Val Attempts In-Depth Interview with Kit

Kit: Tell me again. Exactly why are we doing this?

Val: Because our readers get to see stuff only through my eyes—

Kit: No kidding.

Val: —and I thought it might be nice to get to know you a little; hence—

Kit: Hence?  Really? You’re going with hence?

Val: It’s a word.

Kit: Okay, Anne Boleyn, what do you want to know?

Val: Why don’t you start by telling us a little about yourself?

Kit: Let’s see; many people compare me in looks to Catherine Zeta-Jones—

Val: I think you’re the only one who does that. Tell us something personal.

Kit: Like?

Val: Who’s your favorite aunt? What city were you born in? What was your first car?

Kit: Wait. Is this an interview, or am I choosing a new password?

Val: Let’s try this: what’s your favorite TV show?

Kit: Like I have time to watch TV.

Val: Okay, we’ll go with that. What do you do that prevents you from watching TV?

Kit: Ya know, in case you haven’t noticed, I spend a lot of time looking after you!

Val: Moving on. If you could have lunch with anyone in the world, dead or alive, who would you pick?

Kit: Coco Chanel

Val: Why?

Kit: You have to ask? You do know who Coco Chanel was, right?

Val: Well, of course. Everyone knows her. She invented the little black dress, right?

Kit: Big deal. How hard was that?

Val: I thought you liked her.

Kit: I said I’d have lunch with her, but I don’t have to like her.

Val: Okay, forget Coco. Tell us about your husband and son. What’s your favorite thing about them?

Kit: Larry—that would be my husband, Val—plays a lot of golf and is a partner in a very successful accounting firm.

Val: Yes, Larry is very smart.

Kit: However, not smart enough to balance the checkbook or come in out of the rain when he’s golfing.

Val: Let’s move on to Sam—

Kit: Do you mean Sam, my son?

Val: Yes, that’s who I mean. Tell me three of your favorite things about him.

Kit: He got through college without being arrested. That’s two things. And he lives in Texas.

Val: Nothing else?

Kit: Geez, you asked for three things; now you want more?  What kind of an interviewer are you?

Val: The good kind. Give me something else about Sam.

Kit: Okay; he sent me a ham for Mother’s Day—

Val: A ham?

Kit: Right. He knows I love cooking, so a thirty-pound lump of cold pork seemed appropriate. What did Emily send you?

Val: A gift card to Heavenly Doings Day Spa.

Kit: Just be sure when you go that you keep your purse with you all the time. I think they steal. And make sure they use towels that were laundered that day. Oh, and don’t let Valentina anywhere near you, especially if you’re getting a wax job. She says she’s French, but I think she’s from the South Side. And likes to inflict pain.

Val: I’ll make a note.

Kit: Oh, Valley Girl, you’ll lose your wallet five minutes after you step in the door. I better go with you.

Val: Do you have a plan?

Kit: Don’t I always?

NEW RELEASE!! In paperback and on Kindle. Buy the former, get the latter for 99 cents with the Kindle MatchBook program!

LETHAL PROPERTY

Roz’s Retirement: All It’s Cracked Up to Be, and Then Some

It’s been a month since I retired, and I’m already wondering how I ever had time for a job in the first place.

To begin, a note about the actual departure from my office. I gave three months’ notice—which was required by my Human Resources Department. But on reflection, it might have been better to rip off the Band-Aid and depart sooner, once the decision had been made. It was heart-wrenching saying good-bye to the lovely people I’ve worked with for so long. Most of my coworkers seemed genuinely sad to see me go, although I’m sure there were a few thinking leave, already.  Regardless, there were farewell lunches, a lavish good-bye dinner, balloons, flowers, and precious gifts to treasure forever.

Roz with fellow retiree Marty Rainbird and their boss, David Dundas

On my first real day of retirement, I did not set my alarm clock and woke up lazily, feeling sure it was probably around noon already.  But no; It was only six thirty . . . turns out I probably never needed that annoying alarm clock all those years.

And so, on to my retirement activities list, which so far has gone as follows:

First thing I had to do was buy a new computer.  This had not been a planned expenditure, but it seems my ten-year-old PC decided to join me in retirement. And who can blame it? Some of the obvious clues, which any mystery writer should be able to follow while wearing a blindfold, were the scary zigzag lines running across the screen; the inability to connect to anything outside my kitchen door; and just in case I still didn’t get it, the BSOD, an acronym for Blue Screen of Death, which appeared every time I turned the darn thing on.  Okay, I gave up, packed the computer and its ten million cords and attachments, and stored them in my spare room (otherwise known as the black hole), where eventually I’ll figure out what to do with them.  It will probably always be with me, like a techy Miss Havisham decaying slowly in a room at the top of the house.  My new computer, by contrast, is sleeker and smarter, and it comes with all sorts of new gadgets that one of these days I’ll figure out. 

Next, I had to buy a new cell phone.  Choosing among Apple and all the rest of them was easy for me.  I just went with the one with the biggest text size—or, as I call it, The Retirement Package.  I was able to make the apps appear as big as Buicks on the screen (not totally sure what they are, but I’m pretty certain I must need them).

Next came reading.  Something I love but have not had much time for lately, and downloading several of my favorite authors to my Kindle has been a joy.  I’ve even managed to read one whole book.  The Racketeer by John Grisham was well worth my time.  John has never let me down so far.

Going to the movies in the daytime is great.  I’ve done it only once in retirement so far, but plan on doing it more.  My two pals who accompanied me, both retired for several years, knew the ropes and guided me through the process.  We had to get there early to be sure we got the optimum seats: the row that has a rail in front of it, where you can put your feet up, literally.  Like watching a show in your recliner at home.  Of course, since there were only three other patrons besides us in the theater for the one o’clock showing, finding the perfect seats was never really going to be a problem.

I haven’t had as much time to work on my yard as I hoped.  But I have at least kept the grass cut and doused the whole area with weed killer. If Melissa Tracy (brilliant author of Mel’s Green Garden) is reading this, then the weed killer consisted of nothing more organically dangerous than a package of lard and some baby oil.

So, what have I really been doing?  Well, a lot of writing.  As Patty puts the finishing touches on Lethal Property, which will be out this month, I’m working on our next non–Val and Kit novel, and once Patty and I are caught up, we’ll continue together with a new adventure for our two ladies.

Therefore, to sum up retirement: so far, so very, very good.

Coming to Kindle and
in paperback this month!

Trading Places

“Val, what’re you doing up so early?”

I jumped at the sound of Kit’s voice and turned in her direction.

She was wearing a black silk robe belted tightly around her slim waist. Resting across her forehead was a red satin night mask embroidered with the words Dreaming of Paris.

“Well, right now I’m reading the latest garbage on Miley Cyrus.”

“You saying she’s garbage, or what they’re writing about her is garbage?” I was glad she didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, as she poured herself a cup of coffee, she said, “Ahh, glad you got this started. I need it faster than usual. I didn’t sleep well last night, thinking of—”

“Paris?”

“No. Thinking of you . . .” She removed the mask and tossed it on the counter.

“You didn’t sleep well thinking of me? How do you think I slept?”

“Um . . . not at all?”

“You got it.”

She leaned over the counter and patted my hand. Then she heaved a big sigh. “Don’t worry, Valley Girl. I’ll think of something for us to do next.”

In our biggest role reversal ever, I answered her. “I already have.”

from LETHAL PROPERTY, coming in May!

Easter Eggs: How Roz and Her Houston Family Roll

Before Easter becomes a distant memory, I’d like to share a wonderful tradition I enjoy with my Houston family: The Egg Decorating Contest. Our contestants range in age from two to seventy, and special allowance is given by the Judge, who permits us to decorate our eggs at home and bring them on Easter Sunday fully dressed. 

A word about the Judge (Ken): He remains totally impartial and, like all judges, cannot be bribed or corrupted.  This I know from personal experience.

So, after spending several days deciding what would appeal to him most, I set to work boiling six eggs (in case I made a mistake) and roaming the aisles of Hobby Lobby. And after ungluing my fingers more than once, I was ready to go.

The competition this year was fierce (darn those two grandsons of the Judge, who jump to the top of the Leader Board simply by showing up and telling Grandpa how much they love him).

One special note: There was another entry that cannot be shown here.  BUT YOU KNOW WHO YOU ARE (Quatro!).

Grammy Sarah submitted this entry of Cash mutton bustin' (this is Texas, after all).

Future King of England, Baby George.

No explanation needed (unless you don't live in Houston).

Four-year-old Cash's Pirate Ship.

Two out of three eggs enjoy a fun day in Galveston.

Easter Island (someone had to do it).

AND THE WINNER IS….. Jennifer Day, with KISS!!

Some of the fierce competitors: Cash, Kimberly, Bodie and Quatro.

THANK YOU, KEN AND SARAH, FOR A REALLY FUN DAY!
(And while y'all are here, want to go back to the top of the page, leave your e-mail address to follow us, and you'll then be notified any time there's a new blog post here?! Fun, fun, fun!!)

Roz's March Madness

March 2014 is a momentous month for me. I retire from my day job March 31. When I began with the company, way too many years ago to count, I was the baby in the office. Now I’m the senior.

I made the decision to leave three months ago. It wasn’t easy. I’ve had a long and interesting career in the airline industry, and my colleagues have become family. They are an amazing group of men and women. We have developed a team closeness, and support and care for each other. Not seeing them every day will be very sad for me. But, since my job is in the cargo side of the airline world, I won’t miss having to figure out the complexities of sending plasma to Djibouti, freeze-dried Tex-Mex food destined for the space shuttle, or miniature horses to Saudi Arabia.

Roz with some of her work family:

As for the future, I am excited about my new life. The first thing I plan to do is relax a little. Then I will tackle all the things I haven’t had time to do properly for the past few years. This list includes the mundane, like really, really cleaning my house, doing a more than half-assed job in my yard, and sorting out closets and drawers that no longer open or close properly because of the junk I’ve rammed into them through the years. On a lighter note, I plan to spend more time with people I have neglected (most have already retired) and visit friends and family, taking my own sweet time and setting my own schedule.

My already-retired friends assure me I’m going to be busier than ever, although I’m not sure that is my main goal. I was once a ferocious reader, but in the last few years I’ve managed only about one book every two or three months. Outrageous for a writer. I plan to load up my Kindle and go to town (or at least to my couch) and catch up on my favorite authors. I also look forward to going to movies and museums, during the day, with the luxury of those establishments being half-empty (except for the other retirees with the same plan).

But most important, I plan to devote the lion’s share of my time to writing. Currently, I squeeze it in on weekends and days off (hence the drawers stuffed with junk, where it can take me a good twenty minutes just to find a pen that works). 

My writing partner, Patty, has done all the heavy lifting so far (e.g., all that techy stuff I know so little about). Lucky Patty can now share her workload with me (after a suitable training period). But lucky me, I get to return to Val and Kit, as often as I like, without worrying in the back of my mind if the shipment of frozen yogurt I booked to Kazakhstan that morning will melt before it reaches its final destination.

We are currently working on the final touches to Lethal Property, to be released in April. This is the next mystery starring our two favorite non-detectives. And I’ve already located my webcam, which was hidden between a miniature umbrella and a box of unopened chocolate-covered cherries in my desk drawer. Val would understand; Kit would be appalled. But I’m ready to Skype with Patty and get to work.

Roz (with visitor Patty) in her home office,
 where she'll soon be spending ALL her work time.

Why Do Fools Fall in Love?

Since the dawn of time, and even before that, we’ve been asking ourselves the same old question. Is it worse to be widowed or divorced?

Let’s look at divorcées first, and of course a lot depends on the circumstances. For those enduring divorce, it matters what side of the divorce fence you find yourself sitting on. If the divorce was your idea and you just feel compelled to leave your lazy, good-for-nothing spouse who won’t take you hunting/shopping, then the age-old question doesn’t even apply to you. Especially if you happen to have a third party waiting in the wings who totally “gets” you because you have so much in common, like NFL football/Downton Abbey.

But what if the divorce wasn’t your idea? What if you foolishly thought you’d be married to this person forever? The person who’s now hastily packing bags, saying good-bye to the dog, and canceling life insurance policies? The one who can’t back out of the driveway fast enough? In this case, you might prefer being widowed. Yes, lying, cheating spouses who fall off cliffs or accidentally pour drain cleaner over their cereal can’t hurt. Well . . . it can. But it will hurt the deceased a lot more than you.

Now, our hearts go out to those who lose a much-loved partner to death. Such a loss is painful and unbearably sad, and no matter how many times people tell you they understand, they just don’t. But the widowed will have a circle of folks rallying around them insisting they must grieve in their own time, absolutely no rush, and life will eventually get better. The divorced people who’ve been wronged will probably get the same advice, but for a much shorter time period, and it will be peppered with instructions to get over it, move on, get out there.

Whichever heart-wrenching situation you find yourself burdened with, it will be life-altering, and recovery can be agonizingly slow. The widowed and those divorced against their every wish and effort will both feel pain and loneliness. But the good news is that life will eventually return to some kind of normalcy for the suddenly single, no matter how they got there.

Perhaps the difference is that the widowed can look back on a lifetime of good memories and remember the husband or wife with love. The divorced, after cutting the spouse’s clothes into tiny pieces and removing his/her face from five thousand photographs, can hopefully come to the conclusion one day that too much time was wasted missing the departed one.

And as for the spouse speeding out of the driveway, let’s hope that at the very least, he/she gets a ticket for bad behavior.

In our latest novel, DRESSING MYSELF, our heroine faces much of the above, but the conclusion of her story might surprise you.

Two New Books and One New Dog

It is our pleasure to start the new year by introducing our readers to Jessie Harleman. Her story is now available on a Kindle near you in Dressing Myself (our first novel NOT in The Val & Kit Mystery Series).

Jessie has been happily married to Kevin for twenty-eight years. With their two grown kids now out of the house and living their own lives, Jessie and Kevin have reached the point they thought they longed for, yet slightly dreaded. But the house that used to be bursting at the seams now has too many empty rooms.

Still, Jessie is a glass half-full kind of woman, eager for this next period of her life to take hold. The problem is, it just doesn’t go the way she planned.

Meanwhile, our two supersleuths, Val and Kit, remain in dogged pursuit of a murderer in their latest escapade, Lethal Property, to be released this spring. This No. 4 in The Val & Kit Mystery Series showcases their old cohorts along with the usual sprinkling of new characters, including a special four-legged friend who's a big Downton Abbey fan.

Speaking of friends with four legs, we have a new guy in our gang. Please meet Brew, the sweetest boxer we know. He was “rescued” by our editor Sarah and her husband and is now a permanent fixture in their home. Although he looks kinda tough in this picture, he’s really a pussycat . . . well, maybe not a pussycat; he’d box us just for saying that.

When Roz was a child, she was very afraid of dogs, but for no particular reason. Her family never owned a dog, and she never had an encounter that justified her fear. But she can remember visiting another family that did own one and literally climbing on the kitchen table to escape (Roz doing the climbing, not the dog).

Now she wonders why. The first dog she owned was a Labrador puppy (Oliver). A tiny bundle of black velvet with a face that could melt the hardest heart. Even so, her husband had to assure her there was nothing to fear before she reluctantly agreed to take the pooch on. Within a few weeks he was sleeping in their bed, and she was rushing home from work every day, wracked with guilt that she’d had to leave him alone for several hours. The only solution was to add another Lab to their family. This time they went blond (Duncan).

Today she’s rather suspicious of people who don’t like dogs. What’s not to like?  As an adult she’s owned four dogs at one time or another (including Jessie, below) and has had a couple more for sleepovers when their owners were out of town.

For her part, Patty grew up having dogs, as did her children. Now she and her husband have three granddogs, all Labs: one black, one yellow, and one chocolate (Harry, Hank, and Chester, top to bottom below). Like all their grandchildren of the two-legged variety, each has a distinct personality and a unique set of traits and, um, talents. Grandma and Grandpa know immediately which one stole the Christmas dessert off the table, which one pooped on the floor, and which one will run and hide in the chicken coop when the Fourth of July fireworks begin.

       

But all the dogs in Roz and Patty’s lives have been sweet, loving, and loyal to a fault. Most of them have had a great sense of humor, and one was a little snooty; but without exception, they've all been good people.