Isabel Long Mystery Series

Missing the Deadline now in paperback

It’s a fact of my writing life that most of my book sales are digital. I’ve grown to accept that because it means attracting — and hopefully keeping — readers far from where I live. But I have great news for those who prefer a book in hand. Missing the Deadline, no. seven in my Isabel Long Mystery Series, is now available in that format.

So I will jump right to it, here is the link to Missing the Deadline.

As my publisher, darkstroke books, prefers, the Kindle version is released first, typically three months before the paperback is released. Frankly, I find the release of both an exciting development.

So, what’s this book about?

As it has happened before, Isabel finds her next case in an unlikely place — at a poetry reading. Cyrus Nilsson, aka the Big Shot Poet, is trying to make amends to the late Cary Moore, who you might remember was a highway worker who wrote poetry good enough for him to steal. He was even a suspect in that case, Isabel’s third. But the reading is to promote Cary’s book, ‘Country Boy,’ which Cyrus worked hard to get published.

Cyrus asks Isabel about taking on a case after the event, which was SRO at Penfield Town Hall. So, what’s this one about? Cyrus’s first literary agent, Gerald Danielson, was found shot in the head and near death outside his home three years ago.

Gerald survived but is not the same hotshot literary agent who moved from New York City to the village of Meadows Falls. Police ruled a failed attempt at suicide. But Cyrus has serious doubts. 

And as Isabel pursues this case, she quickly accumulates a list of possible suspects, such as a vindictive ex-wife, a jilted local writer, and even an apparently devoted sister who lives with him. 

Isabel also delves into the often frustrating world of publishing, which includes a trip to a literary conference in Vermont. She also explores a part of the hilltowns that is unfamiliar to her.

(By the way, Maria, Isabel’s mother and “Watson,” is glad to have a case once again. She says it’s boring without one.)

The books in my Isabel Long Mystery Series can stand alone, so you don’t need to read the first Chasing the Case. But it’s always my hope is that I will hook you into reading the rest.

PS I am half-way through Finding the Source, no. 8. 

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Hilltown Postcards

Following a Mislead about Mastodon Bones

After being the Worthington correspondent for years, I took on two more hilltowns: Chesterfield and Cummington. These days predated the social media we have now, so that required bona fide legwork. Fridays was my day to call sources in each town, which included officials, school secretaries, and people generally plugged in to their community. I also drove around, making a couple of stops at town halls and such. I called it “checking the traps.” When I became an editor that’s what I advised the reporters to do. It’s also the title for one of my Isabel Long Mysteries.

One of favorite sources was Ron Berenson, who used to co-own the Old Creamery Grocery in Cummington, population less than 800. Ron, who was a transplant from New Jersey, was a lawyer and had worked in PR, so he had a keen interest in news. He knew how to chat up the customers. He tipped me to so many stories and only misled me once, but it would have been a great one if it’d been true.

Ron called to say two archeologists from MIT had stopped at the store to say mastodon bones had been found in the Swift River section of Cummington, a discovery of immense proportions. “I wanted you to get the story before the New York Times and the Globe,” my loyal source told me.

So I drove to Swift River, following Ron’s directions. I parked the car at the end of a dirt road just as a state wildlife truck was pulling out, which I took as a good clue.

But as I hiked in the snowy woods to a clearing, I didn’t find a crew of scientists or equipment or even footprints. All I saw was the paw prints of bear, massive ones, but I kept searching for an hour or so, trying different roads until I returned to the store.

Ron was incredulous that I didn’t find anything, the men had been so serious, but then a customer overhearing our conversation started laughing. The night before on the TV show, “Northern Exposure,” two characters played the same trick on the locals. Now the laugh was on us.

I used to tease Ron about the story, but I didn’t hold it against him. He and I had been duped together.

But too bad, it would have been a great story it were true.

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The Twin Jinn

Free Magic from The Twin Jinn

I am not a magician and, sadly, I don’t have magical powers although I wish I did. So, instead I created magical characters in a book for middle-grade readers — The Twin Jinn at Happy Jack’s Carnival of Mysteries. And to spread that magic to young readers, I am making the Kindle version free for two days March 2 and 3.

My own childhood was steeped in imaginative play. This was out of necessity as I lived a rather sheltered life. My parents, the children of immigrants, didn’t get the concept that we could play at a friend’s house. That’s what family is for. And so that’s what happened.

My chief playmate was my sister, Christine. One of us would think up a fantasy to play with the invitation: “Let’s pretend …” I don’t remember all of the scenarios we or our dolls acted, but that doesn’t matter. What I do remember is that during those hours we spent together, we were delightfully in another world.

Another outlet was reading. I spent hours and hours — in the summer staying up late — lost in those words.

And when I became a mother, I enjoyed watching my children do the same.

Now the words “let’s pretend” is the motivation behind my writing fiction. I sit in front of my laptop and let my imagination take over whether it’s written for adult or young readers. For this book, I circled back to those times in the backyard when my sister and I played, or upstairs in my bedroom reading a book I couldn’t put down.

First, I’ve always been fascinated by genies. Yes, there’s that Aladdin story. But my genies or jinn, as I prefer to call them, don’t live in lamps. In the first book — The Twin Jinn at Happy Jack’s Carnival of Mysteries — they live and have a magic act in a traveling carnival. Of course, their magic is just one of their many powers such as being invisible, flying, casting spells, oh, the list goes on. 

The twins are Jute and Fina, brother and sister who are 11 by human age. They are sweet but mischievous and like so many siblings, competitive. Their parents, Jeffer and Mira, are protective, but that’s because they tricked their evil master into letting them go. Yes, he’s trying to find them.

Pretending with The Jinn family is so much fun that I completed two more books, and a third is halfway done. I plan to continue publishing them, because I want to inspire young readers and anyone else who loves magical realism.

Currently, I am recording The Twin Jinn at Happy Jack’s Carnival of Mysteries for an audiobook at my son, Nate’s Mudroom Sound Studio. By the way, my son, Ezra, created the illustration for the cover, which I believe captures the playfulness of the characters. Look for The Twin Jinn and the Alchemy Machine, second in the series, soon.

Curious? Here’s the link: The Twin Jinn at Happy Jack’s Carnival of Mysteries

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Hilltown Postcards

Ernie Nugent — One of the Good Guys

I wrote this piece about Ernie Nugent after he left us eight years ago. Here it is slightly revised for this Hilltown Postcard.

We knew Ernie and his large, extended family when we lived in Worthington, a hilltown in Western Massachusetts. He worked on the town’s three-man highway crew for over three decades, including as its road boss before he retired.

Ernie and his wife, Deen, who have two daughters, lived a short distance from us and across the road from a brother named Bert. Brothers with those two names has always been a source of amusement.

Our son, Nate, knew him best. Ernie hayed the farm across the road in the Ringville section, where we lived first in that town. He also raised pigs there. They were good buddies.

Through Ernie, Nate got to know the part of country living that was close to the earth — and all about machinery. When he was a teenager, Nate was Ernie’s extra hand, driving a tractor or farm truck. I recall looking out the kitchen window when I was washing dishes to see Ernie take down a hog with one shot, and then Nate helping him get it ready for butchering.

Nate and Ernie had a special bond. He often joined Ernie when he plowed the roads, riding for hours in the cab of the truck. Ernie would stop the truck at the end of our driveway for Nate to join him.

One year, Ernie rigged up a plow to an old rider mower so Nate could clear our driveway. (I guess it stuck. Nate works as a union heavy equipment operator.)

I knew Ernie from when I was a reporter, covering the hilltowns. I’d call the highway departments for an update whenever we had a bad winter storm, or in the midst of mud season or a road project.

Ernie wasn’t a talkative guy. I recall covering one Worthington Town Meeting, where residents were voting on the budget and other items. On the agenda was the purchase of a new dump truck for the highway department.

A smart-alecky newcomer got up and wanted a justification for the purchase. So the moderator asked Ernie, who was road boss, whether the town needed to buy a new highway truck. Ernie stood, said “yup” and sat down. And, after a good laugh, the voters passed it.

Here’s to Ernie Nugent who lived and worked well. He was the salt of the earth.

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life

My Two Big Feet

I have big feet. How big you ask? Size 11½ women’s. I stopped growing late in high school, but my feet kept going, long and skinny, through my twenties from size 9 to 10 to what they are now. Trying to find nice shoes became an exercise in futility.

I am also cursed — or blessed — with second toes longer than the big ones so they stick out. I believe I could fit into a size 11 if they were regular size, but they aren’t. It’s also called Morton’s toe, Greek toe, turkey toe, and royal toe. People have tried to make me feel better by saying it’s a sign I am descended from royalty and that I am a leader. I read that the Vikings believe a long second toe predicts a long life.

All of that is interesting, but it doesn’t make it easier for me to find shoes that fit. 

For years I was forced to wear men’s shoes and sneakers, but as my feet are also narrow, they never fit well. I recall a shoe salesman smirking when I asked for a men’s black dress shoe in 10½ narrow. He made a stupid remark. I walked out. 

Once in Boston’s Chinatown, I tried to buy black, cotton shoes and was told “no woman should have feet that big.” Ouch.

So, buying shoes became a dreaded purchase. Stores would claim they had shoes size 11 and over but they weren’t designed well. I was better off with men’s.

Ah, but things turned around a bit when I found shoes made in Europe. I remember the grand feeling of walking out of a store wearing comfortable shoes made for women that were pretty. They’re awfully pricy but worth it. Plus they last years, so, thank goodness, I don’t have to go through this experience very often. I also once found 11½ women’s sneakers, narrow, and sandals in a sporting goods store.

When we lived in Taos, New Mexico, I decided to treat myself to vintage cowboy boots. Well, they would have to be cowboy and not cowgirl boots because I doubted I would find a women’s size I could wear. 

I told Lindsey at Horse Feathers in Taos, when that store was still in business, about my long, skinny feet. I tried several pairs but most were too wide and floppy. With his wry, Western humor, Lindsey kept going through the store’s selection collected from around the country until he found a pair of Lucchese boots with brown tooled leather. Nice heel. A 9½ D. Who would have thought?

The fit wasn’t perfect but it was pretty good. Lindsey said to take the boots home for two days, wear them with thick socks — I had on thin dress socks that day — and then come back. I did as he said and also added an arch support insert. 

I went back Horse Feathers to happily complete the purchase and that night, I gave those boots a good polish. That’s them in the photo above.

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