A Cutthroat Update

I keep getting asked about more Cutthroat books, so I thought I'd clarify where we stand on those.

I'm currently about halfway through writing #7, which will be called KICKOUT CLAUSE, for real this time. I hope to have the book out by the end of the year, but I can't guarantee anything. Sometimes stuff happens, you know?

I have plans for books 8 and 9. Fairly sure I know exactly what'll happen in ...#8, and I have a good if basic idea for #9 based on what I know will have to happen in the series at that point. I'm working off a basic story arc here. The same way the first five books were planned together, these four (6-9) are planned as one long, over-arching storyline, too, with one book (hopefully) flowing seamlessly into the next. 

There may or may not be a wedding at the end of #9. I'm just not sure yet whether it'll fit there or not. It depends on length and how the end of #9 winds up. If there isn't a wedding in #9, I'll either write a book 10, or a novella or short story.

God willing and all that, of course. Again, stuff happens.

Beyond that, I'm not sure what'll happen. I could possibly foresee another book or novella, if things turn out the way I think they will, but it's hard to make a committed, settled relationship work in fiction, long-term. All the tension is gone, and it becomes sort of boring to read about. To write about, too. So I don't want to drag things out forever. I know you guys love Rafe and Savannah - I do too - but at some point it'll be time to wave goodbye and let them get on with their lives.

Not quite yet, though.

The Next Big Thing - take 4

Welcome, boys and girls, to another round of The Next Big Thing, this one courtesy of the fabulous Lexi George. If you haven't read the fabulous Lexi's books - starting with Demon Hunting in Dixie - you must. And just to whet your appetite, here's the fabulous Lexi herself, reading the Weenie scene, at the Olde City, New Blood conference in St. Augustine in February.

 

 

 

And now, onto the Next Big Thing, which brings it back to me and my latest book.

1) What is the working title of your next book?

 

Change of Heart. It's the 6th book in the Savannah Martin mystery series, about a recovering Southern Belle realtor in Nashville, Tennessee, and the trouble she gets up to in love and in life.

2) Where did the idea come from for the book?

 

It's the 6th book in a series, so I'm always looking for plot ideas that might fit what I've already got going. The inciting incident - the incident that kicks off the action, namely Rafe sneaking out of bed at 6 AM - was just the next logical progression in the relationship, and then it became about what else might happen when Savannah was up and out earlier than usual. Catching Tim Briggs rinsing blood off his hands in the office sink became the next thing that happened, and it went from there.   

3) What genre does your book fall under?

 

It's a romantic mystery with an amateur female sleuth.

4) What actors would you choose to play the part of your characters in a movie rendition?

British-Nigerian actor O.T. Fagbenle looks a lot like I imagine Rafe in my head. Boris Kodjoe and Shemar Moore would be OK too, although they're both getting too old. And Savannah looks sort of like Faith Hill: a pretty and sexy girl-next-door type.

5) What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

It doesn't really have one. Or maybe I should say that I haven't taken the time to come up with one. The tagline on the book is "The honeymoon's over..."

6) Who is publishing your book?

It's part of my self-published series, so the short answer is, I am.

7) How long did it take you to write the first draft of the manuscript?

Two months. The amount of time it usually takes me to write this length book.

8) What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

Most people seem to think the Cutthroat Business books remind them of Stephanie Plum. Not surprisingly, since that's what I was reading when I wrote the first book. There's more emphasis on the romantic relationship, though. The series is really one long romance novel more than anything else. Unless the mysteries are directly related to the romantic relationship, they're more in the vein of background.

9) Who or what inspired you to write this book?

My readers! I thought the series was finished after five books, but so many people emailed me asking for more, that I figured I'd give it a try and see if I could get back into it. It's been nice, visiting with old friends. I just hope I've managed to recapture whatever magic the original books had!

10) What else about the book might pique the reader's interest?

I have no idea. It's just the next installment of the ongoing saga of Savannah and Rafe, you know?

 

* * *

Change of Heart is available in digital format from the following e-tailers, starting today:
 

 

AMAZON

 

BARNES AND NOBLE

SMASHWORDS

KOBO


Kobo, Apple, Sony and a few others are on their way.

A tiny tidbit of Kickout Clause

Now that DIY-7, Home for the Homicide, is safely on its way to New York and Berkley Prime Crime - and a week ahead of schedule, too! - I am reading through the first 144 pages of Kickout Clause, the 6th Cutthroat Business mystery, preparatory to getting back to work on it.

And I thought I'd share a little teaser for those of you who are eagerly awaiting the new release. It'll be sometime in May. Early May if the going's good, later May if something comes up or I can't keep up at my usual crazy pace. I have a little over half the book to go - 50,000 words or so; maybe 170 pages - and then it's yours, all yours.

But in the meantime, I thought you might enjoy this little excerpt from somewhere in - I think - chapter 4. Please forgive any errors; this is an unedited, unproofed excerpt and may or may not change in revisions.

I fully expected Rafe to slink in after I’d turned out the lights and attempted to go to sleep for a second night in a row. Imagine my surprise when he showed up around dinner time, as I was curled in a chair in the living room, deeply invested in the romance novel I had picked up at the grocery story this afternoon along with the hot chocolate and the cookies. I was enjoying a cup of cocoa and a few of the cookies too, since they’d only go to waste if I didn’t eat them.

The book was your classic tale of contemporary love, between the cold-hearted, money-grubbing billionaire and the sweet woman who turned him human. The tall, blond, gray-eyed hero had quite a lot in common with my ex-husband Bradley, not to mention Todd Satterfield, my brother’s best friend and the man my mother had designated as my second husband.   

My mother isn’t terribly fond of Rafe. Not to put too fine a point on it, but if there existed a list of all the men in the world my mother could imagine me getting involved with, Rafe would be at the bottom.

There are lots of reasons for this, beginning with his mother, his father, his grandmother, the rest of his family, his illegitimate child, his skin color, his past, his present, the fact that he seduced me, the fact that he knocked me up, the fact that he left me, the fact that he came back, the fact that he’s risked my life more times than mother is comfortable with—never mind the fact that he’s saved it a few times too. Most of all, it’s simply because he isn’t Todd. Mother wanted me to marry Todd. She’s dating Todd’s daddy, Sweetwater sheriff Bob Satterfield, while my brother Dix remains Todd’s best friend. If I were to marry Todd, it would set mother’s world to rights. And when I chose Rafe instead, let’s just say she wasn’t best pleased. Our relationship became official at Christmas, and she hasn’t quite gotten over it yet. I’ve done my best to keep the two of them apart since then, since my life is a lot easier that way.

Anyway, I was sitting there reading when Rafe walked in. First I heard the key in the door, and then steps in the hallway. A couple of thuds were the sound of his boots hitting the floor. A rustle was his leather jacket being hung on one of the hooks. And then I heard his footsteps padding down the hallway toward me, past the kitchen and the half bath, into the living room/dining room combination.

I looked up from the book, but I didn’t say anything. He didn’t either, for the first few seconds. We just looked at one another. And as usual, even in the midst of my worry and anger, the sight of him took my breath away.

It’s not just because he’s beautiful, although he is. Six foot three or so, all hard muscle and golden skin. LaDonna Collier was a blue-eyed blonde like me, while Tyrell Jenkins was black, and the combination is gorgeous. It’s also served Rafe quite well in his ten years of undercover work. He can look African-American, he can look Hispanic, he can look Middle Eastern or Greek, and dressed up in a suit and tie, he fits in quite well with the upper crust, too, as long as he tones down that far-from-upper-class Southern drawl.

At the moment he was dressed in a black T-shirt that pulled tight across his arms and shoulders, and a matching pair of cargo pants. With his hair in its usual barely-there crop, and with the viper tattoo on his arm peeking out from under the sleeve of the shirt, there was nothing refined or civilized about him at all. He looked hot as hell, and he also looked dangerous. I recognized the getup from early December, when he’d used it to play bouncer at La Havana nightclub.

As if to complete the picture, he reached behind him to pull out a gun and lay it on the coffee table, as easily and without fanfare as if it were an everyday occurrence. For him it was, or used to be. For me, it was becoming more so.

And then he sauntered around the table to brace his hands on the arms of the chair I was sitting in, one on each side of me. “Evening, darlin’.”

When he leaned in to kiss me, I turned my face aside. “You smell like smoke.”

There was a beat while nothing happened, and I could feel his breath against my cheek. Then he straightened. “Yeah?”

I already wished I could take it back, but it was too late. He didn’t wait for me to answer, just turned on his heel. “Guess I’d better take care of that.” He peeled the T-shirt up over his head as he sauntered toward the door to the bedroom and the shower beyond. Muscles moved smoothly under golden skin, and my tongue got stuck to the roof of my mouth. So much for pretending I was unaffected.

I thought he might disappear into the bedroom without looking back, but I guess he knows me too well. When he glanced over his shoulder as he passed through the doorway, the look on my face as I watched him must have told him everything he needed to know, because he winked. “Hold that thought, darlin’.”

No problem. I closed the romance novel and used it to fan myself.

 

# # #

The Cutthroat Business Christmas Novella is live!

Happy Holidays, y'all!

The Cutthroat Business Christmas novella went live today on Amazon, Kobo and Smashwords. iTunes goes through Smashwords and so takes a bit longer, and BN is also dragging their heels and still "processing." However, it's coming on all channels pretty shortly.

FYI, it's a sweet little story - only 18,000 words - about "the morning after": Christmas Day, the day after A Done Deal ended.

Savannah's looking at Rafe and the rest of her life - which includes a pair of fur-lined handcuffs and an economy sized box of 365 condoms, one of which plays Santa, Baby... but not until after they both survive Christmas dinner with the Martins.

And with Margaret Anne at her most poisonously polite, and no help from Catherine or Dix - both of whom are too busy laughing their heads off at Rafe's Christmas sweater - not to mention a jewelry box with a ring under the tree... well, there are no guarantees that Rafe will want to stick around after dessert.

There's no real mystery about this one; just a nice romantic (and funny) holiday treat for everyone who's asked when the next book's coming.

(And speaking of that... the next book will probably be coming in the spring, maybe April or May - I have to finish writing it first, and I have two other books due first - but the first chapter of Kickout Clause is attached to the holiday novella as a teaser. If you needed more incentive to buy it...)

As you were, happy and healthy...

The Next Big Thing

The fabulous Joyce Tremel threatened invited me to take part in this blog chain thing going around called The Next Big Thing. It's for writers, and has to do with our WIPs - or Works in Progress, for the uninitiated.

The deal is, someone tags you, you answer ten question about a new or recent project, and you tag five more people who wait a week and do the same. Joyce tagged me last week (check out her post and her WIP here), and I'm hereby tagging the following victims... um... writers for next week:

Jamie Lee Scott
Teresa Watson
Jody Wallace
Diane Alberts
Chloe Jacobs

Be sure to visit their blogs next week to learn about their WIPs.

Now, onto the good stuff:

What is your working title of your book?

Contingent On Approval - a real estate term that means that someone's concent or agreement is necessary to move forward with the transaction.   

Where did the idea come from for the book?

It’s a novella that takes place right after the events of A Done Deal, my 5^th Cutthroat Business mystery that was released last Christmas. It ends on Christmas Eve, with the hero and the heroine tumbling into bed together. It’s taken them five books to get there. Not physically, because they’ve been in bed together before, but to a point in their relationship where they’re actually committed to one another.

I thought the series was over at that point, or at least I never really planned past it. But as I was reading a lot of holiday novellas myself last Christmas, the idea came that maybe I should write Savannah and Rafe’s version of a Christmas novella.

I played with it a little last year, but then I had to start working on other things because deadlines were coming due. I picked it up again a week or so ago, and aim to have it finished and out by December 1. My very first novella!

What genre does your book fall under?

The Cutthroat Business series has been either a five-book mystery series or one long romance, depending on how you look at it. To me, it was always about the relationship between the two main characters, with the romance taking place against the backdrop of the mysteries, so to speak... but I suppose someone else might call it a mystery series with a romantic subplot. Either way, the novella is mostly just a little romantic interlude with not much mystery about it. The biggest question is whether Rafe will survive dinner with Margaret Anne Martin, Savannah’s sainted mother, who is fully capable of slicing a man to ribbons with nothing but her tongue—and whether he’ll still want to be involved with Savannah afterwards.

Which actors would you choose to play your characters in a movie rendition?

Ever since I saw Agatha Christie’s By the Pricking of My Thumbs (2006) with O.T. Fagbenle as Chris Murphy, I’ve pictured him as Rafe. If I can’t have him, I’d settle for either Shemar Moore or Boris Kodjoe, although they’re both about 8-10 years too old for the role by now. As for Savannah... I’m not really sure. I’ve always imagined her a bit like Faith Hill: pretty, blonde, and Southern, a girl-next-door type rather than a femme fatale.   

What is the one-sentence synopsis of your book?

Guess who’s coming to (Christmas) dinner? Or maybe, Will Rafe and Savannah survive Christmas dinner with Savannah's sainted mother, or will Rafe decide Savannah isn't worth the trouble?  

Will your book be self-published or represented by an agency?

This is my self-published series – as opposed to the DIY books, which belong to Berkley and the Good Fortune series, which goes through Entangled Publishing – so the novella will be self-published.

How long did it take you to write the first draft of your manuscript?

I’m not done yet. I figure another week ought to do it, which will put me at about two weeks, all told. Rather a lot for a 20,000 word novella. I wrote 53K in 13 days in June...

What other books would you compare this story to within your genre?

If Janet Evanovich wrote a Christmas novella for Stephanie Plum, I guess maybe that’d come close. Gemma Halliday has a High Heels Christmas story, and Misa Ramirez has a Lola Cruz Christmas story... maybe something like that? It’s like any short novella wedged into an ongoing series, you know?

Who or what inspired you to write this book?

No one and nothing, other than that it seemed a logical continuation of the series as it stood. As for what inspired me to write the series in the first place, it was a combination of reading all the Stephanie Plum books, hearing Tasha Alexander tell me that if she could write a book and become published, I could too, and going through real estate school where there was a lot of talk about safety and empty houses. I had the idea for a new-minted realtor walking into an empty house and finding a dead body, and the rest, as they say, is history.

What else about your book might pique the reader’s interest?

I don’t imagine anything much will. People who have read the first five books in the series, will probably enjoy seeing Savannah and Rafe’s first day together as a couple, but this probably isn’t a good place for anyone not familiar with the series to jump off. I’m mostly just writing it for fun and to keep the readers happy while they wait for book 6, Kickout Clause, to be available in the spring,   

* * *

So there you have it. The nitty-gritty on this week's WIP, Contingent on Approval, in which Savannah wakes up in bed in the Martin Mansion in Sweetwater, looking at Rafe and the rest of her life... just as soon as they both live through Christmas dinner with Mama Martin. The novella should be available around December 1, or so I fondly hope.

Until next time!  

 

Out with the old, in with the new?

Got a question for you, fellow booklovers.

I write this series of books called the Cutthroat Business mysteries, right?

They're pretty good books, if I do say so myself, but they're hard to categorize. Not sweet enough for cozies, not enough sex for romantic suspense. Plus there's that pesky first person POV.

When I had the covers done for the series, I went with cute. Black silhouettes on brightly colored backgrounds. Like these:

However, I've been wondering if more people would pick up the books if they had different covers. Something less cute. More sexy.

So with that in mind, I spent a few hours this morning playing with GIMP. (Nice little photo manipulation program. Free. I haven't figured out how to do much with it yet, but I've grasped the basics.)

Here's what I came up with. Just two so far - it's hard to find more than a couple workable photographs with the same woman. I have one more, where she's holding a gun, but I'm saving it for a special occasion. Maybe book 3, Contract Pending. Lots of guns in that book. Savannah doesn't have any of them, but that's poetic license, right?

Like the silhouettes, these are brightly colored, but otherwise they're not really sweet at all. Nothing cozy about these. I like them, though. I'm just not sure anyone else will.

So what do you think, peeps? Stay with the old covers or make a few more new ones and go with those? If you were picking these up for the first time, which would grab your attention first?

And if you've read the books - and I hope some of you have - which do you think do the best job of visually capturing the feel of the series?

Inquiring minds want to know. :-)

A new frontier

Some of you may remember having heard me yap on about what I call my "science fiction futuristic romance space opera thingy" ... for lack of a more focused term.

I developed the idea more than a year ago: first in a piece of flash fiction my Working Stiffs blog buddy Wilfred Bereswill challenged me to write, after I told him I can't write anything short; and secondly in a class I took with the fabulous Heather Graham last fall. I was told by a lot of people it would be a hard sell, and that I probably shouldn't put too much effort into it... but to be honest, I had a hard time letting it go. Characters sometimes dig into your brain and refuse to give up, even when you know you should push them outta there and let them shrivel and die in the harsh light of real life.

In this case I didn't even try. Quinn's just one of those special people. I did my best to ignore him when I had other things to do, but I never made a concerted effort to get rid of him. Once in a while I'd even let him come out and play for a while.

Fast forward about a year: a month or so ago, I was yapping to another friend about it - the wonderful Misa Ramirez, author of the Lola Cruz mysteries from St. Martin's Minotaur and the Enchanted Dressmaking mysteries from NAL, as well as the marketing director for a new boutique publisher called Entangled Publishing ... and long story short, Misa asked to see the outline for the book. Then she asked if she could show it to one of the editors. And then she said the editor wanted a formal proposal for the series.

(Yes, in playing with the idea, it had morphed into a series. I told you I can't write anything short.)

And now I am extremely excited to be able to report that I have signed a four book contract for a series of sci fi romances about the crew of a space freighter called the Good Fortune. There'll be adventure, there'll be sex, there might be a little mystery and definitely some suspense, and hopefully some of you who read my mysteries will give these books a try as well. They're not very science fiction-y, I promise. They just happen to be set in a galaxy far, far away, but for all intents and purposes, they could take place right here on our own planet, as well. They're character books, just like the rest of what I write. Only, instead of - say - five mysteries making up one long romance, like the Cutthroat Business books, this is four romances making up one long adventure.

Check out the short outline for book 1, Fortune's Hero, scheduled for release sometime in 2012:

 To ensure their survival on a hostile planet, an escaped prisoner and his hostage must forge a partnership that changes them from enemies to reluctant allies and – eventually – to lovers.

Last year, space smuggler Quinn Conlan was on top of the world. He had everything a man could want: a fast ship, a great crew, a gorgeous girlfriend, lots of money, and adventure and excitement around every corner.

That all changed when he agreed to ferry a shipload of weapons to the beleaguered planet Marica, currently under siege by Rhenian forces. Now he’s stuck in a prison camp on the moon Marica-3, subjected to weekly sessions with the camp’s “medical team,” and praying for a quick death before he breaks under the torture and spills everything he knows about the Marican resistance.

When the opportunity presents itself, Quinn takes a Rhenian med tech hostage and heads into the inhospitable interior of the small moon. There, he has to keep himself and Doctor Elsa Brandeis safe from the deadly flora and fauna, as well as hidden from the prison guards searching for them, all while formulating a plan for getting his crew out of prison, his ship out of impound, and everyone out of orbit.

But when Elsa professes her love, can Quinn take the beautiful doctor at her word, or will trusting her—and his heart—condemn him and his crew to an eternity on Marica-3?

All that's left now is to write the book... after I finish the revisions on DIY-6 and the last half of A Done Deal. :-)

Excerpt - Contract Pending

From chapter 5-ish: Savannah's first meeting with Jorge Pena:

I turned toward the curb and the pale blue Volvo. Only to stop after a few steps when I saw that Mrs. Jenkins wasn’t alone.

For just a second—less; half a second, maybe—my heart stuttered in my chest at the sight of the man leaning on the car. Tall, dark, muscular... One arm braced above the passenger side window and dark head inclined toward Mrs. J, he was dressed in faded jeans that molded long legs and a nice posterior, while a plain white T-shirt stretched across broad shoulders and well-developed arms.

My breath caught in my throat, my stomach swooped... and then I realized that it wasn’t Rafe after all. Just another tall, dark, muscular guy in faded jeans and a T-shirt. One who was bugging Mrs. Jenkins.

“Excuse me!” I raised my voice and sped up, my heels clicking against the pavement. “Sir!”

The man straightened and turned. Up close and from the front, he looked less like Rafe. The coloring was the same—dark hair and eyes, golden skin—but this guy’s hair was longer than Rafe’s, straight and shiny, slicked back. Rafe keeps his hair cropped short. The man had a trim goatee, while Rafe stays clean-shaven, and he had an earring, a small silver cross, that Rafe doesn’t have. He also had some sort of tattoo—a dragon or demon, maybe; something green and scaly—that extended a claw above the neck of the T-shirt in the back, and around the side of his throat. And though the eyes were the same—brown bordering on black, deep and dark, fringed with long, sooty lashes any woman would sell her soul for—the expression in them was different. Where Rafe rarely looks at me without some form of amusement, even when he’s about to kiss me and his gaze is hot enough to scorch, this guy’s eyes were flat and expressionless.

“Can I help you?” I came to a stop in front of him. He was a little shorter than Rafe, too. Just an inch or so over six feet tall.

He looked me over. From head to toe and back. If it had been Rafe, the inspection would have been slow, insolent, appreciative, and ending in a killer grin. It would have made my cheeks flush and my stomach quiver. This appraisal made a chill go down my spine. There was no feeling there. No appreciation, no curiosity, no anger—nothing but cold assessment.

I forced myself not to show a reaction. “Sir?”

“I’m looking for Rafe.” His voice was low, harsh, with a hint of an accent. Not Southern. That was different, too. Rafe’s voice is husky and warm. Only when he’s angry do his voice and eyes go dead and flat, like this man’s.

“That’s quite a coincidence,” I said. “So am I. I’m sure Mrs. Jenkins told you we haven’t seen him for more than a month?”

I leaned sideways, to try to get a bead on Mrs. J, in the front seat of the Volvo. Just to make sure she was OK and still breathing. The way this guy was looking at me, I wouldn’t put it past him to have slit Mrs. Jenkins’s throat if he didn’t get the answers he wanted.

She was still alive. Staring straight ahead, her wrinkled face blank. I recognized the expression, or rather, the lack thereof. Clearly, whatever the guy had said or done to her, had scared her practically witless. She’d retreated into this place she goes, where she isn’t living in the same world as the rest of us anymore. She gets a vacant look in her eyes, and she babbles. About old Jim Collier shooting her son Tyrell, about Walker Lamont cutting Brenda Puckett’s throat, about Walker coming after the two of us with a gun... The poor dear has had some tough breaks in her life, and obviously, being related to Rafe isn’t destined to make anything easier for her.

I added, pulling my attention back to the man in front of me, “He left almost six weeks ago. He mentioned Memphis, although that could have been just a ruse. No one’s heard from him since. For all I know, he’s dead.”

The man parted his lips, just far enough to squeeze out a few words. “He ain’t dead.” The unspoken last word of that sentence, I thought, was yet.

It took another superhuman effort to keep my voice from shaking. “I’m sorry. As I told you, we haven’t heard from him. Not since he left. I’m sure he’ll be back sooner or later, but I have no idea when. And I doubt I’ll get advance warning. He usually just shows up. One day I’ll turn around, and there he’ll be.” Please, God...

The man didn’t answer. Just kept looking at me with those dead eyes.

“I’ll be happy to give him a message,” I offered, a little desperately. Maybe that would make him leave. “Whenever he comes home. Or in case he calls.”

The man looked at me again. Up and down. The regard was still impersonal, but his eyes lingered for a second longer than necessary on my legs and on the top button of my blouse. And on my throat. I paled. It was only too easy to guess what he was thinking, and I hadn’t meant that I wanted to be the message.

He must have seen the realization on my face, because he smiled. Chillingly. By which I mean that the corners of his mouth stretched, but his eyes stayed the same. “Tell him to watch his back.”

I nodded. Fervently. “I can do that. When I see him. Or talk to him. Whenever that will be.”

He nodded. And turned on his heel and walked away. 

# # # 

 

Contract Pending is the third book in the Cutthroat Business mystery series featuring Realtor® and Southern Belle Savannah Martin.

 

It's available in electronic format from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords.

#SampleSunday - a taste of Contract Pending

A few pages from chapter 2 of Contract Pending for your enjoyment:

Chapter 2

“Spicer and Truman found her walking down the street in her housecoat and slippers,” Detective Grimaldi said twenty minutes later.

I had driven hell for leather into downtown, found a parking space a block and a half from Police Plaza, and hoofed it up to her office with five seconds to spare, only to find her entertaining Tondalia Jenkins, who was drinking Diet Pepsi and eating peanut butter crackers from a vending machine, in front of a TV in the lounge. Her fuzzy slippers were dirty and worn through on the bottom—clearly not meant for walking long distances outside—and her hair stood out at weird angles to her head, the way it had back when she was living in an old folks’ home where nobody cared for her.

“They drove her back to the house, but no one was there. Since they didn’t feel good about leaving her by herself, to wander off again, they brought her to me.”

“And you called me,” I said. She shrugged unapologetically.

“I figured you’d be the most likely person to know how to get in touch with her grandson.”

We were standing in the doorway to the lounge, keeping an eye on Mrs. Jenkins, but far enough away that she couldn’t hear our conversation. Or so I thought.

“You figured wrong. I have no idea how to get in touch with Rafe. I haven’t heard from him since he left. For all I know, he’s been dead for the past five weeks.”

Mrs. Jenkins glanced up at that, her beady eyes concerned. I mustered a smile. “Sorry, Mrs. Jenkins. I’m sure he’s not. I just haven’t heard from him, is all.”

I lowered my voice again, and added, for Detective Grimaldi’s benefit, “And I have absolutely no idea how to get in touch with him.”

“He didn’t tell you where he was going? Give you a phone number to use in case of emergencies? Call or write?” Tamara Grimaldi’s voice was disbelieving. I shook my head.

“He mentioned Memphis, in a throwaway sort of way, but he didn’t actually say he was going there. And the only phone number I’ve ever had for him, is the one I gave you back in August, after Perry Fortunato’s… um… death. You said it had been disconnected.”

“And you have no other way of getting in touch with him?”

“None at all,” I said firmly. “Have you tried asking Julio Melendez? You’ve still got him locked up, right? Or what about Ishmael Jackson? Doesn’t one of them know how to find him? What would Julio do if he had another job for Rafe?”

“According to Julio,” Detective Grimaldi said, with a wolfish snap of strong, white teeth, “Mr. Collier was the one who approached him, not vice versa.”

I opened my eyes wide. “You don’t believe that, do you?”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. It doesn’t matter what he says, either, because he can’t prove it. We can’t even prove that Mr. Collier was involved. He left town before I had the chance to ask him about it, but all he’d have to do, would be to say that he knew Julio and Ishmael and the others socially, but that he wasn’t involved in anything criminal. There’s no law against playing pool, even with known felons.”

I hid a smile. “Sorry to hear that.”

“No, you’re not. But that’s neither here nor there. Right at the moment, I need to get in touch with him because his grandmother is all alone and wandering around. If we can’t find him and get him to make alternative arrangements, we’ll have to put her back into the Milton House for the time being.”

Mrs. Jenkins’s hearing must have been acute when it came to things that mattered to her, because she looked up at the name of the nursing home where she had spent a few miserable weeks. Brenda Puckett had arranged for her to live there, after she had swindled Mrs. Jenkins out of her house, and as soon as Brenda’s murder was solved, the first thing Rafe did was get his grandmother out of the Milton House and back into her old home.

“You can’t do that!” I protested, turning away so Mrs. Jenkins couldn’t read my lips. “It’s a horrible place. They never combed her hair or washed her clothes or did anything nice for her.”

“Well, what do you suggest?”

“The best thing would be to find Marquita Johnson. Any idea where she is?”

“None at all,” Tamara Grimaldi said. “From what I understand, she got a phone call on Saturday afternoon, and left. Mrs. Jenkins thought she went to Sweetwater to see her children.”

I nodded. “That’s what she told me too, when I was there on Saturday. I was a little worried about leaving her by herself, but she assured me that Marquita would be home by evening. She said Marquita goes to Sweetwater to visit her children regularly.”

“From what we can gather, she didn’t come back. I’ve contacted the sheriff down there…”

“Bob Satterfield,” I said. She nodded.

“He talked to her ex-husband, apparently he’s a deputy sheriff…”

I nodded. “Cletus Johnson. They’ve been separated for a while.”

“He claimed not to have spoken to her since last week sometime, and he certainly didn’t call her on Saturday to tell her to come down to Sweetwater. They’re fighting over custody and visitation rights, and he’s not about to give her any more time with those children than he has to.”

“What a guy,” I said. Detective Grimaldi snorted.

“Though he told us that if anything had happened to her, he knew who was to blame.”

“Let me guess. Rafe Collier.”

The detective nodded. “Some history there, I take it.”

“Marquita had a crush on Rafe in high school. Cletus liked her, but she wouldn’t give him the time of day when Rafe was around. Then Rafe went to jail and Cletus and Marquita got married. I don’t think Rafe had anything to do with their splitting up, but I guess Cletus felt he needed someone to blame.”

“I’m sure,” Detective Grimaldi agreed. “We’ll keep looking for her, of course, but aside from talking to her friends and acquaintances down there, there’s not a lot we can do. Sheriff Satterfield said he’d tell his officers to keep an extra eye out as they go about their business, just in case someone has seen her. In the meantime, I have to decide what to do about Mrs. Jenkins.”

I nodded gloomily. She continued, “I don’t really have a desire to put her back into the Milton House—I was there with you, remember, and I know what it’s like—but Mrs. Puckett did pay for her care there, so they wouldn’t be able to turn her away, and sad as it is to admit, it’s a nicer place than some I’ve seen.”

“That’s a scary thought.”

“She can’t stay in her house alone. That’s a disaster waiting to happen, and I won’t allow it.”

“So what do you suggest?” I asked, as if I didn’t already know.

She grinned. “Didn’t you tell me that Mr. Collier asked you to keep an eye on her while he was away? Maybe you can move in with her until we either find Miss Johnson or until Mr. Collier comes back.”

I had known what was coming, but that didn’t mean I liked hearing it. “What am I going to do with her when I have to go show a house? Or write a contract? I have a committee meeting for the Eye Ball tonight, although I suppose I can cancel that. But I also have a date with Todd tomorrow. And believe me, he’s not going to be happy about me bringing Rafe’s grandmother along. Anyone’s grandmother, really, but especially Rafe’s.”

Tamara Grimaldi smirked. “I met Todd Satterfield once, did I tell you that?”

“He told me. He said he gave you those pictures of Rafe and Ishmael Jackson and the others, that he got from his tame P.I. back in September. Isn’t there a law against civilians hiring private investigators to follow other civilians around?”

“You’d think,” Detective Grimaldi said, “but you’d be wrong. Anyway, I formed the impression that Mr. Satterfield doesn’t care for Mr. Collier, or for anyone associated with him. I’d cancel that date, if I were you.”

“On the other hand, it would almost be worth bringing her, just to see his face.” I grinned unbecomingly for a moment, and then got myself under control again. “I guess I don’t have much of a choice. I mean, I promised Rafe I’d look after her. She can move in with me. I’d rather do that, than spend days or weeks in that house on Potsdam Street. I’m sure it’s not haunted, but I still avoid looking into the library whenever I’m there, just in case. And it’s where Walker tried to kill me, too. I have bad memories of the place. I’d rather stay in my apartment. I’ve only got one bedroom, but she can have that, and I’ll sleep on the sofa. And if I have to go show houses, she can come with me. I’ll just have to cancel Todd and the Eye Ball.”

The Eye Ball is a charitable event benefiting the optometry department at Vanderbilt Hospital. I was doing some volunteer work for them, preparing for the gala.

“Sounds like you’ve got a lot to figure out,” Detective Grimaldi said pleasantly. “Don’t let me keep you.”

Right. “I suppose you have work to do?”

“Two dead in a house fire, both with bullets through their brains, and a fatality during a domestic brawl. A woman stabbed her husband four times with a carving knife. Thanks for asking.”

I was sorry I had.

“If you think of any way to get in touch with Mr. Collier, let me know. I’ll let the Memphis PD and the TBI know we’re looking for him, just in case he shows up on their radar. And I’ll let you know if I find out anything about Marquita Johnson.”

“Please do. Believe me, the sooner you find either her or Rafe, the happier I’ll be.”

Detective Grimaldi didn’t answer, but she smiled.

# # #

Contract Pending will be available on or around July 1 from Amazon, BN, and Smashwords.

#SampleSunday - Hot Property

Here's the last little tidbit from Hot Property; Savannah is sitting her first open house since her friend Lila was murdered, and she's a mite nervous that the Open House Bandits will pay her a visit:

I was still in the kitchen, looking at my list of names, when I heard the sound of an engine pulling up outside. The oven clock said 3:50 right on the dot, and my heart started beating faster. The rumbling was replaced by silence, and then I heard the sound of heavy boots on the flagstone steps. The door knob turned just as I hurried into the front foyer. The door opened and a man came in. He was tall and dark, with broad shoulders under a black leather jacket, and long legs encased in faded denim. His skin was the color of coffee with plenty of milk, a warm golden tan, and the eyes that scanned the room before landing on me, were as dark and melting as those on a Cocker Spaniel, and surrounded by a thick fringe of long, sooty lashes. They were also rimmed by a smudgy bruise of fatigue, a mute testament to a long and mostly sleepless night. When I didn’t say anything for a second, just stared at him, he flashed a grin. “Cat got your tongue, darlin’?”

My vocal chords were galvanized into cooperating as my cheeks turned pink. “You took your time getting back to me.”

He quirked a brow. “I didn’t know you’d called.”

“I didn’t call,” I said. “I left word with Marquita.”

“I ain’t been over there for a while.” He wandered closer to me, assessing the O’Keeffe, the baby grand, and the antiques along the way. “Your kind of place, ain’t it? All this old stuff.”

I shook my head. “The house is too modern. When you grow up in an 1839 mansion on the Antebellum Trail, a brand new house, no matter how ostentatious, just doesn’t cut it.”

Rafe didn’t answer, but he smiled. I flushed, feeling stupid. He had spent his childhood in a trailer in the Bog, surrounded by leaning walls and a leaking roof, so this place probably looked like a palace.

Then again, Mrs. Jenkins’s house on Potsdam Street, where he lived now – at least from time to time – wasn’t anything to sneeze at, either. Circa 1889, it was a three-story Victorian with a ballroom on the third floor and a circular tower on the southeast corner. It needed a ton of work, some of which he had done, some which he hadn’t gotten around to yet, but it had all the personality this cookie-cutter McMansion lacked.

“So what’s been going on,” I asked, “that you haven’t been over to see your grandmother lately?”

“I spent the night with Tammy Grimaldi.” His voice was so even that it took a moment for the words to sink in. Just as the realization of what he’d said sucker-punched me in the stomach, he added, “So what is it you want, darlin’?”

“Want?” I repeated blankly.

“If you went toe to toe with Marquita, you gotta want something. What is it?”

“Oh. Right. Sorry.” I grimaced. “I wanted to tell you that Lila Vaughn was dead. But if you spent the night with Tamara Grimaldi, I guess you already know that.”

His eyes were opaque. “The subject came up, yeah.”

“Pillow talk?”

Try as I might – and I wasn’t trying that hard – my voice came out sounding snippier than I wanted it to. His lips curved.

“Never mind,” I added, with what little dignity I could muster. Goodness, how humiliating! I wouldn’t blame him for thinking I was jealous.

His voice was easy. “You’re giving me too much credit, darlin’. Women like Tammy Grimaldi don’t look twice at somebody like me.”

“You haven’t heard the way she asks questions about you,” I answered.

He laughed. “That ain’t cause she likes me, darlin’. She probably thinks I’m doing something I shouldn’t be.”

“And are you?” The words just fell out of my mouth without conscious thought, and Rafe chuckled.

“I’m sure I’m doing plenty of stuff I shouldn’t be.”

“Like what?”

“You sure you wanna know, darlin’?”

I hesitated. For just long enough to make it difficult to say yes. “You said you had things to do this afternoon,” I said instead. “What happened?”

He shrugged. “Change of plans.”

“Well, if you didn’t speak to Marquita and get my message, how did you know I wanted to talk to you?”

That was easy, he didn’t.

“So what are you doing here?” I asked.

“Maybe I just came by to pick up where we left off last week.” He grinned, and I took an immediate step back, fetching up against the nearest piece of antique furniture with a bump that sent the elegant console-table knocking against the wall. He laughed. “Relax, darlin’. After Tammy told me what’d happened to Lila, I wanted to make sure you were all right.”

“I see,” I said. “That’s really quite nice of you, to take time out to check on me. Do you want to go back to her, now that you’ve seen that I’m all right?”

He laughed. “What exactly d’you think we were doing, darlin’? I spent the night in jail. She hauled me in for questioning around 8 o’clock yesterday, kept at me till one in the morning, let me sleep for five hours, and came back to work at seven. Then we kept going in circles till one, when she finally let me leave. I had to tell her you were waiting for me before she’d let me out of her sight. She’s probably outside right now, making sure I’m doing what I said I was gonna do.”

“So you’re only here because you told her you would be?”

He shrugged, looking around. “You alone?”

“No, actually. There’s a young couple around somewhere. They went back that way, to look at the master suite...” I pointed, “it must be ten minutes ago now.”

And they hadn’t come back yet.

Maybe Gary Lee and Charlene had overheard our conversation and decided to make themselves scarce until we had finished. Or maybe they’d exited from the master suite out onto the deck, and had gone around the house to their car that way. Maybe I really was alone. Except for Rafe, who was making me feel just a touch apprehensive. “Why do you ask?”

“Just wondering. Busy day?”

“Not too bad. Seventeen visitors, eighteen with you. I’ve seen worse.”

“You sure you shouldn’t check up on your couple? If you ain’t heard a noise for ten minutes, they could be up to all sorts of trouble. Going through the medicine cabinets, pocketing the silverware, strangling one another...”

I shook my head. “They’re nice kids. Newlyweds looking for their first house. I met them two weeks ago at your grandmother’s open house, and I’ve shown them a couple of homes since then. They have another they want to see tomorrow. They’re not doing anything wrong.”

“It’s almost time to close up, though. You don’t wanna leave nobody behind.”

I glanced at my watch. “If they’re not out here in two minutes, I’ll go look for them. Just out of curiosity, why are you being so helpful? You don’t have a moving truck on standby outside, do you?”

“After what happened to Lila? No, darlin’. I ain’t that stupid.”

“Good to know,” I said, wondering whether he really had just admitted that he’d been involved in the open house robberies or if my imagination was running away with me.

“Course, if you’ve got a hankering for being tied up, I could oblige just to make you happy.”

“After what happened to Lila?” I said. “No, thanks. I’m not that stupid.”

“Good to know,” Rafe said with a grin.

# # # 

So there you have it. The last little tidbit of Hot Property, the second Cutthroat Business mystery. The book, as well as the other two, are available from Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and Smashwords for a mere $3.99. A steal, I assure you. What are you waiting for?   

Since you asked...

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