Love and Marriage

Since it’s June, a popular month for couples in love to vow ’til death do they part, we’re taking a brief time-out from murder, mystery, and dead bodies to celebrate young love. And old love. And all love.

Patty and husband John celebrate their 53rd wedding anniversary this month.

Here, we offer one of our favorite passages about love.

  

AS YOU LIKE IT

by William Shakespeare

Act V, Scene II

No sooner met but they looked; no sooner looked but they loved;

No sooner loved but they sighed;

No sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason;

No sooner knew the reason but they sought the remedy;

And in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage . . .

Loving Our Personal Shopper

So, we take a look at our shopping list and see that we need to purchase the following items:

3 orange Chinese lanterns

6 mermaid stickers

1 pair of boots

Back in the olden days, this would involve driving to many different stores. But, in the wonderful technological age we now live in, it takes just a few clicks of the keyboard, and bingo! Orange lanterns follow us around for the next month or so every time we log on. Boots and mermaid tails appear every time we sign into our Gmail or visit Facebook. The number of options the Internet offers up is surpassed only by the number of hours it would take us to hunt them down ourselves.

Some people complain about being pursued this way, but we say bring it on. We love our personal shopper!

Plus, the savings are enormous because everyone knows you can’t physically go to Hobby Lobby and buy just mermaid stickers.

Meeting of the Minds, in Person

Since one of us lives in Wisconsin and the other in Texas, it’s not possible to meet on a regular basis; but we recently met for a long-overdue face-to-face visit. It was way too short, but our plan was to get a lot done on our work in progress, No. 7 in The Val & Kit Mystery Series, as yet untitled.  We started by posing for a couple of pictures.

Look busy, not clueless (directions from our photographers, Mike and Johnny).

Oh, you mean like this?

Somehow, our regular Skype session seemed more productive, where there is no chance of going out to restaurants, or stopping everything to catch the latest episode of This is Us. While we were together, we met a couple of times with Sarah, our editor, who wanted to know when she will be getting our next book—and could she have a Bloody Mary while she's waiting. (We assured her she has time for two or three.)

But despite the many interruptions, we got a lot of actual work done, together with a lot of laughs. As for all the fun we have . . . we still got it.

Mike, Patty, Roz, Sarah, Johnny

Our Favorite Job Perk

Between the two of us, we witness three or more murders a week. Happily, many of these vicious crimes are solved within fifty minutes or so, not counting commercial breaks. And in most cases, we have to use English-language closed captioning to understand what is going on, particularly for British crimes (even though one of us is British).

The authorities working these cases vary, depending on the country where the murder occurs. American female crime-solvers generally resemble ex-supermodels, with long, flowing hair that the perpetrator could, but never does, grab during an altercation.  British female cops usually arrive at the crime scene looking like they just made breakfast for four kids and dropped them off at school. Australian policewomen often have a healthy, outdoorsy look, almost as if they stored their surfboard in the trunk of their car before putting on their blue rubber gloves. The men, in nearly all countries, are typically either very good-looking or hopelessly rumpled and disheveled. As a rule of thumb, the more disheveled the guy, and the more he mumbles, the more likely he is to be brilliant and solve the case.

           

  

So, as a murder-mystery writing duo, does this watching we do help or hinder us? Is it a form of research, since we are unlikely (we hope) to come across real murders in our everyday lives except on TV? Well, we’ve learned a lot about police tape, not compromising the murder scene, and the popularity of the blunt-force object used to bash in skulls. In the US the preferred weapon appears to be a gun, whereas knives are widely popular in the UK (not withstanding an Agatha Christie adaptation, where poison is very popular).

We’ve also learned a lot about DNA, which on the surface would seem to make any crime solvable. And we’ve learned police jargon. And the importance of CCTV cameras and cell phones—or mobile phones, as the case may be—both excellent deterrents when it comes to proving false alibis.  Same goes for good old social media and Google, which appear to play an important role in modern police investigating.

Whatever the source (e.g., Prime Video, Netflix, or, heaven forbid, regular TV), it doesn’t hurt us a bit to plunk down on the couch, often still in our pajamas, with a cup of coffee and a TV remote. Let the bingeing—er, research—begin!!!!!

Valentine’s Day for the Rest of Us

If you don’t have anyone in your life who is likely to make a romantic gesture toward you, then Valentine’s Day might just as well be called Small Pox Day. And it’s not subtle. It doesn’t just creep up on you. No, its pending arrival is displayed everywhere you go as soon as Christmas is over. Its red tentacles coil around you with flowers, heart-shaped boxes of chocolate, and greeting cards as big as cereal boxes.

I was in my office, my eyes transfixed on my colleague’s desk. On display was a white teddy bear with a lighted red heart beating beneath its chest, glimmering on and off as it pumped synthetic stuffing through its veins.

When my phone rang, I tore my eyes away from Teddy’s aorta. It was Kit, my BFF. “Val, why don’t you come by tonight for dinner?” she asked. “Larry’s at a meeting and won’t be home until very late.”

“Today? You do know what today is, right?”

“Of course. Very important day for tax accountants. They dig out their abacuses and oil them.”

“No, I meant—never mind. Are you sure you will be alone?”

“Yes. And I feel like making paella.”

***

At Kit’s, after two helpings of her paella and three glasses of Rioja, I glanced at my watch, happy to learn that Valentine’s Day, and all its paraphernalia, had only an hour to go. “Here’s to Easter,” I said, raising my wine glass in a toast. Easter I could handle. It didn’t discriminate. It didn’t care if you were alone and single. It was a celebration for all the people.

“Happy Valentine’s Day,” I heard Larry, Kit’s husband, yell from the front door. “Val’s here? I noticed Val’s car in the driveway.”

“Well spotted. What gave it away?” Kit rose from her kitchen chair.

Larry now stood in the kitchen doorway. He had flakes of snow on the shoulders of his coat, wet discarded boots in one hand, and a shopping bag in the other. “I’m glad you’re here, Val.” He ceremoniously put his boots on the floor and the bag on the table. Then he removed from the bag a box, stunning red and shaped like a heart. It was as big as the extra-large pizza I like to order.

“I’m going,” I said, feeling awkward. Like I had been cast in a movie playing the perennial best friend.

“No, don’t go. This if for both of you.” He held the box between us, but since neither Kit nor I made a move to take it, he set it down on the table. “Happy Valentine’s Day, ladies. And Val, don’t let Kit get all the orange creams. You have to watch her.”

“Give her all my secrets, why don’t you.” Kit untied the red ribbon encasing the box.

“Sorry you have to share,” Larry said. “But the shop was closing just as I got there, and this was all they had left.”

I smiled up at him, then rose to give him a kiss on the cheek. “Larry James, you are the worst liar in the world, but a very sweet man. Thank you,” I said. My half of the chocolates weren’t a romantic gesture by any means. They were better, so much better.

He blushed just a little, then said, “Can you believe it? They were starting to put out Easter stuff.”

Happy New Year!

We say good-bye to 2018 with mixed feelings. Like many of you, we experienced some highs, and some heavyhearted lows. But throughout it all, we kept writing, maybe not as fast as we have in the past, but never letting our work sit on the back burner for too long.

This month’s blog is purely to thank our readers from the bottom of our hearts for their support. Whether you downloaded to Kindle, purchased paperbacks, or posted wonderful reviews on Amazon, we can’t thank you enough. And a special thank-you to all of our readers who have inquired when the next book is due. It’s coming sometime in 2019.

So, here’s wishing all of you a fantastic and safe New Year. May all your dreams come true.

With love,

Roz and Patty

Making a List, Checking It Twice (And Deleting It Once)

“Kit, I’m making my Christmas list, and I’d like to get you something you really want.”

“I don’t want anything, Val. Just come spend the day with Larry and me. That will be more than enough present. You are still coming, right?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And for crying out loud, I’m begging you, don’t go wasting your money at Family Dollar. I don’t need a thing.”

I ignored her, and since I had a big, fat Christmas bonus coming, I put a question mark next to her name.

“Hi, Mom, it’s me.”

“Who?”

“Valerie. Your daughter. Remember, you went to the hospital about fifty years ago, and they sent you home with a little baby.”

“Oh, are you that baby? How could I forget? Seventy-two hours of excruciating labor, and then you howled nonstop for a month.”

“That’s the one. I’m calling because I’m starting my Christmas list, and I wondered if there is anything you and William particularly want.”

“Valerie, don’t go squandering your money on William Stuckey and me. We don’t want a thing.”

“Seriously, Mom, I’m expecting a huge bonus from work, so don’t worry about the cost.”

“Well, why don’t you spend it on yourself? Get a decent haircut, or join one of those gyms.”

“Er, no, I love my haircut, and I hate gyms.”

“You know, Valerie, it’s bad manners to ask people what they want for Christmas—”

“Oops, my other line is ringing; gotta go. Forget I called.”

“Emily, it’s Mom. I know it’s early, but I’m making my Christmas list. Anything in particular you and Luke would like? And don’t hold back. I have an enormous Christmas bonus coming.”

“Oh, Mom, Luke and I were just talking about this very thing. What we would like . . .”

“Yes, tell me. Anything.”

“We’d like you to make a donation to a charity; it would mean so much.”

“What are you thinking? Whales, baby seals?”

“Show Dogs.”

“Show . . . dogs? Do show dogs really require a charity?”

“Yes. It’s the name of a rescue shelter for homeless dogs.”

“Hmm. Didn’t you tell me about an antique bookcase you have your eye on?”

“Mom, some of the dogs are vision impaired; they would have no use for bookcases or even books.”

“Well, I meant the bookcase would be for you—oh, never mind. I see your point. Because some of the dogs can’t see. Or read.”

“Exactly.”

“Let me think about it some more.”

“What are you doing, Val?”

“Oh, hi, Tom, best boss in the whole world; I’m making my Christmas list with the help of that gigantic bonus we’ve got coming—”

“Yeah, yeah, about that bonus—”

“Don’t worry, you’re on the list too. How about a bottle of that Louis XVI cognac you like?”

“It’s Louis XIII, and it costs seven grand, and about that bonus—”

“Oh, that much? Do they perhaps sell it in those little airline bottles? Maybe a couple of those—”

“Sorry, Val, but there won’t be a bonus this year; we lost that big sale on Main Street, and it looks like the Higginbothams are pulling out of—”

“Wait! No bonus? But I thought—”

“Sorry, Kiddo. Maybe later in the year we can catch up moneywise . . .”

I deleted my list and opened the website for Edible Arrangements. Who doesn’t like winter fruit? Even a vision-impaired mutt can enjoy a pomegranate.