Eight Mystery Writers You Should Be Reaing Nowwww

by Michael Guillebeau

  I couldn’t help myself, even if it meant staying longer so I could grow a few hundred thousand more cancer cells. “What money is that, Brandyne?”

  “From Raylene’s estate, stupid. My sister was a rich little girl, and we’re her family. That money is ours now, mine and Momma’s, and brother Bodine’s. Well, it’ll be Bodine’s when he gets outta prison. I’ll take care of it for him until then.”

  I just bet she would. I was just as sure that Bodine would never see a red cent of his sister’s estate.

  “If she was gonna change her name, why’d she choose somethin’ as awful as Melody Cross?” This from Claudine, whose brain was apparently stuck on broken. I looked around and saw a trash can overflowing with beer bottles. Quart sized ones. Ah. That explained it.

  “She wanted to get away from us, Momma. To ‘distance’ herself.” Brandyne made quote marks with her fingers when she said “distance.” “That’s why she changed her name. We weren’t good enough for the little princess.” This last part Brandyne said with a sneer.

  “You know, I probably should go,” I said edging my way toward the door. But Claudine got there before me, blocking my way on her unsteady feet.

  “I couldn’t help it if I wanted to have a little fun, could I?” she asked, waving a cigarette so close to my face I almost gagged. I don’t begrudge people the right to smoke. I just normally don’t choose to be around them when they do.

  “I had them kids, Brandyne and Bodine, when I was just a kid. I was thirty when Raylene came along. Same daddy, in case you’re askin.’”

  I wasn’t.

  “By the time Raylene arrived I’d been a momma most half my life. When she got in kindy-garden, I was more than ready to party. This one,” she said, now waving her cigarette at Brandyne, “already had two young ’uns of her own by then, and Bodine had got hisself into prison––for the first time. You can’t blame me none for wantin’ to have a little fun, but I’ll never forgive them social service people who came and took my little Raylene from me. Not ever. Look where that got her. My baby’s done been kilt.”

  With that, Claudine wavered, then slumped into a nearby chair. Looked to me as if she’d be out for a while. I should have picked Claudine’s burning cigarette up off the floor, but I couldn’t quite bring myself to do it. Instead, I said my goodbyes to Brandyne, and got the heck out of there.

  I couldn’t believe that smart, sweet Melody had come from those people. No wonder she wanted to distance herself. The older church-going couple that had raised her had done an incredible job. I wondered what Melody had been like when they first welcomed her into their home, what she had been like when she was six.

  Melody had worked hard to make a better life for herself, and it made me mad all over again to realize that someone had stolen that life from her. Brandyne, I thought, as I got into the truck, could have killed Melody in a heartbeat. There was no love lost there. I wondered where she had been last week. Maybe Martin would know.

  Before I started up the truck I texted Jon that I was safe, then rolled down the windows. The smell of Claudine’s cigarettes had gotten into my hair and clothes and I couldn’t stand to smell myself. First thing on the agenda when I got home was a shower.

  *****

  I drove back down Old Hickory Boulevard and wove my way up Charlotte Pike and onto River Road. All the time I was trying to come up with a Plan B, just in case Deputy Giles wouldn’t let me be his shadow at the will reading the next day. I felt as dumb as Bodine, as I couldn’t come up with a thing.

  I also wondered about the furniture that Melody had promised me. Not that it was a big deal. Davis, her manager, knew about it, and there was the note Melody had put on the table for the movers. I’d like to have the furniture for the sole reason that the pieces had meant something to my friend.

  I kicked myself for not asking Davis about the furniture when I was in his office. But maybe that could be my excuse to pop in at the will reading tomorrow. I could arrive on the pretense of asking about the furniture. I didn’t know the time of the reading, but if I parked myself outside the lawyer’s office until I saw familiar faces . . . It was weak, I knew, but it was all I had. Hopefully the deputy would agree with my Plan A.

  On River Road, with a Keith Carson song blasting through my radio, Jon called.

  “You close?” he asked.

  “Ten minutes max. What’s up?”

  “Sally’s acting weird again. Or I should say, weirder.”

  “What now?”

  “She was in the pasture and was facing the road, holding her right foreleg in front of her and waving it around.”

  “Is she lame?”

  “Nothing like that. She trotted out fine. I noticed it because Gigi was running circles around Sally while Sally stood with her foreleg like that.”

  “I guess they should come in, then.”

  “Already done. Sally walked in just fine.”

  “I’ll be back in a few to do the ‘new horse’ evaluation on Ringo,” I said. “We can watch Sally for colic, but I’m thinking this is just Sally, and that she’s not really hurt.”

  “We might get her a massage, or a chiropractic adjustment,” said Jon. “She’s been lying in such a strange position that she might have soreness, even though she isn’t lame.”

  I asked Jon to schedule a massage first, and we’d evaluate after. I drove into my driveway a few minutes later and hustled upstairs for a shower. Later, out in the barn, Sally was holding her leg up in her stall. I slid the stall door open and palpated the limb from the top of her shoulder to the sole of her hoof. There was no soreness that I could find. When Jon came by with a flake of hay, Sally put her foot down on the ground and ate like a normal horse. Or, as normal as a horse like Sally could be.

  Cat’s Horse Tip #11

  “Horses easily recognize the emotions of other horses,

  as well as the emotions of humans, dogs, cats,

  and other animals.”

  Interview

  MG: As a child, what did you want to do when you grew up?

  LW: I wanted to be a dump truck driver. That period lasted from the time I was about two until I was in first grade. By that time I knew I wanted to do something with horses.

  MG: When did you first realize you wanted to be a writer?

  LW: When I was twelve. I was driving my mother nuts one Sunday afternoon and in desperation she handed me a Dick Francis mystery. I was hooked! I was an avid reader even as a child, but until then I had not put together the idea that you could write great mysteries that involved horses. I knew then that someday I would write equestrian mysteries. Getting published just took me a few years longer than I had initially planned.

  MG: What do you like to do when you're not writing?

  LW: I am a therapeutic riding instructor, so I teach people with life challenges about themselves and about the horse. I also teach horse clinics, and can be seen at some of the horse fairs and expos around the country. When I have time I hike or ride, and I love sitting by a lake or ocean with a good book. Few people are brave enough to play Scrabble with me, but once in a while I find someone who is willing to take the risk!

  MG: What was one of the most surprising things you learned in creating your mystery series?

  LW: That the characters have such deeply entwined relationships. These characters lived in my head for seventeen years before the first book was published, so I thought I knew who they were. But, they have gone places that I never envisioned in subsequent books. Even I am surprised!

  MG: What quirky traits does your protagonist, Cat Enright, have?

  LW: As Cat says, she has a “teensy anger management problem.” One day she will take care of it, but not today. She is a kind and loyal person who allows frustrating situations and events to build up to the point that all of her emotions explode out of her. Cat thinks hot chocolate should be its own food group, and deals with her damaged past by surrounding herself with an eclectic group of friends who have their own odd pasts
to deal with. Other than hot chocolate she can’t cook a thing, but she is a heck of a horsewoman.

  MG: Why did you set your series in Ashland City, Tennessee?

  LW: Many cozies are set in small towns, and as a former newspaper reporter who covered this town, I was familiar with it. Ashland City is rural enough to have some horse farms, yet close enough to Nashville to sometimes bring in elements of the music scene there. Plus, the geography and terrain of Cheatham County (Ashland City is the county seat) gives me many creative places to hide a body.

  MG: What other authors have influenced your writing?

  LW: Every author I have read has influenced me in some way. To single out those who have had the most influence, I’d have to start with Dick Francis and his son, Felix, who is doing a fine job of keeping those great stories coming. Sue Grafton, Sara Paretsky, Margaret Maron, Joan Hess, my fellow Nashvillians Steven Womack and J.T. Ellison, Janet Evanovich, Peter Abrahams (Spencer Quinn), Robert B. Parker, John D. McDonald. Robert Crais, Hank Phillippi Ryan, Sue Monk Kidd, Amy Tan, and Rita Mae Brown would be on the list as well. I’m sure I have forgotten to include several dozen other great writers.

  MG: What do you think makes a good story?

  LW: Engaging characters, a plausible but creative plotline, and a unique setting will hook me every time. I also have to care––about the characters, and about the outcome of the story. Books that keep me up all night are the ones that have me rooting for the main characters from the very first chapter. The writing has to sparkle, as well. There are too many fabulous writers for a reader to spend time with anything other than great writing.