The authors of the Ever After Mysteries are celebrating today’s release of my newest book! Enjoy a little mystery this week and be sure to get your copy of A TROLL FALLS on Amazon at this link!
“I just found it on the porch,” I told my daughter as we put up the groceries.
“Well, it’s a lovely rose.” My daughter collected the bags and put them in our storage bin.
“Not such a lovely message, though.” I tugged the ribbon that held the card in place and pulled it through the hole in the card, untangling it from the leaves of the flower. Leaving the flower on the counter, I squatted and dug through the lower cabinet to find the heart-shaped bud vase that had belonged to my mother. “And it was rather strange to just find it laying on the doorstep.”
“No one rang the bell,” my daughter said. “The dogs would have thrown a fit, and I never left my office. I would have heard it too.”
“Strange.” I shut the cabinet and paused. “You didn’t leave it there did you?”
She halted and tilted her head. “Really, Mom? If I’m going to spend the big bucks to get flowers for you, then I’m sure as heck gonna take credit for them.”
I chuckled. “True enough.” I filled the vase and picked up the bud. “Ouch.”
I dropped it immediately and stuck my finger in my mouth. One of the ugly thorns that covered the stem caught my finger just above the knuckle.
“You’re bleeding.” She trotted to the bathroom and came back with an antiseptic and a bandage. “Who leaves so many thorns on a flower, especially when it’s a gift?”
I stuck my finger under the faucet. “Someone who uses a rose to camouflage a threat.”
“You think it’s a threat?” She dabbed my finger with a kitchen towel and then sprayed it with an antiseptic.
“I do.” I flinched as the burn connected with my exposed nerve endings. “What else could it be?” I smoothed the bandage around my finger.
“Maybe we’re missing something.” She collected the trash and tossed it in the wastebasket. “Maybe one of the other authors like Chautana Having wanted to congratulate you about your coming release.”
“That could be.” I slipped an oven mitt on my injured hand and snipped several of the thorns and most of the leaves from the stem before dropping it into the vase. “I should give Chautona a call just to see. If she did send the flower, then I want to thank her.”
“Even with the thorns?” My daughter laughed, picked up her coffee, and went back to her office.
I reached for the card that had come with it. I should probably just toss it in the trash and not think about it again, but the message bugged me. How else could it be taken except as a threat? Surely, Chautona wouldn’t have been threatening me, though.
What type of wicked troll would send a note like this?
Your day has come.
I hope you enjoyed the first part of our little mystery. You’ll find the next part of the story at Chautona Havig’s blog at this link tomorrow: https://chautona.com/a-troll-falls-release
Now I’m no expert, and my blue jeans and tee shirt testify to that fact. (And it’s a toss-up whether I’m wearing the blue tee shirt that says, “Grandma, established 2022,” the red one that says, “I’m a mystery writer. I know 101 ways how to hide a body,” or the long-sleeved black one from “Canceling Christmas,” the musical that I was in last December.)
My characters in A TROLL FALLS, though, know a thing or two about the fashion of the late 1940s. After all, even though they were merely workers in the house, they were treated as part of the family by some very high-standing citizens of Dallas. I showed you the Dior dress that I chose for Ruby to wear on her date at the Adolphus hotel earlier. You can see that post HERE, and it is quite a dress!
Ruby has another date, though, on Elm Street that is shown in THIS POST. She attends a movie premiere of Red River, starring John Wayne, and the block party that the city of Dallas sponsored on that evening (August 26, 1948). At this date, she wore a beautiful sundress. Unfortunately, it wasn’t sunny.
Nope, not a bit. Just as the party was stirring up, a thunderstorm soaked everything and everyone from the haybales to the square dancers and the trick ropers.
And Ruby might have been soaked as well, except she wore one of those plastic raincoats – the kind that were translucent. At least, her dress was seen, right?
As I was researching for this book, I even picked out pajamas for my characters. They are rather prone to wander around and investigate in the middle of the night, so they had to have pajamas. I was surprised to find that the pajama top that I chose is actually a normal daytime top nowadays. Go figure. LOL!
But I have to admit, I wish that the housecoats of 1948 were still popular. These are not mere robes. These are thick and quilted dresses that ushered in the 1950s poofy skirts. I love the ones that I chose for my characters. I would guess the shoulder pads and hemline came straight out of the 1980s, right?
Which do you like best? Which would you wear?
There is something to be said for vintage clothing. I don’t have the figure or the guts to wear clothes from the 1940s, but it sure is pretty!
And in celebration of the release tomorrow, I’m doing a Facebook Takeover at THIS LINK. I’ll be there all day, giving away prizes and sharing more about my story and the Dallas history that sparked my imagination. I hope you will join me!
Oh, and when you purchase your book, don’t forget to send your receipt to ATROLLFALLS@gmail.com along with your US shipping address, and I’ll send you a special gift with your purchase!
Sometimes authors are inspired by actual events. Sometimes people inspire characters for them. For me, it’s always been places.
My daughters can testify of my habit, while we traveled or walked around, of finding great places to hide a body. I even have a tee shirt to that effect. I particularly remember scaring a grocery clerk with a discussion of how dumping the body in a ditch would be too obvious. My daughter spotted her nervous expression. “My mom’s an author.”
“Oh, I hoped it was something like that.” That discussion will be forever impaled on my memory.
As will the time when I spotted the soles of cowboy boots sticking out of a clothing donation box. Seriously? That barely even took any imagination at all. The body dump practically wrote itself. And I expect to use it someday. But no, it wasn’t a body. Yes, I checked. Well, one of my girls checked. Hey, I was driving!
So settings inspire me. The postcard that I found of Broadway of the Southwest inspired my first book A GIANT MURDER. And images of the Adolphus Hotel bridged both that book, set in 1926 and my newest book A TROLL FALLS, set in 1948.
This story’s mystery just fell together when I learned some tidbits about the house that inspired the Halling Estate in A TROLL FALLS. The inspiration for the estate is the DeGolyer House at the Dallas Arboretum that looks out onto White Rock Lake. I was there with a group of recent high school graduates. My twins and their friends had honored me by letting me come and bring my camera. While they wandered all over the gardens, I engaged a worker there at the house and learned a lot more than I expected.
First, I learned about the tragic story of Mr. DeGolyer who committed suicide when he learned of a terminal health issue. He died in his library and that room was one of a kind. Mr. DeGolyer had collected rare books all his life. Most of them are now part of the collection at Southern Methodist University.
The second thing I learned, I can’t really share because it reveals too much about my story. In this case, there is a little curiosity about that building that I played up and developed into the mystery. Yeah, it made for a super-simple story, but a nice juicy little mystery.
I hope you get a kick out of it!
By the way, today is the last day to enter my Goodreads giveaway. You can get a free copy of A TROLL FALLS. Use THIS LINK to enter the sweepstakes. If you do decide to purchase a copy, send your Amazon receipt to ATROLLFALLS@gmail.com along with your shipping address. You get a FREE GIFT WITH PURCHASE in your mailbox!
This isn’t your typical benign musical. But then again, most of the original fairy tales are a little on the gruesome side. And even the Disney versions involve murder, intrigue, and good vs. evil. So my little murder mystery actually fits in perfectly!
My new book that releases next week is A TROLL FALLS. It’s based on a little-known fairy tale called “Snow White and Rose Red.” Now, this Snow White is NOT the original Disney Queen. Snow and Rose are sisters who live with their widowed mother.
In my story, their names are DEFINITELY changed. Rose isn’t an oddity, but Snow? I’m sure there are several named Snow nowadays, but it is a little on the rare side. So my characters are named Opal and Ruby. I’ve known women with those names. In fact, my great aunt (Mawmaw Bobbie’s closest sibling) was named Opal.
Besides the family connection, though, the fact that my characters are named after gemstones is no coincidence. See, at the end of the original fairy tale, a mean troll spreads his treasure of gold and jewels in the sunshine to dry them after he cleaned them. My troll in this story doesn’t actually have gold and jewels, so Ruby and Opal serve a dual purpose by being the jewels in the story as well as the main characters.
Another main character in the fairy tale is a ferocious bear. He shows up in my book as Eric Bjorn, because Bjorn is Swedish for bear. Yep, that wasn’t a coincidence either. In the fairy tale, the bear is a poor victim. Not so much in A TROLL FALLS. In fact . . . wait. I don’t want to give too much away!
Did you know with fiction, the author has to keep a certain camera lens while telling the story? In most fiction, a character tells the story. You, as the reader, slip into the skin of the character and experience everything from that point of view. In A TROLL FALLS, Opal serves as the main character, so most of the scenes have a focus from her. Not only what she sees and hears, but her thoughts (internal monologue) tell a lot of the story. And her thoughts are influenced by her values and background.
I know that’s sort of technical, but in A TROLL FALLS, both Opal and her sister Ruby tell the story. And you’ll notice a difference between their perspectives. Opal is very shy and a rule follower. Ruby is a little more on the spunky side and willing to push the envelope. In truth, Ruby has a way of finding herself in all sorts of uncomfortable situations, but Opal is the one who . . . oh, wait. I’m doing it again.
Suffice it to say, this is Opal’s story, despite Ruby’s outgoing personality. But don’t worry. With Ruby’s outgoing personality, she can’t stay in the back seat for long. She has her own story coming next year. A WOLF’S EXTERMINATION is a play on “Little Red Riding Hood.” The perfect story for Ruby!
Get your own copy of A TROLL FALLS from Amazon by clicking the book cover here!
Oh, and send your Amazon receipt to ATROLLFALLS@gmail.com along with your shipping address and get a free gift with your purchase sent to you!
Tombstone: Judge JH STEVENSON; Born 1803, Died 1886.
I barely missed being a 5th generation native Texan. I know that sounds small, but it really is a big thing. At least to me. My third-great-grandfather, Judge James Hall Stevens moved from North Carolina to Coryell County, Texas after doing a judgeship stint in Arkansas. His son, John Allen Stevenson was born in Coryell county as was his grandson, my great-grandfather, Robert Lysander Stevenson.
Mawmaw Bobbie, reportedly at age 23 (1939) on the streets of downtown Dallas.
Robert Lysander’s final child, my grandmother Bobbie Zefflah Stevenson (yes, Zefflah. I think Great-Grandmother chose a Z name for this, her eighth child in eighteen years! LOL!) was born just south of Dallas and she moved in with her next older sister and brother-in-law during the early 1930s. My mom was born downtown as were all four of my kids.
So the fact that my mom and dad went over the border (into Louisiana) just before my brother was born and left just after I was born is downright devastating.
Okay, that’s probably a stronger word than is necessary. But I remember my mom had a bumper sticker on my car that said, “Native Texan.” Isn’t that a silly thing to want?
Papa Loyd as a station captain – my aunt thinks this was in the mid-1940s. He was in his early thirties.
I do love doing research into the early days of Dallas, though. My new book, A TROLL FALLS, is set in Dallas in 1948. About that time, my grandfather, “Red” Morin, was a fire captain at one of the Dallas stations. Declared 4F during the war due to hearing loss (just like George Bailey in “It’s a Wonderful Life), Papa Loyd was an air raid warden when he wasn’t at the firehouse. He and my grandmother lived in Oak Cliff, just southwest of downtown Dallas. So as I worked through this book, it was really personal to me.
I’ll share a little more with you soon, but you can preorder your own copy of A TROLL FALLS at THIS LINK. See what makes this book so special and enjoy a special free gift with purchase! Just email your name and shipping address to ATROLLFALLS@gmail.com.
They must have gone together at some point! See in the 1940s, when my book A TROLL FALLS is set, Dallas had the most amazing downtown. Elm Street was still considered the Broadway of the Southwest. And then there was the Century Ballroom at the Adolphus Hotel.
The Ice Skating shows began in 1943 and ran until 1965. This article actually has a film clip from many of the shows at the Adolphus itself.
When the ice show ended, a dance floor skimmed into place over the ice and Herman Waldman and his Orchestra continued to play long into the night. This was the date that my character, Ruby Stedman, had with her new beau. Ruby, with her perfect complexion and elegantly coifed brunette hair must have looked amazing in the Dior creation that Mrs. Halling let her borrow. Even if it was a couple of seasons old.
Ruby might have been a looker in the 1940s, but the young woman, an orphan by all accounts, merely served as a companion for an elderly woman in return for her room and board. How amazing it would have felt for her to wear such a dress and join the society of Dallas with a handsome, debonair man at her side.
Well . . . now that I think about it, amazing wasn’t all it was cracked up to be. In fact . . . let’s just say that Ruby has a habit of finding herself in trouble. She gives her older sister Opal all sorts of reasons to worry and pray!
Find out more about Ruby and her date in A TROLL FALLS!
“Do what? Madam?” The airport security guard had introduced himself as Toussant. He had only a mild accent, but he didn’t fool me. He’d pulled me into this bare, little room for something.
“Whatever it is you’ve brought me in here for.” I wasn’t making a whole lot of sense, but such was typical when I got nervous.
“We merely want to speak to you, Madam Laine.” He gestured to a chair on one side of a small table, but I didn’t feel like sitting.
How did the man know my name? I’d just been sitting in the waiting room when he stepped up and ushered me in here. It certainly wasn’t the random choice I’d thought it was. “About what?”
“What is it that brought you to Paris, Madam?” He seated himself in the chair across the table and steepled his fingers.
I don’t know what bothered me most about the man: his condescending tone or his half-lidded eyes. But since he’d sat down, I went ahead and sat across from him. “I was in Germany, visiting a mission with one of my friends, and I decided to come to Paris, just to say that I’d seen the place, and fly out from here.” I know I’m weird, but Paris has never been one of my dream vacays. Still, when I was only a hop, skip, and jump away, I needed to see what all of the fuss was about.
“And the Louvre?” The man lifted an eyebrow in, clearly doubting all that I’d just said.
“Was open when I got here. I decided to visit.” I lifted my chin and held his gaze for a second. “What’s the look for? I like art.” My mind flitted to the painting of the dogs playing cards that had hung in my game room when I was a kid.
I liked all sorts of artistic stuff.
“You were in the Louvre this morning?”
“Yes.” What was he getting at?
“And last night?” He gave a lazy blink as though he was working at being patient with me.
And I had no idea what he was fishing for. “I stayed in a little village just over the border from Germany. I can’t pronounce the name, but the chalet was owned by a family named Fontaine.”
“Then you did not come into Paris last night.”
“No.” Wasn’t that obvious? “I traveled yesterday and stayed at the chalet. Then I drove into Paris today and went straight to the museum.”
“To see the art.” He took out a notepad and jotted something down.
“Yes.” What was with this guy?
“And then you came straight here to the airport.” He didn’t look up at me this time.
“Yes.” I had a late afternoon flight to Heathrow. Was that so odd?
The man stood and gazed down at me. “So how did you enjoy the painting of the Russian Princess?”
I thought through the rooms I’d visited. I’d made a point to put my eyes on every picture, but that didn’t mean I would remember them all. Or any of them. Well, a few stood out in my mind. And some of them had looked royal. “Was that the painting of the little girls near the roses?” They had been dressed in multiple layers, so they might have been royal.
He merely shook his head.
“Well, I liked most of what I saw, so I’m sure I liked it.” Wait, why had he asked about that specific painting? “Was there something odd about it?”
“Only that it is missing.”
So that was why I’d been pulled aside. I stood. “Okay, I really didn’t take that. The only thing from Paris that I have in my bag is a magnet for my fridge and a thimble for my collection.” Well, and a couple of photos on my phone, but they didn’t count. I pushed my carry-on toward him as the door behind me opened.
I turned in time to see another guard step in and simply shake his head.
Toussant smiled benignly. “It seems you were indeed where you said last night.”
No news to me. “So I’m free to go?”
“I do have one other question.” He eyed me again. “When did you decide to go to the Louvre? I mean, there are many sights here in Paris. And you only had time for one of them. What made you choose that particular place?”
I’d actually planned this jaunt before I’d even purchased my plane tickets. “A friend of mine back in the states talked to me about the Louvre. Come to think of it, she mentioned some painting of a princess.” I immediately wished I hadn’t added that comment.
The guard pounced on it. “And who was that friend?”
Well, at least I didn’t need to worry about that. She was safely in California. “Chautona Havig. You might have heard of her. She’s the author of over seventy books.”
“Spell, please?” He jotted down the name as I spelled it for him. She couldn’t even be a suspect since she wasn’t even in France, but he wrote it down anyway.
“Thank you for your time, Madam.” He ushered me to the door and closed it behind me. The little room in the airport hadn’t been on my list of things to see in Paris, but I was glad that at least I wouldn’t be missing my plane.
—
Have you been able to follow this mystery? The Ever After authors are again caught up in a theft, this time of priceless art. Follow the trail of the missing painting:
I’m so excited to celebrate with Liz Tolsma on her Ever After mystery Slashed Canvas. Here’s a little more about her new book which is now available in paperback and ebook at Amazon:
Held prisoner by all she’s lost, Katarina’s about to lose all she has.
Grand Duchess Katarina Volstova barely escaped the Russian revolution, arriving in Paris just before the birth of her twin daughters. With her heart still captive in her homeland, she haunts the Louvre each day, spending hours gazing at one painting, lost in her pain.
Not the man he once was, Timothy Smythe never returned home to England after the Great War. Instead, he hides himself away doing maintenance in the Louvre and watching the beautiful woman whose pain seems riveted on one painting.
When Katarina returns home to find her daughters and their nanny missing, the loss opens her eyes to all she has to lose now.
Frantic to find her girls, her distress causes Timothy to offer his assistance. Together they put together clues to a puzzle they must complete before the kidnapper ensures Katarina and her daughters are never reunited.
Slashed Canvas offers a retelling of The Lost Princess that mingles self-centered grief, spoiled little girls, and proof that nothing will stop a mother from saving her children.
“And gone is exactly what it was.” I tried to be nonchalant as I pulled a candy cane from beside my front walkway. I wasn’t fooling any of my neighbors, though. I never did outdoor decorating, or undecorating, as in this case. And when the police car pulled in front of the house, at least three of the houses nearby suddenly had activity at their windows.
Blinds suddenly had a kink in them. Curtains were pulled back. A crazy dog started barking and pawing in the front window at the house across the street. I knew Mrs. Myers was crouching in the dark behind the dog. She probably even had her binoculars out.
I resisted the urge to wave at her and pulled up another candy cane as I turned my attention to the young officer.
He eyed me, holding a stylus above an iPad. “I realize the poster was gone, but I need to know what happened leading up to that moment.”
“Well, there isn’t much to tell. The auctioneer announced that the freakshow poster was the next thing to be auctioned. I picked up my paddle, but I never got the chance to bid. When they revealed the item, all they revealed was a big fat empty.”
“And you . . .”
I felt the heat rise up my neck. “Well, I had a plane to catch. I couldn’t bid on the item I wanted, so what was the point of me staying?”
“You went directly to the airport?”
Sort of. I reached for another candy cane and dropped my voice to a little over a whisper. “I did have to use the ladies.”
“So you stopped along the way.”
I merely nodded at this point. I wasn’t about to go into detail. “Bottom line, I had nothing to do with the disappearance of the poster.” I shook a candy cane in his direction. “No matter what you heard from Cathe Swanson. I was only interested in it for memorabilia anyway. I’ve collected all the books of the series; why not add to the presentation. And it really is a nice poster – was a nice poster.”
“And you never went near the poster before the auction began?”
Okay, that was a different question. I certainly couldn’t outright lie about it. Even if I could force out something that might sound rather affirmative, my flaming face would give it away. Judging from my feverish cheeks, it already was. “I wanted to see the thing before I began bidding on it. You know how it is. I had to be sure it was the real thing.”
“So . . .”
I glanced up at the sky and then down the street toward the corner. Why was some officer questioning me about the auction now? Out of the blue? I spotted a car parked on the entry road to my neighborhood. Cars never parked down there. A head ducked as I looked at it. Was that Cathe Swanson? Surely not. She lived way up north, for pity’s sake.
Was that why the officer was here?
“So you were the last to view it.” This officer, young or not, wasn’t missing anything.
I thought back to the episode I’d seen. Cathe had raced out of the auction house dragging some poor terrier in a hideous Christmas sweater. A moment later, security guards followed in hot pursuit. I had the chance to check under the red drape over the picture. “I wasn’t alone. April Hayman wandered over as well. She held up one edge of the drape and I held up the other.” It had been the real thing, all right.
“I see.” He lifted one eyebrow and jotted something into his iPad.
I pointed at him with the cane. “All I did was look at it. I didn’t touch it. I wasn’t even the last one with it.”
“Who was?”
I couldn’t really be sure about that. A few others joined us as we viewed it. “I think there were a few people there when I dropped my corner of the drape. I know April Hayman was. Have you even spoken to her?”
He ignored my question. “You’re certain she was there?”
“Yes. She had been standing right next to me and went around to the other side as I was leaving.” I took a breath, hoping this would encourage him to leave. I’d already tangled myself up in the candy cane wires and I still had about a dozen of them left to remove.
“I’ll see about this.” He didn’t even say goodbye as he strolled back to his car and got in. The dog across the street stopped barking. The curtains in the house next to it fell back into place. The blinds next door suddenly lost their kink.
I glanced toward the car parked at the corner as it pulled away. If it was Cathe Swanson, she’d been meddling in the wrong barrel. I had nothing to do with the theft no matter how much I’d wanted that poster. I pulled up another cane and solidified a huge tangle around the others and myself.
There was a reason why I didn’t do the outdoor decorating.
***
The authors of the Ever After series are celebrating Denise Barela’s release of Silencing the Siren, even more special because it is her premier publication! Woohoo! It’s available today on Amazon. Here’s a little more about her story:
Andrew Grayson thought he had everything… until he met her.
The indulged son of wealthy parents, Andrew has always gotten whatever he wanted almost before he knew he wanted it—clothes, gadgets… even a car! What more could a young man desire?
Enter Annabel Thompson. Freakshow mermaid extraordinaire… in a wheelchair!
Of course, her beauty attracts him. How could it not? Add to that a kind heart, and Andrew can’t help but fall for her.
Annabel’s connection with the freakshow repels his parents and their society friends. They want him to sever all ties with her and his new friends. Oh, and marry the “right” girl with the “right connections.” But he won’t do it. He’ll defy them and marry his little mermaid.
When Annabel turns up missing, declared dead, things don’t add up, Andrew begins asking some difficult questions, the most important being, “What happened to the little mermaid of the Coney Island freak show?”
Find out in this next book in the Ever After Mysteries, combining beloved fairy tales and mysteries. Silencing the Siren offers a retelling of “The Little Mermaid” that will keep you gripped to the edge of your seat as you watch the story unfold.
I ordered some eggs over easy and toast and then heard the ding on my phone as the waitress left our table.
“Do you need to get that?” my friend asked me.
I hated interrupting the way-too-infrequent times I get to see my friend, but sometimes my mom’s caregivers will text instead of call when she’s having a problem. “Just a sec.”
I opened the text and found the picture of a headless doll. The next image was of the missing head. And it wasn’t exactly a doll. More of a nutcracker. You know the type: dressed in a soldier uniform with a big head that allows for the nuts to fit in between his wide-opening mouth. This one had a tiny sword in one hand and a tall hat like a palace guard.
“Check this out.” I handed my phone over to my friend.
“Is this some sort of threat or just some weird coordination between mystery writers?”
I snorted. “Probably more of the latter than the first. It’s from April Hayman, one of the authors of the Ever After series.”
“Do y’all exchange pictures of broken dolls often?” She handed the phone back to me. “And should I ask for the check now?”
“No.” I laughed. “Apparently, the nutcracker from Chautona Havig’s new book, The Nutcracker Suite, has lost his head somehow.”
“Probably over some Raggedy Ann doll.”
“Cute.” I looked up at the ceiling. “April thought I might know who broke it.”
“Do you?” Her eyebrow arched and she leaned over her elbows on the table.
“I could probably make a pretty good guess. I mean, if it has to do with a nutcracker, then there are likely some mice involved.” Though I really didn’t think Chautona would have mice in her house.
“Maybe the mouse king shoved him off a high shelf?” my friend suggested. “Like yours. Don’t you have a nutcracker on that high shelf in your living room?”
“Yeah, but it’s not a soldier. Mama brought it back from Germany, though it looks more like a Leprechaun.”
My friend took a sip of her coffee. “So, if Chautona doesn’t have mice that could have broken the nutcracker, who broke it?”
“Well…” I thought of some of the sundry characters who fill my own books, but there would be no reason for them to hop into Chautona’s book to create havoc. “While Chautona doesn’t have mice, she does have a passel of kids.”
“I seem to remember somewhere that a couple of kids fought over a nutcracker and broke it. Do you suppose that’s what happened?”
I remembered that story. “I think at least one of those kids was pretty bratty. Chautona’s kids aren’t like that.”
“But it could have still happened that way, maybe they were playing with it?” My friend was certainly getting into the spirit of the mystery. “Or it could have fallen when Chautona was cleaning.”
I couldn’t answer for Chautona, but the poor guy on my high shelf likely had an inch of dust on his little green cap, not that anyone would be tall enough to see it. Which was exactly why I didn’t worry over keeping him dusted. “Either way, I certainly think she’s the one we should ask next about all of this.”
I typed in a short message and attached the pictures to the text. She had some explaining to do.
—
This little mystery celebrates the release of The Nutcracker Suite, the newest book in the Ever After series by Celebrate Lit. Chautona Havig offers this take on the famous Christmas story:
“Time to dance, sugarplum.”
A painter at the Meyer’s Toys factory, Clarice Stahl, knows something is strange about the way so many men come and go through Mr. Meyer’s office, especially one in particular.
Then murder strikes a little too close to home and uncorks a barrel of secrets.
When mob king, Mario Topo’s, enforcer goes missing the race is on to prove he’s behind the murder. Police and mobsters alike are after Milo Natale, and he who finds Milo first might determine the enforcer’s fate.
A race through the city, a new friend… or more… a new life in the offing. Milo and Clarice must find who killed Topo’s man and why before the police arrest him for murder or Topo’s men bump him and Clarice off, too.
This next book in the Ever After Mysteries combines “The Nutcracker Suite” with a murder mystery set in the heart of 1920s Rockland.
The knock at the door interrupted my new story. Again. I was determined to complete this 1940s retelling of Little Red Riding Hood, but between phone calls and errands, most of my story remained in my head.
My loveable rescue mutt started in on a tirade of protective barks when someone rang the doorbell.
Really? The Amazon delivery person was more than a little determined to get me to empty my porch. I put Rosie (aka Madam Barksalot) into her crate and went to the door.
Now, I live in the suburbs of Dallas, but even in my quiet neighborhood, I know better than to simply open my front door, broad daylight or not. But the fall wreath that I had put up last week completely blocked the peephole.
Grr.
The best I could do was to crack the door open. I thought there was probably a door-to-door salesman there. Over the last couple of months, we’ve entertained cable salesmen, a roofer from down the street, and a fellow attempting to sell us new windows. Well, and a girl scout, but since she came bringing me extra thin mints, I won’t count her among the nuisances.
Either way, I wasn’t expecting dusty men with crumpled fedoras pushing their way into my house.
Instant terror. The thing of nightmares. Or my suspense stories.
Rosie let out a blitz of non-stop barks in the living room. What I wouldn’t give for her sharp little teeth chasing the men off. But I took comfort that sweet hubby was only out on a short walk, and dear daughter and her taser were in the next room. She’d probably even seen the men approaching the place. “Get out of my house.”
The taller one walked through the entry hall looking at my shelves and the pictures on the wall. He made it to the living room, took one glance at Rosie in her crate, and backed away. “Not ’til you tell us where it is.”
“Huh?” I guess my expression confused them. They looked at each other and then back at me. Not that I had any answers. “What is it?”
Rosie had finally stopped barking, and the first man shushed me. “Keep your dog calm.”
The second man stepped into my dining room. “Drawers in here.”
Only in the china cabinet. “Hey.” I held up my hands, but the first guy shushed me again.
The second man pulled out the wide drawer under the glassed cabinets, and, as I discovered several years ago, learned that the drawer has no stopping device. It came out of the slot, and heavy as it was with flatware and Christmas utensils, it fell to the floor, slamming into his toes. “Ow.” He hopped up and down on first one foot and then the other. His friend, the last one at the door, came to help, but the injured man shoved him away.
“Who you shoving?” The last man acted as though to tackle the hopping fellow.
His friend who had returned from the living room yelled at him. “Keep it down.”
They hadn’t closed my door behind them, and my neighbor across the street was out sweeping the acorns off of his sidewalk. He kept glancing in the direction of my doorway. That was good.
And with so much commotion, my daughter had probably already called 911.
I lowered my voice, hoping a calming tone was coming out. “Look, this is a quiet area with nosy neighbors. The police are probably already on their way”
The first one held his hands out toward me. “Ain’t no need for that lady. We just wants the location.”
Did they break into the wrong house? “Location to what? I don’t even know you.” What in the world were they talking about?
“We wants to know where to find the Lost Dutchman Gold Mine, and don’t say you don’t know ’cause Chautona Havig done mailed choo the map.” The last fellow pointed a finger at me.
I would have to remember to thank Chautona, but I hadn’t gotten the mail yet. Had it come today? “But what if I don’t know where your mine is?” I almost said mind which would also have been appropriate.
At this point, I could see the lady who lived catty-corner to me join my across-the-street neighbor in open curiosity. I resisted the urge to wave. Wouldn’t want them to think I was okay with the men bursting in.
“Prove it.” This time, the first man pointed at me.
Were these guys for real? How was I supposed to prove that? But then, I’m a words person. Maybe I could reason with them? “Well, first, the mine is lost, right?”
“Yeah,” the trio chorused.
They might have been dressed like Indiana Jones, but they didn’t seem to be all that intelligent, though that’s a rather harsh thing for me to think. Still, I had few other options since neither the police nor my family members had made an appearance as yet. I pursued my line, “I’m at home here, so clearly I am not… lost, that is. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The expressions on the men’s faces dumbed up with wrinkles across their foreheads and their mouth’s looking like they’d just had a bite of months-old stew. “Uh, okay,” the third guy grunted.
“Second, do I look Dutch to you?” Okay, there might’ve been some Dutch ancestors way, way back in the family tree, but the question just intensified the confusion on the men’s faces. “I can prove to you that I am not.” I pulled out my phone and opened the app that had my family tree in it. Well, at least the first eight generations. “See here? Scottish.” I showed them the line from two of my grandparents. “It’s that way all around.” I didn’t mention the Native American, the French, or the German ancestors, but they couldn’t have handled anymore anyway.
Their faces looked like their brains were fairly about to pop as it was.
I casually wandered into the living room and the men followed me. “And you said it was the ‘Dutch man‘ goldmine, right?”
They nodded.
“I’m am happily female. Not a man.” I shrugged. “In conclusion, I am not lost, not Dutch, and not a man. But I do have a goldmine.” I neared the crate where my silent dog lay. Bright orange with tan markings, my Rosie can easily be described as gold.
I unlatched the door and flung it open. She immediately advanced on the trio with her protective bark and growl performance. “Madam Barksalot is my own personal goldmine.”
The men backed up, fairly falling over each other. “Cain’t you get her to quit.”
“Believe me, boys,” I shout over her earsplitting tirade. “I have tried.” Many times, but not so much in this case.
Rosie escorted them to the door. The post office deliverer was on the other side of the street, way down on the east end. I had to think of something quick before they noticed the truck. “You might give Denise Barela a holler. She lives out in California, and at one time, they had quite a lot of gold out there.” It was the first thing that I thought of and purely by accident. I really expected the police to have been here by now. They’re usually so quick.
The men glanced at each other one last time as a distant siren blared. Then they scrambled out the door and ran west, down the street and around the corner.
I gave my neighbors a wave and a thumbs-up as the siren grew closer. Then I shut the door and went to my daughter’s room. I tapped on the door and opened it a crack. “What did you tell the dispatcher, so I can connect the dots.”
She whirled around and pulled an earbud from one ear. “Did you need something?”
So much for the cavalry. And sure enough, the siren faded as he obviously passed my neighborhood. Thankfully, I hadn’t needed him.
But if the map they’d mention did end up here… well, Denise was pretty creative. She’d figure out what to do with it once she moved those fellows along. Check-in with Denise Barela tomorrow to see how she works with them.
—
I love these blog hops for the Ever After series! And these mysteries are so much fun. This blog hop celebrates the latest release from Rebecca Jones, The Lost Dutchman’s Secret. Here’s a little about the book:
There’s a deadly secret in them thar hills—and gold, or so they say.
Deeply in debt to a wealthy local, Charles Sinclair, Dorothy Hodges’ father finally promises she’ll pay and in gold, no less. If only Dorothy could take to take the promises he spins out of thin air and turn them into that gold, all would be well.
With the help of a strange, rumpled man, Dorothy does manage to bring payment to one of Sinclair’s sons only to discover it won’t pay off the debt. Will the next payment be enough? The next?
When Charles Sinclair ends up dead, Dorothy is the obvious prime suspect, but Sinclair’s son isn’t so certain. Together they work to clear her name and find the real murderer of the Superstitions, but will they find the answers buried in those hills?
Find out in this next book in the Ever After Mysteries, combining beloved fairy tales and mysteries. The Lost Dutchman’s Secret offers a retelling of “Rumplestilskin” that requires more digging than a miner searching for The Lost Dutchman Mine.
The Lost Dutchman’s Secret is available. And don’t miss entering the giveaway at the link below for an Amazon gift card! Yea!
Marji Laine 