Books, Reviews, Short Stories, Authors, Publicity, a little poetry, music to complement...and other stuff including politics, about life... "Books, Cats: Life is Sweet..."
I wouldn’t trade it for anything. It’s not an easy job either.” I tried to keep the bite out of my voice. I always hated when people made assumptions about being home with the kids and how it was a lazy and easy option. It’s the hardest and best thing I’ve ever done.
"Happy is a good look on you. You should wear it more often."
~
He played it off like it was no big deal. “Gender identities and sexualities are not bad words. There’s no reason to hide who people are or who they love.” “Well, shit.” I was flabbergasted. My parents accepted me when I came out, they were supportive and invested in me and my partners or crushes, but I couldn’t fathom it being talked about so openly at such a young age. It was refreshing and unbelievably endearing.
~~
I waited a minute to see if it was merely a dream or if a kid was awake. Neither of us breathed. A moment later tiny footsteps thudded. My head fell back against the couch... Playtime for Daddy was over. I couldn’t be mad though, not when I heard Emily sniffling. I stood quickly and saw her standing at the doorway to the living room with her kitty hanging by one foot from her hand. Making my way around the couch, I crouched down in front of her. “What’s wrong, Lulu? Are you okay?”
“There’s a monster in my closet.” She sniffled again. The scared, sad tone of her sleepy little voice about broke my heart. “It’s okay. Daddy’s here. I’ll make sure there’s no more monsters.” I was about to scoop her into my arms when she peeked around me. “Can Nico come too? He’s bigger.” I glanced back at him, asking him silently if he would mind. He rose and luckily it seemed the problem he was concealing with the pillow was gone. That was a shame. Well, not for the moment we found ourselves in now, but that the one just minutes ago was over. He crossed the room and I carried Emily. While we walked she held her hand out and Nico took it, forcing him to walk awkwardly through the hallway that was too narrow for us to be side by side. Still, the three of us were all connected, making my heart do weird flippity-flops. Once we were back in her room, I laid her in bed, tucking her in snugly. Nico made a big show of checking behind everything and moving clothes around. He even got into the closet as much as he could and announced that this room was off limits and under his protection, all while I sat on the edge of Emily’s bed admiring the scene. When he was done investigating he came to the other side of the bed and knelt beside it. “I think they’re all gone now and they won’t be coming back,” Nico said softly. Emily threw her little arms around his neck and hugged him. Nico froze for a moment before hugging her back. When he looked up at me, his eyes were misty... Why did he look so perfect holding my little girl? “Alright. Goodnight, Emily. Sleep well.” He pulled away and Emily laid her head on her pillow. I said goodnight and gave her one more kiss before we both quietly exited her room. As much as I hated to admit it, our night was over. We wouldn’t be returning to our heated passion. Maybe it wasn’t the happy ending I hoped it would be, but it was pretty dang perfect anyway.
We stood in the kitchen, nearly chest to chest. Nico towered over me. Emily wasn’t wrong when she said he was bigger. He was. Much. I might have been bothered by how easily replaceable I was when it came to monster fighting, but if it helped her feel safe and comfortable, I would be glad to offer up that power to Nico. We both opened our mouths to speak at the same time. I indicated for him to go first. “I just wanted to thank you for trusting me with your family and inviting me in like this. Tonight meant a lot to me.” Nico’s tone was heartfelt and he blinked away the moisture gathering in the corner of his eyes. I grabbed his hands in mine and tilted my head to meet his gaze. Already, I pictured him in my home and in my family, but was it really fair of me to ask so much of him? “It meant a lot to me too. But now you see what my life is like. Those two are my world. I have little privacy or time to myself. Being with me isn’t easy and carefree. I can’t do something casual unless I keep it away from my kids, but that’s not something I want. I’d completely understand if this is too much. We only just met, you have no responsibility to take all of this on.” Nico placed a hand on the back of my neck, keeping me from retreating away from him. “I don’t want casual either, Jason. Been there, done that. I might have done it again, but it wouldn’t have been what I wanted. I’ve spent my fair share of time swiping through apps, but an easy one-nighter isn’t what I’m looking for. I want something real. And this”—he waved his hand at my house—“this feels like a dream in a way, but it feels like the kind of real I’ve been hoping for. So, if you want me in your world, I’m in.” “I want you.” The words squeezed past the lump in my throat, laced with so many needs. “And if you’re not looking for something easy, you came to the right place. It’s complicated as hell.”
Nico smiled so bright it drew me towards it like a moth to a light. “Look at you and your dirty mouth. You better think up some nice things to say.” Nico bent down and kissed me, claiming my mouth with his. A nip on my lip, a sweep of his tongue. With one last soft brush of his lips, he pulled back, stopping things before we ended up in the same situation we were in before we got interrupted. “Thanks again. I’m going to go before it gets harder to leave.” Nico swiped my lip with his rough thumb. “Yeah. You should go. But if you find yourself feeling lonely later, I’ll have my phone nearby.” “I might take you up on that. Talk to you later, Pie Man.”
~~~
This is a fun book to read... Even when I began to question how the storyline moved forward.... After I finished it, I discovered that the book was written by a female... So I began to wonder... was it that a woman wrote a softer version of two men? Or are there really men out there who are as sensitive as are the two men who are main characters in this book? Frankly I haven't found many men who actually are like these two, lovable characters... Readers, let me know if you have thoughts either way... LOL I also had trouble finding music mentioned in the book, so I selected as best as I could find though they don't match descriptive words in the book... And a little note, in case you don't see them, like I didn't at first--the book splits first person between the two main characters. The only way you can tell is by looking for the name of the character at the beginning of each chapter, tucked into the pie pic at the top... Personally I get frustrated when I don't know who is talking...
Anyway, Jason is a divorced father of two delightful children. He and his wife met in college when both of them were dating the same guy... And one thing led to another. His wife had told him early on that she wanted to commit herself to a legal career and an agreement was made that he would be a stay-at-home Dad. When the marriage became more of a hassle than happy, they divorced and Jason retained custody.
Jason agreed to getting money for the kids, but his pride didn't allow for his not making it on his own for routine household expenses... Fortunately he had acquired a wonderful skill early in life--making pies! And he excelled at it, except not having an ongoing income, since he could sell on at local farmers' markets or similar venues...
Nico was also in the food business. His father owned Pops' restaurant and he'd been working there since his early years... So when his father had an unexpected medical situation, he called upon Nico to manage the restaurant... Readers will watch how finding the pie man and immediately "connecting" while at the same time, Nico began to think about helping to update and decided to start with testing out "pies" as a special on Sundays... And, as they say, the whole connecting story moved all the way into that final connection... Expect fun with trying to connect sexually... Or, in other words, the book gets explicit...
This book provided a great way to escape into a life where everything seems to be perfectly put together and happiness is having all involved people loving and supportive toward all... The characters created reflect a cozy family environment into which acceptance is given... with a happy-ever-after... At this time, it was wonderful to sink into pie man's life... where Nico seemed just waiting for the right person... I had to wonder, though, is this just a fantasy? If so, don't we all need to dream once in a while?
I didn’t deserve to lose, in my humble opinion. My misfortune was that “Bad Chad” Coburn, generally recognized as the most ferocious linebacker ever to play for the Denver Broncos, graduated from law school and moved to my rural district. He started his campaign against me before he’d even passed the bar exam. His name recognition proved impossible to overcome. Two former Broncos quarterbacks even flew to Panorama Springs to speak at a fundraiser for him. a fundraiser for him. Coburn’s yard signs bore the blue and orange of the Broncos. To this day I can’t look at a Broncos jersey without feeling irritation.
An Ideal Client: The tabloids are calling him The Clifftop Killer. He spent less than two hours behind bars before bonding out. He’s uber rich. Those guys don’t stay in jail prior to trial unless a judge refuses to set any bond at all. He hasn’t even been arraigned, but his case is already the top headline in three online tabloids. I skimmed one and read the first paragraph of the others. The story reeks of sex, adultery, and cold-blooded murder. They claim he killed his rock-climbing partner three weeks ago by cutting the rope, sending a man named Seth Bley hurtling to an awful death. The Clifftop Killer is charged with first-degree murder, which means it was premeditated.
He’s sitting in my waiting room right now. Ryker Brando showed up without an appointment. He probably wants to hire me. I need him as much as he needs me. If all goes well, he’ll be the first person I ever defend against a murder charge. Not that murder is new to me. I’ve tried plenty of murder cases, but always from the prosecution’s side. I’ve never defended one. First time for everything, right? The Clifftop Killer? Seems like the tabloids could have done better. I haven’t read the stories close enough to know the details. I’ll find out soon enough. If you live in Colorado, you might have heard of me. My name is Wyatt Blake. I’m thirty-five years old. I practice law in Panorama Springs, a ski-resort town located on the Western Slope of the Rocky Mountains at an elevation of 9,995 feet. There are 20,000 lawyers in Colorado, but 18,000 are crammed like litigious sardines in Denver and its suburbs. That means the rest of us are scattered over the Rockies and plains. I’m one of about 100 in Panorama Springs. I’m well-known in a big-frog-in-a-small-pond sort of way because I served a couple terms as the district attorney for these parts. But my time as a public servant came to an abrupt end when a retired Denver Broncos linebacker beat me in my bid for re-election a few months back, even though he’d just graduated from law school and had never tried a case in his life. Politics is all about name-recognition. Sometimes that works in your favor; sometimes it doesn’t.
I’m a defense lawyer now. I’ve been a criminal defense lawyer since January 1— four whole months. Truth be told, I’m barely scraping by. I close the file on my computer. I’ve been reading my late wife’s obituary. I read it at least once a day. I wrote it fifteen months ago. Every word. I take the framed photo of my wife and daughter from its resting place next to my computer, glance at it, and slip it into a desk drawer. No need for an accused murderer to see I have a daughter. Emily is six. She’s the only true family I have left in this world, except for my estranged father, whom I haven’t seen in years. I glance at her face one last time before closing the desk drawer. I never kept a photo of either Tess or Emily on my desk when I worked at the prosecutor’s office. Too many bad people sat in the chairs across from me, and some of their clients, too. Just kidding, esteemed members of the defense bar. Sort of. I keep the framed photo of Emily and her late mother next to my computer these days, but hide it in the drawer whenever I meet with a criminal defendant. A lawbreaker. A potential client. I don’t have enough of them. I head for my waiting room, where my secretary, Nikki Swank, is undoubtedly plying our soon-to-be client with coffee or Diet Coke and entertaining him with scintillating conversation. Nikki can make anyone feel comfortable. She’s a great conversationalist, and probably smarter than I am. Sure enough, when I enter the room, Ryker Brando holds a Diet Coke in his hand and is nodding at Nikki’s story about the one time she went rock climbing. She fell twelve feet and landed on her cute derrière, but suffered no injuries other than hurt pride. I’ve heard her tell the tale many times. But... For God’s sake, Nikki, don’t you know what he’s charged with? Ryker Brando doesn’t seem to mind. He’s not smiling, but he’s not frowning, either. He’s listening intently to a pretty woman tell a story. It’s a small room. The front end of our shotgun-style building contains only Nikki’s workstation, a set of file cabinets, a bookcase full of law books, a couch, and three chairs. Paintings by Colorado artist Buffalo Kaplinski cover the walls. He was my first client when I entered private practice. I represented him free because I liked his name. My tendency to take pro bono cases is one reason my bank account is perilously close to zero. One of these days I’ll learn to say the word no.
"Wyatt Blake,” I say, extending my hand. “Pleased to meet you.” My potential client stands. He’s a fit man in his forties with a square face, a strong jaw, and unkempt blond bangs that touch his eyebrows. He’s wearing a red, frayed North Face jacket, bluejeans, and hiking boots. “Ryker Brando.” He takes my hand and squeezes too hard. I don’t get the impression he’s doing it on purpose. “Come on back.” He glances at Nikki. “I’ll take you rock climbing one of these days, if you’re interested,” he tells her. Does he realize the connotations of what he just said? A man accused of murdering his rock-climbing partner during the climb has just invited my secretary to go up on a cliff with him? Alone? She smiles. “Once was enough for me, but thanks.” Her smile is genuine. I wonder if she’s seen the online stories. Probably not. We haven’t talked about them, and she wouldn’t have had time to read about his case after he showed up unannounced. I recognized his name, though, the moment I heard it. Ryker Brando. You don’t meet too many people with a name like that. I wonder if he’s related to the actor. Maybe a grandson? Great-grandson? Might be. Lots of Hollywood types have bought places in Panorama Springs during the past decade. Jake Turner was the first. Scores have followed. Next to Telluride, we’re the most popular ski resort town on the Western Slope. We’re cheaper, too. Fewer billionaires. I stand at the door to my inner sanctum and usher him inside. Behind him, Nikki is waving at me, beyond his line of vision. She’s holding up a document. It’s our health insurance bill. The payment is overdue. She’s reminding me how desperately we need a fat retainer. I get the message. I’m on it. I close the door. “Have a seat.” I settle in the tall chair behind my desk. He sits on one of the two wooden chairs in front of it.
He leans forward. “I didn’t murder Seth,” he says. He stares at me, awaiting a response. I lean back in my chair. He’s definitely getting right to the point. “Not on purpose, anyway,” he adds. His face is ruggedly boyish and completely inscrutable. He is perching on the front edge of the antique chair as if afraid he’ll break it. It will hold him. I bought it from a lawyer’s estate sale. It’s held bigger butts than his, no doubt. He’s remarkably calm for a man charged with murder. Unsettlingly so. “I heard about your case,” I say. “Who hasn’t? Makes a great headline—DENVER MILLIONAIRE KILLS BUSINESS PARTNER WHILE ROCK CLIMBING.” “Where’d they get the nickname?” “The Clifftop Killer?” “Yeah.” “Seth fell from the top of a cliff.” Ryker Brando omitted a key fact. “You cut the rope, right?” “I cut it.” I see no trace of remorse. This guy killed his best friend. You’d think he’d be racked with grief and guilt.
“It was an accident. I told the sheriff the whole story, but he didn’t believe me.” “Cops are untrusting souls,” I say, tapping my pen on a yellow legal pad while looking into his intense gray eyes.
~~~
At this time in our lives, many are finding it hard to accept any type of prejudice against one another. Even in a character. Interestingly in Choice of Evils, it is both a character as well as the author of the book who reveals a lack of sensitivity to many who know people with an identified problem... Yet he used it not to inform, but to ridicule... I couldn't help but remember the face of another man who chose this path. And, frankly, I was offended so much that it affected my opinion of the author, sadly...
As a lover of books, especially legal thrillers, I was very much impressed with the overall book, characters, other than the one I identify. The case itself, Choice of Evils, was an excellent choice for the beginning of a new series. It would be relatively unknown to the average reader, but sufficiently unique to pull attention to just how much the legal structure and its historical wealth of "possibilities" had been documented and able to be used as a basis for a new, similar situation.
Wyatt Blake was "elected" from his office as a prosecutor, when politics got into the middle of the legal system. A Senator had chosen a former athlete to mentor, knowing that his name value would be sure to garner votes--we have seen this type of activity played out during the last decade where, even the presidential, and other elected position, candidates came from name notoriety... And we've seen that their notoriety is often insufficient to declare them actually qualified to do the job... But Blake was now out of a job, so chose to go to the "dark" side rather than not continue in law...
He became a Defense Lawyer and was slowly redoing his skill expertise to take on those individuals who, by law, were to be defended to the best of his ability.
Blake immediately worried about the extremely rich man who had walked into his office, unannounced, but with a referral to hire Black to defend his case. He was accused of killing his partner...
It is not possible to share much about the case so that I do not give away any part of the events to follow. Other than to say that, for me, I picked up only "one" clue that put me on the alert... Because, Blake was immediately frustrated with this possible new client, but who he needed to accept as a client, purely because of his financial condition which his staff often reminded him about...
You see, the possible defendant presented one of the many possible effects of Asperger's: social difficulties resulting in an even level (monotone) of voice use--little, if any, empathy... The character was made to present as such, along with other effects, which were difficult for Blake to deal with. In other words, he reacted negatively to the individual and they both knew that he didn't like the client. Yet the amount of money offered could not be passed up and, Blake knew that, even if he didn't like him, he was the type of lawyer that still would work to win his case, if at all possible.
But that was not enough for the writer. He wanted to give a big ending--which he did. Perhaps he thought this would be rectified in future books, which I will not be reading... Yes, I am an individual who once loved a young man with Asperger's, who committed suicide... because he couldn't handle his life...
And just like many felt when the president made fun of an individual with a disability, I was disheartened that somebody chose to use a disabled individual as was done in this book. Many writers create characters to inform and introduce people with disabilities into their stories. I have appreciated those authors. I found the author's use of the legal history as was done, a firm example of just how we are losing the rule of law in America right now! We are making a mockery of the law... through lies that nobody will acknowledge as lies...
However, my ranking is only one point lower in giving my personal opinion. If you decide to read, let me know what you think, but, just like I wouldn't ban a book that bothered me, I wouldn't not recognize the effectiveness of the story for the majority of the book.
GABixlerReviews
“My favorite part was his low opinion of prosecutors,” she says. She opens the book, finds the page, and reads aloud: “A prosecutor hopes and expects to be a judge, and after that he will aspire to be governor, then senator, and President, in their regular turn. To accomplish this noble ambition, he must in each position give the people what they want, and more; and there are no rungs in the ladder of fame upon which lawyers can plant their feet like the dead bodies of their victims.”
In the annals of prosecutorial missteps, few have unraveled with the operatic flair of Fulton County District Attorney Fani Willis’s fall from the Trump case. What began as a historic indictment—charging Donald Trump and 18 others with racketeering for their alleged efforts to overturn Georgia’s 2020 election results—has now been eclipsed by a scandal of intimacy, impropriety, and institutional consequence.
This is the story of how romance, salary, and scandal collided to derail one of the most consequential prosecutions in Georgia’s history.
Willis appointed attorney Nathan Wade as special prosecutor in the Trump case, a move that drew scrutiny not for his legal acumen, but for the compensation he received. Wade was paid hundreds of thousands of dollars in public funds—money that, according to court filings, helped finance lavish trips he took with Willis to Napa Valley, Aruba, and beyond.
The optics were damning. Wade’s invoices, Willis’s reimbursements (often in cash), and the lack of clear financial boundaries between the two raised questions not only of ethics but also of legality. Defense attorneys argued that the relationship created a conflict of interest, undermining the integrity of the prosecution.
The relationship between Willis and Wade became public after Trump co-defendant Michael Roman filed a motion alleging misconduct. What followed was a courtroom drama that rivaled the case itself. Willis testified that the romance began after Wade’s appointment and that she paid her share of expenses. But the damage was done.
Judge Scott McAfee ruled that Willis had shown a “tremendous lapse in judgment” and that the appearance of impropriety was too great to ignore. The Georgia Court of Appeals agreed, and in a rare move, disqualified Willis and her entire office from the case. The Georgia Supreme Court upheld that decision, effectively ending her role in the prosecution.
With Willis removed, the case now rests in the hands of the Prosecuting Attorneys Council of Georgia, which must appoint a new prosecutor to determine its fate. Trump’s legal team celebrated the ruling, calling it a victory against “lawfare persecutions.” Willis, for her part, expressed disappointment but vowed to cooperate with the transition.
In the Georgia case, Trump was practically caught red-handed with his hands in the cookie jar. The defeated President is heard on audio tape asking the Georgia Secretary of State to find him one more vote needed to change the 2020 winner in Georgia from Joe Biden to him. This case could have proceeded to trial before the 2024 Presidential election, and a conviction on the racketeering charges brought by Willis would have made Trump ineligible to hold the office of President and potentially prevented the constitutional crisis facing the country during Trump’s second term as President.
The scandal has not only derailed the prosecution, but it has also reshaped the political landscape. Willis, once seen as a rising star, now faces reputational damage that may be difficult to repair. The case itself, once a symbol of accountability, now risks becoming a cautionary tale of ambition undone by personal entanglement.
This isn’t just about money or sex. It’s about the fragility of public trust. When the pursuit of justice becomes entangled with personal gain, even the most righteous cases can falter. Willis’s downfall is a reminder that integrity is not just a legal requirement—it’s a moral imperative. That Black girl magic notwithstanding.
Ultimately, the Trump prosecution in Georgia may still proceed. But it will do so without the woman who once stood at its helm, undone not by political pressure or legal complexity, but by the choices she made behind closed doors.
~~~
I was thankful to Michael for writing this story. The issue in Georgia had floated in an out of my mind ever since it happened... But I wasn't surprised with what then actually occurred...
Of course, with all of the conspiracy activities headed by Rudy Giuliani, I even wondered if this was another of the schemes that was arranged and blown up into reality by Giuliani. We all remember how he lied about two election workers! At least a court judgment has given them both a settlement from that individual even though it will never be the same for these two women of our Black community...
Fani chose personal arrangements, while refusing to acknowledge that her relationship with a peer in her office, was bound to lead to disaster. What a waste of talent. Anybody who watched the news during this time could clearly see that she was not only qualified, but also had the guts to go up against DJT... We will probably never know her personal story unless she writes a book about it. But "Pride goeth before a fall" comes to mind... I'm saddened that, once again, a sexual scandal has affected a legal matter, while, daily, we see the Republican Administration doing everything they can to blame their opposing party, when in reality, more laws have been broken by the president himself than have EVER been not only performed, but APPROVED, by our highest court by their own action!
I can understand the Georgia fiasco, MUCH BETTER THAN I CAN THE SUPEREME COURT SITUATION!
We MUST listen to those who are working to stop the madness now being spewed across our national... President Barack Obama adds his words to Michael... We MUST work to ensure that ALL God's people are remembered as OUR neighbors!
“I am a 20th-century escaped slave.” —Assata Shakur
Assata in Freedom
Syncopated Survival and the Score of Resistance
Assata Shakur was sentenced in 1979 to a life confined behind prison walls for a murder, she affirmed she did not commit. But she did not vanish into the abyss. She escaped and recomposed.
In 1984, Assata surfaced in Cuba, where she was granted asylum by a nation that recognized her not as a fugitive, but as a freedom fighter. Her escape from a United States prison was not just physical—it was metaphysical. A refusal to be silenced. A refusal to be written out of history.
She called herself an “escaped 20th-century slave.” A reality that far too many Africans living in America can’t grasp because they refuse to realize enslavement remains with us. Neither can they wrap their collective heads around the fact that escape is still a viable option.
Assata understood Imperial aggression abroad and its connection to political and economic aggression at home. In doing so, she reframed exile as a form of authorship. Her life in Cuba became a syncopated survival—a rhythm of resistance that pulsed across borders, generations, and movements.
In Havana, Assata penned Assata: An Autobiography, a text that braided memory, poetry, and political critique. It became scripture for the dispossessed—a guidebook for those navigating the intersections of race, gender, and state violence.
“It is our duty to fight for our freedom. It is our duty to win… We have nothing to lose but our chains.”
While living not in exile, but living in freedom in Cuba, Assata also wrote, Assata: In Her Own Words, a collection of essays, speeches, and other musings where she preached the gospel according to Assata.
Her words echoed through hip-hop, protest chants, and classroom walls. She became a symbol not of escape, but of endurance.
Assata’s so-called exile was not retreat—it was syncopation—a deliberate break in the beat of American tyranny. Like Coltrane’s solos, her silence was never empty. It was charged and composed.
“My music is the spiritual expression of what I am—my faith, my knowledge, my being.” —John Coltrane.
“Artists are the gatekeepers of truth.” —Paul Robeson.
“Revolutions overturn systems.” —Malcolm X.
Assata lived her revolution, not in spectacle, but in sustained refusal. She refused to let the state define her. Refused to let history erase her. Refused to let exile mean invisibility.
Today, as the U.S. government teeters on the edge of another shutdown, and as state-sponsored repression slaps the entire continent in the face, Assata’s legacy feels urgent—the system stalls, the people suffer, and the rhythm of governance stutters again. This time, White, Red, Yellow, and Brown people are caught in the crosshairs of a tyrannical empire in the making, alongside their Black brothers and sisters.
But Assata reminds us: survival is not submission. Silence can be a strategy. Exile can also be a form of authorship.
Her life offers a blueprint—not for escape, but for endurance. For composing truth in the margins. For refusing to be forgotten.
Let Assata’s legacy be more than a memory. Let it be a method.
Let us write in her rhythm. Speak in her syncopation. Refuse in her resolve. And strike a blow for freedom, the kind of freedom long sought by our ancestors, and not the freedom of a non-repentant reconstruction designed to appease the confederation.
“If the system won’t change its tune, maybe it’s time we write a new one.”-
I've been reading Chase since 2009, so I encourage all of you to check out some of the earlier books I have read--and which makes me want to keep on checking out her latest books...
There was a low whine. Katie reached down to pet her black German shepherd, Cisco. He had been by her side ever since she did two tours in the Army as a K9 explosive detections team. She had been extremely lucky to be able to bring Cisco back with her, with a little help from her uncle (and now boss), Sheriff Scott. Not only did she bring back Cisco, but also post-traumatic stress. A mental state that was more like a grief cocktail with highs and lows at some of the worst possible times, but she didn’t let it stop her from performing her job. She was determined it was to be a reality that would take a back seat to her life. Cisco sat up in front of Katie. The jet-black dog with amber wolf eyes watched her with curiosity, slightly tilting his head. It was clear he felt Katie’s moods...
Several loud thumps against the cabin jolted Katie back into the present. Cisco instantly turned his focus toward the interior of the house. His body stiffened and a low grumble vibrated from his chest. He stood still, taking in sight, sound, and smell to catalog the incident. Katie instantly moved quietly back into the house with her cop instincts alert and grabbed her Glock from her suitcase. Straining to listen, she didn’t hear any more sounds despite expecting to hear another thump, a voice, or even footsteps. But it remained hushed. Cisco padded lightly behind her, watching her back. Katie slipped out of her pajamas into a pair of jeans and a hoodie, quickly pulling on her boots. Her mind seemed to always jump to criminal activities instead of thinking it might just be the trees swaying against the cabin or a forest creature making its way across the roof. She inched from her bedroom to the living room and then stopped at the front door. Pausing there, she listened. No other sound. Her nearest neighbor was a couple of acres away and she wasn’t sure if the occupants lived there year-round—it was most likely vacant. There wasn’t a convenient peephole in the door to see if someone was out there. Instead, her hand grasped the deadbolt lock and she quietly eased it clockwise before gripping the doorknob. Furious knocking broke the tense silence. The rapping was fast and frantic, rattling through the cabin. It startled Katie, causing her anxiety to rise. Her breath became shallow, and her hands tensed. Cisco rapid-barked. She turned to the dog. “Nein, bleib,” she said in German to command the dog to stop barking and to stay in place. Cisco immediately stopped and stood in position. His eyes fixed at the door.
With her gun down at her side, but ready if she needed it, Katie said, “Who is it?” There were soft cries. “Please…” said a female voice. “I… I… need your help.” Katie’s first thought was that someone was trying to bait her as a ruse to get her to open the door, but that was her cop way of thinking. Everything wasn’t always the worst-case scenario. She turned the doorknob and opened the door. A teenage girl, who looked to be about seventeen to eighteen years old, stood there staring at Katie, her eyes wide. The girl wore jeans, a long-sleeved T-shirt, and a jean jacket. Her fur-lined leather boots were laced up to her knees. Her long blonde hair was braided and gently laid over her right shoulder. She had several piercings on her ears and wore a leather choker with unusual beads. “What’s wrong?” said Katie glancing around to make sure there wasn’t anyone else. “Please help me…” The girl eyed Katie’s gun. “Please, I saw your car… There’s a…” The teen was clearly distraught and had obviously seen something. “I’m Katie. Can you tell me what’s wrong?” “I found a woman in the woods. She needs help.” Katie’s interest heightened, but she still wasn’t sure if the girl was making complete sense. “Where?” “She’s just a ways. Please… you need to come and help.” Katie glanced back to where Cisco waited. “What’s your name?” “TJ.” “Okay, TJ, show me where this woman is.” Katie grabbed her phone and keys from the small wooden table by the door. She wondered why the girl hadn’t called the police for help. Katie slipped the Glock in her waistband. “Do you have a phone?” She shook her head. Katie thought that was strange, that a teenager didn’t have a cell phone—or at least didn’t want Katie to know she had one. “Please hurry,” said TJ as she began to walk down the gravel driveway. Katie closed her cabin door and locked it, leaving Cisco behind. She wasn’t sure what was going on, so she decided not to bring the dog. It was one less thing to worry about.
“This way…” the girl said. Katie had to jog to keep up as they weaved their way around trees and across overgrown areas. The brisk morning brought out a strong aroma of oak and pine trees, pushed around by the slight icy breeze. Katie made a mental note of the route they took, as the trees and winding areas began to all look the same. They moved through the wooded area for less than ten minutes before TJ abruptly stopped, her arms at her side. It was as if her feet were glued to the forest floor. Katie could see that she was shaking and her eyes were filled with tears. TJ then raised her arm slowly and pointed. “There,” she barely whispered. Katie looked to where she indicated and instantly sucked in a breath. She blinked twice to make sure she was really seeing what she thought she was. About twenty feet away was the body of what appeared to be a woman hanging in a pine tree, her feet barely a foot above the ground, the body swaying slightly. Katie could see bright pink nail polish on her toes and fingers. It was clear by the condition of the body and its disturbingly pale-bluish color that the woman seemed to have been dead for a while, more than a couple of hours. She was dressed only in pale-pink panties and a thin white T-shirt, and there was a brown burlap sack over the woman’s head. The rope around her neck made an eerie creaking sound against the branch as the body rocked back and forth.
~~~
Chase started out with police procedural books and soon won the reputation of local police that her books were right on the mark for her understanding and ability to write about the procedures that police routinely use. Since then, she has moved into various sub-genres, but always with villains who seek out targets that are chosen based upon some type of psychological problem that they possess. I didn't know until the video above, that she had experienced a neighbor with such an affliction, which ignited her desire to know more...and then write about what she had learned. Her ability to dive into a new area, such as with adding Cisco as her ongoing partner, keeps this reader coming back...
It should have been anticipated, but Katie had not expected that she would be pulled into a murder investigation while she was on vacation--a vacation that she had been forced to take since her uncle was also her boss...
Still she was unhappy. She liked to keep busy, to stay on the job and always be working to help somebody in trouble... But this time, she shock of finding a hanging woman had her scrambling as to how and what she might be called upon to do. One thing she knew was that she had to go back to the cabin, find something to help preserve the scene of the crime since snow had abruptly started... She was still at the cabin when the local police arrived. And immediately started asking her lots of questions... You know, like she could be the one who committed that murder!
But, of course, that would change moving further into the story... In fact, with her living so close to the actual crime scene, and just enjoying the area in which she was to vacation, would pull her deeper and deeper--that's how her mind worked out cases...
The crime scene buzzed through her mind. Cisco whined once more and then curled up at Katie’s feet. In order not to forget what happened, Katie typed up her report from the time TJ knocked on her door to the time the police arrived. She found an email for the police department and sent her report and contact information. She then began checking out the town of Echo Forest. She didn’t know exactly what she was looking for but wanted to try to get a feel and understanding of the area. She also checked out the website for the police department. She didn’t find much, but it did refer to Chief Beryl Cooper and his bio stated that he had grown up in Colorado working as a police sergeant for Colorado Springs Police Department. He then moved to Echo Forest five years ago after being appointed to the position of chief. Katie continued to scroll through the site, but it was mostly highlights and not much substance. She let out a sigh.
Maybe she’d have better luck with the so-called Woodsman. Typing in this name, and ignoring all the results about hunters and lumbermen, she found a ton of information including movies, books, and various blog articles that were based on a type of mythical monster that stalked people, namely children, in forests. There were artistic renderings and people’s accounts, which seemed to cross over into other countries. She then narrowed the search to the specific area and across three surrounding counties. After scrolling through several pages, she found an article from almost fifteen years ago written by local newspaper The Pine Cone that featured “the Woodsman.” There wasn’t much to the article, but it did say a woman was found dead about five miles from where Katie was staying. The case had remained unsolved and the article suggested that something powerful had murdered her. The commentary inferred that something in the forest had killed her—and it had then gone on to cite “the Woodsman.” The article wasn’t very helpful; it was more from the writer’s point of view. Katie couldn’t find anything about local folklore or any evidence related to the cold case. It was all too cumbersome to try to pinpoint what she was looking for. It frustrated her. Katie leaned back in the chair and took a sip of coffee. There was nothing glaring or conclusive, but she found it troubling that TJ had been so terrified of what was most certainly a well-spun tale. It could have been stories she had heard growing up—or, though unlikely, it could be something more. “Well, Cisco… what do you say? Should we go on a hike and check out the location of this cold case from fifteen years ago?” Cisco immediately jumped up, wagging his tail. She dropped the location into her phone and hoped the spotty cell signal would be available when they got there. Even if she found nothing, it would still be nice to get out for some fresh air. Before closing her laptop, Katie decided to check out something. She typed in Jack Thomas, veterinarian, Echo Forest, California. A simple website popped up. It showed some stock photographs of cute dogs and cats. There was an image of an older warehouse with a sign out front: “Thomas Veterinary Clinic.” Katie put the address into her phone: 1216 Timber Road. “C’mon, Cisco,” she said. The jet-black dog hurried to the front door, not missing a step. He breathed heavily at the doorknob. Katie tucked her Glock into the holster underneath her sweater and jacket—just in case. She checked her phone and was surprised she hadn’t received a text message from her uncle—or anyone else. She thought at least her partner, McGaven, would have checked in with her by leaving a funny message. But her phone was quiet. She supposed everyone was giving her rest and privacy.
Katie and Cisco climbed into the Jeep. Cisco stood in the back seat behind Katie, staring straight over her shoulder. His tail wagged and every few minutes he let out a whine. The little bit of snow that had come down earlier was now melting. The roads were completely clear and the only evidence of the previous flurries was spotted along the tree branches. It took about ten minutes before she came to the downtown area. She passed a couple of trucks with single drivers and one utility van. The traffic was nonexistent compared to what she was used to in Pine Valley. The main street was scattered with a few stores and was about a mile long with adjacent side streets where the grocery, hardware, and supply businesses were located. She decided to stop and get some groceries just in case the weather hit harder overnight. When Katie was back behind the wheel, her GPS told her to turn onto a gravel road and then travel farther west. The longer she drove the more rural the area became. She had just passed the five-mile marker, which was near a hiking trail entrance. There were no other cars parked. She wasn’t sure what she would find, if anything, but she wanted to get a sense of what had attracted the killer to use the densely wooded area to dump a body.
After making sure the Jeep was secured and locked, she and Cisco headed to the trail. Cisco trotted about five feet ahead, stopping once in a while to sniff something of interest. She tied the dog’s leather collar around her waist in case she needed it. Katie looked at her phone, which amazingly had a signal, and which showed that she was close to the described location. But it wouldn’t give her the exact coordinates. Either way, she estimated they were near the site. Katie slowed her pace, then stopped and surveyed the area, wondering how different the forest was from fifteen years ago. In the article there weren’t any details about the crime scene, just that a woman had been murdered. No name. No details of the scene. No cause of death. No mention of any suspects and so forth. Just that it was a cold case. The article seemed to be a mishmash of information, and most of it not informative. The air was cold and the bitterness of it stung her face, but the wind was so slight as to be almost perfectly still. The forest area around her was quiet—too quiet. Katie noticed that Cisco had stopped and was staring straight ahead. His body was tense, unmoving, looking with intensity at what appeared to be nothing. Katie’s arms tingled. She thought she had heard something, but then dismissed it. It wasn’t because of anything she saw, but rather, something she sensed. She looked around a few minutes, but was satisfied it was a combination of the cold weather conditions and that she was surveying an area that was once a crime scene. “Cisco…” she said. The dog hesitated, but then turned, wagging his tail as he approached Katie. She took another few minutes to look around. It was definitely an overgrown area, but the walking path had been kept clear—most likely by the county for hikers. She didn’t have anything to go on and there wasn’t anything obvious she could scrutinize and she couldn’t even identify the exact location. Katie sighed. The clouds blocked all the daylight. The temperature seemed to drop more, making her shiver. Maybe it was a stupid idea, trying to fill her boring days with something she could sink her teeth into, such as a cold case. “C’mon, Cisco.” She headed back up the trail as Cisco effortlessly trotted ahead.
That’s when she heard it… a soft whisper in the wind, “Katie…” Katie spun around with her hand on her Glock, expecting to see someone, but there was no one there. She continued to take a slow three-hundred-sixty-degree scrutiny of the forest. There was nothing. Cisco had moved close to her. She felt his warm body at the side of her left leg. His body language had changed, becoming vigilant. She took a few more minutes until she was satisfied there was no one there. Katie took a breath and continued toward her Jeep. One thing was for sure, she had definitely heard her name. She was not imagining it...
~~~
Whether or not she was asked to participate in working the crime, it appeared at least somebody was calling for her participation... And before long, she was happy to welcome McGaven, her partner from back home, who was now there to be by her side...
Soon they were on a trail. And there were signs they they were coming nearer. Katie then saw two sets of feet coming from below nearby bushes... Two bodies were there, with a sign Three down...More to Go...
These investigations were not only the hardest they’d had to investigate, but the twists and turns were both unusual and horrific. It was as if they were being dropped into a play with no script and didn’t know what was going to happen next.
Haven’t you noticed that it’s just enough information and reports to give the appearance of transparency?”
Chase publicizes this book as being addictive--it is... But, no matter what does happen before the book ends, be assured that this author will have the case(s) all tied up and the serial killer identified and convicted...
Most villains these days remind me of those who spread hate on the news these days... I'm always relieved when the book is wrapped up tightly and the law officers have control again... May we be encouraged to know that many, many people do recognize and know the difference between the good and bad players... May more real-time Jennifer Chases work to help us break down the worst attack ever on the United States Democracy!
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