I’m so excited to officially announce that Hank Edwards and I wrote a book together!!!
It will be coming out early next year! It’s entitled:
MURDER MOST LOVELY
Lacetown Murder Mysteries: Case One
It’s weird and awesome how things turn out sometimes, and when you least expect it. I’m so happy that I’ve had the chance to go on this fabulous journey with the super talented Hank Edwards. Writing with him has been so effortless that it’s a bit surreal. Our styles mesh so well, sometimes I can’t remember which of us wrote what sentence LOL
It all started on February 3, 2018 at 9:26 PM, I sent Hank these DMs on Facebook:
“Full disclosure: I’m drinking tonight lol…..but I think we should write a book together #justsayin”
“It would be EPIC!”
Hank thought it would be epic fun too, though he’d never co-authored a book together. I have, though it still remains unpublished. I’ve long been a fan of Hank’s books and our humor is so similar, I thought it seemed like a grand idea to co-write something together.
And it wasn’t just the whisky talking LOL.
We both belong to the Michigan LGBTQ Writers—though I’m the Michigan-born Ohio-raised exception in the group, and we see each other often at local Pride events. We always have a ton of fun when we are together, so I assumed we would easily be able to write together.
But what to write?
That it would be a gay romance was a no-brainer, but the sub-genres were endless. We’ve both written YA, historical, contemporary and paranormal, so our options were broad to say the least. I suggested even writing a book based off Billy Joel’s song Uptown Girl and calling to Uptown Boy, LOL
Through a few more chats, Hank had this pearl:
“I think, just knowing our writing styles, we could write the ever-loving fuck out of a contemporary rom-com. What do you think?”
Well, I totally agreed!
So with a genre decided, we needed a game plan. Thinking we should come up with a central setting, I spewed off a laundry list of settings—gay bar, funeral parlor, casino, a sexy house cleaning service with happy endings, a real comic book super hero. Hank narrowed it down and I loved the idea!
“Hello! And I like the idea of a central setting. Would be awesome if it became a series. I like your suggestions, and I think the beauty salon idea is great since you’ve got some really good knowledge about that area. I know nothing about it, but funeral parlor really jumped out at me and made me laugh. What about a beauty salon AND a funeral home in a small Midwest town, like OH or MI? Like, would someone from the beauty shop be hired to work on the bodies at the local funeral home?”
And so MURDER MOST LOVELY was born….
We have had a blast writing our Lacetown Murder Mysteries that we would like to involve you in a part of our writing process. With our setting decided, we needed to create our mortician and our hairdresser. I thought it would be good if we each just created one character then we put them together and see what happens. Though my day job is a cosmetologist, Hank created our hairdresser hero and I happily made up the mortician.
It was so much fun making up a character then sending it off to Hank as I excitedly waited to see whom he had created. It was almost like I was a matchmaker for my character but I had no idea who Hank was sending on his blind date!
Meet Michael Fleishman, age 42
Michael is a mortician who runs the Fleishman Funeral Parlor in Lacetown, Michigan, and he has been the county coroner for 13 years. He is quiet and awkward Jewish man, and he doesn’t date a lot or have many fiends besides his gregarious grandpa who still calls him Mikey, and his fat black-and-white tabby cat Mr. Pickles Furryton the Third—the latter goes with him to the funeral parlor every day.
I envisioned Michael looking like a geeky version of Luke Wilson, but with glasses. He is fastidious in his attire, and always polite yet very reserved. He’s awkward in his own skin, but as we all know, still waters run deep. That’s why I made Michael a Virgo, the most uptight of all horoscope signs IMO, but also the biggest freak between the sheets. Which you can imagine, led to some fun options for our—at the time—unwritten MSS.
Michael is an avid mystery reader and often fantasizes about solving a mystery like his favorite fictional character Brock Hammer. Not that such a thing would ever happen in the sleepy Lake Michigan village of Lacetown. The most exciting case Michael’s ever been called on to work was when Mrs. Briarwood caught her husband in bed with Abigail Smithers from the Marathon Station, and shot him with a crossbow in the scrotum.
Please enjoy the first half of chapter one of MURDER MOST LOVELY—Lacetown Murder Mysteries Case One. For the second half of the chapter and a chance to learn how Hank created Michael’s soon-to-be paramour visit this link: https://www.hankedwardsbooks.com/2018/10/06/murder-most-lovely/
Murder Most Lovely
Lacetown Murder Mysteries: Case One
Chapter One
Mr. Pickles will be so excited when I get home, Michael Fleishman thought.
Well, he wasn’t really sure if the taciturn cat would care if he had ten of his Brock Hammer novels signed by the author, but Michael would be excited.
He parked his tan Camry in the last available angled parking space on Main Street, unable to believe his luck finding a place to park. He ordinarily would’ve walked, living so close, but he wouldn’t risk getting any of his paperbacks or the two hardcovers wet in the rain.
Lacetown was crowded for the Great Lakes Literary Fest. Today was the first day of the three day festival, and sadly the tail end of a late-spring storm front. The festival kicked off the busy tourist season for their lakeside village and, despite the rain, the streets were busy with fans and visitors hunched under umbrellas visiting all the authors at the afternoon signing event. The lesser-known authors were trying to stay dry under tents in the town square, but most of the big name authors had been moved indoors for their signings, the bars and restaurants serving as makeshift bookstores.
And in Michael’s mind, there weren’t many big names in fiction that he wanted to meet more than Russell Withingham.
He’d checked the festival website before leaving the house and knew Mr. Withingham would be inside Kelsey’s Bar & Grill. There was a small line forming outside already so Michael grabbed his bag of books and his umbrella, and then hurried to join them.
A woman he didn’t recognize in line in front of him smiled and he nodded politely. There were always strange faces in their little Lake Michigan lakeside town during the summer. Tourists mostly, and this weekend literary fans.
The crashing sound of waves drew Michael’s attention behind him. Main Street ended at Route 412 and on the other side a boardwalk overlooking their unswimmable portion of Lake Michigan. Large waves crested, crashing in places over the spacious boardwalk stretching the length of town. He spied a few unfortunate tourists who didn’t have the wherewithal to see the obvious safety hazard of being out there when the lake was unhappy.
Hoping no one would be hurt, he adjusted his bag on his shoulder and tried to keep his umbrella from poking the lady’s in front of him. Fleishman Funeral Home only had gigantic golf umbrellas for services, and he was glad for it when the rain picked up and a gust blew mist onto his glasses. He shoved them in his front shirt pocket, knowing there would be no use keeping them clean until he was inside.
“Shit, I thought this rain was supposed to let up this afternoon,” a deep masculine voice from behind Michael said.
Michael turned and drew up short.
“Whoa there, pal, you could take an eye out with that thing.”
For a heartbeat Michael froze and just stared.
The man in line behind him had a long face and wheat colored hair swept back from a low brow and into a ponytail. Eyes the color of cognac had just enough sparkle to make Michael smile and conjure thoughts of mischief and long summer romances.
And you’re staring at him like a ninny!
Michael hastily stepped back so as to not poke the gorgeous man in the eye with his umbrella. “Oh, I’m sorry.”
“Hey, watch it,” the lady in front of him snapped. “You’re soaking me!”
Michael jumped when he realized his big umbrella had slipped beneath hers and was funneling water right onto her.
“Oh, I’m terribly sorry,” he said at once, stepping back the other way.
“Whoa, whoa,” ponytail guy said again, reaching up to take hold of the eye-level pin on Michael’s umbrella. “How about I just join you?” And then he stepped under the huge umbrella with Michael.
“Oh, yeah, sure,” Michael managed, squirming a little. “There’s plenty of room.”
The man used both hands to brush a few wayward strands of blond hair off his face, his tanned skin glistening from the rain. He wore a ring on a long well-manicured index finger. Smiling, he held out a hand. “I’m Jazz Dilworth.”
What a strange name. Sounds like something in a mystery novel.
He quickly shook the proffered hand. “Michael Fleishman.”
Jazz flipped a thumb behind him. “I work across the street at Misty’s Makeover Palace.” He furrowed tidy brows. “Fleishman, like the funeral parlor?”
“Eew,” the lady in front of him said with a distinct Valley Girl attitude.
Michael maintained his polite mortician smile. Sadly, he was used to the reaction.
Hence his lackluster love life.
Expecting Jazz to make some equally grossed out remark and leave the safety of the umbrella, Michael looked back at him.
But Jazz was smiling, his white teeth radiant and even. “That explains the planet-sized umbrella. Only ever see those at funerals and on golf courses.”
Michael’s facial muscles softened, and the smile he gave Jazz was more genuine, relaxed. “Yeah, they come in handy.”
Jazz grinned, “I bet they do.”
This man was gorgeous. He had to be younger than Michael. But more importantly, he had the potential for being gay since he was a hairdresser. Well aware of his stereotyping, Michael was nonetheless hopeful.
Michael wasn’t the best flirt, but sharing an umbrella with an attractive man in front of a bar acting as a makeshift bookstore felt like the opening of a rom-com, so he was ready to give it the ol’ college try.
“Are you a fan of the Brock Hammer novels too?” he asked, glad his glasses were in his pocket. Jazz stood so close Michael didn’t even need them to clearly see his handsome face.
Jazz scoffed. “Used to be.”
“Oh.” Michael’s heart fell. So much for common interests. “Did you know this line is to meet him?”
“I know, all right. The fucker’s been ducking my calls for weeks.”
Michael flinched at the man’s crass remark. “You know Russell Withingham?”
“Married to him,” Jazz said. “Separated.”
So he is gay… Michael shook his head. “Wait, what?”
Those warm brown eyes met his, and Jazz smiled. “Separated,” he said again. “Permanently. He’s supposed to still be making my car payment, and I just got a call from the bank. He hasn’t made the last two payments.”
Michael didn’t know if he was more disappointed to find out his favorite author was a jerk, or excited to know the man under his umbrella was gay and single.
Well, possibly single.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Michael offered.
Jazz shrugged. “Nothing for you to be sorry for,” he quipped. “In fact, I should be thanking you for sharing your umbrella with me. Nothing worse than running into an ex with your hair all soaking wet, looking like a hot mess. I wanna look good when I tell him off. You know, make him regret losing me.”
Michael couldn’t help his involuntary head-to-toe sweep of Jazz’s solid body. Any man who would give up all that hunkiness had to be nuts.
Oh the things Michael would do with him if he could. I’d drip hot candle wax on each of his nipples while I rode….
Awkward, Michael cleared his throat when he realized Jazz was staring right at him. Michael’s face heated. Thankfully the guy couldn’t read his thoughts. “I’m sure he’ll regret it. You look great.”
Jazz’s grin widened and he tugged a little on the vest he wore over a white V-neck T-shirt. “Thanks.”
Still feeling warm in the face—among other places now—Michael smiled back. “You’re welcome.”
“I used to love Russell’s books. Was totally a fan girl.” Jazz leaned in and spoke softly. “The first dozen were great, now they’re crap, if you don’t mind my saying.”
While Jazz was only whispering closely so the other fans might not hear, Michael relished his nearness. “Yeah, that’s why I only brought the first ten to get signed.”
“Ten?” Jazz’s brows shot up.
He worried his upper lip. “Is that too many?”
Jazz laughed, a free, easy sound. “Oh, Russ will be thrilled. Trust me.”
Granted Russell Withingham might be a bad husband, but Michael loved his books and didn’t want to annoy the man.
Looking for something to discuss besides Jazz’s ex, Michael said, “Your boss Misty does work for me sometimes. She took care of one of my clients for her funeral yesterday.”
“Yeah, I know.”
“She doesn’t like it,” Michael confessed.
“I know,” Jazz agreed. “I heard all about it.”
“You did?” He had no idea Misty disliked styling his clients so much that she might be complaining about it.
“Yeah, creeps her out,” Jazz said. “I don’t know why. You stay in this business long enough, eventually you get a call to give a client their last doo. I don’t know where they’re going in the next life, but I’ll be damned if any of my clients get to the other side with their hair a wreck.”
“You’ve cared for the deceased before?” Michael asked, pleasantly surprised. Most people were freaked out by what he did for a living. Running the largest funeral parlor in the county, and being appointed County Coroner, should have brought him prestige and respectability, and he supposed it did in some circles. But working with dead people left most folks unsettled, rather than endearing anyone to him.
“Sure,” Jazz said with a casual shrug. “I don’t see the big deal.”
Grinning wide, Michael fished in his pocket for the leather business card holder he never left the house without. He flipped it open and withdrew a card. “If you’d like some extra work, I’d love to have you.” He heard how that sounded, and quickly added, “Um, have you do some styling for me. I mean, for my clients.”
Jazz smiled as he took the card. “I know what you meant. And Misty will be thrilled.” Then he dug in his front pocket, the jeans just tight enough in all the right places, that when his hand filled the denim it accentuated his nice package. “Here’s my card. You can get my references from Misty, if you want.”
Michael was still smiling as he took the card and carefully placed it into his card holder. “I’m sure that you’re more than qualified. You said you’ve been in the business a while.”
“Knocking on thirty years.”
Michael scoffed. “Did you start in preschool?”
“Hardly,” Jazz laughed. “A good hair colorist and access to the finest beauty products all culminate for the perfect illusion.” He leaned in. “I’m forty-one.”
“Me too,” Michael said. “But you don’t look a day over thirty-one.”
Jazz put his hand on his chest. “Oh, you flatter me.”
The line inched closer to the door.
“Jazz, is that a nickname?”
“Short for Jasper. I can be a little jazzy, and I love music, so there you go. But I can’t play or read music.”
“Me neither. No artistic talent whatsoever.”
Jazz frowned. “Your work has a bit of art to it.”
He shrugged. “Maybe. But I’m rubbish with the hair. That’s why I need Misty for my female clients.”
“Good thing you met me today.”
Now he was grinning like a fool, but he couldn’t help it. “Yes. Good thing.”
Far too soon for Michael’s liking, they reached the door and stepped inside. He had to close and shake off his umbrella, which sadly ended whatever private and possibly flirtatious moment he’d been sharing with the gorgeous Jazz.
Jazz scanned the bar, jaw set.
Helping him out, Michael pointed to the back corner, where a middle-aged man with thinning blond hair, a black velour blazer, and burgundy ascot sat behind a table with mounds of books. “He’s over there.”
“Thanks,” Jazz said, his shoulders relaxing. He gestured to Michael’s umbrella. “Mind if I hold that till I get up there?”
Michael realized Jazz wanted it to hide from his ex until he got closer. And while not wanting to get involved, Michael liked the idea of having a chance to spend more time conversing.
Jazz held the umbrella over one shoulder and turned so it blocked his profile from Russell’s view. Michael stood behind Jazz and watched as drops of rain ran down the side of his neck. He longed to let his tongue follow the rain down beneath the neck of Jazz’s T-shirt. But that wasn’t something he did, and not only because he was a Lacetown business owner. He needed to work on relaxing and letting go of his inhibitions. At least that’s what all his exes had told him. One even went so far as saying Michael’s clients had more warmth than him.
Ouch.
“So you’ve lived here all your life?”
Michael blinked. “What? Oh. Here in Lacetown?”
Jazz grinned. “No, here in the bar.”
A blush heated Michael’s cheeks. “Sorry. I was woolgathering.”
“I like that.”
“What?”
“Woolgathering. It’s not used that often anymore. I like it.”
“Oh. Well. Thank you. And, yes, I was born and raised here.” Michael cleared his throat and looked away, then back. The bag of books suddenly seemed very heavy, and he switched shoulders. Jazz held his gaze, warm brown eyes locked onto Michael’s.
“So what happened between you two?” The words were out before Michael could run them through his mental filter to see if they were appropriate.
Jazz’s forehead furrowed. “Me and Russell?”
Panic zinged through Michael. “I’m sorry. That was a very personal question, and we just met. Forget I asked.”
“No, it’s okay.” Jazz took a step closer and lowered his voice. “Russell likes his side dishes.”
“Side dishes?” Candied yams popped into Michael’s mind.
“You know.” Jazz glanced at the woman in front of them who seemed to be leaning back and listening. He moved fast, putting a hand on her shoulder and easing her forward and away from them as he said, “Careful there. Looked like you were about to tip over. Wouldn’t want you to hurt yourself before you get to meet Russell Withingham.”
“Oh, no… I wasn’t… I wouldn’t…” The woman’s cheeks flushed and she took a step forward.
“There you go.” Jazz turned back to Michael with a grin. “Where was I?”
READ THE REST OF THE CHAPTER HERE: https://www.hankedwardsbooks.com/2018/10/06/murder-most-lovely/
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