First Friday, First Day of 2021! Barley, Blackburn, Drier!

First Friday! What a fun way to start the New Year! Three talented authors give their ideas on one photo. 

Barley

"Savannah.  Are you out there?"

"mmhmm mmm . . . "

"What are you doing out there?  Come in and start getting ready for the party."

"       ."

"It was your idea to have this shindig. Let's get this thing going.  People will be here soon."  Tom walked out the door onto the patio, stopping when he saw his wife on the ground.

He rushed to her side, noticed the tea slopped over into the saucer, next noticing the potent smell as he caught sight of the empty bottle next to Savannah's horizontal body.

"Aw, jeez."  he mumbled.

A burp and a giggle from Savannah.

"You finished off my bottle of Pappy Old Van Winkle?! "

"Yesh. Twenty-two toushand dollahs."

"You raised hell and said it was a ridiculous waste of money.  Gone.  Unbelievable."

" . . .  Jan. 20th.  Ish a speshal day.  Biden deserves nuthin' lesh than ol' Pappy."  burp.

Tom nodded.  "Try to get yourself together.  I'll go get us another bottle."

Blackburn

"My Sister Shirley"

“What was your relationship to the deceased?”

Was. I kept staring at Shirley. What was my relationship.

“Ms. Baker, I need you to concentrate,” the cop said, probably for the second or third time.

“She was my sister,” I said. “Shirley Baker.”

“You say she called you this morning?”

I nodded. “She wanted to show me something. She invited me over for tea.”

“And that’s when you discovered her?”

I nodded again. “She said it was important.”

“What was important, Ms. Baker?”

“Tea, of course!” I smiled. In fact, I laughed. The cop, however, was not laughing.

“What’s so funny?” he asked me.

“Tea!” I pointed. “What a find.”

Okay, so now the cop was outright frowning. “Find?”

“She finally found our grandmother’s china pattern. She must have gone antiquing again yesterday.” I smiled at the cop. “My sister Shirley died happy, sir. Whatever killed her.”

“Correction, Ms. Baker. Whoever killed her.”

Drier

“Tragedy,” Belle said.

“And he was so young,” her sister, Janie, said.

“Do you think it was a heart attack?” Belle’s forehead wrinkled.

“Probably,” George said, eyeing the overturned cup of tea. “He was only having a quiet breakfast.”

“It’s so sad, he always worried about dying in the winter. He hated dead leaves, felt like it was an omen.” Belle started to reach for the cup, to set it on the saucer.

“Don’t you think we should wait for the police?” A stern look from George.

“Police? For what? Did you call them?” Belle jerked her hand back.

“I didn’t call them.” George looked at the two sisters. “Isn’t it what you’re supposed to do? All the mystery novels and TV shows have the police showing up and announcing it may be murder.”

“Murder!” Belle gasped, looked at her sister and husband, George.

Janie smiled.

 About the Authors

Kaye Barley 

Kaye Wilkinson Barley is the author of WHIMSEY: A Novel. She lives with her husband, Don, in the North Carolina mountains along with Annabelle Barley, the Princess Corgi.

Kaye is the author, along with being co-photographer with husband Don, of the new photo essay book "Carousels of Paris."

They are also contributing co-authors/co-photographers of the book "My Name is Harley and This is My Story," a photobook written by Harley about his life in the North Carolina mountains, his travels and escapades.

Kaye was a contributor to "Blood on the Bayou" - The Anthony winning Bouchercon Anthology 2016 edited by Greg Herren, published by Down & Out Books.

Kaye was also a contributor to three regional Western North Carolina anthologies - - - "Clothes Lines," "Women's Spaces Women's Places," and "It's All Relative." All edited by Celia H. Miles and Nancy Dillingham.

Author Webpage:   https://kayewilkinsonbarley.com

Blog:  http://www.meanderingsandmuses.com

Amazon

Carousels of Paris

I’ve been fascinated by carousels since I was a little girl.

The French are also lovers of carousels, as witnessed by the many seen in parks and even on street corners.

Donald and I have managed to capture images of several of those carousels.

Our book captures the colorful motion of everyday life in the City of Light while chronicling the history and characteristics of these unique attractions.

Carousels are much more than amusement rides. They are emblematic of the fantastical and the fun, the wild and the tamed. With their varying degrees of ornamentation and craftsmanship, Parisian carousels have for more than a century signaled delight and merriment for children while igniting the still small spark of whimsy among adults.

Cindy Blackburn

Cindy Blackburn writes cozy mysteries because she thinks grim reality is way overrated. When she's not thinking up unlikely plot twists and ironing out the quirks and kinks of her lovable characters, Cindy is feeding her fat cat Betty or taking long walks with her cute hubby John. A native Vermonter who hates snow, Cindy divides her time between the south and the north. Most of the year you'll find her in South Carolina. But come summer she'll be on the porch of her lakeside shack in Vermont. Yep, it's a place very similar to Lake Elizabeth. Cindy's favorite TV show is Young Sheldon, her favorite movie is Moonstruck, and her favorite color is purple. Cindy dislikes vacuuming, traffic, and lima beans. 

Amazon

UNDISCLOSED

Welcome to Lake Elizabeth, Vermont, where Santa Claus is due to arrive any day now, and Cassie Baxter is going nuts. Who wouldn't go nuts? This is her first Christmas with her adopted son Truman, and she's determined to make it memorable. But that human skull the kid found when he was searching for Christmas decorations in the attic wasn't exactly part of the plan. And Joe Wylie, Cassie's supposed boyfriend, isn't making life any easier during this frantic week before the holiday either. Then there's Cassie's father, and her best friend Bambi, and her other best friend Sarah, and all those crazy, quirky, kooky neighbors that make Lake Elizabeth--Lake Elizabeth! Santa's sure to have a jolly good time when he finally does come to town! Ho Ho Ho

 Be on the lookout for Unaware: The fourth Cassie Baxter Mystery will be coming your way this spring!!

Michele Drier

Michele Drier is a fifth generation Californian. During her career in journalism, she won awards for investigative series. 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.

Her Amy Hobbes Newspaper Mysteries are Edited for Death, (called “Riveting and much recommended” by the Midwest Book Review), Labeled for Death and Delta for Death. A stand-alone, Ashes of Memories was published May 2017.

Her paranormal romance series, SNAP: The Kandesky Vampire Chronicles, named the best paranormal vampire series of 2014 by PRG. Currently writing Book Eleven, SNAP: Pandemic Games.

Her new series is the Stained Glass Mysteries, Stain on the Soul and Tapestry of Tears, and she’s working on the third, Resurrection of the Roses.

Visit her webpage, www.MicheleDrier.me

Or her Facebook page, ,http://www.facebook.com/AuthorMicheleDrier

Or find her on her author page at http://www.amazon.com/Michele-Drier/e/B005D2YC8G/

Amazon

Tapestry of Tears

History had always been a strong magnet for Rosalind Duke.
She took up the medieval craft of making stained glass and was building a solid international reputation, taking on larger and larger commissions. Her idyllic life with her husband, Winston Duke, an art historian at UCLA, was cut short when he was gunned down in a drive-by shooting.
After moving to a small town on the Oregon coast, she’s offered a commission to translate the medieval embroidery, The Bayeux Tapestry, into stained glass for a museum at a small Wisconsin university. Roz jumps at the chance. Not only to try to transfer the Tapestry into a new medium, but to spend time in Southern England and Northern France, tracing the path taken by the invading Normans under William the Conqueror.
But the 21st century drags her back when she finds a body crumpled against a wall in an ancient stone church in the small town of Lympne, on the southern coast of England. Has she walked into a contemporary murder?

__________

Won't you join in? Post your 150-word take in the comments. We'd love to see it.

 

Excerpt from Cold Comfort

Amazon Kindle

   “I’m off duty now. I can give you a ride,” Parsons said. “Where do you want to go?”

   “Home.”

   “You sure? Don’t you have family or a friend you could stay with?”

   “No, no one.” She thought about Walt Kramer, her former fiancé. She could hardly call him—he’d eloped with his secretary—his pregnant secretary—two months before the wedding. Six months later, it still stung. Tears of self-pity stung her eyes. Roughly, she wiped them away. Get over it.

   The officer wheeled her outside the door to his car and settled her in the seat.

   Numb from shots and pills, she described the events of the past week. “For three nights, I noticed a car with one dim headlight—it could have been following me.”

   “I’ll put it in the report. Keep watching for that odd light. Anything else?”

   She rubbed her forehead. “Maybe. Several times I had this prickly sensation of being watched. I thought I must be imagining it. And someone may have been inside my house.”

   “May? Did you report it?”

   “I started to, but I couldn’t find anything missing—only the rumpled bedspread and the scent of tobacco and aftershave. No signs of anyone breaking in. I couldn’t be sure all these . . . it wasn’t my imagination.” Maybe she should have called, but she’d been raised to take care of herself. She nibbled her fingernail, then shoved her hands under her thighs. “I didn’t want to overreact.”

   “To be honest, you wouldn’t have gotten much attention.”

   “I found one of the dolls in my storeroom with its head crushed.” But how could she report a broken doll? “It could have been an accident. It just didn’t look like one.”

   He nodded. “Someone’s being very clever, trying to scare you without leaving real evidence.”

   “Last night I got a phone call.” The voice replayed in her head, making her skin crawl. “As soon as I realized what he was saying, what he wanted to do, I hung up and turned off the ringer.”

   “Caller ID?”

   “No. But I added it today.”

   “Not much else you can do unless you get an unlisted number.” He glanced at her with apology in his eyes. “Chances are he watches enough TV to know how to hide his number.”

   “Tonight, just before he ran off, he said he’d be back.” She tightened her arms around her midriff.

   “He knows your name, and it sounds like he’s seriously focused on you,” Parsons said. “I’m afraid you’ve got a stalker.”

   A stalker! Her stomach turned over. A chill ran through her. The word sounded so much worse than a one-time thief or mugger. Why would anyone be stalking her? Since she’d abandoned her dreams of a family, her whole life centered on the store. She didn’t go out, didn’t search for her soul mate in cyberspace, didn’t do anything that would attract attention.

   “He was waiting for you. I found broken glass on the porch from the light bulb. It didn’t burn out.”

Prime Target, excerpt

Audiobook

The Blurb

After witnessing her husband’s murder, Madeleine Schier becomes a killer’s target. She flees her upscale New York life to become a name on a tombstone, relying on her wits and imagination to survive in a world where danger is everywhere. One wrong move could be her last. Should she trust the damaged recluse who’s always near? Before long, her new life turns into her old nightmare when crimes that were once distant horrors on the nightly news turn up on her doorstep.

 

Excerpt from Chapter One

The door chime rang, followed by a sharp rap.

Madeleine jerked toward the living room. She saw Frank freeze. She didn’t think it possible, but his face turned whiter. What is it?

Knocks sounded again, harder, more insistent.

He seemed to wake up. “Hide! Get under the bed. Call 9-1-1,” he whispered. Frank started for the door, his steps stiff, jerky. “Who’s there?” he said into the intercom.

“Hey, Frankie. It’s me. Open up. We need to talk.”

Madeleine squeezed under the bed, then remembered her purse. She snatched the strap and pulled it close. The long vowels, the New England accent—Gerry Buhler’s voice. Through the open bedroom door she could see her husband, one hand on his chest, starting toward the apartment door. Before he reached it, it burst open.

No. In her fright, she hadn’t locked it.

She inched further back toward the wall, barely breathing. Lint balls from the thick carpet tickled her nose.

A youngish man, his unruly blond hair at odds with his gray suit, entered. Madeleine didn’t recognize him, but in his shadow stood Gerry Buhler. He kicked the door shut.

Awkwardly, she slipped her cell phone from her purse. Her shaking fingers barely hit the numbers, but she punched in 911, then focused on the narrow view from under the bed. Oh, God.

Buhler shook his long forefinger in Frank’s face. “I thought I could trust you, Frankie. You shouldn’t have done it.” He shoved Frank back into the room.

The 911 operator answered.

“Help me,” Madeleine whispered into the phone. “Two men broke into my apartment. Help me.” She gave her address but had to repeat it when the operator couldn’t hear her. “Hurry, hurry. They—oh, God, a gun.”

Buhler poked Frank’s chest with stiff fingers. “Tell me what you’ve done, who you’ve been talking to. Aaron saw you. Who were the guys in the parking garage? IRS? FBI? What have you done to me, Frankie?”

“I didn’t tell them anything. It wasn’t—”

The younger man stepped in and slapped him, snapping Frank’s head back.

“You got a wife, don’t you? Where is she?”

My Writing Process

Aaron Paul Lazar, one of my favorite writers, tagged me for a Writing Process Blog Tour. If you haven’t tried his books, you’re missing something special. Aaron writes mysteries and more. One series features Gus LeGarde, a music professor, family man, gardener, and cook—a man you’ll want to know. Don’t Let the Wind Catch You, Tremolo: Cry of the Loon, and Double Forté are among his many books.

Now the blog about Ellis's writing process.
I’ll answer questions about my work and methods (or lack of) and will subsequently tag two wonderful writers to continue the topic.

 Q. What are you working on? 

I’m nearing the finish line with Prime Target, a suspense novel about a woman who becomes the target of a mob boss after witnessing her husband’s murder.

I’m also working on more stories about Will Porter’s Maleantes & More team (from Cold Comfort).  I think Will is up next—I have several chapters done and am in love with the characters, always a good thing. He’s assigned to protect Gwen Gordon (from Haunting Refrain) from a kidnap threat.

The next McGuire Women story is emerging from the psychic fog. Isobel (from Time of Death) will have a prominent role, but the main character is Aurelia’s child, who moves from the West to the Blue Ridge Mountains (home territory for me) looking for peace.

Q. How does your work differ from others of its genre?

I’m something of a cross-genre writer. My stories are primarily suspense but all have some kind of love story. Some readers prefer pure genre material, but I write what feels right for my story and characters. And what I like to read. :-)

My stories are linked: minor characters in one book become protagonists in another book.  In the Maleantes & More books, Will Porter operates a security firm. Ben Riley (Cold Comfort) is one of his employees.

Another book lurking in my mind is about another of Will’s men, Austin Cutter. Cutter is stunned to see a newspaper article announcing his engagement to Allison Gilmore, a woman he hardly knows.

Each book of the McGuire Women series (Haunting Refrain and Time of Death) features a different character from a family with a psychic streak.

All my books have mild adult language and situations, which I include in the descriptions because some people prefer not to read such books. To me it’s realism, but we all live in our own small world.

Q. Why do you write what you do?

These are the stories that pop into my head and also what I like to read. I set them in places I’ve been or live near because I can research the details more easily and because I find them intriguing environments. The characters have to appeal to me, and I usually fall in love with the hero. Some are beautiful, some are not, but all have qualities that draw me—kindness, honor, integrity—and a dash of vengeance. You pay goodness forward, but bad acts you pay back. Works for me and for my main characters.

Q. How does your writing process work?

Mine is an iffy process. I need silence to concentrate, but I’m learning to listen to music to help shut out other things. Early mornings when the house is quiet, no radio or TV, phone, or conversation, suit me best. Then I can think, get in the “zone,” so to speak. The more I write, the easier it comes. Write, write, write.

I’m slow, can’t help editing as I go, and I sometimes write myself into blind canyons. That requires backtracking and taking a different path. I WILL outline my next book before I start. :-)

That's it! Thanks, Aaron Lazar, for asking me to participate in this fun blog hop!

I’m passing the baton to:

Polly Iyer, suspense/thrillers, including Threads, Mind Games, and Goddess of the Moon. Polly's blog is on Goodreads.

Linda Lovely, mystery/suspense, featuring the Marley Clark Mysteries No Wake Zone and Dear Killer.

Time of Death excerpt

TIME OF DEATH 

FREE for Kindle September 24 and 25, 2014

Alex, the artist. After a tree falls on her house, she joins her aunt on an unspoiled island, but something wakens her family psychic streak. She draws eerily accurate scenes of violence, but she knows nothing about them.

Connor, the prosecutor. He’s building a case against a drug lord one piece of evidence at a time. For him it’s personal, and he can’t risk a relationship with a witness, especially a psychic who’ll blow his case out of the water. 

Rollins, the killer. He’s a cog in a much bigger wheel, and the witness to his acts of violence threatens his operation and his life. He’ll do anything to see that doesn’t happen.

When violence is near, Alex is compelled to draw the scene. While she relaxes on an unspoiled island near Charleston, South Carolina, violence disrupts the tranquil scene when a dead man takes shape on her sketch pad. She knows nothing about the man, but the killer believes she witnessed the murder and sets his sights on Alex. After seeing her drawing, the police think she's involved, and the prosecutor fears a psychic witness will destroy his case. Now, with danger at every turn, she must uncover a killer before he destroys her and her loved ones.

Excerpt

Ace Basin, near Charleston, SC. Dave Allen Photo

Alex smoothed the paper on her board and took a number 2 stick of Payne’s gray from the box, gazing toward the water. The bleached skeleton of a tree lay on its side, smooth and ghostly in the fog. Thin light from the morning sun touched the trunk, giving it a shimmering, ethereal glow. She began drawing, selecting pastels without conscious thought. She worked steadily, intent on capturing the scene before her.

When she was satisfied, she replaced the used sheet with a fresh one and shifted so she could see the old pier. The last wisps of mist hung there, creating the image of a translucent walkway floating above the water. The fog hid the broken board—senseless violence. She sketched without thought, her hand moving automatically over the paper. The pier faded from her vision as her fingers flew. A face, swollen and distorted, took shape under the charcoal.

She blinked, startled by what she’d done. Not the mist-shrouded wooden structure, but a dead face. The face that belonged to yesterday’s body, so misshapen she couldn’t tell if she’d ever seen it. Shaken, she ripped the paper off her board and crammed it into her bag. Later she’d examine it, think about what she’d drawn. Now she wanted only to get away. She packed her materials and hurried from the cove, heading toward Chicora’s breezier ocean side to clear the images from her mind, to concentrate on happier things.
P.S. I've turned comments on again, but spam is overwhelming so I've resorted to the dreaded Captcha Codes. Sorry. I wish there were a better way. 

The Genesis of the Glorious Twelfth

Buy Links Below for US and UK

My guest this week is Alan Calder, author of The Glorious Twelfth, a mystery/suspense novel set in Scotland.

    The Glorious Twelfth is set in my native Caithness where I was brought up and went to school. The most northerly Scottish mainland county has a particular atmosphere. It lies beyond the Highlands, the people a mix of Viking and Gael, the land littered with the stones of its prehistory, the geography dominated by the rugged cave infested cliffs of old red sandstone, the sky vast and the sea always brooding. Indeed the sea has always played a vital role in Caithness life, especially during the 19^th century when the herring fishing became established and provided the basis of between the wars writer Neil Gunn’s famous novel, The Silver Darlings. Caithness is a unique place and a fitting setting for the first novel that I began to write.

    In The Da Vinci Code, Dan Brown speculates that the Holy Grail lies buried in the filled in crypt of Rosslyn Chapel near Edinburgh. This mysterious church was built by the Sinclairs in the first half of the fifteenth century, by which time the clan was well established in Caithness where it still holds the Earldom. Caithness, then remote and inaccessible, would have provided a much better hiding place for the Grail than Rosslyn, especially after the Sinclairs began to build a series of heavily fortified castles round the Caithness coast. 

    In Caithness, the Sinclairs also built several mausoleums where many generations of their upper echelons were laid to rest. One of these, an enchanting building with an ogive shaped roof, is built over the remains of an ancient chapel to St Martin and surrounded by a graveyard which once contained a class II Pictish stone, conferring great antiquity on the site.  So the mystery of the Sinclair Clan is the main driver of the novel.

    The Glorious Twelfth opens on an archaeological dig led by archaeologist, Ben Harris, on the land of Sir Ranald Sinclair. Ben is soon distracted both by the laird’s beautiful daughter, Fran and artefacts that point to a medieval shipwreck near a cave that he discovers is connected by a tunnel to Sir Ranald’s mausoleum.  

ABOUT ALAN CALDER

Alan Calder is a Scottish born writer who divides his time between Yorkshire and his native Caithness. He is married to Jennifer and has two daughters and four grandchildren. He has BSc and PhD degrees in chemistry from the University of Aberdeen.

    Writing novels and poetry follows a successful career in research and marketing with ICI/Zeneca. He was made a CBE in 1996 for services to the chemical industry. He is also interested in fishing, walking and photography. His first book, The Stuart Agenda, was published in 2011.

ABOUT THE BOOK

    The Glorious Twelfth opens as archaeologist Ben Harris finds a Celtic stone and evidence of a medieval shipwreck on the Noster estate of Sir Ranald Sinclair. Careless talk by Ben at a conference in Paris sparks off a robbery at  Sir Ranald’s mausoleum, uncovering a treasure that has been hidden for centuries. The robbery follows the opening day of the grouse season, hence the title of the book. The chief villain, grail fanatic Russian Boris Zadarnov, also abducts Sir Ranald’s wayward daughter, Fran, who is already in love with Ben. American oilman Al Regan, a neighbour of Sir Ranald, leads a rescue party to Paris where Fran is freed and most of the treasure recovered, but the thieves escape with a ruby encrusted chalice

    For a series of misdemeanours, Ben is sacked from his university job. He finds consolation in the arms of Fran and moves north to continue treasure hunting, making the discovery of his life near one of the ancient Sinclair castles. Has he found the greatest archaeological prize in Christendom, the Holy Grail? Will he be able to protect it from the malevolent attention of the Russians?

    The genre is mystery/suspense with a streak of romance running all the way through. The action takes place mainly in Caithness with forays to Edinburgh, France, Italy, Egypt and Poland. The book can be downloaded to e-readers from Amazon or the publisher’s website.

    Buy Links for The Glorious Twelfth

https://museituppublishing.com/bookstore2/index.php?page=shop.product_details&flypage=flypage.tpl&product_id=531&category_id=69&option=com_virtuemart&Itemid=1&vmcchk=1&Itemid=1

 www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B00BG04SS8

www.amazon.com/dp/B00BG04SS8

    Also by Alan Calder, The Stuart Agenda published by Willowmoon  www.amazon.co.uk/dp/B005BJ3GNI

www.amazon.com/dp/B005BJ3GNI

Time of Death excerpt

Alex

TIME OF DEATH 

Alex, the artist. After a tree falls on her house, she joins her aunt on an unspoiled island, but something wakens her family psychic streak. She draws eerily accurate scenes of violence, but she knows nothing about them.

Connor, the prosecutor. He’s building a case against a drug lord one piece of evidence at a time. For him it’s personal, and he can’t risk a relationship with a witness, especially a psychic who’ll blow his case out of the water. 

Rollins, the killer. He’s a cog in a much bigger wheel, and the witness to his acts of violence threatens his operation and his life. He’ll do anything to see that doesn’t happen.

When violence is near, Alex is compelled to draw the scene. While she relaxes on an unspoiled island near Charleston, South Carolina, violence disrupts the tranquil scene when a dead man takes shape on her sketch pad. She knows nothing about the man, but the killer believes she witnessed the murder and sets his sights on Alex. After seeing her drawing, the police think she's involved, and the prosecutor fears a psychic witness will destroy his case. Now, with danger at every turn, she must uncover a killer before he destroys her and her loved ones.

Excerpt

Ace Basin, near Charleston, SC. Dave Allen Photo

Alex smoothed the paper on her board and took a number 2 stick of Payne’s gray from the box, gazing toward the water. The bleached skeleton of a tree lay on its side, smooth and ghostly in the fog. Thin light from the morning sun touched the trunk, giving it a shimmering, ethereal glow. She began drawing, selecting pastels without conscious thought. She worked steadily, intent on capturing the scene before her.

When she was satisfied, she replaced the used sheet with a fresh one and shifted so she could see the old pier. The last wisps of mist hung there, creating the image of a translucent walkway floating above the water. The fog hid the broken board—senseless violence. She sketched without thought, her hand moving automatically over the paper. The pier faded from her vision as her fingers flew. A face, swollen and distorted, took shape under the charcoal.

She blinked, startled by what she’d done. Not the mist-shrouded wooden structure, but a dead face. The face that belonged to yesterday’s body, so misshapen she couldn’t tell if she’d ever seen it. Shaken, she ripped the paper off her board and crammed it into her bag. Later she’d examine it, think about what she’d drawn. Now she wanted only to get away. She packed her materials and hurried from the cove, heading toward Chicora’s breezier ocean side to clear the images from her mind, to concentrate on happier things.

Little Cottage in the Woods

The Cottage

Do you keep pictures of people, places, or things you use in your book? I do. Sometimes the picture comes first and inspires a part of the story. Sometimes the story comes first, as it did here.

My ever-alert critique partner, knowing the main character in my WIP (suspense novel) rents a tiny cottage, spotted the picture and sent it to me. I tracked down Sandy, who graciously gave me permission to use it. Since it’s January and there’s snow in the picture (although it’s supposed to be in the low 70s here today), I decided to post it today.

This charming cottage belongs to Sandy Foster, who took this photograph. She turned an old fishing cottage into her studio. It’s such an interesting spot that Trevor Tondro did a feature on it for The New York Times. (Follow the links to see more.)

Mine didn’t look quite like this, but the cottage is exactly right. Here’s the bit about the cottage, though it may change before the book is finished.

“Thank you.” Madeleine followed her past the truck and down the drive to the tiny storybook house she’d seen from the road, watching Jean’s long gray braid swing in rhythm with her long strides.

“I told you it was small. But it’s clean and warm. It was my daughters’ playhouse.” She stopped and waited for Madeleine to catch up.

“It is small, but it’s charming. Who painted it?” Madeleine didn’t know if she could fit inside it.

“I did. I’m a potter, but I dab a little paint here and there. It was sittin’ here empty, and I decided it might do for short-term rentals. My husband’s a carpenter. We fixed it up again and touched up the paint I did for when my girls was little. I wouldn’t offer it except to a woman, and a small one at that.” She glanced over at Madeleine, curious.