I am excited to announce that Lake Country Booksellers in White Bear Lake, (4766 Washington Ave, White Bear Lake, MN 55110) is now carrying my Vivianna Luxe Mystery Series. If you have never been to this charming little indie store, I encourage you to check it out. It is owned by four women Nancy, Faith, Susie, and Bert, and is like stepping back in time in the best way possible! I couldn’t be more thrilled to be part of this White Bear communnity landmark.

Three days later, I headed into The Overpass thinking if one was going to make a movie about a girl getting murdered in a seedy bar, this would be the one they’d choose.  At least there was zero chance of running into anyone who knew me. I was meeting Ezzie because I couldn’t do this alone anymore.  I sauntered in and didn’t quite know where to look, or where not to make eye contact, first.  I decided sitting at the bar was my best bet as most of the patrons were shooting pool or playing darts.  The two doing whatever it was they were doing in the booth was further testimony that I had chosen wisely to avoid sitting on those seats.        

“What’s your poison?” the bartender asked, looking me up and down.

“Do people really say that?” I asked, belatedly thinking this might not be a person to question. “I’ll have an appletini please.”

 He smiled brutishly revealing a gold incisor, and before he could say more, a voice behind me said, “She’ll have a vodka seven, extra limes Sarge.”

“You got it Hitch,” he said and wandered off supposedly to make my drink.

I swiveled around on my barstool and found myself staring squarely into a chest. When I tilted my head up, way up, I was looking into a handsome face with a five o’clock shadow. Chocolate brown eyes laughed back at me, and my drink order-er had a bandana tied biker style over his head. He was big, intimidating, and had an air of both danger and importance about him.

  “So,” I started, “Mr. ‘Hitch’ is it? Do you make a habit of deciding what people should drink, or am I receiving some sort of special attention?”

A slow, wicked smile crossed his face and he drawled, “Oh you’re receiving attention alright, and I’m pretty sure it’s not the kind you want. Does this look like the kind of bar that has appletinis to you?”

I looked around and noticed I was being watched by, well, by everyone, even though they pretended to be going about their business. 

“So, making me drink a vodka seven is you, doing me some sort of favor?”

“Yes. Yes, it absolutely is.  Of all the bars in town, what in the heck made you walk into this one? You are clearly not from the neighborhood.”

“Well Bogey, I think the line is, ‘of all the gin joints, in all the towns’ but you were close.”

“I’m serious, you slummin or something?”

I had purposely dressed down for the occasion. White jeans, an emerald green sleeveless silk blouse with matching T-strap Saint Laurent espadrille wedges. No jewelry, except a gold serpentine necklace, but I had deliberately left off the emerald slide. 

“No,” I said indignantly, “I am not ‘slumming.’ I am just waiting for a girlfriend.”

“Mmm Hmm, is she from the neighborhood?”

“Well, we’re both from, ‘a’ neighborhood.  I just moved here, and I thought this would be a nice place to meet,”

 “Mmm Hmm.”

 “You said that already.”

I heard a collective inhalation as the door opened, letting in a waft of warm summer air and a long, cool, blond, My bestie, Ezzie.  Esmeralda Gold had been my best friend since kindergarten when I poured a carton of milk over Janet Jargotto’s head just because she had such shiny black hair, and I couldn’t resist seeing the contrast.  When I explained my perfectly rational decision to a clearly irrational teacher, Esmeralda walked over, her blonde ponytail swinging, and said, “Mrs. Altman, it is obvious Vivianna has an eye for art and you do not!”  We spent two weeks together in the office during recess cementing a lifelong bond.  I had never seen Ezzie enter a room, from kindergarten to this very moment, without varying degrees of head turns and gasps. She was five foot nine inches of gorgeous. Long perfect legs, long perfectly highlighted hair, long eyelashes over blue eyes which were surprisingly close to the color of an Ikea shopping bag, and long confident strides that invariably left jaws dropped.    

“Good lord,” Hitch muttered as he shook his head.

“Hey Babe,” Ezzie purred as she glided over and pulled me into a big genuine hug.  “I’ve missed you. What’s up with the weird number, and why was I supposed to dress down?”

This brought another arrogant smile to Hitch’s face as he unapologetically listened in.  Ezzie was completely unaffected by the response her looks garnered and oblivious to what ‘dressing down’ was supposed to mean. She was wearing a royal blue pleated sundress with matching Jimmy Choo strappy sandals. 

 “Ez, you’re wearing Halston, that’s hardly dressing down,” I said, shaking my head at her and giving Hitch my best, ‘what are you still doing here?’ look.

“It’s last season!  I had to pull it out of the giveaway bag,” she said with a look indicating I should have known as much.

Sarge, the bartender, brought my vodka seven over, and before he could say anything Ezzie said, “I’ll have whatever smoke-infused bourbon you’re serving tonight with a two-by-two ice block please.”

Sarge looked at Hitch who said, “She’ll have a Beam on the rocks.”

“He’s our interpreter apparently,” I explained when Ezzie raised a perfect eyebrow to give him the once-over. Turning my back on Hitch I blurted out my next sentence without taking a breath, “Ezzie, I need a job and a place to live, I have been sleeping in a storage container for the last three days and showering at the club, but they told me today I would need to pay for next month now because the auto-payment didn’t go through, and I can’t afford to do that, and I don’t want to wash my hair at a gas station. Again. And eventually, it will get cold, and I’m ruining the upholstery on my chaise by sleeping on it.” 

I burst into tears because I hadn’t planned on saying so much, especially in a single breath, and I really was feeling overwhelmed, confused, and scared. “Did I mention Daddy is out of the country hiding, and all the money’s gone?”

“Excuse me, did you say you were sleeping in a storage unit?” Hitch asked over my shoulder.

“You really do have a problem with being nosey, did you know that?” I sniffed.

“Occupational hazard,” he said.

“What? Are you like paparazzi or something?”  Ezzie asked, squinting her eyes and looking him up and down.

“No, I’m a pastor,” he answered with that same irritating grin.

“Well, Father, I’m not sure that is an excuse for eavesdropping,” Ezzie flung back.

Hitch looked at her and smirked, “Can’t help it, I tend to get involved. I care about people.”

“Actually,” I interrupted, “I said, you were nosey, nobody said anything about you being caring.”

“Semantics, and I can help with a job and place to live,” he said.

(Pre-order available NOW)

Hoax for the Holidays Dedication:

To my husband Craig (do you think he ever gets sick of these?) He patiently lets me sit by our fireplace and type through long Minnesota winters, aka hockey season, and then watches me move to our screen porch and type through beautiful summer days and evenings, aka baseball season. Also, thank you Minnesota Wild and Minnesota Twins for providing a distraction!

To my long-suffering editor and friend Dianne who still, erroneously, holds out hope that I will one day correctly use a semi-colon.

To  Alli, who reads my books before they are finished to let me know when I’m sounding like an old lady, Taylor who talks me into kayaking so I can keep my arms strong enough to type, and of course, James, who spent his teen years giving me ideas for Ty. (Yes it was me who hid your stupid laser pointer.) 

And can we all just take a moment to look at this cover? Joey Bui’s fantastic designs always capture the essence of the story and this red and green cover for Hoax is my favorite. Or at least in the top six. (If you’re reading this on Kindle you’ll just have to trust me because I’m sure you’re not going to take the time to go back to Amazon and look at the cover.  But it’s awesome!)

And of course Norma. Her law enforcement insights are appreciated to the moon and back. Almost as much as I appreciate her biting her tongue when I know she wants to scream, ‘Why aren’t these people turning everything over to the police!?!’

And last but not least, Nala the Wonder-dog, who isn’t thrilled with my laptop being on my lap, but has resigned herself to being a “near-my-lap” sixty-five-pound lap dog.

“Tell me about your date,” Ezzie said. Her long blonde hair swung as she walked across the room tucking her long legs under her as she sank onto my chaise.

I smiled every time I saw my chaise. It was an 1895 lounge piece with solid mahogany, hand-carved, lion-paw feet. The upholstery was a gold-on-white patterned silk velvet from 1794. Fifteen years ago my mom walked out the door leaving my dad and me shocked and a little battered. My dad had no idea what to do with a ten-year-old daughter, we both had been blindsided and heartbroken. In a truly inspired move, he made plans for us to travel to multiple continents to hunt down authentic Victorian boudoir furniture, do some father-daughter bonding, and nurse our bruised spirits back to health. My entire bedroom set had been in storage until recently, when Hitch surprised me by rescuing some of my things and letting me move them into my room at the shelter. The day I was forced to grab the things that were important to me out of our house, there was never a question that my bedroom set would come with me.

“It wasn’t a date.” 

“Oh, and I found a murdered weasel on my doorstep this morning,”

Ezzie and I said at the same time. She had clearly been thinking I wasn’t going to answer her.

“What?” I asked.

“Whatever,” we replied together again.

“Okay, you first,” I said.

“There’s not much more to the story. I just found a dead weasel by our front door.”

“But you said murdered.”

“Well, he had a little noose around his neck, so I assumed he didn’t commit weasel suicide.”

“You’re kidding?” I said, feeling alarmed for her.

“Eh, someone’s probably mad at something my dad is doing at work. Calling him a weasel you know.” 

“Hmmm,” I said. “You’re not scared; you don’t think it’s directed at you?”

“No, not at all,” she assured me. “Here look, I took a picture before I had Chance get rid of it.”

Chance was the Gold’s groundskeeper and in charge of their security. He was both no-nonsense and a little frightening. If Chance was on it, I guess I wouldn’t be worried either. Ezzie passed me her phone, and I looked at the three pictures she had from different angles.

“Oh, he’s kind of cute,” I said, “but that noose is creepy.”

Ezzie waved it off and then narrowed her eyes. “Spill,” she said.

“Okay, but it wasn’t a date,” I began.

Death on the Doorstep, available at Amazon

The Overpass was where I had been introduced to Hitch the month before. It was where I had met with Ezzie hoping she would help me figure out my next move. A ridiculously handsome pastor had overheard the two of us ordering appletinis and smoke-infused bourbon and ran interference by ordering a vodka seven with extra limes and a Beam on the rocks, after accusing us of being a couple of rich girls who were “slumming.” Evidently, he spoke dive-bar and we didn’t. Then he heard me tell Ezzie in a rambling, tear filled speech how I ended up sleeping in my storage unit, (not my finest hour) and offered me a job at the shelter which included room and board. Mr. Sheffield had told me to steer clear of any place where I might run into people I knew, and since this was the seediest place I had ever seen outside of a TV set, the chance of anyone from my former life seeing me here was literally zero percent. This was the neighborhood where Hitch had grown up, and everyone in the bar had treated him with respect and something akin to awe. Oddly it was the exact same reaction he got from his parishioners as well. Reverand Hitchmayer was interesting, I needed to get to know him better, I decided.

“Hi Sarge,” I said, greeting the bartender when we walked in.

“Hey Appletini, how’re doin? I would have bet money I’d never see you in here again,” he said.

“I’m fine, thank you. How have you been since we last met?” I answered him. Apparently, that reply was hilarious, because he threw his head back and laughed. I looked at Ez who just shrugged.

“I have something for you,” I said, pulling out the Apple Schnapps.

“What the hell do I do with this?” he asked, shaking his head.

“Just mix it with vodka, shake it on some ice, and pour it into a martini glass,” I said.

“Well on your next visit, you’ll have to bring a shaker and martini glasses,” he laughed.

The Overpass was more of a beer and ‘all the ingredients in the title’ sort of place.

“I’ll just have vodka and Apple Schnapps on the rocks in any old glass,” Ez said.

“Regular-sized ice okay with you?” Sarge asked, smirking at her.

The last time we were in Ezzie had asked for two-inch cubed ice. It was a pretty standard request at the bars we had frequented in my former life.

“I’ll suffer with whatever you have,” she smiled, “and I’ll have the shrimp po-boy basket.”

“I’ll have the same,” I added, nodding at the drink he had already started for Ezzie. Then, looking up at the menu on the chalkboard above the kitchen serving window,  I said, “But make my sandwich the pulled pork basket.”

“Bold choice with the white dress,” Ez said. 

We had both changed before we came over. We wanted to keep things casual. I had on a Kate Spade, white eyelet sundress, with simple Jimmy Choo white patent cork wedges with an ankle strap. Ezzie was wearing a black Halston cross-neck halter jersey-knit dresss with black Tori Burch flat sandals making us about the same height.

Sarge dropped off our drinks and then went off to order, or possibly make, our food. I spun around on my barstool to get a better look around the room. I couldn’t be sure but it seemed to me that the room was full of the same exact people, in the same exact places, wearing the same exact clothes as the last time I was here. Ezzie and I had a second drink, and I had just successfully swallowed my last bite of pulled pork without incident when the two men who had been playing pool came up on either side of us.

“So, you two mamas looking for a good time?” the one with the leather vest standing next to Ezzie said. I couldn’t take my eyes off his tattoo. It was a snake that wrapped around his neck twice and ended by his right ear with its jaw wide open like it was going to bite off the lobe.

“Mamas? Really?” Ez deadpanned.

“Yeah,” the guy next to me said. “I call you mama and by the end of the night you’ll be calling me daddy.” He was considerably shorter than the guy with the ear in jeopardy but was meaty and had a face that looked like he had been in too many fights.

“Mmm, yeah, that’s not going to happen,” I said.

“Well, you don’t show up dressed like that without hoping for some action,” the guy next to Ez said.

“I’d leave it alone boys,” Sarge said, strolling over towards us from the other end of the bar. As he finished his sentence the door opened and I could feel the warm summer breeze and humidity waft over my back.

“Yeah, why’s that?” Mr. Meaty asked.

“That’s why,” Sarge said, nodding towards the door. 

The two guys turned around but before Ezzie or I could spin in our chairs I heard Hitch’s voice saying, “Snake, Ralphie, you’re both lookin’ good, can I buy you two a beer?”

He pushed his way between me and the man who had to be Ralphie, wrapped his hand around the back of my neck, and tilted my head back as he leaned in and gave me a knee-weakening, breath-stopping, heart-pounding kiss. A kiss that went on a few seconds longer than was respectable for a public greeting. Or for a pastor.

“Hey Hitch,” Ralphie said, stepping back. “No hard feelings man, didn’t know this lady was claimed.” 

Claimed? There was so much wrong with the last two minutes I didn’t even know what to sputter first. Hitch did a circle thing with his finger and Sarge grabbed three bottles of beer from the cooler and handed one to Snake, one to Ralphie, and one to Hitch. Since Hitch had clearly marked his territory, Ralphie moved to stand by Snake.

Ezzie looked at me and said, “Well at least he didn’t pee on you.”

I was trying to decide if I was furious with, or grateful to, the Reverend Hitchmayer.