I'm very excited that my (award-winning!) book "A Trip to the Hardware
Store & Other Calamities" is now available as an audiobook, read by the
wonderfully talented Carrie Lee Martz. It's available on Amazon, Audibles.com
& I-Tunes. Check it out!
Thursday, February 27, 2014
Saturday, February 22, 2014
"Death by Didgeridoo," A Jamie Quinn Mystery, is free on Amazon Kindle 2/23-2/27. :-)
"Death by Didgeridoo," A Jamie Quinn Mystery, is free on Amazon Kindle 2/23-2/27. :-)
Tuesday, February 18, 2014
Check out my free promotion on Amazon Kindle 2/18-2/22!
My short story "If You'd Just Listened to Me in the First Place" is free on Amazon Kindle 2/18-2/22. Check it out! :-)
Monday, February 10, 2014
Excerpt from my upcoming Jamie Quinn Mystery, "Peril in the Park"
There's big trouble in the park system. Someone is making life difficult for Jamie Quinn's boyfriend, Kip, the new director of Broward County parks. Was it the angry supervisor passed over for promotion? The disgruntled employee Kip recently fired? Or someone with a bigger ax to grind? If Jamie can't figure it out soon, she may be looking for a new boyfriend because there’s a dead guy in the park and Kip has gone missing! With the help of her favorite P.I., Duke Broussard, Jamie must race the clock to find Kip before it’s too late.
***
Chapter 1
***
Chapter 1
"You know how Floridians always say--'We
don't care how you did it in New York?'" Kip asked, sounding exasperated.
"They don't really say that," I joked, dropping bread in the toaster with one hand and
scrambling eggs with the other. "They just write it on bumper
stickers."
"My point is, they don't care how I did it in
California either." Kip rested his forehead on my kitchen table and stared
dejectedly at the floor, deep in thought, or deep in denial, maybe both.
Only six months ago, Kip (who wasn't my boyfriend yet,
well, actually he was still my ex-boyfriend--it's
a little complicated) had moved here from California to take over as Director
of Broward County Parks and he was having a rough time of it. When he'd first
started, it was all about org charts and flow charts, flora and fauna mapping
(both indigenous and invasive), and employee morale boosters. Honestly, nobody
could've been more gung-ho than Kip. But all that went out the window when he
realized that he had bigger problems--like the Machiavellian politics of upper
management. Instead of doing their jobs, park supervisors spent their time
trying to sabotage each other while lower level employees spent their time
complaining about the supervisors. The only thing everyone agreed on was how
much they hated the new director. So, in a way, Kip had brought them all together.
Minus the morale boosting, of course.
And then the vandalism started. It jumped from park to
park with no obvious pattern, but seemed to be the handiwork of one person--a
person who liked to leave snarky messages at the scene. The latest
incident had occurred just two days earlier at Markham Park, in the southwest
part of the county. Boy Scout troop number 256 had awoken from an overnight
camping trip to find what looked like crop circles in a nearby field. Hoping to
see aliens, they stampeded across the campground to check it out. The first
scouts to arrive gave a whoop and soon laughter rippled through the crowd of
adolescent boys like a wave at a football game. Even the scoutmasters snickered
when they saw the message mowed in the field in twenty foot letters, as if written
by a cranky giant. Someone had gone to a lot of trouble to express himself, but
there was no mistaking the sentiment. As clear as the morning dew, the words,
"Bite Me!" were etched in the grass for all to see.
"Jamie, do you know how long it will take for the
grass to grow back?" Kip complained, after he'd told me about it. "I
can't leave it like that."
"Hmmm, why don't you add some letters to change the
message? Like, how about, um, I've got it, Bite…Mel
Gibson! He certainly deserves to be
bitten." I snorted with laughter. I crack myself up sometimes.
Kip was only slightly amused. "Just what I
need," he said, "a lawsuit from Mel Gibson. And my defense will be
what--my lawyer girlfriend told me to do it? Who would believe that?"
"Anyone who knows me," I said, as I plunked our
breakfast down on the table. I took a seat next to my hunky boyfriend (I know--I can't believe it either) and
proceeded to drown my eggs in Tabasco. It's the one sure way to wake myself up
because, let's face it, I'm not a morning person.
"How's your breakfast?" I asked, waiting for
accolades.
"Great, but it's missing something," Kip gave
me a half-smile as he buttered his toast.
"Not that again!" I groaned. "Don't say
it, Kip--"
"Where's the bacon?"
"Now, you've done it! You've hurt Mr. Paws'
feelings," I chided.
Kip looked at me like I was crazy. "Why would your
cat care about my missing bacon?"
I rolled my eyes. "You know he's best friends with
Miss Saigon."
"Huh? Is that another one of your Broadway
references?"
"No. Miss Saigon is the Vietnamese pot-bellied pig
that lives next door. The cat adores her."
Kip laughed. "You can't make me feel guilty about
eating bacon, Jamie. And you'll never convince me to become a vegetarian,
either."
I jumped into his lap and started nuzzling his neck.
"I can be very convincing, you
know."
He pulled me close. "Really? And what are you trying
to convince me to do right now?"
"Go in late to work…"
"I don't know," he murmured. "What would
the boss say?"
I nibbled his ear. "You are the boss."
"Oh, that's right, I am," he said, and kissed
me. "You smell delicious."
"I do, don't I?"
Kip scooped me up and started carrying me out of the
kitchen. "Yes, you do. Almost as good as bacon."
Words of Wisdom
A few weeks before my grandmother, Nana Bert, died, she asked me to come see her. She was quite insistent-but then, she was quite insistent about most things. She was a strong and often abrasive personality, practically a force of nature. I must admit though, I was curious about why she had asked for me, out of all the grandkids. Did she have something to tell me? A family secret? A confession that I'd always been her favorite grandchild? How she had managed to live to the age of 90?
I rushed over to her apartment and took a seat next to her bed and waited. She knew I was there, but she kept drifting in and out of sleep.
I prompted her. “Hi Nana, I'm here. How are you feeling? I heard you wanted to see me?”
She opened her eyes and said, “Barbara? Thanks for coming. I really need to talk to you ...”
“That's what I heard, Nana. Well, here I am, what is it?”
She whispered, “I need you to...”
“Yes? Need me to do what, Nana?” I leaned in closer.
“I was hoping you could...
“Could what?” I asked, gently.
"Could do something for me..." she murmured, half-asleep again.
The suspense was killing me. What could my grandmother possibly need from me that nobody else could do for her? I waited until she stirred again.
"Nana, what did you want to do?" I prodded.
She gave me a little smile. “I need you to finish cousin Betsy’s afghan...can you do that for me?”
I sighed. “I'll try my best, Nana. You know, I'm not that great at crocheting. Is that all you needed to tell me?”
“Yes, thanks so much. I appreciate it.”
I have to admit I was disappointed she didn’t have some life lesson to impart or something important to say. On top of that, she'd given me a chore, and I do find crocheting to be a chore, since I don't know what I'm doing half the time.
It wasn’t until a few years later when I retold the story after a couple of glasses of wine that I realized those actually were words of wisdom.
My Nana was telling me: stay busy, finish what you start, do nice things for other people and ask for help when you need it.
And now that I've told you, it's not a family secret anymore.
I rushed over to her apartment and took a seat next to her bed and waited. She knew I was there, but she kept drifting in and out of sleep.
I prompted her. “Hi Nana, I'm here. How are you feeling? I heard you wanted to see me?”
She opened her eyes and said, “Barbara? Thanks for coming. I really need to talk to you ...”
“That's what I heard, Nana. Well, here I am, what is it?”
She whispered, “I need you to...”
“Yes? Need me to do what, Nana?” I leaned in closer.
“I was hoping you could...
“Could what?” I asked, gently.
"Could do something for me..." she murmured, half-asleep again.
The suspense was killing me. What could my grandmother possibly need from me that nobody else could do for her? I waited until she stirred again.
"Nana, what did you want to do?" I prodded.
She gave me a little smile. “I need you to finish cousin Betsy’s afghan...can you do that for me?”
I sighed. “I'll try my best, Nana. You know, I'm not that great at crocheting. Is that all you needed to tell me?”
“Yes, thanks so much. I appreciate it.”
I have to admit I was disappointed she didn’t have some life lesson to impart or something important to say. On top of that, she'd given me a chore, and I do find crocheting to be a chore, since I don't know what I'm doing half the time.
It wasn’t until a few years later when I retold the story after a couple of glasses of wine that I realized those actually were words of wisdom.
My Nana was telling me: stay busy, finish what you start, do nice things for other people and ask for help when you need it.
And now that I've told you, it's not a family secret anymore.
Thursday, January 16, 2014
Excerpt from my book "Death by Didgeridoo"
"Can you please tell me what's going on?" I asked.
My aunt and I were sitting at the table, not talking, despite my best efforts. Adam was still in the corner, shutting out the world just like he did when he was a kid--before intensive therapy and an obsession with music helped him learn to cope. He would come around when he was ready. Until then, it was best to leave him alone. Poor Aunt Peg looked so haggard; it was as if twenty-two years of safeguarding Adam had finally done her in. Not even when she and Dave were divorcing, their marriage collapsing under the strain of caring for Adam, had she looked this defeated. She was only forty-two, but she looked sixty-two at that moment, with bags under her eyes and deep wrinkles on her forehead. I watched her pick up a paper clip from the table, twisting and untwisting it until it finally broke. She looked up at me.
"Jamie, I want to wake up from this nightmare, but I can't! It all started this morning…I dropped Adam off at his music lesson, like I always do. He's been taking drum lessons at the music store on Harrison Street. When I went to pick him up an hour later, there were police cars and an ambulance blocking the road. I almost crashed the car I was so terrified--I thought something had happened to Adam! Any mother would’ve panicked, but it was worse for me because of Adam. He doesn't see trouble coming. He's too trusting, even after what happened with those horrible kids…"
She started crying again and I dug a tissue out of my purse. Divorce lawyers always have tissues handy.
"Then what happened, Aunt Peg?" I couldn't imagine where this story was going.
"I stopped a policeman--it was more like I grabbed him--and demanded to know what was going on. He said there had been a homicide! I started crying and screaming for Adam and then…he…he said…Adam wasn't hurt, but they were taking him into custody!"
She was on the verge of hysteria, so she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. I'd seen Adam use this calming technique before.
I waited a minute and then gently prodded her, "Aunt Peg?"
She continued as if she were in a trance. "I followed the police car back to the station. At first, they weren't going to let me in here because Adam is over eighteen but, when they saw him like this, they changed their minds." She stopped and looked at Adam with tears in her eyes.
"Margaret Muller, look at me!" I snapped.
"What, Jamie?"
"Will you tell me who died already?"
Death by Didgeridoo is available on Amazon Kindle.
My aunt and I were sitting at the table, not talking, despite my best efforts. Adam was still in the corner, shutting out the world just like he did when he was a kid--before intensive therapy and an obsession with music helped him learn to cope. He would come around when he was ready. Until then, it was best to leave him alone. Poor Aunt Peg looked so haggard; it was as if twenty-two years of safeguarding Adam had finally done her in. Not even when she and Dave were divorcing, their marriage collapsing under the strain of caring for Adam, had she looked this defeated. She was only forty-two, but she looked sixty-two at that moment, with bags under her eyes and deep wrinkles on her forehead. I watched her pick up a paper clip from the table, twisting and untwisting it until it finally broke. She looked up at me.
"Jamie, I want to wake up from this nightmare, but I can't! It all started this morning…I dropped Adam off at his music lesson, like I always do. He's been taking drum lessons at the music store on Harrison Street. When I went to pick him up an hour later, there were police cars and an ambulance blocking the road. I almost crashed the car I was so terrified--I thought something had happened to Adam! Any mother would’ve panicked, but it was worse for me because of Adam. He doesn't see trouble coming. He's too trusting, even after what happened with those horrible kids…"
She started crying again and I dug a tissue out of my purse. Divorce lawyers always have tissues handy.
"Then what happened, Aunt Peg?" I couldn't imagine where this story was going.
"I stopped a policeman--it was more like I grabbed him--and demanded to know what was going on. He said there had been a homicide! I started crying and screaming for Adam and then…he…he said…Adam wasn't hurt, but they were taking him into custody!"
She was on the verge of hysteria, so she closed her eyes and took a few deep breaths. I'd seen Adam use this calming technique before.
I waited a minute and then gently prodded her, "Aunt Peg?"
She continued as if she were in a trance. "I followed the police car back to the station. At first, they weren't going to let me in here because Adam is over eighteen but, when they saw him like this, they changed their minds." She stopped and looked at Adam with tears in her eyes.
"Margaret Muller, look at me!" I snapped.
"What, Jamie?"
"Will you tell me who died already?"
Death by Didgeridoo is available on Amazon Kindle.
Tuesday, January 7, 2014
Excerpt from my new book, "The Case of the Killer Divorce"
Excerpt from "The Case of the Killer Divorce"
I'd seen that haunted look before. My name is Jamie Quinn and after ten years of practicing law, I've seen it all. You wouldn't think a sleepy town like Hollywood, Florida would have much drama, but it does. The judge who swore me in had even warned me, saying, 'You'll never believe what goes on between four walls,' and he was right; it's unbelievable.
Take my client, Carol (please take her--you'd make me so happy), she and her husband are well-off, successful in their respective careers, and dress like they're posing for a fashion magazine, yet they have screaming matches in front of their kids and pour pitchers of Kool-Aid on each other.
Then there was the vengeful couple--I forget their names--who took turns living in the marital home, escalating the damage to the house each time they switched, just to piss each other off. It started when the husband removed all the light bulbs and fixtures, and ended when the wife took out all the sinks and toilets. I figured they'd wind up killing each other, like Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas in ’The War of the Roses’, but I was wrong. They remarried.
I'd seen that haunted look before. My name is Jamie Quinn and after ten years of practicing law, I've seen it all. You wouldn't think a sleepy town like Hollywood, Florida would have much drama, but it does. The judge who swore me in had even warned me, saying, 'You'll never believe what goes on between four walls,' and he was right; it's unbelievable.
Take my client, Carol (please take her--you'd make me so happy), she and her husband are well-off, successful in their respective careers, and dress like they're posing for a fashion magazine, yet they have screaming matches in front of their kids and pour pitchers of Kool-Aid on each other.
Then there was the vengeful couple--I forget their names--who took turns living in the marital home, escalating the damage to the house each time they switched, just to piss each other off. It started when the husband removed all the light bulbs and fixtures, and ended when the wife took out all the sinks and toilets. I figured they'd wind up killing each other, like Kathleen Turner and Michael Douglas in ’The War of the Roses’, but I was wrong. They remarried.
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