Thursday, April 21, 2022

Doing Research: the Tampa Bay Hotel

When Gwen Mayo and I work on the latest Three Snowbirds novel, we try to visit the sites that the ladies visit. Our next book, Ybor City Blues, is set in Tampa and Ybor City (Ybor City is part of Tampa now, but was a separate town in the 1920s).  

During their time in Tampa, Professor Pettijohn, Cornelia, and Teddy will be staying in the Tampa Bay Hotel, opened by rail baron Henry B. Plant in 1891. 


This hotel was one of eight built by Henry Plant along his rail lines to promote tourism. It had over five hundred rooms and was the place to be during the Gilded Age. Guests could enjoy the golf course, casino, stables, indoor heated swimming pool, and even a race track situated on the grounds. It even had its own flag!


Naturally, we paid special attention to the details of the guest and dining rooms, since our characters will be seeing a lot of them. 

A comfy place to sleep.

Table setting from the original dining room.
The hotel had its own silverware and dishes.

For entertainment on Sunday, Col. Harold B. Bachman's "Million-Dollar Band" provided music for the guests in the bandshell at Plant Park. They performed at the Park during the 1925-1927 winter seasons, often attracting crowds in the thousands. We plan to have some fun in this setting.

Why yes, that IS a cutout of Bachman!

I'm afraid that by the time of our book, the hotel was in its last decade of service. The family sold the hotel to the city of Tampa in 1905, a few years after Henry Plant died, and the city closed the hotel in 1930. The Tampa Bay Junior College moved into the space, but part of the hotel reopened as a museum in 1933, which is still open for touring. The rest of the hotel houses offices for the University of Tampa.

You can learn more about the Tampa Bay Hotel from Gwen Mayo's post, The Magic Kingdom of Henry Plant.

Saturday, April 16, 2022

Murder, Sweet Murder by by Eleanor Kuhns

Murder, Sweet Murder by Eleanor Kuhns Banner

Murder, Sweet Murder

by Eleanor Kuhns

April 11 - May 6, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Murder, Sweet Murder by Eleanor Kuhns

Will Rees accompanies his wife to Boston to help clear her estranged father's name in this gripping mystery set in the early nineteenth century.

January, 1801. When Lydia's estranged father is accused of murder, Will Rees escorts her to Boston to uncover the truth. Marcus Farrell is believed to have murdered one of his workers, a boy from Jamaica where he owns a plantation. Marcus swears he's innocent. However, a scandal has been aroused by his refusal to answer questions and accusations he bribed officials.

As Will and Lydia investigate, Marcus's brother, Julian, is shot and killed. This time, all fingers point towards James Farrell, Lydia's brother. Is someone targeting the family? Were the family quarreling over the family businesses and someone lashed out? What's Marcus hiding and why won't he accept help?

With the Farrell family falling apart and their reputation in tatters, Will and Lydia must solve the murders soon. But will they succeed before the murderer strikes again?

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Mystery
Published by: Severn House Publishers
Publication Date: February 1st 2022
Number of Pages: 224
ISBN: 0727850091 (ISBN13: 9780727850096)
Series: Will Rees Mysteries #11
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

After regarding Rees for several seconds, Mr Farrell extended his hand. Rees grasped it, painfully conscious of his rough hand, calloused by both farm work and weaving. ‘Please attend me in my office,’ Mr Farrell said. ‘We are expecting a few guests for dinner tonight so we will have little time to talk then.’ Turning, he strode away. Rees started to follow but, realizing that Lydia was not by his side, he turned back. She stood hesitantly by the table, her hands tightly clenched together. Rees glared at Mr Farrell’s back and then, reaching out, he pulled one of her hands through his elbow. Together they followed her father into his office.

As Farrell moved a stack of papers from the center of the desk to one side, Rees looked around. A large globe on a stand stood to the right of Farrell’s desk and one chair had been drawn up to the front. A seating area, with additional chairs, were arranged by the window that looked out upon the front garden. A table in the center held an intricately carved tray with a crystal decanter and several glasses. Shelves of books lined the wall behind and adjacent to the desk, on Rees’s right.

The room was chilly although the fire was burning. Newly laid, it had been lighted, no doubt by some anonymous servant.

Farrell looked up and his eyes rested on Lydia in surprise. Rees felt his wife shrink back, intimidated. He was not going to stand for that. He pulled a chair from the window grouping and placed it in front of the desk. She hesitated for a few seconds and then, lifting her chin defiantly, she sat down. Once she was seated, Rees lowered himself into the opposite chair. After one final dismissive glance at his daughter, Farrell looked at Rees.

‘So, you are a weaver.’

‘That is so,’ Rees said, adding politely, ‘I understand you are a merchant.’

Farrell smiled. ‘I see your wife has told you very little about me or my profession.’ Since responding in the affirmative seemed somehow disloyal to Lydia, Rees said nothing.

Farrell took a box from his desk drawer and opened it to extract a cigar. ‘Would you like a smoke?’

‘No thank you,’ Rees said.

‘Or a glass of rum? Or whiskey if that is your tipple.’ When Rees declined again, Farrell put away the cigars and walked to the fireplace to light a splint. The end of the cigar glowed red and the acrid scent of burning tobacco filled the room. Puffing, Farrell returned to his seat. ‘I suppose one could say I was a merchant. But I do so much more. I own a plantation as well as a fleet of ships that sail between Boston, the West Indies and Africa. In Jamaica they take on sugar and molasses which are returned to Boston. Some of it is transformed into rum in my distillery. I export the liquor overseas, both to England and to Africa where the proceeds are used to purchase slaves.’

Sick to his stomach, Rees glanced at Lydia. She was staring at her hands, her face flaming with shame. Although she had alluded to her father’s profession, she had not told him the half of it. She had not told him of her father’s pride in it. Rees understood why she hadn’t.

‘Most of the slaves are brought to the sugar plantation,’ Farrell continued, seemingly oblivious to his daughter’s distress, ‘but some are sold in the Southern states. And you needn’t look so shocked. Why that upstart Republican with his radical ideas, Mr Jefferson, owns slaves. And he may be the next President. I suppose you voted for him.’

Rees did not respond immediately. Although many of Mr Jefferson’s ideas were appealing, Rees had found in the end that he could not vote for a slave holder. Instead, he had voted for Mr Adams. But that gentleman had not placed; the election was a tie between Thomas Jefferson and Aaron Burr. Sent to the House for resolution, Jefferson had won by one vote.’ No,’ Rees said carefully, keeping his voice level with an effort, ‘I voted for his opponent.’

‘Well, that makes us kin then. Although you will meet a few slaves here in Boston, in this very house.’ He grinned and Rees thought of Morris and Bridget with their tinted skin. ‘But few, very few. Neither the Africans nor the Spanish Indians adapt well to this northern climate and they quickly die.’ This was said with indifference as though he spoke of a broken chair.

Farrell flicked a glance at his daughter and smiled. With a surge of anger, Rees realized that Farrell fully understood the effect his speech would have on her and was enjoying her misery. Rees gathered himself to rise from his chair. Lydia reached out and grasped his sleeve.

‘This is for Cordy,’ she whispered. Rees sat down again, his body stiff.

‘But you did not come to listen to me natter on about my profession,’ Farrell said, watching the byplay with interest. ‘Shall we discuss that ridiculous murder, the one of which I am accused?’

Rees looked into Lydia’s beseeching eyes and after a few seconds he relaxed into his seat. God forgive him, a part of him hoped Marcus Farrell was guilty.

‘Go on,’ Rees said coldly. Marcus smiled.

‘Permit me to save you both time and effort,’ he said. ‘I did not kill that boy.’

‘Then why do people think you did?’ Rees asked. Puffing furiously, and clearly unwilling to reply, Farrell took a turn around the room.

‘Did you know him?’ Lydia asked, her voice low and clear. ‘This Roark?’

Farrell stood up so abruptly his chair almost tipped over. ‘Yes, I knew him.’ He glanced at Rees. ‘We were seen, Roark and I, arguing down at Long Wharf.’

‘Arguing about what?’ Rees asked.

‘It is not important. He was a nobody.’ Farrell glared at Rees, daring him to persist. Rees waited, never removing his gaze from the other man. Sometimes silence made the best hammer. Finally, Farrell said angrily, ‘He wanted a rise in his wages. I said no. He disagreed. That was all there was to it.’

Rees glanced at Lydia and found her staring at him. He knew, and he suspected she did too, that her father had just lied to them.

***

Excerpt from Murder, Sweet Murder by Eleanor Kuhns. Copyright 2021 by Eleanor Kuhns. Reproduced with permission from Eleanor Kuhns. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Eleanor Kuhns

Eleanor Kuhns is the 2011 winner of the Mystery Writers of America/Minotaur first mystery novel. Murder, Sweet Murder is the eleventh mystery following the adventures of Rees and his wife. She transitioned to full time writing last year after a successful career spent in library service. Eleanor lives in upstate New York with her husband and dog.

Catch Up With Eleanor Kuhns:
www.Eleanor-Kuhns.com
Goodreads
BookBub
Twitter - @EleanorKuhns
Facebook - @writerkuhns

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Tuesday, April 12, 2022

Michele Drier: SNAP - When The News Changes Your Narrative

Why did I subscribe to Reuters and the BBC to write a novel?

In 2011 I was euphoric. I’d just sold my first book, a mystery, to a small press and felt I was on the road to being a novelist—a long-held aspiration.

My daughter and her husband took me out to dinner, and he asked, “Why don’t you write vampire novels?”

I thought he must be crazy. I’d never even read a vampire novel.

Flash forward to 2021. I now had sixteen books published—five mysteries, a stand-alone thriller and ten, count ‘em ten, books in The Kandesky Vampire Chronicles. And soon the world was in the grip of a pandemic disease.

Yes, I took his advice and began what was intended to be a trilogy of stories about 21st Century Southern California career women getting involved with 500-year-old Hungarian vampires. The Kandeskys were alluring and stunning, both the men and women. Their looks mesmerized and drew people to them, a tactic they used to hunt prey until they discovered making money was easier. They established a cadre of donors who provided blood, built their businesses and never looked back.

Now the family is one of the richest in the world and their flagship business is SNAP, an international celebrity gossip empire with nightly TV shows and a weekly magazine. And to keep this empire alive and growing, they need peace in the world. Peace to give people time for earning and spending money. Peace to report on celebrities having affairs, buying houses, getting messy divorces, suing one another.

Two of the senior members of the family live in Kyiv, where they hoped to expand their Eastern European influence. This stopped in 2014 when Russia attacked and took control of Crimea, an area of Ukraine the Kandeskys considered their own backyard, forcing the family to align itself with the West. When the COVID-19 pandemic hit and people began sequestering themselves, the coverage of celebrities began to dry up. Countries were pointing fingers at each other as the cause of the virus and the basis of its spread. The first reported cases were in China, and research labs around the world geared up to develop and produce vaccines. Russia, China, India, the EU nations and the US all rushed vaccines onto the market, competing with one another to make windfall profits.

I was on the cusp of writing the 11th book in the Kandesky saga and decided I’d have SNAP begin a disinformation campaign, pointing a finger at Russia for developing the virus, then trying to sell its own vaccine as a way to make hard currency.

Even though my novels are fiction, they all have an undercurrent of reality, so I began to follow both the pandemic’s and Russia’s movements. Putin began massing troops on the border with Ukraine, and this was a direct threat to the Kandeskys' empire.

Two years before, in the tenth Kandesky book, SNAP: Red Bear Rising, I followed the Russian incursion into the Sea of Azov, the border between Crimea and Russia and now I was back, reading daily news stories about the world’s reactions to further Russian aggression.

The EU countries and NATO were understandably nervous and  upset, the US was still trying to figure out what role Russia played in the election of 2016 and the balance of power in the world, always on a hair-breadth basis, was threatening to roll over into World War III.

How would this play out? How much factual information should I, could I include? Although Jean-Louis Kandesky, half-a-millennium-old Hungarian vampire and Maxie, his 21st Century SoCal wife, set up shop in Brussels to meet with the EU and NATO, what influence could they possibly have?

I generally write two books a year, but I’ve been working on SNAP: Pandemic Games for almost a year now. Every time I feel I’m close to wrapping up the story something new happens with the pandemic or with Putin’s push against Ukraine.

One week I read comments from Polish representatives and had to go back and rewrite a chapter to include their concerns and their strong plea to NATO to take action. Both NATO and the EU are pulled into the news and the plot  because Putin’s topmost demand is that NATO refuse Ukraine’s membership.

Watching the slow and steady build-up of Russian troops, the actions of Belarus, Russia’s only European ally, and crack-down on dissidents has stopped me. What should I include? What is going to sound believable? What are the motivations?

In the end, I’m finishing the book and it will end before the actual invasion of Ukraine, but week by week, as I read the stories from across Europe, I stopped writing to assess the plot.

My critique group believes I’m prescient, predicting the ultimate events, including the invasion.

In truth, I’m just a storyteller, concocting how far I can go to stretch the fiction before reality overtakes it.


Michele Drier is a fifth generation Californian. She is the past president of Capitol Crimes, a Sisters in Crime chapter, the Guppies chapter of Sisters in Crime, and co-chaired Bouchercon 2020. Michele Drier spent better than 20 years as a reporter and editor at California daily newspapers. She writes traditional mysteries (two series) and paranormal romance (a 10-book series, The Kandesky Vampire Chronicles) as well as a medical thriller, Ashes of Memories. Her website is micheledrier.me .

Side note from Sarah: I have a review of SNAP: The World Unfolds for the interested.

Saturday, April 09, 2022

Gwen Mayo: Confessions of a History Junkie


One of the definitions of a “junkie” is a person who gets an unusual amount of pleasure from or has an unusual amount of interest in something. For me, that something is history. Thanks to the Internet, I can indulge my passion any time I please. I have a list of sites longer than my arm, but as wonderful as the web can be, nothing replaces an up close look into the past. 

My spouse and I have spent many happy days looking for towns that no longer exist. Some of those towns wind up in stories or blog posts. My historical wandering brought the White House cookbook from the Lincoln administration into my possession. A trip to the Walter Reed Medical Center Museum let me get a good look at the Civil War Union Army Field Surgery Kit. That piece of history turned up in one of my Nessa Donnelly mysteries. I also spent a lovely summer researching the history of Kentucky bourbon.

I know history isn’t considered a sexy topic, but it can be. Lexington, Kentucky has a historic home that was once owned by Mary Todd Lincoln’s family. The same house was later Jenny Hill’s Bawdyhouse. Belle Brezing, Lexington’s most famous madam, lived there for a couple of years before buying her own house. 

Still, when I talk about my favorite pastime I get a lot of eye-rolls. Kids who hated memorizing dates for a history test often grow up to be adults who think history is boring. Why wouldn’t they? Their only exposure to history has been a bunch of dull facts delivered by a teacher with no real interest in the subject.

History, real history, isn’t the dry facts of an event; it is a group of individual stories that narrow an event to only one outcome. History is made up of hundreds of ‘what if’ stories. For instance, would the outcome of WWII have been different if Hitler had not taken a sleeping pill before the Allies landed on Normandy’s beaches? The question opens a whole range of alternate histories. Our reality is that Hitler slept until noon, and Field Marshall Rundstedt did not get the support he requested. The history of the world may have turned on a sleeping pill.


Gwen Mayo is passionate about blending the colorful history of her native Kentucky with her love for mystery fiction. She currently lives and writes in Safety Harbor, Florida, but grew up in a large Irish family in the hills of Eastern Kentucky.

Gwen is a graduate of the University of Kentucky, an active member of the Short Mystery Fiction Society, and a member of the Derby Rotten Scoundrels Chapter of Sisters in Crime, the Florida Gulf Coast SinC and the online SinC GUPPIES Chapter. Her stories have appeared in anthologies, in webzines, and in micro-fiction collections.

Most interesting fact: Gwen was a brakeman and railroad engineer from 1983 - 1987.


Wednesday, April 06, 2022

Judy Alter: The Outrageous Cozy

Someone on a listserv recently suggested a new sub-genre for cozy mysteries: the noir cozy. Sure, it’s tongue-in-cheek because the two terms almost cancel each other out. But new sub-genres in mystery keep popping up. The other day I read an author’s suggestion of a Feminine Noir Thriller category.

Because “the mystery” as a literary genre is so varied, no one definition fits, so over the years sub-genres have developed: the traditional mystery (for which everyone keeps trying without success to find a definitive description), the sci-fi mystery, the thriller, the hard-boiled/noir, the police procedural, the historical, and of course the cozy. Sometimes—frequently—the lines between blur. For instance, is the romantic suspense novel a genre of its own or simply suspense with a bit of romance added? Is amateur sleuth a category or part of the cozy?

When talk of the cozy comes up—amateur sleuth, no blood, gore, or sex, limited world such as a small town—I always think of the Murder, She Wrote series, quite possibly the longest-running cozy series. Today, so capably written by Terrie Moran, the series is up to something like Number Fifty-Five. Some critics and readers think of it as the perfect example of mysteries that require willing suspension of disbelief on the part of the reader: What small town has that many murders? It’s a wonder anyone is left in Cabot Cove. Yet Jessica Fletcher goes merrily along, solving murders in her beloved hometown as well as exotic destinations. And we talk about the Cabot Cove Syndrome.

But I would suggest there’s a new kind of cozy coming into the market—the outrageous cozy. The reader is really asked to suspend disbelief with these books. Think for instance of Julie Mulhern’s Country Club Murders Series. Wealthy and widowed, artist Ellison Russell has probably stumbled over close to fifty bodies in fourteen books. She finds them in swimming pools, the hostas in her front yard, the country club parking lot, almost anywhere she goes. All these murders play out against the decline of country club social ways in the 1980s, with Ellison dealing with her domineering mother who insists on pearls, white gloves, and the “right way” to do things, her rebellious teen daughter, the cop she’s fallen in love with, and her oh-so-capable and almost psychic housekeeper. None of this would ever happen in real life, but it makes wonderful reading. You just have to suspend that disbelief you were unfortunately taught in school.

And then there’s Finley Donovan Is Killing It by Elle Cosimano. A struggling novelist and always-broke single mom, at the mercy of her selfish and crooked ex, Finlay is overheard talking about the plot of her novel that’s stalled, and she’s mistaken for a hit woman. Lured by an enormous pay-out, she goes along with the charade, thinking she can bow out at any time. Of course, that’s not as easy as it sounds, and she and her sidekick/nanny/housekeeper soon are embroiled in a string of adventures from getting caught masquerading in a shady bar to a remote grave site in the country. They come too close to that huge grave for comfort. It’s all outrageous—and witty and clever. Second book in the series, Finley Donovan Knocks ‘Em Dead, finds Finlay involved with soccer moms who are ought to kill her ex. He’s a good dad, she hates him, but she must keep him alive. The hilarity just keeps coming.

Somewhat brazenly, I even think my current series, Irene in Chicago Culinary Mysteries, might fit in this new category. There aren’t that many bodies, but there is an outrageous character. Irene Foxglove (a chef with the name of a poisonous plant) is a TV chef who defines the term “diva.” Her gofer, Henny James, tells the stories of the murder and mayhem that surround Irene whose behavior is so impulsive, so demanding, so difficult that any self-respecting criminal would have offed her long ago. After one book, Irene rekindles her love affair with the fabulously wealthy French father of her only child and spends her time jetting back and forth across the pond in his private jet, bringing trouble every time she returns to Chicago. Henny goes from amused exasperation to frustration to reminding herself she really is fond of her favorite diva.

I don’t think outrageous cozies will ever become a big trend, but they’re fun to read—and I’m having fun writing one.


About Judy Alter

After an established career writing historical fiction about women of the nineteenth-century American West, Judy Alter turned her attention to contemporary cozy mysteries. When her publisher went out of business, she became an indie publisher and barely looked back. Her current series, Irene in Chicago Culinary Mysteries, features a TV diva chef and her gofer, an ambitious young cook from Texas.

Retired as the director of a small academic press, Judy is an active member of Sisters in Crime, Guppies, Women Writing the West, and the Texas Institute of Letters. When she is not writing, she is busy with seven grandchildren and a lively poodle/border collie cross. Her avocation is cooking, and she is the author of Cooking My Way Through Life with Kids and Books, Gourmet on a Hot Plate, and Texas is Chili Country, all available from Amazon

Friday, April 01, 2022

Guest Post, Darlene Dziomba: New Career in My Fifties

Darlene Dziomba, author of the Lily Dreyfus Mystery series, enriches the workdays of coworkers at the University of Pennsylvania by finding humor in every situation. She is a dedicated volunteer at the Animal Welfare Association, walking dogs and cleaning kennels, and lives in New Jersey.

Learn more about her at https://readdarlene.com/

Set in a small town in New Jersey, Clues from the Canines combines witty dialogue with tension and intrigue. Lily, the Adoption Coordinator at the Forever Friends Animal Shelter, is stunned by the news that her physically fit, former Marine boyfriend is dead. When the police rule the death a homicide, Lily, spurred on by grief, resolves to sniff out the killer. She gathers her pack, both human and canine, to point police to the perpetrator. The canine pack competes for the alpha position, their owner’s attention, and extra treats, while the human pack doggedly seeks out justice.



I have attended the mystery fan conference Bouchercon eleven times. The tenth one, held in Toronto, inspired me to write a mystery of my own. I listened to a panel of writers who each had a protagonist in a dog-related profession: dog groomer, dog walker, pet sitter. It occurred to me that I had never read a mystery where the protagonist worked in an animal shelter. I was volunteering at the Animal Welfare Association, walking dogs and cleaning. I wondered if I could write a book with a protagonist who works in an animal shelter. My journey to published author began. The expression, “You are never too old to learn,” has propelled me through my journey. I was fifty-one when I conceived the idea, and I will be fifty-five when I publish the book.

My career is in a field where no one logically expects a published author to emerge. I’ve spent thirty-two years working in various fiscal operations and financial planning positions at the University of Pennsylvania. I reached a point in this career where I had become stagnant. The work was not changing, and I was competing for new jobs with younger, vibrant, lower-paid individuals. Finance had passed on me, and I was ecstatic to have an idea to pursue.

I drew on my ability to analyze data and logically draw conclusions in developing my book. Writers fall into two categories: plotters or pantsers. I am a plotter. My initial mechanism was paper. I started simply with: What is the basic plot? Who is my protagonist? Who is my villain? My simple plotting burgeoned until the wall in my guest room was a wallpaper of loose-leaf sheets. I had a column for each day in the story. I connected theories with arrows. I noted things I needed to add on Post-its. This was not sustainable.

I took a course called “Plot Thickeners” with Simon Wood. This brilliant man plots his books in, drum roll please, spreadsheets. I don’t want to brag, but I was the star pupil. For me, a spreadsheet was about numbers, formulas, and macros. In my financial job, it is. In my writing, spreadsheets serve an entirely different purpose. There are formulas. For example, the percentage of scenes of each subplot to the main plot and the percentage of scenes in which the protagonist appears. The bulk of the matter, though, is verbal content. It is organized in neatly constructed blocks that can be edited and sized depending on the content. Now, I rely on my spreadsheets in writing as much as I depend on them for financial planning.

Writing a book was challenging. It took four years. I accepted a lot of criticism and did numerous revisions and rewrites, but I’ve done it. I have a complete book that I will self-publish on Amazon’s KDP platform in April 2022. 

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