Hurry! Contest is open January 18 - January 25, so enter now!
Thursday, January 18, 2018
Goodreads Giveaway: WHAT DOESN'T KILL YOU
Head over to Goodreads and enter to win 1 of 5 copies of WHAT DOESN'T KILL YOU, the first book in the new Willa Pennington, PI Mystery series, by Aimee Hix!
Hurry! Contest is open January 18 - January 25, so enter now!
Hurry! Contest is open January 18 - January 25, so enter now!
Friday, January 12, 2018
Sometimes, It's Just Like Being There: A Guest Post from Maddy Hunter
When you write a cozy mystery series called Passport to Peril, where each book is set in a different location abroad and is part travelogue, it's a good idea to visit the country where your potential murder plot is going to take place. I like to imagine myself as a sponge, soaking up the culture, the food, the historic sites, the language, the social quirks. I've had the good fortune to tour every country my fictional tour guests have visited, but for my January release, Say No Moor, I was confronted with a challenging dilemma.
We had an illness in the family that was going to prevent my visiting the book's locale, Cornwall, England. I'd already started writing the book so I was locked into that setting, but I feared that without a recent visit, I'd be giving the travelogue theme of the story short shrift. What to do?
I'd visited Cornwall eighteen years earlier, so I knew where I'd like to set some pivotal scenes.
The Bedruthan Steps in northern Cornwall was a must—a beach with giant chimney stacks of stone that tower over a narrow strand that disappears at high tide. It was only accessible by descending a truly frightening staircase that clung to the side of a cliff. But the atmospherics on the beach were so eerie that I was reminded of the place James Mason and company reached in the original Journey to the Center of the Earth movie, where they descended into a volcano and arrived at an inland sea whose beach was stalked by prehistoric beasts. I half expected to see winged creatures with spiny talons fly out of the caves that tunneled into the face of the cliff…or at least a flying monkey or two, but I failed to encounter any beasts. However, I figured this would be a perfect place for my intrepid Iowa senior citizens to try their hand at metal detecting. But had the beach changed in eighteen years?
St. Michael's Mount was another must. I remembered arriving in Marazion at high tide and having to board a launch to the Mount, then walking back to shore on the causeway that had appeared at low tide. I remembered climbing impossibly steep stairs to reach the castle, but all the other details of my visit were fuzzy. How could I not write about this iconic landmark in a book set in Cornwall, though?
Plan A. Luckily, I'd taken pictures on my initial trip. The downside was that all my photos were still in their photo development envelopes, unlabeled, tucked away in closets and beneath beds, in plastic storage containers. I'd never quite gotten around to organizing decades of photos, and what made it worse was that my husband loved shooting pictures of our trips, so we literally had hundreds, maybe thousands, of photos of nondescript stuff that he'd viewed once, then stashed away in our photo swamp.
Talk about a thankless task! But, I weeded through every bin and opened every envelope and eventually found my England photos. Yeah!
They were terrible. No wonder I'd hidden them away! They were dark and grainy, and even though I'd shot a few good pictures of the Bedruthan Steps and St. Michael's Mount, I didn't have enough source material on which to base a travelogue.
Plan B. Had the Google Earth car passed through Cornwall anytime recently?
Yes! That little car had traveled everywhere—major highways, country lanes, and everywhere in between. So I undertook a virtual tour of Cornwall, revisiting all my favorite places and finding a few new ones. The camera even allowed me to walk across the St. Michael's Mount causeway at low tide and explore the island at my leisure, without having to climb the wonky stairs again. It was better than being there in person! I visited Port Isaac, where Doc Martin is filmed, and Clovelly, which is another iconic village, and drove right into the parking lot that leads to the entrance of the Bedruthan Steps. But that's where my tour ended. The Google Earth people had opted not to descend the stairs. Nuts. Now what?
Plan C. YouTube! I found a few short clips of a rescue on the Bedruthan Steps and a drone flyover of the beach, but they weren't very helpful. Then I struck the mother lode. One camcorder-toting tourist had recorded his entire visit, from the entrance at the top of the stairs to the beach. He even explored a cave that tunneled through the headland and exited onto another rock-strewn beach. Missed that the first time. The cliffs had crumbled dramatically since my original visit, so metal fencing now clung to the cliff face to protect tourists from avalanching rock. And this new information would allow me to write about the site as it currently appeared. I was thrilled.
Having rebooted my visual memories of Cornwall, I forged ahead with the book, grateful that modern technology had allowed me to remain where I was needed rather than cross an ocean to do research. I finished the manuscript on time and sent it off to my editor, unsure if I'd successfully pulled off the geographical authenticity element of the book, but hoping I had.
My editor's reaction?
And I quote, "I think I really, really need to go to Cornwall."
My reaction?
Whew.
***
Tour escort Emily Andrew-Miceli's plan to boost her business with social media threatens to backfire in merry old England Hoping to reach an expanded clientele of senior travelers, Emily Andrew-Miceli invites a handful of bloggers to join her group's tour of England's Cornwall region. But when the quarrelsome host of a historic inn dies under suspicious circumstances, Emily worries that the bloggers' online reviews will torpedo her travel agency.
To make matters worse, Emily is roped into running the inn, and not even a team effort from her friends can prevent impending disaster. As one guest goes missing and another turns up dead, Emily discovers that well-kept secrets can provide more than enough motive for murder.
Praise for the Passport to Peril Mystery Series:
"A bit of humor, a bit of travel information and a bit of mystery add up to some pleasant light reading."—Kirkus Reviews
"The cast of characters is highly entertaining and the murder mystery mixed with good humor!"—Suspense Magazine
"Maddy Hunter's Passport to Peril series is a first-class ticket to entertainment."—Carrie Bebris, award-winning author of the Mr. & Mrs. Darcy Mystery series
Maddy Hunter has endured disastrous vacations on three continents in the past five years. The first six titles in the Passport to Peril Mystery series are available from Pocket Books; books seven through eleven are available through Midnight Ink Books. The first in the series, Alpine for You, was an Agatha Award finalist and a Daphne du Maurier Award finalist. Also, Hula Done It?, Pasta Imperfect, and Top O' the Mournin' were named to the Independent Mystery Bookseller's Association bestseller list. The author resides in Madison, Wisconsin. For more information, go to MaddyHunter.com.
Thursday, January 11, 2018
How Hard Is It to Turn a Tide?
Edith here, gearing up for the release of Turning the Tide, Quaker Midwife Mystery #3.
Actually, I don't think it's possible to turn an oceanic tide. It's not a little boat. It's not even a giant ocean liner or tanker. Our earth's ocean tides are mighty gravitation-powered forces. They come around more or less twice a day, with two high tides and two lows. The moon influences them. The weather influences them. We dinky humans have no effect, unless on a grand climate-change scale.
Don't trust me on this, though. I write novels, not science articles. But I'm pretty sure it's true. So why would I name a book if turning a tide isn't even possible?
The story opens at a meeting of the Amesbury Woman Suffrage Association a few days before election day in November 1888. We now know this was more than thirty years before women got the vote by the passage of the Nineteenth Amendment to the US constitution in 1920. But that didn't mean women weren't already protesting and lobbying for the right to express their opinions at the ballot box.
Gradually, inexorably, women were turning the tide of opinion toward allowing half the adult population to vote. In the same way as with the movement to legally enfranchise African-American men, Quakers were in the forefront of the women's rights movement. Midwife Rose Carroll joins forces with other Amesbury suffragists in this book, and her mother - a well-known activist for the cause - comes to town to stand in solidarity across from the polls on election day, as does Elizabeth Cady Stanton herself.
I'm so excited that this book will reach the reading public in three short months! In the meantime, I have five advance reader copies itching to reach the hands of avid fans. I'll give one away to a commenter here today.
Readers: Do you vote? If not, why not? What do you think of when you exercise your right, not even a century old, to mark that ballot or pull that lever, whether in a local election or to name the next leader of the country?
Actually, I don't think it's possible to turn an oceanic tide. It's not a little boat. It's not even a giant ocean liner or tanker. Our earth's ocean tides are mighty gravitation-powered forces. They come around more or less twice a day, with two high tides and two lows. The moon influences them. The weather influences them. We dinky humans have no effect, unless on a grand climate-change scale.
Don't trust me on this, though. I write novels, not science articles. But I'm pretty sure it's true. So why would I name a book if turning a tide isn't even possible?
The story opens at a meeting of the Amesbury Woman Suffrage Association a few days before election day in November 1888. We now know this was more than thirty years before women got the vote by the passage of the Nineteenth Amendment to the US constitution in 1920. But that didn't mean women weren't already protesting and lobbying for the right to express their opinions at the ballot box.
Gradually, inexorably, women were turning the tide of opinion toward allowing half the adult population to vote. In the same way as with the movement to legally enfranchise African-American men, Quakers were in the forefront of the women's rights movement. Midwife Rose Carroll joins forces with other Amesbury suffragists in this book, and her mother - a well-known activist for the cause - comes to town to stand in solidarity across from the polls on election day, as does Elizabeth Cady Stanton herself.
Readers: Do you vote? If not, why not? What do you think of when you exercise your right, not even a century old, to mark that ballot or pull that lever, whether in a local election or to name the next leader of the country?
Agatha- and Macavity-nominated author Edith Maxwell writes the Quaker Midwife Mysteries, the Local Foods Mysteries, and award-winning short crime fiction. As Maddie Day she writes the popular Country Store Mysteries and the new Cozy Capers Book Group Mysteries.
She is president of Sisters in Crime New England and lives north of Boston with her beau, two elderly cats, and an impressive array of garden statuary. She blogs at WickedCozyAuthors.com, KillerCharacters.com, and midnightwriters.blogspot.com. Read about all her personalities and her work at edithmaxwell.com
Tuesday, January 9, 2018
Goodreads Giveaway: PRE-MEDITATED MURDER
Head over to Goodreads and enter to win 1 of 5 copies of PRE-MEDITATED MURDER, the fifth book in the Downward Dog Mystery series, by Tracy Weber!
Hurry! Contest is open January 9 - January 17, so enter now!
Hurry! Contest is open January 9 - January 17, so enter now!
Friday, January 5, 2018
Scenes of the Crime: A Guest Post from Tracy Weber
In my newest Downward Dog Mystery, Pre-Meditated Murder, Kate and crew take a trip to the town of Cannon Beach, Oregon for … Well, I don’t want to spoil the surprise! I do, however, want to share some photos of this sweet little town on the Oregon Coast and the locations that inspired the scenes in the story. Enjoy!
Cannon Beach is best known for glorious beaches and an amazing rock formation called Haystack Rock. No trip to Cannon Beach can truly begin before my German shepherd pup, Ana, and I put our paw prints in the sand.
Haystack rock is a basalt monolith that provides home to colorful sea gardens perfect for exploring at low tide.
Or, if you're an athletic German shepherd like Bella in the series, you can spend your vacation time chasing tennis balls. Ana was happy to be Bella's body double for this photo.
The city itself is filled with quaint shops and delicious restaurants.
I re-imagined this courtyard for some of the book’s pivotal scenes.
There’s also a pet store. (What dog-related mystery would be complete without one?)
A stairway like this plays a role in the mystery…
And a key event takes place in Whale Park.
Wouldn’t this be a great place to hide a body?
No trip to Cannon Beach would be complete without a photo at my favorite statue. Hopefully Ana and I will be together for annual photos for many years to come.
There’s much more of Cannon Beach in the book, as well as humor, social dialogue, and a bit of a love story. I hope that you grow to love this quaint coastal town through the pages! Enjoy!
***
If Kate Doesn't Act Fast, the Only "I Do" in Michael's Future Will Be at His TrialYoga instructor Kate Davidson is ready to marry her boyfriend Michael, so she’s disappointed when a special dinner doesn’t end with a proposal. But disappointment turns to dismay and outrage as she learns the real problem: Michael is already married and his estranged wife is blackmailing him.
When his wife's body is found—by Kate and her dog, no less—Michael is strangely unable to remember where he was the night she died. Since Michael has no alibi, Kate steps up to uncover what happened. What she walks into is a tangled web of deceit, obsession, and immigration fraud . . . with Michael trapped in the middle.
Praise for the Downward Dog Mystery Series:
A Fatal Twist:
"If you’re a fan of yoga, dogs, childbirth and murder cases, then Tracy Weber's A Fatal Twist is just what the fertility doctor ordered."—The Seattle Times
Karma's a Killer:
"Weber's clever assemblage of suspects is eliminated one by one in her entertaining novel."—RT Book Reviews
Karma's a Killer continues Tracy Weber's charming series."—The Seattle Times
"[Weber's] characters are likeable and amusing, the background is interesting, and the story is ultimately satisfying."—Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine
"Weber keeps readers guessing and populates the action with plenty of kooky characters."—Mystery Scene
"Crazy, quirky critters and their odd yet utterly relatable human counterparts make Karma's a Killer an appealing story. But when you add the keep-you-guessing mystery with both laugh-out-loud one-liners and touching moments of pure poignancy, the result is a truly great book!"—Laura Morrigan, national bestselling author of the Call of the Wilde Mystery Series
"Tracy Weber's Karma's a Killer delivers on all fronts—a likably feisty protagonist, a great supporting cast, a puzzler of a mystery and, best of all, lots of heart. This book has more snap than a brand-new pair of yoga capris. Pure joy for yoga aficionados, animal lovers ... heck, for anyone who loves a top-notch mystery."—Laura DiSilverio, national bestselling author of The Readaholics Book Club Mysteries, two-time Lefty finalist for best humorous mystery, and Colorado Book Award finalist
"Yogatta love this latest in the series when Kate exercises her brain cells trying to figure out who deactivated an animal rights activist."—Mary Daheim, author of the Bed-and-Breakfast and Emma Lord Alpine Mysteries
Tracy Weber is author of the award-winning Downward Dog Mystery series. Her first book in the series, Murder Strikes a Pose, won the Maxwell Award for Fiction and was nominated for the Agatha Award for Best First Novel. A certified yoga therapist, Tracy is the owner of Whole Life Yoga, a Seattle yoga studio, and she loves sharing her passion for yoga and animals in any way possible. Tracy and her husband Marc live in Seattle with their precocious German Shepherd pup Ana. When she's not writing, Tracy spends her time teaching yoga, trying to corral Ana, and sipping Blackthorn cider at her favorite ale house. Visit her at TracyWeberAuthor.com.
Monday, January 1, 2018
Happy New Year!
by Linda O. Johnston
Yikes! This post just sneaked up on me. The first Monday of the month is also the first day of this new year.
This will be short since I'm still celebrating. Plus, I'm still dealing with deadlines--nothing unusual about that.
But I'm looking forward to an exciting and fun new year of writing and reading and family time (including my dogs, of course) and more. I also look forward to more interaction with the Midnight Ink team and other MI writers. Good bunch of people, and I hope the new year is great for all of them!
Do you have plans for today? This week? This month? This year? January is a good time to work on all kinds of plans. I've got lots in mind, and I suspect you do, too.
So... Happy New Year! I hope you have a wonderful 2018. And beyond, of course. Plan well, accomplish much, read and write a lot, and above all else, have fun.
Linda O. Johnston is currently writing the Barkery & Biscuits Mysteries for Midnight Ink. Her most recent one was Bad to the Bone, and the next in the series, Pick and Chews, will be a May 2018 release.
Monday, December 25, 2017
My Christmas Gift to you: Chapter 1 of Pre-Meditated Murder
Merry Christmas, everyone! Without further ado, I present to you the first chapter of Pre-Meditated Murder. It officially releases on January 8, but it is available for pre--order now! Let me know what you think!
I slipped through the restroom door, leaned my back against the counter, and tried—unsuccessfully—to slow the pounding in my chest.
Dad’s voice echoed inside my head. Take it easy now, Kate-Girl. Remember what Rene told you. You have to act like everything’s normal. You don’t want to ruin tonight for Michael.
Almost three years after his death, Dad was still right. Tonight wasn’t about me. At least not just about me. It was Michael’s night, too. Or it would be, provided I didn’t die of heart failure.
Public restroom or not, I could think of worse places to die. The floor’s shiny black marble was spotless. A trio of lavender-scented candles cast dancing light beams across the matching countertop. The purple blooms of a phalaenopsis orchid cascaded from a dark green plant in the corner. The place even sounded inviting, thanks to soothing classical music floating through hidden speakers.
Normally, I would have been enchanted by the room’s painstaking ornamentation. Not today. Today, I was too busy trying not to hyperventilate to revel.
My adrenaline-laced anticipation surprised me, especially since I’d spent almost a year avoiding the very conversation Michael and I were about to have. Then again, maybe I was worked up because I’d been avoiding it for so long. Until recently, I’d had no idea how important our future was to me.
Maybe a relaxing breath practice would help me calm down. I closed my eyes and inhaled, mentally coaching myself as I would one of my yoga students. Inhale and slowly count to four. One, two, three, four. Exhale, one, two …
A few cycles later, my heartbeat slowed. The chattering of my monkey mind subsided. My hands were still trembling too hard to touch up my makeup, so I picked stray dog hairs off the black cocktail dress I’d borrowed for the evening and ran a comb through my shoulder-length hair. I smiled to make sure lipstick hadn’t coated my teeth, pinched my cheeks to give them some color, and headed back to join Michael at our table.
Every part of SkyCity, the Seattle Space Needle’s upscale restaurant, had been designed to seduce multiple senses. The heels of my three-inch stilettos sank into the lobby’s lush oriental carpet. Notes from a baby grand piano caressed my eardrums. Swirls of color burst from a Chihuly painting, exploding the piano’s overture on canvas. A kaleidoscope of scents arranged and rearranged themselves in my nostrils, creating a fluid collage: garlicky pasta Alfredo, musky perfume, the sweet floral bouquet of deep red roses.
For most Seattleites, dinner at SkyCity was reserved for special occasions. For practically broke small business owners like Michael and me, the experience might be once in a lifetime. But man, was it worth it. SkyCity served more than delicious food. It provided unparalleled atmosphere and a rotating, panoramic view of the entire city.
Any other evening, I would have been glued to my seat for every one of the forty-seven minutes it took for the restaurant to complete a full rotation. Any other evening, I would have been transfixed by the view: toy-like rooftops, tiny ferries, the stark lines of the Olympic Mountains. Any other evening, I would have been drunk on the surroundings before I took my first sip of champagne.
This evening, however, I’d barely noticed any of it. I hadn’t even tasted the pasta I’d picked at for dinner. I was too preoccupied. Waiting. Waiting for Michael to stop pretending that we were here to celebrate my thirty-fourth birthday. Waiting for him to pull out the jewelry bag that Rene had spotted him carrying two days ago. Waiting for him to ask me to marry him.
Michael stood and pulled out my chair, grinning. “You were gone for an awfully long time. I was about to send in a search party.”
“Sorry about that.”
I glanced at him over my wine glass as he nodded discreetly to our waiter. On a bad day, Michael was pretty darned handsome, and today was far from a bad day. His sexy, blue-green eyes sparkled. The tailored suit he wore accented his broad shoulders and six-foot-tall frame. Curly brown hair brushed delightfully above his ear lobes, as if daring me to nibble them. Unmentionable body parts tingled. If Michael didn’t hurry up and give me that ring soon, I might consummate our engagement before the proposal.
I grinned. Now wouldn’t that give new meaning to SkyCity’s 360-degree view.
“Care to let me in on the joke?” Michael asked.
“Sorry. Nothing. I was just thinking about how happy I am.”
As if on cue, a line of wait staff approached our table. One carried a huge ice cream concoction enveloped in a thick dry-ice fog. Another brandished a bottle of my favorite bubbly and two crystal champagne flutes. The rest surrounded our table in a black-and-white semicircle. Conversations around us grew muted as people stopped eating to watch the theatrics. I felt my face redden. Leave it to Michael to embarrass me with a grand gesture.
Michael grinned like a madman; a cork popped through the air; the entire restaurant burst into song.
“Happy birthday to you …”
Huh?
Ten seconds later, I blew out the candle and watched as the wait staff disappeared. The other diners resumed their conversations.
I surreptitiously picked through the ice cream, hoping to find buried treasure. Nothing but frozen dairy products and chunks of rich dark chocolate. No diamond lurked in the bottom of my champagne glass, either. My unmentionables stopped tingling, replaced by an awkward unease. Could Rene have been wrong?
Michael leaned across the table and clinked his glass against mine. “Happy birthday, Kate. I hope you’ve enjoyed it.”
The smile I flashed back felt so stiff, it could have been molded from plastic. “Tonight has been wonderful, Michael, truly. The flowers, the dinner, the champagne …” My voice trembled. “Everything.”
Michael frowned, confused. “What is it? Don’t like the dessert? The reviews said it wasn’t too rich, so I asked for extra dark chocolate.”
“It’s delicious, Michael.” I lifted the spoon to my mouth, but pasta with garlic sauce threatened to leap for my throat. I laid the spoon back on the table.
“It was that damned birthday song, wasn’t it?” Michael grumbled. “I should have known better. I know how you hate it when people make a fuss over you. I just thought … well, I thought it would be fun.”
“It was fun,” I assured him. “And the dessert is awesome. It looks like an erupting volcano.” Tears burned the back of my eyes. If I didn’t get out of this restaurant soon, I might erupt right alongside it. I looked pointedly at my watch and waved to get the waiter’s attention. “It’s almost eight. We should leave soon to pick up Bella.”
“Already?” Michael didn’t hide his disappointment.
“The twins have been fussy lately. I promised Rene we wouldn’t be out late.”
I lied. My German shepherd, Bella, suffered from significant separation anxiety, so I never left her alone for more than an hour or two. Michael already knew that Rene was dog-sitting tonight. What he didn’t know was that Bella’s visit was supposed to be a sleepover. Rene had insisted, claiming that my engagement night would be significantly more romantic without a furry, hundred-pound bed hog.
Make that supposed engagement night.
Michael didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue. “Before we go, I have something for you.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, foil-wrapped box stamped Trinity Jewelers.
In that moment, the entire world seemed to freeze. I would have sworn that the Space Needle stopped spinning. I was so excited—so relieved—that I didn’t grasp the significance of the box’s flat, three-inch-square shape.
Michael slid it across the table. “Go on, open it.”
My hands trembled again, but I managed to unwrap the paper, ease the top off the box, and gaze down at—
A necklace?
A simple gold heart suspended on a delicate chain. A locket.
Michael reached across the table and opened it. Two tiny pictures were nestled inside. On the left, a grinning Michael. On the right, Bella. “I know you don’t wear much jewelry,” he said, “but I wanted to give you something special. This way Bella and I will always be close to your heart.”
The necklace was gorgeous. Breathtaking, really. Michael had obviously put a lot of thought into the gift. Normally, I would have been stunned—in a good way.
But tonight wasn’t supposed to be normal.
The tears threatening my eyes spilled down my cheeks. “It’s exquisite.”
Michael dropped the necklace back into the box and took my hand. “Kate, honey, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird all night. I’m starting to get worried.”
“Nothing. It’s just that …” I swallowed. “I thought you were giving me a ring.”
At first Michael looked confused. “A ring? In a necklace box?” Then his face turned ashen. “Oh.”
Disappointment flashed to embarrassment, which I covered up by pretending to be angry. “Oh? That’s all you have to say? Oh?”
Michael opened his mouth, then closed it again without speaking.
The silence between us echoed like a shot to the gut, but it felt significantly more painful. The waiter eased next to Michael, slid the bill onto the table, and scurried away.
“I’m sorry, Kate,” Michael said. “Really, I am. I didn’t mean to disappoint you. But what made you think I was proposing tonight?”
I stared at the tablecloth, wishing I could disappear underneath it. “Rene went shopping for the twins at Westlake Center on Thursday.”
Michael groaned and rubbed the crease between his eyebrows.
I pointed at the box. “She saw you walk out of Trinity’s carrying this. We both assumed—” My voice cracked.
The restaurant’s energy—or at least my experience of it—shifted. The room grew quiet. Sympathetic eyes burned the back of my neck. The dry-ice fog surrounding my uneaten dessert threatened to suffocate me. I gripped the seat of my chair with both hands, willing myself not to bolt.
“Kate, I will propose to you someday, I promise. But not tonight. I can’t.”
“Can’t?”
Michael refused to look at me.
Deep inside my gut, I knew that I shouldn’t keep pressing. If I kept pressing, Michael’s explanation might change our relationship forever.
I pressed anyway.
“Michael, what aren’t you telling me?”
His jaw trembled. “You know I love you, right?”
I did.
I loved Michael, too. More than I’d ever loved anyone, except maybe Bella. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words back. “Out with it, already.”
Michael stared at the floor for what felt like an eternity. When he looked up again, his eyes were wet.
“I’m sorry, Kate. I’m already married.”
Tracy
All four books in the Downward Dog Mystery Series are available at booksellers everywhere!
CHAPTER 1:
Dad’s voice echoed inside my head. Take it easy now, Kate-Girl. Remember what Rene told you. You have to act like everything’s normal. You don’t want to ruin tonight for Michael.
Almost three years after his death, Dad was still right. Tonight wasn’t about me. At least not just about me. It was Michael’s night, too. Or it would be, provided I didn’t die of heart failure.
Public restroom or not, I could think of worse places to die. The floor’s shiny black marble was spotless. A trio of lavender-scented candles cast dancing light beams across the matching countertop. The purple blooms of a phalaenopsis orchid cascaded from a dark green plant in the corner. The place even sounded inviting, thanks to soothing classical music floating through hidden speakers.
Normally, I would have been enchanted by the room’s painstaking ornamentation. Not today. Today, I was too busy trying not to hyperventilate to revel.
My adrenaline-laced anticipation surprised me, especially since I’d spent almost a year avoiding the very conversation Michael and I were about to have. Then again, maybe I was worked up because I’d been avoiding it for so long. Until recently, I’d had no idea how important our future was to me.
Maybe a relaxing breath practice would help me calm down. I closed my eyes and inhaled, mentally coaching myself as I would one of my yoga students. Inhale and slowly count to four. One, two, three, four. Exhale, one, two …
A few cycles later, my heartbeat slowed. The chattering of my monkey mind subsided. My hands were still trembling too hard to touch up my makeup, so I picked stray dog hairs off the black cocktail dress I’d borrowed for the evening and ran a comb through my shoulder-length hair. I smiled to make sure lipstick hadn’t coated my teeth, pinched my cheeks to give them some color, and headed back to join Michael at our table.
Every part of SkyCity, the Seattle Space Needle’s upscale restaurant, had been designed to seduce multiple senses. The heels of my three-inch stilettos sank into the lobby’s lush oriental carpet. Notes from a baby grand piano caressed my eardrums. Swirls of color burst from a Chihuly painting, exploding the piano’s overture on canvas. A kaleidoscope of scents arranged and rearranged themselves in my nostrils, creating a fluid collage: garlicky pasta Alfredo, musky perfume, the sweet floral bouquet of deep red roses.
For most Seattleites, dinner at SkyCity was reserved for special occasions. For practically broke small business owners like Michael and me, the experience might be once in a lifetime. But man, was it worth it. SkyCity served more than delicious food. It provided unparalleled atmosphere and a rotating, panoramic view of the entire city.
Any other evening, I would have been glued to my seat for every one of the forty-seven minutes it took for the restaurant to complete a full rotation. Any other evening, I would have been transfixed by the view: toy-like rooftops, tiny ferries, the stark lines of the Olympic Mountains. Any other evening, I would have been drunk on the surroundings before I took my first sip of champagne.
This evening, however, I’d barely noticed any of it. I hadn’t even tasted the pasta I’d picked at for dinner. I was too preoccupied. Waiting. Waiting for Michael to stop pretending that we were here to celebrate my thirty-fourth birthday. Waiting for him to pull out the jewelry bag that Rene had spotted him carrying two days ago. Waiting for him to ask me to marry him.
Michael stood and pulled out my chair, grinning. “You were gone for an awfully long time. I was about to send in a search party.”
“Sorry about that.”
I glanced at him over my wine glass as he nodded discreetly to our waiter. On a bad day, Michael was pretty darned handsome, and today was far from a bad day. His sexy, blue-green eyes sparkled. The tailored suit he wore accented his broad shoulders and six-foot-tall frame. Curly brown hair brushed delightfully above his ear lobes, as if daring me to nibble them. Unmentionable body parts tingled. If Michael didn’t hurry up and give me that ring soon, I might consummate our engagement before the proposal.
I grinned. Now wouldn’t that give new meaning to SkyCity’s 360-degree view.
“Care to let me in on the joke?” Michael asked.
“Sorry. Nothing. I was just thinking about how happy I am.”
As if on cue, a line of wait staff approached our table. One carried a huge ice cream concoction enveloped in a thick dry-ice fog. Another brandished a bottle of my favorite bubbly and two crystal champagne flutes. The rest surrounded our table in a black-and-white semicircle. Conversations around us grew muted as people stopped eating to watch the theatrics. I felt my face redden. Leave it to Michael to embarrass me with a grand gesture.
Michael grinned like a madman; a cork popped through the air; the entire restaurant burst into song.
“Happy birthday to you …”
Huh?
Ten seconds later, I blew out the candle and watched as the wait staff disappeared. The other diners resumed their conversations.
I surreptitiously picked through the ice cream, hoping to find buried treasure. Nothing but frozen dairy products and chunks of rich dark chocolate. No diamond lurked in the bottom of my champagne glass, either. My unmentionables stopped tingling, replaced by an awkward unease. Could Rene have been wrong?
Michael leaned across the table and clinked his glass against mine. “Happy birthday, Kate. I hope you’ve enjoyed it.”
The smile I flashed back felt so stiff, it could have been molded from plastic. “Tonight has been wonderful, Michael, truly. The flowers, the dinner, the champagne …” My voice trembled. “Everything.”
Michael frowned, confused. “What is it? Don’t like the dessert? The reviews said it wasn’t too rich, so I asked for extra dark chocolate.”
“It’s delicious, Michael.” I lifted the spoon to my mouth, but pasta with garlic sauce threatened to leap for my throat. I laid the spoon back on the table.
“It was that damned birthday song, wasn’t it?” Michael grumbled. “I should have known better. I know how you hate it when people make a fuss over you. I just thought … well, I thought it would be fun.”
“It was fun,” I assured him. “And the dessert is awesome. It looks like an erupting volcano.” Tears burned the back of my eyes. If I didn’t get out of this restaurant soon, I might erupt right alongside it. I looked pointedly at my watch and waved to get the waiter’s attention. “It’s almost eight. We should leave soon to pick up Bella.”
“Already?” Michael didn’t hide his disappointment.
“The twins have been fussy lately. I promised Rene we wouldn’t be out late.”
I lied. My German shepherd, Bella, suffered from significant separation anxiety, so I never left her alone for more than an hour or two. Michael already knew that Rene was dog-sitting tonight. What he didn’t know was that Bella’s visit was supposed to be a sleepover. Rene had insisted, claiming that my engagement night would be significantly more romantic without a furry, hundred-pound bed hog.
Make that supposed engagement night.
Michael didn’t look convinced, but he didn’t argue. “Before we go, I have something for you.” He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small, foil-wrapped box stamped Trinity Jewelers.
In that moment, the entire world seemed to freeze. I would have sworn that the Space Needle stopped spinning. I was so excited—so relieved—that I didn’t grasp the significance of the box’s flat, three-inch-square shape.
Michael slid it across the table. “Go on, open it.”
My hands trembled again, but I managed to unwrap the paper, ease the top off the box, and gaze down at—
A necklace?
A simple gold heart suspended on a delicate chain. A locket.
Michael reached across the table and opened it. Two tiny pictures were nestled inside. On the left, a grinning Michael. On the right, Bella. “I know you don’t wear much jewelry,” he said, “but I wanted to give you something special. This way Bella and I will always be close to your heart.”
The necklace was gorgeous. Breathtaking, really. Michael had obviously put a lot of thought into the gift. Normally, I would have been stunned—in a good way.
But tonight wasn’t supposed to be normal.
The tears threatening my eyes spilled down my cheeks. “It’s exquisite.”
Michael dropped the necklace back into the box and took my hand. “Kate, honey, what’s wrong? You’ve been acting weird all night. I’m starting to get worried.”
“Nothing. It’s just that …” I swallowed. “I thought you were giving me a ring.”
At first Michael looked confused. “A ring? In a necklace box?” Then his face turned ashen. “Oh.”
Disappointment flashed to embarrassment, which I covered up by pretending to be angry. “Oh? That’s all you have to say? Oh?”
Michael opened his mouth, then closed it again without speaking.
The silence between us echoed like a shot to the gut, but it felt significantly more painful. The waiter eased next to Michael, slid the bill onto the table, and scurried away.
“I’m sorry, Kate,” Michael said. “Really, I am. I didn’t mean to disappoint you. But what made you think I was proposing tonight?”
I stared at the tablecloth, wishing I could disappear underneath it. “Rene went shopping for the twins at Westlake Center on Thursday.”
Michael groaned and rubbed the crease between his eyebrows.
I pointed at the box. “She saw you walk out of Trinity’s carrying this. We both assumed—” My voice cracked.
The restaurant’s energy—or at least my experience of it—shifted. The room grew quiet. Sympathetic eyes burned the back of my neck. The dry-ice fog surrounding my uneaten dessert threatened to suffocate me. I gripped the seat of my chair with both hands, willing myself not to bolt.
“Kate, I will propose to you someday, I promise. But not tonight. I can’t.”
“Can’t?”
Michael refused to look at me.
Deep inside my gut, I knew that I shouldn’t keep pressing. If I kept pressing, Michael’s explanation might change our relationship forever.
I pressed anyway.
“Michael, what aren’t you telling me?”
His jaw trembled. “You know I love you, right?”
I did.
I loved Michael, too. More than I’d ever loved anyone, except maybe Bella. Still, I couldn’t bring myself to say the words back. “Out with it, already.”
Michael stared at the floor for what felt like an eternity. When he looked up again, his eyes were wet.
“I’m sorry, Kate. I’m already married.”
Tracy
All four books in the Downward Dog Mystery Series are available at booksellers everywhere!
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