Tag Archives: Bars

Isabel Long Mystery Series

A Bar in Every Isabel Long Mystery

One constant in my Isabel Long Mystery Series is that each book has a bar. Make that two in Missing the Deadline, the seventh, which has Dec. 21 release.

The fictional hilltowns of Western Massachusetts are the setting for this series. I am talking about towns that have a thousand people or so. Many are a one-store, one-school, and one-church kind of town. Some might even have one bar, and for those that do, it is often a gathering spot for the locals. That’s certainly true in Conwell, where Isabel Long, the series’ protagonist, lives. 

Jack Smith owns the Rooster Bar and Grille, and Isabel pours beer and the occasional mixed drink or cheap wine from a box on Friday nights when a band plays. She and Jack have a relationship, which makes for some interesting interaction since he’s a local guy and she’s a newcomer.

And the Rooster’s customers, especially those Isabel calls the True Blue Regulars, are often great sources for the cold cases she’s taken on as a private investigator. Keen-eyed Isabel also observes the romances, lasting or not, that happen at the Rooster. My lips are sealed but Missing the Deadline has one of the most unlikely romantic hookups that starts at the Rooster.

Jack Smith runs a friendly bar, but do something stupid and you’re out for six months. Do it again, and you might be banned forever. It took an intervention from Isabel to allow the Beaumont brothers back in, but then again, they did come to her rescue in a couple of her cases.

Baxter’s is another bar in my series. It’s more of a biker bar, and Dave Baxter, the owner, isn’t so particular about who drinks there. In fact, many of the people who got kicked out of the Rooster are customers. Isabel will visit Dave because he knows what’s going on in the town of Caulfield and beyond. Sometimes she meets people of interest there. It’s a little tricky because Dancin’ Dave, his secret nickname, obviously has the hots for Isabel, but the feeling isn’t reciprocal.

One other bar has appeared in my series, Red’s Corner Lounge, in Dillard. This is a seedy little joint that was the setting for a pivotal scene in Killing the Story, the fourth in the series. The way the eighth book is going, I imagine Isabel will be making another visit there.

My hilltown books that are not part of the series have their own bars; The Sweet Spot; The Sacred Dog, which is actually the name of a bar, inspired by the owner’s loyal pet; and Northern Comfort. 

One of the fun parts about writing this series is coming up with the band names. Here’s a sampling: Junkyard Dogs, The Plowboys (all highway workers), and Country Bumpkins. Their genres as you might imagine are country, rock and maybe a little bit of blues.

I’m not a big drinker — one good craft beer will do it for me. But I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve spent in bars, raising a glass or bottle, and dancing with Hank when there’s a band. And bars are great place to people watch, a definite hobby of mine, and have conversations with people you barely know. 

I actually dedicated one of the books in the series, Working the Beat, to the former owners of a country bar in the hilltown where we once lived that has definitely been an inspiration.

And I feel fortunate our son, Zack, has created Floodwater Brewing in Shelburne Falls, the village where we live in Western Massachusetts. That’s a glass of one of his hand-crafted beers in the photo above.

Here’s a scene from Missing the Deadline. Isabel shows up on a Thursday night. Fred is Jack’s often annoying cousin who Isabel has dubbed ‘el Creepo’ for past misdeeds.

Jack greets me with a “Here’s my gal” as I walk through the front door of the Rooster. I don’t normally come Thursday nights. It’s typically quiet, so my services behind the bar are not needed. Burgers and fries are solely what’s on the menu. The only music comes from the jukebox, currently playing Toby Keith’s “I Love This Bar,” which could be a theme song for many of the drinkers here tonight. Although most have another workday tomorrow, they’re getting a jumpstart on the weekend, playing pool or just hanging around drinking and yakking about what’s going on in their lives or somebody else’s. As I’ve mentioned before, gossip is the biggest pastime in this town. The television in that part of the room broadcasts a baseball game with the sound off, but nobody is paying much attention since the Red Sox aren’t playing.

I take a stool opposite Jack, who places a cold draft in front of me. 

“You can put it on my tab,” I joke.

“I believe it’s time to make you pay up, Isabel,” he says, winking.

Jack’s cousin, Fred aka el Creepo, who sits four stools down, groans. He and I are the only ones at the counter. Fred’s got the best seat in the house, the one where you can rest your back against the wall that’s shared by the men’s room. Of course, the sitter is privy to whatever is going on there, which can be entertaining or disgusting. Maybe someday I’ll time how long the men in there take to drain a bladder full of beer and make a score board. I’m only kidding. 

“I don’t know how much of this I can put up with,” Fred says.

I take a drink before I dish back a comment.

“Where’s that gal of yours tonight? She dump you already?”

“Funny, Isabel. Very funny. Nah, she had to do somethin’ with her mother tonight. Things are just fine between us.”

“Glad to hear,” I tell him.

BOOK NEWS: Missing the Deadline has a Dec. 21 release on Kindle. Price? $3.99. Paperback readers will have to be a little patient. 

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Northern Comfort

Bar Scene in Northern Comfort

As I’ve said before, bars are a constant in my adult fiction. Sometimes, as in Northern Comfort, my most recent release, or my Isabel Long Mystery Series, there is more than one. These watering holes always have a purpose in the plot.

For many small rural towns, say a thousand or so people, bars are gathering spots for the locals, and in my novels they are an opportunity to have characters react to one another, sometimes good, sometimes not so good. For Isabel Long, working Friday nights at the Rooster has had more than one benefit — good sources for her investigations and the relationship she developed with its owner, Jack. But for this post I am going to concentrate on the bars in Northern Comfort, which is not part of the series.

Personally, I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve spent in bars or brewery taprooms, conversing, listening to music, and maybe dancing with my husband. They are also a great place to people watch, a definite hobby of mine. 

One of the books in the mystery series, Working the Beat, is dedicated to Steve and Diane Magargal, the former owners of Liston’s in Worthington, which Hank and I frequented when we lived in that Western Mass. hilltown. The Rooster is not Liston’s, but it certainly inspired it, that and when I tended bar for a long-closed restaurant in the same town.

Unlike the Rooster, the bars in Northern Comfort are more on the seedy side. There’s the Bull’s Eye Tavern in a small New Hampshire town where Junior Miller now lives. Ever the opportunist, Junior lives with the bartender although he suspects their relationship is nearing its end. He will stick it out in her trailer until spring. One night, he gets an important call at the Bull’s Eye concerning news that his young son, who he abandoned, was killed in a sledding accident. (The book takes place prior to cell phones.)

Then there’s the Pine Tree Tavern in Hayward, where Junior used to live and where the accident happened. The Pine Tree has a few significant scenes, like when Willi Miller goes there for the first time at the insistence of her bossy sister, Lorna, and Junior’s encounters with the man who was driving the truck that accidentally killed his son.

To increase the drama, I purposely made the clientale at both taverns to be on the rough and tumble side, and strictly for townies. Snowmobiles, pickups, and junks filled the parking lot. 

Here’s the scene from the Bull’s Eye when Junior gets that call from Lorna.

“Hey, Lorna, that really you?” he said into the phone. “How the hell are you?”

“Yeah, yeah, it’s me all right. I finally tracked you down.”

He strained to hear Lorna’s voice over the noise. “Track me down. What for? Your sister put you up to this? This about money again?”

Lorna was silent. “No, it’s not about money. It’s about Cody. He was in an accident.” She paused. “Cody died, Junior. Yesterday.”

Junior held the phone tighter to his ear. “What’d you say? You gotta speak up. It’s so damn loud in this bar.”

“Your boy died in an accident yesterday.”

“What’d you say, Lorna? I still can’t hear you.”

Junior felt a heavy hand on his back. One of the guys from the lumberyard tried to get his attention. The man grinned beneath his beard.

He heard Lorna say, “Junior, you listening to me?”

Junior put his hand over the receiver. “Hey, buddy, not now. I’m on this call.” He was back on the phone. “Start over.”

Now, Lorna was practically yelling into the receiver. “Cody. Cody’s dead.”

His voice matched hers. “What do you mean Cody’s dead? What the hell happened?”

Sherrie and the guys around him stared. He didn’t care.

“He was on a sled,” Lorna said. “He got away from Willi and he slid down that hill behind her house and at the bottom he crashed into a truck.” Another pause. “The doctor said he died right away. He didn’t suffer.”

Junior gripped the phone. The news slammed him like that guy’s hand. He closed his eyes. “Lorna, tell me. Who was driving the truck?”

“Miles. Miles Potter.”

“That asshole didn’t do somethin’ to keep outta my boy’s way?”

“The cops say it wasn’t his fault.”

Junior tried to swallow. “Not his fault?”

“That’s what they said.”

“Sure.”

“You gonna come to his funeral? It’s Monday. The whole town’s gonna be there.”

“Funeral.”

Junior’s heart revved like the engine of his snowmobile. He listened to Lorna talk about the funeral plans. “You don’t have to worry about money ’cause the funeral home’s doin’ everything for free,” she said. “The pastor helped work that out. The old ladies at the church are taking care of the food for the reception afterward.”

He heard half the words Lorna said.

“How she doin’?”

“How do you think Willi’s doin’? She’s taking it really hard. I’m staying with her.”

Junior tried to remember the last time he saw Willi and their boy. Maybe it was around Christmas after the old man died. She made it clear she wanted nothing to do with him. Neither did the boy. It got real easy to forget he ever knew them.

“Okay.”

“You gonna come to the funeral or not?” Her voice had a sharp edge.

“When is it?”

“I told you Monday. In the afternoon.”

“I gotta tell my boss. I’ll call Pop.” He glanced up at Sherrie. She was pouring beer into a pitcher for a waitress. “Lorna, I need to ask you somethin’.”

“What?”

“How old was Cody?”

“You dunno? Shit, Junior, he was seven.”

ABOUT THE IMAGE ABOVE: That’s the full cover for Northern Comfort, which will be available in paperback very soon.

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The Sacred Dog

The Bar in My Book

As readers of my Isabel Long Mystery Series will note, country bars are an important part of each book’s setting. After all, they are among the few public gathering places for people who live in the rural hilltowns. That’s true for The Sacred Dog, the name of the bar and the title of my book that will be released Dec. 27.

Frank Hooker is the owner of The Sacred Dog. In my last post, I revealed why his bar got that name. Originally, he named it for his wife, Ronnie, but after that ended in a d-i-v-o-r-c-e, it didn’t make sense to keep it. So, instead he renamed it after the dog he adopted, a patient stray who hangs out behind the counter and puts up with the bar’s noise. 

The Sacred Dog is the kind of place where people drink, joke, and get away from their families. Occasionally, newcomers and tourists will stop by, but this is typically a watering hole for locals.

Certainly, I have spent many a Friday or Saturday night at a country bar, drinking, talking, and even dancing when there was a band. I even tended bar once. It’s a great place to people watch, a definite hobby of one. (Working the Beat, no. 5 in my mystery series, is dedicated to Steve and Diane Magargal, the former owners of Liston’s in Worthington, which Hank and I frequented when we lived in that town. No, the bars in my books are not Liston’s, but it certainly has been an inspirational place.)

Frank’s bar has its regulars. Early Stevens, a lifelong friend and most loyal customer, began delivering mail after he gave up his farm. Monk Stevens, his nephew, supports his family with an assortment of jobs, including as the town’s dump attendant. The Dixon brothers, Lloyd and Royal work the town’s only dairy farm and often smell of fresh manure no matter how clean they are. Then there is Jerry Smith who is always hiding out from his wife. Big Mary is the only woman in the group but she knows how to dish it back to the guys.

The regulars typically engage in town gossip and playful banter. I use their conversations to create a bit of levity, which I believe helps heighten the book’s dark story, which centers on a nasty feud between Frank and the one person not welcome at his bar — Al Kitchen. That’s because Frank blames him for his brother’s death in a car crash. Al wasn’t at the wheel but Frank won’t believe it. Naturally, this doesn’t sit well with Al, who grew up in a tough household. Actually, his grandmother is the only reason Al is allowed at The Sacred Dog. She begged Frank to allow him two beers.

There’s a lot more to this feud. And I will admit nothing good is gonna come from it.

Here’s an excerpt. Frank’s interest perks up when he hears the regulars talk about Al Kitchen.

“Nah. What’d he do now?” Early asked.

“Al’s truck struck the end of the garage after he dropped a load of gravel for a new septic going in at a house in West Holden,” Monk said. “What I heard is Al took the corner too fast as he was leavin’. He just kept on goin’.”

Jerry let out a long whistle. “I mean you don’t hit the side of a garage without knowin’ it,” he said. “I’d like to hear him explain that one away to his boss. You all know what a bastard he is.”

“Guess his granny will have to pay his boss a little visit.” Monk’s head reared back, proud of his joke.

Frank glanced at Early, who tipped his head. So, it was true, he thought. Al screwed up again. What else was new? Early shook his bottle. He was down to his last sip of beer.

Early gave him a wink. “Looks like this bottle’s got a hole in it, Frankie boy. See if you can get me a real cold one this time.”

Frank laughed. “You old son of a bitch,” he said, as he reached into the cooler. “Hey, where’s Mary tonight?”

The row of men in front of him shrugged or shook their heads, except for Jerry, who wore a sly smile. The others turned toward him.

“Oh, a little bird told me Mary has a date,” Jerry said. “I’m not gonna tell you with who, ’cept he lives at Wrinkle City and his wife died a few years ago.”

“Vincent Snow? Him? He must be about twenty years older than Big Mary. Only real old folks can lived in those houses.” Monk sniggered. “Guess Mary’s been doin’ more up there than takin’ out the trash.”

Frank mopped the counter top. The men sitting in front of him, his best customers and best friends, had a good beer buzz working. When he looked at Monk and his Uncle Early, they seemed like young and old versions of the same man. Jerry leaned forward.

“Well, I’ll be. Mary and that guy, Vincent Snow. But, hey, we all get lonely sometimes,” Jerry said.

Monk slid off his stool and headed toward the jukebox. Frank knew what was next. Sure enough, Monk dropped coins inside the slot and moments later King of the Road began a-twanging on the jukebox. Monk, who returned to his seat, slapped in time along the edge of the bar. Beside him, Jerry joined in. Their heads were back, and their voices squeezed high.

Someone at the tables yelled at them to shut up, but it was only in jest, and then the phone began ringing. Jerry began waving his hand when Frank picked up the receiver. Of course, it was Cindy Smith on the other end. Her voice was so shrill Frank couldn’t bear hearing it a moment longer. “Sorry, Cindy, I haven’t seen Jerry tonight. I’ll be sure to tell him you called if he stops by. Night now, darlin’.”

Jerry gave Frank a thumbs-up, and Frank responded in kind as he hung up the phone because tonight he felt all was well in the world.

LINK: The Kindle version of The Sacred Dog is available for pre-order. Dec. 27 it will magically appear in your device. Paperbacks will follow at some point. Pre-ordering helps with ratings and I am grateful if you do. Here’s the link: https://mybook.to/thesacreddog

ABOUT THE PHOTO ABOVE: I saw this amusing sign a few years back in front of a bar.

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Isabel Long Series, Redneck's Revenge

Music to Read By

My new mystery, Redneck’s Revenge, has its own soundtrack. Nothing fancy. Basically, it’s whatever the bands are playing at the local bar, actually two in this novel, the second in the Isabel Long series. I’d say it’s a mix of country, rock, and a bit of blues. Think covers of songs by Lynyrd Skynyrd, Alabama, Allman Brothers, and just about any country star or band that’s got a danceable beat.

There’s the Rooster Bar and Grille in Conwell, the hilltown where Isabel, a journalist turned amateur sleuth, lives. Then there’s Baxter’s, a biker bar in another fictional hilltown, where she goes to meet people connected to her second case. What’s that one about? A woman hires Isabel — for free mechanical service — to find out what happened to her father, an ornery SOB who owned a garage and junkyard. The cops say he was passed-out drunk when his house caught fire. His daughter says he was murdered.

Both the Rooster and Baxter’s are country bars and for their towns, the only bar. They attract folk who like to drink, dance, and socialize — and sometimes get into trouble.

In Chasing the Case, the first book in this series, Isabel took a part-time job bartending at the Rooster. When Redneck’s Revenge opens, she’s lost that job and a romance with Jack, the owner, for reasons I won’t divulge here.

Both bars host local bands. Often, they play Fridays at the Rooster, then Saturdays at Baxter’s as if they’re on a hilltown circuit. Some bands are good. Some are not so good. But if they play tunes that get people on the floor, they might get asked back.

Here is an excerpt from Redneck’s Revenge. Isabel is at Baxter’s to do a bit of research for her new case. Isabel’s companions are the woman who hired her, plus the woman’s cousin. A man who was eyeing Isabel earlier that night asks her to dance. By the way, Sam was her late husband.

Oh, why not. I get to my feet and hold out my hand. “Ramblin’ Man” is not one of my favorite dance songs, but it’ll work.

I let my dancing partner take the lead while we make steps around the floor. If I were to rank him, I’d say he was on par with Jack but not as good as Sam. Actually, it’s fun dancing with a perfect stranger.

The song ends, but before the next one begins and I can escape, he leans in to say, “Name’s Dave. What’s yours?”

“Isabel.”

“Never seen you in here before.”

“It’s my first time,” and before he or I can say more, the Country Plowboys are working up Elvis’ “Jailhouse Rock.” Now if there was ever a heart-pumper of a song, this is it. Heck, I’m not gonna turn this one down. Dave grabs my hand without asking. He knows what he’s doing, so I just go along, moving back and forth, a twirl here and there. I wouldn’t have been surprised if he’d spun me over his back, but thankfully, he doesn’t.

At the end, the County Plowboys call it quits for a short break. I thank Dave and before I can leave him behind, he says, “Maybe we can dance some more later.”

I nod and smile. Isabel, what the hell are you up to?

One song has a particular significance in this series: Waylon Jenning’s “Good Hearted Woman.” Jack originally coaxed Isabel onto the dance floor with that one. And although Isabel was amused — the song is about a woman who will put up with anything her bad boy of a guy will do — it becomes a thing between the two of them.

It’s unfortunate I can’t use the lyrics in my novels because of copyright laws. But my hope is that readers remember the tunes and just hum along with the words I wrote.

Redneck’s Revenge’s official launch is Sept. 26. Here’s the link to get your paperback or order a Kindle version: mybook.to/rednecksrevenge

ABOUT THE PHOTO ABOVE: Buildings along the Buckland side of Shelburne Falls Village, where I live, are reflected in the Deerfield River. Floodwater Brewing Co., soon to be opened by our son, Zack, is located in the building painted yellow along with the one with the porch next to it.

 

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Chasing the Case

There’s a Bar on Every Novel

I recently wrote this blog post for Jennifer C. Wilson, who just had her latest Kindred Spirits Westminster Abbey released. I thought it was worth sharing on mine. It includes a fun excerpt from my own recently released novel, Chasing the Case. Enjoy yourself.

One constant is my adult fiction is that each one has a bar. In my new mystery, Chasing the Case, the local watering hole is called the Rooster Bar and Grille. It was Chasing the Case cover copythe Do-Si-Do Bar (that’s a move in square dancing) in my previous novel, The Sweet Spot. There are others.

I will confess I’m not a big drinker — one good craft beer will do it for me — or someone who hangs out in bars. But I’ve enjoyed the time I’ve spent in them, raising a glass or bottle, and dancing with my husband when there’s a band. I especially like bars where the cliental knows each other, and those are the kinds of bars I have in my novels. For many small rural towns, bars are gathering spots for the locals. Many don’t have them. In my mystery, the town of Conwell only has one — the Rooster — but then again, it only has a thousand people.

Early in Chasing the Case, the protagonist Isabel Long takes her mother, who lives with her, to the Rooster for dinner. Isabel, who has left a long career in journalism, is seeing if she could hack being a private investigator. Her first case involves a woman who disappeared 28 years earlier from Conwell. Isabel ends up getting a part-time job at the Rooster, in part to get up close and personal with many of the people connected with the case.

Jack Smith, the Rooster’s owner, runs a friendly bar, but do something stupid and you’re out for six months. Do it again, and you might be banned forever. There’s music on Friday nights and his sister, Eleanor serves food Thursdays through Sundays. There’s a jukebox and televisions, so customers can watch sports.

Isabel used to go dancing there with her late husband, Sam. That’s another big change for her — being a widow. But she enjoys her new job and being in the middle of things.

In this excerpt, Isabel is working on her first night at the Rooster.

It’s Friday night and I’m behind the bar, fetching Buds for two guys who want a fun night out. They order four because two women wait for them at a table. I flip the caps, toss them in the can at my feet, and slide the cold bottles across the countertop toward them. One of them has the dollar bills curled in his hand. 

“Keep the change,” he says. 

“Thanks. Enjoy yourself.”

 They leave me an extra buck, which appears to be the standard tip for a round. I know Sam always did. I stuff the buck in the tip jar with the rest of the bills.

The Rooster is full. My station is behind the bar. Jack is on the floor, taking dinner orders and carrying the food out as fast as Eleanor can dish it out. She and I only spoke a few words. She grunts when I ask how she’s doing. She grunts, too, after I ask about her dogs. I get the feeling she’s not happy I’m working here, but that doesn’t seem to be the case with Jack, who keeps up a friendly banter whenever he passes. Jack grins and winks. He’s what I’d call a big tease.

I pop caps off beer bottles. The King of Beers reigns supreme at the Rooster. I’ve only had two requests for beer on tap by newcomers, of course, and I was pleased I got them done correctly.

I call home once to see how Ma is doing. She tells me she and the cat are fine. She’s watching an old movie. I say I’ll be home around eleven. I would tell her not to wait up, but that’s not necessary. 

The music started a half-hour ago and the Lone Sums are stinking up the place. I didn’t think you could blow a song like “Sweet Home Alabama,” but these guys are doing just that. Just wait until they try “Free Bird.” Somebody always requests that one, usually one of the young drunks, who’ll shout it from across the room just for the hell of it. 

“These guys play here before?” I ask Jack when he brings a tray of empties behind the bar.

“Nah. I doubt if I’ll bring ’em back,” he says as he drops the bottles into the carton at our feet.

 “They’re pretty bad. But I guess if you drink enough you can dance to almost anything.”

MORE: Like what you read? Then get your own copy at http://mybook.to/chasingthecase

ABOUT THE PHOTO ABOVE: A window box outside Nancy L. Dole Books in Shelburne Falls and a couple of books to tempt readers inside the store.

 

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