Cameos

Sometimes you’ll have a character who is so good, you want to keep them around for brief appearances in other stories.  Readers might recognize the character from the original story.  Or it might lead readers to go back and discover those characters again.

You see this on television shows a lot.  A successful series like NCIS has spawned two other shows, the LA version and the New Orleans one.  Occasionally characters from the original make an appearance in one of the other shows. There’s instant recognition for the audience.

I used a cameo with “Vanishing Act”.  It was the perfect opportunity to introduce Jefferson Chene, another sergeant with the Michigan State Police who leads a major crime unit of detectives.  Chene became a key player in the story.  

At the same time, I was working on “Why 319?” so I knew the character well.   Currently I’m writing the sequel to that novel and decided it was a perfect opportunity for Jamie to return the favor and make a guest appearance.  We’ll have to see how that works out.

Here’s an excerpt from “Vanishing Act” with Chene’s entrance.  In this scene Jamie has stopped by the State Police post to talk with Malone.

Malone was leaning against a desk, quietly talking with two other people. I hesitated in the background until I caught his eye. He smiled and waved me over and introduced me.

“Jamie, this is Sergeant Jefferson Chene and Detective Megan McDonald. They work with the multi-jurisdictional investigative squad.”

Chene gave me a thin smile and shook my hand. “We prefer Squad Six. It’s a lot less glorified, but it gets the job done.” His voice was low and deep.

“I’ve heard about you,” Megan McDonald said. “You’re the one who cracked the Kleinschmidt shooting. That was good work.”

I smiled at the compliment. “According to Malone, it was just a stubborn redhead with an active imagination. Hope I’m not interrupting anything.”

Chene easily shook his head. “No, we were just on our way across town from Ann Arbor. Thought I’d stop by and pick up the fifty bucks Malone owes me from the Patriots and Broncos game.”

“I told him not to bet against New England, but he wouldn’t listen,” I said.

Malone shrugged. “Hey, I’m a Denver fan. What can I say?”

While the cops bantered, I took a moment to study them. Chene was a light skinned black man, close to six feet in height, with a solid build. His black hair was clipped short. He was clean-shaven, with piercing, dark eyes. He had a short, jagged scar on his left cheek. McDonald was almost looked too pretty to be a cop. She had shoulder length blonde hair and hazel eyes. She was about my height. Her frame was muscular, but she still looked feminine. I had no doubt she could hold her own with the male officers.

“So what does a multi-jurisdictional investigative squad do?” I asked.

Megan gave me a wink. “We catch the bad guys. We can’t leave all the work to the civilians.”

“Most of our cases span different communities,” Chene said. “Sometimes they are in the same county, other times, it can involve several counties.”

“Do you collaborate with the different communities in your investigations?” I asked.

“Well, in some cases we do,” Megan said, “but usually they turn to us to take over the case. Sometimes it’s a matter of manpower or experience. Our boss kind of likes it when we’re left to work on our own.”

“Without the help of any nosy civilians,” I said.

“That goes without saying,” Chene said with another thin smile.

 I looked at him closely. He reminded me of someone, but I couldn’t make the connection. “Your name is Jefferson Chene. Isn’t that an intersection in Detroit?”

Chene nodded once. “Yes, that’s right.”

I waited for him to elaborate, but there was nothing else coming.

Malone paid his debt. Chene made a show of holding the bill up to the light, as if to make certain it wasn’t counterfeit. Then he and McDonald headed out. When we were alone, Malone pulled me close for a hug. After a while we separated and I boosted myself up on the desk, letting my legs dangle.

Here's a shot of actress Hilarie Burton, who could easily play Jamie.

Villains

With any good mystery, ya gotta have a villain. At least one. Sometimes you can have a group, but often there is one who is the epitome of cruel, the ultimate bad guy that every reader wants to see get his due, in some form or another. We all like stories where good conquers evil. That’s natural.

As a writer, it’s always a challenge to create a villain that’s a little different. One who in other circumstances, may be a guy you cheer for. It’s not easy. Often the first draft has a villain who not even his own mother could love.  In some stories, that’s a good place to start. But every once in a while, I strive to make my villain a little bit different, someone with a touch of class, a bit more awareness, a bit more intelligence than normal.

In my research, I'll dig into real life criminals, to get a sense of what drives them. News articles often have details that can provide excellent background.  Not every criminal comes from a broken home or has had to struggle through life to get what they want.  It's my job to find out what motivates all of my characters, including the bad guys.

One of my favorite cinematic villains of all time was Alan Rickman’s character Hans Gruber in “Die Hard”.  This was a very cunning, intelligent man whose meticulous plans were designed to be carried out without wrinkling his expensive European suit. That is, until Bruce Willis shows up to disrupt everything.  So in some respects, I’ve always want to incorporate some of those traits in my villains.

Here’s an example of a villain from “Fleeing Beauty”.  In this scene Jamie and her mother Vera comes face to face with the person behind the theft of her late father’s sculpture.

There was a double tap at the conference room door.  Two burly men in jeans, boots, and work shirts marched into the room. One held a shotgun with a pistol grip, the barrel dangling alongside his leg. The other held a small revolver is his right hand. Behind them marched a slender man with an olive complexion and a neatly trimmed mustache. He was wearing a business suit with a white shirt, the collar undone.  

 "I am Anton Tancredi.”

The name meant nothing to me. My face must have told him as much.

“But that is not important. I’m afraid you’ve disrupted my plans.” He glanced at the others. “We’ll have to speed up the timetable.” 

A thousand questions raced through my mind, but I was too numb to sort them. I took a tentative step toward Vera. No one tried to stop me. I bent down next to her.

“Are you okay?”

She nodded. “I’m scared, Jamie. What is all this about?”

“I don’t know.”

“Oh, but I think you do know,” Tancredi said. He tapped revolver guy on the shoulder. “Put that away. Go to the shop and get the truck.”

“Tanc, you can’t be serious! You said we were gonna wait until after midnight.”

“Paulie, there are always contingency plans. Besides, it will be less suspicious if we’re out in broad daylight. So many people will be celebrating the weekend, a stray truck here or there will hardly be noticed. George and I will be just fine. Have Skeech come with you. We’ll meet you at the loading doors in an hour.”

Paulie hesitated for a moment. He shrugged and went out the conference room door.

Tancredi smiled at me. “I’ve heard about you. The quick tempered redhead.  You’ve certainly been a complication to my plans. But I enjoy a challenge.”

Here's a link to a one of my favorite scenes from "Die Hard".  Enjoy!

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mklnXM3LIXo 

 

Every Picture

There’s an old rock and roll classic “Every Picture Tells a Story” that always resonates with me.

Sometimes it’s a simple picture that will jolt me.   

At the strangest times, that image will float back to the surface of my memory.  I can almost see it beckoning to me as if to say ‘You just have to incorporate this into your next piece’.  

Like last week at the grocery store where I witnessed a little old lady ‘accidentally on purpose’ ram her cart into that of a gentleman shopper.  Maybe that’s a pick-up method for the septuagenarian group. There was a spark in her eye every time she did it. I made it a point to steer clear.

One of the many challenges for a writer is to paint a vivid picture with words that will help the reader ‘see’ what’s going on in the story. It’s not easy to do. But sometimes, it all comes together.  And sometimes when you're working with the artist for the cover of your novel, everything works.  I've had many compliments on the cover of "Fleeing Beauty".   It has a tendency to draw the reader in. 

Here’s an example from “Fleeing Beauty” that worked well.  In this scene Jamie and her friends are unpacking one of the crates of sculptures that was found in her late father’s storeroom, more than twenty years after his death. Hope you enjoy it.

I watched from behind the video camera as Malone and Ian pulled the burlap off the sculpture.  This one was a marble titled “Fleeing Beauty”.  It was the body of a woman caught in the act of running. Tendrils of slender marble in various lengths and thicknesses extended from her head, as if they were locks of hair billowing out behind her as she ran. Part of her face was obscured, turned against her shoulder as if attempting to hide her features from whoever was chasing her.  The woman’s body was voluptuous, full of dangerous curves. There was something haunting about this piece.  The guys became quiet, which was unusual. Linda slowly moved around it, taking pictures with the other camera.

“Holy shit,” Ian muttered.

“Watch your language,” Malone said, cuffing him lightly on the back on the head.

“How did he do that?” Ian said, taking a step away. “She looks real.”

“She looks alive,” Malone said.

“Check the file,” I suggested.

Ian ducked back into the studio. The three of us were now leaning against the worktable that held the laptop computer. None of us could take our eyes off the sculpture.  After almost two weeks of doing this, I thought I was becoming accustomed to unveiling these incredible works of art. But this one stopped me in my tracks. And it wasn’t just me.  Linda and Malone were staring at it as well.

“He used a model,” Ian said, holding up the file.

We spread the file out on the worktable.  There were pictures of a woman standing in front of a drop cloth. She was blonde, with an impish smile on her face. She could have been in her early to middle twenties. It was impossible to tell how tall she was.  Her figure was eye catching, with a tiny waist and round hips.  Most of the pictures showed her in a one-piece bathing suit. There was one where she wore a sheer negligee. There were shots of her standing on a pedestal, others with her arms outstretched, and still others where she was looking over her shoulder. In a couple of the photographs he must have used a fan to blow her hair back from her face. She had bottle green eyes that were very expressive.

“She’s a doll,” Ian said softly.

“I wonder who she was,” Linda said.

Pushing the pictures toward Malone, I started flipping through the other papers in the file. There were sketches and notes in Peter’s now familiar handwriting.  Across the top of one page was a name. Meredith Bell. I showed it to Malone.  He turned over one of the pictures and pointed. The same name was written across the back.

“Jamie, I think this is the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen,” Linda said softly.

“You’ll get no argument from me.”

And now that I can't stop hearing that song, here it is.

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=GmyGa29zIqk