Destination Mystery

I looked over at the white cat, who had finally opened his eyes, and mulled over possible names. His coat was so poofy, it made him shapeless, like a giant marshmallow. Hmm, that wasn’t too bad of a name. I cocked my head at Marshmallow, and he stared back at me with piercing sapphire eyes. We maintained eye contact for so long, it felt like a staring contest. I would show him who was boss. Okay, I blinked first. In the midst of the surreal times we're going through, it was beyond wonderful to sit down and chat with Jennifer J. Chow. I was already a fan of her Winston Wong cozy mysteries and I'd had the pleasure of meeting her at the California Crime Writers Conference last year. Her latest book, Mimi Lee Gets A Clue, is the first in a new cozy series and is out this month -- just in time for the comfort read we all need. A deserving victim. An adorable heroine. A talking cat. What more could you ask for? Whatever it is, Jennifer hits it with the Sassy Cat Mysteries. Mimi Lee is a terrific heroine

In June, 2019, a nice young man in a blue suit asked me “when was the last time you smoked marijuana, ma’am?” I told him the truth – semester break during my sophomore year at Tulane – because you don’t lie to the FBI. I have no objection to the truth, but I don’t let it push me around. -- False Flag in Autumn, Michael Bowen I love a good locked room mystery almost as much as I love the Nick and Nora Charles dynamic. Author Michael Bowen combines both of these in several of his nifty, "plucky couples" series, starting with his first mystery, Badger Game. But he is also the author of thrillers, and his latest book, False Flag in Autumn, pits a savvy political operative against evil -- and her own conscience. Complex characters and high stakes ignite this story, the second in the Josie Kendall series. We also chat about the books that shaped his writing, and his life (turns out Perry Mason had an influence on Michael's choice of career). We're both fans of Agatha Christie (Alert! Spo

"What about this one?" I asked, passing several oil paintings and pointing to another large needlework. "It looks like a coat of arms." "It does. Although about a third of the stitching is gone. I wonder if it was done here, or in England? Stitching coats of arms was more common there. Americans didn't have family crests or coats of arms." The coat of arms was in poor condition. The glass protecting it was cracked, and dirt had sifted onto the embroidery. Threads were broken or missing in several places, so only part of the crest was clear, and the linen backing was torn in several places. Still, it fascinated me... -- Lea Wait, Thread Herrings Such a delight today to talk to the extraordinary Lea Wait. Life-long advocate for single-parent adoption and the adoption of older children, writer of historical books for young people and cozy mysteries for adults, Lea is as fascinating as her novels. Start by checking out her website, which includes discussion guides for her Antique Print Mystery Series and teache

Sunday morning, the quiet kind that I don’t get enough of. Until a minute ago I’d been on my second cup of coffee, reading Dreamland and starting to think about breakfast. Hopalong, dozing at my feet, stirred briefly as my phone went off. I saw from caller ID it was Burke Cunningham. I almost didn’t answer, and not just because I liked listening to my new ringtone. A call from Cunningham on a Sunday morning was like the cluck of a dentist as she works on your teeth. The news can’t be good. On the other hand, because he’s one of the most sought-after defense attorneys in Columbus, Ohio, the news would probably involve a job, which I could use right at the moment. But it also meant an end to a quiet Sunday morning of the kind I don’t get enough of. I answered anyway. Unlike my conscience, my bank balance always gets the better of me.      “What’d the cops say?”      “They said it was a good thing I didn’t get my ass shot.”      “They did not.”      “Perhaps I’m paraphrasing.”      “Any leads?”      “Not at the

I repeated my thirty seconds of speeding up and thirty seconds of rest method, sprinting around the park's track. I was panting hard when I rounded the bend coming back to where I'd started. I veered off the track, my sneakers crunching on the gravel, and I slowed to a walk heading towards the playground area to hit the drinking fountain over by the swings. The swings were moving from the tiniest breeze, but otherwise all was quiet. The water in the fountain was warm, and I let it cascade over the side of the bowl for a minute. I tested it with my hand, then leaned down and slurped some of the metallic-tasting, still-warm water. I closed my eyes and let the water splash into my face, shaking it off like a dog and wiping my eyes with my shirt. "Over here, please help me!" A woman's voice yelped through sobs. -- Elizabeth McCourt, Sin in the Big Easy I am delighted to chat with debut mystery author, Elizabeth McCourt. An executive coach and former trial attorney, she brings a realism to the story, and not jus

When Rory bent down to inspect the flowerbed, she caught sight of something twinkling in the dirt. She knelt down on the grass and plunged her hand into the cool earth, clearing away the soil from around the sparkling object.  An involuntary cry of alarm sprang from her lips. Her tennis shoes slid on the damp grass as Rory leapt to her feet and gaped at the finger sticking out of the dirt. She closed her eyes and said to herself over and over again: It's not real. It's all in your mind. Once she'd convinced herself the finger was a vision caused by too many hours at the computer, she opened her eyes and stared down at the ground again. The finger was still there.   -- Sybil Johnson, Fatal Brushstroke   Such fun to chat with Sybil Johnson about her cozy series, the Aurora Anderson mysteries. Her heroine combines the logic of a computer programmer with the ability to see -- and notice details -- with an artist's eye. The warmth of her circle of family and friends -- not to mention a good-looking detective an

Susie didn't mind playing the cops and hookers game, an unavoidable situation for a working girl. She would come out no worse for wear if she only played by the rules. She had learned to be friendly but respectful, even a little playful at times, and she knew to give the cops something they didn't have when they called her over. Nothing happens on the street without these girls seeing it, hearing about it, or being directly involved in it. They know who peddles the dope, who runs the guns, who whacked the last guy, and who is getting whacked next, and why. If a girl wanted to stay on the street making her money, she would need to provide information to the cops from time to time.  Susie glanced toward the white panel van as it slowed, pulled along the sidewalk, and followed her as she sauntered north on the sidewalk of Long Beach Boulevard. The driver leaned toward the open passenger's window and looked her over... -- Danny R. Smith, A Good Bunch of Men I am always extra-eager to talk to people with real-li

Mirabelle Bevan swept into the office of McGuigan & McGuigan Debt Recovery at nine on the dot. She removed her jacket and popped the gold aviator sunglasses she'd been wearing into her handbag, which she closed with a decisive click. The musky scent of expensive perfume spiced the air -- the kind that only a sleek, middle-aged woman could hope to carry off. Bill Turpin arrived in her wake. Like Mirabelle, Bill was always punctual. He was a sandy-haired, reliable kind of fellow. At his heel was the black spaniel the office had acquired the year before. Panther nuzzled Mirabelle's knees, his tail wagging.  "Nasty business on Oxford Street," Bill commented, picking up a list of the day's calls from his in-tray and casting an eye down the addresses. "That new barber's." "Tea, Bill?" Mirabelle offered without looking up. "Nah. Always puts me off, does a murder..." -- England Expects, Sara Sheridan What a delight to chat with author Sara Sheridan! I can't possibly keep up with all of her accomplishments, but I'

If Max Montgomery ever had to commit to monogamy to save his wife's life, she would just have to come back and haunt him from the afterlife. Max rested his forearm on the registration desk as his eyes anxiously crisscrossed the lobby of the Beverly Hills Ritz-Carlton. He watched as people milled about, dressed in tuxedos and evening gowns. He made eye-contact with a short, brown-skinned cutie who sashayed by in dress so tight he could see the faint outline of her thong. Max smiled. She smiled back. Too bad he was already about to get laid. Otherwise, he definitely would have taken the time to follow up on that. -- Every Reasonable Doubt, Pamela Samuels Young My conversation with Pamela Samuels Young spanned so many important issues and so many good books, I wasn't sure which one to give you a taste of. But I went with her first published novel, Every Reasonable Doubt, a legal thriller which opens with Max, as he goes to keep a date he'll never forget.  His last. Pamela writes powerful legal thrillers and p

Andi Battaglia entered the house and carefully covered her nose and mouth with her handkerchief before proceeding. Cops say once you smell the odor, you know it instantly, an observation that doesn't make the effect any easier to handle. June in Florida with the air conditioning off had turned the house into a vile-smelling sauna. Andi greeted the man and woman who stood near the patrolman, ready to transport the body either to the local mortuary or to the Medical Examiner in Fort Pierce if there was to be an autopsy. Andi hadn't been called, but she'd been in the area when she heard the report on her car radio. If it was a homicide, it would be her first in her new job as a detective, and she'd notified the station that she was going to the scene. No one would argue -- certainly not the other detectives who didn't want any more work than they already had.  Holding her handkerchief tightly over her nose and breathing through her mouth, Andi entered the bedroom... The man's eyes were open, his eyelids droope

     “Carmen’s working on a series about children and the courts,” Francine said. “Kids falling into poverty are a very big problem.”      “I’m aware of the problem, Francine. I’ll skip over the question of what has made Carmen give a good hoot in hell about children all of a sudden. What does any of this have to do with that coke-head Mark?”      “It’s just… she knew Mark fairly well and doesn’t think his death was accidental. She says Mark did drugs too much to do something that stupid.”      “So she thinks he did it on purpose? Is that it? He committed suicide over the predicament of his client and child?”      “Not exactly,” Francine said.      In hindsight I can see clearly how nonchalant she wanted to seem, playing with the gold locket and dropping it inside her sweater, glancing in the direction of the window as if a pretty bird had alighted there. “Carmen thinks Mark was murdered.” -- Weave a Murderous Web, Anne Rothman-Hicks and Ken Hicks They say a writing partnership is like a marriage. In the case

The day had gone badly for Raymond Ambler, a bitterly cold, gray, January day not long after New Year's, the wind like a knife, slicing into the cavern cut by 42nd Street between the skyscrapers on either side. The wind stung his face and whipped under his trench coat as he walked the couple of blocks to the library from Grand Central, where he'd gotten off the subway from the courthouse downtown. Banks of piled-up snow, stained and filthy as only snow on a city street can get, hanging on from the storm the day after Christmas, lined the curb, the gutters on at each street corner a half-foot deep in slush and muddy water.  -- Con Lehane, Murder in the Manuscript Room Murder + libraries is always a winner for me, and author Con Lehane gives us a non-cozy suspense series about Raymond Ambler, curator of crime at the 42nd Street Library. Ahem, I mean curator of crime books, of course. ;) Raymond comes across more than his fair share of bodies -- and lucky for us that he does. In his latest, there is a crime fr

Lyle Deming braked his Mustang hard and aimed for the sandy shoulder of the desert road. Luckily, his daughter Sam had been looking down and didn’t see the body. He passed a thicket of creosote and manzanita and pulled onto the dirt as soon as he could. “Stay in the car,” he told Sam in a tone that precluded discussion. He trotted 200 feet back on the road, around the brush, to reach the parked vehicle—and the unmoving, bullet-riddled body he’d seen next to it. -- Mark S. Bacon, Desert Kill Switch Mark S. Bacon is a prolific writer, first as a reporter -- and yes, that included a stint as a police reporter, be still my heart! -- then as a nonfiction writer, and finally in the realm of fiction. You can keep tabs on him (and read sample chapters and even some of his flash fiction stories) on his website, right here. Speaking of flash fiction, Mark gives a shout-out to some practitioners of the genre, including Margaret Atwood and Ernest Hemingway -- that's some pedigree! In fact, if you yourself want to g

A thick mist had crept in from the river. It skirled around the man's legs as he picked his way through the foul-smelling mud, drifting up to cloud the twisting turns of the narrow alleyways. He paused for a moment to watch the vapor ghosting through the gloom. A shiver of gooseflesh snaked down his spine. Shifting, he peered into the darkness, trying to spot the wrought-iron arches of Half Moon Gate. But only a shroud of black-on-black shadows lay ahead. -- Andrea Penrose, Murder at Half Moon Gate Author Andrea Penrose writes everything Regency: romances (as Andrea Pickens), steamy romances (as Cara Elliott), and not one but two fabulous Regency mystery series, which you can check out on her website right here. Her first mystery series, the Lady Arianna mysteries, is lighter, with a dash of chocolate, while her Wrexford and Sloane mysteries -- Murder on Black Swan Lane, and the latest, Murder at Half Moon Gate -- are a darker take on the Regency era. Both are brimming with mystery, friendship, and fabul

The deputies were excited but quiet about it, out of respect for Peach. Unexplained death was uncommon, even with the aging residents that made up much of the population of the town. Violent death was even rarer in the scattered villages that lined the one road in and out of the mountain towns, and news about it would spread quickly. Meth, heroin, domestic abuse, identity theft, yes. At this point, though, murder seemed unlikely. Holly got Peach settled with a cup of chamomile tea and a plate of Fig Newtons along with a promise to stay put. It was hard to ignore the blood that stained her black-and-white cotton top. "I know this is tough, Peach. Try to be patient." Peach hugged herself, rocking back and forth in one of the chairs in a corner of the big kitchen... -- Mar Preston, The Most Dangerous Species It's my birthday! Well, not mine per se, but that of Destination Mystery. I launched the podcast two years ago, and in honor of that momentous event, I give you a bonus interview this month. My dear friend

The filmy, gray quality of the smoke column rising to the southwest told Captain Michael Stoddard that they were too late. The residence was gutted. He and his patrol of six redcoats from the Eighty-Second Regiment could render no aid. He'd seen far too much of arson's smudge upon the sky during his six months in North Carolina. Nevertheless, he pressed his mare toward the smoke through summer's swelter. A loyalist financier named Jasper Bellington owned the house...  -- Suzanne Adair, Killer Debt, A Michael Stoddard American Revolution Mystery   If you, like me, enjoy a good historical mystery, you are going to love my guest this week. Suzanne Adair writes mysteries set during the Revolutionary War and told from the point of view of redcoats rather than patriots. The level of research is astonishing, but what really makes these books stand out for me is the humanity she gives to her characters -- loyalists, redcoats, patriots, and neutrals alike. War may be at their doorstep, but that doesn't give anyone

After five years waiting for this moment, watching you for the first time still catches me off guard. I recognize you from your book jacket, but the reality of you — a three-dimensional object moving through space, flesh and blood and golden hair— makes my pulse race. You don’t know me — not yet — but nothing spikes my pulse. I am ice. -- Jody Gehrman, Watch Me Looking for a chilling read? Look no further than Jody Gehrman's latest novel, Watch Me. It's Jody's first foray into psychological suspense, and she kills it. So to speak. I talk to Jody about how this book plays in a deep way with many of the themes she's explored in her other work. She has written women's fiction and paranormal YA, but in every genre she's fascinated by our complexity as humans and in particular our relationships. Jody gives a shout out to some of her favorite authors: Megan Abbott, Ruth Ware, Tana French, Donna Tartt and Caroline Kepnes. We also talk about daring to be seen for who you really are, and the courage involved in tha

Charlie stopped barking as soon as he saw me. I knew now why he had been quiet for the past few minutes. He'd been digging away in the dirt, which he resumed upon my arrival. I looked for his leash and spotted it a few yards away, half buried by the dirt he flung to all sides. I picked up the leash before Charlie could get to it first. As soon as I did, I also spied what appeared to be an animal bone. Most likely a deer.  But when I turned to see what Charlie was digging up now, my heart sank. It was another bone, but not one belonging to a deer. In fact, it was far more than a bone. It was a human skull.  -- Sharon Farrow, Blackberry Burial I am so excited to be talking to Sharon Farrow, and not just because I'm a fan of her Berry Basket Mystery Series. With her friend and fellow author Meg Mims, she also writes the delightful Eliza Doolittle and Henry Higgins Mysteries as D.E. Ireland.  In fact, Sharon talks a little about how writing the first book in that series, Wouldn't It Be Deadly, was somewhat c

Teenagers don't run away in January. Not in upstate New York. In summer, they'll go out drinking with friends, pass out in a field somewhere, wake up hungover and covered in mosquito bites. In the spring and fall, they'll hop a train down to New York City after a fight with a parent or a problem at school. The Port Authority cops will pick them up, usually after a day or two when they discover there really is no place to sleep in the city that never sleeps -- and worse, no place to shower. But a January disappearance was different. Jimmy Vega had only to look out at the early-morning ice sparkling on his windshield to understand that no teenager would choose to walk off into the blue-black heart of such a night as last night. Especially not a girl like Catherine Archer. -- A Place in the Wind, Suzanne Chazin Suzanne Chazin's writing has been called "searing" (USA Today), "sizzling" (The Philadephia Inquirer) and "a scorcher" (Cosmopolitan). Her suspenseful thrillers focus on first responders who are also

Layla faced the mirror and took a deep breath. When she went out there, she had to be effortlessly confident. She certainly looked the part, in a rose-colored Givenchy dress that complemented her olive skin and tasteful diamond earrings. She'd swept her dark hair off her neck into a smooth chignon and her makeup was perfect. She'd been prepping for this night for weeks. I can do this... -- False Idols, written by Lisa Klink, Patrick Lohier, and Diana Renn Coming from a TV writing background myself, I am so excited to see the Writers' Room technique used to create a book -- in this case, False Idols, published by Serial Box.  The idea of serializing stories has been used by such masters as Dickens and Conan Doyle. But this one has a twist: the installments, or "episodes," are written by three different writers: Lisa Klink, Patrick Lohier, and Diana Renn.  False Idols is a thriller set in Cairo, in the world of high-end art theft. Thieves stealing priceless artifacts to sell on the black market and using the