A snippet from the investigation in "The Book Club Murders"

It was five o'clock in the afternoon so they were hoping that Mr. Hodges was home for supper.  They were not disappointed.  He came to the door dressed amazingly well for a person of little means.  He wore Docker pants, Gucci shoes, and a Ralph Lauren long sleeved dress shirt.  Pleasantly surprised at his appearance, Beth and Damien accepted his invitation to enter and were guided to the meticulously restored kitchen table and chairs.  Countertops were cleared and wiped.  The floor was sparkling.  Dishes were put away.  By all their observations, Mr. Hodges was a very neat man.
A copy of Tolstoy's War and Peace, lay on the table, with a book mark sticking out near the end.  After looking around the kitchen, Beth and Damien assumed a couple of chairs.
"So, you said you'd like to interrogate me in the matter of Laura Walter's death," he began a little testily.
"Not interrogate, Mr. Hodges, just ask if you happened to notice anything different the night of the murder," Beth quickly responded.  Hodges smiled.
"Would you believe you are the first to visit and ask anything?  The police or sheriff never bothered with me.  I gather they assumed that an old vagrant such as myself, would be of no use to them."  He bent his head a little as his face pondered his own statement.  "And I suppose they would be correct...in most instances."  Their interest heightened when he said the last part of the statement, like he had wanted. "Please join me in a cup of tea," he said as he instantly rose to fetch the tea pot.  Damien protested that they had just had two cups of coffee and needed no more liquids, but was waved off by Hodges, who busied himself preparing his most precious drink.
Following a few minutes of chit chat with his back to his guests, Mr. Hodges returned to the table with his favorite tea.  Sugar cubes were optional.  Beth and Damien accepted the cups and thanked him.
Stirring his sugar cube in his tea with a passion, Damien stopped for a moment and asked the first question.  "So, Mr. Hodges, exactly what do you know about the murder?  You hinted that you knew something."
"I simply said that the police would be correct in most instances that an old person like myself would have nothing useful to report to them."
It had been a long day and Beth let out a frustrated sigh before saying, "Mr. Hodges, we're not here to play games.  Laura Walters was a friend of mine and if you have any information about her death, you should share it with us and the police.  If you really have nothing, please don't waste our time."
Mr. Hodges beamed as he said, "My dear, I assure you that I am not playing games.  I may have something for you, but then again, I may not."  Damien placed his tea cup on the table.
"More games.  Beth, I think we should chalk this up to an old man who wants some attention, go back into town, and stop at the Municipal to see if anyone knows something there."
"My boy, that won't do you any good.  Interview a bunch of drunks who play pull tabs all day and all night long?"  Hodges sipped his tea as he eyed them both.
"All right, Mr. Hodges, then tell us what you mean," Beth retorted.
"Well, the information I have may be of use to you, but that is for you to determine.  I cannot do that for you, nor should I.  I travel around town every day and venture out onto the county roads and ditches in my never ending quest for treasure, uh, aluminum cans, if you prefer.  I may see things most people do not.  My mind is not encumbered by work, relationships, or petty jealousies of anything or anyone, so I remember things that I've seen.  I am focused."  He picked up his tea cup and daintily enjoyed another sip of his tea.

More about Claude from "The Book Club Murders"

Claude finished cleansing and drying off his body.  He had taken thirty minutes to accomplish both tasks.  He dreaded opening the door and still finding her in his bed, but  little choice was left to him.  Turning the light off first, he cracked the bathroom door slightly.  His eyes slowly adjusted to the darkened room revealing an empty bed with it's coverings cast aside.
  A flicker of hope that she was gone flashed through his mind and his eyes brightened as he contemplated the possibility.  Opening the door fully, he ventured into the room, looking carefully in every direction as he walked toward the ruffled bed.
The bedroom door was ajar.  He had closed it when he went to bed, but of course she had opened it when she entered later.  It was obvious to him that she was nowhere in the bedroom, so she was either in the living room or gone.  Moving cautiously, he passed through the partially opened doorway, entering the living room with some trepidation.  A creak in the flooring greeted him as he stepped into the opening.  Freezing in his tracks the instant he heard the sound, his eyes scanned the dark interior of the outer room.  A sigh of relief escaped him as he realized she was not in his apartment anymore.
Claude quickly moved to the entrance door and make sure it was locked.  It wasn't.  He turned the lock and this time, hooking the safety chain to the jam, he fully secured it.  Now he could breathe easier.
He flipped on a lamp light and pulled a notebook from a drawer in the desk.  He scrawled the words sloppily onto the paper, change locks tomorrow.  He would make sure that she never gained entrance to his apartment again.
Sleep appeared to be a commodity he wouldn't achieve tonight as he drifted into thoughts of how in the hell he had ever met and befriended Kristen, though he was sure that was not her real name.
They had first met at a bar on the outskirts of Rochester.  He thought the name was Whiskey Creek, but he couldn't be sure.  He, along with friends had frequented several drinking establishments that evening and he really couldn't be sure which place he had met "Kristen".  Once they had hooked up his friends had left him, believing that he would be involved for the evening, which he was.
"Kristen" was quite pretty, maybe a little older than he, and certainly as tall as he was.  She laughed easily and appeared to be very interested in him.  It was an easy pick up.  The more he thought about it, however, the easy pickup had been him, not the other way around.  It was like she had chosen him and he gratefully acquiesced.
They had ended up at his apartment where she practically tore his clothing from his body.  It was as if she had a thirst for him that could not be satisfied.  During their first weeks he totally enjoyed being her object of lust and obsession.
They saw each other on a weekly basis for two months.  As he came to know and expect what she was going to do to him, the red flags began standing out a little more clearly.  They didn't make love; it was animal sex with no kissing or foreplay.  Her demeanor was always calculated and the conversation was nonexistent, far different from the first night he had been picked up by her.
He began pulling away and not answering her calls.  A real fear within him had begun to take hold.  The feeling that crept up his spine couldn't be explained by just one experience or comment that she said or didn't say.  It was just...a feeling.  A general feeling that something was not right with her; that she was an unusually damaged human being who was fighting demons that she would never understand.  He cringed when he thought of her and what she might be capable of doing.  Tomorrow, tomorrow the lock would be changed; he would make sure of that, for he wanted nothing to do with her ever again.

Report on Austin Artworks Festival presentation

Hi, I suddenly remembered that I hadn't said anything about the Artworks Festival in Austin and my participation in it.  First of all, I really enjoyed walking around and looking at the paintings, photographs, craftwork, and pottery.  I also attended a couple of author presentations.

My presentation, with question and answer period went about 45 minutes.  About thirty people attended and I hope I entertained them.  I spoke about my writing process including layout and publication.

I sold twenty books with orders for several more.  To go back next year I'll have to finish and publish another book, which may happen, but I've decided that I'm going to take my time with the next one and polish it a bit ore than the other two, so we'll see what happens.

A little more from "The Book Club Murders

Claude had thought he would never see her again.  Fear seeped into his brain as he wondered how she had entered his apartment.  And the heat, the damn heat and sweat were driving him insane.  He was literally swimming in his own sweat soaked sheets and trembling as he watched her come closer.
"I thought we needed some time together," she said while removing her clothes and nestling close to his body, making the sweaty heat even more unbearable.
"I, I can't.  It's too hot in here.  Let me turn down the heat," he pleaded.
"You know I like it this way.  Stay in bed."   He felt her hand on his thigh.  She then began.
He felt himself involuntarily harden as her hand grasped him.
"No, no, no," he said, barely audible even to himself.
She continued as he gulped for air, almost not noticing she had mounted him, rhythmically rocking as he sweated and dreaded every second.  Her hair brushed over and back across her face as she moved, but he didn't see.  His eyes had closed when she had begun; he had not wanted to look at her.  Soon, however, their bodies were cooperating, moving in tandem to the rhythm dictated by her.
When he climaxed, she quickened her pace until she screamed and collapsed upon his chest.
Tears that he never saw rolled from her eyes, mixing with their sweat.
They lay like that for several minutes until, exhausted, she slid off him and rolled to the other side of the bed.  Claude gathered himself, noticed that the digital clock read 11:45 p.m., and slunk toward the bathroom, first stopping at the thermostat to turn the heat down.  He closed the door before turning on the light so she didn't wake.  He didn't want that.  He turned the shower on and kept it cool.  He stood, letting the cold water pelt his face, hair and body, turning so his back and buttocks could feel the refreshing, cleansing, spray.  Grasping the bar of soap, he scrubbed himself until his skin was red and tender to the touch.



Sheriff Cooper Lewis sat in his relaxed style, leaned back with his feet up on his desk in Spirit Grove.  He cradled a hot, bitter, cup of coffee in his hands and just sat, relaxing while he waited for Deputy Lisa Dolcheski to arrive for work.  At 8:04 a.m., the door swung open and Lisa popped in.
Lewis caught her eye and pointed toward the clock hanging above Lisa's head.  "You're late," he said amiably with a little smirk.
"I'm sorry, Cooper.  I got caught up with a marathon session of Star Trek episodes and stayed up too late."
"Never knew you were a Trekkie, Lisa."
"Oh yeah, big time.  I loved that show.  Anytime I see that it's going to be on I try to make sure I watch it."
"You should just get a DVR, record it ahead of time and watch it anytime you want.  Then, maybe you won't stay up so late and be late for work the next morning," he smiled when he said the last part.
"It won't happen again, Cooper."  She had said it while making clear she knew he was only joking.
She poured herself a cup of coffee, took a sip and grimaced.  "I'll make us a new batch," she said as she retained her grip on the pot and poured it out in the sink.  "So, anything new this early in the morning?"

Section from "The Book Club Murders"

Chapter 1


Claude lay in bed, eyes closed, but nonetheless, awake.  His bedroom was exceedingly warm causing him to sweat buckets until his sheets felt saturated.   Funny, it was winter and he thought he had turned the heat down to 58 degrees earlier in the evening.  He slept best when a chill was in the air and the ceiling fan delivered just enough of a gentle breeze to keep him comfortable.
It wasn't long before he couldn't stand it anymore and he threw the top sheet and light blanket off and his eyes sprang open.  Five seconds later, his eyes adjusted to the blackness, revealing her standing near the end of the bed.
"What are you doing here?  What time is it?"  he frantically asked.
Moving around the corner of the bed, she edged closer.  "Does it matter?"
Claude had thought he would never see her again.  Fear seeped into his brain as he wondered how she had entered his apartment.  And the heat, the damn heat and sweat were driving him insane.  He was literally swimming in his own sweat soaked sheets and trembling as he watched her come closer.
"I thought we needed some time together," she said while removing her clothes and nestling close to his body, making the sweaty heat even more unbearable.
"I, I can't.  It's too hot in here.  Let me turn down the heat," he pleaded.
"You know I like it this way.  Stay in bed."  She then began her special process.

A little more from "Brothers".


His brother Kellan and cousin Mitch were running on the path leading to the opposite side of the bridge.  They were yelling while pointing downriver at Stranger, Jack's family dog.  Stranger was trapped in the icy water, desperately pawing at the edges of the ice while yelping loudly, trying to free himself from the frigid grave that awaited him.
Running quickly, Jack ignored the danger of falling and made it to the other side of the bridge.  Slushy ice flew as his feet hit the pathway, and his instincts took over.  The dash to the area where the spring emptied into the Red Cedar took him only a minute.  Stranger continued yelping and pawing at the ice as Jack laid himself out headfirst on the thinning ice cap and grabbed a paw, pulling the dog out of the water and completely off the ice to safety.  The dog shook vigorously, covering Jack, Kellan, and Mitch with an icy shower before running in circles on the shore.  It was an anticlimactic end to Stranger's life threatening event.
As the memory faded, Jack smiled,  crossed his arms, and sat back on the stool.  He had probably saved his dog's life that early spring day forty-five years ago.
My God, forty-five years ago.  How could time pass so quickly?  It didn't seem that long ago, and yet, it did.
So many things had changed over the years: marriages, kids, grandchildren.  Thinking philosophically had never been his forte, but a strange mixture of melancholy and contentment filled his brain, and, as he resettled himself on his thickly padded stool, other memories began swirling in his head.

A rough, rough draft from my book on brothers..........



Jack rummaged in the tall, wooden cabinet his father had made eons ago, trying to find the folding saw his children had given him for Christmas.  He was gathering items he always took for the annual trek to the Boundary Waters Canoe Area with his two brothers.
After several fruitless searches into the back of the cabinet, he gave up and returned to sit on the high stool he left by the window that framed a view of his wooded backyard.  Comfortably ensconced on the stool, he gazed into the trees fifty feet away.
After staring for twenty seconds or more, the trees slowly blurred as his mind wandered.  He soon immersed himself in a memory of when he was eleven walking on the old railroad bridge behind their family home.
Straddling the long, wooden planks, separated by three-inch gaps, the walk across the bridge had always frightened him.  The drop was forty feet to the Red Cedar River below, and the water rarely froze as it flowed quickly through the narrows squeezing through the mini gorge it had cut out long ago.  Ancient stumps could be seen hiding just below the water's surface along with the occasional flash from a rock bass as it flipped sideways while swimming through the thigh deep water.
He stopped his progress and looked up when he heard frantic yelps coming from the direction of the still semi-frozen river two hundred yards away.  The thirty-foot river banks, which sloped gently to the water's edge on both sides of the river, were still mostly covered in snow.  On the river, slits in the ice revealed tiny ripples on the water's surface that had been manufactured by a cold, ten knot breeze whistling through the miniature gorge.