Dacie Mae #1

Tommy Baker could have been sleeping.

If he was the sort that slept with his eyes open. But he wasn’t. He had been a mouth breather in waking and in sleeping. And Dacie Mae had watched Tommy Baker sleep through enough classes to know this was not normal for him.

She crouched down beside Tommy’s body, holding onto the edge of the stainless steel sink to keep from slipping in the grease, and wondered exactly what she was going to tell Tommy’s grandmother. Hettie Baker was a relic and many believed she had been living on the Bakers’ farm since before the beginning of the Civil War. She had a deep hatred for the modern world and all its conveniences with the exception of indoor plumbing. She was not an easy woman to talk to.

A trickle of blood was drying in dark red line between Tommy’s nostril and his upper lip. A small circle formed a black spot against the red tiles in the kitchen of Tom’s Diner. Tom, not for Tommy but for his great-granddaddy, Thomas Robert Baker.

“Dacie Mae MacIver,” barked a gravelly voice she was well acquainted with. “Get your fannie away from my crime scene.”

She stood carefully, wondering when Tommy had last mopped the floors with anything other than water; if he had even bothered to do that. “Sorry Sheriff.”

“You weren’t takin’ pictures, were you?”

Dacie Mae barely bothered to lift her feet as she slid down the line to where the Sheriff and his deputy were waiting. “No Sheriff. Don’t be gross. Why would I want pictures of that?”

The Sheriff, a hulking man with impressive shoulders, shrugged, “To send to the paper. You’re always trying to get your foot in the door.”

“Sheriff, please. The Wallace County Tribune is hardly goin’ to be printin’ any photos of dead bodies.” She looked over at Tommy and for the first time since she had stumbled across it, she felt the sadness that should have been there from the beginning. “Especially not one of our own.” And then looking at the frying pan laying by Tommy’s side, “What a way to go.”

“You mean the skillet?”

“I imagine he was hit about the head several times.”

“You didn’t touch the body did you?”

“No of course not. There was no need. There’s a big ol’ lump on the back of his head. The top of his head’s cracked open and he’s got all those bruises around his face. Hardly takes a medical expert.”

“You didn’t touch the alleged murder weapon?”

“I ain’t stupid Sheriff. I didn’t touch nothin’.”

“Drop the redneck speech, Dacie Mae. You ain’t foolin’ no one.”

“Neither are you, Sheriff.” A moment passed between them while Dacie wondered whether the sheriff was just going to gawk at the body all day.

“Get on outta here, girl. Let us do our work so we can get this poor boy off the floor.”

Dacie Mae pushed through the swinging door, backing into the diner. “Yes sir.”

“Dacie Mae?” He looked at her over his shoulder and she saw then how all of his years on the force hadn’t made this any easier for him. “You promise no pictures?”

“Of course, Sheriff,” she held the door back from swinging shut. “Ain’t crazy enough to want Old Lady Hettie after me.” With a sorrowful grin she turned toward the diner and saw the crowd beyond the sparkling windows had already gathered at least half of the able-bodied in the town. ©2012 Gwenn Wright

More tomorrow.....

Conversing with Characters

Oh this book and I.
It has been difficult since the end of Bluestocking Girl.
Over and over I have tried to find the beginning of this book.
I've started at different points, with different characters.
I've typed page upon page of character development...ignored the book entirely and worked on other projects.
And then it happened last night.
I found the "new Maria's" voice.
And it wasn't at all what I expected. It reminds me vaguely of Galadriel.
Also, she speaks in a different verb tense than I would have guessed.
Some people asked, "Why did you write Bluestocking in first person!?'
Filter was also written in first person.
It just depends on the character and how they want to tell their side of things.
Anyway, it's early. I haven't had coffee but was so excited to share my craziness with you.
It's exciting!
Be excited!

Lipstick & Bolsheviks: A Teaser

I know I ask a lot of my readers: writing in my unorthodox way, switching things up on you, asking you to accept that the story isn't just about Rocky but the mystery that ties the three families together and all that. 


So...to reassure you (read: to tease you), I give you this. 

Lipstick & Bolsheviks

The von Strassenberg Saga

~book three~

ONE

“Miss von Strassenberg, I am sorry, but as I have stated several times now, Mr. Drexler is not available to meet with you today.”

Mrs. Sampson, formidable in her pink and pearls, stepped in front of Raquel. She was a good six inches shorter than the young woman who had been waiting for nearly an hour to see intern William Drexler II but no less imposing. Raquel tried not to falter beneath the stony glare that had surely been honed during Mrs. Sampson’s fifty some odd years of employment with Drexler, Drexler and Westhoeler. “I would leave, ma’am, if you would just tell me if you know where William is. William the third.” Obviously, because who besides corporate criminals would care where the first and second were?

Mrs. Sampson’s birdlike eyes flicked away and back, peering noncommittally at Raquel through her precariously perched reading glasses. “The younger Mr. Drexler, as I have already stated, has been sent to assist his grandfather with some business in Los Angeles. Now,” she placed her bony fingers around Raquel’s arm. “I’m asking you to leave. If you don’t I’m calling security.”

Allowing herself to be propelled toward the door, Raquel protested, “I know he’s supposed to be in LA but that doesn’t explain why he isn’t answering his phone.”

They reached the door. Mrs. Sampson released her grip. “I am the senior administrative assistant for this firm. I am not,” she stressed, her tiny, perfectly straight teeth showing like a feral cat’s, “The younger Mr. Drexler’s personal romance coordinator.” She pointed at the door and strode away, the lush carpet muting the purposeful stride of her kitten heels. Groaning and with a final sneer at Mrs. Sampson’s rigid back, Raquel pushed the door open.

“Oh!”
Raquel stumbled out as she hurried to help stop the avalanche of coffees and pastries she had inadvertently caused. “I’m so sorry!” she exclaimed, helping to right the cups. The carrier tray was soaked with coffee and her hands stung where the hot liquid had splashed out onto her skin. “I’m so sorry,” she said again and looked up into the green eyes of the youngest of the administrative assistants at Drexler, Drexler and Westhoeler.

“No worries,” Abbie smiled, shifting the cups and bags of pastries to a more secure position. “I think we saved them all.”

“I should have been paying attention,” Raquel looked down at Abbie’s white skirt. Coffee spills formed an abstract pattern on the ruffle near her knee. “It’s all over your skirt,” she moaned.

“Don’t worry, it’ll come out. I spill on myself all the time. You just beat me to it.” Her tone was so unbothered and honest that Raquel caught herself feeling instantly put off. She couldn’t tell if it was jealousy toward the girl who got to spend time with William everyday or if it was just her general lack of trust and understanding for people who smile too much. “Was there anything I could help you with,” Abbie asked as though she were comfortably sitting in her chair in the air conditioning and not standing in the early morning humidity with the sun already beating harshly down on her while she struggled with coffees and pastries.

“Uh no,” Raquel shrugged and nearly walked away when it occurred to her that perhaps Abbie would know more about William’s whereabouts than the older woman had. “Actually, have you seen William at all this week?”

The bright smile faltered and worry crept into the sparkling eyes. Several different emotions washed through Raquel as she watched the transformation. The concern that made itself so evident on Abbie’s face showed a connection to William that Mrs. Sampson had not shared. Jealousy surged through Raquel followed quickly by fear; fear for William and fear that maybe Abbie and William were more than just first year law intern and newbie administrative assistant. She was desperate to know the truth of why William wasn’t answering his phone and just as desperate to run from whatever truth there might be concerning his relationship with the petite and curvy Abbie.

Abbie tried to put her game face back on but it was transparent as glass. “He was supposed to go to LA on Saturday to assist his grandfather with a case.”

“So I heard. But I’ve been trying to call him and it just goes straight to voicemail. I’ve been calling every day,” she looked away. “Several times a day. It always goes to voicemail.” Putting it that way made her feel a little desperate and a bit like a stalker. “I was just concerned because it isn’t normal for his phone to be off all the time. I mean,” she admitted. “He always ignores my calls, I’m used to that, but it’s not normal for his phone to be off. Not for five days.”

The game face was gone. Abbie was beyond just a little concerned. She looked scared. “I know.” Her eyes darted toward the glass door and back. She whispered quickly, “Sampson’s coming. I’ll call you later.”

The door swung open and Mrs. Sampson stepped out into the sunlight. “Miss McClellan,” she snapped. “We have been waiting for our coffees and I have already dealt with Miss von Strassenberg.” She pointed through the door she held open, silently demanding Abbie go in at once.

“Yes ma’am. So sorry, I didn’t beat the rush today.”

Mrs. Sampson hmmphed.

With one quick furtive glance that said, “I’ll call you. I’m worried too,” Abbie hurried through the door.

“Come here again without an appointment and I will immediately call security.”

Raquel turned her back on Mrs. Sampson and walked toward her Audi, wondering how Sampson had not burst into flame when exposed to the daylight and if she could break into William’s loft without drawing attention.   ©2012 Gwenn Wright
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In the Woods by Tana French

So conflicted. French has a strong grasp of what I think of as poetic prose and an amazingly sharp eye for detail. This was both her strength and her undoing, after awhile it becomes tedious. My first issue with the story was that I kept forgetting the narrator was supposed to be a man because the voice and observations were decidedly feminine (in my head anyway) until about 250 pages into it. Another 100 pages or so and French slipped back out of it and Detective Ryan started sounding more like a girl again. The plot was brilliantly woven but it was not paced to be a true novel of suspense. It was more about a detective's experience going through a case, than about the case itself. And it was sadly predictable. For anyone who reads or watches a lot of police procedurals or spent any time studying crime....it was too obvious almost from the first introduction of the guilty character. All that being said, I did enjoy reading it. Even though I knew who it was going to be I wanted to see how it would be played out. Toward the end though, French started to lose me. I didn't buy Detective Ryan's weakness for a certain person. And then on 409, she lost me altogether when she claimed, "(the guilty person) fooled me, but (guilty person) fooled you too." Um no. And to say it is almost arrogance. I've heard this line in plays and movies, it was a cheap device. BUT! But I liked her grasp of language and detail. For writing skill I would give her 5 stars. For plot, 3. So I leave it at a happy medium of 4. It's not a fast read, unless you want it to be. You really have to be committed to it, I felt. And yes, I'll read The Likeness. But not right now. I want something with a little better pacing (assuming The Likeness will be like In The Woods) for right now. As a murder mystery this book should have been AT LEAST 100 pages shorter. It's like Hamish MacBeth on steroids.