HANK PHILLIPPI RYAN: When I was…oh, I guess sixteen, I
was out on a sort-of “date.” Those were
few and far between and I remember nothing about it except: When I called at 10
to see if I could stay out later, my mother said: “Come home right now, the barn
is on fire.”
When we arrived, there was a conflagration, and
firefighters everywhere, and the ladies auxiliary had set up a picnic table in
our front yard with hot dogs and lemonade. Weird, huh?
Anyway, turned out, we began to hear, the kid next door,
a very strange 10 year old, had set the fire. The family soon left town.
Yeesh.
These days--I realize—I know who lives right next door
to us on both sides. And they are not pre-adolescent arsonists. But the next houses? NO idea.
The wonderful Nancy Cole Silverman has her own “house
next door” story.
Family Secrets and Urban Legends
When I was a little girl,
my family and I used to visit my grandmother’s home in Seattle. She had lived
there since she had been a young bride and had many stories to tell about the
neighborhood and times past.
One of the
more curious tales concerned a mysterious house next door, a turn of the
century Craftsman with a large front porch and a view of Puget Sound. Gramma said the house had once been the
prettiest on the block with hanging fuchsias and Boston ferns, but that the
lady who lived inside, hadn’t been seen in years.
Rumor was there
had been a murder in the house. Some suspected the woman had killed her
husband, other suspected something far more sinister.
Whatever it was, my grandmother didn’t tell
me. Only that it was something, a young
girl didn’t need to worry herself about.
Grandma was like that. If you
didn’t have something nice to say, she didn’t say it.
All I knew for certain was that the cops had
come, the cops had left, and nobody – particularly the women in the
neighborhood – were talking about it. It
was my first experience hearing about an unsolved crime and a recluse, and I was determined to see if I
might spot her.
I don’t know what I expected, probably something very
Hitchcockian. Maybe a little, old gray-haired lady, dressed in black mourning clothes and carrying around a candle while peering out
laced-draped windows. Despite my staying
up way past my bedtime and sitting by the guest bedroom window and straining my
young eyes to see if I might catch a glimpse of her, I never did. But my memory of my nighttime posts, and
later some of the urban legends about reclusive
old ladies and serial killers was seared in my mind.
For years when I’d visit my grandmother, I couldn’t help but flash back to
the memory of the strange house next door
and wonder about its occupant.
But time and distance faded those memories, and I hadn’t thought of that incident
again until I started research for Room For Doubt, book four of the Carol
Childs Mysteries. About that time, there were a couple of
stories in the paper; one about a group of bad cops on the take and another where two sweet looking little old ladies had been
accused of multiple murders. The
story was slugged, Black Widow Murders: Two elderly women found guilty of conspiring to kill homeless men.
The story reminded me of Joseph Kesselring’s Arsenic and Old Lace.
Kesselring based his light-hearted mystery on
the serial killings of Amy Archer-Gilligan, who was believed to have killed
between 20 and 100 people, including several of her husbands. Kesselring
turned what was a horrendous news story into a popular piece of light-hearted
fiction.
The story triggered memories of the mysterious house
next to my grandmother and its even more
mysterious occupant. Why hadn’t anyone
followed up on the idea that she might have been a serial killer, and why hadn’t
the police arrested her or at least conducted a more thorough investigation? I
couldn’t help but wonder, was there a reason why nobody dared speak of whatever
happened inside that house?
Imagination, it’s a wonderful
thing. It got me researching all kinds
of urban legends. One of which was the
basis for my new book Room For Doubt.
How about you? Any childhood memories or urban legends influence the theme of your work?
HANK: And let me ask you this, Reds and readers—do you know who lives
next door?
 |
| Yes, showing it again, why not? xx Hank |
When radio reporter Carol Childs is called to a crime
scene in the Hollywood Hills at five thirty in the morning, she’s convinced it
must be a publicity stunt to promote a new movie. That is, until she sees the
body hanging from the center of the Hollywood sign. The police are quick to
rule it a suicide, but something doesn’t add up for Carol. Particularly after a
mysterious caller named Mustang Sally confesses to the murder on the air and
threatens to kill again.
With the help of an incorrigible PI, her best friend,
and a kooky psychic, Carol is drawn into the world of contract killers and
women scorned. As she races to find the real killer, she finds herself faced
with a decision that will challenge everything she thought she knew.
- Nancy Cole Silverman enjoyed a long and very successful career in radio before turning to print journalism and later, to fiction.
As a graduate of Arizona State University with a degree in Mass Communications, Nancy was one of the first female on-air television reporters in her hometown of Phoenix. After moving to Los Angeles in the late 1970’s she turned to the business side of broadcasting, becoming one of the top advertising sales executives in the market. After stints at KNX, KFWB, KABC and KXTA radio, she was appointed General Manager at KMPC, making her one of only two female managers in America’s second-largest radio market.But in her heart of hearts, Nancy thought first of herself as a writer. In 2001 she left the radio business to found and edit The Equestrian News, a monthly publication for equine enthusiasts. “That’s when I really began to write,” said Silverman, “toggling between writing articles for the News and fiction I’d been thinking about for years.”Today Nancy is a full-time author. Her new series, The Carol Childs Mysteries, with Henery Press, is available in bookstores and online.
