Part 6 by Leann Harris

Brad stepped forward, waving the gun. "I want to know where you hid that brooch? It's worth a pretty penny and will solve all the problems that I have."

"What are you talking about?" Caryn said.

"You did bring the brooch that your beloved gave you, didn't you?" Brad demanded.

Caryn stepped forward. "How did you know about the brooch?"

"I saw a picture of it that Patrick had. It was on his grandmother's wedding dress. I recognized that piece of jewelry. A famous 16th century jeweler made it for the Duchess of Kent. It's said that on a trip to Dublin, she gave it to the young man who saved her life when carriage ran off the road. It was thought to be lost." He smiled at Patrick. "And all this time, your family had that little jewel. I'd like it now."

Caryn couldn't believe the story that Brad told. Had he been the one to give Patrick and her the wrong information? "It was you, wasn't it? You who lied to Patrick and me? And for what?"

"For over a million dollars, that's what. It's taken me a long time to track you down, but I knew you'd come running when Patrick asked. He was sick with love. And I knew without him being here, I couldn't get you here. Now where's the brooch?" He waved his gun at Patrick. "And let's be quick, because I've waited a long time."

Patrick looked at Caryn. The world after 10 lonely years righted itself. Thank you, Lord, he whispered. He saw love and longing in those beautiful eyes.

"I brought the brooch with me, but I hid it in the castle," Caryn said. "The top room.

Waving his gun, Brad said, "Let's go get it."

They started back down into the tunnel. Patrick squeezed her hand, hoping to alert her to follow his head. She squeezed back.

At the juncture where the tunnel split, Patrick pulled Caryn to the wall, then kicked out and caught Brad's hand. The gun roared, and a spark flew off the rock wall. In the next instant, he pulled Caryn into a run, following the other tunnel they didn't take.

An Irish Mystery--Part Five by Margaret Daley

"I left you at the altar?" Had Patrick heard Caryn right? Surely she was daft or maybe she'd been hit over the head like him and didn't know what she was saying.

She moved several feet from him. "We were supposed to meet up in New York. I wanted you to meet my parents. I phoned and left the directions to the restaurant, but you never came. I tried to call you again, and your roommate told me you were gone. Went back to Ireland."

"I never went back to Ireland until I graduated. Why would Brad tell you that?"

"That's a good question, and one I would like to ask your roommate."

Rubbing his hand across his nape, he stared at the stone wall where the small window let in slivers of moonlight. The storm must have passed quickly. "I called you, and your parents wouldn't let me talk to you. They said you were traveling."

"Yeah, as a nanny. I was traveling with a family, but my parents never told me you called. Probably because they knew how upset I was when my letters were returned from Ireland unopened."

"I don't understand any of this." He rose slowly to his feet and keep his hand on the wall nearby to steady himself. The cold chill of the stones iced his blood and the feeling of the room growing smaller sent his heart pounding against his ribcage as the waves pounded against the rocks below.

"Neither do I," Caryn said in a voice that for the first time didn't hold anger.

"Who hit me from behind? Have you seen the person who put me in here?" Their cell spinning before his eyes, Patrick leaned more heavily against the wall, his hands gripping its rough edges.

"I never saw his face. It was always hidden. And I don't recognize the voice. A man--that's all I know."

Patrick scraped his hand across the stone as he tried to straighten and get his bearings. His forefinger hooked into a hole and pressed against something cold. Suddenly the wall shifted, and he nearly fell through the opening. He caught himself. The creaking sound of the gears moving reverberated against the prison they'd been trapped in. He'd known there were secret passages in the old castle that his ancestors had used for escaping, but he'd never found one until today.

"Let's get out of here before that man returns." Patrick held out his hand for Caryn.

She fit hers in his palm while he used his light on his key chain to fumble his way down another narrow tunnel. He pushed the uneasy sensation from his mind and kept going. Their lives might depend on it. At a bend there were two ways he could go.

"Left? Or right?" he asked, glancing back at Caryn's beautiful face, pale in the dim light.

She pointed right, which led upward, while he waved toward the left. Caryn chuckled. "We still can't agree. I concede. We'll go left."

"Down it is."

The sound of footsteps coming quickly filled the narrow corridor. He gripped Caryn's hand and practically dragged her down the path to the left. Sweat beading his brow, Patrick ran as swift as he could without stumbling on the uneven surface.

Moonlight poured in through a wide entrance. "The way out," Patrick said, the salt air spurring him even faster toward the exit.

All of a sudden, noting the dark void ahead, he skidded to a stop, one foot sliding off the side of the cliff. Pebbles he'd dislodged, crashed to the sea below, frothed with angry waves. Caryn clung to him, holding him from teetering off the ledge to his death on the rocks below.



He struggled back from the opening, getting his footing on firm ground.

Caryn threw her arms around him. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Not that easily."

"I hate to break up this little reunion, but I want the brooch. NOW."

Patrick spun around, pushing Caryn behind him, and came face to face with his old roommate, Brad, with a gun in his hand. Pointed at his chest.

An Irish Mystery Part 4 by Lynette Eason

Caryn pushed on the heavy wooden door for the hundredth time in as many minutes. “Arghh!” The frustrated scream ripped from her throat and echoed around her. Why had she believed that stupid letter?

Darkness pressed in on her, relieved only by the sliver of moonlight now snaking through the bars on the small window. She paced back to it and looked out. Waves crashed below her. “Help me! Somebody!”

For the first time, real fear crawled up her spine and settled at the base of her neck. Goosebumps pimpled her flesh and she realized she might be stuck here.
“Oh God, what’s going on?” she whispered. “First the brakes on my car going out, then someone trying to break into my flat? And now that weird letter has led me here. What am I going to do?”

But Patrick’s letter had sent her heart into a tailspin. He asked her to meet him at Shamrock Castle. And this time she planned to confront him about the past. Why had he disappeared on her? Professed his love for her and given her a family heirloom—then disappeared!

Her fists clenched at the memory. Well, he was home now and she planned to confront him and give him a piece of her mind.
As soon as she figured a way out of here.
A scrape sounded at the door and she startled and whirled away from the window to rush toward the sound. She pounded on the door. “Let me out of here! Let me out!”
With horror, she realized that someone had slid the two by four sized opening back and two dark eyes stared at her. Mocking laughter reached her ears and a low voice carried through. “Oh no, my dear, you’re right where I want you. And soon, dear Patrick is going to join you.”

“Patrick? But he’s the one who sent me the letter.”
More laughter. “If you say so.”
“Who are you? Why are you doing this?”
But the laughter had faded Caryn shuddered to realize she’d walked into a trap.
Footsteps sounded once again. “Caryn? Are you up here? Caryn?”
“Patrick! Is that you?” Of course it was him. She’d never forget that voice. How she’d dreamed to hear it again, dreamed of his sweet kisses and promises. And now he was here! Walking into a trap just as she’d done. She had to warn him!
“Get out!” she screamed. “It’s a trap!”
“What--?” A thud sounded followed by a harsh yell.
Then silence.
“Patrick!”

The small opening in the door slid to the side once more. “Get back, girl, or I’ll do more than just knock a knot on the side of his wee little head. Now move!”
Caryn wanted to confront the evil person on the other side of the door. But she didn’t dare until she saw that Patrick was safe.
She slid back just far enough so the door could open.
When her nemesis saw that she was out of his way, he open the door and shoved a woozy Patrick into the room. Caryn bolted toward him and caught him around the waist just as the door slammed shut. She heard the lock click as she lowered him to the floor.
Then all was quiet once more.
Except for Patrick’s harsh breathing and glassy eyed stare. He shook his head and grimaced. “Why would Ma send me here into danger?” he slurred.
Caryn set her jaw even as terror took root inside her. “I don’t know, Patrick, but we need to get out of here and find out.”
His hand reached up and traced her features. He stared at her like he’d never seen her before. Then his fingers entwined themselves in her auburn locks and he pulled her down until her lips met his.

When he finally stopped kissing her, he looked into her eyes. “I’ve been dreaming of that for ten long years.”
Flustered, Caryn longed to have a repeat performance, but she didn’t just go around kissing men she hadn’t seen in a decade. Especially not ones who made promises they couldn’t keep.
She scuttled away from him. “Start talking, Paddy Mulligan, and make it good because if I don’t like your story of why you ditched me at the altar, I may bean ya another one.”

An Irish Mystery, Part 3, Roxanne Rustand

 

      Patrick stared down into the black throat of the passageway and blinked as the distant, faint light flickered, faded, and then extinguished, leaving him in total darkness.  Had he really heard Caryn's sweet, soft voice drifting on the night air?  Could she possibly be here, after all these years?
      Not likely. 
      Caryn was gone for good.  She'd said she would always love him...and then she'd disappeared, taking with her the treasured filigree brooch that belonged to his family, along with a big piece of his heart.
      Maybe his mum had seen a tourist with the same rich, auburn hair and flashing emerald eyes, but had only imagined a fairy tale ending to a story that had ended long ago.  She was getting on in years, after all.  Maybe she was even slipping into senility and starting to see things that weren't there. 
      Recalling all of the local tales about leprechauns and ghostly beings who supposedly walked the ruins of this castle, Patrick laughed at his own folly. 
      It didn't take senility to fall into the world of make-believe around here.  For years, the villagers--mostly the ones who owned the quaint pubs and gift shops and B&Bs--had shared that nonsense with the tourists who passed through.  Now, even the Ireland travel guides printed in America mentioned the fanciful history of the area.
      Bracing a hand against the damp stone, he fumbled through his jacket pockets for the keys to his rental car.  At the airport, he'd rolled his eyes at the big green plastic shamrock on the keychain, but now he breathed a quiet prayer of thanks as he pressed a button on its surface. God, you were looking out for me before I even knew I needed help.
      The shamrock sent a thin beam of light lasering through the darkness, illuminating the solid wall of rock behind him where there'd been an open doorway just a moment before.  He explored the rough surface with his fingertips, looking for some sort of trigger mechanism.  Shoved at the unyielding stone. It fit perfectly, seamlessly--without even the smallest gap or variation in color to suggest that it hadn't stood in place undisturbed for the last four hundred years.
      The roar of the waves crashing onto the rocks at the foot of the castle was muted now.  Eerily distant.  A menacing bank of storm clouds had swallowed the moonlight while he was making his way through the castle, and now he heard a crack of lightning so close it shook the ground beneath his feet and sent dust drifting through the air.
      The narrow passageway closed in on him. 
      An all-too-familiar surge of panic rushed through his veins as images of explosions and fire and collapsing rubble overhead slammed through his thoughts, coupled with the sound of his cameraman's screams...and his own.
      But this was lush, green Ireland.  Not Iraq. And that was thunder and lightning outside, not the sound of gunfire and grenades.
      He took a steadying breath and forced back the memories as he angled the tiny beam of light toward the downward sloping passageway. "Hello?  Is someone down there?"

      The first, tentative sound of tiny claws scrabbling against the rock overhead burst into an explosion of leathery wings flapping in sheer panic--hundreds, maybe thousands of bats--careening into the walls and each other. Crashing into him. Clinging for an instant. Crawling up his jacket, then rocketing away.
      With a whoosh they seemed to collectively regain their bearings, then they poured down the passage way like a river of gray, barely distinguishable in the faint light.
      If the bats headed that way, there had to be an exit.
      And if he was lucky, it would be one he could fit through.
      He tentatively shuffled forward, his hiking boots slipping on the west, mossy floor of the passageway.  The dank smell of rotting timbers and another cloying odor that he couldn't quite name grew stronger as he pressed on into the darkness, the damp floor giving way to standing water that reached his ankles when he found himself at a massive wooden door with bars across the upper half...
      And sensed that he was not alone.
      "Caryn?" he whispered. "Are you here?"
      No one answered.  He studied the heavy iron hinges, then pressed his fingertips against the surface. Pushed harder. The rusted iron shrieked as the door slowly, slowly swung open.
      A heavy footstep dragged across the floor, somewhere in the pitch darkness ahead.  Then another...coming closer.
      From somewhere farther ahead, in the bowels of the castle, he heard a terrified scream.
      It had been ten long years since he'd heard that voice, but the sound of it arrowed straight to his heart. It was Caryn, and she was in trouble.
      And now nothing--and no one---was going to stand in his way.

An Irish Mystery--Part Two--Debby Giusti

“You’ll find Caryn waiting for you in the turret tower,” Patrick’s mum had claimed when he stopped at her cottage in the village. She spoke with a sense of urgency and had a mysterious glint in her eyes as she assured him of Caryn’s continuing love.

“She’ll explain everything,” the older woman said, taking his grandda’s walking stick from the corner and placing it in Patrick’s hands. “You’ll need this shillelagh where you’re headed, Paddy dear. Now off with you.” She had shoved him out the door with nary another word, and Patrick hadn’t looked back as he’d hiked across the lush green countryside to the foot of Shamrock Castle.

Night started to fall as he passed through the crumbling castle entrance and headed for the steps that led to the turret tower. Long shadows danced across the walls and taunted him from the nooks and crannies of the stone structure. The briny smell of the sea filled the air, reminding him of Caryn’s love of the water and her sailboat, The Shamrock Queen.

At first playful, the wind teased his hair and pulled at his jacket as if to steer him off course. Focused on finding Caryn and the answers to her disappearance, Patrick continued to climb while the wind gathered strength and shrieked around him, reminding him of stories his mum told about banshees keening for the dead.

He shook his head, hoping to send the superstitious thoughts scurrying into the darkness. He didn’t believe in the spirits she claimed haunted the castle. Although loveable, some of the villagers said mum had turned a bit daft in her advancing years. After all, she believed there was a pot of gold at the end of every rainbow and that he and Caryn could find true love and live happily ever after. His more practical side knew ten years was too long to wait, even for true love. Patrick wanted to see Caryn but only because he needed the brooch, which belonged in the Mulligan family.

Yet as he climbed higher, he wasn’t thinking of the brooch. He was thinking of Caryn’s twinkling eyes and the way her lips curled into a luscious smile he longed to kiss.

“Perhaps I’m the one going daft,” he mumbled, raking his right hand through his hair. In his left hand, he clutched the shillelagh his grandda had used in every St. Patrick’s Day Parade he could remember. Proud and tall, his grandda led the parade through the village to the steps of the Stone Church. If a young lad and lass came forward, asking to be married, good luck would befall the village for the rest of the year.

“We haven’t seen a wedding in the Stone Church since you left for America,” his mum had bemoaned recently over the phone. “Everyone goes into the city to exchange their vows. Perhaps you’ve forgotten, Paddy dear, but your grandda asked grandmum to marry him on St. Patrick’s Day and your dad asked me as well.”

How could he have forgotten something as important to the Mulligan family as the St. Patrick's Day wedding proposals? His mother left unspoken her own desire for him to follow suit, which would have happened if not for Caryn’s disappearance. No doubt, the free spirit he had once loved with all his heart would try to explain her absence with some tall tale that made perfect sense to her, yet would make him realize their relationship had ended years ago. Which it had, he kept telling himself.

Then he thought of the russet hair he longed to wrap through his fingers. As he neared the end of his climb, his heart thumped hard against his chest. His mouth dried, and warmth curled through his gut.

Stepping onto the top landing, his eyes focused on the closed door to the room where she waited. Gathering his courage and trying to control the jubilation that filled him anew, Patrick grabbed the knob and pushed the ancient oak door open.

“Caryn,” he whispered. Twilight spilled through the windows, brighter than the darkness of the stairwell. He squinted into the light, imagining her there, but his face fell and his internal warmth turned cold when he realized he was alone.

Patrick wiped his hand across his cheek, feeling moisture that left him questioning his own good sense. He didn’t love her, did he?

In the distance, he spied a boat, gliding across the water, its white sail adorned with a giant shamrock. Were his eyes playing tricks on him? Caryn’s boat had flown the same sail long ago.

Dropping to his knees and ready to place his head in his hands, Patrick spied a tiny mound of shamrocks, lying on the floor. Tucked in the middle of the newly picked clover was a scrap of parchment. Unfolding the paper, he read: Don’t be afraid to follow your heart and enter the secret passage.

Caryn had talked about finding a secret walkway in the old castle. He turned to stare at the walls surrounding him. Where could it be?

His fingers played over the hewed stones, but he found nothing. Twilight was turning to darkness, and he needed to retrace his steps to the ground level below. On the way down the stairs, he tripped and fell against the wall. Instead of holding firm, the rocks moved, revealing a narrow opening.

Patrick thought of his job in New York and the life he had lived for the past ten years. Then he thought back to when he and Caryn were together. He remembered the feel of her soft body wrapped in his arms and could almost breathe in the fresh scent of her.

Follow your heart, the words flowed over him as he stepped into the dark passageway. The wind howled once again, and with a giant sigh, the rock wall slid shut behind him.

He blinked into the darkness. A faint light appeared far ahead, and a voice Patrick recognized called his name.

“Caryn?”

An Irish Mystery--Part One--Lenora Worth

"Patrick, you have to come home. Immediately."

Patrick Mulligan stared up at the crumbling walls of Shamrock Castle, the sound of ocean waves crashing behind him while memories of his mother's plea crashed inside his head. He'd come home from the chaotic life of a reporter in New York to the quiet, quaint countryside of Western Ireland to find out the truth and to hopefully find the brooch that had belonged to his mother Emily. Someone had stolen the beautiful golden filigree brooch that had been passed down from generation to generation through the brides of the Mulligan clan. And that same someone had broken Patrick's heart. Patrick kept his eyes trained on the turret room, where he'd met and fallen in love with green-eyed, red-headed Caryn. But they'd never had their wedding day and he'd never seen his bride wearing the fabled piece of jewelry on her wedding dress. Because instead of waiting for him to return, Caryn had taken herself off on her own grand adventure. And she'd used his grandmother's precious brooch to finance her trip.

"I'll always love you, Patrick.We'll always be together soon. I love you. And I'll wear this brooch on our wedding day."

"I have so many dreams, Caryn. I want to make a life with you in New York. I want to have a big family like your family. We'll be happy. I know I can make you happy."

His smile bittersweet, Patrick remembered how Caryn, who had come from America to visit relatives in the village, had managed to sneak into the ancient ruins of the castle and find her way up to the turret room. He'd been walking across a field, intend on going up to his secret place to write in his journal and dream about going to New York. But when he saw the pretty young woman standing in the arched window, looking like a trapped princess, Patrick had lost his heart forever. It had been as if he'd seen a brilliant rainbow and gone over the top to find a pot of gold.

But time and circumstance had changed all of that. Patrick had been filled with wonderlust and so off to America he'd gone to make a career in journalism. He'd hoped Caryn would return to America, too, and join him there, but immediately after he'd left with plans to attend college and meet back up with Caryn in New York so they could be together again, his true love had disappeared, along with the brooch he'd given her as a token of his love. Patrick tried to find Caryn in America, but her family refused his phone calls and he had no other leads. Why wouldn't she come back home the big Irish family she loved so much? Why had she abandoned him? And why had she used his treasured token of love to run away? That had been ten years ago. Since then Patrick had finished college and gone on to become a determined reporter.

When his mum had called him a few days ago to tell him that Caryn was back in the tiny village by the sea and needed to see him right away, Patrick had immediately hopped on a plan and come home to Ireland. He needed answers; he needed to see Caryn again. He was a reporter and a journalist, after all. And reporters liked to get to the bottom of things. Brushing dark bangs away from his face in frustration, Patrick turned from the old castle ruins to the foamy sea that reminded him of Caryn's eyes. He'd find the truth, if he had to climb a rainbow and go to the other end. And ... he'd finally get the answer to the real question that had burned inside his gut for so long? Why had Caryn broken his poor poet's heart?

DEAD AIR INTERVIEW

Today we're welcoming Gabby Rogillio, the heroine of Dead Air by Robin Caroll, March 2010.

Wow, you've just had quite an adventure.


1. Tell us a little about yourself and how you came to be in the midst of such suspense. Well, let me tell you, I never had any intention of being in such an adventure. I was on the road to my goals—having my radio show syndicated and buying my dream home. Murder of my dear friend and coworker, then the ensuing investigation which lead police to believing the station’s owner was the murderer…I had to do something.

2. So, during the book you met Clark McKay. Tell us a bit about him. What was your first impression? When did you know it was love? My first impression was that I couldn’t trust him. There was something about him…big-city smoothness. But, over time, I learned to trust him. Especially when he believed in my friend’s innocence and helped me on the case.

3. What strengths/skills do you have? What is your greatest weakness? I think my greatest strength is my faith. My greatest weakness? Has to be fear. I know fear doesn’t come from God, but it’s so hard to live that knowledge in everyday life.

4. What scares you? Being hurt again.
5. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be? I guess that for so long, I let the pains of the past interfere with my present.
6. Where are you in your faith at the start of your story? I believe I’m a spiritually strong person. But, as all Christians are, am a work in progress in my faith journey.

7. Where are you in your faith at the end of the story? Again, I think I’m always learning and growing in Christ.

8. You've got a scripture at the beginning of the story. Tell us why this scripture is significant. Phil 3:13—letting go of the past and moving forward to the future. Christ didn’t call us to live with regrets of past mistakes, but to walk boldly in His glory in the present and into the future.

9. If you could be a dessert what would you be and why? An apple fritter, of course, cuz we southern belles are warm all on the inside, but can stand up better than cakes or pies.

Thank you, Robin for sharing Gabby with us. This sure sounds like an exciting read!

FEATURED BOOK: DEAD AIR BY ROBIN CARROLL

When she finds her coworker's body in front of the station doors, nighttime DJ Gabby Rogillio knows it was murder. But how can the police suspect the station's owner, a man who's been like a father to Gabby? She's determined to clear her friend's name, and will recruit anyone she can find to help. Even the mysterious newcomer in town, handsome businessman Clark McKay. Gabby doesn't quite trust Clark, but she can't crack the case alone. Especially when the killer threatens them both—either back down from the investigation…or be silenced forever.

Obama's Health Care and the writer...

A Big Hello from Lisa Mondello. I want to take a moment for a quick shout out to our regular blog visitors from the US, Canada, Romania, Australia, Vietnam, the Philippines, Africa, France, Denmark, Netherlands and the UK. It's always great to see where the Craftie Ladies of Suspense visitors originate from and we appreciate you coming back.

St. Patty's Day is going to be here soon and since our Valentine's Day story was such a hit, we're going to do another story for St. Patrick's Day. More on that in a few days when everything is squared away.

And if you don't want to miss a single post of the St. Patty's Day story, make sure you scroll down to the bottom of the page and sign up to be a FAN on the Craftie Ladies of Suspense FACEBOOK page.

Now, to my subject heading. If you're a writer, chances are you've pulled a "few" all nighters to get a manuscript finish by the deadline. I know myself that I'm a back-to-the-wall-writer and I thrive that way. When I'm on a deadline (which is pretty much all the time since I write fiction AND non-fiction work) I set my date on the calendar for the project and the juices of the muse start flowing. I write and revise non-stop when I'm on deadline. I need a timer to remember to pick the kids up from school or that I've put something on the stove. (One day I'll tell you how I turned hard boiled eggs into popcorn!) But those moments when words are flowing and the magic of the story is coming together is really exciting.

What does this have to do with Obama and health care? Pulling all nighters, grabbing a bite to eat (usually not as healthy as I'd like) and running from one commitment to the next can wear you down very quickly. It's hard to stay healthy and get regular exercise when you're chained to your computer. After a long haul, you'd think I'd take a moment to catch my breath and enjoy being done with a writing project. Unfortunately, when I'm on a tight deadline my house suffers. So I go from one marathon project and start up again with marathon cleaning! It's a good thing I don't notice the dust when while I'm writing.

I always tease my husband and tell him that one day when I'm rich and famous I'll hire a housekeeper to do my cleaning and laundry. Well, that day hasn't come...yet.

What do you do to keep yourself healthy when you're on a deadline? How do you fit in exercise, daily committments AND give your writing projects your all? For me, I am on a first name basis with the local take-out restaurants. And I truly LOVE my crock pot. If I'm organized for 15 minutes in the morning I always feel like someone else has cooked dinner for me when I emerge from my little writing room at the end of the day. I wonder if there is a special line in Obama's Health Care package that addresses the working writer. What do you think?

Until next time, many blessings, Lisa Mondello

Craving the Light

This is one of my favorite places to think. It’s a park near my home, and a frequent refuge for me, especially in the winter. I am not a fan of long stretches of dreary days, and we’ve had a lot of them this season. In fact, back in the fall, we went for almost six weeks without the sun. As winter crept over us, sunshine still remained a rarity, sometimes only making a brief appearance for an hour or so, then more clouds.

I began to crave sunlight the way a thirsty man desires water. At the least little hint of it, I’d dash to a window or grab my coat for a walk. If there was a promise of a few hours, I’d flee to the park, where I’d sit on a bench and soak up the light, or take a brisk walk on the exercise path.

This is the way I am about writing. When I’m blocked or have to focus on editorial projects, I crave that creative release in the same way. And I go a little crazy in the same way, with mood swings that become so odd that even my non-writing friends start asking, “Have you written anything lately?”

More intriguing to me, however, is that I get this way about God. I don’t always get to church, but if I go for very long without praying or talking with other folks about God, I get a little squirmy, as if something’s just not right, as if I’ve forgotten something important. Which I have.

So my restlessness tells me it’s time to “dash to the window,” so to speak. To seek that renewing Light. Only, unlike the sun, this Light craves me as much as I desire Him.

Definitely a reassuring thought on a cold, dreary day.

Research and Development--Lenora Worth

I'm working hard on a suspense but I keep stopping to do fascinating research. This book involves a lot of things--animals (including two alligators named Boudreaux and Bobby Wayne), Texas Rangers and all the duties and protocol and procedure of these larger than life heroes, an animal rescue/rehabilation expert (my heroine) and a whole slew of really bad guys out to take over the world--or at least Texas.

This had made my writing slow going, but once I get a good piece of detailed research out of the way, I get right back into the story and become involved with my characters--especially their developing love story which had taken on a life of its own. This is way too much fun and I get paid to do this! What more could a girl ask for? More time to research, of course!

But that did get me wondering--do writers love research? Do readers even notice the research (the details, the description, the layers of story and place that we try to put in there to make everything seem so real?)So what do you say, people? Love it or hate it or just tolerate it but research and its friend development both have a place in a suspenseful story. It's one thing to explain how an alligator can run at about forty miles per hour. It's quite another to name that gator Broudreaux and give him a personality. That's research and development. And that's one of the fun parts of this job. Tell us what you think. We also like to take polls now and then.

Thinking, by the power of three

Recently, I met with friends Cindy Gerard and Kylie Brant for a weekend at a casino hotel midway between our home towns.

Nope, we weren't out enjoying the sights, the shows, or having fine dinners...and we didn't even get close to the casino itself.  We were holed up in the room, working!

We do this once or twice a year---an intensive round of brainstorming for  individual, future projects.

It's amazing, what happens.  The energy, the excitement, the moments of clarity... synergy that  generates ideas which (we hope) will gel into solid story ideas for each of us to work on later.  Cindy and Kylie are amazing, by the way!

By the time the weekend ends, I am deeply thankful to my friends, deeply hope I have been a help to them, and I can't wait to get home to translate my pages of rapidly scribbled notes.  Are you a writer?  Do you ever brainstorm with others?

Roxanne Rustand
http://roxannerustand.blogpsot.com

Great Winter Olympics

Two weeks ago I wasn't going to watch the Olympics much, but I got sucked into it. First because I love ice skating so as I waited for the broadcast on the figure skating I started getting into the other sports--except curling. I could never understand that sport. The United States had some ups and downs, but overall there were some great moments for the U. S. but also other countries. I loved watching the female figure skater from Korea perform--beautiful and breathtaking. Or the female Canadian figure skater who dedicated her performance to her mother who had just died. What a moving story. Another sport I really enjoyed was the snowboarding. Some of the tricks that were done were fantastic. I don't know how the snowboarders would ever work up to some of them. They looked like they were defying gravity. We won some medals in sports we hadn't gotten a medal in years. What a great feeling for the US athletes for the four man bobsled yesterday. Congratulations to everyone who participated even if they didn't win a medal. The fact they you were there was something most of us couldn't do. And although the United States men's hockey players lost to Canada's, they fought a great battle. What a game!!

Did you watch any of the Olympics? What was your favorite moment? Favorite sport?

Interviews from My Deadly Valentine

Today we're welcoming Eli Brody, the hero of Dark Obsession (one of the novellas in the My Deadly Valentine anthology) by Lynette Eason, released February 2010.

1. Tell us a little about yourself and how you came to be in the midst of such suspense. I came home to help take care of my dad who was hurt trying to break an ornery horse. He’d been trying to get me to come back to help him on the ranch, but I was living in New York and working as a detective with the police force. But once I came home, I was shocked to discover how much I actually missed it—and Holly Maddox.

2. So, during the book you met Holly Maddox. Tell us a bit about her. What was your first impression? My first impression of Holly was when we were in elementary school together and she punched the class bully for stealing my lunch money. I thought she was the greatest thing ever. When did you know it was love? Honestly? Not until my partner died from cancer. I watched his wife stay by his side, support him, love him right to the very end. It finally hit me that Holly was that kind of woman and I’d been a very stupid man for leaving her behind.

3. What scares you? Losing Holly forever. I used to be scared of commitment, but finally came to my senses. Only now, with Holly, it might be too late. I’m praying that I can hold on and be patient and show her I’m really a changed man.

4. Where are you in your faith at the start of your story and at the end of the story? ? I’ve just come to realize that God is who He says He is and that I need to trust him fully for all things in my life. On my knees thanking God for sparing Holly from a horrible death—and for instilling forgiveness in her heart.


5. You've got a scripture at the beginning of the story. Tell us why this scripture is significant. Proverbs 3:5-6 – “Trust in the Lord with all your heart and lean not on your own understanding, in all your ways acknowledge him and he will keep your path straight.” I just think this says it all. Trust is very hard for some people and it sure was for Holly. I’d really messed things up with her and wasn’t sure if she’d ever forgive me, but she did. She followed God’s directive and forgave me. As a result, we found ourselves falling in love all over again and now are very happy together.



Today we're welcoming Rachel Hollister, the heroine of DANGEROUS ADMIRER, part of the novella, MY DEADLY VALENTINE, by Valerie Hansen, Feb. 2010.

1. Tell us a little about yourself and how you came to be in the midst of such suspense.
Hey, it wasn’t my fault. I was just minding my own business and running my little shop when somebody started doing crazy things to me.

2. So, during the book you met Deputy Jace Morgan. Tell us a bit about him. What was your first impression? When did you know it was love?
I had problems accepting him because of his profession, at first. After all, my dad was a cop and he was the bossiest human being on the face of the earth. Still is.

3. What strengths/skills do you have? What is your greatest weakness?
I admit it. I’m a softie. I really love others. Which is why it bothered me to have to admit that someone had a grudge against me. I had no idea that my father’s interference could be making the problem worse.

4. What scares you?
There was a time when I would have said, NOTHING. That all changed when creepy things began to happen to me and I realized that it was the unknown element of the attacks that was the most frightening. If I hadn’t been a Christian and been able to rely on my faith, I don’t know what I’d have done!

5. If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
Right now, I’d probably wish that I didn’t have such a vivid imagination. Between the type of ongoing threats and the fact that Serenity is a small town, I figured I must know my stalker. That made me wish I were a better judge of character. If it hadn’t been for Jace…. I don’t even want to think about what might have happened to me.

Thank you Lynette and Val for sharing Eli and Rachel with us today. What an exciting collection!

SURVIVAL INSTINCT INTERVIEW

Today we're welcoming Scott Frasier, the hero of Survival Instinct by Rachelle McCalla, February.

Wow, you've just had quite an adventure.

1. Tell us a little about yourself and how you came to be in the midst of such suspense.

It was supposed to be a relaxing weekend visit to scenic Devil’s Island, but I haven’t had a moments’ peace since we arrived. We were marooned on the island and a storm blew up—and now my mother’s gone missing! We’ve suffered too many close calls for this to be any coincidence—someone is trying to kill us, and I think I might know why…

2.So, during the book you met Abby Caldwell. Tell us a bit about her. What was your first impression? When did you know it was love?

Abby is such a sweetheart! I don’t know what I’d do without her—I’d never have survived on Devil’s Island without her help, that’s for sure! Even when I got frustrated with the search for my mother, Abby stood by me and was supportive. Still, I didn’t want Abby getting mixed up in our troubles—I wanted her to be safe! But it seems God put Abby in my life right now to help me—and I’m going to need all of her help—and God’s help—if we’re going to leave Devil’s Island alive.

3.What strengths/skills do you have? What is your greatest weakness?

Sure, I’m strong. I was the star quarterback on my college football team. The only problem is, I don’t like to lean on anyone else for support. I think I’m strong enough to handle everything myself. Thankfully, Abby knows I need her.


4.What scares you?

I’m scared of getting close to people, because when I depend on someone else, they die. At least, that’s what’s always happened before…

5.If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
I wish my hairline wasn’t receding. Ha-ha! No, seriously, I’ve never admitted this to anyone, not even to myself until now, but I’m tired of being alone. I’m tired of pushing people out of my life. I wish I could work up the courage to tell Abby how much she means to me.

6.Where are you in your faith at the start of your story?

I’m a Christian Counselor, so I pray all the time, and I’m used to helping people work through their problems. I just wish I knew how to fix the problems in my own life.

7.Where are you in your faith at the end of the story?

I’ve never really had to lean on God as much as I have through this experience, and it’s freeing, really, to know God is there for me no matter what. Other people in my life might have died before, but God will never leave me or forsake me. God’s love is real to me in a new way now.

8.You've got a scripture at the beginning of the story. Tell us why this scripture is significant.
I’ve read this passage from Ecclesiastes 4:9-12 many times before, but my experiences on Devil’s Island brought to light a whole new meaning.
Two are better than one, because they have a good return for their work: if one falls down, his friend can help him up, but pity the man who falls and has no one to help him up! Also, if two lie down together, they can keep warm. But how can one keep warm alone? Though one may be overpowered, two can defend themselves. A cord of three strands is not quickly broken.
With God’s help, Abby and I endured many hardships. I know I would have been overpowered if I’d tried to do everything myself, but together, Abby and I survived…and fell in love.

9. If you could be a dessert what would you be and why?

I would be a peppermint candy cane. I’m sturdy and reliable, not light and fluffy like some deserts. And I’m ready to go anywhere, too!

Thank you Rachelle for sharing Scott with us today. Very intriguing story!

Giving it Your All - from Carol Steward

I don't know about you, but I look forward to the Olympics and this year, I was even more excited to watch as much as possible. I love seeing the new generations of athletes putting themselves out there for fans worldwide to cheer and admire, and critique. More than ever before, I'm amazed to see what they go through to compete year after year. The injuries and surgeries they've been through make my back ache just to hear about them.

I still get teary-eyed when I hear about Dan Janzen's sister dying right before he raced. After Joannie Roachette's performance, just two days after her mother's death, I couldn't help but cry, especially when I saw her father sitting in the stands alone - cheering his daughter on - knowing her mother wouldn't want his daughter to back away. I admire the courage and strenth that these Olympians share with all of us as we watch in awe, and realize they aren't perfect. They don't live charmed lives. They give everything they have for the chance to prove they're the best. In a flash, it can go from perfection, to tragedy - but they don't ever give up.

We all, whether Olympians, or ordinary folks, can be inspired by the examples set for us this last two weeks. We all face obstacles and disappointments that test us every day. Every day, we need to follow their example, to give it our all and never give up.

Writing Transitions

This week I'm sitting in Texas at a writer's retreat. I'm in edit mode for my first book in a Guidepost mystery series, and I'm in dream mode for books after this one.

I'm sitting in a beautiful retreat center, surrounded by gorgeous antiques and amazing historical authors. They cover the gambit of CBA fiction and time periods. And here I sit. Trying to dream up what my next books could look like. Another World War Two romance? A new suspense? How about a legal suspense this time? Or some combination of those three?

It's like picking up a brand-new notebook and opening the cover. In front of me is an unmarred page, filled with perfect lines and unlimited potential. The only thing that limits me is...well...me.

My doubts. I could never write like X author.

My fears. What if I can't pull off the idea if I do sell it.

My insecurities. Nobody would want to read it...

Fortunately, my God is much bigger than any of this. So I raise my hands in surrender. And I whisper to Him, "Here I am again, Lord. Use me. Fill me with Your ideas and creativity. Show me where You want me to go. What You want me to write."

And I pick up the pen, poise it over the blank page. And smile.

Why Write, Part II?

by Debby Giusti

Last week in Seekerville, http://www.seekerville.blgospot.com/, I wrote about why writers write. The piece was well received and many stopped by to comment. I thought we might discuss the reasons we write here with the Craftie Ladies of Suspense.

At the beginning of my writing journey, I focused on the phrase “to touch readers’ hearts” as the steam that propelled my writing engine. Over the last few years, I’ve come to realize the pain many people carry and believe that, in order for my stories to resonate with readers, I need to create characters who struggle as well. The misconceived perceptions my characters hold onto concerning their past pain--whether physical or emotional--must be significant and inhibit them from accepting love from others and from God. When, in the course of the story, my hero or heroine triumphs over adversity, my readers—hopefully--realize God is more powerful than any conditions with which they may struggle in their daily lives.

In addition to spiritual themes, I’m also including universal truths such as how power corrupts and man’s inhumanity to man. Because of my concern for our country in these difficult times, I often touch on world problems, couched in a fictional tale where good always triumphs over evil.

I’ll continue to evaluate my writing in the years ahead to ensure I’m on the path I’ve been called to walk. Do you know what motivates you to work long hours, face rejection and yet still write? If so, I hope you’ll share those reasons with us today.

Happy writing!

Wishing you abundant blessings,

Debby Giusti

http://www.debbygiusti.com/

Visit my new blog and home of the Cross My Heart Prayer Team:

http://www.crossmyheartprayerteam.blogspot.com/

KILLER HEADLINE in stores now!

Letting Go

Random thing number one: This falls under the category of Mommy moment.

A week ago, my husband, my son, and I went to the park. Hubby and me on bikes; son on scooter (son is four). Hubby, of course, predicted that son would never make it to the park and back on the scooter. We're talking about three blocks. Me, I'm an optimist. "If son wants to try, son can try."

It's the quoted attitude that got me in trouble this fine day. See, my four-year-old is somewhat fearless. He has his own quad. He likes to jump from the top of the slide to the ground - without sliding. He's been swimming underwater since about nine months. But, for all this time, he's refused to leave the baby swing (the one that looks like a black, hard plastic diaper) and go to the regular swing. I've gently tried to persuade him to try. Saturday, he got on the regular swing, apparently he's been doing this at school, and he wanted me to push him.

Higher.

Now, the only thing keeping my son in the swing were these tiny, little boy hands. WHAT IF HE LET GO? I couldn't make myself push him higher. I wanted him back in the baby swing where if he let go, nothing would happen. He’d be stuck there in the black, hard plastic diaper imitation. I stood there gently pushing him and realizing, he's going to be doing lots of things where he could get hurt.
It’s all part of growing up. Not his letting go, but mine...

BTW, this whole post reminds me of a historic Pamela Tracy Mommy moment. When my son was about 9 months and started standing, I frantically called my sister. See, I was afraid to put him to bed at night. What if he fell!!! Her response: What better place to fall than a mattress.

Do you have any Mommy moments that make you look back and laugh?

Psalm 55:22 “Cast your cares on the Lord and he will sustain you; he will never let the righteous fall.”

FATAL BURN INTERVIEW

Today we're welcoming Kris Donaldson, the heroine of FATAL BURN, a February, 2010 release by Roxanne Rustand. Wow, you've just had quite an adventure. Tell us a little about yourself and how you came to be in the midst of such suspense.

Honestly, there are parts of my life that are a little hard to discuss--especially the violent death of my best friend when I was a child, and my years in the foster care system, for starters. I'm not proud of the roads I traveled as a teenager, believe me. So when I learned that I'd inherited some property in the Montana Rockies from a distant relative I'd never even heard of, it seemed like a wonderful chance for new beginnings. And what perfect timing, with my other new beginning! If God hadn't reached out to me when he did, I probably wouldn't be here today.


So, during the book you met Trace Randall Tell us a bit about him. What was your first impression?

The first impression on his part was that I was a thief breaking into the property next to his ranch. The first impression I had of him was he was one very tough, uncompromising man who wasn't going to allow anyone to burglarize his late friend's house! I was sure glad that I had documents to prove I had a right to be there. Those same attributes of his were what later drew me to him, because I certainly hadn't had very positive male figures in my life until Trace came along.



What strengths/skills do you have? What is your greatest weakness?

I guess my strengths are mainly the determination and drive I developed during my early years. Those strengths certainly helped when I earned a county contract to establish a privately-run animal shelter on my property, then discovered that someone not only wanted me out of the county, but wouldn't mind seeing me dead.

My greatest weakness is something I've worked on for a long time. I'd always longed for the loving support of a real family, and that empty place in my heart led me to some naive and even dangerous choices in making friends. Moving to the Rockies and meeting Trace, his sister, and the other good people in the area taught me a lot about true friendship, love, and the wonderful feeling of being part of a close-knit community.


You've got scripture at the beginning of the story. Tell us why this scripture is significant.

The verse is one of my favorites: "For I know the plans I have for you, declares the Lord, plans to prosper you and not harm you, plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11

It's a wonderful message for all of us, and it certainly fit the journey I was on during this part of my life!

If you could be a dessert what would you be and why?

A hot fudge sundae with vanilla ice cream, because the ice cream is soft, sweet and simple--what I want to be like now, innocent of the pretense, danger and complexity that marked my earlier life. And, it's wrapped in the rich, flowing warmth of hot fudge. That warmth makes me think of the wonderfully secure, loving feeling of being with Trace, of being a part of a community where people care deeply about each other, and especially, the sense of warmth, security and completion I feel as one of God's children.


Thank you, Roxanne for sharing Kris with us. This sounds so exciting! Can't wait.