Have you ever known a murderer?

I met Jaki Girdner in the writer's critique group where she made the following confession:

I mentioned that I’d known two murderers during a mystery writers’ critique group meeting some years ago. There was a shocked silence among the other aspiring writers. None of them had known a murderer! I was as shocked as they were. I thought everyone had.

Was my predilection for knowing murderers just because I was a good listener and people told me their sins? Or was it because I’d worked in a mental hospital? She goes into riveting detail in her Lineup article

I joined the group a little later, but I probably would have made Jaki feel less alone if I'd been in it when the question was asked because I've known a few murderers as well. On the other hand, Jaki really IS the sort of person strangers share their secrets with.

When my late husband Charlie, worked in the law library while going to night law school, he amused himself by reading criminal case law. He was shocked to see the name of a mutual friend who was involved with and helped the police catch a murderer. Charlie mentioned it to me and I had to say, "Oh, yeah that guy, he used to hang around with [mutual friend's name omitted]."

Charlie adjusted quickly--after all, there had even been a murder in the apartment above us, though we moved in after most of the parties involved had moved on. Charlie soon learned to tease visitors by mentioning the crime when the weather got hot enough that flies circled around the apartment. No connection with the murder upstairs. We just didn't have window screens back then and the flies did that in all the apartments when it got too hot. But the homicide was real.

As time, and ex-husbands go by....

Josephine Fuller's third adventure, At Large, has just been reissued as an ebook and in trade paperback. The first line is a nod to Casablanca: Of all the women's job skill centers in all the towns in all the Pacific Northwest, he walks into mine. To read the first two chapters click At Large sample

Don't you just hate it when an incriminating murder weapon turns up in your personal space?

In At Large (coming soon for the first time as an ebook) Jo Fuller discovers a blood-coated murder weapon in her storage locker: I screamed and backed out of the storage room, slamming the door, which promptly hit the door frame and flew open again. Hope's apartment door opened, and a bleached platinum head peered into the hall.

"Are you okay?" Since she was now doing the prison visits to her boyfriend, Maxine's daughter had abandoned the rainbow hair for a platinum blond look with dark roots. She saw me staring into the storage room, and came out of her apartment. "What is it, mice? You'd think that good-for-nothing cat would—" Her words trailed off in a gasp. She stood next to me, and stared.

"Close it! Close it! Lock the door. We've got to call the police." She kicked the door closed, and I locked it, and followed her back to her apartment. I was too shocked to say a word. Not that Hope would have heard me. "It's him." She said, pacing back and forth. "I told her she was crazy to let him stay there."

I went to Hope's phone, and pulled the fresh business card Gonick had given me out of my pocket. Groucho's cage had been installed in one corner of the small front room. He craned his white-masked green-feathered head sideways to fix me with a glare from beady black eyes. As I walked past to get to the phone, he spread iridescent green wings wide in alarm.

While I was talking to the man who answered the phone in Homicide, Groucho let loose a shriek so deafening that the man asked if I was in any immediate danger. "No, it's a somebody's pet macaw. But I do need to talk to Gonick, tell him it's about the ice axe."

Hope paced back and forth muttering to herself. I had never seen her so agitated. I wondered if Gonick had even had time to get down to Police Headquarters with Griff. After I hung up the phone I meditated briefly about my little talk with Gonick about searching Nina's apartment. I put a call in to the local lawyer Ambrose had suggested. I got her answering machine. I looked at my watch. It was 6:30.

"It's that slimy creature that's living with Mom," Hope said heatedly. "He's killed before you know."

Where to find Prizes Next Week & from At Large...the wandering murder weapon

Next week check out Zetta Brown's The Full-Bodied Book Blog for "A Tribute to Pearlsong Press: Healing the World, One Book at a Time." My own contribution on Wednesday June 13: Watching Our Language what not to do if you write about characters that are “large and in charge” if you want to keep your reader’s respect.

There will be free book prizes and surprises!

Now, here's the weekendly excerpt from At Large, soon to be published for the first time in ebook form by Pearlsong Press, Josephine Fuller discovers the body of Francesca Etheridge, the woman who broke up her marriage. The police grill Jo about an ice, missing from the murder victim's climbing gear. Back in her apartment Jo decides to put her nervous energy to work:

Finding Francesca like that had riled me up so that I couldn't sit still. It was impossible to return to sorting things. I decided to take some of the boxes of Nina's things down to the basement and bring up some of my things that had been sitting patiently for years waiting for me to settle down. A little heavy lifting would probably calm my nerves, or at the very least exhaust me so I could collapse.

The storage room occupied the end of the building, and took some space away from Mulligan's apartment and Maxine's daughter Hope's apartment which faced it across the hall. As I came down the stairs into the basement, I could hear Groucho, the macaw, warming up with some preparatory shrill cries. It must be intolerable when he let loose a major shriek in Hope's small, windowless apartment.

I put the boxes down and opened the storage room door, feeling around for the string that would turn on the overhead light bulb. The room was crowded with some furniture that Nina had stored there. A table and three stacked chairs pressed up against the stacks of boxes that held all my earthly possessions. Nina had kindly stored them for me, at first when I was following Griff around the world and lately since I'd been traveling on the job for Mrs. Madrone.

An oddly angled shadow sprang into view when the light bulb went on. I realized with a sinking feeling at the pit of my stomach what it was. The cardboard packing box just inside my door had my name in black felt marker with the word "BOOKS" below it. An ice axe, its leather harness trailing, was embedded in the front of the box right below the label, its claw end half buried in the corrugated cardboard, and a thin layer of dried blood coating the edges of the point of penetration.

Meeting the "Other Woman" in the Worst Possible Way

From At Large, Josephine goes to the apartment her ex-husband is sharing with the woman whom he left her for...but a stranger rushes out the door and calls out as she runs off, "Don't go in there! Call the cops, she's dead!"

I turned back to confront the polished stairs leading up into the townhouse. I took out my cell phone. The top autodial button was programmed for 911. I didn't press the button though. Instead, I kept it in my hand as I cautiously went up the stairs. Confronting me at the top of the stairway was a larger-than-life, beautifully framed print of a color photograph of Francesca. It dominated the entry. It was clearly Griff's work, and he had done her justice. It showed her hanging from a wall of sapphire ice, supported by two ice axes and the crampons attached to her boots. Her hair had been shorter in that picture, and the hood of her parka had fallen back a little to show a spiky halo around her determined face. The sun that illuminated the blue ice reflected in her blue eyes. She looked great. It was easy to see why Griff had fallen for her. She looked like a snow goddess—the petite version.

At the top of the stairs I saw a series of huge prints of Griff's pictures hanging along the back wall. Every one showed Francesca in climbing gear. From the massive peaks in the background, I guessed that these were taken during the early days of their relationship in Nepal.

The condo had high ceilings and hardwood floors. The cathedral effect was heightened by the sparse furniture, which gave the place a cavernous empty quality. The place seemed deserted except for the persistent buzz of a fly. The main room was blocked from view as you rounded the top of the stairs by a glass cabinet that must have been seven feet tall, filled with sports trophies and climbing memorabilia.

I went around the trophy display, and tripped over a black leather case that had been unceremoniously dropped at the edge. I went down sprawling on the hardwood floor, cursing myself for awkwardness. I lay for a second, assessing any damage, cringing in expectation of laughter and expecting to look up and see the petite and athletic Francesca sneering at my huge awkward self, complaining that I had scuffed the waxed floor.

Instead, cautiously getting to my feet, I saw a long oak table with a new canvas tarp half pulled off it, and what appeared to be a dummy, submerged in a welter of climber's gear—harnesses and rope, caribiners, crampons, pitons. I had never climbed a day in my life but I'd watched enough people pack and unpack their gear to easily commit it to memory. I didn't see any ice axes, although I saw the harness with the holster from which most climbers hung a couple of axes with their claw-like heads for climbing ice, the way Francesca had in that huge photo.

I went a little closer, puzzled. Mountaineers are usually very particular about their gear. After all, their lives depend on it. Someone had scattered Francesca's stacks of pitons like matchsticks. Her ropes were tangled into a spider's nest, hanging half off the table.

This was a cruel joke surely. I went a little closer, my steps echoing on the hardwood. The tarp had been partially pulled off the gleaming oak table. The climbing gear made a disorderly still life.

My stomach lurched when I realized that the totally still figure at the center of the disorder was no dummy. Francesca Etheridge, a rope around her neck, her red face distorted, lay among her gear, one of her ice axes planted in the soft base of her throat. The bloodied rips and tears in her thermal undershirt showed where she had been hacked before dying. She was clearly lifeless. The blood long clotted. Twisted where she had fallen like a broken doll, her arms were trapped by the ropes and frozen at an awkward angle, not by cold but by death.

Six Sentence Sunday week 51 - What salted peanuts and six sentences have in common...

Wow, it’s been nearly a year that Six Sentence Sundays have inhabited my weekends! I've met many fine writers and learned a lot about different genres. These little snippets are highly addictive!

This weekend from Large Target, Jo is at the home of the missing admiral’s daughter when she finds out that the admiral’s daughter-in-law has turned down the kidnappers' demands, claiming that they don't have a million dollars or any way to raise it. His children agree that they don't.

"Colleen told them to call back tomorrow and put the admiral on the line, so we'd better figure out how much we can offer," Ivor said.

"Would the admiral's money be enough?" I asked.

Amy turned to me and asked, "Why don't you ask Mrs. Madrone?"

"How did you know I worked for Mrs. Madrone?"

She laughed a little wildly, then put her hand over her mouth."You just told me, Jo."

Dozens of other writers share sentences on Sundays--for good time in many genres check them out at Six Sunday.

Six Sentence Sunday Week 49 - a shady demand

From Large Target, Jo Fuller and the missing admiral’s daughter, Amy, find a murder victim at the admiral's cottage. the local police arrive at the cottage and Amy’s husband soon shows up with their daughter. He looks dazed and holds a folded-up cardboard windshield screen of the kind that people put on the dashboard to keep their car seats from heating up in direct sun. Jo says hello:

“This was on the outside of the windshield, under the wipers,” he said. “I folded it up to keep the kid from seeing it but I guess I should give it to the police, what do you think?"

I looked and did a double take, staring at the spray-painted, stenciled letters on the accordion-folded cardboard over the printed cartoon sun:

$1 MILL FOR ADMIRAL 7 FILES & TAPE / DO NOT CALL POLICE / RAISE $ WAIT

A policeman reading over my shoulder whistled in amazement, "Hey, Gordy, lookit this." Too late not to tell the police.

For the full buffet of six-sentence samples, check out the dozens of writers at Six Sunday.

Six Sentence Sunday Week 48 - a family encounter while waiting for the police...

From Large Target, Jo Fuller and the missing admiral’s daughter Amy find a murder victim. They call the police and wait in outside the cottage when Amy hears someone coming out of the main house.

Amy's brother Brad, the young man with the pigtail, had just exited the sliding door to the rec room in midargument with Amber, the young woman he had dragged out of the way of the admiral's prying minicam at the party the night before.

Today they were both clad in shorts and T-shirts and clearly hadn't seen Amy and me. "You said he'd been on the scene of abductions," Amber said accusingly.

"I honestly believe he has," Brad said, "but you know that stuff is classified."

"I only just asked about the Bermuda Triangle. He said he'd get right to it and he put his hand up my ski-i-irt," she wailed.

For more fun in six-sentence snippets, check out the authors (186 at last count) sharing work in a wide variety of genres at Six Sunday.

43rd Six Sentence Sunday, starting the new year with a bang...

Welcome back Six Sunday friends. I'm digressing a little from The Falstaff Vampire Files because the second Josephine Fuller book, Large Target just came out and I have to celebrate with suitable fireworks.

After a night of passion that took an unexpected turn toward dawn Josephine and Mulligan have a serious talk over breakfast. They're on Coronado Island near San Diego where automobiles rule, so she tries to lighten the mood with some car talk...

"Come on, I'll walk you to your car," Mulligan said.

As we reached the parking lot at the hotel, I decided to show off the car I was borrowing, Mrs. Madrone's Lexus. "The remote control is hooked into the alarm so it makes the most amazing sound. Listen to this," I said, whipping out the remote as we headed for the Lexus.

I pressed the button and a deafening explosion shattered the car's windows and rocked it on its tires. I jumped back against Mulligan who was already pulling me away from the hot slap of air and spatter of glass.

For a good time check out the dozens of other Six Sunday writers who will be offering up New Year's surprises in six sentence doses at Six Sentence Sunday.

26th Six Sentence Sunday - Josephine's new job delays a visit to her old friend

Six sentences from Larger Than Death. Jo accepts a job investigating charity groups for multibillionaire philanthropist Alica Madrone, unfortunately she will be reporting directly to Ambrose, Mrs. Madrone's very exacting assistant, which makes her hesitate to take time off to visit Nina, a troubled friend.

The idea of telling Ambrose I would be late with the report made a chill run down my spine. Mrs. Madrone's special assistant never warmed to me and I was not about to do less than my best under his critical eye. The day of the actual report came and Mrs. Madrone seemed pleased with it, so finally I could go see my best friend.

As I drove the rental car into Seattle I realized that although we spoke by phone every few weeks, I hadn't laid eyes on Nina in the nearly two years since my marriage broke up. I wanted to get an infusion of her splendid vitality.

I never expected to find the police on her doorstep.

For more fun from many gifted writers in six sentences segments, check out the main site at Sixsunday.com.

24th Week of Six Sentence Sunday - the ex-husband factor

From Larger Than Death, Josephine's job interview with a multibillionaire takes an unexpected turn:

When I stood in front of her, Alicia Madrone motioned me into a straight-backed Mission chair a few feet away. The sharp brown eyes she turned on me seemed to come from a distracted world of pain where the healthy could not and would not want to follow.

"I've met your ex-husband when he took a portrait of me," she said in a voice that was light and very sweet, almost girlish.

Uh oh. "I didn't know Griff did portraits." When I realized my ex-husband's love affairs were a cunningly practiced obsession rather than an occasional temptation, I began to dread meeting women who introduced themselves by announcing they had known him as the next word was like as not to be "biblically."

At last count this week 165 writers are sharing six sentence slices of their work covering a broad range of genres. To sample them check out http://sixsunday.com/

23rd six sentence Sunday, Meeting the Multibillionaire

From Larger Than Death, Josephine is led up a spectacular staircase by Mrs. Madrone's openly unimpressed personal assistant to meet with a woman whose name adorns a museum, a hospital, and half a dozen other edifices around the state:

My guide was gone without a word and I stepped toward the woman who sat in a wheelchair next to a heavy mahogany desk that probably had belonged to some Spanish grandee.

Alicia Madrone was in her sixties and narrow as a whippet, with pewter hair pulled into a chignon. Despite the flood of sunshine from the windows that looked out over the Bay, she wore a heavy sweater and wool skirt. The lilac point Siamese on her lap raised his head and stared at me for a moment before settling back down into the blue blanket that matched the color of his eyes.

I reached into my pocket to peel a tissue off the pack I'd brought. I was starting to sweat.


This week at least 170 writers signed up to share six sentence snippets from works in a broad range of genres. Check them out over at Six Sunday!

Week 22 of Six Sentence Sunday - job interview with a billionaire

More from the first book in my murder mystery series featuring Josephine Fuller Larger Than Death, our heroine answers an ad and is told to report to a Pacific Heights mansion for a job interview. A word to the wise, in true mystery fashion nothing is what it seems.

"Josephine Fuller, here for a one o'clock appointment," I said to the tall, slender man who answered the door. His hair was bright auburn and his eyes a penetrating blue, which together with a cynical twist to his mouth gave his handsome face a startling intensity. He wore a full-sleeved white shirt and black trousers as if ready to pick up a fencing foil and resume his role opposite Errol Flynn in a pirate movie. Both ears were pierced but had no rings in them, so I concluded it must be a conservative place.

He seemed disappointed to see me. Clearly if he'd had the clout to screen candidates he would have installed a revolving door to replace the massive oak one.


This Sunday 142 writers signed up to share six sentence snippets--for more fun check them out at Six Sunday