Welcome Paula Martin

Coming Back to Writing Fiction

Hi, I’m Paula Martin. I’ve lived in North West England all my life, and was a high school history teacher for more years than I care to count. 

In the 1960’s and 70’s, I had four romance novels published by Mills and Boon, and by Robert Hale here in the UK.  Two of them were also published by Harlequin.  I also had several short stories published in romance magazines.

Then I stopped writing romance fiction.  I thought my muse had deserted me.  This might have been because my teaching career plus bringing up two girls as a single parent demanded much of my time, as did my main interests in working as a Girl Guide leader and helping backstage at the local amateur musical theatre. In more recent years, since I retired from teaching, I’ve also travelled a lot, in Ireland, mainland Europe, USA and Canada and the Middle East. 

  

Coming back to writing fiction again after a 20+ year break was pure serendipity.

About 5 years ago I became completely hooked on the TV series, 'The West Wing' and also discovered the world of fan-fiction.  Egged on by another West Wing fan, I started a fan-fiction story which followed on from the very last scene of the series.  It was only intended to be a short story - but somehow it grew. It ended up with 40 chapters and 80,000 words.  My muse had returned and I was writing fiction again! But, at this stage, solely for my friend.

Fate intervened later in the year when another friend persuaded me to post the story on one of the yahoo groups devoted to ‘The West Wing’.  In November 2007 I started posting my 'instalments'. I must admit I was nervous because a lot of the members of the group were far more knowledgeable about TWW than I was. To my relief, everyone liked it, even when I shocked them with an unexpected twist in the story!

In June 2008, fate stepped in yet again when, during a Civil War battlefield tour in Virginia and Pennsylvania, I met a best-selling Harlequin author who was doing the tour of part of her research for a Civil War trilogy.  We got talking about writing and it was she who persuaded me to try writing novels again.

Back home again, I dug out a box which had languished in a cupboard for many years.  It contained several unfinished stories so, with new-found enthusiasm, I started to re-write one of them.  I wasn’t totally surprised when, after several months, this was rejected by Harlequin.

In the meantime, I had re-started another novel which only had about 3 chapters previously written.  I was then fortunate to find two fantastic critique partners who helped me to tighten up my writing (as well as get rid of some of my bad habits!)

This book was accepted by Whiskey Creek Press in May 2009 and is released this month.  The story is set in London's West End theatre world. I’ve always been interested in the theatre and have worked backstage at many amateur shows (usually musicals), as well as directing several shows with the Junior Group of my local amateur theatre society. I’ve also been backstage at two professional theatres (admittedly not in London) but I would imagine they can’t be much different from those in the West End!  So, hopefully, my background setting for the story sounds reasonably authentic!

His Leading Lady – available from Whiskey Creek Press http://www.whiskeycreekpress.com/

Blurb: 

Jess Harper’s predictable life is turned upside down when she discovers that Lora, her twin sister, has disappeared.  It’s just a week before rehearsals are due to start for a new West End musical in which Lora has the lead role.  Jess decides to pose as her sister in order to save Lora's career.  This brings her into close contact with arrogant theatre director Kyle Drummond.  Attraction sparks between them but there’s also evidence that he had been dating Lora.  So is Jess simply a substitute – in real life as well as in the show?  And what will happen when Lora eventually returns?   

Excerpt:

(Jess is posing as her sister, and she and Kyle have returned to Lora’s apartment after having dinner, the night before they are due to do a TV interview together)

            He followed her across the landing and her nerves fluttered like a bird caught in a net.  Her hand shook as she started to put the key in the lock, then Kyle’s hand on her arm stopped her.  “I’ll pick you up at nine thirty tomorrow,” he said.

            She looked at him, genuinely taken aback.  “But – but aren’t you coming in?”

            The instant she said it, she could have kicked herself.  Amusement flashed across his face.  “What man could resist such an invitation?” he said with a quick grin.  “But no, tonight I really must resist.  You need a good night’s sleep and I –” He stopped and gave a half-laugh.  “Well, let’s just say that I have a few things to sort out before tomorrow.  I’ll see you at nine thirty.”

            Jess knew the feeling sweeping through her should be one of relief, knew she should say a casual goodnight to him and open the apartment door.  But the look in his eyes sent waves of heat rising inside her.  She couldn’t move, even when he put his hands on her arms and started to lower his head.  A warning bell shrilled in her head but by then Kyle’s mouth was against hers and it was too late.

            His mouth was soft at first but the feel of it, so warm and tantalising, sent her head into a spin.  A small gasp escaped from her lips and parted them slightly.  Kyle’s arms went round her, and he pulled her firmly against him.  His lips hardened and his tongue slid into her mouth. 

            She’d been kissed passionately before but nothing had prepared her for Kyle’s kiss.  His mouth took possession of her in a seductive demand for surrender.  As his tongue gently fondled hers, sensations that she had never known before scorched through her, ignited every nerve and melted every bone.  She gripped his shoulders, her head went back and involuntarily she arched towards him, thrilling exquisitely to the feel of his hard body against hers.  The surrender he demanded was complete as she responded with the same fervour, wanting more, still more.

            When he released her, her breathing was ragged and she looked up at him, dazed and disorientated.

            For a couple of seconds, Kyle looked just as stunned.  Then he took a deep breath and gave her a wry grin.  “You certainly know how to make a man regret his decision!”  He cupped her chin with his hand and even that burned through her and then gave her a tender smile.  “I’d better go, otherwise I never will.  Goodnight, beautiful lady.  Sleep well.  And don’t worry about tomorrow.  You’ll do just fine.”

            His lips brushed her mouth again in a brief parting kiss and then he turned to the lift.  The doors were still open and Jess watched as he went in and pressed the ground floor button.  Still totally numb, she raised her hand slightly.  Kyle smiled and tilted his head in farewell.

            Only when she was staring at the lift doors did she finally move.  The key was still in the lock and she let herself into the apartment.  She closed the door behind her, then caught sight of herself in the hallway mirror.  Her face was flushed and her blue eyes stared back at her wildly.

            “Oh God,” she whispered as she brought both her hands up to her cheeks.  For a few moments she couldn’t think straight.  All she could feel was Kyle’s mouth, his tongue, his whole body.  A quiver ran down to somewhere deep inside her.

            In the next moment her eyes widened with horror.  How could she have let him kiss her like that? 

            She looked at herself again in the mirror and tried to calm her thudding heart.  Lora’s clothes, Lora’s make-up, Lora’s hairstyle.  Of course, he’d thought that he was kissing Lora, not her.  And she’d responded as Lora.  Hadn’t she?

            So that was some damn good play-acting, Jess.  Except that it didn’t explain her own response.  Not just the way she’d responded to his kiss, but all those other feelings that she didn’t even want to think about.

            Relief, she told herself firmly.  All evening she’d been worrying about how the evening was going to end, and when he’d said that he wasn’t coming in, it was simply relief that swept through her   Wasn’t it?

            Underneath, she knew there had been far more than that, but already her mind frantically tried to deny what had happened to her emotions and to her body too.  Instead, she diverted her thoughts to the TV interview.  Once she got through that, this whole charade would be over.  She could go back to Ashfield and forget that Kyle Drummond even existed. 

Contact me at:

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Welcome Annette Snyder

Summer is the best! I am a lover of all things concerning heat and lazy lounging days.  When the kids were growing up, once a week we took a ‘field trip’ someplace close and free.  Most times that involved a state park with a beach.  On rainy days visits to a museum or an occasional matinee at the dollar theater occupied our time.  All venues were considered if we could drive there and back on a tank of gas.  My favorite days were the sunny ones spent by water, reading while the kids swam.  Reading on those days, was where my passion for writing began.

As a mom with four kids, time was premium.  Household chores and kid activities didn’t leave much time for my favorite pastime of reading.  Though I love those classic novels, it took me all summer to get through one.  Intense reads where time consuming so I read the lighter side.  

I’ve always liked the world of romance novels.  Boy meets girl.  There’s conflict.  It’s solved and the characters live happily ever after.  Ahhh!  The best part, as a mom with a billion things to do, summer reads were easily consumed in a few hours sitting on the beach or at the park while my kids played.   Written in proper fashion, romance novels captivate and entertain.

Once in a while, I’d get a bad one.  Poor writing.  Unsatisfying plot.  Weak characters.  Though I’d force myself to finish, I knew I could do better.

So I write.  

My 1800 Travis Pass Series was the first.  Inspired by those visits to museums with my kids and my fascination with antiques, coupled with the stories my great grandparents and grandparents told me about their migrations to the USA, I felt the need to melt all that in fiction.  Mix adventure with romance and I got Travis Pass, followed by Sally Murphy, Liberty Road and the rest of the series.  All stand alone reads but still in a series. 

My WWII trilogy came next derived from my grandmother’s life story in Viveka’s War.   Viveka’s a mom forced into the workforce as a result of WWII.  Though her husband is one of the fortunate soldiers who returned alive, mentally he wasn’t in one piece.  Plagued by problems caused by his infidelity, Viveka learns to move on and survive— triumph in her personal war. 

 

Viveka’s War is followed by Eureka Springs and soon to be released Respectable Affair. 

My current projects include a contemporary series involving a family of seven.  

Intimate Flames, an EPIC Award finalist 2011, starts with fireman, Andrew ‘Amen’ Packard, the youngest family member and convenience store clerk, Bradie Carpenter.  Both souls lost and discontent, untrusting, yet they find each other and work toward that happy ending.  

Drive Thru, a novel involving Amen’s sister Marie and Limousine driver Ben Sutter, follows and currently I’m completing a story about Dana Packard, female auctioneer and Bruce Levenger, insurance adjuster.   I call it Going Twice.

All light read adventure romance.  All available at www.whiskeycreekpress.com or at Fictionwise and its many affiliates, Amazon.com or so many other places. 

Check my website http://annettesnyder.atspace.com perhaps I’ll be near you and you can pick up an autographed copy or you can stop at one of the many stores my novels are available.  Also, please do stop by my blog http://annettesnyder.blogspot.com  It’s a pretty cool project that I invented whereas I’ve lined up fifty authors and writing professionals from all fifty United States and, each week  a new writing pro brings the spotlight to their work and state. 

  

It’s a great way to discover new areas of the USA and, if you’re planning one of those summer trips or weekend getaways, perhaps you’ll find something of interest or a new reading venue to grab for that day by the water.

I’d like to thank Ginger Simpson for hosting me once again.  It’s always a pleasure! 

   

Welcome Suzanne Hurley

My first book with Whiskey Creek Press came out on March 1, and I am just thrilled about it. I’ve written mysteries before, but this was my first attempt at a Women’s Fiction book and I loved writing it.
‘Never Ever’ is a story about three women. All face challenges, all overcome them. Here’s a blurb:

What do you do when you have a second chance to make your dreams come true, but are too afraid? What if you long to get married and have a family but keep choosing the wrong man, over and over? How about being the new girl at school and finding yourself the victim of bullying?

Social worker Ivy Blake survives a heart attack, decides to retire and do everything she’s always dreamed of. Only one problem. How do you say goodbye to your old life when you are a workaholic? Chris Palermo is a twenty-eight year old teacher who desperately longs to find true love, but chooses the wrong guy, date after date. Seventeen year old Jamie Hicks is a social outcast at her new school. Rebelling, she sports a blue fauxhawk and a ‘don’t mess with me’ attitude.

This book is about women supporting women as they search, explore and overcome obstacles. It is a journey of tough times, challenges and redeeming love.
I must say, it was extremely challenging getting into the minds of the three women and trying to figure out how they’d react. Great, great fun.

If anyone has any questions or would like to know more about my books, please contact me at suzannehurleysue@gmail.com and my website is www.suzannemhurley.com

Welcome Joel Borelli

 Finding Love At First Sight, By Joel Borelli

Thank you Miz Ging for having me over, it’s a real pleasure visiting your Dishin it Out blog.  As a new author I’m excited for the opportunity to promote my book, Finding Love At First Sight.  The book is a contemporary romantic comedy set in Boston, with a heavy emphasis on comedy.  I have learned, through the many funny experiences endured on my own that love, specifically the search for love, can put us in some of the most humorous situations imaginable.  We’ve all been there at some point, sitting across the dinner table on a date with “That Person”.  The one you know almost immediately that a mistake was made be it by the person who arranged the date or your own miscalculation as to your would-be partner’s endearing qualities.  The one that has you asking, “What was he or she thinking when they set me up with this person?” or worse yet, “What was I thinking!?”

            Charlie Lomman, my male lead and Seeker of Love Extraordinaire, has the most difficult time finding someone he is compatible with, but more to the point, he has the easiest time finding those walking disaster dates.  He’s something between a Gaylord Focker and a Jerry Seinfeld.  The Focker in him is socially clumsy with women, while the Seinfeld in him tends to focus on those idiosyncrasies others might overlook.  All this leads to him awkwardly fumbling through his social encounters with all the grace of a one-legged man in a foot race.  While his genuinely nice guy persona is endearing to the reader his female companions continue to find reasons to loathe him. 

            Rose Cordelia, my female lead and focus of Charlie’s odd quest, is quite similar to Charlie in that she too is a veritable magnet for strange and distasteful men.  Like Charlie, her story wends its way through some of the weirdest dates imaginable in her search for love. 

            While the point of view shifts between the two, Charlie is my chief protagonist.  After another tragically absurd breakup he decides to try and find the girl he believes is his love at first sight.  The only problem with his plan is he doesn’t know her name and his encounter was so long ago he was in grade school.  Imagine yourself in his position, left with only a trinket as memento and proof that something did occur, and then deciding to try and find her.  What would you do?  How would you proceed with a search?  Who would surface as would-be candidates for your lost love?  You can then begin to imagine some of the comic misadventures in store for Charlie. 

            Yet from the very first chapter Rose is right there next to Charlie, but alas, Charlie is destined to endure some of the most hilarious and humiliating situations while he forces fate in his quest for love.  Fate pushes back too, in the form of an evil, bumper-sticker genius tagging Charlie’s vehicle with all types of stickers, from the inane to the offensive, further complicating Charlie’s life and search.  But in the end, Fate – and Love – has their way. 

            For me, writing this story represented a departure from my comfort zone, which has always been in the Science Fiction/Fantasy genres.  The idea actually stemmed from one of my earliest childhood memories.  Yes, that of a girl I met only once, a very long time ago.  Yet the encounter left such an impression on me that all these years later I still remember her, and like Charlie I never even knew her name.  Unlike Charlie, I was never left with a trinket, a clue if you will to help find her.  While I have no suppressed emotions regarding this girl, the idea for the story had been germinating in the depths of my mind for some time.  The question, “What if?” continued occurring to me, and when I decided to write the story my sense of humor got the better of me.  I strove to tackle all of those awkward situations encountered in the dating world and really try and have fun with the premise.  I believe I succeeded and am proud to say the book is available at www.whiskeycreekpress.com through Whiskey Creek Press. 

Excerpt

Allow me to set the scene.  Charlie, my male protagonist, is fresh off his latest dating disaster, an all too common outcome.  In this scene Charlie is first introduced to his mysterious, mad bumper sticker genius that will dog him throughout the story.  The bumper stickers not only add a comic element to the story, they also serve to push Charlie and the story along, mostly kicking and screaming, but ultimately-we hope-to a satisfactory conclusion.  Immediately following this is another all too common occurrence for Charlie and that is him pulling out the only memento of what he believes is his personal experience of what many call love at first sight.  This is a good look at both the comic element and the romance theme that weave together throughout the story.  I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 3

            Frustrated, and a little embarrassed by breaking up with Rachael in a note, Charlie headed home.  He found a parking spot just beyond his building and thought his luck was turning.  Exiting his vehicle he cut behind his Explorer toward his door.  That’s when he noticed the bright yellow bumper sticker. 

            “What the?  How did that get on there?” he wondered aloud.  He instinctively looked around with the feeling like someone was watching him.  Not a mad serial killer stalking you type of feeling, but after a few seconds thought he suddenly knew what it must feel like to be on Candid Camera.  And in Charlie’s opinion, whoever had put the bumper sticker on his vehicle had a pretty good sense of humor.  It read:

JESUS SHOOTS, JESUS SCORES!!

            He chuckled to himself and continued on to his apartment, wondering how long the sticker had been on there before he noticed it.  He couldn’t say for sure, and by the time he reached his door he decided to keep the bumper sticker on.  He kept imagining Jesus taking a slap shot for the Bruins, chuckling anew with the mental image of Jesus, in full robes rather than hockey gear, diving like Bobby Orr for the winning goal.  And the images just kept coming.  Now it was Jesus cross checking Mario Lemieux into the glass.  Then it was Jesus dropping the gloves, pulling the jersey over the head of Montreal legend Chris Nilan and proceeding to pound the French out of him.  Jesus hoisting the Stanley Cup, a Bruin’s logo on his long, flowing robe, emblazoned with the number 1 of course. 

Inside his apartment though, he quickly forgot about the bumper sticker.  He went to his bedroom dresser and dug out the small, yellow plastic ring with the letter L on it.  Taking the ring to the living room he reclined on the sofa, closed his eyes and fondled the toy, letting the nostalgia roll over him in waves. 

He pulled it out at every break-up and put it away with each new girlfriend.  It was strange, he knew, to keep something so ridiculous from so long ago, but he couldn’t seem to throw it away.  It reminded him of the girl who gave it to him twenty-some-odd years ago, when he was just eight.  It was all he had left of that ethereal encounter.  That familiar melancholy settled over him like a shroud.  He shook his head and harrumphed, feeling suddenly foolish.  He didn’t even know her name, but he remembered the moment he met her like it was yesterday. 

The small classroom was cluttered with colorful toys and chairs and other children.  The smell of wet galoshes permeated the air.  The curtains were thrown back and a bright winter morning sun streamed in, its rays illuminated magical beams of dust that sliced through the air.  It was the first day after the Christmas break, and, for Charlie at least, school was still fun.  The rambunctious children laughed and played while they waited on Mrs. Teal to arrive and Charlie had gleefully joined in.

Then Charlie saw her, standing next to the curtain, wistfully staring out the window, and he thought she was the most beautiful creature he had ever seen.  Her straight brown hair hung almost to her waist and glistened like honeyed silk in that morning sunshine.  He timidly went to say hello and when his green eyes met her brown something inside him changed.  He didn’t know what it was then, and still didn’t know exactly what it was now, but it was like something inside of him was removed and in some strange way a metamorphosis had begun.  It wasn’t unpleasant at all.  In fact, Charlie remembered it as magical, because at the same time something else was put inside him.  Something new and different and it completed the change within him.  Again, he couldn’t say what, then or now; just that it had a profound effect on him. 

They clasped hands as they silently stared at one another, the air electrified between them, and he would swear she felt the same things he did.  However, at eight years old you don’t have the mental capacity to understand complex feelings, nor the verbal capacity to express them like you do as an adult.  So they said nothing, only stood staring while that transmogrifying transfer occurred.  Though he didn’t understand the word in its romantic sense, in those precious few moments that seemed to last forever Charlie knew he loved her.  He felt the bond tingle from their clasped hands up his arms and settle deep inside his chest.  And again, somehow he knew she felt the same.  Charlie would swear later in life that if he had ever experienced that thing people call love at first sight, it had been at that moment. 

Mrs. Teal came in and broke the spell, but before Charlie and his little angel separated she pulled a small plastic ring off her finger.  At first it appeared to be one ring, but she pulled it apart and gave Charlie half—the half he held now—leaned forward, and kissed him gently on the lips.  It was an innocent kiss between eight year olds, but despite the adolescent nature, Charlie had never before, and never since, experienced anything so exquisite, so radiant, so magnificent; so pure, in a kiss.

Charlie never saw her again.

You can purchase the book at www.whiskeycreekpress.com in electronic or paperback version.  You may also visit www.joelborelli.com to learn more about me and my writing.
Book is $6.95 through the publisher.

Welcome, J.R. Lindermuth

J. R. Lindermuth is a retired newspaper editor who lives and writes in central Pennsylvania. He is librarian of his county historical society where he assists patrons with research and genealogy. He is the author of eight novels, including four in the Sticks Hetrick mystery series.

Blurb for Being Someone Else, 4^th in the Hetrick mystery series, published in print and electronic forms on July 15 by Whiskey Creek Press, www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Some people believe violence is foreign to our nature. Dan ‘Sticks’ Hetrick, retired chief and consultant to the Swatara Creek police department, knows better. We put a lid on our natural tendency to violence when we started living in groups, devising moral codes to hold it in check and allow us to live in harmony with others. But, deep down in the Id, there is always that tendency to violence.

When an out-of-state reporter is found murdered in the restroom of a disreputable bar the tendency to violence spirals in the rural Pennsylvania community, and the investigative trail keeps bringing Hetrick and his team back to the family of a wealthy doctor who has come back to his hometown in retirement.

Hetrick and his protégé Officer Flora Vastine are joined by an old friend from his State Police days as they unravel old secrets and mysteries in a tale with as many shocking twists as a country road.

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Review snippets for the series:

“Lindermuth does a wonderful job of bringing his fictional small Pennsylvania town to life by getting us into the minds of a multitude of characters. I enjoyed Lindermuth’s writing and the story itself was interesting and without a dull moment.” Judy Clemens, author of Three Can Keep a Secret, Crime Spree Magazine, www.crimespreemag.com

“J.R. Lindermuth doesn’t write fiction. He writes life! There are twists and turns in every chapter.” Anne K. Edwards, author of Death on Delivery, www.mysteryfiction.net

“Lindermuth has magnum sizzle. Reading him is like a fresh bullet fired from a newly minted gun.” Eric Meeks, author of The Author Murders.

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Excerpt

1.

            Neil Kehler pulled back the sleeve of his jacket and squinted at his watch. Blurry. But it looked like past midnight. Past midnight on Friday. He should get home. Ruthie would be pissed. Shit! Nothing new in that. Lately she was always pissed. Neil swallowed the last dregs of his beer. All he’d wanted was a couple beers and a game of pool. A little sport. Nothing that had anything to do with how he felt about her. Hell, they’d been together since high school. Did she really think he was looking for someone else after all this time?

            Despite the hour, the place was still packed as it always was on a Friday night. Raucous, too-loud voices droned in his head. Country music on the juke box added to the din. The floor vibrated beneath his feet. Clouds of tobacco smoke stung his eyes and the stench of spilled beer, nicotine and unwashed bodies cloyed in his nostrils.

            Well, he might as well go home and face her wrath. The couple beers had turned to too many after Earl took his money again. Nothing new in that either. Bastard must be cheating. But nobody had caught him yet. And who would dare accuse the man anyway?

            Neil placed his hands on the bar and pushed off from his stool. Better hit the john first. He knew he couldn’t make it all the way home without emptying his bladder. Neil staggered around to the hallway.

            His shoulder bumped against the wall on one side and propelled him across to the other. Neil staggered on. Dark. Overhead light was out again and Vinnie was too damned cheap to replace the bulb. Well, he’d been back here often enough to find his way without light. The ammonia stench of the urinals was enough to guide him. He figured he was almost to the restrooms when another hurrying figure bumped against him, knocking him up against the wall. “Watch it, buddy!” Neil squawked. The other person kept on going without a word of apology.

            Neil might have had another retort but the urgency of his need made that less impelling. Just ahead he saw the dim glow of the restroom lights through a crack in the doorway. Neil pushed on.

            As he stepped up to the urinal Neil noticed, from the corner of his eye, someone sitting in one of the toilet stalls. Jeez. He liked privacy when tending to business and this guy didn’t even have sense enough to pull the stall door closed. Neil unzipped, flipped out his penis and breathed a sigh of release as his stream flowed. Aaah! He leaned forward, hands against the wall. “Needed that,” he said aloud. There was no response from the guy in the stall. Shit. Probably passed out.

            Finished, he zipped up and moved over to the sink. As he turned on the faucet he glanced into the mirror. What the…? Oh, shit!

            Neil staggered out into the hall. “Vinnie! Vinnie! Get your ass back here,” he screamed. The noise from the barroom drowned out his voice.

            “In the John?”

            “Yep. Shot dead while sittin’ on the pot,” Aaron Brubaker said.

            Sticks Hetrick was just crawling into bed when he got the call. He was filling in for Brubaker who was down with the flu. Somehow, the dispatcher on duty hadn’t got the word and contacted the chief.

            “Where’d it happen?”

            “Out at Vinnie’s.”

            Hetrick grunted. Vinnie’s Bar was a dive out on the highway that should have been closed down long before. It was a blot on the community and its owner and his premises were no strangers to trouble.

            “Who’s the victim?”

            “Dunno. All I know is what Fred told me. Sorry about this Sticks. If it wasn’t for this bug…”

            “No sweat. I volunteered, remember? Get some rest. Talk to you later.” It would have made no sense to be irritated with Brubaker. Hetrick, who had retired as chief, now served as a consultant to his less-experienced replacement. Filling in now gave him a taste of the old days and he was enjoying it—probably a lot more than Brubaker who just yesterday had given him a litany of the gruesome aspects of his illness.

            Hetrick swung his feet out of bed, sat up and reached for his glasses. He wiped them clean with a Kleenex and put them on. Then he pulled himself erect, took off his pajamas and got back into his clothes.

            Yeah. Just like the old days—getting called out of bed in the middle of the night to clean up some other person’s mess. Well, he’d asked for it, hadn’t he.

            It wasn’t far from his house on Plum Street out to the highway junction where Vinnie’s Bar was located. As he pulled onto the gravel parking lot he saw two Swatara Creek cruisers and an ambulance with motors running and lights flashing pulled up close to the entrance. A scattering of other vehicles, including Vinnie Nungessor’s Lexus, were still in the lot. Not many for a Friday night. Hetrick anticipated a number of the regulars had taken off as soon as they were informed of the discovery. Nungessor’s customers included a number who might be suspect in whatever transgression arose.

            Repressing the smile that thought prompted, Hetrick got out of his pickup, hitched up his trousers and entered the tavern.

            Nungessor, leaning on the bar and nursing a mug of beer, glanced over as Sticks approached. “How long your guys gonna keep me shut down this time?” he asked.

            A few customers, owners of the vehicles outside he surmised, lounged at tables back in the shadows. None of them spoke. Brent Taylor, a Swatara Creek officer standing watch over them, raised a hand in greeting. Hetrick nodded back.

            “It’s past two Vin. Closing time anyway.”

            “Yeah. I’m thinkin’ about tomorrow and the days after that. Youse closed me down for a week that time we had the stabbin’ here. And nobody died that time. Haint my fault some guy gets hisself shot.”

            “Maybe. Maybe not.”

            Vinnie chugged his beer. “Can I go home?”

            “Not yet. After I talk to my people. I might have some questions for you.”

            “How ‘bout us?” a raspy voice Hetrick recognized, asked from the shadows.

            “Might have questions for you too, Fingers.”

            “Yeah. You usually do—even when I haint involved,” Earl Schurke responded. He earned his nickname long before because of his propensity for putting his digits where they didn’t belong.

            “Christ. I already answered their questions,” Nungessor said. “It was Friday night. Busy like always. Noisy. Nobody heard nothin’, seen nothin’.”

            “Somebody did,” Sticks said, strolling on by him and going down the hall to the restrooms.

            Standing at the doorway he saw Fred Drumheiser talking to Arnie Templin, the coroner. “Hey, Chief,” Fred said, spying him. “We’re just about to haul him out. You wanna have a look first?”

            Hetrick nodded and they made way for him to pass between them and into the restroom. The corpse had been zipped into a body bag. An EMT kneeling by the carrier unzipped the bag to let Hetrick have a look at the victim. Sticks leaned over, hands on his thighs. It was a young man, mid-twenties with straight, recently barbered hair. A plump face, smooth-shaven. There was a small hole ringed by powder burns between his closed eyes.

            Hetrick stood straight and waved a hand for the tech to re-bag. “Anybody know him?”

            Fred shook his head. “Not Vinnie’s usual clientele. Clean-cut, wearin’ a suit. None of the regulars would admit to having seen him before.”

            “Any ID?”

            “Wallet with a driver’s license, press card, couple credit cards and about sixty bucks in cash.”

            “Press card?”

            “Yeah. Name was Christopher Bachman. From down in Maryland.”

            “Any idea what he was doing here?”

            Fred shook his head. “Might have been a drug deal gone sour. Course he couldn’t have bought much with what he had on him.”

            Hetrick turned to Templin. “Cause of death, Arnie?”

            “I expect the bullet between his eyes. I’ll know better in the morning.”

            “Found a casing on the floor,” Fred said. “Twenty-two short. Wouldn’t have made much noise and with the normal commotion out there don’t expect nobody would have heard it.”

            “Who found him?”

            “Neil Kehler. You know him?”

            “Yeah. I think so. Lives over on Cherry, near Roger Steinbauer.”

            “Right. That’s the guy. Have him coolin’ his heels out front with a couple other guys. None of them claim to know anything, though. Half the crowd was cleared out by the time I got here.”

            “You came alone?”

            Fred nodded. “Yeah. We’re short. Half our people are out with this damned flu or whatever it is. Harry’s at the station, Flora’s out on patrol. Harry sent Brent over here in case I needed him. Don’t even have a regular dispatcher tonight. One of those auxiliary police types fillin’ in.”

            Sticks frowned. The auxiliary had been formed just this year by the township supervisors. To him it indicated a lack of confidence in their police force and not any effort to be helpful. Sure crime had increased here—just like everywhere. A factor of the times and the economy. The problem wasn’t an inefficient department but rather a lack of sufficient funding to provide manpower for increased patrols. Hetrick was a big believer in both foot and cruiser patrols as a means of curtailing crime.

            “You about wrapped up back here?” he asked Fred.

            “Yep.”

            “Good. I’ll see what Kehler and the others have to say.”

            A light had been turned on over the pool table and Earl Schurke was shooting a game with one of the other customers. Kehler and another man were watching. Fingers looked over his shoulder as Sticks came up. “Haint no gamblin’ going on,” he said. “Just passin’ time waitin’ on you.”

            With a little chuckle, Sticks nodded. He knew pool hustling was one of Schurke’s sources of income. “Get to you shortly,” he said. “Mister Kehler.”

            Kehler turned to face him. “Yeah?” Fully sober now, the tautness of his nerves revealed by the twitch of a muscle along one cheek.

            “Need a word with you.”

            “Hey,” Nungessor said, “what about me?”

            “In good time.”

“Whadya want me to do, Chief?” Taylor asked.

“You can head on back, Brent. Harry might have other need for you.  Let’s sit down over here Mister Kehler,” he said, indicating a nearby table. “You live out by Roger Steinbauer don’t you?” he asked as they pulled up chairs and sat.

            “Right.”

            “Work out at the chicken plant?”

            “No. That is, my wife does. I’m a USDA inspector. The poultry plant is one of my sites.”

            Schurke gave a coarse laugh. “Makes you really feel secure, don’t it—knowin’ a twerp like him is makin’ sure our food is safe.”

            “Shut up, Earl. Mind your game before I have to bust you for interfering in an investigation.” Schurke laughed again, turned back and racked up the balls. Sticks wrinkled his nose. Even this far away and over the other powerful odor in the room he smelled the stench of the restrooms. “Now, Mister Kehler, why don’t you tell me how you came to find the body.”

            Kehler squirmed. The seat squeaked under his weight. He ran a hand over his face, his eyes darting at Hetrick. “Think I could call my wife? She’s probably worried I haint home yet.”

            “In a few minutes, sir. First…”

            “I already told the other fellow. Don’t know what else I can add.”

            “Humor me.”

            Kehler was quiet a moment longer, the only sounds in the room the clinking of the pool cues, the ticking of a clock on the wall behind the bar and the hum of the coolers. Then, like rote, he reeled off his tale.

            Sticks leaned toward him, listening intently, taking a few notes. At the end, he asked, “And you’re sure it was a man bumped into you?”

            Kehler shrugged. “I don’t know. It was too dark to see but—based on the weight of the body struck me—I guess I assumed it must be a man. Could have been a woman. Can’t say for sure either way.”

            “Thank you, Mister Kehler. I know where you live if we need to talk to you again.”

            “I can go?”

            “You’re free to go.” He swiveled in his chair. “Fingers.”

            “Damn it, man,” Nungessor squealed, “when’s it to be my turn?”

            “When I’m ready. Come on over here, Fingers.”

            Hetrick made Vinnie wait until he’d talked to Schurke and the few others who had stayed on. None of them had anything worthwhile to add. None admitted to knowing the victim and all said they didn’t remember seeing him earlier in the evening. Most confirmed they had made a trip or two to the restroom but didn’t notice anything amiss. Schurke was certain the stall in question was empty the last time he’d visited which he thought might have been in the neighborhood of 11:45. “Can’t be sure about that, though,” he said. “You know how it is when you’ve had a few. Hell no, you probably don’t Sticks. Can’t remember I ever saw you enjoying a beer.”

            Hetrick didn’t reply to that. He liked a beer now and again as much as any man. It was company he was particular about.

            “Bout time you got to me,” Nungessor grumbled as he finally walked up to where the owner sat.

            “I don’t suppose you have anything worthwhile to add.”

            Vinnie scowled. “If I did, don’t know I’d be inclined to tell you.”

            “That would not be wise.”

            “Yeah. Well, truth is, I don’t know that I can tell you anything helpful.”

            “So you didn’t know Christopher Bachman?”

            “Who?”

            “The victim.”

            Nungessor shrugged. “Can’t expect me to know everybody that comes in here. I know my regulars. But this is a business. My doors are open to anybody wants to come in.”

            “Even the police?”

            Nungessor gave him a little smile. “Even the police. I got nothin’ to hide.”

            Hetrick had his doubts about that but he let it slide. “You on your own here tonight?”

            “Ronnie was helpin’ out as usual,” he said. Ronnie Huber was his barmaid and lived in an apartment above the tavern. “Complained of a headache. I let her go early.”

            “How early?”

            “I dunno. The place was busy. I wasn’t watchin’ the clock.”

            “Make a guess.”

            “Maybe ten-thirty, eleven.”

            “We’ll have to talk to her, too.”

            “Now?”

From the corner of his eye Hetrick saw Fred coming toward him, loaded down with his evidence case, camera and other paraphernalia. “All done back there, Sticks.”

            “We’ll be on our way then.” His gaze swung back to Nungessor. “You can shut down now. Ronnie can be interviewed later. We’ll escort you out and you can lock up.”
            “Hey! Can I open tomorrow?”

            “We’ll let you know.”

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To find out more about J.R., visit his website.