Tag Archive for: Irish Wolfhounds

Evelyn David’s Murder Takes the Cake

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Weddings can be murder! Murder Takes the Cake is the sequel to Murder Off the Books. Private Detective Mac Sullivan and his furry sidekick, Whiskey, are back for more mystery, romance, and fast food. For a taste of the “cake,” read the excerpt below:

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Time seemed to pause, then Mac sensed, rather than heard, the initial crack. Instinctively, he ducked behind the open car door, but his reflexes weren’t quite as fast as they used to be. Damn middle age. He could feel the flesh on his right arm burning, knew the wetness soaking his clothes and dripping down his hand was blood.

More bullets slapped into the car door, breaking the window and showering him with cubes of safety glass.

“Get down.” He hissed a warning to Merrell, but was much too late. Amid a third volley of bullets, Mac saw the Boston cop was face down on the asphalt, hand still in his pocket reaching for his wad of cash.

A bullet ricocheted off the door, striking the floorboard only a few inches from Mac’s hip. He needed to be somewhere else and quick. The bullet rounds continued. The shooter had to have more than one weapon or he’d reloaded.

Mac reached for his gun, tucked in a holster next to his left shoulder. The well-practiced movement was almost impossible. His right arm ached. His shooting hand was slippery with blood and felt strange…weak. He looked to make sure he was actually holding his gun.

The motel dumpster, twenty feet away, would offer more protection than an ancient Cadillac door. He decided to chance it.

A hail of bullets erupted as soon as he started running. One bullet bounced off the asphalt uncomfortably close to his left foot. He was three feet from the dumpster when he crouched and pivoted to return fire. The shooter was well hidden. Mac knew better than just to point and shoot. He needed to verify his target. If he could see the muzzle flash, he’d consider firing.

He never got that chance. Another rounds of shots and suddenly he found himself flat on his back, fur in his mouth, a 120-pound wolfhound as his personal bulletproof vest.

Squealing tires signaled the all-clear.

“Get off.” He attempted to push Whiskey off his chest, but the dog refused to budge.

“It’s okay, girl.” He tried to soothe the dog, running his left hand along her back. The quivering furry body told him she wasn’t convinced, although she appeared to be unhurt. A few more not-so-gentle pushes and Whiskey reluctantly gave up her perch.

Mac tried to sit up and failed. He’d twisted a muscle in his back when he fell; the muscles in his lower back had seized up. He rolled to his side and crawled next to the dumpster. Leaning against the cold metal, he propped himself upright gingerly and took inventory.

His arm throbbed. His favorite jacket was sliced open and damp with blood, probably ruined. With his left hand, he fished a handkerchief from his pocket and wrapped the makeshift bandage around his upper arm. Conclusion–battered, but he’d live. Whiskey whined and Mac realized she was pacing the space between him and Merrell. For a moment he’d forgotten about Merrell.

Gritting his teeth against the pain in his back, Mac reholstered his gun and crawled over to the body sprawled twenty feet away, across two parking spaces. Judging from the exit wound that had taken off the back of the man’s skull, Mac knew there wasn’t much point in feeling for a pulse, but he did anyway. There was none.

He could hear sirens in the distance. Somebody had called the cops, but they were too scared to come out to the parking lot to help. He couldn’t blame them. Flying bullets don’t usually encourage heroics. Not from strangers.

Mac reached into Merrell’s pocket and withdrew the wad of cash. He shoved twenty back in so the cops wouldn’t think it was a robbery. He’d make sure Merrell’s kids got the money, like he promised.

The ache in his arm was increasing; winning the competition with the pain in his lower back. His gunshot wound now had his full, undivided attention. Mental exhaustion was also beginning to take a toll. Or maybe he was going into shock. Mac leaned against the Cadillac’s wheel and waited with his nervous dog for the cops to arrive. He had to figure out just how much explaining he was willing to do. It went without saying that Whiskey would go along with whatever version of the truth he told the police. Partners did that sort of thing.

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Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David

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2nd Edition Trade paperback version coming this Fall from Wolfmont Publishing. Limited quanity of autographed 1st edition copies are available now at The Digital Bookshop. For more information click here.

Careful Word Choices

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As a writer, a fiction writer, I’m always looking for the exact word or phrase that will telegraph immediately to the reader what is happening in a scene. Ideally, I want the reader to be enthralled by the action, not left scratching her head or reaching for the dictionary to check the definition of my choice.

Usually, with enough rewrites and tweaking back and forth between the two halves of Evelyn David, we settle on the perfect word for the situation.

Here’s the dilemma. Irish wolfhounds, like Whiskey, the adored and adorable character in Murder Off the Books and Murder Takes the Cake, don’t bark. Or at least, they don’t bark like Lassie. They rumble, they boof, they definitely communicate, but bark, like Benji or Beethoven, or any of the other big screen canine idols, nope, that’s not how an Irish wolfhound sounds.

But when we use the verb, bark, despite full knowledge that it’s not exactly accurate, we’re trying to use a common term that the reader will understand. Whiskey is talking – we’re less concerned about the sound she makes, than about her efforts to communicate. For example, in Murder Takes the Cake, we wrote:

“Whiskey?” Rachel sighed and stroked the dog’s head. “Okay, I know your first loyalties lie with him, but it doesn’t feel very good to always be an afterthought. Don’t you think I deserve to be more than a minor character in this little drama Mac calls his life? If he survives, we’re going to have a serious discussion.”

This time Whiskey’s bark sounded much more like agreement.

On the other hand, we want to acknowledge, as several wolfhound owners have pointed out to us, that these gentle giants sound different than other dogs. It would be as if we called the Chicago rapid transit system the Metro instead of the L. For most readers outside of Chicago, it probably wouldn’t matter. But for those who do know exactly what the train system in the Windy City is called – it breaks the action, takes the reader outside the story.

Our solution – we think – is, in the next book in the series, have Rachel comment to Mac about the timbre and tone of Whiskey’s “voice.”

Any other ideas?

Evelyn David

Murder Takes the Cake by Evelyn David
Murder Off the Books by Evelyn David
http://www.evelyndavid.com

Shoes Make the Writer

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I promise to circle back to shoes. This is the Stiletto Gang and since we’re women and we’re mystery writers, we were impressed with our little wordplay. I know nothing about stiletto knives, but as a shoe whore I’ve got plenty to say about stiletto heels.

But first, why another blog from a bunch of mystery writers?

Here’s the down and dirty, simple truth. Why not? We’re writers. Blogging is a way of touching base with fellow mystery fans; a way of promoting our books; and it’s what we do. We write (or play free cell).

I’ve been watching a lot of political debates lately and always sympathize with the candidate who has to give the first answer. Sure you get your point out early, but you just know that the other guy (gal) has an extra few minutes to figure out something cleverer to say.

So it was probably not the smartest thing to volunteer to write the first entry for The Stiletto Gang. But then it struck me that the best way to meet the challenge is to quote somebody smarter than me: Carolyn Hart.

At the last Malice Domestic, she explained why she wrote cozy mysteries. “In my books, the good guys always win.”

It was the proverbial light bulb moment. Now I knew why I loved writing mysteries. Mini-control freak that I am, writing who-dunnits gives me the opportunity to create a universe with the outcomes I want. In the world of Mac Sullivan, Rachel Brenner, and Whiskey, the adorable and adored Irish wolfhound, the good guys always prevail.

That doesn’t mean that I want a Pollyanna solving mysteries in her spare time. Sure there are days when I want life to be simple. I want some blessings that aren’t in disguise. But I want to create complex, multi-layered characters who encounter conflict and struggle not with black-and-white issues, but with all the shades of gray that life entails.

My good guys love coconut cream pie, and have the love handles to show for it. My heroines have ex-husbands who cheated on them, and they have footprints on their backs from being doormats. They have pasts that haunt them, futures that worry them, and bills to pay. Me too. The question isn’t whether evil exists in my world. It most certainly does. It’s just that I get to thwart it, one killer at a time.

Now, a tad late in the essay, let me say welcome to The Stiletto Gang blog. We’re four writers, although two of us share a name. Evelyn David has a split personality. I’m Marian, the Northern half, and I live in New York. Rhonda, the Southern half, lives in Oklahoma. Our first mystery is Murder Off the Books (Echelon, 2007). We’re frantically finishing the sequel, Murder Takes the Cake. Check out our web site, http://www.evelyndavid.com/, and discover the intriguing secret of how our book was written.

Tomorrow you’ll meet Marilyn Meredith. Marilyn is the author of the acclaimed Deputy Tempe Crabtree mystery series, as well as the Rocky Bluff P.D. series.

Wednesdays, Maggie Barbieri, author of the Allison Bergeron series (which has taken off like gangbusters), mans the helm.

Thursdays, Rhonda Dossett, the Southern half of Evelyn David, puts pen to paper (make that fingers to keyboard, but you get the drift.)

Fridays, we’d love to hear from you. Share your thoughts in a guest blog.

A promise is a promise. Let me circle back to stiletto heels. I’m a writer, so let’s be real. My default writing footwear is bedroom slippers. For dress-up, I wear a pair of black suede Merrell slip-ons. When I win an Edgar, I’ll wear stiletto heels. Promise.

My wish for you all: a world where the men are good looking; the women are brilliant and beautiful; the dogs are loyal and loving … and where the good guys always win.

Evelyn David