Still processing this weekend, and still dead tired from it, so will be posting it in bits.

Friday night, hosted an “arts and sciences” party, featuring a mix of authors, scientists, family and friends. The party idea came about when, after I bugged Leila at Elm Books to get a booth at Litfest, my tae kwon do instructor announced that the second degree test would be on the same day. More on that later. I was so disappointed that I wouldn’t get to meet my authors…R suggested a party, and I jumped at the chance.

This meant, of course, that we had to clean house.

I’d envisioned a good, thorough tidy-up, but, after finishing this draft of Turnbull House I got carried away and did a whole-house deep-clean. It took all week, but WOW was it worth it. I can actually feel my blood pressure lowering when I look at my now-immaculate sewing table. I scrubbed baseboards, people.

The entire house smelling of vinegar, lemon and clean, I set out a display of books in the dining room, along with an inventory and a cash box. This had the dual benefit of selling some books ahead of Litfest, as well as making sure everything I’d need at the crack of dawn the next day was ready and in one place. The guests started arriving at 5:00.

Such a harmonious, interesting group of people. Old friends and new. Artists and scientists. Stinky cheese, fruit, and Smoking Bishop. As one of the authors put it, “I knew I had the right house when I saw a bunch of kids in front trying to whack each other with bo staffs.”

The only thing that wasn’t there was the shipment of Death and the Detective that we needed for the launch.

Click on image to order.

These, we kept joking about, the giggles becoming increasingly more tense, our smiles increasingly more strained until, at exactly five minutes to seven, it came.

The house erupted in cheers when the truck pulled up.

At this moment, Michael Malloryalso arrived, no doubt confused at this effusive greeting from a house full of strangers, but possibly happy to receive the appreciation that his excellent books deserve. Gay Kinman was also there, as were Leonhard August, Mark Hague, Lois Osborne, and Tucker Cobey—new names in mystery you should look out for.

All in all, a wonderful kickoff to a wonderful weekend. Stay tuned for Part 2, in which I shamefully drop more names. =)

My latest Elm Books anthology is on its way to the printer! It will be available in May 2013. This is a collection of eleven stunning stories from eleven talented authors–a combination of new and familiar faces.

I have a story in this one as well, based on my experiences as a Beverly Hills shoe clerk. Thinking of having a contest: out of all the weird sh** that happens in that story, which events are fiction? Stay tuned for contest details =)

Coming in May 2013 from Elm Books.

(From Turnbull House, coming February 2014 from Bold Strokes Books)

(In which Andrew St. Andrews, Consulting Detective, meets his hero.)

When Dr. Doyle had handed me his card in Stoker’s theatre, instructing me to call on him if I needed anything, I doubted he meant I should bring him an injured murder suspect in the middle of the night after breaking into and inadvertently setting fire to a sugar refinery. Less still, I’m sure, did he mean I was to bring him a second man who, though a good soul, dressed like Doyle’s literary creation and styled himself ‘the Holmes of St. John’s Wood’. It took quite a bit of quick talking to make it past the doorman, but in the end, I found myself standing on an immaculate Chinese-patterned runner in the quiet, well-lit hallway outside Doyle’s room, while St. Andrews and Geary waited in the lobby, caked in sugar and ash, and trying not to bleed on the furniture.

“I’m so sorry to disturb you, Dr. Doyle,” I said as he, clad in striped pajamas and a heavy dressing gown, blinked at me from the doorway of his elegantly understated room. “I’m not sure if you remember me, but….”

“Of course I remember you, Mr. Adler,” he said, smiling to make up for the uncomfortable silence that had passed before he actually had. Then the smile turned rueful. “I also remember issuing generous, if ill-advised instructions to call on me at any time. Well, come in, I suppose. What can I do for you?”

“I need a doctor.”

He listened while I described my companions’ injuries, kindly refraining from asking too many questions about the circumstances under which those injuries had been sustained. All the while he bustled about, tucking instruments into a well-made leather bag. Finally, he excused himself to the back room and emerged a short time later, properly clothed. He’d even managed to comb that magnificent moustache of his.

“We’ll go to my office,” he said.

“I’m terribly sorry for the inconvenience.”

“Nonsense. I’m happy for the opportunity to put my training to work, quite frankly.”

“You can’t mean that.”

Taking his coat and hat from the rack, he ushered me out into the hall then followed, locking the door behind him. When we reached the stairs, he said, “Mr. Adler, it’s been nearly a year since I opened my ophthalmological practice. In that time, well, let’s just say I’ve had many, many hours to devote to my writing.”

“A fact for which legions of Sherlock Holmes devotees are no doubt grateful,” I replied.

His expression darkened. “Don’t speak to me of Holmes. Lately I’ve been considering pushing the man off a cliff. He keeps my mind from more important things.”

St. Andrews’s tweed-topped visage danced in my mind’s eye, and I suppressed a laugh. “I know someone who would beg to differ.”

“Hmph. I should very much like to meet someone other than my editor who believes that a handful of silly stories can be more important, or more needed, than a sound ophthalmological practice.”

We descended the stairs in the silence born of urgency. When we emerged in the lobby, St. Andrews looked up from his chair by the door. Seeing Dr. Doyle, he rubbed his eyes, as if Doyle might be a trick of the gaslight. Then he scrambled to his feet.

“Dr. Doyle,” I said, trying not to smile at St. Andrews’s happy-puppy expression. “May I present my associate, Mr. St. Andrews.”

“More boy stuff?” Bess asked, appearing suddenly beside me as I closed the door.

“God!” My heart raced. What had she heard? Did my guilt show on my face? “Pardon me, Bess,” I said, hoping I sounded casual, “I have somewhere to be.”

She walked with me, right at my heels, her swollen belly swaying with each step. I walked faster, but she easily kept pace.

“Ira? Is everything all right?”

“Now that Jack’s returned, it should be,” I said, hoping my bright tone would disguise my deliberate redirection. I put my hand on the doorknob. She covered it with her own.

“I meant with my husband.”

“Er….”

I glanced around for an excuse to avoid this conversation, but the children had cleared off some time ago to their vocational lessons, and Jack was still downstairs. While I wibbled, she took my elbow and led me into the empty classroom.

“May I confide in you?” she asked.

“Er….”

“I’m worried.” She began with her usual confidence and directness. But in her voice was a vulnerability I’d never heard before. Letting go my arm, she sighed and looked away. “It sounds so crazy I can hardly bring myself to say the words. But the more I think about it, the more I think that there can’t possibly be any other explanation. Ira,” she said, turning and meeting my eyes with her deep, intelligent brown ones, “Is Tim seeing someone? Is there another woman?”

Panic squeezed my chest. Yes, I’d stopped things before they’d gone very far, but I’d enjoyed those things far too much. And most likely I hadn’t been as quiet, or as discreet as I should have been. My cheeks felt hot, and I hoped to hell my guilt wasn’t written across my face. I could smell Lazarus’s cologne on my shirt. I could still feel his muscular arse beneath my hands.

 ”No,” I choked.

She narrowed her piercing gaze and impaled me with it. “Is there anyone who…is not a woman?”

Yesterday was my last tournament as a first-degree (Tae Kwon Do). I always curse myself when the alarm goes off at the crack of dawn, but by the time I’m at the venue with a cup of coffee in hand, caucusing with the other refs, I remember why I’m there and how much I love the sport =)

My showing in poomsae was absolutely shameful. That is, it started out well, but halfway through, my mind drew a blank on the next move. I recovered quickly, but that split-second of hesitation cost me the competition. Having spent the morning judging poomsae, I can tell you that yes, when that happens, *everyone* knows. SIGH. How completely horrifying that I’ve been doing Koryo for almost three years, and I know that stupid form better than my own name!

I pulled a surprising first in sparring, though. I rarely do well in sparring, but I was *pissed* about my showing in poomsae, and, well….

At this particular venue, I *always* manage to lose some piece of equipment. Last time it was a pair of nunchuks. This time it was my chest guard. I can’t imagine anyone steals them–none of it is expensive or shiny, and everyone has their own anyway, but there you go. I ended up borrowing one from a 9-year-old. Which I suppose is fair turnaround, as she had to use mine the last time, because I threw it in the bag instead of hers.

Writing News

Readers are loving The Left Hand of Justice, and I’m really glad. I worked so hard on that story!  Here’s what some of them are saying. And if you don’t have a copy, you can get one here, in paperback and all major ebook formats.

Death and the Detective is being finalized, and the cover art has been commissioned. Right on target for the May 11 release. We’ve been discussing doing a companion volume called Death and the Ladies, focusing on female protagonists, as most (though not all) of the D&D protags were male. I’m still hoping to do Undeath and the Detective for Halloween.

Mystery short fiction has been sort of a specialty niche, but we’re finding a lot of excellent writers and a lot of happy readers for ours, so who knows? Maybe it’s time for a renaissance? I hope so. This latest collection is a real point of pride for us. I hope people will like it as much as they liked Cold Night.

Am working on the Shocking!Climax of Turnbull House. There will be explosions and Shocking Revelations. And a couple of story questions that will remain unanswered until the Third and Final Installment, tentatively entitled Fool’s Gold. Oh, Ira Adler, your books write themselves. What ever will I do when your saga is finished? ::SIGH::

Am putting the finishing touches on my second Elm Books anthology, Death and the Detective, which is slated for release on May 11. There’s a beautiful mix of seasoned and new authors–people mystery lovers will recognize, and some exceptional new talent. I’m very proud of this collection. 

Here are the foreword and the table of contents to whet your appetite.

***

FOREWORD

When soliciting stories for Death and the Detective, I gave authors two parameters: the main character must be an investigator of sorts, and the plot must involve a death. It sounds simple, but authors ended up taking these guidelines to some interesting and diverse places. In addition to the expected murder mysteries, we also received stories about near-death, animal death, suicide, arson, fortuitous accidents, not-so-fortuitous accidents, and setups. In some stories, death is well-deserved. In others, it is merely unavoidable. In still others, tragedy has some unexpectedly positive consequences for those left behind.

Regarding investigators, we have a few PIs, some cops, some ex-cops, an insurance adjuster, ATF, a security guard, and even a pair of Shadow Wolves—the formidable Native American trackers who work with Homeland Security. To my editorial delight, the stories fell neatly into five categories: Doublecross, Revenge, Something to Prove, They Needed Killin’, and Second Chances.

All of the stories are exceptionally written, and I’m proud to present them.

Jess Faraday, 2013

                 CONTENTS

DOUBLECROSS

Happy Valentine’s                                                     H. Tucker Cobey

Dirty Cop                                                              Michael Mallory

REVENGE

White Devil                                                                Sarah M. Chen

Detecting for Dummies                                              Mark Hague

SOMETHING TO PROVE

Not So Lucky                                                                  Carol Leininger

Burnout                                                                           Robert D. Hughes

THEY NEEDED KILLIN’

Rough Justice/Tender Mercies                                     Leonhard August

Golden Handcuffs                                                           Jess Faraday

SECOND CHANCES

Helpless                                                                              Mary Ward

Foot in the Trashcan, Body in the Dumpster                Lee Mullins

The Cat                                                                         Gay Toltl Kinman