Living the Dream

Happy Thanksgiving to all who celebrate this Thursday. Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales and another scene from A Case of Mistaken Identity. Our word prompt this week is Thanks. I don’t have a cover for the book yet, but I did use AI to create an image of the way I see Evie Chambers.

“This is where they found the body,” he commented. “I thought that might interest you since you mentioned it again last night. The police cordoned off the area and had techs combing the beach at low tide for a couple of days, but I don’t think they found anything.”

He bent down and picked up a rock, rinsed it in the water, and handed it to me.

“This is a piece of sea glass. It could be anywhere from twenty to two hundred years old. A glass vase or some other item made of glass falls into the water. Over the years, the current tumbles it around, breaks it into small pieces, and then polishes it. This little nugget might even come from the wreck of the Empress of Ireland herself. There’s no way of knowing, but if you use your imagination, why not? You can take it to a jeweler, have him polish it some more and turn it into a pendant.”

I closed my fist over it before shoving it inside the front pocket of my shorts. “Thanks. I’ll do that, and who knows? It could come from the Empress. There was a lot of glass on board.” I looked out into the water. “Anything is possible, right? I suppose if the police were that thorough, they wouldn’t have missed much. The current would’ve carried anything light enough to float along with it, and anything heavy is probably buried in the sand.”

I’d somehow stepped back and the next wave washed over my feet, making me gasp.

“Oh, that’s cold.”

Al laughed. “I did warn you.”

I was about to come back with something witty when I noticed something hanging on a piece of driftwood that must’ve floated in after yesterday’s storm. Gritting my teeth, I waded into the shallow water, reached into the tangled branches, and pulled out what looked like the top half of a mesh diver’s bag. As soon as I had it, I hurried out of the water while I could still feel my feet.

“Look at this.” I held up my prize.

“What did you find?” Al came over to me.

“Probably nothing, but it looks like part of a diver’s bag. I have a couple just like it.”

He cocked his head. “You didn’t mention that you were a diver.”

Oops, I hadn’t meant to let that particular cat out of the bag yet.

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Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales, and A Case of Mistaken Identity, my NaNoWriMo novel this year. I’m pleased to say the story is going very well, and I’m more than two-thirds through. A story moves quickly when it’s written this way and doesn’t leave a lot of room for explanation. I hope you don’t have too much trouble following the disjointed scenes. Our word prompt this week is MOUSE.

Opening my Search program, I typed in Asleep with the Empress, the name Al had given his dive company. It came up right away. The site was well done, easy to navigate, and provided all the information a diver would need, from the size of the boat, the air mix in the tanks, to the qualifications needed to dive. I used the mouse to highlight Al’s name to learn a little more about the museum curator-dive boat company owner. As an investigator, I was used to researching both the people and every aspect of a case, but there was something that didn’t feel right about checking out the guy taking me to dinner. Still, I didn’t let it stop me.

Alphonse Binette was forty-three years old, which made him eight years older than me. He was ex-military, a former US Navy Seal, who’d retired ten years ago and had started the business. His diving qualifications were listed as well as the honors he’d received serving in the US Navy. There wasn’t anything unusual about that. Lots of Canadians had opted to join the US military during WWII, the Korean War, and the Vietnam War, and again right after 9 11. Had he lost someone significant that day? Twenty-four Canadians had died in the terrorist attack, including the grandson of a woman from our church who’d been at the World Trade Center for a business meeting. His wife had been pregnant at the time. My parents had taken me to the funeral, both of them afraid that the attack had been a prelude to war. They hadn’t been wrong.

Feeling too much like a voyeur, I changed my search to information concerning the boathouse fires he’d mentioned. As a detective, I was constantly looking for holes in a story. It wasn’t that I assumed everyone was lying, but two years of doing this job had taught me that a good many people did. Everyone had skeletons in the closets and secrets. It occurred to me that if I had taken the imposter out on my boat, and she’d somehow ended up in the water, I wouldn’t want to take a chance on anyone finding anything that could incriminate me.

Arson would get rid of the evidence quickly, and if other boats got damaged in the process, well, that would convolute matters and cover up the crime even more quickly. There wasn’t much information there, but I did see the line requesting anyone with information to contact Charles Lavoie. It seemed my inspector had his hands full.

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Not everyone is a fan of technology. I understand that. For many, there’s nothing as satisfying as turning the pages in a book while reading it. To that end, I make a point of offering each of my books in e-book and paperback format. Last month, I released two books, currently available from all Amazon distributors. Guarding Her Heart and Love at the Pickleback are two very different romantic genres which offer an escape from reality if only for a few hours. As of today, Guarding Her Heart, a romance suspense novel set around Christmas, is available in both of those formats.

And so is the latest Cocktails for You romantic comedy, Love at the Pickleback.

You can nestle up on the couch, in bed, or in your favorite chair and read Love at the Pickleback enjoying the humor that comes along with a young heiress’s determination to marry only for love.

Both books are also available to read for free on Kindle Unlimited. Christmas is coming. Why not stuff your favorite reader’s stocking, or your own, with one or both of these new novels?

And, please remember, if you do read one of my books in any format, please take a moment to review it. It’s an easy way to spread the word, and it warms my heart, renews my soul, and keeps me writing.

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. I’m working on my Romance Suspense Mystery novel, A Case of Mistaken Identity, has a touch of the paranormal added to it for zing. Our word prompt this week is FAN.

We’d been cruising along for almost half an hourand hadn’t yet seen any of the marine mammals when Iain stopped our guide as she walked by. Expecting him to ask for another drink, my ears perked up when I heard the word Empress.

Roxanne shook her head. “Not really but on our way back, our course takes us near the National Historic Park. I’ll point it out to you when we’re close.”

“Is there any way that we can go out to the site of the wreck? We both lost family when the ship went down in 1914, and if possible, we would like to pay our respects.”

She frowned. “I see. Are you certified in wreck and technical diving and do you have your PADI Advanced Open Water Diver certification? If you do, there are few companies in the Rimouski area licensed to take to out to dive the wreck, but it’s eyes only. You can’t take so much as a grain of sand from the wreckage or the area around it. Unless you’re experienced at deep water diving, I wouldn’t chance it. It’s an incredibly difficult and dangerous dive. You’re down between 130 and 140 feet. I’ve done it once a few years ago when I was working on my master’s degree, but I wouldn’t say I’m a fan of the experience. It’s cold, dark, silty, and super eerie down there. There was precious little marine life around the wreck. You couldn’t pay me enough to go down there again.”

I jumped into the conversation. “Did you see anything?”

Roxanne turned to me and nodded. “Part of the group was working for Parks Canada doing artifact recovery. They brought up some dishes, cutlery, and other memorabilia including a ceramic doll’s head. It was so sad. I almost expected the ghostly hand of a child to come out of the water and take it back down with her. Someone in the group swore something touched her, but…” She shrugged.

I shuddered. If that image wasn’t enough to spook the couple, nothing was.

“We don’t dive,” Iain explained. “We only thought that if we came this close…”

The girl smiled. “I’m not sure they’re still running, but there used to be a couple of companies in Rimouski that took people out to the marker. I’d better get back to the other passengers.” Roxanne left us.

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Welcome to November and the second last month of 2024. It hasn’t been an exceptionally good year, but not a totally bad one either. In terms of writing, it’s been slow, although I did manage to release three new books. In my personal life, I lost my mother, suffered an episode of depression, and my athritis got so much worse that I’m scheduled for hip replacemtn surgery in the spring. It’s going to be a long winter!

November 6 question – What creative activity do you engage in when you’re not writing?

Before the arthritis in my hands made cutting a painful chore, I did scrapbooking. Now, I do some gardening in the spring, people watch, and play word games. When I’m not writing, I usually relax, read, watch television, and spend time with friends and family. We often take day tips or weekend excursions to places we enjoy. It may not sound particularly exciting or creative, but a lot of the plots for my books come from those simple activities.

What about you? How do you get creative? Check out other answers here:

https://www.insecurewriterssupportgroup.com/p/iwsg-sign-up.html

November is here and the screwy weather continues. Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. This week’s word prompt is CAREFUL. I’m working on my NaNoWriMo novel A Case of Mistaken Identity.

Heavily pregnant with her third child, Lily Richmond sat behind the reception desk.

“Evie, nice to see you. It’s been ages. Jake’s on the phone, but as soon as he’s off, I’ll let him know you’ve arrived. How are you managing? Is it getting any easier?”

Even after seven years, people still thought of me as a poor widow before they considered me an efficient private eye—of course, this situation didn’t speak to my success at my job.

“I’ve been better,” I muttered, and then felt bad about that.

This wasn’t Lily’s fault. Just about everyone in my social circle knew the unfortunate circumstances of my husband’s accidental death. When I got called to the site where the boats had collided, I’d messaged him, but he hadn’t responded, the call going to voice mail. I hadn’t worried; it had been his day off, and he’d gone fishing with his best friend Luke. Too bad I hadn’t pushed and asked where. I might’ve sent someone else to do the recovery. As it was, I’d pulled four bodies from the river that day, a man whose blood alcohol level had been through the roof, a fifteen year old boy, Luke’s, and my husband’s. I hadn’t worked with the URT since. I’d closed the dive shop, stopped giving lessons, had gone back to my maiden name, and had gotten my PI license. I was doing my best to move on, but it was like some sick waltz … two steps forward and one step back.

Pulling myself together I shrugged. “Sorry, today isn’t my best day. How have you been? You certainly look the picture of health. When’s the baby due?”

Given her size, I expected the answer to be soon.

“Not until early December, and while it’s been a struggle with heartburn, Doc Wilson says I’m doing great.” She laughed. “When I agreed to cover Tricia’s holidays, I didn’t expect to have to use the bathroom every hour on the hour.” The light went off on the phone. “Let me tell Jake you’re here.”

She got up, waddled to the office door, and opened it.

“Jake, Evie’s here.”

“Send her in and hold my calls.”

I stood and hurried toward the door, hoping not to collide with the mother-to-be. Closing the door behind me, I approached the paper covered desk. How Jake could find anything in that mess was a mystery.

“So what’s the bad news?”

Don’t forget to check out the other Tuesday Tales.

Welcome to this week’s Tuesday Tales. The last Tuesday in October brings with it lots of excitement as well as a touch of sadness. While the kids get ready for Trick or Treat, I’m digging out my warm clothing since there’s more than a nip of frost in the air. The temperature is 28F, -2C sounds so much colder, and the high today with be 54F, or 12C. Not exactly warm weather, but the sun is going to show its face, and that will defintely help.

This week, Tuesday Tales are written to the word prompt SCARED. Those of you who have enjoyed Listen to the Stones and want to read the entire book–and it’s a long one, the longest I’ve written to date–keep an eye fixed here on my blog for its release date, either by the end of this week or early next week.

My new work in progress is a romance-suspense/mystery. Since I love working with supernatural elements, there’s a touch of the paranormal in it–you can’t have a sunken ship and treasure without the possibility of a ghost or two, right? But ghosts come in all shapes and sizes. This will also be my NaNoWriMo book for 2024. I hope you’ll enjoy it. Although the writing doesn’t start officially until Friday, I jotted down a scene from the introduction for your readin pleasure. The book is titled, A Case of Mistaken Identity, set in Canada, is the first book in my new Evie Chambers Mystery Series. If you like Nancy Drew and Agatha Christie, this new series will be right up your alley. Enjoy.

Since Pete’s death five years ago, there had been good days and bad days, but today would go down as the worst one of them all.

How could this possibly have happened? I’d been so careful, so cautious, doing everything I could to keep my online accounts secure, and yet here it was. My identity had been stolen, and to make matters worse, whoever had done so had died.

This particular twist hadn’t occurred in any of the cases of identity theft that I’d investigated to date, so while I knew how to reestablish my credit, I had no idea how to resurrect myself from an early grave. Whether I cared to admit it or not, I was scared that getting out of this mess would be a lot harder than anything I’d had to do before. Proving I was alive couldn’t be that hard—I was breathing and had a pulse, my doctor could swear to that—but getting the government to acknowledge it was another matter entirely.

I looked at the bank clerk as if she’d grown a second head. It was true that she was new at her job—the badge inscribed Carla, trainee, said it all—but I was standing right in front of her, and unless she was blind…

“As I said that account has been suspended due to the death of the account holder. Until you can bring in a death certificate and a copy of the will, stating that you have inherited the money in the account, it can’t be accessed.”

She smiled and spoke with a finality that told me that as far as she was concerned, the matter was closed. Closed my eye!

Swallowing my strained-to-the-absolute-limit temper, I inhaled deeply.

“There’s been a mistake. This isn’t in the least bit funny. Do I look dead to you, Carla?”

Her head snapped around again as if she were surprised that I still stood there. Had she expected me to vanish in a puff of smoke?

She rolled her eyes as so many of her generation did when confronted with an older person who didn’t seem to get it. I was in my mid-thirties, not my late eighties for heaven’s sake, far from my dotage, even if my hair had turned white prematurely, a genetic condition I’d inherited from my mother’s side of the family. Good old family genes. You couldn’t pick your family anymore than you could pick your DNA.

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