Behind the intimidating Oakley’s, Tucker’s face was enigmatic. “You know you don’t have to ask, right?”
“Yeah. I know.”
To his surprise Tucker pushed back his shades and leaned inside to kiss him again. “Listen,” he said.
Elliot was smiling. “Always.”
“Just…be careful.”
“Of course,” Elliot said easily. “I may not even go. The more I think about this, the more I think MacAuley’s just yanking my chain.”
Tucker still looked serious. “Tonight, sure, but I mean…all the time.”
Elliot raised his brows. Tucker’s answering smile was wry. “Yeah. I know that look. I’m not going to try to tell you not to poke around, because you’ll do what the hell you want regardless. But just…humor me on two points. Make sure you’re armed at all times.”
“Hey.” Elliot drew back his blazer lapel in demonstration.
“I know. But I mean at home too. Just in case the Sculptor wasn’t bullshitting about having an accomplice. I don’t like what happened yesterday.”
“Me neither.”
“I also don’t like coincidences. So if you go out there again, make sure you check in with Yamiguchi or Woll or Dannon—or even your dad. Make sure someone knows where you are. Don’t take chances.”
“I solemnly promise,” Elliot said. He was amused but also softened by Tucker’s concern. Or possibly paranoia. “Anyway, you’re the one who should be worried. A whole weekend in redneck country. Don’t let them convert you.”
That got a laugh out of Tucker. “To what?”
“Country music? Line dancing? Buffalo jumping?”
“Buffalo jumping?”
“I may have made that last one up.”
Tucker grinned a slow and sexy grin, leaning in for one final kiss. “Don’t worry, Professor. The only thing I want to jump is you.”
Mod
Thank you, dear Josh!
Thank you, Josh!♡♡♡♡♡♡♡I Cant Wait !
March, that's a million years away - boohoo.
Thank you Josh! I can't wait. Weirdly I can still picture where I was when I first read Fair Game, on my first and only trip to the U.S. on a flight from Houston to NYC.
Sabine wrote: "Thank you, Josh!♡♡♡♡♡♡♡I Cant Wait !
March, that's a million years away - boohoo."
I totally echo Sabine's protest!!! March is FOREVER away! And I'm going to spend much of that time worrying about what trouble Elliott gets himself in to!
Mod
Thank you for the great snippet, dear Josh.
Mod
Perceval explained that they had both come to consult me regarding the subject of their health. “Of which,” he said, “we believe we have reason for concern.”
Perceval, at any rate, looked remarkably fit, though both were as solemn as owls. My misgivings grew.
“My fee for each is a guinea,” I said, and both, without saying anything, produced two guineas, and placed them on the table.
I inquired who wished to consult me first. “The other,” I said, “can stay here till I send in for him.”
They exchanged a look.
Perceval coughed politely. “We would prefer to consult you together.”
I frowned. “That is not how an examination is conducted.”
Maxwell said, “We don’t request—or require—the use of your examination room, Doctor Armiston.”
“I see.” I poured out more coffee. “Most irregular.”
I was inclined to say a great deal more, but decided it would be simpler to hear them out.
“What is your complaint, then?” I asked Maxwell.
He considered. His brows drew in a black line, he bit his lip. He looked like a schoolboy confronted with a difficult mathematical equation.
“Bad dreams?” Perceval suggested.
“Yes!” Maxwell agreed. “Bad dreams.”
“Nightmares,” Perceval added helpfully.
“Yes! Nightmares.” Maxwell leaned forward eagerly as though getting into the spirit of things. “And I have the constant feeling that something is about to happen.”
Perceval interjected, “A sense of foreboding. A feeling of doom.”
Maxwell nodded.
I leaned forward and took Maxwell’s wrist. He tensed, but then relaxed.
“What is it you fear is going to happen?” I inquired. He was wiry but strong. I could feel the delicate network of nerves and synapses flashing and firing as they went about their business beneath the blue-veined skin of his inner wrist.
Maxwell blinked into my eyes. His eyelashes were as long and velvety as a girl’s and the irises were indeed gray and not some variation of blue. The sclera was a little red and his pupils were constricted nearly to pinpoints. “Oh, er, bad things,” he said.
“Death, I suppose.”
“Horrid things,” Perceval offered.
I said on the spur of the moment, “Such as mummies?” Beneath my fingers, Maxwell’s pulse jumped from a cool and steady fifty-five to an agitated eighty. He withdrew his arm from my grasp.
“Why not mummies?” Perceval said. His voice was high and excited though he feigned amusement. “Ghosts and goblins and giant spiders too, I expect.”
I said to Maxwell, “Show me your tongue.”
He stuck his tongue out, again reminding me of schoolboy—and an impudent one at that. Perceval laughed.
I did not laugh. Maxwell’s mouth was dry and his tongue furry. His breath had a certain sweetish smell.
“I expect that leg gives you a great deal of pain,” I said.
Maxwell threw me a hostile look. “Not much.”
“No?” I said. “Well, perhaps you’ve found a means of dealing with it.”
He paled.
I turned to Perceval. “And what is supposed to be your trouble?”
“Oh, well, I find that I’m always restless and irritable. I can’t sleep much and I’m never comfortable. I am anxious when alone and yet I can’t bear company.”
“That’s why you brought your friend with you, I suppose?” I suggested.
He gave another of those light laughs. “When I’m alone I can’t bear myself,” he explained. “Besides, Captain Maxwell doesn’t count, Doctor. We’re old friends and understand one another; don’t we, Max?”
Maxwell nodded, without troubling to say anything.
I overhauled Perceval in a general way, and then sitting back in my chair considered them both. They returned my gaze steadily.
“Well, Doctor?” Maxwell said at last, somewhat defiantly, in my opinion. “Would you say that either of us were in imminent peril of sudden death?”
I said dryly, “Having performed only the most cursory examinations, I wouldn’t like to commit myself. Certainly not in another court of law. However, I see no outward sign of organic disease in either of you.”
Perceval said, “You would be surprised to learn of either of us suddenly keeling over whilst playing cards or taking a stroll along the Strand?”
“Yes. I would.”
This time it was Perceval who nodded without saying anything.
I said impatiently, “You’ve paid me for my opinion, and you’ve had it. I can only surmise that either you’re suffering from guilty consciences, which for the time I leave to yourselves, or this ‘consultation’ is part of some elaborate charade either for your amusement or the amusement of someone else. Certainly not mine, for I don’t find this remotely funny.”
They took this quietly, and merely sat looking at one another and seeming to consider. It is true that Perceval, who was much the fairer man, flushed hotly; and Maxwell clenched his hand, which lay on the table before me.
For a minute or so I waited to hear what they would say, but they said nothing.
At last Maxwell turned to Perceval.
“I suppose that will do?” he said.
“Altogether satisfactory, I think,” Perceval answered. They both rose, bowed politely, muttered a word or two of thanks, and went away.
I never was more puzzled in my life. In fact, I was so nonplussed that I made no effort to keep them, forgetting my own questions entirely—or at least deciding it would be better to say nothing more, until I had time to think things over alone.
Thank you, dear Josh!Just a reminder
- out on the 9th December (so soon!)
- pre-order
http://www.amazon.com/Curse-Blue-Scar...
There lays so much joy in my nearest future! Thank you Josh!
Josh wrote: "Final snippet from Fair Chance. (No more until next March.) ;-) They were running slightly late by the time Elliot let Tucker off at his car and their goodbyes were affectionate but brisk.
“If it..."
Thank you. I love these two :)
Mod
Chapter One
“You don’t remember me, do you?”
I looked up from the latest love note sent by the California State Tax Franchise Board and offered what I hoped was a pleasant smile. Between the taxes, the jetlag, and the unwelcome discovery that my soon-to-be-demoted store manager-stepsister was using the flat above Cloak and Dagger as some kind of love shack, pleasant was about the most I could manage.
But as I stared into an eerily familiar pair of green eyes, recognition washed over me. Recognition and astonishment.
“Kevin O’Reilly?”
Kevin grinned widely, nodded, and then--alarmingly--his face twisted like he was about to burst into tears.
“Adrien English. It’s really you.” His voice wobbled.
“Hey,” I said. I was responding to the wobble. My tone was a cross between warm and bracing. Alarmed, in other words.
Kevin recovered at once. “It’s just…I figured it couldn’t be the right store. Or if it was, you’d have sold the business and moved to Florida.”
“Moved to Florida?” Did anybody move from Southern California to Florida? Did Kevin remember me as an elderly Jewish retiree? No. Kevin was just talking, mouth moving while he stared at me with those forlorn eyes. Trying to make his mind up.
About what?
He looked…older, of course. Who didn’t? And thinner. And tired. He looked unhappy. There was a surprising amount of that during the holidays. And even more after Christmas. Which is what this was. The day after Christmas.
Boxing Day, if we had stayed in London.
Which we hadn’t.
“Wow. This really is a surprise,” I said, “Is it a coincidence? Or were you actually looking for me?”
“Yes.” Kevin hesitated. “No.”
I laughed. “Good answer.”
Kevin opened his mouth, but changed his mind at the thump of footsteps pounding down the staircase to our left.
Natalie, my previously mentioned step-sis and soon-to-be-demoted store manager appeared looking frazzled--though I have been duly informed that smudged eye makeup and “bed head” is a real thing and supposedly sexy. Angus, my other business investment mistake, was on her heels. Right on her heels. In fact, they nearly crashed down the staircase in their hurry to stop me from whatever they thought I was about to do.
“Adrien, it’s not what you think,” Natalie said.
Why do people always say that?
I spluttered, “Seriously? Really? Are you kidding me, Nat?” I glared at Angus. “And you. You stay out of my sight.”
He shrank inside his gray hoodie--which is not, for the record, indoor wear. “I’m fired?”
Natalie gasped.
“Hell no, you’re not fired. In the middle of the holidays? Wait. Maybe you are fired. I have to think it about it. Meantime maybe you could bring yourself to reshelve this week’s worth of returned books.”
Angus leaped to obey.
“It’s not a week’s worth,” Natalie said with a show of defiance. “You haven’t been gone a week. That’s two day’s-worth and we didn’t have time to reshelve because we were busy selling books.”
“And you were busy not selling books. But we’ll discuss it later.”
“Fine. Okay. Yes, Mr. Scrooge, we did take Christmas off.”
“And other things too, it seems, but like I said, we’ll discuss later. Right now we have customers.”
She looked at Kevin.
“Not him.”
“Where?” she demanded, mutiny in her eyes.
Right on cue, the bells on the door chimed in silvery welcome and I had to smother a grin at her irate expression as a pair of elderly male professorial types wandered in, each clutching what looked ominously like bags of books for return.
“Want to grab a cup of coffee?” I asked Kevin. “We’ll let these two get their story straight before I cross examine them.”
“Oh, so funny,” Natalie muttered.
I did laugh then, although she was right. It wasn’t funny and Natalie + Angus was an unexpected and unwelcome equation both in the work place and the every other place I could think of. Which is why it seemed like a good idea to step away before I said a lot of things I might regret.
Plus I desperately needed caffeine. To add their other offenses Natalie and Angus had confiscated every coffee bean in the building. I’d had to choose between coffee and nine more minutes with Jake that morning. Which went predictably.
I wondered how Jake was doing. He had headed out to meet a client as I’d left for the bookstore. We were hoping to rendezvous for lunch. Just the idea of that--of being able to casually meet Jake for lunch--warmed me on this seasonably chilly morning.
I left Natalie greeting our customers with steely cheerfulness, and led the way out of the store. The streets of Old Town were slick and the air damp with last night’s downpour. The smell of rain mingled with street smells--the fake evergreen garland and glittery boulevard banners looked woebegone and windblown. Like they’d gone to bed without taking their makeup off.
“You haven’t changed at all,” Kevin said as we crossed the already busy intersection. “You look great.”
“Thanks. It’s the Wheaties.” Also successful heart surgery. “So how long has it been? Three years?”
“It feels like thirteen.” He looked like it had been thirteen. He’d be about X by now. Out of college and doing archeology for a living?
“How’ve you been?” I asked. “How was your holiday?”
His face twisted again. “If you’d asked me last week--”
We’d reached the coffeehouse by then. I gave Kevin an encouraging shoulder squeeze--essentially, hold-that-thought--and I opened the door. The life-affirming fragrance of hot coffee and baked goods wafted out.
“Find us a table,” I said. “What do you want?”
“I don’t care,” he said. “A tall, pumpkin spice latte with caramel drizzle and no foam.”
Uh huh, as the philosophers say.
“Got it,” I said.
I placed our orders and eventually located Kevin at a tiny table behind a large potted tree festooned with red bows and fairy lights. He had his head in his hands, which is never a good sign in someone you’re planning to have coffee with.
“Something tells me this is more than not getting a Red Ryder BB gun for Christmas. Why don’t you tell me what’s going on?”
The words came out muffled behind his hands. “I don’t know where to start.”
I sighed mentally. I’m all for extra helpings of comfort and joy this time of year, but I was more than a little sleep deprived and my mind was still on the situation with Natalie and Angus. Still. “Well, you could start at the beginning. What are you doing in my neck of the woods? Are you visiting family?”
“No. my family’s all up north. He raised his head and took a deep breath. “I’m looking for someone.”
“Okay. Who?”
“Ivor. I’ve checked the hospitals, the morgue. The police won’t help because his family won’t report him missing and he’s an adult. They say he’s got a right to disappear if he wants.”
“I’m sorry,” I said. “Ivor is…?”
“Missing.”
“Right. But I mean, who is Ivor to you?”
“He’s my boyfriend..”
“Oh. That’s great!” Possibly I sounded overly enthused, but as I recalled Jake had not taken kindly to Kevin’s, er, boyish interest in me. Or mine in him. Not that I’d ever really been interested in Kevin, but…anyway, it was all a long time ago.
“Yes. It is. And that’s why--” Kevin broke off as the barista brought our coffee and a couple of pastries on a tray.
In a murder mystery that would have been the point at which a silencer would have appeared through the branches of the potted tree to take out Kevin, but in real life we just waited politely until she departed.
“Have some baklava,” I said. “And let’s walk this back a few steps. Ivor is your boyfriend and he came down south for the holidays and now he’s missing?”
“Yes. Right. Exactly.” Kevin reached for a slice of baklava.
“And his family is saying what?”
“Nothing.”
and so on and so forth
Mod
Mod
IT'S NOT A TRICK QUESTION.
Ooooo, love it so far!Wasn't Kevin a grad student in ADT? When I was reading it, I was thinking he was probably around 25 years old making him around 28 in So This is Christmas. I could be completely wrong though.
I cannot wait to see Jake's reaction to Kevin showing up!
Mod
I was chuckling aloud at this:
Josh wrote: "He shrank inside his gray hoodie--which is not, for the record, indoor wear."
and this:
Josh wrote: “Fine. Okay. Yes, Mr. Scrooge, we did take Christmas off.”
“And other things too, it seems ---"
and this:
Josh wrote: "“Find us a table,” I said. “What do you want?”
“I don’t care,” he said. “A tall, pumpkin spice latte with caramel drizzle and no foam.”
Uh huh, as the philosophers say."
:-D :-D :-D
AND I was doing the cooing "awww!" at this:
Josh wrote: "Just the idea of that--of being able to casually meet Jake for lunch--warmed me on this seasonably chilly morning."
And I'm still smiling happily so very wide! :-)
Viv wrote: "Ooooo, love it so far!Wasn't Kevin a grad student in ADT? When I was reading it, I was thinking he was probably around 25 years old making him around 28 in So This is Christmas. I could be comple..."
Yes, Kevin was a grad student in ADT, so he should have been around the age you said, though he gave me the impression of being younger. Around 23, maybe?
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Q&A with Josh Lanyon
Books mentioned in this topic
The Movie-Town Murders (other topics)The Movie-Town Murders (other topics)
The Movie-Town Murders (other topics)
The Night Stalker (other topics)
