Please, sir, can I have more?

I'm not a sir, but I don't judge. Of course you may have more. You may actually have two, because you asked so nicely.

CHAPTER 2





CHAPTER 3



Stay tuned...there are more chapters headed your way!

Start the countdown

My house is a disaster. I know, I've said that before, but it's seriously filled with boxes and bags and paperwork. Most of it will be packed up and taken to the festival on Saturday, but part of it is lying around waiting for me to put it away.

I'll get it done, sooner or later.

In the meantime, I'm almost ready for the big launch on Saturday (Hint: Tri-City Park in Placentia http://ocparks.com/parks/tri_city_park/). Today, I spent a lot of time putting up the canopy and trying out the changes that I wanted to make after touring the LA Times Festival of Books and getting ideas.

I decided to put my banner on the very front of the canopy, so people can see it. Last year, I had to buy a new EZ-Up, since mine broke, and got a yellow one, so people can see it easily. I also wanted to position my tables to allow people to pass through the booth. For one thing, I was told that people don't want to come into a booth if it feels like they'll get trapped inside it, but they'll come in if they see an exit.

For another thing, small children always run through my booth anyway, so I might as well clear a path for them.

Another thing I did was to get some curtains to hang on the sides. Yes, I know you can get flappy-things to go on the sides, but I wanted something that didn't say, "I brought the snacks for the soccer game today."

It took several hours to check it out and get it right, but I think I got all the problems worked out. This is what it looks like:

My gnomes, Booker and Hatch, will go on little table with a sign encouraging people to come inside. I do think I'll get a different color of felt for the table. Green doesn't go with anything else.

Having two tables means I'll have my books on one table and swag on the other. What kind of swag? Well...

I'll have bookmarks and pens with my website on them. These little beauties:

A little fan to deal with the 96-degree day - what a great idea!

There will also be a cauldron full of candy, and my giveaway baskets.

What? Giveaway baskets?

Yes. You may not be able to see what's in them, but basically they contain either a coffee mug or martini glasses, a signed copy of one of my books, a bookmark, a pen, a fan, and a gift card to something good.

Gayle, how can I get one of these wonderful baskets?

I'm glad you asked. You can win one in a couple of ways. 

1. If you walk up to my booth at any time and say, "I shot a man in Reno," I'll give you a basket. 

2. Otherwise, every hour, I will give a basket to the 10th person who comes into my booth. 

Please come see me. Even if  you're not a winner, I'd love to see you there!

Want another tease?

I have the cover art for the other two books, but of course I'm only going to show you one. Patience, folks, have patience. 

I was going to show you the cover for my Placentia-centric book, "You're from Where?" but when I uploaded it to this post, I discovered something interesting: I had misspelled "you're." Who does that? So while I quickly email Joe to correct our mistake, let me show you what I have planned for the holidays.

Presenting:

Happy-Merry Thanks-Christmas-New-Giving-Year!

When columnist Gayle Carline thought of a holiday-centered book, she intended to include all her holiday essays, from New Year’s musings, Mother’s Day fantasies, all the way to the inevitable Christmas.

Then she counted how many she had written in her 10 years as a columnist for the Placentia News-Times. There were over 80 essays. Which jolly holidays should be included? She decided on Thanksgiving, Christmas, and New Year’s, and noticed two common themes: gratitude and hope.

She is grateful for the opportunity to write for the paper, as well as for the feedback from readers, whether it is praise or criticism. She hopes these essays resonate with you as much as they have her Placentia friends, and that none of them are turkeys.

Stay tuned for a look at the third book. As I said in the last post, they're all scheduled for release on October 10, 2015 at the annual Placentia Heritage Festival.

In the meantime, don't you want to win some prizes? So far, I've only had one entry into my "Name that Chicken" contest. I can hardly hold up one name to a vote. Enter your choice for my rooster's name (in the comments) and you can win the following:

1. A $10 Amazon gift card.

2. Your choice: one of my mysteries, or all three of my new books, either in paperback or e-book format.

Here's another look at the chicken.

Incidentally, this chicken reminds me of someone. Have you seen Wallace and Gromit in THE WRONG TROUSERS?

Feathers McGraw, notorious criminal mastermind... separated at birth?

Weekend fun takes stamina

This weekend is nothing but fun, fun, fun, till I collapse in a heap on Monday. Where to start?

First, let's make this about you: Because this weekend celebrates Placentia Heritage Day, Placentia being my hometown and the setting of all my Peri Minneopa Mysteries, I'm offering my three Peri books at some delightful savings. Check them out:

FREEZER BURN - Friday thru Sunday - FREE!
http://www.amazon.com/Freezer-Burn-Peri-Minneopa-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B007ZHVDN4/

HIT OR MISSUS - Saturday and Sunday - ONLY 99 CENTS!
http://www.amazon.com/Missus-Peri-Minneopa-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B00537SP5M/

THE HOT MESS - Saturday and Sunday - ONLY $1.99!
http://www.amazon.com/Mess-Peri-Minneopa-Mystery-Book-ebook/dp/B00AD94TDW/

Get them while they're hot.

What will I be doing in the meantime?

Saturday: I will be riding in the PHD Parade. This year, I think I'll wear my sparkly cowgirl hat instead of the tiara, but I'll still be waving like a crazy woman. Let me just add, waving is exhausting. Ever try holding your arm out, elbow bent, swinging it side to side in slo-mo, for two-and-a-half miles?

After the parade, I take my spot at my booth (look for the yellow EZ-Up) and hopefully sell a few books. More important, I hope a lot of people stop by to say hello!

In the evening, hubby and I are taking our son Marcus out to dinner, to celebrate his birthday. He's not officially 22 until Sunday, but Saturday works best for all of us.




Sunday: Our Orange County chapter of Sisters-in-Crime is meeting at Mystery Ink Bookstore in Huntington Beach to hear T. Jefferson Parker speak (or as we call him, "Jeff"). It should be a lot of fun.

If I'm not too-too exhausted yet, I plan to drive down to La Jolla in the evening to go to Noir at the Bar. Lisa Brackmann organizes these things once a month and I keep wanting to go and something else keeps getting in my way. It's not that far away... an hour and a half isn't that far, is it?

Hope you have a fabulous weekend, and if you're anywhere in the neighborhood, stop by and say hi!

So... how's your weekend?

Personally, I seem to be recuperating.

I had scheduled some writing today, but my brain seems to be lagging. Noun? Verb? What speak is you language this?

Maybe I should keep my words little and sentences short.

I began the weekend with a few hours at Disneyland with my good buddy Tameri Etherton, who is just crazy fun. She was there to get pictures of the Halloween decorations. We were admittedly disappointed that California Adventure has no homage to Halloween at all. (Perhaps there are no holidays when you are having an adventure.) It was drizzling a little as we wandered around Faux-Fisherman's Wharf, desperately seeking coffee.

As if an Omen from Walt, the sun came out as soon as we hit the gates of Disneyland. After a thrilling ride on Big Thunder (where we might have frightened the small child in the next car by yelling things like, "Rattlesnake! Earthquake! Potted Light Fixture!"), we took the Jungle Cruise ride into deepest, darkest Anaheim.

We wish the animals wore Halloween masks!

There were two teenaged girls behind us in line, so Tameri was interested in what they read. Fantasy, the one girl said, which was perfect. Then she rattled off some of her favorite books, including Twilight. Oh, well.

Since the Indiana Jones ride was closed, we wandered a bit more through the park, then hit up downtown Disney for lunch and a trip to the candy store.

"YUM!"

I got home in time to change clothes and go to the Placentia Library Jewel Reception, a dinner held by the Friends Foundation to thank their big donors (and by big, I mean anything over $100). It was super lovely. The library director, Jeanette, even let this guy out of Nadia's office. Nice young man, but a little too stiff to be any fun.

Saturday was the Placentia Heritage Parade and Festival, which meant rising at 5:30 ayem, getting completely dressed and made-up, in order to be in the parade. The parade didn't start til 9:30, but I had to be at Tri-City Park at 6:15 to unload and set up my author's booth. By 7:00 I needed coffee.

Here's the thing about me and coffee and mornings... we don't always play nice. Getting up uber-early upsets my stomach. I could use the coffee to wake me up, but if I drink it on an upset stomach, it only makes it angrier.

So no coffee.

By 9:30, my booth was ready, I was in the parade car, and everything was great.

We're ready to roll out!

The parade was so much fun! I waved until my arm ached. Then I waved with the other hand. Then I propped my arm on the car and waved some more. My face still hurts from the smiling.

Yes, I wore the tiara!

My booth this year was not on the main path, so the bad news is, I didn't sell a lot of books. The good news is, I got two speaking engagements. The other bad news is, the way my booth was situated, people kept getting trapped behind me and walking through the middle of my booth to get to the path, tearing my sign loose. The good news is, Veronica from the Parks and Rec Department got two big "Road Closed" barricades and put them up to block people, AND I made friends with the cranky lady selling plush toys to my right.

After a day of excitement, I wanted to get into my jammies and relax, but instead, there was one more thing to do. Dale and I had to take Marcus out to his favorite restaurant for his birthday.

"Bucket o' Boat Trash" anyone?

As usual, I announced his birthday to the waitress, who did the whole "it's your birthday, shake your booty," ritual of embarrassment. It may be his birthday, but it's my entertainment.

What did you all do this weekend?

A day of birthdays and festivals

It's October 12th. Do you know what that means? Yes, yes, it is the official date of Columbus Day, since abandoned in favor of the second Monday in October, but more than that, it is the birthdate of this guy:

Don't recognize him? Try him a few years older:

It's my son, Marcus. He's 20 years old today. (I haven't aged - how did he get so old?) As a toddler, he was obsessed with cars and at three years old could tell the difference between any make and model, and I mean ANY make and model. The day we were driving down the street and he said, of the car next to us, "That's a Ford Bronco. It's an '89," is the day I officially called it creepy.

At 20, he is at the California State University, Long Beach Bob Cole Conservatory of Music, studying vocal jazz and composition. In between cars and music, there were passionate interests in bugs, dinosaurs, the Titanic, soccer, Pokemon, and dancing.

I am just proud to be the mom of a kid who invests himself in curiosity. I wish everyone wanted to know everything about something.

In other news, on Saturday, I'll be in the Placentia Heritage Parade. You can't miss me. I'll be the one wearing the tiara. After the parade I'll take up my usual spot as an author in my booth in Tri-City Park. If you're in the Placentia area, come by and say hello. The Heritage Festival is nothing but fun!

Hit or Missus - Chapter 4

You're in luck! Just for the holidays, the e-version of Hit or Missus is only 99 e-cents. Amazon even lets you give an e-book to a friend or loved one as a gift. There's no e-excuse!

Okay, I'll e-stop and get to the chapter. Enjoy.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 4

Peri usually didn't mind the steady 78-degree temperature maintained in her office, but today it wouldn't do. Meeting a wealthy client like Don Keller meant dressing for more success than usual, so she had worn her charcoal suit, which was tailored, professional, and too warm for autumn in southern California. Upon entering her office, she cranked the thermostat down to seventy.

Cold flooded the small space. Peri stood by the vent to push the air down the front of her sapphire blouse and up over her temples until she was sufficiently dry. The hormone regimen had taken care of most of her hot flashes, but stress and sudden activity could still trigger a round of profuse sweating. Comfortable at last, she returned the thermostat to its normal setting and put her suit jacket back on.

Keller was due in her office at ten. At ten thirty, Peri heard a loud male voice coming down the hall. She couldn't quite make out words, but no one else was talking, which meant the guy was either on a cell phone or a raving lunatic. Just at the point where she wanted to go outside and thump whoever was blabbering, her office door flew open and a man charged in. He let the door slam behind him and looked at Peri.

She rose and extended her hand. "Mr. Keller? I'm-"

"John, he's been telling us to wait a week for the past month." Keller ignored her and dragged the guest chair around until it was halfway toward the door, facing the wall to her right. He sat down, propping an ankle on the opposite knee and alternately glancing at the door, then out the window. A large silver Bluetooth earpiece was implanted in his right ear, effectively cutting her off from any conversation with him as he continued talking on the phone. "I know you like the guy, but we can't give him any more time. Get the paperwork started, I'll be in to sign it later."

Peri sat back and watched the scene, astonished, wondering why she wanted him as a client, apart from his deep pockets. From his navy wool suit to his shiny Oxford shoes, he oozed both money and power. The faint scent of high-end cologne drifted across the room, a combination of sandalwood and cigars that crawled up her sinuses and clung to the front of her skull. She hated cologne.

Mr. Keller continued to yammer, unconcerned about her presence. For a real estate developer, he wasn't very charming. With the rich and mighty, always a little patience, Peri thought, remembering last night's viewing of The Philadelphia Story.

She tried again. "Mr. Keller-"

He held a hand out to silence her as he prattled on with the unseen caller. Peri felt the warm glow of irritation creep up her chest. To hell with patience, she didn't want this client badly enough to be abused for the privilege.

She reached into her pink snakeskin tote and pulled out her iPod, selected a song, and plugged it into the docking station. The Who's "My Generation" began playing. Peri pointed the speakers toward Keller and pressed the volume controls until the walls vibrated with each stroke of Keith Moon's drumsticks.

At the first sound of music, Keller gave a disapproving look to the iPod, then scooted his chair closer to the door. By the time the volume reached critical mass, he was glaring at Peri and shouting over the noise.

"Just a minute, John," he said as he left the office.

Peri turned the music off. She hoped Keller wouldn't tell all his friends what a horrid witch she was, but he was so disrespectful, she almost didn't care. Besides, she had plenty of other clients who would rebut his claim. She took off her jacket and opened her laptop to work on some billing.

As her computer whirred to life, the door opened and Don Keller walked back in. He pulled the chair up to the desk and sat down, facing Peri. She was happily surprised, until he opened his mouth.

"Miss Minnowpia, are you ready to discuss business? I don't have a lot of time."

Despite her desire to throw something large and heavy at his head, she kept her expression as neutral as possible. "Neither do I, Mister Keller. If the appointment you made with me was inconvenient, then you need to reschedule. I have other clients to see after you, and I have no intention of making them pay for your lack of consideration."

She had no other clients to see, but her blood had gone from boiling to pure steam heat.

"And by the way, it's Minn-ee-OH-pa." She sat back and stared at the rich businessman, then looked down at her watch. "But you can call me Peri if it's easier. Now, what can I do for you?"

The hum of a vibrating cell phone interrupted them. Keller looked at his phone, and then at Peri. The moment hung between them like a heavy fog, the phone's low tone purring at intervals. At last, Keller reached down and turned his phone off.

"I need someone to investigate my wife."

Peri opened a file on her laptop. "I can do that for you, Mr. Keller. I'm assuming you suspect your wife of having an affair."

He smiled, revealing a row of perfect teeth, the front two slightly pronounced, all white as porcelain against his tan. Peri noted his wavy blonde hair, blue eyes and dark eyebrows, and wondered how much was good genes and how much was the work of professionals.

"Let's just say I wonder how she spends her days. Vicki Cheavers recommended you. She said you were very thorough and very discreet."

More discreet than she is, Peri thought. Her client told her philandering husband who she'd hired to track his movements, and the husband repaid Peri by trying to kill her.

Handing him several papers, she said, "This is my standard contract and statement of my rates. If it's agreeable, you can sign it and we'll get started."

She took the signed documents back from him and placed them in a folder. "So, what makes you so curious about your wife's whereabouts?"

"Little things. Some I can understand, but some of them-" He reached into his jacket and pulled out a small notebook, then opened it and skimmed through the pages. "Consistent tardiness for one."

"Is this something new?"

Keller tilted his head, as if thinking. "Yes and no. Nikki's always been scatterbrained. I mean, I love her, but she can be the definition of a dumb blonde sometimes. So she's been late to things before, but lately it's, I don't know, different."

"Can you pin down 'different' a little? Is she late to every event?"

"Maybe not every event, but more than she used to."

"How about her demeanor when she's late? Has that changed?"

Keller nodded. "Maybe that's it. You used to know Nikki was late. You'd hear high heels clicking, then she'd burst into the room. I swear the lights would get brighter, just from her energy."

"And now?" Peri typed on her computer as she spoke.

"She slinks in, doesn't announce herself. By the time I see her, I have no idea how long she's even been there."

"How long has this been going on?"

"I'm not certain, but maybe as long as six months. I guess I just wanted to think everything was normal." He reached into his pants pocket and pulled out a slip of paper. "Then there's this. I found it in our trash."

Peri took it from him. It was a receipt from the Titan bookstore, on the campus of California State University, Fullerton. Sunglasses and a tee-shirt were purchased. "And what's the significance of this?"

"Nikki's a USC grad. She'd have no reason to be on the Fullerton campus, much less buy a shirt and sunglasses there."

"So you suspect her of buying these items for someone else?"

"I've never seen her wear them."

"Have you talked to her about any of this?"

He shook his head. "Odds are, she won't tell me the truth. Why should I tip my hand?"

Peri sat back and smiled. "Pre-nup?"

"I don't think we need to discuss that." He tore several pages out of his notebook and tossed them on the desk, then pulled several bills from his wallet and handed them to her.

"Thank you, Mr. Keller." She put the money and notes in the folder, and wrote a receipt. "How do you want me to get in touch with you?"

"Call my cell and leave a message, nothing too detailed. I'll call you back." He opened the door, and then turned, smiling. "Looks like your next client is running a little late."

Peri stared at him, smiling politely. "Some clients aren't very considerate, are they?"

She glanced at her watch as the door clicked shut. A little past eleven did not signal the lunch hour, but she hadn't eaten anything, apart from some cranberry juice. She had promised lunch with Skip, so she called him.

"Sorry, Doll, I can't get away before one," he told her.

Lunch plans cancelled, she stopped at a Chinese restaurant and picked up a quick bite to take home, where she could do a little research on Nikki Keller.

* * * * *

Stay tuned next week for another exciting chapter! Or, look over to the right of this blog - it's for sale in paperback, in e-book, and even as an autographed copy from moi!

P.S. I know there are a lot of exclamation points in this post, but I don't get to use them in my books, so I like to get them out and let them run around a little.

Hit or Missus - Chapter 3

I hope you all had a wonderful Thanksgiving. Unless you're not American and you don't celebrate the third Thursday of November by overeating, watching football games, and getting into some kind of tizzy with the relatives. Then I just hope you're having a nice weekend. Here's another chapter of HIT OR MISSUS. As always, if you want to purchase your own copy, see the right column. It's available in paperback, in ebook and I can even send you an autographed version. After all, I'm here for you.

* * * * *

CHAPTER 3

Skip had smelled the decay as soon as he stepped onto the front porch. Too bad Peri's not here, he thought, she could probably determine TOD from that super-sniffer of hers.

He still felt vaguely uncomfortable about their conversation this morning. Peri's reaction surprised him. Granted, her trip through menopause had resulted in some enormous burrs under her saddle, but he didn't expect her to be so combative, when he was trying to be complimentary.

Officer Ella Mason held the door for him. In her mid-thirties, Ella had been on the PPD for five years, beginning as the property room clerk. She had worked her way into the field, keeping her uniform sharp and her mind sharper. Skip noticed she held the back of her hand to her washed-out face. He smiled a little, remembering his first murder scene.

"First D.B., Ella?"

She nodded, and turned to face the rose garden before taking a deep breath.

"She's been here a few days, sir. No sign of foul play."

Skip walked through the door into the small bungalow. He saw a petite brunette kneeling by the body, which was already showing the signs of decay. Covering his nose with a handkerchief, he knelt down beside her.

"Hey, Blanche, how's it going?"

She paused from her work and looked over her glasses at him. "Hey, Skip. Peri with you?"

"Why would she be?"

Blanche's look became a stare. "Because she lives two blocks away, she used to clean the Peters' house, and she wouldn't pass up a chance to look at the scene."

"She was going to come, but-" Skip couldn't admit their argument. "She's got a meeting this morning."

"Meeting, huh." Blanche scribbled in her notebook, then stood up. "Well, offhand, it looks like a heart attack, which only means there aren't any signs of anything else. I don't know if she was under a doctor's care. Pretty coincidental that Bob had a heart attack less than a month ago."

Skip stood and looked at the scene. The coffee cup lay on the carpet, a dark patch in a splatter from the chair. "Yeah, that's what Peri said. I suppose two heart attacks in two elderly people isn't that odd." He paused, thinking. "But a blood panel would be a good idea, even if she has a note from her doctor. I'd like to rule out poisons, overdose, that sort of thing."

"You bet."

"Maybe it's a coincidence, but we should cover our bases." Skip walked through the small house, to the single bathroom. He opened the mirrored medicine cabinet over the sink, checked under the counter and opened all the drawers.

"I don't see any prescriptions," he told Blanche as he returned to the living room.

He saw Officer Mason standing in the doorway. She appeared to be talking on a cell phone, her face flushed and body tense. He walked toward her; as he approached, she pushed a button and stuffed the phone into her pants pocket.

"Everything okay, Ella?"

She looked at him, opened her mouth, and burst into tears.

Crying women were not Skip's forte. He tried to be comforting, but he really wanted to tell them to snap out of it. Peri understood. Sure, she cried sometimes, but mostly when she was physically injured, and usually she acted like she wanted to tell herself to snap out of it. Bracing himself, he stepped in closer to the young officer. Her hair smelled like a piña colada.

"Something you want to talk about?"

"Sorry, sir," Ella replied, taking several breaths to calm her sniffles. "Personal matter."

"Need some time?"

"No, sir." She straightened and looked him in the eye, her face puffy.

Skip stepped back. He and Ella stood and stared at one another while a clock in the living room ticked through the awkward silence. Ella blinked first.

"It's my son. He's in the principal's office again. I can't keep him out of trouble."

"Do you need to go take care of it?"

"No, not this time." She shook her head. "I've been jumping down to the school every time they call. Jorge treats it like another day off. I told him this time he'd have to tough it out in the office until my shift ends."

"Can't his dad help out?"

"We don't see much of him."

"That's too bad." Skip didn't know what else to tell her.

"It's just hard for Jorge. He lives with me and my mom and my sister, and I think he feels like there are too many moms in his life and not enough dads."

"I understand. Maybe if he was on a sports team, or maybe he could be in that Big Brother program."

She looked up at Skip with a smile that told him his suggestions were nice but not new, or helpful. "We'll work it out, Detective."

"All right, then," Skip said, patting her shoulder. "See if you can find a name around here of someone to notify. Talk to the neighbors."

He watched Ella turn for the door, wondering if he had just been as useless as he felt, but was interrupted by Blanche. "Why don't you call Peri? She used to clean their house."

"Yeah, I know." Skip opened the top drawer of the desk next to him and rifled through some papers. Most were stubs from bills, a few lists written in a shaky hand, but nothing said, In Case of Emergency.

"She probably knows where their contact information is."

Skip opened another drawer. "Yeah, I know."

Blanche held up her phone and smiled. "I got her on speed dial."

"Thanks, Beebs, I'll take care of it." He retrieved his phone from its holder and pressed Peri's number. His finger poised over the Send key, he hesitated. Peri's sarcasm was the worst part of her.

Man up, Carlton, he thought, and pressed the button.

"Hi, you've reached Peri Minneopa, Private Investigative Services…"

Skip waited for the end of the greeting, happy to have avoided any more arguments. He left a message, and then resumed his search of the house. More papers were in a pile on the small accent table next to the recliner. Skip leafed through them, documents in legalese, describing a parcel of land, title searches and name affidavits. It appeared the Peters had bought land out in Palm Desert. The documents were dated within the last year, but Skip wondered why they were lying out on the table. On a hunch, he dug his cell phone out again and pressed a number. It answered after one ring.

"Bonham here." Placentia's crime scene unit consisted of one officer, Jason Bonham, who tagged and bagged evidence before sending it to the Orange County forensics lab.

"Jason, can you bring your kit to the Peters' residence? …Yeah, it looks like natural causes, but her husband died recently, too… I know, but I just don't like coincidences."

Skip hung up and walked back through the house. Blanche was watching the gurney with Dottie's body being wheeled out by two young men.

"Everything okay with you and Peri?" Her gaze remained on the black bag.

Women were like sharks, he thought, when it came to relationships, they could smell a drop of trouble in a sea of love. "Sure, fine."

Blanche walked toward the door. "I've got another call, but I'll get the autopsy and tox screen results to you as soon as I have them." She smiled and waved on her way to her car. "There's Peri now."

Skip watched Peri lope up the sidewalk, then slow to a walk. She took her iPod from its casing around her arm and pressed some buttons, then put it back and took her ear buds out, draping them around her neck. He studied the way she pulled her cap down and her ponytail back as she started up the path to the house.

She stopped by the coroner's van and talked to Blanche. Skip saw the way the two women smiled and grimaced and laughed in a way that made him feel like he was the main event. Peri glanced up at him and waved, confirming his suspicions.

He stood at the door, ready to hold it for her, but she paused again, at the clump of police officers, chatting and smiling. They smiled back.

He had to admit, even in sweaty running clothes, Peri was a good-looking gal. Craig Daniels, a recently divorced detective about their age, laughed at something she said, and Skip felt just a pinch of jealousy, mixed with the pride of being her – her what?

"Boyfriend" was so high school, "significant other" so dry. Forget "soul mates", that was just plain chick-flick. There was no term to describe them, but he was hers and she was his and they knew it, even if they had no rings or paper or even shared living quarters to prove the fact.

Peri bounded up the steps to the front door. "Hey, Skip, did I miss much?" She took a deep breath, followed by a shallower one. "Wow, it smells in here."

"Body's gone, but come on in. I was trying to find a number for someone to notify."

She gestured toward the hallway. "You can check Bob's nightstand, but I know they didn't have any children. They might have siblings - I think I remember a Christmas card from a brother."

A plaintive meow came from the hall as a large, orange tabby appeared. He trotted over to Peri, only looking at Skip to blink before leaning his body into her legs.

"Mr. Mustard, I forgot about you." She bent down to scratch his back. He arched his spine into her nails, his head cocked and eyes closed in kitty bliss. "This is Dottie and Bob's cat."

"He won't be able to stay here," Skip said. "I'll call Animal Control."

Peri continued to massage the cat, from face to rump. "Like, the pound?"

"I guess. Why?"

"Hmm, nothing. Well, actually, when I was little, I used to go to the shelter in Salinas with my mom. She was a rescuer."

"No wonder you don't do pets."

"It was nothing like that. I've told you about my folks. They were free spirits, but they weren't hoarders. Helen would take the adoptable pets home, spend some time socializing them, then unload them on gullible neighbors."

Skip laughed. "Gullible, huh? How'd your dad like your mom's hobby?"

"Erik didn't mind."

"I still can't believe you call your folks Erik and Helen."

Peri stood up and stretched her arms skyward. "Like I said, free spirits." She looked over at Mr. Mustard, who had strolled away to sharpen his claws on the leg of the sofa. "How long does he have, til, you know?"

"Til what? Oh, I think they keep them for a week before they put 'em to sleep."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I think." He watched Peri walk over and scratch the cat again. "Maybe less."

Mr. Mustard, having reached his fill of attention, nipped Peri's hand and ran back down the hallway.

She sighed and rubbed her forehead. "I know I'm going to hate this, but I'll take him home with me."

Skip looked at her. "The woman who can't keep goldfish alive? You know, you can't flush a cat, Doll."

"Ha ha. It's just temporary, until I can find a new home for him. Besides, I doubt if he'll let me forget to feed him. Fish don't meow."

The cat bounded back into the room, stopping at Peri to butt his head against her shin before dropping something at her feet. She reached down and picked it up.

"Mr. Mustard likes to play fetch." She opened the wadded paper and read. "'Decide now, five-five-five, oh-two-six-four. Think it's anything?"

Skip took the note from her. "I don't know, but we'll run it down. As soon as Jason gets here, I'm off. Want to get together later for lunch?"

"Sure, um, I've just got that meeting." Peri looked at her watch. "Crap, I'm running late. Can you drop the cat over at my place? His crate's in the hall closet, litter box in the bathroom, food should be on the second shelf in the pantry."

"Oh, Doll, I don't have time-"

"Come on, Skipper, please? I can't carry all that stuff back without a car." She reached up and kissed his nose. "I'll buy lunch."

Skip smiled. "Think you can afford me?"

She leaned into him and ran her hand down his shirt, her fingers massaging his chest. "I think I can make you forget about lunch altogether."

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Hit or Missus - Chapter 2

Hola, Peeps. Hope you're all having a wonderful weekend. Here it is, just as promised. Chapter 2 of my latest mystery, HIT OR MISSUS. If you're interested in purchasing it, just look over to the right side of this blog.

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CHAPTER 2

"Peri, you see my other sock?"

"In the kitchen, under a chair."

"And my tie-"

"On the printer in my office." She rolled over on her side and pushed herself from the bed. "Okay. I'm up."

Skip walked over and kissed her forehead. "Stay in bed, Doll. It's only six."

She stretched her long legs out before putting her feet on the cool wood floor. "And yet, we've already had such a lovely chat." Yawning, she shuffled toward the bathroom. "I should run before my meeting, anyway."

Ten minutes later, Peri followed the smell of coffee to the kitchen and found Skip sitting at the table, reading the paper. He looked handsome in his creamy button-down shirt and chocolate slacks. A Placentia Police Department detective badge lay on the table, along with his gun.

"I thought you had to leave early." She dug around in the refrigerator, moving last night's takeout boxes to get to the cranberry juice.

"I've got enough time to read the sports page. What's on your agenda for the day?"

"New client at ten. Don Keller."

"Don Keller? The developer?"

Peri closed the refrigerator, a small bottle of juice in her hand. "That's him."

"Why does he want to see you?"

"Oh, I don't know, because I'm a private investigator and he has something to investigate?" She frowned. "What's wrong with him coming to see me?"

Skip put the paper down. "Nothing. It's just that, he's kind of high-end."

"So was Mrs. Cheavers, but she came slumming to my part of town." She swallowed a handful of vitamins with her juice. "Of course, her husband shot me, which only proves you can never judge people."

Skip rose and picked up his badge and gun. "Well, if this is another cheating spouse case, maybe you should ask Keller if his wife is packing before you take it." He pulled Peri to him for a kiss, then took a step back to look at her.

"Shouldn't you get some new running clothes?"

Peri looked down at her gray tee-shirt and black spandex shorts. She grabbed the shirt and held it out toward Skip. "Property of the PPD. Don't you like it?"

"It's just looking kinda old and sad."

She laughed. "Since when do I care how I look when I'm running? As a matter of fact, why do you care?"

"You got a great body, Doll-"

She patted his cheek. "For a fifty-year old."

"Well you don't look more than thirty-five. But those shorts are all stretched out, and I'm pretty sure that's my shirt."

"Again, who cares? I'm running a couple of miles, after which I'll be a sweaty mess anyway."

"I just think you could look a little nicer-"

Skip's cell phone interrupted them. Peri wrapped a scrunchy around her thick, blonde ponytail and stuck it through an Angels baseball cap.

"That was Dispatch," Skip said. "They got a call from your neighbors. It's Mrs. Peters."

"Uh-oh. Is she?"

He nodded. "It's gonna be pretty gruesome over there. I guess no one noticed they hadn't seen her in awhile."

She winced. "Eew. Poor Dottie. Bob died of a heart attack just a few weeks ago, and now she goes."

"Sometimes it happens like that."

"Can I come with you to Dottie's?"

"I thought you were going running."

Peri leaned into Skip, tilting her face to meet his. "I was, but I'd rather visit the scene."

"You have that meeting at ten."

"It's not even seven. I just want to peek in, Skipper."

He grimaced. "Dressed like that?"

"Oh, dear God, what is it with you and my clothes this morning? Did you get up on the fashionista side of the bed?"

"Now, Peri-"

She threw the juice bottle into the recycle bin, causing the other plastic bottles to spring up and scatter on the floor. "Never mind. I'm going running."

"We on for dinner tonight?"

Peri turned to face her boyfriend. "I don't know - I gotta get my tiara out of the dry cleaners." Her final word hit at the same time as the slamming door. "Later."

Who does he think he is? Peri's mind raced as her legs pumped along the sidewalk in her Placentia neighborhood. Normally, she started out at a slow trot, stretching, and increasing her speed. Today, her anger spilled into her muscles.

Stevie Ray Vaughn played a scathing riff into her ears, louder than usual, but she didn't adjust the volume. Instead, she let the shrill music goad her into running faster, the cool October air waking her lungs. Small, Spanish-style bungalows flew past her vision as she loped down the street. Even in this working-class neighborhood, the tiny front yards were well manicured. She caught glimpses of flower beds with a variety of color, from tall birds of paradise to the lower night-blooming jasmine. The occasional whiff of the jasmine smelled delicious, and Peri noted how much she loved the tiny, tempting wafts of scent, even if she hated the same smell in a perfume bottle.

She moved to the pavement, where she liked to run whenever possible, as the asphalt was kinder to her knees, even if it meant keeping an eye on the traffic. All the way, she griped soundlessly at her boyfriend.

Skip Carlton, thinks he's all that, just because he's a detective on the Placentia force… a good-looking, single detective… how dare he complain about my running clothes? It's because of that stupid article in the Register last week.

The Orange County Register had published an interview with Skip as part of Chief Fletcher's desire to raise the dial on the PPD's friendly meter. Peri couldn't wait for the article to be published; after she read it, she couldn't wait to burn it. The female reporter made it sound less like a career profile and more like a resume for a dating service.

"Placentia's most eligible detective?" she'd read aloud. "Because we're not married, you're eligible?"

Skip acted perplexed. "I don't get it. All she asked was, if I was married."

"And you said?"

"No."

Damn his police training, she thought, remembering the conversation. Never offer more information than you're asked. Now he thinks he's hot stuff, giving me fashion tips - about what to sweat in? What a horse's ass.

Peri rounded the corner near Morse Elementary School and headed back toward her home. She could hear a vague cacophony of sound and glanced over at the campus. Children of various sizes and shades littered the grass, running and jumping and standing and falling. It seemed early for the school day – this was probably the day care shift. Adults, teachers perhaps, hustled in and out of the low, brick buildings.

A ball jumped against the metal fence surrounding the playground, and a small boy ran up to get it, red-faced. His mouth moved, but Peri couldn't hear him over the music pounding through her head. She decided to make a little detour and run by Dottie's house, just in case there was something to see.

In addition to being her neighbor, Dottie had been one of her clients when Peri owned her housecleaning business. She gave a discount to every elderly client, but she especially liked the Peters and knocked a few dollars more off their bill.

Two police cars, the coroner's van, and Skip's dark SUV were still parked in front of the house. Peri slowed down to a trot and crossed the street. She saw two shadows just inside the screen door. The smaller shadow, a female, leaned into the tall, male frame, who bent over her.

Peri stopped short of the yellow tape as soon as she recognized the tall shadow. Skip looked cozy with someone.

Part of Skip's job entailed comforting people, so she had no reason to be jealous. Still, something tugged at the bottom of her stomach, like sour milk. She wavered, briefly, and glanced down at her tee-shirt, which was dark with perspiration. Was that a hole next to the 'D'? Maybe this wasn't her best look, even if she did want to snoop around Dottie's house.

Peri made a U-turn and headed for home. She trotted easily for a block before stopping. The hell with appearances, she wanted to see inside that house.

Sorry, Skip. Looking good will have to wait.

By the time she returned to Dottie's, she saw a familiar brunette walking toward the Coroner's van. In addition to being the assistant coroner, Blanche Debussy had been Peri's best friend since high school.

Peri slowed to a walk and met Blanche at the van. "I heard about Dottie. How bad was it?"

"She was definitely on the compost side of the street." The petite woman put her glasses in their case and looked up at her friend. "How are you?"

"Good, considering Skip and I started off with a fight this morning."

"How many rounds?"

"Fifteen. No decision." Peri laughed. "He got on my case today about my running clothes. I mean, really." She looked down at her outfit, gesturing. "What else do you run in?"

"Looks like what I wear."

"Exactly. I guess now that he's the PPD's most eligible bachelor, he needs me to dress like arm candy."

"What a horse's ass." Blanche's husky voice made every opinion sound like fact.

Peri looked up and saw Skip at the front door. She smiled and waved. "Yeah, but he's my horse's ass."

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