What Happens When He Returns to the Scene of the Crime?

Such a great launch! 

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: There’s nothing more enrapturing than a wonderful book launch—with cheering family and friends and the special joy that comes from knowing you have hit it out of the ballpark with a terrific book.

For his new mystery DESERT REMAINS, the amazing Steven Cooper hosted such a shoulder-to-shoulder launch at Barnes & Noble in Framingham Massachusetts, and an equally wonderful one at New England Mobile Book Fair. We’re colleagues—he’s a journalist, too, and now lives in Atlanta. (As I once did. Small world!) 

Plus, he’s clever and smart and a brilliant writer. And thoughtful, too, as you can see from what happened when he took what he thought was a predictable journey—and it turned into a completely different experience. 

(And see below for a giveaway!)

Returning to the Scene of the Crime

Steven Cooper

Flight 144 glides into Sky Harbor International Airport. And I’m back. Mountains to the left, mountains to the right, and a valley, as flat as a warm tortilla in the middle. Phoenix doesn’t change, but it changes dramatically. New buildings have sprouted like industrial saguaro. New highways loop around the suburban sprawl, and old highways have been extended to bring people home to their increasingly distant subdivisions.

And yet, there is South Mountain, Camelback, Squaw (Piestewa) Peak, and the Estrellas. They have not moved. Not for centuries. They remain stalwart guardians of the valley. I’m grateful for their constancy.

To set a novel, and in my case a series, in Phoenix and its surrounding desert, is to remain fundamentally aware of the constant tug of war between man and nature. 

Between the appetite for development and the preservation of beauty. It can get ugly. As it did when I returned to the scene of the crime. I drove over to a neighborhood that sits on the south side of Camelback Mountain to snap some photos of a shallow cave where I placed one of the murders in Desert Remains, my series debut. It’s an open cave, a small yawn in the mountain, which sits on a low ledge of Camelback. When I lived in Phoenix I would often bring visitors up to the ledge to show them the grand view of the valley.

 Sadly, the cave was often filled with empty beer cans and cigarette butts in the aftermath of teenage partying, but the view was sublime. I say “was” because the view is no more. The cave is no more.

At first, I though I was lost. The roads that climb Camelback meander precariously. I drove up and down, back and forth, and then I realized a house, an expansive, obviously expensive and princely house, had usurped the ledge! It had blocked the cave! I had no access!

 I looked around and recognized what I did not recognize: construction everywhere. New homes crawling up to even higher tiers of Camelback. In fact, a Phoenix friend, hearing my dismay, informed me that not only had the princely home usurped my ledge (my ledge!) it had also annexed the cave for its own audacious use: the owners are now enjoying it as their private wine cellar. (Maybe I should have told them that I murdered someone there). Oh, sure, it will win design awards and be the envy of aficionados everywhere, but no. Just no.

Please don’t build on Camelback. Leave the squatting giant alone.

 Soon you will not be able to recognize the beast for what it is. Let nature run its course. As much as the guardians of the valley are constant, they do in fact change. I acknowledge erosion even when I can’t see it. The wind reshapes the desert every day, but the changes are nuanced and might take several lifetimes to notice.

I don’t think you have to live in a place to write about a place. I do think you have to be familiar and return to the scene of the crime often enough to make sure your caves aren’t wine cellars. 

The landscape matters. 

In Phoenix it conjures up mystery and intrigue with so many places for danger to lurk—behind those muscular mountains, beneath those craggy ridgelines, in the cradle of the valley. If that’s not absorbing enough, watch how the scenery changes from hour to hour as the sun and the shadows mingle with the topography.

The desert is like a muse to me, particularly for the current series I’m writing. In fact, I only recently discovered, in the weeks since Desert Remains was published, that my title had a hidden meaning, hidden even to me until now: Once you live in the desert, the desert remains with you. I guess you could call it a retroactive epiphany.

Here’s hoping nature wins the war, and that the desert remains.

HANK: Here’s where I usually say something to encourage conversation. I bet, today, I don’t have to.  You all take it from here.

And a copy of DESERT REMAINS to one very lucky commenter!

 Steven Cooper's latest novel, Desert Remains, is the launch of a new crime series published by Seventh Street Books. 

A former investigative reporter, Steven has received multiple Emmy awards and nominations, a national Edward R. Murrow Award, and many honors from the Associated Press. He taught writing at Rollins College (Winter Park, FL) from 2007 to 2012. He'll be teaching at Kennesaw State University (Kennesaw, GA) in 2018.

Born and raised in Massachusetts, Steven has lived a bit like a nomad, working TV gigs in New England, Arizona and Florida, and following stories around the globe. He currently lives in Atlanta where, when not writing, he spends most of his time in traffic.

Desert Remains is his fourth novel.

In a world of Long Island mediums, “dudes who cross over,” and horoscopes that auto-Tweet, Gus Parker is the real deal. His visions might be murky, but they mean something. That’s why Detective Alex Mills needs his help. Someone is filling the desert caves around Phoenix with bodies—a madman who, in a taunting ritual, is leaving behind a record of his crimes etched into the stone.

Set in the rugged, majestic landscape of the Valley of the Sun, Desert Remains leads Mills and Parker into the mystical world of petroglyphs—crude drawings from an ancient civilization that seem to have inspired the dark, haunted mind of a serial killer.

When Parker sees the crime scenes, he sees visions of a house on fire and a screaming child.  With no leads and no suspects, Mills sees a case spinning out of control. City leaders want the case solved yesterday, and another detective wants to elbow Mills out of the way. As the body count rises, Gus Parker struggles to interpret his psychic messages, knowing that the killer is one step ahead, knowing that in this vast desert, the next murder could happen anywhere. Mills suspects that with every news crew, every bleeding headline, and every dead end, he is one step closer to reassignment. It doesn’t help that a family crisis almost pushes him to the breaking point. Nor does it help that Parker, who’s always been unlucky in love, finds himself the prey of a lovelorn stalker who is Fifty Shades of Crazy.

Desert Remains swerves past the gloriously scenic, ricochets off the darkly absurd, and hurls Gus Parker and Alex Mills into a trap they may very well not survive.

Secrets: The Lethal Whispers by Daniella Bernett

I would like to thank Jenn McKinlay for inviting me to Jungle Reds. They say that the third time is the charm. Indeed, it is a pleasure for me to share this space, even for a little while, with such distinguished writers.

JENN: Welcome, Daniella, we're happy to have you here!

I’m delighted to let everyone know that FROM BEYOND THE GRAVE, the third book in my mystery series featuring journalist Emmeline Kirby and jewel thief Gregory Longdon, was released on September 23 by Black Opal Books. It is set in Torquay, a seaside resort along the English Riviera in Devon. A lovely place for a holiday…a perfect place for murder.

Emmeline needs some time away from her home in London to sort out her jumbled feelings for handsome Gregory, her former lover. He once broke her heart—she thought forever. But time is a funny thing. Now that he has resurfaced after vanishing in the dark of night two years earlier, oh my how the blood is thrumming through her veins again. Should she give him a second chance? Can she trust him? No sooner does she let her guard down, than Gregory turns up in Torquay and all his secrets start tumbling out—one more devastating than the next. This includes a woman from his past, who he believed was dead and sorely wishes she had stayed that way.

What I’d like to explore today is secrets. Did I hear a sharp intake of breath? A hushed silence always seems to descend when that word escapes the lips. One tends to lean forward just a smidgen as the ears perk up to hear the juicy nugget. Why is that word so titillating? Is it the sense of foreboding about the truth coming out—as it inevitably does—and the menacing consequences that will surely follow?

At the heart of a mystery or thriller, a secret is often a writer’s weapon of choice. It can be wielded for revenge, to mete out justice for old sins, to add an element of danger, or simply to keep the tale hurtling forward. Secrets usually have a partner in crime: blackmail. Here it can become ugly for this wicked duo relishes its power and thinks nothing of squeezing until its victim has nowhere to turn. When baser instincts take control, the only option left is murder.

Crime begets crime. The secret is still floating upon the ether, perhaps more vulnerable than before because it has already seen the light of day. But now, an even greater deception begins as gossamer strands are spun into an intricate web of lies to cover up the fact that a life has been snuffed out. As the lies build, so too does desperation. For one careless misstep can lead to exposure.

In a safe and ordered world, crime, particularly murder, cannot be permitted. Justice must prevail, otherwise we are plunged into chaos.

For Emmeline, uncovering the truth and seeing that justice is served are part of the core fabric of her being. But the truth can also be a bitter betrayal. Icy tendrils of doubt curl around the heart leaving it shaken. Doubts about the nature of truth itself. Doubts about whether we can ever truly know another person.

So is it better to know the truth or to let the secrets die in the past? It’s a killer of a dilemma that makes for a tantalizing story. 

   

If From Beyond The Grave intrigues you, don’t miss Lead Me Into Danger and Deadly Legacy, the first two books in my series, where Emmeline and Gregory put their lives at risk when they’re thrust into imbroglios involving Russian spies, stolen diamonds and blackmail. 

Daniella Bernett is a member of the Mystery Writers of America New York Chapter. She graduated summa cum laude with a B.S. in Journalism from St. John’s University. Lead Me Into Danger and Deadly Legacy are the first two books in the Emmeline Kirby-Gregory Longdon mystery series. She also is the author of two poetry collections, Timeless Allure and Silken Reflections. In her other professional life, she is the research manager for a nationally prominent engineering, architectural and construction management firm. Daniella is currently working on Emmeline and Gregory’s next adventure. 

Visit www.daniellabernett.com or follow her on Facebook at https://www.facebook.com/profile.php?id=100008802318282 or on Goodreads https://www.goodreads.com/user/show/40690254-daniella-bernett.

It Seems Funny Now

HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN:  First administrative stuff: the winners of the Charlie book of your choice are: Kiki, Tricia, and Terri Lynn! (Email me at hryan@whdh.com)  And thank you so much for entering the giveaway! (Click here!: https://a.pgtb.me/cBqF8x One day left to go! Two books for the price of one!)

Now. Today. You know what it is to be asked for a blurb—an author (or agent or editor) contacts you and asks very sweetly if you would read a new book with an eye to a blurb. Saying “yes” usually means you’ll do it. So if you don’t know the author, it’s a bit of a potentially sticky situation.

 

But when Jane Haseldine’s editor asked me, and I saw Jane’s résumé,—I thought—this is not a tough call. She’s a journalist. Like me. And she was a press secretary-ish to an elected official. Like I was.  So, I thought, it’ll be fine.

I was wrong. It is TERRIFIC. I zoomed through The Last Time She Saw Him, and happily heaped lavish praise. You will love it.  I also wanted you to meet her.

And happily, you’re meeting her here. And not on one specific day in college.

IT SEEMS FUNNY NOW…

By Jane Haseldine

During one of my first classes freshman year at Syracuse University, I inadvertently flashed a hundred students my underwear.

It happened during a chemistry class. I was a journalism major, but I had to take chemistry as a prerequisite because the school thought every student needed a balanced education, although I don’t think I’ve ever once busted out the periodic table to help me navigate through my days.

That morning, I was running late. I was wearing a long skirt, and during my rush to get to class, I didn’t realize that a wasp had hitched a ride underneath it. With seconds to go before the class started, the only seats available were in the front row. About one minute into the lecture, the wasp decided it didn’t like hanging out under my skirt anymore and started stinging me with a vengeance. My reaction? I jumped out of my seat and lifted my skirt up, desperate to get the wasp out. And 100 or so kids saw my underpants. Way to make a good impression when you’re eighteen and nothing matters more.

I was sure that humiliation would haunt me forever. But somehow, I’d forgotten it, until recently when my debut novel was published.

For me, it’s been beyond thrilling to have my story become something people can actually read instead of a work in progress on my computer.  But it has also made me feel exposed, something I wasn’t expecting. My husband, who I met at a newspaper where he covered politics and I was on the crime beat, nailed it when he told me I was probably feeling that way because the story had been my lifeline.

He was right.

During the course of writing the book, my mom, a former journalist who named me Jane Eyre, took me to the library every Saturday growing up, and read me, “And Then There Were None,” when I was 11, was going through the last stage of Alzheimer’s. When my mom forgot her words that she had once spoken more eloquently than anyone else I’d ever met, or the time she’d looked at my newborn son and said, “What a beautiful baby. I bet your mother is proud,” I threw myself into writing the story. It was my own version of therapy I guess. Just like she was a writer, I was too, and I felt like if I could keep writing the story, somehow, I could hold onto her.

Silly the stuff we think sometimes.

The month I landed a literary agent, my mom died after her battle with a cruel disease. When the book was released, letting it go had taken on a deeper meaning for me.

I remember after the college underwear-baring incident, I called my mom, always calm, always classy, and always my motivation to keep pushing forward.

Her first comment was, “Oh dear.” And then after listening to me blather on, I could tell she was trying not to laugh. In hindsight, it was pretty funny. But I’ve never forgotten what she told me next. She said it might seem horrible now, but that I’d be okay. No, I couldn’t quit school and come home. I had to hold my head up and keep going forward. And if that’s all I could do, well, that would be enough, and I’d be all right.

I think if my mom were here, she’d tell me to enjoy the moment, that beautiful memories are the bond, not words in a book. But more importantly, I think she’d tell me to keep moving forward.

Who inspires you most?

HANK: Wait. Your real name is Jane Eyre? I love it. Oh. (I used to hate my first name, Harriet, so much that for a brief while, until my mom found out, I told people my name was Evangeline. I was, like, fourteen.)

So yes, Reds. Two possible questions. Who inspires you most? Or: did you ever make up a name?

******************

The Last Time She Saw Him is the first book in the new Julia Gooden mystery series by Kensington Publishing and was released in July 2016.

A crime reporter searching for her kidnapped son must untangle the connection to her brother’s long ago disappearance.

Julia Gooden remembers nothing about the worst night of her life. Thirty years ago, her nine-year-old brother Ben—the person who promised he would always protect her—was abducted from the room they shared. Try as she might to recall any clue or detail, there is a black hole where Julia’s memories of that terrible event should be.

Now a crime reporter at a Detroit newspaper, Julia tries to give others the closure she’s never found. But guilt and grief over Ben’s disappearance have left her fearful that whoever took her brother is going to come back. Nowhere seems safe—not the city, not the suburbs, not even the secluded lake town where she plans to raise her children. And then, on the anniversary of Ben’s disappearance, Julia’s worst fears are realized when her two-year-old son, Will, is snatched from his bed.

Convinced that the crimes are related, Julia tries to piece together memories from her final day with Ben. Are the sudden reminders of her brother clues that will lead her to her son’s abductor, or merely coincidence? Julia knows she has hours at best to find Will alive, but the deeper she digs, the more personal and terrifying the battle becomes, and an undying promise may be her only hope of saving herself and her son.

Jane Haseldine is a journalist, former crime reporter, columnist, newspaper editor, magazine writer and deputy director of communications for a governor. Jane resides in Southern California with her husband and two young sons. You can find Jane at janehaseldine.com, Twitter, Goodreads, and Facebook.