Wow! First Personal Favorite for 2026 - Blind Descent - Anna Pigeon Mysteries Book 6 by Nevada Barr - An Excerpt...

New Post on Sister Blog... https://gabixlerpersonalopinion.blogspot.com/2026/01/kings-wear-robes-message-to-those-who.html

It could be argued that the open areas of the caverns felt as much like a Disney creation as Space Mountain. There were no dangerous mazes, no precipitous heights, no tight squeezes. Still, it was a cave, and so Anna had passed on repeat trips. Given the inevitable nature of things, she would spend much of eternity underground; no sense rushing on down before the grim reaper called for her. 

Her love of bats might have overcome her fear of enclosed spaces, but if one waited, the splendid little creatures were good enough to come out and be enjoyed in less stygian realms. This December she had been sent to CACA from her home park in Mesa Verde, Colorado. Trained teams consisting of park rangers from all over the region responded to catastrophes that ranged from hurricanes to presidential visits. 

This time it was the injury of a caver. Had the caver been hurt in Carlsbad Cavern, extrication would have been simple: pop her in a wheelchair, roll her down to the snack bar and onto the elevator. She’d have been home before her mother knew she was missing. But this caver had been injured in Lechuguilla. The cave was on NPS lands near CACA’s headquarters. Lechuguilla was closed to the general public for the protection of both the cave and the visitors. Nearly ninety miles of the cave had been explored but it would be many years before it was fully mapped. Lech was a monster man-eating cave, dangerous to get into and harder to get out of. Two days into Lechuguilla, a member of the survey team had been hurt in an accident. Not surprisingly there’d been a contingent of experienced cavers at Carlsbad at the time, a small but dedicated group given to squeezing themselves into dark holes and living to write home about it. 

Before Anna and her teammates had descended on the park, the cavers had begun doing what they did best: getting one of their own back. Procedures in place from the last, well-publicized rescue from Lechuguilla, in 1991, the NPS had mobilized in record time. Within four hours of the report, Anna had been on a plane to El Paso. By the time she reached Carlsbad more than two dozen others from the southwestern region had arrived. With the overhead team came the inevitable Porta-Johns, food trucks, and power struggles. On duty less than three hours, Anna was happy to sit out the political squabbles in Oscar Iverson’s snug little office. There, far from the madding crowd, she manned the phones in her official capacity as information officer, doling out approved statements to a press already panting for another media glut like that generated by the Baby Jessica case in Texas. When she was eight hundred feet below the surface of the earth and two days’ travel from the light of day, a grown woman in a limestone cave was almost as good as a baby in a well shaft. 

For the past half hour reporters had been getting short shrift. Anna was reading. By chance she’d picked Trapped!, the story of caver Floyd Collins, off Iverson’s shelves. It detailed the gruesome death and media circus surrounding the entrapment of a caver in the 1920s. Collins had become wedged in a tight passage; his attempts to wriggle free had brought down loose dirt and rock, entombing him from neck to heels, his arms pinned at his sides. For thirteen days, friends had made the dangerous descent to feed him, while up above concessionaires sold food and souvenirs to an ever-growing crowd of vultures gathered in curiosity, sympathy, and morbidity. On the fourteenth day rains so softened the earth that the access tunnel collapsed. Collins was left to die alone. Scrawled in the margin of the book were the words “fact: wedge victims die.” Transfixed by the same dread a woman in a stranded VW might feel watching a logging truck bearing down on her, Anna was glued to the book. Iverson, Carlsbad’s cave specialist, gusted into her sanctuary, and she dropped Trapped!, glad to be rescued from its bleak pages. He waved her back into his ergonomically correct office chair and folded himself haphazardly over the corner of the desk. Housed in an old stone building built in the 1920s, the office was small, crowded by two desks, the walls lined with metal shelving and stuffed with books. Sprawled over the cluttered desktop, Oscar looked as homey and leggy as a spider in his web. Long limbs poked out the fabric of his trousers at knee and hip. His arms, seeming to bend in several places along their bony length, were stacked like sticks on his thighs. Come Halloween it would take only a little white paint to pass him off as a respectable skeleton. A mummy of the sere and unwrapped variety would be even easier. The man looked made of leather, hide tanned by the desert, hair coarse and straw-colored from the sun. 

Anna guessed he was close to her age, maybe forty-five or -six. “Got some bizarre news,” he said, banging his heel softly against the metal of the desk. For whom the bell tolls, Anna’s mind translated the hollow ringing. “Now that the relatives have been notified we can release the name of the injured woman. Frieda Dierkz. And she’s asking for one Anna Pigeon.” Shit, Anna thought. It tolls for me. “Frieda?” she echoed stupidly. Iverson shot her a startled look. “Don’t you know her? From the intensity of the summons, I got the idea you two were best buds.” “Buds.” Anna’s mind was paralyzed, not so much by shock as by incongruity. Hearing Frieda’s name in reference to the victim of the rescue was akin to running into one’s old grammar school teacher in an opium den. “She’s the dispatcher at Mesa Verde,” Anna managed. “We’re . . . friends.” They were friends, fairly close friends, and Anna wondered why she’d sounded so half-hearted. “Dierkz was on the survey team,” Oscar said patiently, his washed-out hazel eyes trying to read Anna’s face. It wasn’t an earth-shattering revelation. Most cavers led other lives. They were geologists and physicists, beekeepers and bums; regular folks who had been bitten by an irregular bug that compelled them to creep beneath the skin of the world every chance they got. Anna had seen the photos of a helmeted and mud-bedaubed Frieda grinning out from nasty little crevices Anna wouldn’t go into for love or money, and she’d listened with half an ear about her upcoming “vacation.” She’d just not put two and two together. “What does she want me for?” Without much caring, Anna noted the disapproval sharpening Iverson’s gaze. She could guess where it came from: cavers helped cavers. It was an unwritten law of survival. Who else was going to fish them out of the god-awful places they insisted on pushing their way into? Iverson stared, and Anna stared back, refusing to apologize or explain. A moment passed, and his look softened. Perhaps he reminded himself she was not a caver but a mere mortal. “The injury is worse than first thought.” He spoke slowly as if Anna had a learning disability. His voice was low, gentling. She would have been irritated at the condescension had she not known Iverson always talked that way. “The caver who hiked out said a broken leg. Painful but not life-threatening. Apparently the rock that smashed her kneecap struck a glancing blow to her left temple as it fell. She was knocked unconscious but only briefly. We just got a second report. It was brought out by a member of another team surveying in the Great Beyond. He met up with one of Dierkz’s team in Windy City and brought out a message. She’s been slipping in and out of consciousness and has suffered some disorientation.” “Head injury,” Anna said. “Bad news.” “Bad news,” Iverson agreed. “Peter McCarty, a member of Dierkz’s team, is an M.D. in real life. That’s the good news. She’s got a doctor with her. McCarty recommended we get Ms. Dierkz what she wants. She’s agitated, and it is not helping her medical condition any. He feels it would soothe her if she could have a friend there.” 

“A lady-in-waiting?” “Exactly.” A chilling image filled Anna’s mind: herself crouched and whimpering, fear pouring like poison through her limbs, shutting down her brain as the cave closed in around her. Adrenaline spurted into her bloodstream, and she could feel the numbness in her fingertips and a tingling as of ice water drizzling on her scalp. To hide her thoughts she rubbed her face. “Will you go?” Iverson asked. 

Anna scrubbed the crawling sensation from her hair with her knuckles. “Just deciding what to wear.” Oscar looked at her shrewdly, the long, narrow eyes turning the color of bleached lichen. “Let me rephrase that: can you?” “I don’t know,” Anna answered truthfully. “Can I?” “Caving?” “None.” “Climbing?” “Some.” “Rappels sixty to a hundred fifty feet. Ascents ditto, naturally. Rope climbs with ascenders.” “I can do that.”

~~~~

I ran my Fire battery out for 3 days... Don't know how many days I'll take to share with all of you! LOL Watch for it!

Gabby

Here's where we'll be going...

 

How Can We Know? A Look Back at January 6th 5 Years Ago! We Could Not Have Foreseen What Came!!! Open Memoir

 

I never turned away from the television yesterday, 5 years ago. I could not believe what was happening, even with my own eyes... I will never forget it and so should we NOT! That day, an elected president refused to give up his position when the election by the people, for the people, chose another President!

Many of you know that when I heard Donald Trump say he could grab women by their "pussy," I became what you might call a fanatic...

But it was not a MAGA FANATIC. Rather, it was my goal to determine why I had been told by a member of my family that, "If I was a Christian, I must vote Republican!"

Why on earth was I being told how to vote! For me, I've never seen a connection between religion and politics. Indeed, I was there listening when the Separation of Church and State was explore many years ago and became law... To my amazement, then, it was to learn that the entire group of evangelical christians were supporting Donald Trump's 2016 election! I could not comprehend! I had seen how he treated women. I knew that many believers followed God's Truth and Love. How could the basic beliefs of Christianity be so skewed to have an entire denomination choose someone with a background such as DJT? It remains an illogical mystery to me!

Perhaps it was because, like many working people, we barely had time to do our job, keep up with personal and medical needs, and provide for food and shelter. I had started working for West Virginia University when I was just 18, directly out of high school. I was hired by the Office of Personnel there and spent 5 years in that office, moving upward, thereafter, mostly by somebody else's initiation. I held staff and women concerns positions on campus--one elected; one appointed. I was known as someone who saw what needed to be addressed and worked to do it--even if we never succeeded (such as child care on campus)...

But, to me, my life was no different, I thought. Politics was something you tried to keep up-to-date on, but as long as the country was running, I could deal with my own issues, just like everybody else... The first political incident in which I took notice was Bush sending us into Iraq... My reaction at the time? Our taxes were paying for rebuilding a country where we should not have been... Only afterward did it come out, that the information supposedly used to justify what the United States did...was...wrong...

I had walked all the way to the top of this great monument and felt pride in knowing that our country welcomed those who sought help from distant lands. After all, that is how the lands now called the United States had become a great country. Through people coming from across the world to find a home for FREEDOM... It was only later as history was more open that I learned that those who came, often used violence, theft and more to claim this land for their own--even from those who already had lived there for hundreds of years... How Can We Know the WHYS OF ALL THAT HAPPENED IN THE PAST?

HOW CAN WE KNOW THE WHYS OF ALL THAT IS HAPPENING NOW WHEN SUPPOSEDLY WE ARE A CIVILIZED COUNTRY?

Needless to say, from 2115 to now, I watched how the U.S. citizens, or those who seek help from the country to whom France had once given The Statue of Liberty to recognize our open heart and mind to those in need... have been treated by politicians... It grew steadily worse as of January, 2025!

Note: If you cannot hear the entire video, please check back tomorrow. I wanted to use this video on today's hearing, not realizing how long it would be--4 hrs-- (or go to YouTube to finish...) Thanks!

How can we know what has happened. When even the president of a country lies from one day to another and has turned away from all election promises to be an autocrat, a man of violence, thirst for power and revenge and riches... How can we know when the Supreme Court has allowed all of this to happen?! Does that mean the majority of U.S. Citizens can no longer feel secure in being citizens of a democratic land? Because, we all KNOW that you are able to find the truth, even if you were once fooled by the republican party... We KNOW it's been wrong with all that is occurring right now! Will only a few realize what has been done, and seek forgiveness? And, consider this, why was it only one woman who refused to be pardoned for the crimes committed on January 6th, was willing to speak to Congress to share her truth of how MAGA had misled many...

They found this plaque hidden away! It was ordered under the previous administration... It was never hung... How can we know what more has been hidden? We know that all that was done during the last administration has either been delayed or overruled--or hidden and lied about--how can we know what has happened that is not being discovered via media that supports democracy and the constitution?! Can any of it be discovered/recovered...

We knew that one of the reasons that Trump needed to win the election was to stop the many court cases underway. Jack Smith was relieved of his position as Special Counsel for two of those cases. As time went on, Smith attempted to get approval for a public presentation of his findings. It was denied. It was only based upon continued pressure and requests from the minority party that he was able to provide the presented information.

Let's face it.... It is WELL BEYOND  what should have been prevented! It is also clearly obvious that both the Supreme Court and the activities of the lack of action by, in particular, the House of Representatives had been fraudulent and criminally neglected. Instead the Speaker refused to allow members of Congress to gather for weeks at a time... All the time, blaming the Democratic party for being the problem...Give me a Break! Anybody that at least follows news once a day clearly saw the devastation from day 1!

You know that day that he promised that prices for grocers would be reduce on day 1... and then ignored totally...

You know that soon thereafter, Trump initiated the tariffs across the world, which automatically increased costs...trying to claim that WE citizens would NOT be paying for those increased costs! His lies aren't even "good" lies!

You saw that Trump brought in an outsider and his staff with no authority and gave access to all records related to finance... Committed funds were stopped on, for instance, Infrastructure projects... Complete programs were deleted, such as USAID... People were being fired based upon DEI, an illegal action! In fact, every single thing that has been done has been illegally incited or generated by the autocratic actions of individuals never confirmed through normal processes... Security issues have been shielded even to those in "Need to Know" positions...

You know, folks, I went into Job Burnout when changes were made by new administrators even before they knew what I was responsible for... And they never bothered to learn... But my life was not ruined. I kept my eyes open and filed for retirement because I had the proper time in--even if I hadn't planned on retiring then. But I have to acknowledge. NOTHING THAT HAPPENED TO ME HAS BEEN EVEN COMPARABLY CRITICAL AS HAS BEEN DONE TO THOSE WHO HAVE BEEN FIRED WITHOUT CORRECT PROCEDURES... Rules, laws, procedures--the greatest asset of any organization, its people-- mean nothing to this administration... Those of you who have worked for most of or some part of your lives know that ignoring accountability will lead to failure! Each of us must work to ensure the United States is not destroyed completely... It's bad now--we all know it... And instead of trying to help deal with the U.S. problems, the entire administration has been looking outward where they can grab even more power... Even if they can lead the United States! 

During the first administration, I watched CNN almost exclusively, but then people started claiming that I needed to watch more than CNN... So I changed to MSNOW (new name) plus watched PBS, David Muir... I already knew not to watch Fox from the first 4 years of lies, especially after Fox had to pay restitution for lying about election machine fraud! My point is not that I was watching as much, but that I found that by reviewing multiple, reputable TV stations, I could ensure that what I was listening to was as true as it could be, given that lies continued to be stated and then further lies were made to cover what had occurred. I found that January 6th was the most falsified by the republican party. In fact, I learned just today that an entire rewrite of that day has been made and posted on government sites... I didn't bother trying to find... You really don't have time, these days, to chase down rewriting of history by a group who is obviously trying to cover up things that they know are and were illegal acts against the country's citizens... 

I found I enjoyed The Last Word because the commentator was old enough and had a professional history to support his opinions about what was going on and--most importantly--was not afraid to speak truth. MSNOW was separated from MSNBC recently. It appears that the major stations are giving in to this administration's pressures... How Can We Know that this corruptive overtake of not only our government but that it is getting worse, honing in on this hemisphere as if the United States has a right to invade wherever and whoever is profitable for the U.S. billionaires who care nothing about the Americas except how they can be exploited to allow the them to become even richer--and with more power...

The thing is, the United States can, in my opinion, no longer be considered a democracy... And, there is no longer any legal methodology by which the republican party can be stopped, except through actions by the people, for the people... But...

HOW CAN WE KNOW WHETHER THERE IS A WAY BACK FROM THE DESTRUCTION ALREADY FINISHED... Just like the destruction of the White House without authorization, without concern for historical preservation, without congressional authorization... when one man, controlled as a puppet by those better qualified to understand the complexities of government, just how can we move to reclaim the United States of America?

You know, folks, I'm not a fan of comedy. I laugh when something rings "true" and it's appropriate! I've never understood making fun of anybody else... To me, that's shameful...

But you know what? This crap has become offensive to the whole world, including those allies that have come together for many years... Not only are Republicans turning against our allies, they are turning against the Constitutional requirements for a multi-layered government by which oversight is a mandate... And it's been achieved because republicans lie to our citizens... Like the lady above, who apologized for once believing MAGA lies and participating in the January 6th insurrection against our government, attempting to override the election of a new president, we have found that those who choose to support their own desires, their own greed, that our citizens have been faced with the worst year of our lives... Now even the comedians are pinpointed for destruction... So, I thought I would end this by pointing out that one top comedian, along with his sarcasm and satire, also includes TRUTH... And when millions of citizens know this and understand that the only reason it is funny is that because our president failed in getting him fired, then surely we must know that, somehow, Truth and Right will overpower the corruption that has occurred because one old lady who felt she could believe the republican candidate, and did the right thing in acknowledging that she was guilty on January 6 and refused Trump's pardon, is what we must all do. It will not be easy. Too many people have listened to republicans--they believed that if you are a christian, then you should vote republican... Don't ask me why because I don't know why I was told this! But I know one thing. God gave us a mind--a brain. He gave us free will. He has provided continued improvements in communication... Yet many ignored the Death of Christ to save our world...

How Can We Know That? 

Look around... Where is the Truth of God? Where is the Love of God? When individual religious leaders have split off against what is happening, then we know that there are many who have opened their eyes and seen the destruction... And, I hope, remember that, among the lies that began in 2015 was that God had chosen Donald J. Trump...

New International Version
“No one can serve two masters. Either you will hate the one and love the other, or you will be devoted to the one and despise the other. You cannot serve both God and money.

Today...

God Bless HIS World

Gabby

Welcome to 2026 from Diana Raab, PhD - Poetry and More!

 

Dear Glenda, "The New Year stands before us, like a chapter in a book, waiting to be written." ~ Melody Beattie Welcome to 2026! In the Chinese calendar, we are now transitioning from the Year of the Snake to the Year of the Horse. The Year of the Snake was a year of shedding, releasing, inner growth and subconscious healing. The year of the horse is about having clarity, freedom, breakthroughs and momentum. I am wishing you all good things during this transition. I have been reading and hearing a lot lately about how people are coming together and craving the collective. It feels like survival is in the collective. The past number of years many people have focused on self-care but now, many seem to be hungry for a sense of community. No doubt, this need was born after the end of the pandemic when we all had enough of isolation. Thus, I am excited to introduce a new Sacred Circle, a gathering of kindred spirits to discuss, support, share stories, and do some writing together. It will be an empowering gathering. If you are based in California, I hope to see you there. Please see the details below. Until we meet again, I wish you a happy, healthy and peaceful New Year! https://www.dianaraab.com

Maddie Day Presents Flipped For Murder - Country Store Mysteries Book 1) - And Dancing/Multi-genre Music Playlist!

 So what are your failings?” He laughed. “I hate reading fiction. My brain just can’t suspend disbelief and stop analyzing why the people in a story would never, ever do something like that. And I bit my nails until a year ago.”

Phil belted out a gospel tune from the sink, where he cleaned up pots and pans. I chose song

They have line dancing if you like that kind of thing, too.” A dancing date. I never got enough dancing. This evening was sounding better and better.

“What kind of dancing?” “Everything. Line dancing, contra, West Coast swing, ballroom, Latin. Used to even go to international folk dancing over in Bloomington.”

“Here comes the music.” “I don’t know how good I am at following. I love to dance, but mostly it’s just been, you know, moving around kind of free style.” “I’ll show you, Robbie. Don’t worry.” After we finished eating, we joined the line dance, making me glad I’d worn a flared skirt and my turquoise cowgirl boots. And when the dance turned to West Coast swing, Jim led me through the moves in the most delightful of ways.

Despite how tired I was, I took the time to clean out the coffeepot, set up the regular coffee and the decaf for the morning, and make sure all was clean and ready for what I hoped would be another breakfast rush. My brain was rushing along like the Wabash Cannonball and I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep yet. Instead, I pulled out butter, milk, cheese, and eggs. I could prep the biscuit dough now to save time in the predawn hours. It would hold fine in the walk-in overnight. After I scrubbed my hands and put on an apron, I measured out the flour, half whole wheat and half unbleached white, into the big stainless bowl, mixing in baking powder and salt. The image of Stella Rogers with my biscuit in her mouth rose up as if I was looking at her in full color on the big screen at the Starlite Drive-In in Bloomington. Who would have done a thing like that? Was somebody really trying to frame me? I didn’t hate anybody. Well, besides Will, my ex. But you’d have to hate someone to kill them. Wouldn’t you? Or to even frame them for murder. I cut the butter into small cubes and used my big vintage pastry cutter to slice it into the flour, pressing the U-shaped wires down again and again until the flour was the texture of coarse meal. What other reasons would drive a man or a woman to take a life? Rage at losing something valuable, like a spouse or a treasure, I supposed, or at feeling unfairly treated. Fear of being exposed could be another motivation, exposed for having committed a crime or done something shameful. Making a little well in the flour, I cracked in the eggs and stirred them up with a fork, then added the milk and the grated cheddar from the industrial-sized bag. Buying already grated cheese might have been cheating, but it saved so much time I’d decided to give it a try. I stirred the dough until it just came together. Who in this small town felt that kind of rage at Stella, or that type of fear? I floured the big marble pastry slab I’d installed at hip height—which for me was only thirty inches off the floor—and turned out the dough. I kneaded it only enough to bring it all together, then slid it into a clean plastic bag, sealed it, and set it in the walk-in along with the other perishables. After I cleaned up, still wearing my apron I sank into the chair next to the bourbon. One more little splash wouldn’t hurt, and it might help me sleep. My gaze wandered to the framed picture on the front wall. My mom and me, each with an arm slung over the shoulder of the other, laughed into the camera. I lifted the mug toward the image. “Hey, Mommy. How’d I do?” Adele had taken that picture the last time she’d been out to visit before I moved to Indiana. Mom and I had taken her to the Wild Pelican, a high-end restaurant perched above an unspoiled beach outside Santa Barbara, its wall of windows showcasing the sparkling Pacific that stretched out all the way to Japan. My mom’s wavy blond hair was cut in a no-fuss short do and her blue eyes were brilliant in a face tanned from walking on the beach. I’d gotten my dark curly locks and Mediterranean skin tones from my long-disappeared father, but my body matched Mom’s. We’d often talked about how we came from good peasant stock. “You would have loved this place,” I told her, taking a sip of bourbon, another taste we’d shared. My throat thickened, as it still did frequently, when I thought about her. She’d been my best friend. She’d taught me carpentry, giving me projects in high school to keep me busy and off the streets. Every summer she’d sent me out to stay with Adele for a month so I’d get to know my Midwestern roots. She’d fostered my love of puzzles of all kinds, and encouraged me to attend the engineering program at Cal Poly a hundred miles up the coast in San Luis Obispo. She’d even given me her blessing when I wanted to marry Will the day after I graduated, even though I could tell she didn’t like him much. I should have trusted her judgment over my own. “But I have the feeling you’d think this was the right move. This store, this restaurant. Right?” I didn’t have much of a belief in the afterlife, but I hoped her essence was out there watching, listening, and giving me the thumbs-up with a great big old grin.

~~~~

This is such a fun book on many levels... First, I loved that the main character was not only a chef, a business owner, as well as a carpenter who had bought a run-down old country store, but did all the carpentry to create the smartest-looking cafe/country store in town! And it was an instant hit in the community... Loved the name--Pans ‘n Pancakes!

But, of course, not everybody was happy that she had come into Indiana! But her Aunt Adele was there and she was moving to be near family since her mother had recently died... But as soon as she got settled, Robbie Jordan went out looking and found exactly what she wanted to fulfill her dream! Only thing was that somebody else had wanted the store and was upset she got there first... BTW, he holds grudges--and more! That's one...

It had taken most of her savings and plenty of hard muscle work to create just what she wanted. A pleasant place in which to serve meals, plus adding her personally loved collection of antique kitchen utensils of all kinds for both decoration and to sell... She had met several new friends who had volunteered to help get her going, even Phil had agreed to contribute his bakery talents and help out as the store opened... Aunt Adele also helped but Robbie knew that she would have to get help soon if she could get some type of notice out... But! She didn't have to because a young woman came in asking for a job and happened to be Danna, the daughter of the town's mayor! But when Robbie asked about her previous employment, which was at another country cafe in a small nearby town, she hesitated and talked about being able to walk to work... That's Two... Soon she was to learn that her former boss was not liked by many women...Robbie was happy to get her out of that situation.

The big day began, and people were there waiting to come and spend time with the new business owner. Even the Mayor came and congratulated her. (That's Three!) But Robbie was surprised by how the Mayor's assistant acted... Not someone she would think to have as an assistant, for any job...

Apparently many people thought that, because the Mayor's assistant was found murdered soon thereafter...

Now, the way I read this happening is that Robbie did not intend to become an amateur sleuth. Rather, she was soon being followed and in possible danger! She either has to try to figure out who wanted to get rid of her...or...else... 

While all that is happening, Robbie is meeting other business owners in town and is surprised that one of the men had been involved with her mother! (That's four!) And to learn more about him, she began to wonder just how her mother was involved--and who, possibly, was her father! The one whose name she had never been able to learn from her mother...

But it wasn't long that Robbie realized that she had been set up for the murder! She had lost her favorite pen and couldn't find it... But she had also revealed that the Mayor's assistant had given her many problems in trying to get the sale of the building accomplished... 

Fortunately, Robbie was able, with the help of a local lawyer and admirer, to ensure the police chief begin to believe in what she was saying, especially when Robbie was being shot at and the bullets had been found!

This is a great cozy mystery, with lots of intrigue and danger for the amateur detective character... But, it was the story that brings the readers into the community and people who were helping to support their new business owner that made this a novel well worth reading... Of course, the music was fantastic when she gets connected to a cycle group and bluegrass! In fact, the range of settings and music added greatly to the overall small community setting! Kudos to author...

So this was Stella’s son. Inconveniently named Roy Rogers. Well, maybe he was more typical of his generation than I was, and had no idea who the old TV singing cowboy was. Roy shook Don’s hand without really putting himself into it. “Thanks, Don.” Whoa. The guy I’d heard on the other side of the partition earlier. He looked over at me and squinted, running his left hand through hair so greasy it made him wipe his hand on his dark blue work pants. “This the girl who robbed me of my store?” Roy asked Don. Don held up both hands facing Roy. “Hold on a chicken-picking minute, Roy. She didn’t rob nobody.” He beckoned me over. “Kinda funny, that. Robbie here didn’t rob nobody.” He gave a grim little chuckle that neither Roy nor I joined him in. “Robbie Jordan, Roy Rogers. The late Stella’s only son.” I took a deep breath. “Nice to meet you, Roy. And I’m so sorry about your mother’s passing.” Roy snorted. “As if.”

“I’m off. Rehearsal tonight.” I stood as well. “What’s the show this time?” “It’s Copeland’s The Tender Land. Absolutely gorgeous. And I have the male lead.” He grinned. “Get out. Really? That’s awesome.” I knew he aspired to a career in opera. “Thanks again for the desserts, Phil. You’ll do more on Thursday for the weekend?” “You bet.” He left, humming as he went.

The tune of “Ya Gotta Dance” filled the room. Jim appeared next to me and pulled me into a close dance position. “Shall we?” “The ice cream is going to melt,” I murmured into his shoulder. “Let it.”

I emerged from my apartment into the store at ten-thirty. It was empty except for Danna and me until Phil waltzed in through the door a minute later, carrying his dessert trays and singing at the top of his lungs. “‘I believe,’” he belted, “‘that the Garden of Eden—’” “Yo, pipe down,” Danna called from the stove. “You’ll scare away the customers.” She looked at Phil and laughed. “No way. Book of Mormon? People around here love it,” Phil answered. He set the trays on the counter. “Hey, Robbie, you look nice.” I glanced down at my black skirt, which I’d paired with a soft purple top and a short black jacket. My hair hung loose on my shoulders, and I wore low black boots with tights. “Thanks. And major thanks for bailing me out like this. I owe you.” He batted his hand down. “I’ll catch you up on that one of these days. Now get out. Danna and I have some catching up of our own to do.” He slid an apron off the shelf and popped it over his head.

I stood in the back of the ornate church, scanning for Jim, five minutes later. An organ droned church music and people rustled their programs and spoke in hushed tones. A uniformed Officer Wanda stood in position in the back left corner, hands behind her back, also scanning the pews. I gave her a nod, which she barely deigned to return. Don was up near the front on the right, sitting next to Ed Kowalski. Roy sat with bent head, alone, in the first row not far from the casket, which was draped in a white cloth with a gold cross on it. I didn’t see Adele anywhere, but when I spied Jim, I made my way up the side aisle to where he sat on the left and slid in next to him.

“Pickles. I think we’re okay for breakfast tomorrow,” Danna said. “But order more OJ, eggs, and bread for the weekend.” I entered those as Phil sang a song I didn’t recognize, then I took the tablet into the walk-in and did a survey there.

Added Smoke Gets In Your Eyes from Classic Broadway/Musicals

“I owe you, Phil,” I added. He blew me a kiss. “I will exact an appropriate price from my friend,” he sang to the tune of “Oklahoma.”

“Robbie,” Danna said, moving to my side as I flipped cakes during breakfast the next morning. We experienced our usual rush despite the weather having turned cold and stormy. The coatrack was full of dripping raincoats and the antique umbrella stand held a half-dozen soaked umbrellas. I glanced up at her grim tone, one I’d never heard her use before. “What’s going on?” She tossed her head to indicate something behind her. “You have to trade places. I’m not talking to him.” She grabbed a clean apron from the box, threw it on, and started the sink water running a little too hard, scrubbing her hands like she was punishing them. I twisted to see Ed Kowalski examining the menu at a table by himself. “Gotcha.” I pointed to the orders. “The two specials platters are up next.” I also ditched the grease-stained apron I’d been wearing for a fresh one. Poor Danna. No woman should have to put up with harassment. He’d better not try anything on me. I adjusted my hat and grabbed the order pad and pen. We could have gone hi-tech and used a digital ordering system, but a tablet for every table was expensive, and who needed a digital device mounted next to the grill? It’d be a wreck, full of grease splatters and flecks of batter in a week. Or a day, more likely. I steered for Ed’s table. “’Morning, Ed. Decided to eat out again today?” “Thought I’d see how the competition was doing after a week.” His mouth smiled, but his little eyes didn’t. “Things are going pretty well.” I waved the order pad at the other nine tables, every one of them with at least two customers seated. A party of six men occupied the biggest table. “Can you put together a small sample portion of everything you’ve got?” He frowned at the breakfast menu. “Seriously?” I raised my eyebrows. “You are checking out the competition. You want five omelets?” “No, of course not.” He blinked and stabbed at the menu. “Give me the Kitchen Sink, but with only one egg. And a couple of pancakes, bacon and sausage, white toast, biscuits, meat gravy. Like I said, one of everything, but small-sized. When I came in on opening day, all I tried were the biscuits, gravy, and eggs.” “I can’t do a Kitchen Sink omelet with one egg. It won’t hold it.” I set my hands on my hips. “Whatever.” Ed waved a hand. “And coffee, of course.” “Of course,” I muttered as I headed toward the coffee station. “A ‘please’ would have been nice.” One of the white-haired men at the large table waylaid me with an “Oh, miss?” and a smile that could have lit up a dark night in January, so I changed course. Ed and his sampler breakfast would have to wait. “How’s everything?” I asked after introducing myself. “Delicious.” The man patted his nicely rounded midsection with both hands, a plate of half-demolished pancakes in front of him. “Super delicious. Miss Jordan, we wondered”—he glanced at his tablemates, several of whom bobbed their heads in agreement—“we’re a men’s breakfast and Bible club, and we wondered if we could reserve this table for eight o’clock every Friday morning. If it wouldn’t be too much trouble.” “That sounds like a good idea to me.” Several paperback New Testaments lay on the table, along with a couple of well-thumbed black Bibles. “It’s no trouble at all.” He beckoned to me to lean in and lowered his voice. “We used to meet in Nashville at”—he tilted his head toward Ed across the room—“at another establishment, but we like it here better. Samuel recommended we give you a try.” He pointed at one of the men. “I’m glad you’re pleased with Pans ‘N Pancakes, and I’m happy to reserve the table for you all. I’ll make up a special sign and put it out every week. How does that sound?” “Perfect. We’re much obliged.” “Are you always six, or are there more? The table seats up to eight.” “Never more than eight.” “Perfect, then. I’ll be right back with more coffee, gentlemen. Anything else I can get you?” One man held up his juice glass, and another asked for a refresher on his tea, thanking me for my trouble. At the far end of the table, a slender man with dark skin and a full head of wiry grizzled hair waved me over. “Is my grandson working today?” He smiled up at me. “You know, Philostrate?” “Oh, Phil. No, he’s not a regular employee, but he does make the desserts for lunch. And I’m sure you know he designed our logo and did a lot more to help me get started.” I smiled back. “He’s a good friend.” He extended his hand. “I’m Samuel MacDonald. I’m pleased to make your acquaintance. I’ll tell Philostrate his recommendation was well-founded.” I shook his hand and thanked him before I bustled away. I sure wasn’t about to turn away a weekly group of polite and hungry Christians, especially one including Phil’s grandfather. Ed might not like it, but fair was fair in the free-market economy. I handed Ed’s order to Danna. When she frowned at it, I added, “He said he wants a small portion of everything on the menu. Not every omelet, just the Kitchen Sink.” “He’ll never change his own menu, or the quality,” she said, sliding the spatula under a cheese omelet and flipping it with care. “I don’t know what he thinks he’s going to accomplish by tasting your much better breakfasts.” “I don’t, either. But he’s a paying customer.” I wrinkled my nose. “Or not. He comped my breakfast at his place the other day. I guess I’ll have to return the favor.” I leaned close to Danna. “Give him really small portions, okay?” A giggle slipped out. She snorted. “You got it. He’ll be lucky if I don’t spit in it.” “I wouldn’t blame you, but let’s not get carried away. I don’t want to get sued.” A few minutes later, after bringing Ed his coffee, topping up drinks at the Bible table, clearing another table, and making change for a third, I loaded up my arms with Ed’s order. “Here you go.” I set the plates on the table. I carried over a jam and syrup caddy from the table that just vacated, then turned to go. “Any news about the murder case?” Ed asked, his eyes on his food. “I heard you’ve been asking a lot of questions around.” “Not really. And I don’t have any news.” I gazed at him. “They’re way past the forty-eight-hour window, though.” His gaze met mine for the first time. “I read somewhere if they don’t solve a crime in the first two days, they’re unlikely to,” I added. “I’m surprised you’re still out walking free after they found your pen at Stella’s place.” He forked a bite of omelet into his mouth. “What? I sure didn’t leave it there,” I said. “If I killed her, you think I’d be stupid enough to leave my own pen at the scene of the crime?” “Any murderer can’t be too smart in the first place, don’t you think?” He looked at me, speaking with his mouth open as he chewed. I barely kept myself from squeezing my eyes shut. “Enjoy your breakfast, Ed. It’s on the house.” I turned away and busied myself clearing dirty dishes and greeting a new group who walked in. The next time I heard the bell on the door jangle, I glanced over to see Ed’s back passing through it. Talked with his mouth full and couldn’t even be bothered to thank me after he shoveled in his samples. I strolled to the front window to see him climb into a shiny black car parked in the HANDICAPPED slot next to the ramp I’d built. I stared at the front license plate. Even through the downpour I could make out KCSTOR. That had to be for Kowalski’s Country Store. The same plate and the same shiny black car that nearly ran me off the road on Sunday. Which had to be a coincidence. Because if it wasn’t, trouble was seriously brewing right here in River City. Or Brown County, as the case may be.

~~~~

Life as getting even more complicated, as if trying to stay alive was not bad enough to add on top of daily workload and investigating who's trying to kill Robbie. But then, the Mayor has to add on an even bigger burden... Holding a benefit for local animal shelters! Now Robbie was just as fond of animals as most of us, but she didn't need this extra burden right now! And why was the Mayor doing it not very long after her assistant was murdered... Was she aware, as Robbie had discovered, that her assistant was involved with blackmailing as many individuals in town who has something worth being blackmailed for!!! And that's quite a number, Robbie was to learn, even including the Mayor! Well, there were so many that was in this type of situation that I've even spotlighted at least 4 potential villains--either for murder or for some other deed they'd done in the past! One, Robbie was to learn, even involved her father who she was fairly certain she'd discovered just who he was!

People in town were to donate anything they thought of value to raffle off! Robbie immediately put together one for free meals! Phil followed that with a little touch of music!

“Crazy. Got anything you want to donate? And will you come?” “I can do up a certificate for a month of Friday desserts,” he said. “Delivered with a song. How about that? And a couple extra trays of brownies for the event itself.” I laughed. “I like it. All of it.”

Impossible Dream My Choice!

Wait. If it’s ten o’clock here, it’s three in the morning over there. If she got up at seven, maybe she’d write back at two in the morning my time. Or three? I could get up extra early and check. If I could even sleep. My agitation made me doubt that. I got up and poured a little bourbon in a glass; then I found the playlist I’d labeled “Mom” on the computer. I’d never known why she loved to listen to opera so much, until now. I started the Bocelli album playing, the one where he sings arias from a number of operas, which I’d listened to dozens of times since I lost my mom. I set it to play “Che Gelida Manina” from La Bohème, one of her favorites. As the tenor sang, I found Roberto’s picture again and gazed at his face. At the end of the song, I knew the words translated to: “Now that you know me, speak, tell me who you are! Will you say?” “Will you tell me who you are, Roberto Fracasso?” I asked the image. “Will you say?”

The magic of riding was doing its hat trick again. I’d been cycling about fifteen minutes, head down, pumping. It cleared out both the anger and the ice cream calories. It was my own personal Zen zone, where all I was doing was this one thing. In the back of my brain, I knew I had a lot to deal with once I was home, but for now, the road was just the road. A Mary Chapin Carpenter song my mom used to play about a road being just a road came into my head and I sang into the wind, my legs going at the rhythm of the song. I cut it off when an engine gunned behind me. I’d turned onto South Lick Road a few minutes earlier, a narrow way winding between wooded hills and marshes, with not a house in sight. Cars rarely traveled it, preferring the easier drive of Route 46. Slowing my pace, I glanced behind me. Uh-oh. A black sedan barreled toward me...

Folks, I hope you've enjoyed this post as much as I did putting it together... Don't think I've ever had an author use as much diversity in the music area than was done by Maddie Day! Verrrrry Cool Maddie! You put in some songs I didn't know, but I also put in songs when you didn't name them... Just doin' my part, LOL... I had to stop talkin' about the whodunit cause music kept gettin' in the way of talking about the book... NOT! Actually, I highly recommend the book. I was pretty sure whodunit... But, then again, there were even more people, especially women, who needed to report on one of the possible candidates who was on Robbie's List! Ladies! You all are gonna have to start speaking out about men trying or doing inappropriate things! We've seen how one man can initiate teens into unwanted sex while still in their teens...and it was allowed to continue for years! We've got to learn to speak up! Don't you think? I know... I know... It's easier said than done... But we can't continue to allow powerful men to handle what doesn't belong to them, out of fear!

Also...

in other News

With Closing by Michael A. Smith - My New Year's Prayer for America - Spotlight on Venezuela... Prayers for World Peace!

 

Let's stop here and point out that Harold Michael Harvey, Ongoing Legal Contributor, has provided a major research effort before that talks about Oil in both Venezuela and Africa... You may want to reread at this time! 

WAR

Or Stayin' Alive!

My New Year's Prayer for America

Michael A. Smith

Historian | Author | Public Theologian
January 1, 2026


God of heaven, whose we are and whom we serve. We did not make ourselves, and neither are we able to control the affairs of men. Nothing is hidden from you. You know all things and allow man the free will he uses to bring his own destruction. In 2025, we have seen the results of man's evil when he is left to his own devices. Unless you intervene this year, it will be even worse with more chaos, evil against the poor, the homeless, and the destitute. Wars and rumors of war will continue. Evil men now control all the levers of power, and solutions seem to be so far above our poor ability to influence. Will you not hear and help?

Yet we know you have not abandoned your creation, nor have you forgotten the cries of the afflicted. You who overthrow the plans of the wicked and bring princes to nothing—work now in ways we cannot see or imagine. Raise voices of truth in the wilderness of lies. Strengthen the hands that grow weak and steady the knees that tremble. Give courage to those who would stand for justice when standing costs everything.

And help us not be deceived by false gods, purveyors of religion that is not true. Protect us from those who wrap themselves in holy garments while serving unholy ends, who speak your name while pursuing their own power, who claim your authority while ignoring your commands to love the stranger, feed the hungry, and care for the least of these. Let us rediscover your words and walk in them—not the twisted interpretations of those who would make you in their own image, but the living truth that sets captives free and brings good news to the poor.

You remind us that in these days, evil men and seducers will grow worse and worse. That men will commit all manner of evil with abandon and will not be held accountable for their actions. That your patience will soon have an end, even so, in the face of gathering darkness, keep us faithful. When wickedness seems to triumph, and justice is nowhere to be found, let us not lose heart or abandon hope.

Would you return to us our ability to blush at such evil—to feel the shame and horror that should accompany wickedness, rather than the callousness that has hardened our hearts. Give us empathy for those to whom you show compassion, and command us to follow your example. Please help us to weep with those who mourn, to feel the suffering of the widow, the orphan, the refugee, the prisoner. Raise the standard of righteousness in a world full of false religion that offers little hope outside of thee.

Bring an end to every leader who calls evil good, and good evil. May the utter surprise of their fall stop the mouths of those who deny the problem. Give clearness of vision and break the hold of spiritual deception and the Deceiver. Open the eyes of those who have been blinded by lies dressed as truth, by hatred wrapped in patriotism, by cruelty cloaked in righteousness. Let scales fall from eyes, and let your people see clearly again.

Grant us wisdom to know what is ours to do in this hour, and the strength to do it without despair or retreat. Help us to be salt and light in a decaying and darkening world, to love mercy, do justice, and walk humbly, even when power mocks humility and cruelty parades as strength.

We do not ask that you spare us from struggle, but that you sustain us through it. Transform our helplessness into holy dependence, our fear into faithful action, our anger into righteous witness.

In this new year, whatever it may bring, anchor us in hope that does not disappoint—the assurance that your kingdom comes, your will shall be done, and every knee shall one day bow not to tyrants, but to the Prince of Peace.

In Christ's name we pray, Amen.

To my Friends Across the World! I had not planned to post today. But, that is almost sad to even contemplate at this time in today's world... May all of you know in Venezuela, Columbia, Brazil and other South American Countries, that the majority of those who live in North America have no desire to create continued chaos, death, hunger and violence on any of our South American neighbors! 

We speak also to those in Africa, Ukraine, and the people of Russia who are losing their loved ones on a fight that should never have been begun by one man... None of us want what those men who strive for riches and power... Yet, habitually they will arise and try to conquer the Freedom that was given to all of us by our Father Who Art in Heaven... We must stand strong with God in using our free will to speak out against those who would lie, cheat, steal, and kill for their own evil desires... It's wrong... And we know it is NOT of God's Love and Truth! May we continue to share across the world and speak through each other to God and His Plan for Our World! Not like the few men who are striving to break us in today's world!

God Bless Us All

Gabby

Marshall Thornton Presents Boystown: Three Nick Nowak Mysteries - Book 1 - Think of Mike Hammer, the PI...

 

“The minute you walked in the bar, I could tell you were there for me.” So much for my surveillance abilities...

I lit a cigarette and thought, “If there is a God... If he wanted to do us a favor he would have made raw carrots and bean sprouts as appealing as a fatty, fried sandwich and a Marlboro.”

On Fridays and Saturdays, I have a part-time gig working security at a nightclub on Broadway called Paradise Isle. Even though some radio disc jockey declared disco dead by burning a bunch of records at Comiskey Park about two years back, you wouldn’t know it at Paradise Isle. The DJ is Miss Minerva Jones, the only drag queen I ever met who didn’t have some sort of joke name. I like that about her. You can only meet Anita Mann so many times before it gets

old. When it comes to disco, Miss Minerva is a purist. She plays Thelma Houston, Sylvester, Chic, and Sister Sledge. Sure, she also plays The Bee Gees, The Village

People, and Gloria Gaynor’s “I Will Survive,” but only if you tip her. The club is forty percent dance floor

I tipped for "I Will Survive!!!" LOL

and always full. The dance floor is made of thick Plexiglas and lit from beneath. The rest of the place holds a couple dozen tables, some booths against the wall, and a bar that runs the length of the club. The theme is tropical, and there are a couple of neon palm trees attached to the walls. The bartenders start the night in Hawaiian print shirts, but have lost them by the time I show up at nine. When I first started, the owner, Davey Edwards, tried to get me to wear a paper lei. I put my foot down. From ten to two I stand at the door with a flashlight and check IDs. Wearing a paper lei, Davey takes the cover charge. I could do the whole thing myself, but I’d have a bit of trouble balancing the cash drawer if a fight broke out. And they do break out every so often. Fortunately, most queens have to warm up with a couple rounds of catty remarks, so I’m usually there before anyone throws a punch. That Friday was busy but uneventful. Davey stops charging a cover at one, so I’m alone for the last hour. Mostly people are leaving by then, so I spend my time saying “good night” and telling people, especially the drunk ones, to “be careful.” After my shift, I usually head over to the bar for a couple of free drinks. That night was no different. Ross weaved his way over and asked what I wanted. Even though it was below zero outside, his well-defined, bare chest was slick with sweat. Ross is a sexy mix of boy and man. He’s got freckles across the bridge of his nose and a cowlick on the left side of his forehead. He’s also got biceps hovering around sixteen inches... After he brought me a beer, Ross offered me a Camel Light. I turned him down. “Willpower,” he said. “I hate that in a man.”

~~~~

Book 1 - Little Boy Found

Nick Nowak came alive for me in Hammer's voice, hope some of you remember him! LOL

Yeah, it was an old TV PI program, but I was a fan of mystery and suspense even back then... So having three Nick Nowak mysteries in one, for free, from BookBub, was a gift of memories... Of course, this PI had something to offer that I may not have been interested in--but other readers might... So I'll tell you about the stories, O.K.? 

Nick has his PI license so works as much as he can on that job, but also spends time at a local club as what you might realize to be a bouncer, even if he's at the door when you first get to the club... But, then again, readers won't get too far into the club, before it is burnt down and out of business for a while... Most damaged was that Miss Minerva, the D.J. who had originals in cartons lost all of her music! Bummer, right?! I was enjoying her oldies just as much as you would!

Unlike most guys, I should know better...

That particular day there wasn’t anything on the radio except reporters droning on about the inauguration. It seemed a little odd that none of them complained that our country was now going to be run by a guy who once co-starred with a chimp. Not that I had anything against the Gipper. I just wasn’t convinced I wanted his finger on the button. I turned the radio down and picked up the phone.

But Nick has received a telephone call to find a lost boy. Even from the very first Nick was not quite sure that this was really a case because he couldn't get very much information out of the caller. Nevertheless, he started the job for his new client--“What’s your name?” “Walt...Paddington. Walt Paddington.” Ok, I was suspicious as Nick was when he had to figure out a name to be used... Then he refused to come into the office... But Nick needed the money and what could happen? Well... His job was to find Brian Peerson... who had been gone for almost a year, but, now, it was urgent to find him...

Nick learned enough to be able to begin the search and soon he found the retainer and some photos waiting for him. Now that would allow "expenses" to begin... He had been seen at another club, "The Closet." A Waiter there... But then Nowak went back to who had hired him--and who had recommended him to the guy. Decided that was just as important... So the search expanded... 

It didn't take long to find Brian, but it got a little complicated when somebody else also was out to kill him... Even offered Nowak $10,000 to just walk away... Yeah, that wasn't gonna happen...

Little Boy Burned...

“Private investigator? You mean like Magnum, PI?” She asked. Her voice was crisp and sharp. “I’m not sure what that is, ma’am.” “You’re not sure? Why, it’s a TV show. It’s on Thursday nights at eight o’clock. Don’t you watch TV?” Her tone suggested she considered television viewing as necessary as breathing. “I don’t have a television,” I explained. It had moved out with Daniel, and I’d never bothered to replace it. “What on earth do you do without a TV?” “I do a lot of things. Can you tell me if you happened to see or hear anything unusual last night? Between five and five-thirty?” “Why don’t you come in,” she invited me, and then hobbled away from the front door. It was a studio apartment. In one corner sat a nicely made double bed, in another a recliner with a television balanced on a small table a few feet in front of it. I followed the woman over to a small dining table in front of the window. She sat and looked out. She had an excellent view of Paradise Isle. “Hawaii,” she said abruptly. My stomach sank. I worried she might be half crazy. “What about Hawaii, ma’am?” “That’s where Magnum, PI lives. It looks pretty on TV, but I could never leave Chicago. I’ve been here seventy-four years.” “Did you happen to see anything this morning?” She nodded. “I have the insomnia.” “So you’re up at night a lot of the time.” “Oh, it’s terrible. If I get two good hours of sleep, well, I consider myself lucky. Very lucky.” I took a seat across from her. “And this morning you were sitting right here looking out the window.” “Yes, I was.” “What did you see?” She lowered her voice to a whisper. “You know that’s where the fancy boys go, don’t you?” “Yes, ma’am.” I knew she’d tell me eventually; I just wasn’t sure I had the patience to wait. “He ran out of there around five-thirty.” “Who did?” She shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t know any fancy boys.” “Tell me what he looked like.” “He wasn’t fat. And he wasn’t short.” Ruthie would exasperate the police when they showed up. The thought made me want to giggle. “Was he white? Or black?” She thought about it. “White. I’m pretty sure. He was wearing a hat. And one of those balloon coats.” “A down coat,” I suggested. “A what?” “A coat full of feathers. Like a pillow.” “It sure looked like a pillow.” “Was he young or old?” She thought about it. “Couldn’t have been old. He was running. I haven’t run like that in forty years.” “Did you see where he went?” She nodded solemnly. I waited. “He came into The Shore.” I looked out the window. It faced Broadway. The entrance to The Shore was on Surf. There wasn’t any way she could have seen him enter the building. I decided not to contradict her. The rest of the information seemed good, what there was of it.

~~~~

This is the story where Paradise Isle is set on fire... Nick is called to hurry over and help deal with the crisis, and soon gets involved with tracking down who set the fire... All I'm going to say about this one is that Nick should have paid more attention to the lady he first talked to... And finally got around to solving the case... LOL

Little Boy Fallen

I found I didn’t much like being a secretary; it was hours of boredom punctuated by brief periods of humiliation.

A second later I lay on the strip, the wheels of the train still moving inches from my face.

“You think he’s gay?” he asked me. “Guys like that, I think it’s more about manipulation than sex.”

“Helen Borlock.” I sat down at my desk and lit a cigarette while she talked. “He told me to come. He said you’d help. You can help, can’t you?” “I don’t know if I can help,” I said honestly. “I don’t know why you’re here.” She gave me a confused look, as though I should know why she was there. “Bobby told me to come. He said you’d help.” “Bobby who?” “Bobby Martin.” I was pretty sure I didn’t know a Bobby Martin and said so. “Bobby was my son’s roommate. One of them, I mean. There were four of them living there. Sweet boys, always laughing. The apartment is on Clark and Fullerton. They did it up nice. Every room a different color.” I still hadn’t a clue who she was talking about. Abruptly, she held out the photo album. “This is my Lenny.” To be polite, I took the album. “I never wanted to name him Leonard. My husband insisted. He’d had a friend, in the Marines. Wanted to name his son Leonard, after his friend. The friend died, you see.” I flipped the album open. There was Helen with an infant. I was right. In her day, Helen had been a looker. I flipped a few pages and Lenny began to grow up. Looked like he was on his way to being a looker, too. “What is it Bobby thought I could help you with?” She glanced out the window like she suddenly needed to check the weather. It was overcast and threatening to rain or, worse, throw in one last snowstorm for the winter. After a little sigh, she said, “Three weeks ago, my son was murdered.” “Mrs. Borlock, I’m a private investigator. I don’t investigate murders. The police do that.” “They don’t care. Lenny is just another pervert to them.” I waited a few moments, considering. I was telling her the truth. It wasn’t the kind of thing I did. Or at least tried not to do. Mainly I did background checks, skip traces, once in a while a little surveillance. That was it. Murder was different. Yes, I used to be a policeman, but I’d only worked a beat. I’d never been a detective. In the nearly six years I spent on the job, when it came to murder I’d never done much more than secure a crime scene and make sure witnesses stayed put. “Can you afford a private investigator?” “Yes. I always put a little aside for Lenny. Ever since he was a little boy.” She stared at her hands, which seemed particularly empty now that I was flipping through the photo album. “I used to think I’d give him the money on his wedding. He was sixteen when I figured out that was never going to happen, so for a while I thought I’d give him the money to go to college. But he was never book smart. Last couple of years, I’ve been waiting to see, did he maybe want to start a business or get a nice beau and buy a house.” Her voice turned bitter. “I should have given it to him. Should have let him spend on whatever he wanted.” She looked like she might break down, but fortunately she didn’t. I took the final drag off my cigarette and stubbed it out. Against my better judgment, I said, “Tell me what happened to Lenny.” “Someone pushed him off the seventh floor of the atrium at Water Tower.” That seemed pretty cut and dried. “Were there witnesses?” “It was a little after ten in the morning.” “No one saw him being pushed?” She shook her head. “So, how do you know he was pushed?” Mrs. Borlock pursed her lips. Tears popped into her eyes and threatened to spill over onto her cheeks. “You’re going to tell me my boy killed himself, just like the police.” “Right now, I’m not telling you anything. Right now, I’m asking questions. How do you know he was pushed?” “I just know,” she spat. “I know Lenny. And he wouldn’t kill himself.” “Why wouldn’t Lenny kill himself?” I was expecting a lame answer, like she’d raised him as a good Catholic, and, since it was against God’s law, he wouldn’t do it. But she didn’t say that. She said something completely different. “Lenny was the happiest person I ever met.”

~~~~

As you might have guessed, Nowak took the case... We all know that it was a dumb thing to do... Somebody was murdered--it meant that the guilty person would be that individual who killed somebody! I think it was the fact that his mother saw her son as the happiest person she ever met... What can you say to that? So he took it, and nearly found himself, also killed! And it all started when Nick found a deposit in Lenny's account!

Halfway down the page, there was a circled deposit for three thousand, five hundred, and sixty-four dollars.

The four roommates had been temp's for a company and were given various assignments. Nick soon realized that the only way to track the money was to go undercover... And being a secretary wasn't something he would ever choose to be! Yet, here he was... Because of course, everybody knows that the secretaries are the ones who get "hit on" by the bosses... right?

I thoroughly enjoyed the light mysteries and know you will too! Covering multiple books within one review is not easy to do, but I've tried to give you a sense of the various storylines... The book is for fun reading. Nick Nowak is a macho man living in Chicago in the early 80s who easily and quickly sets out to solve the problems he has agreed to handle. The fact that he gets sidetracked often will also possibly be of interest to those who read this series... 

GABixlerReviews