Meet My Character -- Blog Tour

I've been asked by author Kate Wyland, who writes wonderful romantic suspense novels, to participate in the "Meet My Character Blog Tour". You should pop over to her blog -- when you're done here, of course -- and see what she has to say about one of the characters she writes about. However, since you're here, allow me to introduce you to Thea Campbell, the protagonist in my mystery series.

1. What is the name of your character?
Thea Campbell ... unless you're her mother. Then her name is Theodora Bernadette Campbell. Big name for a little person.

2.Is she a fictional or historic person?
Totally fictional -- I swear.

3. When and where is the story set?
The setting is not fictional. It's present-day, in the real-life town of Snohomish, Washington -- at least in most of the books. Thea also will find herself in Montana, Issaquah, WA, and Seattle.

4.What should we know about her?
She's 29 when the series begins and single, owns her own accounting business that she operates out of her small Craftsman style house, and owns a horse she rides dressage. Her younger sister Juliet lives in town, too, as do her great aunt and uncle. Her sister is a bit of a wild-child, so Thea feels responsible for her (not an easy thing). Her aunt and uncle are transplanted Brits, and lend support to both the young women when trouble comes their way -- and her uncle (a former Olympic dressage rider for Great Britain) coaches Thea in dressage. I probably should mention, too, that Thea's horse seems to have a psychic connection with her.

5. What is the main conflict? What messes up her life?
In the first book, Death By A Dark Horse, Thea's horse is stolen and the thief is found murdered. The supposed thief also happens to be Thea's uncle's start student and Thea is suspected of offing the young woman. 

6. What is the personal goal of the character?
Thea believes she has her life all planned out. She likes her nice predictable life. A lot. She throws her energy into clearing herself of suspicion of murder. In the process more pieces of her life start to shift and fall out of her control, including her love life. Sure, she has a boyfriend ... a nice, safe (is he really?) attorney who doesn't inspire her. She doesn't expect to be blindsided by a paleontology professor with intense blue eyes and a tendency to wade into the middle of trouble.

7. What are the other books in the series?
Death By a Dark Horse is the first. In order are ...
Levels of Deception
An Error in Judgment
BushWhacked
Shooting to Kill
Saving the Queen of Diamonds
and ... brand new, not a mystery, but a romantic comedy ... Carried Away

Next week look for Kait Carson, who writes mysteries set in the hot tropics of Florida, and Lisa Stowe whose mysteries are set in the beautiful but dangerous mountains of Idaho.

What to do When a Book Lacks a Ttitle

In case you've been wondering where I've been lately, allow me to clear that up for you. I've been slaving away on the third book in the Thea Campbell Mystery Series. It's getting close to done -- as in final edits -- BUT I'm stuck. The book has no title. This isn't unusual for me. I'm terrible at titles. Very soon here, I'm going to have a finished, polished manuscript and no title. Which means no book cover, which also means no way to make it available to readers.

This is where you come in. This is my call for help!

Put on your thinking caps, folks, and send your suggestions. Send lots! Whosever suggestion is chosen will get a free copy of the book, and their name in the acknowledgments. If several of you offer up the same suggestions, then you all get the same prize. If I use a combination of suggestions, then all those who helped get the  prize, too.

So…in the spirit of getting you on the right track, here's the set up and the blurb:

The story takes place in and around Snohomish, Seattle, and nearby Issaquah, and involves the sudden death of a dressage judge at the annual awards banquet for the Puget Sound Dressage Society.

Blackie, Thea's alleged psychic horse, is involved to a small degree, as is a valuable fossil collection (to a larger degree).

The back-cover blurb will go something like this:

Wealthy dressage judge Sig Paalmann keels over at the annual Puget Sound Dressage Society awards banquet, leaving enigmatic last words and a bride of two months -- Thea's long-time friend, Andrea. Sig's reputation for arrogance and scathing criticism leaves no one sorry he's gone, much less Thea, but she is determined to support her friend through the crisis. When Andrea is arrested for her husband's murder, Thea's support turns to investigation. Secrets, lies, greed, and dangerous passions challenge Thea and Paul to put their personal relationship struggles aside in order to clear Andrea. But when an old nemesis appears on the scene they have more to worry about than either of them anticipated. This unforeseen player could provided the necessary assistance for solving the crime -- or he could be the one orchestrating the grave danger waiting for Andrea, Thea and Paul.

The contest will continue until a winner is chosen, and the winner announced here…and pretty much everywhere else. If you have questions about the plot (other than whodunit), ask away and I'll give you the best answers I can. If you'd rather send me your suggestions or questions via email, that's good, too. Get in touch with me at susan@susanschreyer.com

Thanks for all your help! Have at it, everyone!!

Susan

Here some more info on the story -- hopefully without giving too much away. The victim is a wealthy dressage judge who collects many things: art, cars, fossils, people -- the people he collects puts  in positions where they are dependent upon him in any of a variety of ways, mostly financial. The fossil collection is uber-private and reported to be the most extensive private collection in the country (this appeals to Paul, the paleontologist). The cause of death is an insulin overdose -- he is diabetic. Diabetes plays an important role throughout the story. Passion is a theme -- both the romantic kind and the kind that drives someone's ambition in a professional sense

A Conversation with Paul Hudson

It has been pointed out to me (thank you, Juliet) that I haven't interviewed any of the men from Death By A Dark Horse or Levels Of Deception except Jonathan. While entertaining, he's not as admirable as some of us (Juliet) would like. To correct the skewed interview archive I've asked Paul Hudson, leading man of the Thea Campbell Mystery Series, to be here today and give us some of the intimate details of his sexy self.

Susan Schreyer: Welcome Paul, glad you could stop by.

Paul Hudson: Susan, you said this wasn't going to be too personal.

SS: Oh! Well, (laughs) don't worry. [aside to readers] much. [to Paul]  So, let's get started.

PH: Fire away.

SS: In Death By A Dark Horse we are shown contrasting glimpses of you. You're an intellectual, but you get your hands dirty working on farm equipment. You dress conservatively, yet you sport an earring. You're pretty tuned in to other people's feelings, yet you can (rather loudly) lose your temper. In Levels of Deception we also see your ability to keep your cool and be passionate as well. You're a pretty complex guy.

PH: Not really. I've just learned to adapt, thanks to a little sister who wouldn't let me be a jerk, and an older brother who continues to be one. I wouldn't call myself an intellectual --

SS: But you've got a PhD.

PH: It was a means to an end. Paleontology and geology fascinate me. Earning a PhD was a way to stay immersed in it.

SS: What is it about dinosaurs and rocks that fascinate you?

PH: (laughs) Honestly? There's a certain, oh, romantic appeal to it. Looking at a mountain range, or desert, or old river bed grabs my imagination. What was this spot like millions of years ago? What forces caused it to change? Was it gradual, or catastrophic? What animals roamed here, how did they live, what did they look like? Sound like? Smell like? Finding bits of answers, bits of new information, is like putting a puzzle together without knowing the picture you're going for. There are always surprises and more questions.

SS: Like a detective story!

PH: (laughs again) Right.

SS: Do you ride horses like Thea?

PH: I can. 

SS: No kidding! I didn't know that. Are you good?

PH: Just good enough to borrow Henry's horse and go trail riding with Thea and maybe jump a log or two.

SS: Did she teach you?

PH: No, Miguel taught me the basics when I was a teenager.

SS: Miguel? You keep surprising me!

PH: Yeah. Miguel did rodeos when he was a kid -- up until he came to Snohomish to manage Copper Creek for my aunt Delores -- so he knows how to handle a horse. My folks sent me out here in the summers from Minneapolis to clean stalls. They hoped hard labor would straighten me out, and I just wanted to get out of the house. The first week I was here Miguel had a word or two to say about my attitude toward the horses and clients. He figured if I had a taste of what the people who came here to ride experienced in order to do what they loved I'd show more respect. 

SS: Sounds like you were a bit difficult. So, did it work? Did learning to ride straighten you out?

PH: Well, I don't know about that, but I gained some respect. In fact, Thea taught me a thing or two about handling a horse when she was ten and a student here.

SS: I thought you two met just last year?

PH: We did, for all intents and purposes. She doesn't remember me from back then.

SS: Too interested in the horses to notice the cute barn help, huh? So, what happened when she was ten?

PH: I was having some problems leading a horse into his stall. Thea thought I was sending mixed signals and being too rough. She marched over and read me the riot act, then showed me how to do it right. She was a pretty gutsy little kid -- not exactly what I was thinking at the time, though. Embarrassed me enough to stick in my memory.

SS: A little hard on a fifteen-year-old ego to have a little girl show him up, huh?

PH: Oh, yeah. I still remember her lecture. (Smiles) She's still pretty sure of herself.

SS: I think you like that about her.

PH: True enough.

SS: Now, this wasn't so bad -- or horribly personal -- was it?

PH: No. You were right.

SS: Let's finish up with some rapid-fire questions with quick, off the cuff one-word answers.

PH: Shoot.

SS: Favorite color?

PH: Uh...blue?

SS: Favorite food?

PH: Barbecue anything.

SS: Middle name?

PH: Anthony.

SS: Sport?

PH: Soccer.

SS: Lights on or off?

PH: On ... uh...hang on a sec.

SS: Boxers or brief?

PH: Uh, Susan --

SS: Oh, commando! Dress left or right?

PH: Okay, we're done. Juliet put you up to this, didn't she?

SS: There had to be some concessions. You know how she is!

Levels Of Deception -- Sample

We're working hard, getting closer to the release of Levels Of Deception -- the second in the Thea Campbell mystery series! This adventure starts in Snohomish, Washington before sending Thea into the fossil-laden hills of Montana on a mission to clear Paul of the suspicion of theft and solve the murder that brought the thefts to light. How she manages to stay alive, much less hang on to her sanity is a wonder!

Here's the first chapter!

Levels of Deception -- Chapter 1 

Paul's e-mail said the craters left at the dig site in Montana had likely been made by big earth-moving equipment. They were literally deep enough to swallow a truck. Every last fossil Paul located last year was gone. With a scant two days before the start of his fieldwork class, he needed my help. Now. He was the professor in charge.

I shut down my computer, shoved my camera and the other assorted items he'd listed into a tote bag, and dressed at a rate that would have impressed Wonder Woman. He and I had been together for three blissful, intense months, and this was my first opportunity to show him I'd be there for him when he had a crisis. I flew out my front door and into the fickle Northwest summer sunshine, headed for Seattle and the Burke Museum. I was "girlfriend on a mission" doing everything she could to help the man she was crazy about.

In the short while it took to drive south from Snohomish, and the long while I spent bogged down in Seattle's frustrating rush-hour traffic near the University District, I mentally reviewed Paul's instructions and rehearsed the procedures: Find the parking garage, speed-walk to the museum's archives, locate and photograph each of the fifteen fossils he listed, in the manner he indicated, zip home and e-mail him the photographs. Piece of cake. I'd be a hero and have time to take a dressage lesson on my horse after a full day of work, exactly as I'd planned before reading Paul's e-mail.

However, the annoying delays I'd experienced negotiating the U District's narrow, clogged streets were nothing compared to what I found when I went through the big double doors to the museum's basement archives. My mission stood in danger of being aborted. I stood toe-to-desk with a guard-dragon masquerading as a severely coiffed, gray-haired receptionist. She would not let me pass and would not give me information. There was no negotiating with this woman. I wanted to smite her precious rules right off her thin, tight, policy-reciting lips.

"I'm sorry, Miss Campbell, I told you. I can't let you into the archives," Mrs. Mildred Peabody said, with a sanctimonious lift of her chin and a haughty flare of her nostrils.

Sorry my ass. I drew a breath to plead my case, but she cut me off.

"You're not a student or staff member. The regulations are clear. You missed your appointment time by an hour. General access to the archives must be limited to staff and students or research will suffer. Appointments are meant to be kept." She folded her hands on her aircraft carrier-sized desk. Her gaze did not budge, and her mouth formed an exact, upside-down U.

Freaking stubborn lizard-woman.

"I didn't have an appointment," I said, lowering my heavy bag to the floor and pulling out the printed e-mail. "My instructions arrived at eight this morning." I waved the print-out like a battle flag. "I drove in immediately. Thirty-four and a half miles from Snohomish. Dr. Hudson said," I cleared my throat, "'Go to the archives, find the specimens listed below, use your digital camera and take three views of each. Get them to me yesterday.'" For a long moment the dragon and I locked in a glare-off over the top of the paper. "Dr. Hudson made no mention of an appointment." He'd also failed to mention this potentially mission-foiling road block. I flipped the paper around and held it at arm's length for her to verify.

Her gaze skimmed along the e-mail over the top of her red-framed glasses, then flashed back to me as though she believed eye contact was all that held me in check. Clearly she had no intention of reading anything. Her rule was law. Any reasonable person would have recognized this as an emergency. Any reasonable person would have pitched in to help. Any reasonable person would have been, dammit, reasonable.

"I don't understand why you can't make an exception in an emergency." I crossed my arms. The e-mail still clutched in my hand now sported new creases thanks to my frustration.

"This is not an emergency." The little lines that led the way to her upper lip deepened into furrows.

"Yes, it is." I forced my jaw and mouth to relax so they wouldn't match hers.

Her eyes sparked. "If we make an exception for one person then it won't be long until we have a veritable stream of people wandering in off the street. That's what the museum upstairs is for. Those are the rules."

I'd be damned if I was leaving the museum's archives without the pictures. I opened my mouth, intending to defeat her with the calm, faultless logic that pointed out how a professor's emergency needs for his class pre-empted her trivial protocol, but my temper substituted words and turned up the volume of my voice.

"Then I guess you'll have to be the one to explain to Dr. Hudson why he can't get the material he needs for his fieldwork class, and why the robbery of his dig site isn't as important as your, your rules."

"Is there a problem here?" The man's voice came from behind me.

I spun, ready to defend my mission to the newest obstacle on the scene, but didn't get the chance. A girlish purr answered the very tall and angular middle-aged man first.

"Dr. Fogel."

I swiveled back to see who else had shown up. No one. No one new, that is. A glow bathed Mrs. Peabody's cheeks. She removed her glasses and delicately touched the edge of her crisp, white collar. The dragon had turned into the damsel, and she wasn't in distress. Astounding.

"This is Thea Campbell. She --"

"Oh, you're Thea," he said, his tone both surprised and pleased.

I made another quick pivot.

Dr. Fogel extended his hand. Pure reflex caused me to shake it. "Nice to meet you. I'm Andrew Fogel. Paul dropped me a note, said you'd be by sometime this morning. Helping him with some material he needs, eh?"

The unexpected courtesy caused me to stumble over my "Yes." I darted a sideways glance at Mrs. Peabody. Her gaze narrowed ever so slightly at me before focusing softly on Dr. Fogel.

"Dr. Fogel, Miss Campbell isn't a student or staff member." She seemed to be having trouble holding down a confident little smirk -- like she'd found the trump card necessary to boot me out.

I geared up to argue my case once more, but didn't get the chance.

He smiled thinly at Mrs. Peabody. "I guess you'll need to give her directions, then. I'm off to my meeting." He turned to me. "I'm sure Mrs. Peabody will give you all the assistance you need." With a minute nod, he was out the door. I hadn't had time to gather my wits and thank him.

"Through there." Mrs. Peabody pointed her glasses to a set of double doors to the right, her expression a wintry shade of neutral. "Take the first right and second left. There will be a door on the right. The sign says 'Storage: Vertebrate Fossils'. The light switches are to the left, just inside the doors."

"Thank you," I said, shouldering my bag.

She ignored me, slid her glasses on and returned to her typing. If I pounded on my keyboard the way she did I'd break a finger. I walked away, shoulders braced against possible flying objects. None came.

When I rounded the first corner in the dank hallway I pranced an impromptu jig complete with a victory arm-pump. The dragon was conquered. I'd get Paul's errand done and save his class. His relief when he saw my pictures would light up the phone lines -- when he could get to a phone to call. Yes sir, we were a team, despite the hundreds of miles separating us.

I followed Mrs. Peabody's directions of a right turn then a left, separated by a couple of long hallways she didn't mention, until I reached the heavy metal doors with the sign "Storage: Vertebrate Fossils." I pushed through into darkness that smelled of frigid, dry dirt, and shivered. My skin shrank under my cotton tank top and summer-weight crop pants. My sockless ankles felt like they'd been splashed with ice water. A steady, low hum from an air-conditioning duct somewhere above virtually announced I wouldn't be warming up any time soon.

Feeling my way along the rough concrete wall, I located the bank of light switches, and flipped them all up. So far, so good -- until I turned around.

Row after row after row of industrial-heft racks stretched to the ceiling far above and marched away into the distance. Specimens crowded every shelf.

Like a little boat with a big hole, my mood sank, and with it my confidence in providing Paul the fast rescue he needed. Hope was lost before I'd begun. Hell, I was lost before I'd begun. If I moved away from the door I'd vanish, forgotten until my desiccated body was discovered years from now by some fledgling paleontologist who'd speculate over my remains, assign me a number, and shove me onto a shelf for possible future study.

Then my gaze settled on a scrap of salvation.

A paper scrap.

An index card taped to the end support of a unit.

I hurried over for a closer look. Hot damn. I'd been tossed a life preserver. On the card were handwritten numbers. Numbers with the same format as the ones on my list. A quick survey confirmed that there were cards affixed to each unit. My morbid musings dissolved. I was buoyant with hope once again.

I found the correct aisle, and located the first fossil. The dang dinosaur bone was heavier than it appeared. I wrapped both arms around it, hugged it to my chest, and staggered to the back of the storage room where Paul told me I would find work space. Sure enough, there was a large, sturdy table. I eased the fossil onto it and investigated the area. Lights, magnifying glasses and other tools that even an untrained person, namely me, could see were meant for examining specimens were stored neatly on open shelves or hanging on pegboard. A computer station was set up next to the table, a typed sheet of instructions taped to the desk top beside the keyboard -- coffee rings indicated its preferred use. I emptied my bag of the camera and other supplies, positioned the fossil on top of a large square of black felt, and arranged the lights. In no time, my makeshift photography studio was ready for business.

"At least three clear, shadow-free views of each specimen" were my instructions. I experimented with different orientations of the piece and took a number of shots, being careful to include a metric ruler to show size. Paul already had pictures of dinosaur bones, in situ, that he'd taken with him to Montana for the lecture and PowerPoint presentation that would start off his class. My guess was that the photographs I was taking were similar to what had been stolen, or what he expected to find at the new site. He probably wanted his students to see what the entire object would look like once recovered. Made sense. I'd sure need to see what I was supposed to be looking for.

A month or so ago I'd been leafing through one of his journals, looking at pictures of bones not yet removed from the ground where they were found. In most cases it was difficult for me to tell the difference between fossils and regular old rocks, even when someone was pointing to them.

"It takes practice to develop an 'eye'," my lover said. Delighted at my interest, he explained what to look for, pulling visual aids from his briefcase and dragging me out to the garden behind the house for a live comparison with actual rocks.

After that, every time I went out to the garden to weed I'd examine each rock for fossil potential. Every time he'd grin, kiss me, say, "Nope," and toss it into the blackberry bushes at the back of the yard.

After a week of that routine I uncovered a fist-sized, pulse-quickening treasure.

"Excellent example of lepus silicis." He hefted the smooth, gray, probable fossil, turning it with care.

Then he pitched it.

I jumped, too late, for his arm.

"Hey! That's a lepus silicis!" I restrained myself from smacking him with my gardening gloves. "Go get it out of the blackberries."

"You never took Latin, did you?" The edges of his eyes crinkled.

"No. I took Advanced Calculus to feel superior."

"Lepus silicis. Rabbit rock."

"What the hell's a rabbitrock?"

With solemn authority he laid a hand on my shoulder and looked me in the eye. "A rock you throw at rabbits."

I punched his arm. Laughing, he caught me before I could hit him again, threw me over his shoulder, and carted me back to the house. Frickin' comedian.

An hour later, when we were both smiling contentedly, he enticed me to accompany him in July to Montana where he'd teach his six-week fieldwork class. But, there was no way I could leave my accounting business. The best I could arrange was two weeks. At the time it was barely May, and although he wouldn't be leaving until the end of June, a missing-him ache already surrounded my heart.

In hindsight, it turned out to be a good thing. My dedication to my clients made it possible to run these errands today.

I finished photographing the first fossil and admired the images on my camera. All twelve of them. I'd send them all. He'd be thrilled, and with the help I was giving him he'd still have time to scout out a new location for the students to explore and excavate. I was swimming in self-confidence.

After returning the first fossil to its proper shelf, I located the next one and repeated the process. As I was setting up the third specimen there was a whoosh and thump as the big storage room door opened then closed. I didn't expect to be the only one doing work but was a little surprised when the echo of footsteps came closer. A young man, probably a few years short of my twenty-nine, dressed in khakis and an almost white short-sleeve shirt, rounded the end of the stacks and approached. His aquiline nose found the perfect accompaniment in the unrestrained, enthusiastically curling brown hair that brushed his shoulders. However, an aggressive scowl trumped any potential friendliness his appearance might have produced.

"Hello," he said, and crossed his arms.

"Hi." I lowered my camera and smiled.

His gaze barely touched my setup before snapping back to me. "Taking pictures?"

Wow. What a masterful command of the obvious. In the pause before I answered, a flush crept up his neck and he shoved his hands into his pockets. Poor guy. He really didn't have a firm grip on "man-in-charge."

"Yes. Dr. Hudson asked me to take some photographs and e-mail them to him. I'm Thea Campbell, by the way." I held out my hand.

"Scott Loch." He extracted a hand from his pocket and gave mine a damp, cursory shake. "I'm surprised the web site photos aren't sufficient." His gaze went to the list of fossils sitting on the table. "Is this yours?" He picked up the e-mail printout.

"Yes. The web site shows only one view of each fossil." I was surprised he didn't know that. "Are you part of the Paleontology Department staff?"

Instead of replying, he took a long look at the e-mail with my name and Paul's in the heading. Call me crazy, but I was willing to bet he hadn't shown up out of curiosity. He was checking on me, and I suspected Mrs. Peabody had put him up to it. The woman wasn't going to give up. He put the paper down before he answered my question.

"More or less. I'm a grad student and Dr. Whitaker's secretary for the summer. Are you an undergrad?"

"Dr. Whitaker?"

"Department head."

"Oh, right. Actually," I said. "I'm a friend of Dr. Hudson's. I'm just running this errand for him."

A hank of his hair fell forward. Frowning, he pushed it back, briefly snagging his fingers. "He could have asked one of us. Why didn't he?"

"I'm sure I don't know." And as much as I hated to admit it, he had a point.

"Are you sure you're able to manage this?" He picked up the copy of Paul's e-mail again. This time he seemed to be reading the instructions. He kept glancing at my setup. "Pat should have gotten in touch with me."

"Pat?" I asked. The name wasn't familiar.

"She's Dr. Hudson's graduate assistant this summer."

My molars slammed together with enough force to send a sharp pain through my temples. Paul's graduate assistant out in the wilderness with him was a woman? Was there a reason he had not told me his assistant was female, had not corrected me when I'd commented on how pleased he seemed to be that he had gotten him for an assistant? This was phone call material. E-mail was too easy to evade. Not that I was jealous. Just cautious. And not stupid.

"The camera? Can I see it?" Scott's hand extended toward me and flapped in a give-it-to-me gesture. I guess I missed the first request.

Although I tried to think of one, I couldn't find a reason why he shouldn't see my photographs. Irritated, I passed the camera to him and waited for him to ask me how to operate it. He scanned the shots I had taken with the assurance of a techno-geek, then returned it to me.

"Don't let me keep you from your work," he said. "Nice to meet you."

Right.

Within two undisturbed hours I'd relegated Pat to the status where she belonged -- an academic necessity -- and photographed nearly all the fossils. There were four I couldn't locate, although I spent a good deal of time trying. Paul needed them. Maybe someone had checked them out, like library books. I rolled my shoulders and sighed. There was only one thing to do. Get help. I would have to go back to the dragon.

She wasn't there, but Dr. Fogel was. My jaw unlocked.

He stood, absorbed in some papers, and didn't notice me walk up.

"Excuse me," I said.

He paused in his reading, gave me a blank look, then a congenial nod.

"Miss Campbell, done already?" He pushed his glasses up his long thin nose.

"No, I'm afraid not. I ran into some problems and wondered if you could help."

"I can try." Although the man was all straight lines and angles, his expression held soft humor.

"I'm having some trouble locating some fossils on my list." I handed it to him. "I circled the catalogue numbers of the ones I couldn't find."

All at once his edges and angles sharpened. "Ah yes, I see. How's everything going at the dig?"

He should know. Paul told him I was coming, he must have told him why as well. A zing of warning spiked up my spine. It was the same feeling I got whenever a horse I was riding telegraphed his tension when sensing a possible threat. Instinct kicked in; minimize my reaction, and divert attention. "He hasn't said much. So, the fossils I couldn't find -- I was wondering if someone might have checked them out."

Affable once again, his warm brown eyes regarded me with amusement over the top of his glasses. "No, all specimens remain in the archives. Although it's possible someone might have put them back on the wrong shelf. That happens sometimes." He perused the list, his eyebrows making journeys up and down his forehead as he read. "Well, let's go see what we can find."

He preceded me down the hallway at a brisk pace, my list fluttering in his grasp. I sprinted, catching the storage room door just before it closed behind him, slipping once again into the chilly, dry-earth-scented repository.

Dr. Fogel had already reached the first fossil location and was scanning the shelf above and below its assigned spot when I caught up. He made an about-face and examined the shelves on the opposite side of the aisle, just as I had done. He harrumphed, consulted the list, and hustled to another aisle. This he did twice more with the remaining specimens while I followed anxiously waiting for an exclamation of success that never came. With a shake of his head, he headed to the computer, pulled up a search screen, and typed in the catalogue numbers, his large hands moving with surprising dexterity over the keyboard. Then he repeated the search using the Latin name of each specimen, and again with other search criteria. With each effort his frown grew more pronounced, and the furrow between his eyebrows deeper. He consulted my list again, then headed for the stacks. Again. I listened to his rummaging as he moved from one area to another, checking areas of the storage room I hadn't. My worry grew right along with my irritation at being left uninformed. After several long minutes he returned.

"Let me check something else."

I chewed my lip and traipsed after him to the computer. He clicked on a couple of links, and stared at the screen, one hand resting on his hip and the other covering his mouth and chin. The blue and white screen cast an eerie reflection on the lenses of his glasses, making him appear eyeless.

"At least I can get the rest off to Paul." I tried to sound unworried.

"What? Oh, right, yes. Good idea." He lightly tapped his jaw.

"Maybe the photographs I have already will be enough."

He nodded as though he were responding to the sound of my voice rather than the words, then shut down the computer and walked away. He stopped and turned, his index finger touching his lips before pointing at me. "Perhaps the specimens you found will be sufficient."

"Thank you for your help," I said to his now-retreating back.

I combed my fingers through my hair and massaged the back of my neck, rolling my head. There was nothing to do but go home with what I had. The idea didn't make me happy. I should be able to do better than this. Giving up never sat well with me, whether riding my horse, working on my clients' books, or anything else. Paul was fast becoming the most important person in my life, yet I had to give up on something that was important to him. But, dammit, what else was I supposed to do?

I packed my camera and supplies in my bag and left. I'd found and photographed eleven of the items on Paul's list. I paced, distracted, down the now-familiar, long hallway flogging my memory for some clue, some approach I'd missed that would help me get the remaining four fossils. 

Paul was efficient. Every photograph would have a specific purpose for his lecture, and he was missing better than a quarter of them. If I'd planned the presentation my list would … include back-ups -- duplicates, or near duplicates, just in case there were problems.

I stopped. Why hadn't I thought of that earlier? That was it!

Had he thought of that -- to include back-ups?

My excitement sputtered. How was I going to find out? Why hadn't I asked Dr. Fogel before he left? The dragon was probably back at her desk. Now I'd have to ask her where I could find him. Damn.

I hiked my bag more securely on my shoulder. Okay, then. I'd faced her once. I could face her again. As I rounded a turn in the corridor Dr. Fogel's voice echoed softly ahead, coming toward me but still some ways away. Hope I could avoid Mrs. Peabody again quickened the pat-pat of my sneakered feet until Scott's angry, strident pitch cut off Andrew Fogel's quiet tone, halting my rush.

"If you don't do something I'll --"

"You'll do nothing. I'm certain he already suspects me. If you're found out it will --"

Their voices were getting closer.

"I won't jeopardize our plan." Scott's tone was a sneer. "But I'm telling you we have to do something about her."

Her? Her who? Her me? What had I done? Crap.

There was nowhere to hide.

Levels Of Deception -- the second Thea Campbell mystery

 Yay!! The second Thea Campbell mystery, Levels Of Deception, will be coming soon! Expect it to see it available in e-format and print toward the end of February! In this adventure Thea must step out of her familiar world of dressage and Snohomish, Washington, and into Paul's world of paleontology in the hills of Montana.

Here's the backcover blurb:

Thea isn't supposed to obsess about a murder in the basement of Seattle's Burke Museum, even though the victim was her absent boyfriend Paul's colleague -- even though her gut screams at her to pay attention. So when the police connect Paul to thefts at the museum and the murder, despite his being two states away on a dig, Thea secretly launches her own investigation to clear him. Paul's stubborn refusal to give her any information doesn't slow her down, but an attempt on her life does. Coerced into running to Paul's paleontology dig in Montana for safety, what she finds there is far from a refuge. The levels of deception are more personal and extend farther than she could have imagined. The price of her pursuit of truth will be blood.

And just a reminder -- Don't forget the Blog Tour de Force. And especially don't forget to drop by here on Saturday when it's my turn! Looking forward to seeing you all there!

It's Almost Here!

The countdown has begun!

Death By A Dark Horse

will be available on November 15 from Amazon and Smashwords.

Thea Campbell goes out for revenge when the one person who is simultaneously the most likely and least likely candidate for thief steals her horse. But Olympic hopeful Valerie Parsons is past caring about being arrested. She’s dead. At first Thea’s horse is assumed to have killed the woman, but when the coroner determines it was a human hand and not a horse’s hoof that ended Valerie’s life Thea becomes a person of interest. Now intimidating people with little regard for due process are showing up on her doorstep looking to even the score. Toss in her wrecked love life, a sexy geology professor who stirs up more than dust, and an alleged psychic horse, and it soon becomes apparent that Thea’s predictable life is now out of control. As she takes charge of clearing herself of the murder she discovers the victim had a knack for making enemies—one of whom is Thea’s ditsy sister. She pursues her investigation with more at stake than ever, and in a seedy biker bar comes face-to-tattoo with information that will lead the police to the real killer. She dutifully reports to the detective in charge. But Thea is wrong. As close to dead wrong as she ever wishes to get.

Polishing the Manuscript -- attempt II

Last week I started talking about editing my manuscript and never got to finish what I had to say because Jonathan Woods stopped by. So, this week I'm heading back there. The process needs discussing, because there's a lot that can go wrong in the writing and rewriting of a manuscript, and fresh eyes can make the difference between a story that grips the reader and one that, well, doesn't.

By the time you get through the countless rewrites to the "final" version of your manuscript, chances are you've fixed the major gaffs like a character starting out with one name only to have another by the end, logic anomalies, and whatnot, and are left with stuff you don't notice. At this point your content editor will come in handy catching issues like information that should have made it onto the page, but never did.

You can't do it yourself--you're too close.

Your line editor is important, too. They'll catch the embarrassing stuff everyone whose concentration is elsewhere will miss. Misplaced commas can change the entire meaning of a sentence (remember "Eats, Shoots, and Leaves"?), not to mention one letter can change a word completely. I had one character referring to another not as a "good guy" but as a "good buy." Tell me you wouldn't have been rolling on the floor when you read that.

Would that have been Jonathan?

Thea! I wasn't expecting you--and it might have been.

Did Jonathan stop by here and complain to you about Juliet?

Yeah, he did.

I don't know what I'm going to do about him.

He and Juliet don't seem to get along at all.

They don't. And he's sending so many mixed signals to me I don't know what to make of him.

Can I ask you something personal? What got you two together to begin with? He doesn't seem like your type.

My friend Andrea introduced us, and he just pursued me. It was flattering. Besides, he's handsome, works out, likes to go to the theater and concerts. He always knows great places to go, and he really seems to care about me. You know; attentive, polite, relentless--oh, that sounds bad. But it's not like I've ever thought he was "the one." It's nice to have a social life. Why do you ask?

A couple of people asked me. No biggie.

Oh. Well, he really is a nice guy. Really. Just a little overbearing at times. But hey, aren't all men?

You don't have to defend him to me.

I'm not! I mean, I don't need to. It's just that Juliet and he don't get along. Honestly, I don't know what he's so worried about. She's so busy with her own social life she's hardly got time to concern herself with mine. Maybe I'd better go talk to him.

Wouldn't hurt. Then maybe I could continue on with what I started and don't seem to be able to finish because of all the interruptions--just saying. Pass that word around, would you please?

So, where was I…editors. You need them. Don't be tempted to shortcut this step, if you want readers to take you seriously.

Next week: Cover art.

Interview with Thea Campbell

Today at Writing Horses I'm interviewing Thea Campbell, the twenty-nine year old protagonist in Death By A Dark Horse. Thea lives in Snohomish, Washington where she was born and raised. She is a self employed accountant and runs her business out of her home (her house is really cute, by the way. I drove by the other day!).

Susan Schreyer: Hi, Thea, thanks for being here! Shall we get started? I understand you quit your job with that big accounting firm in downtown Seattle and started an accounting business that you're running out of your home. Why did you quit your other job? I'd have thought the pay would have been hard to give up.

Thea Campbell: Thank you for asking me here, Susan! To answer your question, there's a lot more to life than making money, and that's all I was doing. I hardly saw my family and friends and it was difficult to keep to a riding schedule—all due to the long commute and long work hours. And let me point out that this wasn't a hasty decision. I don't make hasty decisions.

SS: So with all that extra time, what are you doing? Do you have a social life now?

TC: My business does take up time—it has to be a priority if I'm going to continue to pay the mortgage, but I've been able to ride more and yes, I do have a boyfriend—Jonathan Woods.

SS: So…?

TC: I'm not that serious about him. Not that he isn't husband material, but not for me…. Oh, okay, I can see you're not going to let this drop. I'll be honest with you, since I really doubt he'll read this. We were pretty serious for a while, but lately it seems he's not happy with me. Shoot, I can't even breathe properly some days. And critical? Holy cats. He bought me an "ensemble" the other day to wear to dinner with his parents next weekend. I have clothes, and a purse and jewelry—and certainly nice enough to wear out to dinner with his parents—but it's like he doesn't think I'm capable of choosing appropriate attire. He's making me nuts.

SS: Wow. Why don't you break up with him?

TC: I've tried, but he seems to have a knack for turning things around. I shouldn't be surprised—he's an attorney. He knows how to work an argument to his favor. That shouldn't stop me though. I'm going to have to do it—one of these days. I can't believe I let it go on, but…well, maybe I do really feel something for him….

SS: Uh huh. Maybe we should talk about something pleasant. You're getting more riding in, you said. Tell me about your horse.

TC: That's Blackie. He's a seven-year-old, dark bay Hanoverian gelding and he's wonderful! Riding him and being around him keeps me sane. I was there when he was born. My great uncle raised him. Uncle Henry used to ride competitively. In fact he rode for Great Britain in the Olympics back in the 60s, in dressage. He's retired from that and horse breeding, but he still teaches. In fact he coaches me and Blackie.

SS: Do you compete?

TC: No, I don't really want to and Uncle Henry doesn't mind that I don't, even though Blackie is so talented. Some of my friends would like to see Blackie and me in the show ring, though.

SS: So why don't you do it?

TC: I'm really not interested, and don't tell me I should sell Blackie to someone who would show off his potential, because that's not going to happen.

SS: I wasn't going to. That seems like kind of a sensitive subject.

TC: I just get really tired of defending my choice. Especially to people like Valerie Parsons—freaking bully. Just because she was long listed for the last Olympic team and has enough money to spend the winter training and competing in Florida doesn't mean I should sell Blackie to her.

SS: She offered to buy him?

TC: Repeatedly. I'm not good enough for him, she says. I'll ruin him—she badgers me with that constantly. I'm sick of her already and she hasn't even been back in town a month. I can't go out to Copper Creek Equestrian Center without running into her, and it sure doesn't help that Uncle Henry coaches her. I was working on flying changes yesterday and she marches into the arena and tells me to get off my horse so she could show me how it was done. Can you believe it?

SS: Did you let her ride Blackie?

TC: Are you kidding? I'd sooner run her over. No way is she touching my horse!

SS: Wow, um, I was kind of hoping to get into some other stuff in our interview, but we've kind of run out of time. How about we go have some lunch at Bernard's Restaurant and plan on finishing this another time?

TC: Oh, sure. That sounds good, I like Bernard's. I can tell you about my trip to Victoria with Jonathan.

SS: Works for me.

Next week I'll be interviewing Thea's sister Juliet!