One of the many challenges authors face, beyond writing
captivating and entertaining stories, is the book’s cover. It needs to be
eye-catching, something that will make potential readers stop in their tracks
and say, ‘Wow, check this out!’ or words to that effect. As a reader, I know this has resulted in the
purchase of many books over the years, often leading to the discovery of some
very talented writers.
Sometimes what I have in mind for the cover doesn’t
translate well for the artist or the publishing house. There may be conflicts with models or stock
photos or areas that I have absolutely no experience with. One rendering for a Jamie Richmond mystery
had a close-up of a redhead woman’s face, with a gun pressed to her temple and
a hand clamped over her mouth. It was unsettling and did not correlate with any
segment of the story line. I vetoed that
one in a heartbeat.
So I was pleased this week to get the final approval on the
cover for “Your Turn to Die” the second Jefferson Chene mystery. We don’t have
a release date yet, but this is a little step in the right direction.
Here’s the blurb from the back cover:
It was
supposed to be a friendly round of paintball. But blood, not paint, covers Kyle
Morrissey’s body. Though admired by the public for his charity, the businessman
was no choirboy.
Could
it be that more than one person want him dead?
Sergeant
Jefferson Chene and his detective squad catch the case. With two new faces on
the team, he finds himself in the unfamiliar role as mentor. He is also
cautiously beginning a relationship with Simone Bettencourt, the beautiful
woman he met while pursuing a serial murderer. Complicating the case are two
retired gangsters, a fortune in jewels, and Detroit’s history of organized
crime. But the squad must utilize every resource available to catch a killer.
Here’s a little bit from the first Chene
mystery. In this scene, Chene and Pappy
are meeting to discuss the latest homicide and their plans.
Captain Prescott “Pappy” Cantrell
was in his office when I arrived. The fluorescent lights were off, but the
brass floor lamp in the corner was lit. Behind him, a window was always cracked
open, no matter what the weather. Despite the state law banning smoking in
public buildings, Cantrell continued to light up whenever the mood struck. As a
chain smoker, he was perpetually in that mood.
He was tipped back in his chair,
gangly legs crossed at the ankle. The bottom drawer of his desk was open,
allowing just enough space to prop his feet. In faded khakis and a blue checked
shirt, Cantrell looked nothing like the stereotypical police captain. Maybe
that was part of the reason he was so successful.
Taking a seat on the other side of
the desk, I waited for him to start.
“Crime scene look the same?”
I nodded. “From the photos we
viewed last week, it looks identical. No signs of a fight. No struggle. The
victim was on her back. No splatters. No bruising. The girl was spread-eagled.
It was like she’d been posed, as if she was waiting for her lover to arrive.
For all intents, she could have been asleep.”
“Same message?” Cantrell worked a
pen across the back of his knuckles. This was an old habit. He claimed it
helped him concentrate.
“Yeah. Didn’t measure it, but I’m
sure Fen will include that in his report. Lipstick will probably be the victim’s.”
“Y’all got a name?”
“Janet Calder. She drove a
four-year-old Honda. We found it in the saloon parking lot next door. She
checked in after six. Room had been reserved with her Visa card.”
“What else ya got?”
I checked my notebook. Koz called
while I was on the way back with more details. We had yet to find her purse or
wallet, but he’d pulled the information from the driver’s license when the
Bloomfield cops brought the copies.
“She was twenty-five. License shows
her at five foot three, with green eyes. She was tiny. Nails polished, some
makeup, but not overdone. She fit the profile of the other victims.”
“Clothes?”
“None at the scene just like the
other two. The killer strips them down to nothing. Think he keeps the wardrobe
as mementos.”
“Jewelry?”
I shook my head. “Her ears were
pierced. She had two holes in the right lobe and three in the left. But she
wasn’t wearing earrings. There were indentations on her right hand, fourth and
fifth finger, that were probably rings. It looked like thin bands that would
have been more evident in the summer time if she was tanned.”
“Family notified?”
“Not yet. Koz will call me when he’s
leaving the motel. We’ll meet up at the address on the license. I think it’s an
apartment building. The car registration has a different address. That could be
her parents.”
Cantrell paused to light a fresh
smoke. “Tell the giant to give y’all the details. Ah pulled Megan off the chop
shop surveillance. Take her with ya.”
I hesitated, trying to follow the
logic. “You got something against Koz?”
“You two can look about as
copasetic and unnerstandin’ as two linemen going after a quarterback’s fumble
in overtime. It won’t hurt to have a woman there.”
I chewed on that for a moment. “You’re
pulling in the whole squad, Pappy?”
By tilting his head back, Cantrell
was able to blow a plume of smoke directly at the opening of the window. Like
an ancient signal, it drifted quickly through the screen. “Yep. We got the
green light. It comes all the way from the capital.”
Our involvement in this case was a
fluke. Normally, we only get a case when it crosses into multiple
jurisdictions, at the invitation of a city when their own investigation has
stalled, or when we get orders from the governor. Our cases tend to be
complicated.
“So Laura and Barksdale?”
“Ah put out the calls. They’ll join
Kozlowski at the scene. Megan’s on her way. Y’all notify the family, then we’ll
caucus.”
“You decide how we should handle
the investigation?”
“Ah’m working on it. Y’all better
clear your social calendar. Ah think we’re going to be very busy for the next
few weeks.”
I slumped lower in my chair. “Or longer.”
On the jukebox today was a classic from the
Rolling Stones. Enjoy!
No comments:
Post a Comment