Q&A with Josh Lanyon discussion
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From Josh's Latest WIP
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Thanks for sharing! I’m super excited about this one!
Thank you! I'm looking forward to the book.
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A Santa in a red and yellow Hawaiian shirt and shades was Aloho-ho-hoing everyone passing through Kahului Airport on Maui.
It turned out Christmas in Hawaii was not an original ..."
Thanks, Josh. I'm going to try a re-read of the series before the new one comes out... :)
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The damp night air was bracingly cold and, as always, suffused with the distinct ocean smell. Supposedly that seaside scent came from bacteria digesting dead phytoplankton. He’d picked that tidbit up that afternoon from a Tripp Ellis thriller.
The streets were quiet and strangely deserted quiet as he walked back to the bookstore. His car—well, Aunt Eudora’s car, if someone wanted to get technical—was still in the parking lot. Captain’s Seat was about a fifteen-minute drive from the village. Walking distance for someone who hadn’t been on his feet all day and didn’t mind a stroll down a pitch-black country road. None of which described Ellery.
His thoughts were preoccupied as he turned the corner onto the narrow brick street that held the little bookshop that had brought him to Pirate’s Cove in the first place.
The tall Victorian buildings cast deep shadows. Most of the storefronts were dark or illuminated only by the faint glow of emergency lights, so he was startled to see the bright yellow oblongs stretching from the tall windows of the Crow’s Nest across the grey pavement.
That’s weird.
He was positive that he had locked the place up after shutting all the lights off. A larger than usual electricity bill was the last thing he wanted.
He sped up, his footsteps echoing down the silent street as he hurried toward the Crow’s Nest. He grabbed the doorknob, guiltily recalling that the first words Chief Carson had ever spoken to him concerned replacing the sticky old lock with a new deadbolt. His dismay ratcheted up another notch as the door swung open on well-oiled hinges.
Oh no.
No way had he forgotten to lock up. He had lived in New York most of his life, for heaven’s sake. Locking doors was second nature to him. Sure, Pirate’s Cove was a small town, but all you had to do was flip through a couple of titles in the cozy mystery section to know that evil lurked in the cutest, quaintest corners of the universe.
“Hello?” he called.
His uneasy gaze fell on the thing lying just a few feet inside the shop. A purple plumed tricorn hat. He looked past the hat and his breath caught. His heart shuddered to a stop.
“No,” he whispered. “No way…”
At first glance there appeared to be a drunken pirate passed out on the floor of the Crow’s Nest. Ellery’s disbelieving eyes took in the glossy boots, black velvet breeches, long, plum-colored coat and gold-trimmed vest, the scarlet lace jabot…
Scarlet.
Because the lacey folds were soaked in blood. The same blood slowly spreading around the motionless—terrifyingly motionless—form sprawled on newly sanded hardwood floors.
Ellery put a hand out to steady himself—except there was nothing to grab—so he stumbled forward, landing on his knees beside the body. He instinctively reached to check for—but there was no need. The eerily stillness of the man’s chest, the glassy stare, the gray and bloodless face… Trevor Maples was dead. Ellery could see the tiny twin horror-stricken reflections of himself in those sightless brown eyes.
He drew back, climbed clumsily to his feet, and staggered out the open door to the eerily silent street.
“Help!” he cried. “Help! Murder!”
One by one, the street’s lamps turned on as residents in the apartments above the shops surrounding The Crow’s Nest woke to the cries of death and disaster. The windows of normally sleepy little Pirate’s Cove lit up like the stars winking overhead.
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Well, not "straight" cozy, but you know what I mean.
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Well, not "straight" cozy, but you know what I mean."
:)
I can't wait... but I will.
Josh wrote: "It's so long since I've done straight cozy.Well, not "straight" cozy, but you know what I mean."
Thank you! I do hope it is not straight straight ;-)
Wow! What a start!Looking forward to it!!!
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And I listen to NPR, which is about as neutral and unbiased as you can get.
No one ever expects the Spanish Inquisition. Or Nazi Germany. But they happen all the same.
Josh wrote: "I'm in such a state of dread every time I turn on the news."Yes. I love to watch Rachel Maddow and Lawrence O'Donnell, but since the impeachment debacle, I am taking a break. I get in such a state of anxiety over our living nightmare that it colors everything. Stepping back becomes a necessity. The alternative is physically and mentally draining.
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Most days I just read New York Times and New Yorker headlines and a few local news stories from our local daily. I’m more and more aware how all of this is affecting our mental and physical health, levels of anxiety likely shortening our lives. So thank you, Josh, for your books and for this group, this community of caring people.
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I avoid most news like the plague. But our local public radio station does loud broadcasts of talk news and the trial in the library where I can’t escape it. Hell, no one can escape it. The library is no longer a quiet space and I’m an old fashioned librarian who just wants everyone to shut up. Lol. Listened to a woman screaming for half an hour yesterday before the cops finally showed up to escort her out. Sigh.
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Yes. I love to watch Rachel Maddow and Lawrence O'Donnell, but since the impeachment debacle, I am taking a break. I get i..."
I know. I can feel myself starting to slip into that state of high anxiety of 2016. Trying to stay focused on work and positive things, but I am truly terrified of what's coming.
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<3 <3 <3
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I avoid most news like the plague. But our local public radio station does loud broadcasts of talk news and the trial in the library where I can’t escape it. Hell, no one can es..."
It's this painful convergence of things. The lack of civility and intelligent discourse. The new normal for so many is to just scream at other people who disagree. The rise of what can only be called authoritarianism.
It's both fascinating and sickening to watch people react--for example, those who will sell their souls to stay in power. We're not even looking at physical safety yet; we're still at the anything-to-keep-my-position stage.
And yet I also feel if people don't vote, they deserve what they get.
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I realized he was about to wrap up this late night visit—and that I didn’t want that, didn’t want him to go, didn’t want to say goodbye.
Which was ironic given I’d been the one to insist—insist--on goodbye the last time.
“Did you want coffee or something? I should have asked.”
Len looked up out of his thoughts. He shook his head. “No. I’ve got to get going.” He swallowed a huge yawn and rose. “I don’t have to tell you none of this is proof of any wrong doing.”
“I know.”
“But it’s…”
“Sinister.” I filled in the blank.
Len smiled faintly. “Yeah, it is. Concerning at the least. It’s always possible there’s some innocent explanation for your friend’s disappearance, but we’ve both been around long enough to know if it walks like a duck and quacks like a duck—”
“It could be a dead duck.”
Len’s laugh was tired. “It could be. I’ll follow up and I’ll let you know what happens.”
“Thanks. I appreciate it.”
He shrugged. “Of course.”
He headed for the door and I followed, trying to think of something to say, something to prolong this moment, dreading the moment of goodbye. Which made no sense. None.
We reached the door and my heart was pounding so hard I could hear it thumping in my ears, drowning out whatever Len said as he glanced my way.
“What?” My voice sounded too loud.
He looked wary. “I said, it’s good to see you.”
“Oh. Yes. It’s good to see you too. I didn’t expect…”
I was going to say that I hadn’t expected him to come by in person, but I let it tail off because it struck me that what I really hadn’t expected was how good it was to see him again.
“I bet.” Len’s smile was uncharacteristically cynical.
“No, man. It really is good to see you. I really do appreciate you stopping by and, well, taking me seriously.”
“I always took you seriously.”
I couldn’t look away.
“How are you? Really?”
I smiled, a lopsided effort at best.
“I’m okay. I’m good.” I shrugged. “Really.”
As good as a guy with a T11 complete spinal cord injury could be. Everything is relative.
“Are you happy?
“More or less.”
It seemed we weren’t just making chit-chat because he asked, “Which is it? More or less?”
Josh wrote: "A very rough snippet from Requiem for Mr. Busybody (a short story)"Lovely beginning. Thank you for sharing it!
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Lovely beginning. Thank you for sharing it!"
Thank you for reading!
Josh wrote: "A very rough snippet from Requiem for Mr. Busybody (a short story)I realized he was about to wrap up this late night visit—and that I didn’t want that, didn’t want him to go, didn’t want to say g..."
Yay!
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“What’s the case?”
“Undercover gig at UCLA.”
“Undercover. You’ll enjoy that.”
Jason agreed, though at this point he’d have gratefully accepted stakeout in Siberia.
“The Bureau is doing a solid for a former California senator. Frank Ono. His granddaughter was a film studies professor. She died six months ago in what LAPD deemed accident-possible-suicide. The family insists there’s no way.”
Sam said wearily, “The family usually does. Cause of death?”
“Autoerotic asphyxiation.”
“Fun stuff.” Sam’s tone was sardonic.
But yeah, deliberately strangling yourself while attempting to heighten the sexual experience was not the most dignified exit.
“It could have been an accident, but the senator is convinced his granddaughter was murdered.”
“And why would anyone want to take out a film studies professor?”
“I guess that’s what I’ll find out. I haven’t had a chance to go over the case file.”
“UCLA. That’s your old alma mater, isn’t it?”
Jason nodded.
“And where that cute little art professor your sister Charlotte tried to set you up with, teaches?”
“I have zero interest in art professors, cute or otherwise.” Which was true. Jason was surprised Sam even remembered Alex Dash. They had met very briefly at Jason’s birthday party in February.
Sam’s mouth curved. “Good. Keep your eye on the ball, West.”
“Which ball would you prefer, Kennedy?”
Sam laughed, hooked a muscular arm beneath Jason’s waist, and rolled him over so that they were eye-to-eye, nose-to-nose, mouth-to-mouth.
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Im so looking forward to The Movie-Town Murders!"
I'm so much happier with my revised plot!
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Im so looking forward to The Movie-Town Murders!"
I'm so much happier with my revised plot!"
YAY!!!
Rereading Winter Kill makes me really want to get back into this series!
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Now that is truly confusing! :-D
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wow, confusing for sure!
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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)
A Santa in a red and yellow Hawaiian shirt and shades was Aloho-ho-hoing everyone passing through Kahului Airport on Maui.
It turned out Christmas in Hawaii was not an original idea, and the small airport was packed with holiday-makers in shorts and Santa hats. Even so, it was only a short wait for their rental car and then they were on the road to Kihei and the Pineapple Inn.
They’d had a couple of drinks on the not-quite-six-hour flight and the lush scenery—luminous and sparkling from recent rain—was genuinely breath-taking, so their collective mood was cheerier than when they’d boarded at LAX that morning. Taylor, face partially hidden behind his aviators, looked…maybe not relaxed, but less rigid than he had in a week. The damp breeze through the Jeep windows whipped some color into his face, and Will began to feel a little more confident about insisting they needed to get away.
The inn turned out to be cozy, quaint, and very small— a total of four guest rooms and a little cottage—which was not a problem for two guys pretty sick of humanity at the moment. It was about a twenty-minute walk to the ocean, but that was also okay. They were surrounded by a sprawling tropical garden complete with fountains, pool and hot tub, and, most important—given Taylor’s precarious mood—the whole set up was relatively affordable.
Taylor nodded in approval at their room, unexpectedly soothing with lots of verdant light streaming through all the windows, dark-wood furnishings, and classic Hawaiian leaf-patterned linens. A private lanai faced seaward, offering a really stunning view of palm tree-framed ocean.
They unpacked with their typical quick efficiency—maybe less talkative than usual, but then there was no job to discuss. Or rather, the job was to get their relationship back on track. In a funny way, Will was reminded of that camping trip from hell in the High Sierras. The trip that had changed everything between them.
Or rather, the trip that was supposed to fix everything that had changed between them.
That was the hope here—and Taylor must share it too because he had agreed to this impromptu vacation, just as he had agreed to camping in the mountains. At least this time they were somewhere warm and comfortable and to his liking.
At least Will hoped it was to his liking.
“What do you think?” he asked, as Taylor sat down on the foot of the bed, pulled off his sunglasses and pinched the bridge of his nose.
Taylor glanced up. “Nice. Very nice.”
“What would you like to do first? Grab something to eat? Check out the beach?”
Taylor made a face. “Honestly? More than anything I’d like to sleep.”
They had not been sleeping much. There had been a lot of lying still and controlling breathing so as not to disturb the other. Funny you could know someone so well you could tell between their real sleep and their fake sleep.