Elaine Faber

An edited scene from Black Cat and the Lethal Lawyer

Wilbur parked his Jeep about a quarter mile from the barn behind a pile of boulders. He stuffed a pair of black gloves and a lady’s stocking into his jacket pocket. He crept along the desert, moving from one clump of shrubs to the next until he heard music coming from the barn where the dance was already in full swing. The aroma of spicy barbecued chicken drifting through the air made his mouth water.

Wilbur swallowed and licked his lips. It had been a long time since lunch. His stomach growled. Waves of nausea spread through him, partly from hunger and partly from nervousness, thinking of what he was about to do.

The shrubs and garden structures concealed his movements as he circled the yard and approached Mrs. Milton’s house. Wilbur opened the screen door and tiptoed through the kitchen. He paused to listen. No sound except for the faint music drifting from the barn. He crept up the back stairs, knowing Mrs. Martin hadn’t attended the barn dance due to a sprained ankle.

The hallway was in semi-darkness except for a small scented candle burning on the hall table. Wilbur removed the stocking from his pocket and pulled it over his head. He tightened his fingers around a heavy metal flashlight as he approached Mrs. Martin’s room, where a thin stream of light shone beneath her bedroom door. The sweat felt sticky inside his gloves as he reached for the doorknob. He paused, hearing voices inside the bedroom. She was awake, and someone was in there with her.  

Wilbur hurried across the hall into the bathroom, left the door slightly ajar, and peered through the crack in the door, willing the person to leave so he could get on with his task.

He stood in the dark, thinking about what he must do. It was a shame he had to kill her. He actually liked the old woman, but now she was talking about leaving her fortune to one of her grandchildren and he had to act before she changed her will.

It seemed like hours until the housekeeper came out the door, carrying a dinner tray with the little marmalade cat winding around her feet.

“Alright, little one. Come with me to the kitchen and I’ll get you a treat,” he heard her say. The cat turned and looked back. Wilbur froze. Had she heard something? Would she come back and give away his hiding place? Wilbur closed his eyes. Within a few seconds, he heard the kitchen door click. He let out his breath with a gasp and realized he’d been holding it.

The hallway was quiet. Mrs. Lassiter’s light went out. He stood in the dark, counting to 1000, waiting for her to go to sleep, going over every detail; how he would kill her with the flashlight, then run down the back stairs to his Jeep, rush back to the motel, and pretend great shock and disbelief tomorrow when he heard of her most unfortunate demise.

When he felt enough time had elapsed, he gripped the flashlight, held his breath, slowly turned the doorknob, and pushed open Mrs. Lassiter’s bedroom door.

****

The big black and white cat lay snuggled close to her side, drifting between wakefulness and sleep, comfortable and warm, listening to the music drifting through the window. The sound of the doorknob turning brought him fully awake. His ears pricked forward. He jumped silently from the bed onto the floor and then eased to the top of the dresser by the door. He crouched, his gaze riveted on the doorknob as it gradually turned. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. His muscles tensed.

He waited.

The door inched open.

The next moment, the door flung open and a dark figure rushed across the room to Mrs. Martin’s bed. The intruder swung the flashlight, striking the sleeping woman’s temple. Blood flowed from the wound, and she lay still as blood seeped into the pillow beneath her head. Thumper shrieked and leaped from the dresser onto the killer’s back, digging his claws into the man’s shoulders.

Wilbur screamed and dropped the flashlight. He jerked from side to side, trying to dislodge his attacker. Thumper’s fangs sank deep into the flesh of his neck. Wilbur grabbed the squirming cat around the throat, yanked him loose, and flung him across the room. He screamed again as the cat’s teeth left a gaping hole where his teeth had been embedded in the flesh. Blood poured from the bite, dripped down his back, and spattered across the bed. Thumper’s body whacked into the dresser, and he lay still on the floor. Wilbur rushed from the room and down the back stairs. His heart pounded as if it would explode through his chest.  The scratches around his ears stung, and the bite in the back of his neck throbbed. From time to time, he reached up and touched the wound in his neck, cursing the beast.

All his plans were in ruins. His alibi was in shambles. His blood and DNA were at the crime scene, thanks to the cat. It wouldn’t take the police long to connect the dots, and his alibi wouldn’t hold water. He had planned that by the time the body was found, he would be safely out of town.

Now the cat was literally out of the bag, and the house was in an uproar, and he was nowhere near his motel and an alibi.

Wilber clenched his fists and gritted his teeth, furious that a cat had foiled his plan. He hoped the damn thing broke its neck when it hit the dresser. He smiled at the thought and stumbled on through the darkness. He felt a sense of relief when the shadow of his jeep loomed in the distance.

Now he had to decide what to do. Should he go back to the motel and tough it out? No, they would be able to test the blood in the bedroom and prove he was the attacker. There wasn’t any choice. He had to leave the country.

He smiled at the sight of his 1945 Jeep. A smile flitted across his face and quickly disappeared when another stab of pain surged through the back of his neck.

He grabbed the steering wheel and flung himself through the open door into the driver’s seat. He turned the key and pressed the starter on the floor. There was a click as the solenoid tried to engage the starter motor, but it didn’t have enough power to turn over the engine. He pressed it again. There was a click and then silence as the battery went completely dead. Vintage cars were always temperamental.

Wilbur slammed the steering wheel with the butt of his hand. Now what? The Mexican border was only four miles away. And how would that work? They’d be watching for his car at the border. Oh, look there. Here comes the only 1945 restored Jeep in the state of Texas. Do you think it's Wilbur Breckinridge, the guy with no alibi, a chomp out of the back of his neck, and blood all over his clothes? Do you think?

Forget the border. Wilbur scooted down in the seat to sleep, stifling a yawn. He’d make a better plan in the morning.

He awoke with a start. For a moment, he wondered what he was doing, sitting in his jeep in the middle of the desert. He shuddered at the memory of Mrs. Martin’s blood-soaked head. My God, I did it. I killed her. 

Pain pulsed through the back of his neck. He touched the cat bite, and his hand came away with tinges of blood on his fingers. He wiped his hand on his pants and cursed.

Wilbur’s heart leaped with the thought that maybe the Jeep would start this morning. He turned the key, hit the starter, and crossed his fingers. Click. Click. Nothing.

He stepped out of the Jeep and pulled his rifle from its vintage scabbard by the front fender. He slammed the bolt back and then forward, chambering a round, and set the safety. With the sharp metallic clank, all the desert sounds went silent. Wilbur ran his hand lovingly over the front fender, bidding his beloved vehicle farewell forever, and started walking toward the canyon and the destiny that awaited him.

***

You can purchase Black Cat and the Lethal Lawyer at Amazon e-book...   http://tinyurl.com/q3qrgyu

My latest published novel, Spirit Woman Legends and Lies is now available at Amazon for just $3.99 (e-book). (https://tinyurl.com/ym2t37yy)

The Spirit Woman and her mountain lion companion are once again sighted in the hills near Lockleer Mountain.

Shortly after Joe and his brother, Cyrus, quarrel over the ownership of a winning million-dollar lottery ticket, Cyrus’s mutilated body is found in the mountains, ravaged by the local wildlife.

When stolen hospital drugs are found in the dead man’s home, murder is suspected. Sighting of the Spirit Woman and her mountain lion are once again seen in the nearby mountains. Has she returned to aid the troubled town? And, surely there is enough trouble to warrant her return.

Lou Shoemaker, owner of the local sewer truck, the Pooper Scooper, befriends Rosita Ramirez, a transient with two children, who came to Lockleer Mountain to sell tamales. Soon, gossip erupts about Rosita and the local Baptist pastor. The church deacons fear the gossip will discourage the membership and destroy the church. Deputy Nate and Sheriff Peabody must find and expose a killer and track down the perpetrator of the gossip, or the pastor will be forced to leave the church.

Will the Spirit Woman and her companions resolve the troubles that plague the rural community?

Today, I welcome my author friend, June Gillam to my site with an interview about her latest novel.

Welcome, June. With the launch of your fourth thriller novel, can you share a few ideas about your writing journey?

"Why do you think someone would enjoy reading this particular story?"

I’m hoping all mothers, grandmothers and basketball fans will enjoy House of Hoops because it’s a many-layered suspense novel set in 2019 between Halloween and New Year’s Day, 2020, before Covid-19 changed our world. So in that way, it’s a sort of escape back to better, or at least more normal, times. Hillary Broome is the mother of a twelve-year-old basketball phenom named Claire, and is set in Sacramento, where Hillary handles public relations for a still-under-construction community center near the NBA basketball arena downtown, the site of continuing controversy among Sacramentans.

"Is this is a series? If so, tell us about the other books. "

In House of Cuts, the first book in the series, young reporter Hillary Broome’s article on a grisly murder catapults her byline from California into the national limelight and threatens to expose a shameful secret that could ruin her career—as well as bring her to the crazed killer’s attention. Hillary teams up with a lonely detective in a race to catch the cutthroat before he can get to a woman who's begun to fill a void in Hillary's heart left by the mother who abandoned her years ago.

A powerful California developer collapses at a funeral in the second book, House of Dads, which throws reporter Hillary into a network of jealousy and greed. In the midst of a new romance, she's forced to investigate foul play from disgruntled home-owners, mortgage bankers, and her own family members spiraling into homicidal madness.

In House of Eire, Hillary flies to Ireland on a family vacation and digs into her Irish roots, but finds herself uncovering deadly secrets in the land of a thousand welcomes, secrets that put at stake the lives of friends and family, including Hillary’s six-year-old daughter Claire.

By Book 4, House of Hoops, Hillary’s found a niche working public relations for a soon-to-open community center near Sacramento’s downtown Golden 1 Center as she aims to be a good mother to her volatile twelve-year-old basketball phenom daughter. Her attention is diverted by a former professor who’s determined to demonize the community center as symbolic of gentrification in need of destruction.

"Where do the ideas for your books come from?"

Mostly from problems I see in our culture. For example, House of Cuts came about when my husband was forced to take early retirement from the L. A. Times due to their financial strategy. This just about killed my husband because he so identified himself with his job. I wondered what if it was a butcher whose little shop was forced out of business by a big superstore moving in. What if he was bent on revenge at losing his identity? That was the origin of Melvin the Butcher.

"Where can we get your book?"

The eBook is $3.99 and paperback is $10.99 for now and later will join the other three Hillary Broome novels on Audible. https://amzn.to/34h2IZd It is available on Amazon and other outlets on its Halloween and basketball-themed launch party over my  Zoom launch. (see below) Zoom launch purchasers of House of Hoops will get a chance to name a character in Book 5 of the series, House of White Crows.

"Give us your brief bio."

Sacramento native June Gillam started out as a poet before realizing her poems wanted to become stories. Her Hillary Broome novels resist placement into traditional genres and are like the proverbial Box of Chocolates: June says her work best fits into “the social problem novel,” in which various characters personify issues around region, class, race, gender, or economics to form an important part of the plot. Mostly, June loves exploring what can transform a normal person into one mad enough to kill. Her books are published by her Gorilla Girl Ink imprint, and the story of how she got that name is on her website. She has taught English at San Joaquin Delta College since 1990 and is happily involved in several Northern California writing groups, one of which she thanks in House of Hoops Acknowledgments as Elaine’s Lunch Bunch.

The blurb on the back of my cozy cat mystery reads something like this. ‘While Black Cat narrates his own challenges back home, his mistress, Kimberlee, follows a clue to a lost treasure she found in a WWII soldier’s diary. It sends her on a treasure hunt to Austria. Little does she know she is on a collision course with a stalker determined to steal the diary and reach the treasure…blah…blah…blah...’

The back of the cover cannot explain the plot’s humor, drama, intrigue, or the battle on the beaches of Normandy and the friendship struck between Dewey and a German soldier recorded in the diary, or the beauty of Austria, or the intrigue as Kimberlee matches wits with the stalker.

When I first starting writing years ago, no one told me there was more to ‘being an author’ than plots and dialogue. In these days of limited acceptance by traditional publishing houses unless one has achieved personal fame or fortune and a platform of 10,000, an author must resort to Indie Publishing and be a jack of all trades.

Beyond writing talent, one must master the skills of publicist, bookkeeper, full time blogger, cover artist, and skilled orator, always keeping an eye and ear open for opportunities to participate on author panels and speaking engagements. Though not necessarily a ‘master’ at any of the above mentioned skills, I’ve become somewhat competent in most. Now, I’ve learned I must master one more skill... Memorize an ‘elevator pitch’ on the off chance that, perhaps in a coffee shop or the dry cleaners, I should run into a literary agent sipping a Carmel Macchiato or picking up dry cleaning.

It is imperative to command the agent’s undivided attention with an opening hook, and define my scintillating plot’s originality. I must convince him everyone from a cowboy in Texas to a stock broker in Hollywood would buy my book with his last green dollar, and how it will become a Best Seller…and accomplish all this in sixty seconds or less.

I have practiced my ‘elevator pitch’ in front of a three-way mirror and perfected where to smile, when to pause for special effect, and when to use hand motions to emphasize the final sentence. It has become second nature and the words now roll off my tongue like scotch tape at a Christmas party.

Unfortunately, in my case, I fear if I should ever be fortunate enough to find myself on that much discussed elevator with an agent, in spite of my good intentions and hours of practice, I expect the conversation would more likely go something like this.

“Uh… You’re that Zondervan guy, right! Wait. Let me push this button and stop the elevator. I never thought… I have some notes here somewhere. Where is that paper? Well, never mind. I wrote a book, see? You’re not going anywhere special right now, right? About that book I wrote… You’re gonna love it. I called it Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey’s Diary. Do you like cats? It’s narrated partly by the cat. At least half of it. The other half is in Austria. There’s a stolen treasure, see and Kimberlee…that’s the lady, not the cat. She finds a clue in a diary. Well, you have to read it. So, there’s this cat…see….

****

Black Cat and the Secret in Dewey's Diary is available on Amazon for $3.99  https://tinyurl.com/vgyP89s

Black Cat and the Lethal Lawyer

A book review by Thumper, the cat with the memories.

Thumper’s the name. We just got to Grandmother’s Texas ranch and I met this babe…a cream tabby vixen with eyes the color of mustard and stripes the color of marigolds. Yowza! It was love at first sight.

After a brief courtship and an ‘understanding,’ Noe-Noe and I were hanging out by the river where we overheard Grandmother’s lawyer and the stable master talking. Seems the lawyer was upset that Grandma plans to change her beneficiary from the Children’s program he sponsors to either my person, Kimberlee, or her cousin, Dorian. Worse yet, he intends to kill Grandmother.

Well, let me tell you, it was enough to twitch the whiskers off a striped skunk! Noe-Noe and I vowed to keep the old gal safe, even though Grandmother’s reason for bringing the family to Texas isn’t the sweet family reunion she claimed. She has an ulterior motive to destroy Kimberlee’s family. In spite of Grandma’s wicked agenda, Noe-Noe and I agreed we had to protect the old biddy. She is family after all, and isn’t it every cat’s duty to protect his family?

What happened to our fun-filled family reunion? Grandma’s on a roll to disrupt Kimberlee’s life. The attorney plans to kill Grandma and now we’re suspecting the stable master is hiding a secret identity! It’s turned into a series of cat-astrophies that shouldn’t happen to a dog.

Speaking of a dog, cousin Dorian brought her dog to Texas, too. When Kimberlee took him for a walk out on the desert, she almost stepped on a rattlesnake. Yikes! Good thing I wasn’t with her. I’d rather face a killer any day of the week. A rattlesnake? …not so much.

If I was of a mind, I could clue you into what’s behind some of the mysteries around here. If you read my first book, Black Cat’s Legacy, you already know that with the aid of my ancestors’ memories, I helped Kimberlee solve some of the Fern Lake mysteries. Same thing here in Texas. There’s the stable master, for instance. Thanks to my great grandfather’s memory, I know that he was involved when Kimberlee’s father was murdered. And, what about Grandmother’s sinister plot with regard to Kimberlee’s little girl? Things are going from bad to worse and there’s only so much a cat can do.

I can’t wait to go home to Fern Lake. Here’s the problem. When we leave, Kimberlee says I have to say farewell to my soul-mate, Noe-Noe. (Big cat sigh). Kimberlee once said, ‘Why do we lose the things we love and things that bring us grief, hang around like warts on the end of your tail?’ That was paraphrased, of course, but you get the drift. Perhaps the fates will intervene and things will turn out okay. Black Cat and the Lethal Lawyer is a cozy mystery, after all!)

***

Elaine Faber’s short stories have appeared in multiple magazines and fourteen anthologies. She is a member of Sisters in Crime, Cat Writers Association, and Northern California Publisher and Authors. Elaine enjoys speaking on mystery panels and book signing events. Black Cat’s Legacy and Black Cat and the Lethal Lawyer are light romance and cozy cat mysteries. who with the aid of his ancestors’ memories, Thumper (Black Cat) helps Kimberlee solve the mysteries. The third book in the series is Black Cat and the Accidental Angel.

All novels are available at Amazon in print and digital. http://tinyurl.com/q3qrgyu

Black Cat and the Lethal Lawyer will publish about November 1, 2014. Signed paperback copies are available from me for $13.00 (free postage).

In this story, Thumper and his family visit Kimberlee’s grandmother’s Texas horse ranch. Grandmother has promised to choose a beneficiary to inherit her estate. But things aren’t always as they seem.

Grandmother’s attorney is embezzling Grandmother’s money through a false Children’s Society. Someone’s true identity is called into question and he may be involved with a cold case murder. Could things get any worse? Indeed they can. Thumper uncovers a murder plot and most face a killer to save Grandmother. She is family, after all, even though he knows the unscrupulous reason she brought the family to Texas…

The only good thing about wretched Texas vacation is meeting the love of his life, Noe-Noe. (Below is an edited passage from the day they met.)

A delightful scent wafted across the room, teasing his nostrils and making the hair on the back of his neck stand erect. The scent tasted familiar and yet…evocative and foreign.

Oh, moment of discovery, sweet love’s fantasy revealed. He poked his head from beneath the sofa and lifted his nose, drew in the bouquet, rolled it around his tongue and teeth, seeking to identify the tantalizing bouquet. Aha. The flavor of a feminine flower, not a figment of his furtive fantasy.

She drew him as if by magic−teasing, taunting, beguiling, until his senses reeled. He followed the fragrance into the library, his gaze traveling up the bookcases. Their eyes met as the fascinating creature peered down from the top of the bookshelf, her front toes curled beneath her breast. The sun streaming through the window shimmered off her silken ears. Her fur, like rows of buttercups set in a field of marigolds, shot through a summer sunset. Her eyes, midnight slits peeking through golden moons. Her sensuous tail coiled around her nose, rising and falling in a hypnotizing rhythm, matched the thud of his heart.

Electricity crackled. She was not a gossamer dream, but a lissome feline goddess. She stared down from atop the shelf −a living, breathing, challenge to his masterful art of woomanship.
His interest in this golden-haired vixen was both perplexing and titillating.
He’d had his share of lady friends, though he was not obsessed with romance. He fancied himself a diplomatic lover, not given to one-night stands, but more discerning in his treatment of female companions. But, this enticing creature was something a cat could sink his teeth into. This lady begged a more committed long-term relationship.

Now, to put his best foot forward…but which foot? All four of his nimble black legs ended in elegant, snowy white feet with multiple toes. He stretched, raised his rear to display his muscular posterior and tight gluts. He then twisted into a three-point pretzel-like position and licked his inner thighs. These contortions were calculated to demonstrate his strongest attributes and yet reveal a willingness to concede control, a maneuver that had never failed to impress a lady cat yet.

“Howdy, stranger. New in town?” The sound of her voice, like the thrum of a hummingbird’s wings.

He stared into her enchanting face−the angle of her teasing whiskers−the slant of taunting ears−her tantalizing eyes, tinged ever so slightly with green, glittered in the sunlight. Her tiny pointed teeth−perfection.She twitched her tail.

Okay, you’re up, Thumper. Remember, you don’t get a second chance to make a first impression. “Thumper’s the name. Brought the family to visit the grandmother. Care to show me around?” He licked his bib and stared out the window. “Not that it matters one way or the other if you do or don’t, you understand. Just sayin.’” Please say yes, oh please, please, say yes…

“Thumper? What kind of name is that? Sounds like a rabbit.”

His heart crumpled. There it was again, that silly name. Thumper−like the bunny. How many times had he wished they had named him Butch or Cruncher. But no−he had to go through life as−Thumper. His dream of a romantic fling with this straw-colored vixen had as much chance as a balloon at a porcupine’s birthday party. He sighed.
Might as well leave before things get ugly. He turned and shuffled to the door.

“Wait.”

He stopped. His ears perked, whiskers taunt, and glanced back. “Yes?”

She stood and rearranged her sumptuous body. No question. All her curves were in the right places. “Don’t go yet, Thumper. I like rabbits...”

Avid mystery readers, whatever version of mystery they prefer, whether Thriller or Cozy mysteries, read multiple books each year. They acquire their reading material through book sales, garage sales, the library, borrowed from a friend and sometimes, though rarely, actually purchased from the author. At least there is a demand, so there is a need for supply.

Let’s pretend for a minute, we’re an author desirous of launching a new mystery series.

After careful analysis of a number of mysteries, we see a tried and true template; apparently we must follow to guarantee success.
Our story needs a female sleuth, preferably blonde and beautiful. She has a German Shepard in order to capture the animal lovers out there. The dog doesn’t have to help solve the crime, but if he can, so much the better. Now she needs an unusual job or hobby so she can encounter the crime which the inept police force can’t solve. Don’t forget the sweetheart somehow connected to the police department, otherwise how could she access the official information generally withheld from the public?

Sadly, most of the best jobs or hobbies have been taken by other mystery series’. We already have book store owners, catering services, coffee houses, writers, and private detectives, to name just a few. We need a career that hasn’t been done to death, but one that will give our sleuth access to plenty of material. It is going to be a series, after all.

How about a lady sewer technician who pumps out septic tanks? She’d be in plenty of back yards spotting nefarious going’s-on, or how about the Jehovah’s Witness that goes door to door handing out literature. Plenty of opportunities to look beyond the screen door and see someone bound and gagged…

Maybe not. Let’s stick with the 'sewer-pumper-outer'.

So let’s see…to follow the template formula. The plumber and her quirky sidekick (did I forget the quirky friend?) find a body in the pump house. Proceed to red herrings, a romantic interlude, unrequited love, and suspicious characters, all with alibis. Lots of flavor of plumbing tossed in, stopped up toilets, overflowing bathtubs, (a humorous scene or two), and move right on to the climax where our heroine goes alone to meet the villain in a warehouse, but doesn’t tell anyone where she’s going. She is captured, strung up by her thumbs to the rafters, death being imminent until her detective boyfriend and her dog burst down the door and save her life. The murderer is revealed, every toilet is unstopped, every drain unplugged and the heroine and detective ride off into the sunset in the sewer-truck. The end.

That’s the template. Lots of ways to change up the various topics; hobbies, quirky friend, red herrings, suspects, romantic interludes, murder, theft, kidnapping, contraband, illegal alien housekeeper, secret message or what-have-you that begins the mystery, identity of villain (always the most unexpected member of the cast) and final climax, etc. This is the formulaic template, with assorted variations, that most mysteries novels follow.

When will a brave author be willing to break the mold, or at least one who dares to write a mystery that doesn’t end with the heroine strung up in the barn (figuratively speaking)? Sadly, as long as the public is willing to buy these trite storylines, mystery books will continue to follow the same template.

What are your thoughts about books with similar storylines?