Guest Author Post - Julia Buckley

Julia Buckley is a Chicago mystery author whose career started in 2006 with the publication of THE DARK BACKWARD. She is currently writing two series for Berkley Prime Crime, the first of which launched with THE BIG CHILI (Undercover Dish Mysteries) and the new A DARK AND STORMY MURDER (A Writer's Apprentice Mystery).

Julia has taught high school English for twenty-seven years; she lives near Chicago with her husband, two sons, three cats, and a mischievous Lab puppy named Digby.  Please welcome Ms. Julia Buckley to our little corner of the blogosphere. 

When I Discovered Mary Stewart

I remember when I first fell in love with Mary Stewart. It was somewhere between the late seventies and the early eighties; my mother, a volunteer librarian at my school and eventually at our local library, was always bringing home interesting books. We were huge library supporters: my dad was on the board, and we invited the local librarian, a bachelor, to our house for dinner and games of Password.

My mother had long been a Mary Stewart fan, and I can’t recall if she pressed one into my hand, assuring me that I’d like it, or if I picked one up on my own. Stewart’s covers and titles were compelling, with a Gothic flair and a sense of menace.

In any case, I read the first book. In those days we children who were still in school tended to come home in the afternoon and lie on the furniture like giant sloths, reading the books we had been forced to leave behind. I remember hearing a lot of “Why don’t you go get some fresh air?” while I lay there, devouring chapter after chapter.

The first way that Stewart lured her reader was with an Epigraph at the beginning of each chapter, always literary, referring the reader to a passage from Shakespeare, or Milton, or Bronte. This carefully-selected quotation always had relevance to the story she was telling. After this came the one-two punch of a fascinating setting and a gripping plot, introduced by an irresistible first line.

In her first suspense novel, Madam, Will You Talk?, Stewart begins by setting the tone: 

"The whole affair began so very quietly. When I wrote, that summer, and asked my friend Louise if she would come with me on a car trip to Provence, I had no idea that I might be issuing an invitation to danger" (Stewart 1).

Every Mary Stewart fan knows the quiet satisfaction of this sort of beginning. One can be assured of an exciting ride with a highly literate driver.

In my own book, A DARK AND STORMY MURDER, Camilla Graham is a Mary Stewart-type suspense novelist, and Lena London is as star-struck as I would be, had I ever been given the chance to meet Lady Stewart in person. I suppose the book is a kind of wish fulfillment. In an homage to Stewart’s books, I begin each chapter with an epigraph, but I am quoting Camilla Graham’s book, THE SALZBURG TRAIN.

After that the resemblance to a Stewart novel ends, but it is still my love letter to the best writer of romantic suspense.

(My other favorite Mary Stewart titles include NINE COACHES WAITING, MY BROTHER MICHAEL, THE MOONSPINNERS, AIRS ABOVE THE GROUND, THIS ROUGH MAGIC, THUNDER ON THE RIGHT, and THE IVY TREE.

A DARK AND STORMY MURDER (Berkley Prime Crime) will be on sale on July 5, and is available for pre-order on Amazon).

Work Cited

Stewart, Mary. Madam, Will You Talk? London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1954.

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THANK You Ms. Buckley.  I am a huge Mary Stewart fan as well.  I have a hardcopy of The Moonspinners and still remember the haunting story of Airs Above the Ground.  Of course the Crystal Cave trilogy is phenomenal.   Playing games of Password, Yes!

Author Guest Post - Anna Lee Huber

I have been following the Lady Darby Mysteries since the first book hit the shelves.  We were honored to have a prior guest post by Ms. Huber (click here).  Today she shares with us answers to her most often asked reader questions.  Please welcome Ms. Anna Lee Huber to our little corner of the Blogosphere.

An Interview with Anna Lee Huber, author of the Lady Darby Mysteries

I asked my readers on social media to interview me, and these are the questions they chose as most popular:

How Lady Darby became your central character, she is so different and unusual (which is why I love her). Where did you find her?

Lady Darby is a bit of a cross between mindful intention and pure subconscious. I started out with the idea that I wanted to write a historical mystery series with a woman as my main protagonist, but I wanted her to be quite different from most of the similar series I already read. I wanted her to be awkward socially, artistic, a tad eccentric, and I thought it would be extremely interesting to give her knowledge of anatomy. Normally it’s the man, if anyone, who has this expertise, so to instead put it in the mind of an early nineteenth century woman I knew would require extraordinary circumstances. That’s how the start of her backstory emerged. I needed to find a way for her to receive anatomical training in as realistic and compelling a way as possible. However, once I had those basic details in hand and I finally sat down to write that first chapter, something kind of magical happened. I’d had this voice clambering inside my head, wanting to tell her story, and once I allowed her that freedom, she just sprang to life. It’s almost as if she lives in a separate place in my subconscious. I can feel the nerve pathways that will let me tap into her voice, where she sits quietly waiting to take her turn at the page again.

Why Scotland? It is a country that I love but I'm curious why you chose that location. Also, was writing about Ireland in book 5 challenging?

I simply adore Scotland! So that was the start. And I needed an isolated locale for Book 1, so the Highlands. And, well, it kind of just took over from there. Ireland was definitely more of a challenge to write simply because I'd done so much less research about it before I started, and I've never visited. Also, the history is fascinating but very complex in this time period. I wanted to get it right, but also not write a history paper. Nobody likes "info dumps", as writers call them. It's tricky to weave in just the right amount of history without sounding like a textbook at times.

The challenges (and how you deal with them) of writing about a place and time period that you don't live in! How do you get that "real feel" and blend accuracy with the story?

I think it starts with research. Before I delve into any time period I do an intense amount of research trying to understand the era, and not just the facts—dates, and people, and major events. I want to understand what the general mindset of the people are, how they speak and interact with one another, what is considered normal and what is beyond the pale. However, at some point you have to step away from the texts and begin to write, and for me the trick is to become truly locked inside the mind of my narrator. Since I write predominately in the first person, my stories are colored by the thoughts of my narrator. I see things through her eyes, expressing her opinions, noticing the items that interest her. If I can make the reader believe that they are listening to the narrator and not me, then I’ve gone a long way to achieving realness and authenticity. It’s definitely harder to write about places I’ve never actually been, but pictures, videos, and Google Earth help tremendously. Language can also trip me up. It’s not always easy

to find the etymology of a word or phrase, and sometimes the way they would have truly spoken would baffle modern readers. There’s a fine balance.

Do you ever get tired of any of the characters?

Hmmm. I think because I delve so deeply into their psychologies, I always have some sympathy for all my characters. I see something I like about all of them. Even the villains. So I haven't gotten tired of anyone yet, or killed anyone off because of it.

I’ve read many murder mystery series with a sleuthing couple at the helm. What I like about your series is that Keira seems to be more private than the other heroines, while Gage is the more outgoing personality. What made you pick this dynamic?

I've noticed the very same thing, so I purposely wanted to switch it up. I wanted to make the characters different from other sleuthing pairs and see what evolved of that.

Can you believe you are on book five!? Do you have an end game, which I hope isn't for a long while!!

Sometimes I have to pinch myself. Didn't I just start writing these? No end game in sight yet...

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ 

THANK You Ms. Huber for sharing this interview.

Rice Krispie Brownie Treats

Ingredients

2 cups crumbled brownies
5 cups rice krispies
1-10 oz. package mini marshmallow
3 tablespoons butter
Instructions

*I use the microwave method, but the stovetop method would work just fine.

Melt butter and marshmallows in the microwave for about three minutes, stirring at a minute and a half.  When marshmallows are good and melted, add the rice krispies and crumbled brownies.  Mix well until all is completely combined.

Pour mixture into a well greased, or wax paper lined pan. (size is up to you, depending on how thick you want them - I used 13"x9").

Allow to cool and set for at least one hour. Can be placed in the refrigerator to speed the cooling process.  Turn over onto a cutting board and cut into squares.

Special Book Excerpt - A Toxic Trousseau

I am honored to have the opportunity to provide an excerpt of the new Witchcraft Mystery series by Juliet Blackwell.  Thank you folks at NAL Publishing.  This book will be available for purchase on July 5, 2016.  Enjoy this advance peek!

Chapter One

Small business owners have their morning routines. Some people switch on the lights, brew a cup of coffee, and read the paper before engaging with the day. Some count out the money in the register and tidy up the merchandise. Some sweep and hose down the front walk.

Each morning before opening my vintage clothing store, Aunt Cora’s Closet, I sprinkle salt water widdershins, smudge sage deosil, and light a white candle while chanting a spell of protection.

Such spells can be powerful, and for a small business owner like me they serve an important purpose: to help customers maintain their composure in the face of fashion frustrations, keep evil intentions at bay, and discourage those with sticky fingers from rummaging through the feather boas, chiffon prom dresses, and silk evening gowns and then trying to shove said items into pockets or backpacks or under shirts.

But protection spells aren’t much good against litigation.

“Lily Ivory?” asked the petite, somber young woman who entered Aunt Cora’s Closet, a neon yellow motorcycle helmet under one arm. She had dark hair and eyes, and I imagined she would have been pretty had she smiled. But her expression was dour.

“Yes?” I asked, looking up from a list of receipts.

She held out a manila envelope. “You have been served.”

“Served?”

“You are hereby notified of a lawsuit against you, Aunt Cora’s Closet, and one errant pig, name unknown. By the by, not that it’s any of my business, but is it even legal to own livestock in the city?”

I cast a glare in the direction of said pig, my witch’s familiar, Oscar. At least, I tried to, but he’d disappeared. Only moments earlier Oscar had been snoozing on his hand-embroidered purple silk pillow, resting up for a busy day of trying to poke his snout under the dressing room curtains while customers tried

on vintage cocktail dresses, fringed leather jackets, and Jackie O pillbox hats. Now only the slight rustling of a rack of 1980s spangled prom dresses revealed his location.

“My pig’s being served with legal papers?”

“Not so much your pig, as you. Your property, your worry. At least, that’s how it works with dogs, so I assume . . .” The woman trailed off with an officious shrug as she headed for the front door with long strides, already pulling on her helmet. “But that isn’t any of my business; I just deliver the bad news. Have a nice day.”

“Wait—”

She didn’t pause. I followed her outside, where someone was revving the engine of a large black motorcycle. The woman jumped on the back and they zoomed off.

“Duuude,” said Conrad, the homeless young man who slept in nearby Golden Gate Park and spent the better part of his days “guarding” the curb outside of my store. In San Francisco’s Haight-Ashbury neighborhood, many young homeless people lived this way, panhandling and scrounging and generally referring to themselves as “gutter punks.” Over the past year, Conrad—or as he liked to call himself, “The Con”—had become a friend and the unofficial guardian of Aunt Cora’s Closet. “You get served?”

“Apparently so,” I said, opening the envelope to find some scary-looking legal-sized documents filled with legalese, such as “party of the first part.”

My heart sank as I put two and two together. My friend Bronwyn, who rents space in my store for her herbal stand, had filled me in on an incident that took place a couple of weeks ago while I was out scouting garage sales for resaleable treasure. It seems a woman came into the shop and started flicking through the merchandise, pronouncing it “unsuitable—too much of that dreadful ready-to-wear.” Bronwyn had explained to her that Aunt Cora’s Closet doesn’t deal in high-end vintage; our merchandise consists mostly of wearable clothes, with the occasional designer collectibles. The woman then turned to my employee Maya and started grilling her about the ins and outs of the store, making none-too-subtle inquiries about where we obtained our specialty stock.

Oscar started getting in the customer’s way, making a pest of himself and keeping her away from the

clothes. Bronwyn tried to call him off, but he kept at it, almost as though he was trying to herd her toward the exit. Finally the woman picked a parasol off a nearby shelf and started whacking Oscar, and there was a scuffle.

The woman had screamed and flailed, lost her balance, and fell back into a rack of colorful swing dresses. Maya and Bronwyn hastily extricated her, made sure she was all right, and offered profuse apologies. The woman had seemed fine at the time, they both said, and she stomped out of the store in high dudgeon.

But if I was reading the legal papers correctly, the woman—named Autumn Jennings—was now claiming she had been “head-butted” by an “unrestrained pig,” had been injured in the “attack,” and was demanding compensation.

It was a mystery. Oscar had never herded—much less head-butted—anyone in Aunt Cora’s Closet before. He wasn’t the violent type. In fact, apart from a few occasions when he intervened to save my life, Oscar was more the “let’s eat grilled cheese and take a nap” type.

He was also my witch’s familiar, albeit an unusual one. Oscar was a shape-shifter who assumed the form of a miniature Vietnamese potbellied pig when around cowans—regular, nonmagical humans. Around me, his natural form was sort of a cross between a goblin and a gargoyle. A gobgoyle, for lack of a better word. His was a lineage about which I didn’t want to think too hard.

“Bad vibes, Dude,” Conrad said with a sage nod. “Been there. Dude, I hate being served.”

“You’ve been served?” I asked. Conrad was in his early twenties and lived such a vagabond existence it was hard to imagine why anyone would bother to sue him. I could easily imagine his being picked up by police in a sweep of the local homeless population, but how would a process server even know where to find Conrad to serve him papers?

He nodded. “Couple times. But at least yours arrived on a Ducati. That’s a nice bike.”

“What did you—” My question was cut off by the approach of none other than Aidan Rhodes, witchy godfather to San Francisco’s magical community. His golden hair gleamed in the sun, a beautifully tailored sports jacket hugged his tall frame, and a leather satchel was tucked under one strong arm. As he strolled

down Haight Street with his signature graceful glide, strangers stopped to stare. Aidan’s aura glittered so brilliantly that even nonsensitive people noticed, though they didn’t realize what they were reacting to.

This is all I need.

I girded my witchy loins.

Things between Aidan and me were . . . complicated. Not long ago I’d stolen something from Aidan, and I still owed him. And when it comes to debts, we witches are a little like elephants, bookies, and the Internet: We never forget. Even worse, Aidan feared San Francisco was shaping up to be ground zero in some sort of big magical showdown, and he wanted me to stand with him for the forces of good. Or, at the very least, for the good of Aidan Rhodes. It was hard to say exactly what was going on—and exactly what role I was willing to play in it—since the threat was frustratingly nonspecific, and Aidan played his cards infuriatingly close to his chest.

“Good morning,” Aidan said as he joined us. “Conrad, it’s been too long. How have you been?”

Despite their vastly different circumstances and lifestyles, Aidan treated Conrad with the respect due a peer. His decency sort of ticked me off. My life would be simpler if I could dismiss Aidan as an arrogant, power-hungry witch beyond redemption. His kindness toward my friend was difficult to reconcile with that image.

The two men exchanged pleasantries, chatting about the beauty of Golden Gate Park when bathed in morning dew and sunshine, and whether the Giants had a shot at the pennant this year. And then Aidan turned his astonishing, periwinkle blue gaze on me, sweeping me from head to foot.

Suddenly self-conscious, I smoothed the full skirt of my sundress.

“And Lily . . . Stunning as always. I do like that color on you. It’s as joyful as the first rays of dawn.”

“Thank you,” I said, blushing and avoiding his eyes. The dress was an orangey gold cotton with a pink embroidered neckline and hem, circa 1962, and I had chosen it this morning precisely because it reminded me of a sunrise. “Aren’t you just the sweet talker.”

“You catch more flies with honey than with vinegar,” my mama used to tell me. Did this mean I was the fly and Aidan the fly catcher?

“Is everything all right?” Aidan asked. “Am I sensing trouble? Beyond the norm, I mean.”

“Dude, Lily just got served,” Conrad said.

“Served? I fear we aren’t speaking of breakfast.”

“A lawsuit,” I clarified.

“Ah. What a shame. Whatever happened?”

“Oscar head-butted a customer.”

“That’s . . . unusual.” Aidan had given me Oscar and knew him well. “Was this person badly injured?”

“I wasn’t there when it happened, but according to Bronwyn and Maya the customer seemed fine. But now she’s claiming she sustained ‘serious and debilitating neck and back injuries that hinder her in the completion of her work and significantly reduce her quality of life,’” I said, quoting from the document I still clutched tightly in my hand.

“That sounds most distressing. Might I offer my services in finding a resolution?”

“No. No, thank you.” The only thing worse than being slapped with a slip-and-fall lawsuit—the boogeyman of every small business owner—was being even more beholden to Aidan Rhodes than I already was. Besides . . . I wasn’t sure what he meant by “finding a resolution.” Aidan was one powerful witch. If he got involved, Autumn Jennings might very well wind up walking around looking like a frog.

“You’re sure?” Aidan asked. “These personal injury lawsuits can get nasty—and expensive, even if you win. As much as I hate to say it, you may have some liability here. Is it even legal to have a pig in the city limits?”

“Don’t worry about it; I’ve got it handled,” I said, not wishing to discuss the matter any further with him. “Was there some reason in particular you stopped by?”

Aidan grinned, sending sparkling rays of light dancing in the morning breeze. He really was the most astounding man.

“I was hoping we might have a moment to talk,” he said. “About business.”

My stomach clenched. Time to face the music. I did owe him, after all. “Of course, come on in.”

The door to Aunt Cora’s Closet tinkled as we went inside, and Bronwyn fluttered out from the back

room, cradling Oscar to her ample chest. She was dressed in billows of purple gauze, and a garland of wildflowers crowned her frizzy brown hair. Bronwyn was a fifty-something Wiccan, and one of the first—and very best—friends I had made upon my arrival in the City by the Bay not so very long ago.

“Hello, Aidan! So wonderful to see you again!” she gushed.

“Bronwyn, you light up this shop like fireworks on the Fourth of July.”

“Oh, you do go on.” She waved her hand but gave him a flirtatious smile. “But, Lily! Our little Oscaroo is very upset, poor thing! Maybe it has something to do with the woman with the motorcycle helmet who was just here—what was that about?”

“She was serving Lily with legal papers,” said Aidan.

“Legal papers?” Bronwyn asked as Oscar hid his snout under her arm. “For what?”

“Remember when Oscar”—I cast about for the right word—“harassed a woman a couple of weeks ago?”

Oscar snorted.

“Of course, naughty little tiny piggy pig pig,” Bronwyn said in a crooning baby voice. “But I have to say, she really was bothering all of us. But . . . she’s suing you? Seriously?”

I nodded. “I’m afraid so.”

“Well, now, that’s just bad karma,” Bronwyn said with a frown.

“You said she wasn’t hurt, though, right?”

“She was fine!” Bronwyn insisted. “She fell into the rack of swing dresses. You know how poofy those dresses are—there’s enough crinolines in the skirts to cushion an NFL linebacker, and she’s, what, a hundred pounds soaking wet? I saw her just the other day, when I brought her some of my special caramel-cherry-spice maté tea and homemade corn-cherry scones, and she seemed fine. As a matter of fact, when I arrived she was up on a ladder, and she certainly didn’t seem to have any back or neck injuries. She was a little under the weather, but it was a cold or the flu.”

“When was this?”

“Day before yesterday, I think . . . I thought I should make the effort, since you weren’t even here

when it happened. I just wanted to tell her I was sorry.”

“How did you know where to find her?”

“She left her business card. . . .” Bronwyn trailed off as she peeked behind her herbal counter. “I have it around here somewhere. Turns out, she’s a rival vintage clothing store owner, which explains why she was so interested. Her place is called Vintage Visions Glad Rags, over off Buchanan.”

“Really. That is interesting. What’s it like?”

“Very nice inventory, but if you ask me not nearly as warm and inviting as Aunt Cora’s Closet. She had some ball gowns that I’m sure were from the nineteenth century. But those are more museum pieces than anything someone would actually wear. The whole place was too snooty for my taste, by half. And expensive! Too rich for my blood.”

“Did anything happen while you were there? Did she say anything in particular?”

Bronwyn frowned in thought, then shook her head. “Nothing at all. She didn’t seem particularly bowled over by my gift basket, but she accepted it. But like I say, she told me she was a little under the weather, so maybe that accounts for her mood. She did have a very sweet dog, and I always say a pet lover is never irredeemable.”

“Okay, thanks,” I said, blowing out a breath. “If you think of anything else, please let me know. Aidan and I are going to talk in the back for a moment.”

“I’ll keep an eye on things,” Bronwyn said, lugging Oscar over to her herbal stand for a treat. Oscar was a miniature pig, but he was still a porker.

In the back room Aidan and I sat down at my old jade green Formica-topped table. I bided my time and waited for Aidan to speak first. In witch circles, simply asking “What may I help you with?” can open up a dangerous can of worms.

“I have to leave town for a little while,” he said.

“Really?” Even though I knew perfectly well that he had lived elsewhere in the past, including when he’d worked with the father who had abandoned me, in my mind Aidan was so associated with San Francisco that it was hard to imagine him in any other locale. “How long do you think you’ll be gone?”

“And here I was rather hoping you would beg me to stay,” he said in a quiet voice, his gaze holding mine.

“Far be it from me to dictate to the likes of Aidan Rhodes.”

He smiled. “In any case, I need a favor.”

Uh-oh.

“First,” he said, “I’ll need you to keep tabs on Selena.”

Selena was a talented but troubled teenage witch who had come into my life recently. She reminded me of myself at her age: socially awkward and dangerously magical.

I clenched my teeth. It wasn’t Aidan’s place to tell me to watch over Selena; she needed all of us with whom she had grown close. But it was true that Aidan and I had both been helping her to train her powers. In her case, as in mine, the biggest challenge was learning to keep control over her emotions and her magic in general. But even as he was asking me to partner with him, Aidan still fancied himself the head of the local magical community—me included. It was very annoying.

“Of course,” I said. “I have been.”

“Of course,” Aidan repeated. “And Oscar can come in handy with that as well.”

I concentrated on reining in my irritation. It wouldn’t do to send something flying, which sometimes happened when I lost my temper. Proving that Selena and I weren’t that far apart in some areas of our development.

“You’re not Oscar’s master anymore,” I pointed out.

He nodded slowly. “So true. Alas, I will leave that in your more than capable hands, then. Also while I’m gone I need you to fill in for me and adjudicate a few issues. Nothing too strenuous.”

“Beg pardon?”

He handed me a heavy, well-worn leather satchel tied with a black ribbon. “You’re always so curious about what I do for the local witchcraft community. Now’s your chance to find out.”

“I never said I wanted to find out. I’m really perfectly happy being in the dark.”

Aidan smiled. “Why do I find that hard to believe? In any event, find out you shall.”

I sighed. As curious as I was about Aidan’s world, I hesitated to be drawn into it. However, I was in his debt and the bill had come due. “Fine. I’m going to need more information, though. What all is involved in ‘adjudicating issues’?”

He shrugged. “Little of this, little of that. Mostly it means keeping an eye on things, making sure nothing gets out of hand. Handling disputes, assisting with certifications . . . Valuable job skills that really beef up the résumé, you’ll see.”

“Uh-huh,” I said, skeptical. At the moment I didn’t need a more impressive résumé. I needed a lawyer. “What kind of certifications?”

“Fortune-tellers and necromancers must be licensed in the city and county of San Francisco. Surely your good friend Inspector Romero has mentioned this at some point.”

“He has, but since I’m neither a fortune-teller nor a necromancer I didn’t pay much attention. So that’s what you do? Help people fill out forms down at City Hall? Surely—”

“It’s all terribly glamorous, isn’t it? Resolving petty squabbles, unraveling paperwork snafus . . . The excitement never ends,” he said with another smile. “But it’s necessary work, and you’re more than qualified to handle it while I’m gone. You’ll find everything you need in there.”

I opened the satchel and took a peek. Inside were what appeared to be hundreds of signed notes written on ancient parchment, a business card with the mayor’s cell phone number written on the back in pencil, and a jangly key ring. I pulled out the keys: One was an old-fashioned skeleton key, but the others were modern and, I assumed, unlocked his office at the recently rebuilt wax museum. “Aidan, what are . . . ?”

I looked up, but Aidan was gone, his departure marked by a slight sway of the curtains. Letting out a loud sigh of exasperation, I grumbled, “I swear, that man moves like a vampire.”

“Vampire?” Bronwyn poked her head through the curtains, Oscar still in her arms. “Are we worried about vampires now?”

“No, no, of course not,” I assured her as I closed the satchel and stashed it under the workroom table. “Sorry—just talking to myself.”

“Oh, thank the goddess!” said Bronwyn, and set Oscar down. Whenever Aidan was around, Oscar became excited to the point of agitation, and his little hooves clicked on the wooden planks of the floor as he hopped around. “Never a dull moment at Aunt Cora’s Closet.”

~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

I hope you enjoyed getting to read this excerpt ahead of the official release date.  I love Miss Blackwell and her three mystery series.  

Review - Eclair and Present Danger

This is the first in a new series, and I love getting to introduce new series to you.  The concept of an Emergency Dessert Squad was clever and hooked me.  Below I share my thoughts on this new series.

Author: Laura Bradford

Copyright: June 2016 (Berkley) 304 pgs

Series: 1st in Emergency Dessert Squad Mystery series

Sensuality: Mild

Mystery Sub-genre: Cozy

Main Characters: Winnie Johnson, Delectable Delights bakery owner

Setting: Modern day, ? don't know where

Obtained Through: Publisher for honest review

From the cover: "With her rent rising faster than her pie crust, bakery owner Winnie Johnson had hoped to be rescued by an inheritance from her wealthy friend and neighbor Gertrude Redenbacher. Instead all she inherits is the widow’s hostile hissing tabby, Lovey, and a vintage ambulance, restored by Gertrude’s late husband. As her dream crumbles, Winnie makes her final delivery—a peach pie to an elderly widower. But she finds Bart Wagner lying on his kitchen floor, smothered by a pillow.

To comfort her frightened and grieving neighbors, Winnie comes to the rescue with her baked goods—and an idea is born: dessert delivery via her ambulance and a new business called the Emergency Dessert Squad. When she’s not speeding to the scenes of dessert emergencies, Winnie is also racing to track down Bart’s killer—before she needs to call a real ambulance for the next victim."

Winnie Johnson was a delight. She truly loves seniors and most of her friends are older folks who also love her.  This was a wonderful uniqueness for the character.  Renee Ballentine, the slileto wearing, recently divorced sidekick to Winnie.  Mr. Nelson is the comic relief with his bad hearing where he misinterprets what is said and his penchant for appreciating pretty younger ladies.  Bridget is the elderly newspaper gossip columnist who has the entire town calling the new fireman "Master Sargent Hottie".  Greg Stevens, the new fireman, shows an interest in Winnie's recently inherited vintage ambulance...and Winnie.  But does he mesh with Winnie and her older friends?  Jay Morgan, Winnie's first Emergency Dessert Squad delivery takes her by surprise when she has an instant attraction to him.  Then there is Lovey, the cat she also inherited that hisses at her continually is the breakout character. The cast of this first novel help it shine.

I can't say anything about the setting in the larger scale, I don't even remember the name of the town or even region of the country.  The plot shows how Winnie is concerned about dear older friends who are very distraught by the murder and feeling very vulnerable.  The pace was maintained with the subplots of starting a new business and Winnie's lack of a love life that may turn around. 

The climax is where the stellar debut hiccups.  Winnie figures out who the killer is and out of anger goes to confront the murderer...alone, without telling anyone where she is going.  Not smart.  I took issue with this. The wrap-up was great and does set the stage for another adventure.

Overall a solid debut with a charming concept, plenty of humor, and a mystery that tantalizes as it unfolds gradually.  
Rating: Good - A fun read that cozy mystery fans will enjoy, good beach read.

Easy Chocolate Eclair

Ingredients

2 (3.4 ounce) packages instant vanilla pudding mix 
1 cup confectioners' sugar 
3 cups milk
1 (8 ounce) container frozen whipped topping, thawed 
1 (16 ounce) package graham crackers 
1 (16 ounce) container sour cream chocolate frosting

Directions

In a large bowl, combine pudding mix and confectioners' sugar. Whisk in milk until mixture is smooth, then gradually fold in whipped topping.

Place a layer of graham crackers in the bottom of a 9x13 inch pan. Spread 1/3 of pudding mixture over crackers. Cover pudding with another layer of graham crackers. Continue layering until pudding mixture is gone. Cover last pudding layer with another layer of graham crackers.

Soften frosting: Remove lid and the seal from frosting and microwave at 20 second intervals, stirring between intervals, until frosting is pour-able (about 1 minute total). Spread frosting  evenly over top layer of graham crackers - a thin layer is enough as too much can make it too sweet. Refrigerate 24 hours before serving - crucial step.

Enjoy!

Author Guest Post - Laura Bradford

As a child, Laura Bradford fell in love with writing over a stack of blank paper, a box of crayons, and a freshly sharpened number two pencil. From that moment forward, she never wanted to do or be anything else. Today, Laura is the national bestselling author of several mystery series, including the Emergency Dessert Squad Mysteries, the Amish Mysteries, the Jenkins & Burns Mysteries, the Southern Sewing Circle Mysteries written as Elizabeth Lynn Casey, and the upcoming Tobi Tobias Mystery Series. She is a former Agatha Award nominee, and the recipient of an RT Reviewer’s Choice Award in romance. A graduate of Xavier University in Cincinnati, Ohio, Laura enjoys making memories with her family, baking, and being an advocate for those living with Multiple Sclerosis.

The All-Important Supporting Cast 

At a writer event I went to recently, I heard someone inquire as to the key ingredient in a successful series. My initial impulse, of course, was good writing. Because, let’s face it, that is paramount.

But a book or TV show can have a phenomenal writer and still not connect with readers or viewers. Which leads to yet another question…

Why?

Sure, a story has to have a strong lead. I mean, can you imagine the show Castle with anyone other than Nathan Fillian? I know I can’t.

But part of what makes Fillian so great in that role is his supporting cast—Espo, Kevin, Kate, and his mom. Each one of those characters enables us to learn more about Fillian’s Castle. Espo and Kevin allow us to see a funny side. Kate gives him an opportunity to be fun but also protective. And his mother, she shows us his past.

The same holds true for a book. A great protagonist is, well, great. But a great supporting cast can make that protagonist even better.

In Éclair and Present Danger, the first book in my new Emergency Dessert Squad Mysteries, Winnie Johnson is a strong lead. Her creativity, her loyalty, and her determination make her the kind of character you instantly care about. But it is through her supporting cast—downstairs neighbor, Mr. Nelson, next door neighbor, Bridget, and best friend/co-worker, Renee—that we get to see Winnie’s inner most layers.

It is because of Winnie’s relationship with Mr. Nelson that we get to see an occasional crack in her otherwise cool exterior. Their talks on the front porch illustrate a side of Winnie we don’t necessarily see when she’s brainstorming dessert names, making deliveries, and going about her day to day life.

It’s because of Winnie’s relationship with Bridget that we’re able to see just how deep her patience and her sensitivity run. Her ability to talk the eighty something off the proverbial cliff is nearing legendary status.

And, finally, it’s because of Renee that Winnie is forced to stop and take a long hard look at herself every once in a while. Renee doesn’t let Winnie ignore stuff away. She knows when Winnie is dodging and ducking and she thinks nothing of holding Winnie’s feet to the fire when it comes to living.

So yeah, good writing is key to any book—series or otherwise. But a supporting cast that can help deliver a truly unforgettable protagonist? That’s priceless, if you ask me.

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Éclair and Present Danger

The first book in the delicious new Emergency Dessert Squad Mystery series from national bestselling author Laura Bradford. With her rent rising faster than her pie crust, bakery owner Winnie Johnson had hoped to be rescued by an inheritance from her wealthy friend and neighbor Gertrude Redenbacher. Instead all she inherits is the widow’s hostile hissing tabby, Lovey, and a vintage ambulance, restored by Gertrude’s late husband. As her dream crumbles, Winnie makes her final delivery—a peach pie to an elderly widower. But she finds Bart Wagner lying on his kitchen floor, smothered by a pillow. To comfort her frightened and grieving neighbors, Winnie comes to the rescue with her baked goods—and an idea is born: dessert delivery via her ambulance and a new business called the Emergency Dessert Squad. When she’s not speeding to the scenes of dessert emergencies, Winnie is also racing to track down Bart’s killer—before she needs to call a real ambulance for the next victim...

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 For more information, visit: www.laurabradford.com or, for day to day stuff, you can find Laura on Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/laurabradfordauthor/ and occasionally on Twitter @bradfordauthor

THANK you Ms. Bradford.  I agree, the supporting cast is crucial to making the whole package memorable.