What I’m Writing @LucyBurdette

**Quilting Lady is the winner of A CLUE IN THE CRUMBS. Thank you all so much for your interest and support!

LUCY BURDETTE: If you follow me on Instagram or Facebook, or are signed up for my newsletter, or read the “Four things I’ve learned so far” blog right here, you’ll have heard that I enrolled in the Monroe County Sheriff’s Office Citizens Police Academy this spring. Twelve of us citizens met for seven Thursday sessions of three hours each to learn about all the amazing things the sheriff’s deputies do. I was pleased to have this class come along at exactly the time I’m writing Key West food critic mystery #14, because much of the action in this book takes place north of Key West and wouldn’t be handled by Nathan Bransford and the rest of the KW police department. It’s definitely helping me avoid ugly mistakes! The temptation however is to cram in more of these wonderful details than the story needs or can support. For example, one week the crime scene investigator for the county showed us his lab and had us suit up in Tyvek to learn fingerprinting, foot printing, and identification of bodily fluids. (We weren’t sure if we looked like investigators or NASA pilots or something more nefarious…)

But would Hayley Snow have an opportunity to learn all of this? Probably not. She sure shouldn’t get involved in traffic stops after a felony crime has been committed…

And so far as I know, she doesn’t own a gun and wouldn’t have been trained in shoot-don’t shoot scenarios, the way we were. (What an adrenaline rush, by the way!)

Would she have the opportunity to clear a room the way the SWAT team taught us? Probably not that either…

An encounter with the bomb squad? Nope. Coral, the drug-sniffing golden retriever? Maybe...

My hope is to use what I learned in the class to inform my characters’ actions and to advance the story. Here’s a draft of the rewritten scene right after Hayley and another woman find a body in a motel office on Big Pine Key. 

Two more sheriff’s office vehicles pulled up behind Darcy Rogers, one of them a tall van with Crime Scene Investigations written across the side. Darcy trotted over to confer with the stocky man who climbed out.

When she returned, she told us the investigator would be taking our fingerprints and footprints in order to rule us out as suspects. “Any problem with that?”

“It’s routine,” I said to Catherine before she could argue. “If you don’t agree, we’ll have to sit here a while until they can get a search warrant. Could be quite a while, depending on the whims of the judge.”

“Fine,” she said. “I’d like to get this over with as soon as possible.”

The investigator returned wearing a white Tyvek suit, carrying a big black box. He quickly set up a station to take our fingerprints, followed by what looked like a small kitty litter box filled with sand to take the imprints of our shoes.

“That’s all for now,” Darcy Rogers said to us briskly once he was finished. “I’ll need your contact information and a list of people who might have information about this present death or details about your past connections in Big Pine. I’ll be in touch shortly.” She strode off before either of us could respond. We watched her go, then I rustled through my backpack to find the pack of wipes I kept there for cleaning emergencies. Once we’d brushed the black powder from our hands, I took Catherine’s elbow and steered her toward the car. As she slid into the passenger seat, Catherine noticed blood on the bottom of her right sandal, now crusted with crystals of sand. 

“I feel sick,” she said suddenly, clutching her hand to her stomach. “Excuse me a minute.” She bolted out of the car and rushed around the corner of the building into the brush. I could hear her retching. A few minutes later, she returned, her chin quivering, and the color leached from her face. I handed her the pack of wipes. 

“Let’s get out of here,” I muttered. “You can text the deputy later. She won’t expect you to sit here and write out a grocery list of suspects. Trust me, she’s dogged. She’ll follow up until every pebble is turned over.”

LUCY AGAIN: All in all, it’s been an amazing experience—all the deputies we’ve met have been truly excited to share the details of their work with us. Here are a couple of photos from the graduation night, where I had the honor of being the keynote speaker!

That's me of course, with Captain David Smith on the left and Sheriff Rick Ramsey on the right...

By the way, we did finally get the answer to the question of how to avoid a speeding ticket: Don’t speed!

On another topic, I was thrilled and honored to have A DISH TO DIE FOR awarded the bronze medal for popular fiction by the Florida Book Awards!

Finally, I’ve just received a box containing a few advanced reader copies of A CLUE IN THE CRUMBS, coming this August. I’d love to give one away here. To have a chance at receiving the book, leave a comment! I’ll let Lottie choose the winner—please check back on Saturday when it will be announced.

Banana Date Scones @LucyBurdette

 LUCY BURDETTE: Before we move on to scones, please know that I now have a gorgeous new website where you can actually find things, a novel concept! Please take a look when you get a chance...

On one of our first days in Scotland two summer ago (and oh my gosh that seems like a lifetime ago and another universe,) we explored the little town of Melrose. John and I got separated for a bit--either I had lingered in the graveyard, or more likely, found a ladies' room! 

And he came back from his walk with the most delicious scone I’ve ever eaten, purchased from a small bakery nearby. (Actually, it was only part of a small scone, because he'd inhaled the rest of it.) I did not get a photo but I’ve been craving a repeat of that scone ever since. We remember it as a banana date combination and that’s what I tried to re-create for you here. Scones, of course, loom large in the next Key West mystery, A Scone of Contention...

Banana Date Scones

Ingredients

1 5/8 cup flour
1/6 cup brown sugar
2 1/4 teaspoons baking powder
Three-quarter teaspoon cinnamon
1/4 teaspoon baking soda
1/4 teaspoon salt
3/8 cup cold unsalted butter
1/3 cup sour cream (could also be whole milk plain yogurt)
1 teaspoon vanilla
One ripe banana
1/2 cup chopped dates

Mix all the dry ingredients up through the salt together. Cut in the cold butter until it’s the size of small peas.


Mash the banana well and stir in the sour cream and vanilla. Mix well. Add the dates and mix those in. Mix the wet ingredients into the dry.

Shape the dough into a circle on a floured surface. Flatten the circle and cut it into six pieces. 

Bake this at 425 for 10 to 12 minutes. I left it in for 10 and it could have used one or two more.

Serve with more butter and jam if you like.

Can you tell I'm getting ready for Scotland again, with A SCONE OF CONTENTION?? Coming August 10 from Crooked Lane Books...

Winners from this week's guests (yay!): Bookbuddy is the winner of Nancy Herkness's book The Agent. Contact her at nancyherkness at gmail dot com.

From Terrie Moran: Barbara Schlichting won the Mystery In The Midlands link. Kait Carson won the book. Contact her at tfmoran at yahoo dot com!

What We're Writing @LucyBurdette

Tobermory by Colin, Wikipedia Commons

LUCY BURDETTE: I am stampeding up to the deadline for Key West mystery #11, still a book with no name. This book is very different from the other ten in that most of it takes place in Scotland rather than Key West. The great thing about this is that I've been able to relive our trip last summer, and take the characters to the most astonishing places. And the simple act of being somewhere else in my head has helped me to keep from melting down altogether during these dreary, unending pandemic times.

Glencoe, photo by Steve Callahan

The bad thing is this book makes me feel terribly homesick for Scotland, even though I was only there for a two week visit. The more I write, and read about the places we visited, the more I want to go back. Here's a map of the stunning little island called Iona, on which we only scratched the surface.

Photo by Jeff Chanton

Here's a snippet from Chapter Twenty-Six:

Vera led us on a path running south along the water until we reached a fork. We took the right turn that would cross the island. On either side were fenced-in areas of grass populated by grazing sheep. I stopped short, watching one sheep move across the grass on her front knees. Almost as if she was praying. The wonders of Scotland just kept coming. I took a short video in case Miss Gloria didn’t get to see this on the way to the abbey.
“This grassy plain topography is called a machair,” William told us. “It’s a low-lying area as you can see, and so in danger of flooding and erosion by sea level rise. If you keep going along the water, you’d reach the bay where St. Columba arrived in his coracle from Ireland to bring Christianity to the Scottish heathens.” He laughed. “Isn’t there always someone attempting to convert the heathens?”
“Coracle?” Nathan asked.
“A round boat made of wicker and bound with leather,” William told him. “He would have needed God on his side to make it across St. George’s channel.”
We trudged up a short hill, and then down the path to a stunning beach made entirely of pebbles. Before the beach on a grassy area, someone had built a labyrinth made of pinkish rocks. I paused to take a deep breath and freeze the moment in my mind, so I’d remember this astonishing view, and the feeling of sacred peace on the island. I didn’t seem to have the knack for tingling in thin places, but this island was special.
The four of us sat on the beach, sorting through the tumble of stones, and looking out across the water. Hard to imagine that thousands of miles away, these same waves lapped ashore on the Smathers and Higgs and Fort Zachary Taylor beaches in Key West. The same water and environmental threats and human foibles connected us from island to island across all that distance. A gust of wind whipped across the bay, and I leaned in to Nathan, as always appreciating his warm bulk. He helped me feel safe and grounded in so many ways.
Vera was making a small stack of smooth stones. “Sometimes you get lucky here and find pieces of green Iona marble,” she said.

“We should never have let you go on this trip by yourselves,” said William, after a period of silence. “I don’t know if I will ever forgive myself for putting you in danger. I knew something was wrong with this project, but I let you go without me anyway.”

And finally I'll leave you with the stunning cinnamon scones that I'm craving--I may need to step away from the computer and make a batch this afternoon. 

Where are you longing to be, these days when we are still mostly tethered close to home?

And ps, I'm absolutely certain that you know THE KEY LIME CRIME is in bookstores everywhere...and I am thrilled about the sales so far!

Screenshot of bestseller banner at Barnes and Noble!

I had a few truly priceless events, the first with my sister Susan Cerulean (I HAVE BEEN ASSIGNED THE SINGLE BIRD), moderated by our own fabulous Hallie Ephron. You can watch that here...

And if you missed all of the Reds with Barbara Peters at the Poisoned Pen Bookstore, you can watch that here...

What We're Writing: Lucy Burdette

LUCY BURDETTE: I’m working on the first draft of a book called tentatively The Happiness Connection. This isn’t a mystery, it’s women’s fiction, and I’m enjoying (most of the time) the challenge of figuring out how to move a plot along without any dead bodies. Of course, there can and should be secrets and twists to give momentum to any story, but this does feel hard and different. I’m used to murder and its aftermath propelling the characters and their actions.

I’m not finished with the Key West mystery series, but The Happiness Connection is a project I’ve been thinking about for ten years and really wanted to tackle. The main character is Dr. Cooper Hunziker, a new assistant professor at Yale who is in a battle for tenure with three other psychologists—and balancing the launch of her unexpected self-help book on happiness. Here she is meeting one of her competitors…

From The Happiness Connection by Lucy Burdette

“Cooper?” 

A voice floated from the office next to mine as I passed by. A woman with straight brown hair and ivory skin pulled her door wide open. Behind her, I caught a glimpse of hanging plants and paintings in vibrant colors. The floor was covered with a gorgeous Dhurrie rug in earth tones, and the standard-issue office furniture had been brightened up with crafty throw pillows. Not much in common between this space and my small office decorated with stacks of unpacked boxes. 

“I’m Mary Morris. I was out of town when you came to interview. Assistant professor, first year, studying the effects of communication strategies on the spread of infectious and insect-born diseases.” She laughed and added: “In laymen’s terms, to trumpet the Zika or not to trumpet? That is the question.”

“Nice to meet you.” We shook hands firmly, sumo wrestlers sizing up the competition. “Your office is gorgeous,” I said. 

Gargoyle courtesy of Ang Pompano

“Don’t be discouraged about your cubby,” she said, grinning. “It may be smallish and a little dark, but add a few lamps and bright pillows and presto—cozy! Besides, I almost took that space. You’re the only assistant professor in the department with a gargoyle view.”

She fell into step with me, slamming the door behind her and widening her blue eyes. “Are you having a book party for The Happiness Connection? My god, woman, I have to be frank. I was floored when I heard they hired you. Yale professors don’t do pop psychology.”  She laughed again, the faint lines radiating from the corners of her eyes crinkling adorably. “I guess you didn’t get that memo.”

I backed away, stunned by that much honesty. In case you’ve been living in a cave or don’t read women’s magazines or watch Dr. Oz, the pursuit of happiness has snowballed into a much bigger deal than when it was first introduced in the Declaration of Independence. Even bigger than getting fabulously rich or looking youthful and leggy, according to the latest issue of Woman Alive. And, I, Cooper Hunziker, Ph.D, am about to become one of the gurus. The biggest expert in America, with a fresh slant on how to tackle the problem of happiness that could change every woman’s life, if you believe the hoo-haw sent out by my book publicist. (I wouldn’t.) 

I didn’t feel like an expert: I felt like a fraud.

LUCY: So if you are a reader of plain fiction without murders and crimes, tell us about one that you've read and loved over the past year. And if you aren't, I'm curious about why not?

Reds on #Writing: @LucyBurdette aka #RobertaIsleib

LUCY BURDETTE: You may well have read on Facebook that Penguin Random House is not renewing the Key West foodie mystery series. Though I’m sad about this, I’m not taking the news personally. Here’s why:

1. I don’t think it has much to do with either the quality of the books or the sales. Lots of mass-market cozy folks are ending up in the refugee boat with me—it’s a mysterious corporate decision over which we have no control.

2. It’s happened before and I’ve survived and thrived.

3. I will most likely continue the series in another form in the future.

4. The support and enthusiasm of readers has been a huge comfort!

But I thought it might be interesting to look back on my reaction to the news that the golf lovers’ mystery series was not getting renewed. (Hint: devastated.) I called this essay “Character Assassination.”

Losing a special friend hurts, even if you’re mourning a figment of your own imagination.

I’ve been getting to know my protagonist, professional golfer Cassie Burdette, since scratching out the opening paragraphs of my first mystery in January 1998. As with most fictional detectives, Cassie wrestled with skeletons in her closet: her father’s desertion, a melancholy, alcoholic mother, a fog of self-doubt. Ambivalence infused her relationships with men and she tended to defer soul-searching in favor of the anesthetic effects of Budweiser.  Notwithstanding these conflicts, I imagined Cassie eventually thriving on the professional golf circuit through a combination of talent, spunk, and the right friends.

With five golf mysteries in print by March 2006, Cassie and I have spent the better part of eight years together. I finally talked her into starting psychotherapy (with the help of a couple of other characters) to address her low self-esteem and self-destructive tendencies. She began to play better golf, choose kinder men, drink less, and reconnect with her dad.

Roberta/Lucy with LPGA golfer Kate Golden

Meanwhile, researching Cassie’s world took me on some amazing adventures. I spent most of my first (modest) advance paying to compete in a real professional-amateur LPGA tournament so I could absorb the correct ambience for book two.

And I played golf at Pinehurst, Palm Springs, and in the Dominican Republic—all tax-deductible without stretching the IRS code. I met and corresponded with professional golfers, and many fans—mystery fans, golf fans, and best of all, fans of both. These people worried about Cassie: how can she drink that much before a tournament? How can she eat like that and stay in shape? Lose the boyfriend—he’s a bum! Over coffee, my friends were more likely to ask what was new with Cassie, than with me. And reviewers hailed Cassie as “a character readers can root for.”

I’d begun plotting the skeleton for the sixth installment, involving a golf reality show, a hunky cop, and murder, of course.

Then the word came from my editor: “We’d rather see a new idea—the numbers just haven’t been that good…”

Surprised or not, I was flooded with sadness and disappointment. No more Cassie Burdette mysteries? Like the end of a souring romance, I wished I’d been the one to call it quits.

H.R.F. Keating

Days later, waiting to sign books at the Malice Domestic mystery convention, I sat next to an older man with a soft voice and a full beard. He introduced himself as H.R.F. Keating—the Malice honoree for lifetime achievement, including twenty-five novels in his Inspector Ghote series. In response to his kind interest, I spilled the news that Cassie’s series was being killed. I'm quite certain that I cried. He assured me that he’d often thought his series went on too long, that perhaps years ago he’d said all he really had to say, and that seven books might be the optimum length for a series. Then the doors opened and a crush of fans queued up to have him sign books that spanned forty years.

Twenty-five novels, each one nudging back a little further the curtain obscuring Inspector Ghote’s personality: I realized there are many things I’ll never know about Cassie. Will she win a tournament? Have a relationship with golf psychologist Joe Lancaster? Get married?  Overcome her fear of kids? Hey, I’ll never know if I’m a grandmother.

But life in the publishing business lumbers on: I’ve signed a contract for my next writing adventure. The new series will feature psychologist and advice columnist, Dr. Rebecca Butterman, a woman who made cameo appearances in several of the golf mysteries. 

 Cassie wasn’t crazy about her—I can hear her voice now: “You’re writing about a psychologist? Rebecca Butterman? Bor-ing.”

And PS, back to me in the present, wasn't I so lucky to be seated next to that sweet man at the exact moment I needed his calm? And ps, Cassie did make a brief appearance in ASKING FOR MURDER and DEATH WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS. I am a fictional grandmother.  

Meanwhile, I am working madly on several projects, but I'm feeling very superstitious. So I decided not to say much about them…I'm not being a tease, I swear, just nauseously nervously anxiously cautious.

Reds and Red readers, how long do you think a series should run?

What We're Writing @LucyBurdette #giveaway

LUCY BURDETTE: What we are writing week seems to come around very fast, especially if we're not writing something we can share! I have completed the copy edits for KILLER TAKEOUT, and now await the page proofs. This is always a fun stage, because seeing those pages makes the book feel so real.


I'm also noodling around with an idea for an eighth Key West book, should the publisher clamor for that. It's too early to say much about it other than it would take full advantage of the changing climate with Cuba. (Remember, Key West is only 90 miles from Havana.) (And if you are anxious for another installment, the best way to make that happen is to preorder KT.) And I have been working on the proposal for what might be called a novel of suspense. So plenty of balls are being juggled!


I thought I'd share a scene from KILLER TAKEOUT that takes place on the dock where Hayley and Miss Gloria live in their houseboat. I have a lot of fun jamming local people and places into my books, including the names of pets. Schnootie the schnauzer came from an SPCA auction, and now her brother, Dinkels, an elderly black cat, will be making an appearance. Another friend was very disappointed that her cat didn't make the cut, so Jack has been layered in too. You might remember that both Hayley and Miss Gloria have cats, so of course they are in this scene as well. (Don't even think about all those litter boxes on the high seas!)


As I puttered up to the parking lot in front of Tarpon Pier, feeling the breath of relief and gratitude that always greets me when I realize I’m at home, I heard a huge ruckus on the dock. The racket radiated from Schnootie the schnauzer, whose barking echoed hysterically from the Renharts’ houseboat. As I strode up the finger, I spotted Miss Gloria on the Renharts’ deck. This never happens because Mr. Renhart abhors socializing. Over the incessant yapping of the schnauzer came the shrieking and growling of what sounded like hyenas. A lot of them.

I was pretty sure I recognized Evinrude’s angry cat voice among the yowls.

I broke into a trot, arriving just as Miss Gloria dove into a cartoon maelstrom of spinning legs and feet and fur and emerged with my tiger cat.

And that break in the action gave enough space for Miss Gloria’s black cat Sparky to rush back into the fray. So much was happening that I wasn’t certain who was fighting—or how many of them. But when Schnootie lunged into the whirling fur, I saw my chance and snatched Sparky out. Her chest heaving, Mrs. Renhart wrestled down two other long-haired cats, one pure black and one furry gray with a white face and neck and striking green eyes.

“Oh my gosh,” she said, her voice squeaky with exertion. “What a way to meet the new neighbors. And I so hoped my new kitties could be friends with yours.” She looked utterly bedraggled and forlorn, the two big cats clutched under her arms.

“These belong to you? Let us put our guys away,” I said, gritting my teeth as I smiled. “Then we can have a proper introduction.”
Miss Gloria and I carried our squirming, growling felines back to the dock and locked them in our houseboat. “What in the world was she thinking?” I muttered.

“I think she’s mostly lonely,” said Miss Gloria. “She sees how our animals get along so nicely and she wanted to copy us.” She shrugged and grinned, the skin around her eyes crinkling with laughter. “Take it as a compliment.”

“You’re right as usual,” I said, and gave her a quick hug. Another way I felt lucky in my life—this amazing and unlikely roommate. When I first met her, I sized her up as a frail but quirky old lady, a relic living out her last shaky legs on Houseboat Row. I couldn’t have been more wrong.

We started back to the Renharts’ houseboat, where our neighbor had—thank goodness—put Schnootie away in their cabin. Her new cats had retreated under the deck chairs. And Mrs. R was laying out a gallon jug of inexpensive white wine and a plate of Oreo cookies.

“I’m so sorry about all that; I just wasn’t thinking.” She poured the wine into three plastic glasses and passed them to us. In the background, Schnootie yelped and slammed her weight repeatedly against the screen door—a one-dog percussion section.

“It was our cats’ fault as much as anything,” said Miss Gloria, and thunked her glass against each of ours in a plastic toast. “They love a good fracas. Now tell us the story of these new kitties. Are you fostering?” She wiggled her fingers at the black cat who approached her cautiously and sniffed.

Jack Melendy

I scratched the big gray cat behind his ears. He closed his eyes for a moment as if to enjoy the rub, then darted under Mrs. Renhart’s chair. I took a sip of my wine and a bite of the cookie, neither of which fit into my calories-for-today plan. But our neighbor had never invited us over before, and she seemed desperate to keep us there for a bit. “Red velvet Oreo? Delicious,” I said, as I knelt down on the deck and ran my hand over the big black cat’s back. “Who is this beauty?”

Dinkels

“That’s Dinkels,” said Mrs. Renhart, breaking into a huge smile. “He’s almost fifteen. Can you imagine sending a fifteen-year-old cat to the animal shelter? The workers said he seems to think he’s a dog.”

“He’s got gorgeous eyes,” I said. “And a powerful presence.”

“And beautiful fur,” said Miss Gloria dutifully. “And who is this other handsome fella?” She leaned down to peer at the gray cat.

“That’s Jack,” said Mrs. R. “They think he’s even older than Dinkels, but he’s sweet and dignified.” Her eyes teared up and she ran her fingers through one cat’s fur and then the other’s.
“I don’t know what came over me. I was sitting here yesterday thinking about how happy I was to have Schnootie in my life, and how I should give back what she’s given me by adopting more animals. And the next thing I know, I’m running a home for elderly felines.” She hooted with laughter and took a slug of wine. “Mr. Renhart, as you can imagine, is not amused.”

We laughed along with her, probably howling a little louder than was polite.

Meanwhile, if you are still short on stocking stuffers, you might enjoy browsing my Pinterest board with tons of suggestions about mysteries that would slide nicely into a stocking! If you like Christmas-themed cozies, don't forget DEATH WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS.

In fact, I think we should give away a signed copy of DEATH WITH ALL THE TRIMMINGS to go in someone's stocking. Leave a comment with your email to be entered.

And how could I resist sharing this photo from last weekend's Key West Christmas parade?

Lucy with Officer Joe

Hemingway's Cats

Hemingway with his sons and cats in Cuba

Hemingway's writing studio

"One cat just leads to another. . . . The place is so damned big it doesn’t really seem as though there were many cats until you see them all moving like a mass migration at feeding time. . . ." Ernest Hemingway

LUCY BURDETTE: So last week Deb talked about her new love affair with Hemingway's words. Me being me, I am crazy about his Key West home and--his cats! 

 We also talked last week about the scary kinds of research we've done for the sake of our books. But sometimes I take on "research" without having any idea how, or even if, I might use it. I go hoping the story will make itself known.


If you've visited Key West, you may have toured the home where Ernest Hemingway lived from 1931-1939. It's a gorgeous, private piece of land with a swimming pool and a wonderful old home, including the little attached studio that housed Hemingway's office. No wonder he wrote so well here!

Hemingway's bed

This was Hemingway's bed. Usually one of the cats can be seen napping on it...but not the day I visited:

Rudy Valentino

One of the most-beloved features of the property is the colony of 50+ polydactyl cats who live on the premises, allegedly descendants of Hemingway's felines. (Although family sources have said that he did not own cats while he lived in Key West, though he owned many in Cuba.)

Late last year, I made a new Facebook friend who happens to work as one of the cat caretakers at the Hemingway House in Key West. Naturally, I was dying to meet Donna Vanderveen and get an inside look at the cats who live on the grounds.

Kitty condos

She introduced me to a number of the residents and explained their routines--in spite of the lawsuit filed against the Hemingway House and Museum by the USDA, believe me, these cats are treated like royalty.  



This little replica of the main house is a place to keep kittens at night or various other fellows who might need a "time out."


 
The cats are named after
historical figures...

Captain Tony--notice the extra toes

Duke Ellington

Tennessee Williams

Okay, so I still don't know how all or any of this will get worked into the fourth Hayley Snow mystery, though her good friend and former roommate Connie is getting married. And there is a lovely place for a ceremony on the grounds of the Hemingway House. And perhaps a character named Donna may have noticed a crime in progress earlier in the week. She has to get to work at an ungodly hour to take care of those cats....and so she might see things she isn't meant to see...

I very much doubt that Hemingway went around soliciting plot ideas, but for me, suggestions are always welcome:). And meanwhile, I feel another visit coming on...maybe the cats will whisper the story.