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Half an hour later, they were on the road to the Northwoods Family Grill. Another half hour and they pulled into the parking lot that served the cafe and surrounding businesses.

“It was just over there,” Cadotte said, pointing at a parking area fifty feet away. “That’s where he got out of his car and we talked.”

 Barely acknowledging what she had pointed out, Mancoat said, “I’ll head on in to the cafe and get us a table.”

Cadotte pivoted, “Right behind you, Earl.” Hodges fell in line.

Mancoat entered and beamed. The restaurant was more stylish than he had thought it would be. The place was busy, but an unoccupied table was available; he strode to it and sat down. The other two joined him, ordered coffee, and then perused the menu. When the waitress returned, Cadotte struck up a conversation about the previous day, asking her if she remembered an older gentlemen who had come into the restaurant the same day.

“Honey, we get a lot of old men in here every day. Now I do remember that I sent you to see Becky Jaakola. Say, did you ever find her? I know the directions I gave you were a little discombobulated, so I’d get it if you didn’t.”

“Yes, I did, but I needed a little help with them so I talked to an older gentleman in the parking lot who cleared up everything for me.  He was a nice fella, wore a Fedora…”

“Now I know who you mean, Peter Karonen, he comes in here a couple times a week for the specials. He’s a good guy—lives by Finland and takes care of his daughter. She had a terrible accident a few years ago—prescription drug overdose—oxycodone, I think.”

Cadotte stayed under control, although her insides were bursting with excitement. Hodges and Mancoat sipped their coffees.

“You said the older man’s name is Peter Karonen?” Cadotte stifled a nervous laugh before she said, “You wouldn’t be able to give me directions to his house would you? No offense to you, but he saved my day. My editor would have flayed me if I didn’t get that interview with Ms. Jaakola.”

“After your last experience with my directions, you want more?” The waitress chuckled. “Tell ya what, I’ll look up his address and write it down, then you’d have better luck GPSing it. Sound okay?”

“That’d be wonderful! Thank you so much.”

When the waitress left, Hodges said in a low tone, “Well done, Sheila. You ever thought of a career in law enforcement? You certainly know how to get information in a nonthreatening manner.”

Cadotte feigned humility, “Every good reporter knows how to do what I did. It’s an everyday part of the job.”

Their breakfasts arrived along with the address and all three scarfed them down. They didn’t linger when they finished, paid the bill and hurried back to Cadotte’s Lexus. After punching the address into her cell, she placed it on the dash and followed the directions toward Karonen’s house.

They followed the directions on faith a fair distance out in the country. Mancoat expressed his distrust of GPS devices as they switched from one-gravel drive to another, finally turning into what appeared to be a long driveway up a significant incline. A two-story house sided with cedar shanks stood in front of them. It seemed like it was built into the 400-foot tall hill behind it.

Hodges didn’t notice any vehicles parked in the driveway, although a dilapidated, detached garage sat near the house and could have hidden one.

“Well, shall we?” Hodges motioned toward the house. They vacated the Lexus and walked to the front door.

Cadotte took the lead and knocked three times. Mancoat started whistling the old Tony Orlando and Dawn song, ‘Knock Three Times’. Hodges motioned him to stop. They waited a respectful amount of time with no one answering. She knocked three more times, but significantly louder this time. Still no answer came.

Mancoat stepped away from the porch, scanned the yard, and then walked to one side of the house. Hodges walked to the other side and looked around back, noticing the house was built into the hill. Interesting design, he thought. Mancoat noticed the same thing while a nervous Cadotte stayed put at the front door.

Cadotte started to walk away when the door opened and Karonen appeared.

“I’m sorry, I was in my daughter’s room reading to her, and didn’t hear anything until I finished.” He looked in surprise from one side to the other as Mancoat and Hodges converged on the porch from opposite sides of the house.

He stammered a little, “Forgive me, I don’t get many visitors out here. I’m pretty isolated. Is there something I can help you with.”

“We apologize for disturbing you, sir, but we’re lost and need some guidance. We’re looking for Lax Lake, and somehow ended up here,” Hodges lied.

“You really aren’t that far off,” Karonen said. “You need to turn right out of my driveway, follow the gravel road for, oh, about two miles until you come to the first intersecting blacktop. Turn right again and that will take you right past the lake.”

“That’s twice you’ve helped me, sir. I was in the parking lot in Silver Bay the other day where you gave me directions to Becky Jaakola’s house.”

Karonen gave her a puzzled look, but then smiled in recognition and slapped his hands together.  “I recognize you now! Yes, of course, someone had written awful directions and you were having trouble figuring them out. You just needed a little clarification.” He performed an exaggerated bow. “I’m always happy to assist a beautiful woman in her time of need.” He pivoted, but caught himself in mid-turn. “I, I’d invite you into the house for drinks, but the place is a mess and I wouldn’t want you to see it like that.” He shook his head and uttered something unintelligible.

Mancoat responded quickly, “That wouldn’t bother us. Jasper and I are not the greatest of housekeepers so it would probably even be an upgrade from what we’re used to.”

Karonen lifted an eyebrow when he looked at the men. “Are… you two partners?”

“Yeah,” Mancoat responded before getting the drift of what Karonen was asking.

“Uh, I mean, no, no, not partners in that sense. We don’t live together, we’re separate, uh we both like the opposite sex.” Digging himself in deeper, Mancoat continued, “We’re partners in the respect that we sometimes work together, uh, like Cagney and Lacy, Abbott and Costello… Bogart and Bacall.” He added emphasis when he repeated the line, “We work together.”

Hodges took a breath and rolled his eyes. Cadotte, embarrassed, looked away.

Karonen’s jaw was open and his brow was furrowed as he tried to process Mancoat’s explanation.

Several moments passed before Cadotte finally said, “Well, we should be leaving. Thank you again for being my savior and helping us find our way.”

She shook Karonen’s hand and they left.

“What the hell was all that bullshit, Bogart and Bacall, Abbott and Costello?” Cadotte asked.

“I, I, I was stuck. I kept on talking when I should have shut the hell up, okay?”

They carried on.

Tired of the back and forth, Hodges shushed them. “The question is, what do we do from here?” 

another section of The Devil's Kettle

Well, I lied when I said the July posting was the last one of the Devil's Kettle. I've been busy rewriting, editing, and sharing with the writer's group I belong to.  Tomorrow I'll release the post.

new query letter

I started writing a new query letter to send to agents. I also added a background chapter on Peter Karonen, a main character in my book, The Devil's Kettle. I think the chapter is very helpful in making him more believable. In fact, I'm toying with the idea of beginning the book with this new chapter.

book sale

The Book Club Murders is on sale for 99 cents, but goes up to $1.99 in two days. Also, free book promotion on Brothers Tale of the River Rats.

post camping

A few glitches---my fault for not remembering where the shut off valve for the water tank was, but all in all a successful maiden voyage with my Little Guy Trailer. I love it!

As for writing, I've been rewriting sections of The Devil's Kettle, and am getting more comfortable with the product. I'm adding a memory chapter that revolves around the antagonist and his daughter that will explain his character more fully. I am really enjoying the re-writing process in this book and am certain it will develop the characters to the extent where the readers will empathize with them and understand where I'm going with the story.

Pre-camping post

Well, I'm about to take my new Little Guy 12-foot camper on its maiden voyage to Forestville State Park.  I'll test out the bed, kitchenette in a hatch, and...the new screened in porch that attaches to the hatch in the back of the trailer. I'll read up on all the specs when I'm out there  and really familiarize myself with every aspect of the tiny camper I purchased a couple of weeks ago while on a grand western Canada road trip with my wife and friends.

By the way, the trip through British Columbia was fantastic, great scenery, food, hotels, and conversation.  If I ever figure out how to do it, I'll post photos on this site.

Tonight, I'll hop in bed and continue rewriting and editing my current book, The Devil's Kettle. I like the overall result, but am still finding typos and am shortening sentences. It's a process.

Meanwhile, Seven agents have let me down gently with the new book. One told me she was sure someone would pick the book up. I hope that's true!  Next week, I'll crank out a few more query letters to agents. Maybe I'll send it off to a small publisher as well.

Austin Artworks Festival---2016

I'll be presenting at the Austin Artworks Festival on August 28, 2016 at 2:30. I'll be one-third of a panel discussion about the writing process along with John Haymond and Harriet Ulland. Keith Cich will moderate and then will open it up to questions.

the last posting from The Devil's Kettle.

Cassie marked another day on her homemade wall calendar. She judged her days by Karonen’s arrival with breakfast, usually muffins with fruit, and coffee. Adding her marks, she came up with 395 days. He never asked her to read or speak with Methodist, which made her wonder. When would Karonen tire of feeding and taking care of her?  During the last month of her ‘visit’ as Karonen called it, he had seemed happier, even though he didn’t speak with her often or stay for more than the time it took him to deposit her breakfast tray and pick it up later. 

While depression had affected her for the past year in captivity, it was alleviated when Karonen ran a TV cable to her cell, allowing her to at least keep up with news. That is how she learned of Seth Tryton’s disappearance during the past month. She asked Karonen about it, but he ignored the question, causing her suspicions to rise. If Karonen had abducted another person and replaced her, she had to know. Somehow, she knew she had to find out for sure and make contact. The only question was how she could do it.  

Karonen never left her cell unlocked anymore. He hadn’t since her escape and recapture more than a year earlier, but he did allow her to roam untethered within her cell. The video camera still worked, tracking her every move. She knew, if Tryton were here in another cell, it wasn’t close. She had called and rapped the cell bars with the table chair. There had never been an answer. If she was to find out for sure, she had to escape from her cell somehow, and search the caverns. There had to be connecting tunnels and caverns; he was possibly imprisoned in one of those. 

She felt her best chance was somehow attacking and overcoming Karonen, but he always insisted she stay at the far end of the cell when he arrived with her breakfast and when he left later to retrieve it. Getting close to him was problematic. She identified three other possibilities of escape: Karonen slipped up and left the cell unlocked, she picked the lock, or she dug her way out. 

Cassie had observed and plotted for a long time, but none of the options ever seemed doable until she finally worked a leg of the chair loose and used it as a chipping tool. If he knew about her success, Karonen never let on that he knew what she had done, or was doing. For the past week, while Karonen appeared to ignore her, she discovered she was able to direct the video camera away from the area she had chosen to dig into the wall, allowing her to chip and scrape at the rock and dirt for long periods of time. She made slow progress, but knew if she continued working at it she would be able to carve a hole large enough for her to wriggle through. 

Whenever she finished digging, she slid the small bookcase in front of the dug out area in the wall and scattered the loosened rock and dirt around her prison. It was a time consuming procedure to empty and replace the books from the shelves. Fortunately, Karonen was a creature of habit and visited only at select times, allowing her to avoid discovery.

Bismarck

Continuing my writing in North Dakota and South Dakota this weekend. Will visit Teddy Roosevelt National Park tomorrow morning and down to the Black Hills after that.
Outline for the ending of The Devil's Kettle is nearly complete.

Sweet Reads

Sweet Reads is a new shop selling books and candy in downtown Austin. I was approached by the owner, who asked if she could sell my books in her store. Of course I said yes and supplied her with three of each of my books. Within a few days, she sold out of the copies of The Book Club Murders and Brothers, Tale of the River Rats. She ordered six more copies of those two, which I will provide her next week, and hopefully, she'll sell out again.

Her location is great, right across the street from the newly opened Spam Museum. When I dropped off the first batch of books I sampled her dark chocolate truffles. Oh my God. It was like dying and going to heaven, as the old saying goes. I will be buying more of that stuff!!

The store is artfully decorated and stocked with books of all kinds. If you're in Austin, stop in, drink it in, have a dark chocolate truffle and buy one of my books. You'll be glad you did.

An update on The Devil's Kettle. I am close to finishing, just putting the finishing touches on the ending.  After that I'll begin the process of rewriting and editing, then turn it over to a couple of readers to get their feedback. I am happy with the product so far, but always looking to improve. I will submit another portion to the writers group I belong to and look forward to their feedback.

Vacation in Mexico

Enjoying a weeks long vacation in Cabo San Lucas at this moment. Beautiful sights, weather and people. Planning a vacation with the adult children for next year.
I will do a little writing tonight-getting near the climax of my current book.

Allen Eskens workshop at the Arts Center

I just returned from a morning/lunch workshop with Allen Eskers, author of, The Life We Bury. It was a very enjoyable experience.

Mr. Eskens is a humble guy who has put a lot of work into improving his craft, whether it has been through workshops, writing classes, college classes, or his own research into what makes a good story.

His three main points of writing were as follows:

Mystery

1. What is the exterior plot?—-Overall mystery! Premise statement!!
2. Sub-plots (personal story/plot) to go along with the mystery. Allen makes separate outlines for the personal sub-plots. Write the sub-plot like a 3 act play. Work out where is the most natural places for the subplots to be introduced into the exterior plot.
3. Make your readers feel an emotional attachment.

He discussed all three points in detail, using a soft spoken manner and easy sincerity.

A motivating factor for me came when he stated he had approximately 150 rejections before having his first novel accepted by an agent...by accident, as he described it. That was an interesting tidbit of information that gave rise to my own hopes of pushing my novels to an agent or publisher.  I have only contacted one publisher, who did give me some positive feedback and three agents, who never responded, so I have a ways to go before exhausting my contacts...I just have to do it, instead of saying poor me based upon only four Query letters and one response received. 

I decided that I have to be more positive and push, push, push. Someone out there will be able to see the possibilities in publishing my books. 

I guess, the value of workshops where you meet published authors is good for a writer, giving you hope and strengthening your perseverance in the face of daunting odds.

workshop

The writing group I belong to will take part in a a morning workshop with Allen Eskens on April 28, 2016. It'll be a morning session with lunch, giving us a chance to pick his brain about his writing process and visit about his books. He is an author from Mankato  who has written at least two books that have received wide acclaim, The Life We Bury and The Guise of Another. I've read The Life We Bury and really enjoyed it.

The same day I hope to take part in a panel discussion about writing and that evening will attend his presentation at the Austin Public Library.

another first draft installment of, The Devil's Kettle.

“Please walk to the end of your chain.”

She had almost forgotten about the chain on her ankle, but did as he told her.

He attached the collar around her neck and activated it; He also placed handcuffs around her wrists before he unlocked the ankle clamp. She made no aggressive moves.

“Forgive me, but I’m going to demonstrate what this collar can do if you resist or try to escape.” 

Cassie steeled herself.

The pain was brief, but excruciating, dropping her to her knees. 

“I’m so sorry, but I wanted you to feel it so you don’t attempt anything. It will never happen again if you remain compliant.”

It took a few moments for her breathing to return to normal. Cassie put a hand to her throat and rubbed it as she stood. “It’s okay, I understand.”

Karonen’s face seemed to soften in recognition of what she said.

“All right. I’ll take you to her.” They turned left after they left the cell and followed the serpentine shaft. Cassie felt hopeless and curious. They encountered the opening to Karonen’s house  where he pulled a lever and opened the door to the living room. When they were through the opening, he closed the fireplace surround, led her through another doorway and down a short hallway. 

The freshly oiled hinges eased the opening of Methodist’s door. Karonen motioned Cassie inside. He followed close behind. The dim light forced Cassie to move haltingly toward the bed. She could discern a shape under the covers that moved up and down to the whirring sound of a ventilator. She could hear the oxygen forced into Methodist’s lungs and then released as the inexorable whirring rose and fell. 

Cassie’s eyes adjusted to the dim light and she noticed an IV tube attached to Methodist’s left arm. She watched the slow drip, drip as it made it’s way through the tube and into the young woman’s arm. 

Karonen encouraged her to move closer to Methodist. When Cassie did she was surprised to see the woman’s eyes were open and her pupils were twitching minutely from side to side. Cassie inhaled a deep breath and touched the young woman’s forehead with the back of her hand. As she did so, Methodist blinked. Startled, Cassie jerked her hand back. 

Karonen leaned forward, eyes intense. “She moved, my god, she moved.”

Cassie stood speechless, moving her mouth, but no words emerged. 

Karonen looked at Cassie. A broad smile stretched across his face and he said, “I knew it, I knew you would do it.” He squeezed Cassie’s shoulder and patted her lightly on the back.

Cassie recovered. “She moved her eyes when I touched her.”

Karonen removed the ventilator mask from Methodist’s face and turned the machine off.

Surprised, Cassie looked on. The woman continued breathing, although shallower and more labored.

“It’s all right,” he said to Cassie. “I’ve done this before. The ventilator only assists her. It makes her breathing easier.” He hung the tube around a hook on the IV stand and returned his gaze to Methodist. “Talk to her,” he said to Cassie.

“What do I say?”

“Tell her who you are, what you’ve done, where you’re from—everything you can think of. She’ll hear you, I’m sure of it.” He touched Methodist’s forearm near the IV.

Cassie spoke, telling Methodist everything about her life. The words flowed from her lips in strokes of bold sincerity. Karonen listened to her story, even more assured he had chosen the right person to awaken Methodist. His interest intensified when she mentioned a man she had arranged to meet at the North Star motel and help her find family members. She explained how he had disappeared before meeting with her. 

Karonen noted the timeline and posited the man she described was the fisherman he had abducted and killed. The anguish he felt at that time returned and he ended the session with Methodist, explaining that she was tiring and needed to rest.

Cassie was disappointed in the interruption. Relieving herself of the pain in her life had been a cathartic experience, one that she had no idea would be so consoling. She said goodbye to Methodist and was escorted to her cell, where Karonen removed the shock collar and left.

Every morning following breakfast, during the next thirty days, Karonen attached the collar around Cassie’s neck and escorted her to Methodist’s bedside. Cassie talked about losing her parents and growing up in foster homes. She spoke of the depths of her pain because of her loss, and the void it continued to leave in her life. She spoke of the difficulty  of finding any living relatives and the hopes she had of establishing family relationships. And every time she mentioned Tom Hecimovich, Karonen stirred.

Karonen stayed and listened to everything. At times, without showing it, he found himself weeping for Cassie, empathizing with her situation and hoping everything would end well for all three individuals present in that room. 

At the beginning of Cassie’s second month in ‘therapy,’ a significant event took place.

Another first draft section of The Devil's Kettle.

As the man opened his car door he was bathed in the dome light. Bald, tattoos on his neck and piercings in his lower lip helped distinguish him from what they would have considered to be a ‘normal’ visitor to the bridge at this time of night. He clutched a plastic bag when he emerged from the vehicle and covered the short distance separating them. He stood eight feet away.

The man gestured to a bench overlooking the Lester River. It was located twenty-feet to their left. In unison, all three bodies ambled to it.

He spoke. “I have it all. Show me the money.”

Hodges, held the briefcase he had bought at the Duluth Pack store earlier. He placed it on the bench. The dealer alarmed them at first when he reached inside of his jacket. They relaxed when he pulled out a tiny flashlight and flicked it on. When he reached down, unlatched the briefcase and raised the lid, shining the light inside to reveal the contents, Hodges acted. He withdrew the small caliber automatic and pointed it at the dealer who backed away a step with his hands raised.

“Shoulda known you weren’t for real. Stick me up for this?” He held the bag high. “You want it, you’re gonna have to swim for it.” He wound up to toss it in the river.

“We don’t want it,” Hodges said. The dealer stopped, confused. 

He looked at them. “What the hell do you want?”

“Information. Tell us what you know about Tom Hecimovich and the last time you saw or talked to him,” Hodges said.

“So this really does have something to do with Tom, huh? I was beginning to think it was just bullshit.”

Hodges gestured with the gun, a gesture that said, ‘just tell us about Tom, asshole’.

Mancoat and Hodges heard the unmistakable noise of a pump-action shotgun being readied for firing behind them.

“How dumb you fellas think I am that I’d come out here without backup. That sound you heard was Freddy with a sawed-off, twelve gauge shotgun a fixin’ to blow a hole the size of Rhode Island through you two.” The emerging moonlight shone in his eyes, giving an otherworldly look to an already strange looking human being.

Hodges betrayed no emotion while Mancoat’s body trembled. “It would appear that we have a standoff,” he said.

“A Mexican standoff, I’d say.  Ain’t that somethin’? Freddy, keep your gun on ‘em till we figure out what we’re gonna do.” He stood by  the bench, keeping his eyes on Mancoat and Hodges.

“We have a conundrum,” Hodges said. “May I propose a solution?”

“Got a few solutions myself, but you go first. I’m curious.” The dealer, flipped the brief case off the bench and sat down.

Hodges kept the automatic trained on him as he moved. “All right, why doesn’t…Freddy, come into view and we both lower our weapons, then, like civilized men, we can converse. Since we brought you out here on false pretenses we will reimburse you an appropriate amount of cash, after you answer our questions. In the end, everyone goes their separate ways.”

The dealer rubbed his lower back. “Sorry, I got a bad disc. The doctor says I might need surgery at some point, but, all I got is Obamacare, high deductibles, copays, you know the story. Anyway, I digress. What kind of reimbursement you talking about?”

“It depends upon the information you provide,” Hodges said. Mancoat tried not to reveal his nervousness.

“About Tom!”

“Yes, everything you know would be very appreciated.”

“Freddy,” the dealer yelled. “Get over here!” Freddy turned out to be female. In the partial light of the moon, she looked about thirty, fine figure with short, black hair. 

“Okay with you if we lower the guns on three?” 

Hodges nodded.

“Okay, one…two…three,” the dealer counted. Freddy and Hodges slowly lowered their weapons.

“Now, Tom was a unique individual. I liked him, but he was a little messed up.” 

That’s like this reprobate calling Al Capone a small time hood, Mancoat thought. 

The dealer continued. “I’ve known him for a long time, and I suspect he may not be with us anymore. I don’t think you guys know Tom. You got my number from somebody else or maybe you got into his paperwork and found my number. I don’t know. Personally, I think Tom’s dead. Doesn’t make any difference anymore. He was a small piece of my business. One thing, you want to know is that he always used the name Richard Gabrielson when he bought from me—kind of a kick at his adoptive parents I think.”

“So you didn’t have anything to do with his disappearance?” Hodges asked.

The dealer looked hurt. “That’s a big negatory; Tom was okay and we had a mutually beneficial relationship, but you learn to move on. Anyway, I’d check with his adoptive parents, maybe they finally got tired of his bullshit act and offed him.”

Change of title from, "Murder on the North Shore", to, "The Devil's Kettle".

Early in the evening at the Inn, Hodges and Mancoat were surprised by a knock at their door. Sheila Cadotte stood at the doorway holding a bottle of red wine and a six-pack of Leinenkugel’s Creamy Dark. 

The grin across Mancoat’s face wouldn’t quit as he opened his arms wide and bowed as he showed her in.

“Ms. Cadotte, to what do we owe the pleasure of your company… and the liquid sustenance?” Hodges asked.

Cadotte giggled as she popped the cork on the bottle of cabernet she had brought for Hodges and twisted off the caps of two beers for her and Mancoat. 

Hodges went to the cupboard, found a cheap wine glass and held it out for Cadotte to pour. She did it with a smile and then showed him the label.

“Ah, Balnaves Cabernet Sauvignon, from Australia. A civilized choice, no doubt,” Hodges said

“Better be, I paid thirty-nine bucks for this stuff, Jasper…before tax.”

Hodges nodded in appreciation. “Well, thank you very much. Shall we sit at the table and discuss what the reason is for our apparent celebration?” He winked and edged himself into a chair.

Mancoat and Cadotte tipped their beers and joined him. 

“This is wonderful, Sheila. Creamy Dark is one of my favorites,” Mancoat said.

“Be truthful, Earl, they’re all you’re favorites,” Hodges quipped.

Cadotte placed her beer on the table and went to her bag. She held several copies of news articles in her hands and spread them on the table evenly. “Read through these, wait, on second thought, that would take too long, I’ll summarize for you. The long and the short of it, god I love that expression, don’t you?” she said. Neither Hodges or Mancoat responded, but only stared at her.

“Well, guess, the feeling is not mutual on the expression,” she said. Hodges sighed and rapped his fingers on the table. She took note and continued. “I started looking into the past articles about the disappearances of all three of the victims, some of which I had written, and looked at possible links between the three people.” 

Mancoat was getting excited, “And you found some! What are they?”

The smile disappeared from Cadotte’s face and her expression changed to a cringe. “Well, not exactly links between the victims where they knew each other,” she said.

“I am confused,” Hodges said as he stopped rapping his knuckles on the table and placed his chin in his hand and rested his elbow on the table. “Was it another person they had in common, that they all knew?”

Cadotte’s smile returned. “Possibly,” she said in a teasing voice.

Mancoat popped in. “Somebody, we ran into as we’ve talked to people?”

Cadotte’s extended her hands and did a wavering motion, palm up, palm down while she tilted her head from side to side.

“Someone we should interview that we haven’t thought of yet?” Hodges guessed, feeling embarrassed that he had been sucked into a twenty-question guessing game. Cadotte hesitated in her response.

A frustrated Mancoat blurted, “Come on, tell us what you got, Sheila. Seth’s out there, maybe still alive.”

Sheila put her hands down and sat on her chair. “Okay, okay.” She shook her head. “I couldn’t resist having a little fun. This is what I’ve got.” She plucked three articles from the pile and placed them separately from the others. “Each of these articles is about one of the victims. So, there’s one about Seth, the most recent, one about Cassie Bandleson, the second person to disappear, and the first one to go missing, Tom Hecimovich.” She looked at Mancoat and Hodges. They both looked back with expressions that said, ‘get on with it’. “Well, it turns out that all three victims, uh, missing persons, might have stayed at the North Star Motel.” She winked and smiled.

Mancoat’s mouth opened and stayed open for several moments until he said, “That’s it, that’s the link? Might have stayed at the North Star Motel? And why do you say might have stayed at the North Star Motel? I don’t understand how you get a might out of your articles, and how a might, helps us!”

Hodges, ignoring Mancoat, leaned back and appeared to contemplate what Cadotte had said. “Explain further, Ms. Cadotte… please.”

Cadotte dug underneath the larger stack of articles and found a topographical map. She pointed. “Here’s the lake in Tettegouch where Hecimovich supposedly fell out of the boat and was swept down to Lake Superior.” Her finger traced a pathway two miles away where Hodges and Mancoat had postulated that Bandleson could have been abducted, but then her finger traced the thirty miles back to Palisade Head where they thought Seth Tryton had been last known to have visited. “And then, look at the location of the North Star Motel, it’s pretty much in the middle of the three disappearances.”

Austin Public Library Event

I'll be attending a Page Turner's event in Austin on April 28. Allen Eskers will be presenting and reading from one of his novels. I recently read his first book, The Life We Bury. It was a terrific read and I'm looking forward to listening, asking questions, and gaining insight about his writing process.

I believe that the writers' group I'm in will be involved in a workshop he will put on the same day.  Looking forward to the entire day.

Writer groups

I just wanted to touch base with you if you're an aspiring writer. A little advice to you if you're interested. Do join a writer's group or start one with some of your like-minded friends. It is a great way to bounce your writings off of others, get feedback, and form friendships. It is also valuable from the perspective of giving feedback to other writers. It makes you a better writer and communicator.

The next section of "Murder on the North Shore"

Cassie bounced out of the driver’s seat and snatched her pre-loaded pack from the trunk: a couple bottles of water, two energy bars, and a banana taken from the motel. She strapped it on as she ascended the trail. 

A cooling breeze slapped her in the face as she came to an overlook of the forest and Lake Superior a mile away. She never tired of this. Walking on the Superior Hiking Trail was one of the diversions that took her mind off her incomplete life; a life without relatives: parents, sisters, brothers, cousins. She had no known bloodline. It saddened and frightened her. 

Was her whole family dead? Or was Tom Hecimovich right? He said there had to be someone, and he knew how to find out. Cassie knew nothing! Tom had done it. He found his biological parents and they were wonderful. They changed his life forever. She wanted the same thing, a life altering event. She needed a change in her life. Cassie had friends, but as she had discovered, friends were transitory, here today and gone tomorrow. 

Family is there forever. 

She knew she had to have family somewhere, and Tom had promised to help her find them. She couldn’t grasp how important he had become to her. If only… if only Tom hadn’t vanished. 

Why? 

A switch went off in her head, and for the moment, she swept all thoughts of Tom and family away. 

Just be…live in the moment. Look at the world around me. She watched a nut hatch work its way down the trunk of a tree, beak first. A gray squirrel scurried across the path in front of her, almost running over her toes in the process. Cassie laughed. Be in the moment, enjoy what I have right now.

After an hour of hiking, she came to the next trailhead and decided to walk farther. She was the only person on this section of the trail, she thought.

At the next viewing point, she looked toward Lake Superior. Fog enveloped the lake, threatening to kiss the shore and penetrate the forest where she hiked. Cassie had no desire to hike in the soupy mixture drifting toward her. She tossed a look at it, then turned and started back. The fog moved quickly, enveloping the forest around her. She was thankful for the clearly defined trail, but even so, the pace of her hike quickened.

“Hellooo,” came a call.

She heard the voice in front of her. She said nothing, but the voice sliced the fog again.

Maybe someone was in trouble, lost or frightened. 

“Hello,” she called back with a reluctance and fear that made her feel ashamed.

They called back and forth, eventually meeting near a feeder trail.

“I’m sorry I might have scared you in this soup, but I was concerned when I noticed the fog drifting in from the lake,” said Karonen.

Cassie flashed a puzzled look. 

“How did you know I was up here?”

“Sorry, I should have explained that. I had just gotten off the trail where you parked and was sitting in my car when I saw you climb up the path like you really meant business. You seemed so intent on moving fast that you probably never saw me.” 

Cassie shook her head a little.

“I didn’t see anybody, and you’re right I was intent on getting up the trail. So you followed me up here?”

“Not quite, I drove to where I knew this spur was and hiked up here, hoping to find you.” He paused, sensing that he was frightening her. “Look, I knew the forecast called for fog, and I was just concerned that you might get lost, fall down, or get hurt. I didn’t know if you were a novice or experienced hiker and just…I have a daughter and…well, I wouldn’t want my daughter out, alone, in this stuff.” He looked at her sheepishly, hoping his explanation would convince her and loosen her skepticism.

Cassie wanted to believe him. The old man looked harmless enough and he sounded sincere.

“Well, thanks for your concern, but I’ve hiked this trail before.” She looked around them.  “Although, never in fog like this.”

“No pressure here, but my car is at the end of this spur. You could hike down with me and Ill give you a ride back to your car, and you could be on your way again. I wouldn’t wish walking the next three miles on anyone, much less a young woman like yourself.” 

She bit her lip, hesitating.

“I would feel much better if you came with me,” he said, playing his position for all it was worth.

Cassie didn’t feel comfortable saying what she said next, but she didn’t want to hurt the old man by acting afraid of him. She looked around again. The fog had grown denser, shrouding everything in the forest and making the old man’s face difficult to read.

“It’s a kind offer and I’ll take you up on it.” 

Karonen smiled, and said, “Good, I think we should get going before we can’t even see each other.” They both laughed. 

She was impressed by the old man’s nimbleness as he led the way down the narrow spur until it opened onto the gravel road. Karonen gestured toward the truck, which was barely discernible. “Your carriage awaits.”

A tight laugh leeched from her mouth and she walked toward the pickup. Karonen readied himself. When Cassie was twenty feet from the truck, she slowed, and a chill blanketed her body. Something inside of her: instinct, fear, distrust, cried out, run, run! Her breathing quickened as she started to run, too late. Karonen enveloped her in a bearhug, pinning her arms at her side. She screamed, but no one could hear. 

Austin Magazine article

If you are out and about in Austin, check out the lounge areas in banks, dental offices and doctors' waiting areas for the Austin Magazine.
One of the articles is a story about the writers' group I am in.  The story outlines how our group works and does a little bio on the members.

The fisherman stirred as Karonen hefted him onto the bed. I’ll have to hurry, he told himself. The chain and clamps, necessary to retain his guest in a controlled state until he could convince him of taking on the task willingly, were in a heap, ten feet away. He retrieved the end with the clamp and deftly placed it around the man’s ankle and clasped it shut. The key dangled from a ring on the wall several feet outside of the chamber. The man moved some more. Karonen left and returned a minute later with a pitcher of water and a glass, which he placed on the table next to the bed. He’ll be waking up soon. He backed away from the bed and assumed a position near the doorway of the chamber. A comfortable recliner awaited him there. He would wait.

Five minutes passed before Hecimovich stirred again and stretched his hands up and over his head. His eyelids seemed sticky as they opened. It took a few attempts to get rid of the gooey feeling and his vision to become operable enough to view his surroundings.

He was confused as he silently tried to make sense of his surroundings. Hecimovich slid both of his legs off the side of the bed and let his muddy tennis shoes dangle over the side. His hands gripped the bed on both sides of his legs. He looked around and spotted Karonen sitting in a chair by the open doorway of his…It reminded him of a dungeon.

“What happened to me?” Hecimovich asked in a wavering voice.

Karonen acted as if he didn’t know what to say, but finally spoke. “You’re a guest in my home. Everything will be all right.” 

Hecimovich shuddered and then said, “This doesn’t look like a home, but I’m not sure if I’m seeing things right; it looks like a cave.” He rubbed his now closed eyes with one hand. “I feel like I’m dreaming.” Hecimovich pulled his hand away from his face and appeared to look Karonen in the eyes. “Am I?”

Karonen stared back and answered quietly. “No sir…You’re not dreaming.”

For the first time, Hecimovich noticed the clamp around his left leg and jerked it upward. The abruptness of the motion and the clang of the chains startled Karonen. He jumped to his feet.

“Please, if you relax, it will be better,” Karonen said.

Hecimovich’s eyes had changed from unfocused and drowsy to wild and desperate. “You, you did this to me. I helped you, and you did this.” His head turned from one side to the other with an urgency and fearfulness he had never known. “You’ve got to let me out of here! Why are you doing this? What do you want?” Hecimovich rushed to where Karonen stood, but was jerked back by the short chain and fell forward. Pain wracked his ankle when the clamp cut into his skin. He was just a few feet away from Karonen. 

Karonen pleaded, “Please, I will explain everything, but I need you to calm down, and listen. Please, I need your help!” 

Hecimovich, who lay face down on the floor with his arms outstretched in front of him, clawed furiously at the earth, trying to get to Karonen, who didn’t move a centimeter. Hecimovich continued clawing and yelling until Karonen kneeled and brought himself too close to the fisherman’s grasp. A stab outward and Hecimovich’s hand clamped onto Karonen’s wrist with the force of an electric eel. Yelling and thrashing, and now pulling Karonen closer, Hecimovich felt a surge of adrenalin. He had the older man frightened and desperate. 

Karonen yelped, “No, wait, wait. I need your help. I’m not going to hurt you!”

“I know you won’t you bastard,” Hecimovich yelled. He almost had Karonen’s ankle in his other hand and felt more confident than ever he was going to free himself. Hecimovich had pulled Karonen close enough that he could rise to his knees and increase his leverage. Suddenly, Karonen changed tactics and launched himself forward and smashed his body into Hecimovich’s. Karonen ended on top of him and pummeled Hecimovich’s face with his free hand. The fisherman released his grip on Karonen’s wrist and tried to protect his face, but Karonen had entered the fight or flight mode and now delivered blow after blow to Hecimovich’s face. 

There was one last hurrah left in Hecimovich and he tried to kick the chain attached to his leg over Karonen and tangle him in it. Karonen pulled Hecimovich’s hair, lifting his head off the rock floor, and then smashed his head back down several times. Karonen released the younger man’s head and powered his fists again and again into Hecimovich’s face.