Tag: giveaway

Am I cozy?
Readers sometimes ask me: Are my books cozy? And the honest answer is, I’m not sure. Yes, I can promise you that in my new A Spell of Murder, the story is gentle. There is no sex or foul
language and, while there is a murder, the blood (as the old saying goes) is dry before it hits the page. Plus, there are cats – three of them – and cats always make a story cozier, don’t you
agree?

But more and more these days, I find myself telling readers that my books aren’t strictly “cozies,” per se. They’ve got a few too many twists, a couple of extra characters, and even a few extra felines, all designed to make the book a little more challenging than some cozy
readers might expect.

For example, although Becca, the human at the center of A Spell of Murder, is a perfectly likable
young woman, she’s not the point of view character. Her youngest cat, Clara, is. And although Clara wishes she could spend all her time focusing on Becca, especially as Becca gets involved with some shady characters (and a murder), she also has to deal with her two litter-mates,
Harriet and Laurel. While they love their human too, they have a bit less respect for Clara, their youngest, and they act as sisters often do.
So if you ask me how I would describe this book, I would say it is whimsical and fun and warm, but a bit challenging as well, since it deals with personalities as well as a caper, cats as well as
crime. But if you can stick with it, I promise you a happy ending – because who doesn’t like a happy ending? Does that make it cozy? In its own way, I guess it does!

Natalie shook her head slowly. “I don’t think so. You recognize you have a problem, and
that’s a great start for our work together, but your mistake lies in thinking you can, and should,
conquer this on your own. If you think I’m wrong, prove it to me.”
He gave her an assessing look. “Prove it? How?”
She placed her hands on her hips, tilting her head slightly. “Empty your pockets.”
Billy had a sinking feeling and closed his eyes for a moment. “What? Why?” Her expression
never changed, and he knew she had him beat. For the moment, anyway. He slowly reached into
his shorts pocket, pulling out his wallet and cell phone.
She showed him no mercy, as he had fully expected. “Now, the other pocket, please.”
He reached into his other pocket and slowly pulled out a silver flask full of vodka that he
kept on him most of the day. Before he could say a word in his defense, she snatched the small,
silver container and emptied the liquor onto the sand.
“Hey! What the hell—”
Natalie turned and handed the flask back to him. “You won’t be needing that while we’re
working together, and if I do my job, you won’t need it after. This has to be a collaboration
between the two of us, and keeping you from drinking is the first step to making sure you’re
totally on board.”

“You think I’m Sally Jane Powell?”
“I can’t confirm that, not without a DNA test, but…” Lisa pulled out two driver’s licenses from
the envelope. “I found these in that shoebox you gave me, the one with your parents’ personal effects
and your photos and stuff. Your parents were first issued driver’s licenses in Wisconsin in nineteen
ninety-four, five years after you were born, also the year Sally was kidnapped.”
Lisa tapped the photos on the licenses. “Look at your parents, Slee. You look nothing like them.
Do you know the chances of two brown-eyed adults, both with dark hair, having a blonde, blue-eyed
child? It’s exceptionally rare. It’s possible one of your grandparents had blue eyes, but I couldn’t find
any photos to confirm.”
“Maybe I was adopted. I always wondered…”
Lisa shook her head. “I’m sorry, Slee. I couldn’t find a record of that either.” She pulled out two
more news clippings. “Slee, this is a photo of you when you were seven. When you won a spelling
bee? It was in your box.” She handed the other clipping to Sarah. “Compare that photo to the one of
Sally. The one the police distributed when she was taken.”
Sarah studied both photos. Then she shook her head. “There are some similarities, sure. Same
eyes. Same color hair. But there are also some differences. My face is thinner. My hair is long and
straight. Hers is curly. It could just be a coincidence.” She looked up at Lisa and her eyes filled. “No
way I was kidnapped. My parents loved me too much. Besides, don’t people kidnap for money?”
Lisa shook her head. “Not always. Sometimes, they just want a child.” She patted Sarah’s hand.
“Slee, I know this is disturbing, but let’s not put the cart before the horse. And no matter what we
find, that doesn’t make your parents any less your parents. Sure, there’s a chance that you don’t share
their blood, but they loved you. Hold on to that.”

In the end, the bullet goes through the man’s heart. Without oxygen, the brain takes about five
minutes to die. As the man lies bleeding on the dirty pavement, his unmoving eyes must still be
able to see the killer looking down on him and to feel the killer’s hands on him. Does he
recognize the disguised face of the killer? No one on earth can possibly know the answer to this
question, and yet it would continue to plague the killer for years to come.
As for the killer, he would be obsessed to the point of almost seeing through the man’s dying
eyes. Sometimes he would wander the streets, being blown here and there like an apparition,
suffering from its consequences. Unlike the dead man, there would be no certainty for him; even
his own intention would later become doubtful—did he really mean to kill the man?
When it all began, Thomas Wilde was merely trying to rid his conscience of the guilt that had
followed him home from Iraq. It began when he caught glimpses of a woman around his office,
whose beauty was such that it gave him premonitions of a beautiful chaos. And wanting to give
her permanency in his idealized world, he called her Lady X.
He had seen this woman several times and always in passing. The first time, he was exiting an
elevator as she was entering, and he couldn’t help turning around to look at her. The second
time, a couple weeks later, he saw her walking down the hall and disappearing into a stairway.
Once at lunch time, he left his office and saw her near an exit, at the far end of a hallway. White
slacks above black high heels, a dark red jacket, and a white scarf around her neck—there
could be no mistake that it was she. He ran. He reached the exit, entered the stairway, and
raced down. In the lobby, he got to the front door and immediately bolted into the parking lot,
looking around. She was walking fast to a car with its engine running. She opened the car’s
door, and her hand was lifted high, resting on the rim of the door for just a second before she
stepped in. The car drove off. He stood still, looking on, until it turned onto the street and
merged into the rushing traffic.
He decided he must know her name.