Setting: East Texas Piney Woods

I have a couple short stories in the works set in the piney woods around the Houston area. One story, entitled Predators and Prey, features a homeless teenager who is forced into working for an illicit animal breeder hidden in the forest. The other story, for an upcoming music based anthology, features a mismatched couple in the piney woods: a young man who loves his small town Texas roots and a young woman who can’t get out fast enough. Both stories came together somewhat organically, growing from a lifetime of memories of the piney woods of East Texas.

My grandparents acquired a piece of property in the piney woods north of Houston, Texas, between New Waverly and Willis, before I was born. In pastures cut from stands of pines my grandfather kept a dozen or so white-faced Hereford cows. As my grandparents aged, they needed help. My parents moved to the property as caretakers for my grandparents and for the property. I visited the “ranch” frequently as a child and as an adult, bringing my own children to visit their grandparents and great-grandparents.

The piney woods are “lovely, dark, and deep” and full of who knows what.

People, who relinquish all claim to the word “humane,” drive from the city and drop unwanted pets there. Puppies, kittens, pregnant dogs, and pregnant cats are common sights on the roads, wandering after being dumped.

When they wandered onto the property, my mother sometimes collected puppies and kittens to take to the local animal shelter. When walking, she protected herself from dangerous, roaming dog packs by carrying a cattle prod.

However, people don’t only dump domestic pets. Sometimes they dump exotic ones.

Once on a walk with her dog, my mother spotted something large and black in the distance. She turned and walked the other way when she realized the that the creature she had seen was a crouched feline in hunting mode that was far bigger than a housecat. Not something she wanted tangling with her dog.

After spotting the “black panther,” she asked her neighbor, a retired doctor, if he’d seen anything strange, like a large black animal, recently. The retired doctor replied, “You mean that black panther? Yes, I’ve seen it.”

Now, there aren’t supposed to be “black panthers,” really melanistic jaguars or leopards, in the piney woods. In fact, a man was ridiculed in the news for claiming he saw one. Tigers aren’t supposed to be wandering neighborhoods in Houston either. Yet the sight of a tiger in a Houston neighborhood makes the news fairly regularly.

Who knows what non-native animals hide in those forests!

In addition to the non-native species, the area is home to a variety of predators, from alligators swimming in the lakes, rivers, and streams, to multiple species of venomous snakes including rattlesnakes, copperheads, coral snakes, and cottonmouths (also called water moccasins).

Once you’ve dealt with the animals species present, then you have to consider the people. With cattle ranchers, sovereign citizens, criminals, and people who simply like acreage and solitude, the woods of East Texas are full of characters. The farther East you go, the more likely you are to find the people speaking with their own dialect and a distinct East Texas accent. While some of the people are newcomers, some seemingly have been entrenched in those woods for generations, going all the way back to the Civil War.

Inhabited by critters both foreign and domestic and peopled with more than its fair share of odd characters, the forests of East Texas provide a fertile ground for setting crime fiction stories.

*****

N. M. Cedeño is a short story writer and novelist living in Texas. She is active in Sisters in Crime- Heart of Texas Chapter and is a member of the Short Mystery Fiction Society. Find out more at nmcedeno.com.

Who Do You Love?

 / 

Yes, Bo Diddley, https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=e5tSgiB_Tgc but I like the Thorogood version too bit.ly/4gNi38m

I’ve got a secret. So many books I have NOT read. You’d be shocked. No, really. My husband (retired business professor) admires Tolstoy, especially Anna Karenina. He’s read most of Dickens and every word of Moby Dick–several times. When we were dating he bought Baudelaire’s Les Fleurs du Mal (English translation) because he’d seen it on my shelf. He knows I’m hung up on Virginia Woolf; he’s read Three Guineas. He’s read reams of history—shelves and shelves, plus tome after tome on Richard Feynman and everything that’s going on with astronomy and quantum physics. He forges onward, aiming for the stars at the edge of the universe.

I, however, the English major, the mystery writer? I who should have read All The Books? I confess a powerful secret vice: rereading my favorites, particularly Virginia Woolf. Every year, To the Lighthouse sneaks back into my hand. Why? Why not concentrate only on the new novels, the best-sellers?

Because I have to reread that moment in Part III when, years later, after world war and illness have claimed her beloved friend Mrs. Ramsay and so many of the Ramsay family, the spinster Lily Briscoe returns to the Ramsays’ summer home on the Isle of Skye. https://bit.ly/3zHF77w

Out on the lawn, facing the old white house, she sets up again the unfinished oil painting she began all those years earlier—the painting that had posed such a challenge in Part I as her mind reverberated with the repeated mantra from Professor Ramsay’s obnoxious male philosophy student: “Women can’t paint, can’t write.” During the long day, full of changing light on the sea, and repeated interruptions by other characters, Woolf returns us over and over to Lily, staring at her painting, seeing again the remembered shapes of Mrs. Ramsay and her son James all those years ago. And her artistic effort? Here’s the end of the book:

“It would be hung in the attics, she thought; it would be destroyed. But what did that matter? She asked herself, taking up her brush again. She looked at the steps; they were empty; she looked at her canvas; it was blurred. With a sudden intensity, as if she saw it clear for a second, she drew a line there, in the centre. It was done; it was finished. Yes, she thought, laying down her brush in extreme fatigue, I have had my vision.”

Why do I return to that? So much of the book is touching, gripping, and even hilarious, including the thoughts of Professor Ramsay, a philosophy professor who’s both overbearing and insecure. He delights in his own “splendid mind”: “For if thought is like the keyboard of a piano divided into so many notes, or like the alphabet is ranged in twenty-six letters all in order, then his splendid mind had no difficulty in running over those letters one by one, firmly and accurately, until it had reached, say, the letter Q.  …Very few people in the whole of England ever reach Q.” Then he falters. “But after Q? What comes next? After Q there are a number of letters the last of which is scarcely visible to mortal eyes, but glimmers red in the distance.”  He braces himself, clenches himself. “Q he was sure of. Q he could demonstrate. If Q then is Q—R—” Then “he heard people saying—he was a failure—that R was beyond him. He would never reach R.”  

What an image—the alphabet, R glimmering red in the distance, then fading, fading!  And then of course there’s the famous dinner party featuring Mrs. Ramsay’s boeuf en daube. Surely, just reading this, you smell the simmered sauce, the wine, the bay leaf? The thought crossed my mind that if Professor Ramsay had been offered a sip of the Talisker malt whiskey for which Skye is famous, he’d have felt a bit better. https://www.malts.com/en/talisker (The distillery gives a great tour, too.)

But Lily’s painting? This spinster friend of Mrs. Ramsay, with her amateur brushstrokes? The tale of Lily’s painting, her decision and indecision as she holds her brush, grabbed me all those years ago, and refuses to let go. The same question must hit every musician—“Is this the last note? Did that chord resolve properly? Does it make you feel beauty and longing, or does it just hang there, unfinished?”  Every cook: “A pinch of salt? What about some coriander? To garlic or not to garlic?” Every filmmaker: “Do they walk into the sunset? Or fade out? Or kiss?” And every writer? “Is this character real? Is this setting compelling? Does the plot work? And will anyone care?”

Lily’s painting embodies desire to capture memory, resistance, light and color, and more than that. Isn’t it  her experience? A moment of creation, of recapture, of making a line on a canvas and then feeling completion?  She’s had her vision. If you know of another book where we readers feel such a moment of revelation from the frustrating process of creation—let me know.

Oh, don’t get me wrong. My Kindle received today the brand-new Martin Walker (A Grave in the Woods) and I can’t wait. bit.ly/3Xzqawt Like the other women in his (busy) life,  I love to accompany Inspector Bruno, in his fictional Perigord village of St. Denis, partly because of his cooking. Thank you, Martin Walker, for describing the ham hanging from the kitchen ceiling, the cheerful chickens, and the paté with its duck fat on top, waiting in Bruno’s fridge, and the way Bruno sings La Marseillaise to count how long until he must sizzle the foie de gras before he deglazes the pan. I look forward to new recipes and to finding out who’s buried in the woods.

And a sad farewell: I’ve decided to forgive Elly Griffiths for saying goodbye to Ruth Galloway in her last book in that series, The Last Remains, even though I have loved watching Ruth clamber down into a trench to dig up ancient bones in East Anglia. amzn.to/3ZxU5rv I’ve also savored every page of Alan Bradley’s latest (last?) Flavia de Luce – What Time the Sexton’s Spade Doth Rust – as he allows this delightful protagonist to feel herself beginning to grow up—not too much, not too fast, just enough. https://bit.ly/4dla13A 

And I did just finish We Solve Murders, Richard Osman’s first book in a new series. bit.ly/4ezjIwh  Have to confess I found myself missing Joyce, Ibrahim, Ron, Elizabeth and the other characters of his Thursday Murder Club books. My strong belief is I must care about a mystery protagonist and so far I haven’t completely bought in to his new cadre–though I do like Steve. We’ll see.  I’d be interested in your reactions.

So that’s four new mysteries, just in September. I’m also rereading Virginia Woolf’s The Waves, and finding even more, yes, even more to love about how she brings those characters to vivid life, and how she describes the way we humans think and react to each other.

And out here with the three burros I’m writing the tenth in my Coffee Creek series featuring Alice MacDonald Greer and the gorgeous landscape of the Texas Hill Country, with its pristine (well, so far) bluegreen streams. Water’s for fighting over, right?

But when the going gets tough, you may find me sidling back to the revolving bookcase, on the shelf where Virginia Woolf and all the old faves hang out.

Helen Currie Foster lives and writes north of Dripping Springs, Texas, loosely supervised by three burros. She’s drawn to the compelling landscape and quirky characters of the Texas Hill Country. She’s also deeply curious about our human history and how, uninvited, the past keeps crashing the party. Latest in her award-winning series: Ghost Bones.

Follow her on http://www.facebook.com/helencurriefoster/ and http://www.helencurriefoster.com

“Everybody Eats Mushrooms.” Some Live to Tell the Tale.

By M. K. Waller

Today’s post comprises two parts–a bit of fiction followed by a bit of fact–linked by a “fleshy, spore-bearing fruiting body of a fungus” and a mystery writer who used it as a murder weapon–and later confessed to something even worse.

I.

The following flash fiction was inspired by a photo prompt on Friday Fictioneers, a weekly writing challenge sponsored by Rochelle Wisoff-Fields.

‘SHROOMS

John ambled into the kitchen. “What’s cooking?”

“Mushroom gravy.” Mary kept stirring.

John frowned. “Toadstools. Fungi. Dorothy Sayers killed someone with Amanita.“

“These are morels.” She added salt. “Everybody eats mushrooms.”

“I don’t.”

“Suit yourself.”

He sat down. “Where’d you buy them?”

“I picked them.”

“You?“

“Aunt Helen helped. She knows ‘shrooms.” Mary held out a spoonful. “Taste.”

“Well . . . ” John tasted. “Mmmm. Seconds?”

“Yoo-hoo.” Aunt Helen bustled in. “See my brand new glasses? Those old ones–yesterday I couldn’t see doodly squat.”

Mary looked at the gravy, then at John. “Maybe you should spit that out.”

II.

The following is a guest post I wrote for Manning Wolfe’s Bullet Books Speed Reads blog. In it, I explain what an author does when she doesn’t have a clue about the subject she’s writing about.

There are many rules for writers. Two of the major ones: Write what you know and Write what you love.

I was pleased that Stabbed, which I co-wrote with Manning Wolfe, was set in Vermont. I love vacationing there: mountains and trees, summer wildflowers and narrow, winding roads, rainstorms and starry nights, white frame churches and village greens.

In Chapter 1, Dr. Blair Cassidy, professor of English, arrives home one dark and stormy night, walks onto her front porch, and trips over the body of her boss, Dr. Justin Capaldi. She locks herself in her car and calls the sheriff. The sheriff arrives and . . .

What happens next? Vermont is a small state. Who takes charge of murder investigations? The sheriff? Or the state police? What do their uniforms look like? Where do major rail lines run? What’s the size of a typical university town? And a typical university? What else had I not noticed while driving through the mountains?

Not knowing the answers, I defaulted to a third rule: Write what you learn. Research. Research. Research. The best mystery authors have been avid researchers.

Agatha Christie, for example, is known for her extensive knowledge of poisons. As a pharmacy technician during World War I, she did most of her research on the job before she became a novelist. Later she dispatched victims with arsenic, strychnine, cyanide, digitalis, belladonna, morphine, phosphorus, veronal (sleeping pills), hemlock, and ricin (never before used in a murder mystery). In The Pale Horse, she used the less commonly known thallium. Christie’s accurate treatment of strychnine was mentioned in a review in the Pharmaceutical Journal.

Francis Iles’ use of a bacterium was integral to the plot in Malice Aforethought. His character, Dr. Bickleigh, serves guests sandwiches of meat paste laced with Clostridium botulinum and waits for them to develop botulism. If Dr. Bickleigh had known as much about poisons as his creator did, he wouldn’t have been so surprised when his best-laid plans went, as Robert Burns might have said, agley.

Among modern authors, P.D. James is known for accuracy. Colleague Ruth Rendell said that James “always took enormous pains to be accurate and research her work with the greatest attention.” Before setting Devices and Desires near a nuclear power station, she visited power plants in England; she even wore a protective suit to stand over a nuclear reactor. Like Christie, James used information acquired on the job—she wrote her early works during her nineteen years with the National Health Service—for mysteries set in hospitals.

Most authors don’t go as far as to stand over nuclear reactors to be sure they get it right, but even the simplest research can be time-consuming.

And no matter how hard they strive for accuracy, even the most meticulous researchers sometimes make errors.

Dorothy L. Sayers was as careful in her fiction as she was in her scholarly writing. But she confessed in a magazine article that The Documents in the Case contained a “first-class howler”: A character dies from eating the mushroom Amanita muscaria, which contains the toxin muscarine. Describing the chemical properties of muscarine, Sayers said it can twist a ray of polarized light. But only the synthetic form can do that—the poison contained in the mushroom can’t.

Considering Sayers’ body of work, this one “howler” seems a very small sin, and quite forgivable.

Most readers, however, don’t forgive big mistakes, and reputable writers don’t expect them to. Thorough research is a mark of respect for readers.

Sometimes, getting the facts straight in fiction has real-life consequences the author can’t predict. Christie’s The Pale Horse is credited with saving two lives: In one case, a reader recognized the symptoms of thallium poisoning Christie had described and saved a woman whose husband was slowly poisoning her; in a second, a nurse who’d read the book diagnosed thallium poisoning in an infant. The novel is also credited with the apprehension of one would-be poisoner.

Back to Stabbed—Well, we don’t expect it to save lives or help catch criminals. But doing my due diligence and reading up on Vermont’s railways, demographics, and criminal procedure set the novella on a sound factual footing.

Unlike Christie, Iles, and Sayers, however, I didn’t have to expend too much effort learning about how the murder weapon worked. One look at the book’s title and–well, d’oh–no research needed.

***

Learn more about Friday Fictioneers at Rochelle Wisoff-Fields’ blog and on their Facebook page.

***

M. K. Waller (Kathy) is a former teacher, former librarian, former paralegal, and former pianist at various small churches desperate for someone who could find middle C.

She writes crime fiction, literary fiction, humor, memoir, and whatever else comes to mind.

She grew up in Fentress,  population ~ 150 in 1960, on the San Marcos River in Central Texas, the Blackland Prairie, and memories of the time and the place inform much of her fiction.

Except for the part about murders. Fentress didn’t have any murders. At least any that people talked about.

She now lives in Austin.

Work-Arounds

By N.M. Cedeño

As I type this, I’m seeing double through my right eye. Well, not quite double. On the screen, it’s more like printed letters have their own ghostly echoes lingering directly above and behind. This has been an ongoing issue for over a month due to a dry patch on my cornea, making working on the computer and reading an exhausting slog. My left eye is compensating, allowing me to still have twenty/twenty vision with both eyes open, but I have to take frequent breaks from screens. The eye doctor added a new medicine this past week, so I’m hoping to “see” some improvement soon. If not, the next step is to see a specialist.

I had to come up with a work-around for my current writing project because of the eye-strain. What do you do when reading long articles looking for details that you need for a story makes you tired too quickly? The answer I came up with is “watch videos containing the needed information.”

 Because of eye strain, I’ve found watching videos to be easier than reading long articles. With the help of the Sisters in Crime Webinar Archive of videos, I’ve dug into the structure of the FBI, which crimes are under their jurisdiction, and which aren’t, and how cases are assigned and handled. I also watched a webinar on forensics, because why not. The archive contains a wide variety of videos on topics from writing craft to crime-solving. I’ll be watching more videos even when my eye issue is resolved because of the variety of topics and the amount of information available.

Thanks to YouTube videos, I’ve learned how to prevent the theft of a certain model of car, and I’ve learned about what features the car has to prevent the theft of a cargo trailer that the vehicle might be towing. Various videos helped me learn about the particular model of vehicle I need for a story, its security systems, and about the wide world of custom cargo trailers. Now I know how a thief might get around all of those security features to steal both the vehicle and the trailer, which moves the plot on my work-in-progress forward considerably.

Of course, I’m still reading, but far more slowly than usual. I’ve read a couple books by Donna Leon this month and a lot of P.G. Wodehouse. I read the Wodehouse to lighten my mood. Jeeves and Bertie are wonderful if you need to laugh at something utterly ridiculous. I love Bertie’s confusion as Jeeves gets him out of an unwanted engagement by making him appear to be insane. The story where Jeeves and Bertie aid one of Bertie’s friends who has gone to jail for “biffing” a policeman while drunkenly trying to steal the policeman’s helmet left me in stitches.

On the non-writing front, my middle child starts college this month. He will have moved into dorms on campus by the time this blog posts. Thirteen years ago, a neuropsychologist walked me through the challenges he was facing. I realized he had a long road ahead of him and a lot of work to do. Being what’s now called neurodivergent, he would have to fight to learn many things that are innate to the majority of people: everything from proprioception and bilateral coordination to reading facial expressions. And he did ALL of that hard work. He went from being asked to leave a private school in kindergarten and being placed in special education for three years in elementary school to finishing high school in the top 6% of his class.

He is an incredibly talented, intelligent, outgoing young man with a “punny” sense of humor. Watching him leap into a world that has frequently been unkind to him because of his differences is an emotional challenge for a mom. But I believe he will find his way. He knows how to face obstacles, pick himself up and try again when he fails, and persist in chasing his dreams.

On top of that, my youngest earned her driver’s license this summer and has started going out into the world without me driving her. She is embarking on her senior year of high school and filling out college applications.

Watching my kids spread their wings is breathtaking and anxiety-inducing. An empty nest is on the horizon. My empty nest goals include attending a writing convention or two. I’ve only been to Bouchercon once and I’d like to attend again.

Speaking of Bouchercon, the Anthony Boucher World Mystery Convention is this coming weekend. I won’t be attending, so I hope everything goes well for everyone who is traveling to Nashville to attend. If you are there, stop by the book room and pick up a free copy of the anthology Private Dicks and Disco Balls: Private Eyes in the Dyn-O-Mite Seventies edited by Michael Bracken. I have a story in the anthology called “A Woman’s Place.”

*****

N. M. Cedeño is a short story writer and novelist living in Texas. She is active in Sisters in Crime- Heart of Texas Chapter and is a member of the Short Mystery Fiction Society. Find out more at nmcedeno.com.

SERENDIPITOUS SURPRISES

by Helen Currie Foster

August 19, 2024

I wasn’t going to mention the dreadful heat. But facing August in Texas requires early rising. And early this morning came two in-spite-of-the-heat surprises. First, moonset of the August Supermoon: 

Second, a tiny frog, less than an inch long, sitting quietly in the shade. Could it be a Texas cricket frog? Maybe some frog-maven will know. Can you spot it here, on the big rock?

Another treasure: an email from a reader who’d read Ghost Cave, first book in my Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery series, and wanted the recipe for the coffee cake served by Alice’s redoubtable elderly friend Ilka:

They settled at the tea table. Ilka poured. Bone china, thin and old, the glaze crazed. Like Ilka’s face and hands, thought Alice. The cake stand held something Alice had never seen—a pale smooth yeasty-smelling cake with thin cinnamon topping…

“Oh, goodness, Ilka,” said Alice. “What is that?” The yeast dough, ivory and fragrant, left a mysterious fragrance in the air.

“Cardamom,” said Ilka.

Yikes! I had to tell the inquiring reader I had no recipe! Only—a memory! As kids we were in awe of our neighbor Mrs. Slinn, up the street. She wore her hair pulled back in a bun and longish dresses and, I think, always an apron. When we scruffy little children approached her door she always offered cookies. (We still roll out her classic “teacake” sugar cookie dough to make Santas, snowmen, reindeer.)

But occasionally Mrs. Slinn swept down the street to our kitchen bringing magic: a round yeast coffee cake, no taller than 3 inches in the middle, ivory-gold with a delicate sprinkle of cinnamon and sugar on top. It smelled amazing and when cut into small wedges was absolutely delicious…

To this memory, in Ghost Cave, I’d added cardamom—not a spice we knew when I was little. But where to find a recipe for the inquiring reader?

THE READER HERSELF! She wrote back that she’d located cookbooks from Mason County, Texas (dated 1976), and Fredericksburg (12th edition–Fredericksburg cooks published their first cookbook in 1916!). Each included a recipe for “yeast coffee cake.” (The Fredericksburg recipes include the original names—like Apfelkuchen, Schnecken, Kolatschen.) Which is further proof that mystery readers themselves are bright, curious sleuths. And why hearing from readers is wonderful.

Below you’ll find a slightly modified recipe from the excerpts she sent, but with a little cardamom added.

At a recent book talk I called the relationship between mystery reader and mystery writer a collaboration. Indeed, a primary rule of the 1930 Detection Club in London was that any clue must be instantly produced for the reader. No holding back explanations or back story until the end of the book! Of course that rule was sometimes violated (yes, Madam Christie, we’re talking about you). In contrast, Christie’s contemporary, the New Zealander Ngaio Marsh, occasionally added some colorful backstory at the end, but she also generally had already given the reader fair notice of the clues that identify the murderer.

In her series featuring the elegant Scotland Yard sleuth Roderick Alleyn, Marsh typically begins with the setting––often provided by a variety of characters––of the site where murder will inevitably take place, either in England or New Zealand. The setting could be an artist’s colony (“Colour Scheme”), a tour boat on an English river, a village church hall, a pub, a guest house in New Zealand, an elegant country house (“Dancing Footman”), the London apartment of a practically bankrupt upper-class family (no one seems to have a job) (“Surfeit of Lampreys”). Thus when we open a Marsh mystery, first we meet the potential suspects, including one we may hope is innocent, may hope is truthful. Then comes a seriously tricky murder. (Did someone disturb the fly rod on the wall? Why?) At that point Inspector Alleyn arrives, with his sidekick Fox and the crime scene specialists. For the competitive mystery reader—collaborating with the author to detect the murderer–each detail matters and is promptly disclosed. But who lied? Who was mistaken?

Rest assured Marsh knew her subject matter and her settings: she was an artist, an actor and a theatre director as well as a writer. She lived and worked in England as well as New Zealand. She was appointed Dame Commander of the British Empire in 1966. The Mystery Writers of America bestowed the Grand Master Award for her lifetime achievement as a mystery novelist. https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ngaio_Marsh  I suspect her character Agatha Troy (an artist who finally marries Alleyn) may be in part a portrait of Marsh.

And Marsh received a birthday Google Doodle on April 23, 2015! https://doodles.google/doodle/ngaio-marshs-122nd-birthday/

Marsh’s first book came out in 1934, featuring Alleyn as the upper-class “grandee” who resigned from the foreign service to join Scotland Yard. By then a different sort of sleuth was emerging in the U.S. In 1930 Dashiell Hammett published The Maltese Falcon and we met Sam Spade. In 1933 Raymond Chandler, like Hammett, was already publishing in The Black Mask magazine, and in 1939 he published The Big Sleep, presenting Philip Marlowe. Decades later the mystery genre continues to grow and grow:  Noir! Culinary mysteries! Cozies! Mysteries narrated by dogs! (Spencer Quinn’s Chet and Bernie series.) Cowboy mysteries! Fantasy/sci-fi/mystery! Sleuths in Laos, China, Australia, Scandinavia, Russia, Alaska, Louisiana, national parks, Native American reservations. Edinburgh! The Shetlands! Botswana! Canada! Italy! France! Israel! Scandinavia! Legal thrillers! Spy thrillers! What a wealth of mysteries for us to enjoy.

What about the Texas Hill Country? In her latest adventure, Ghost Bones, lawyer Alice MacDonald Greer grapples with the murder of a deeply respected judge. His death was apparently triggered by his efforts to solve the murders of six people on his property almost two centuries ago. Alice needs all the help she can get from her irrepressible assistant, Silla, and from Ben Kinsear, as she tangles with mystery, legal drama, and matters of the heart.

And a request: if you can identify the tiny froglet above, please share the name!

Helen Currie Foster lives and writes the Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery series north of Dripping Springs, Texas, loosely supervised by three burros. She’s drawn to the compelling landscape and quirky characters of the Texas Hill Country. She’s also deeply curious about our human history and prehistory, and how, uninvited, the past keeps crashing the party. Follow her at www.helen.currie.foster.com.

Nearly Mrs. Slinn’s Coffee Cake, with thanks to a wonderful reader and the cooks of Mason and Fredericksburg!

3/8 c. milk; 2 Tbls. sugar; 1/2 tsp. salt; 1/4 c. butter; 1 beaten egg; 2 tsp. dry yeast; 1 1/2 Tbls. warm water; 1 5sp ground cardamom; 1 3/4 c. flour, plus additional melted butter (about 2 Tbls.) and sugar-cinnamon mixture for topping (about 1 tsp cinnamon to 1/3 c sugar)

Scald milk and pour over the butter, salt and sugar. Stir and let stand until lukewarm. Dissolve yeast in warm water for 5 minutes. Stir egg and yeast mixture into milk mixture.  Stir in 1 tsp cardamom and 1 cup of flour. Beat well. Continue adding remaining flour.  Put dough on lightly floured board and knead until smooth (add a bit more flour if too sticky). Place in greased bowl, cover, and let double in size. Then punch down.

Butter bottom and sides of round 8” pan. Put parchment paper in the bottom.  Pat in dough. Brush with melted butter and sprinkle on the sugar/cinnamon mixture. Let rise again until double in size. Bake at 350 for about 20 minutes or until just turning golden.   Let cool. Serve it forth!

COOKIES, MYSTERIES AND MORE COOKIES

by Francine Paino, a.k.a. F. Della Notte

Cookies. Who doesn’t love them?  Far and away, the American favorite is the Chocolate Chip cookie, a creation of the Wakefields of Massachusetts. (More on that later).  Over 53% of American adults prefer Chocolate Chip to other varieties.  But the most popular cookie worldwide, sold in over 100 countries… drum roll, please, is Oreo!  

The popularity of these cookies made me wonder what other fun facts I could find to entertain and inform, so I set out to investigate the origins of these sweet delights. Did you know Oreo is considered the number one copycat cookie? Two brothers, Joseph and Jacob Loose, battled for dominance over the Oreo. It was first produced by Hydrox. (Remember them? Or have I dated myself?) Then, it was baked and sold by the National Biscuit Company, now known as Na-Bis-Co.  See the link below for more information on the Battle of the Oreo.

With this in mind, one might imagine that the earliest origin of cookies began in a Western European country, perhaps in Great Britain, Ireland, or Scotland. It may have begun in one of the Romance Countries. The first was Italy, followed by France and Spain. In fact, the biggest surprise of all is that the cookie dates back to Persia, in the 7th century C.E.

It all began around 550 B.C.E. in the Persian Empire, conquered many times and most famously by Alexander the Great, who defeated Darius III. These luxurious little cakes were well-known, and as Persia evolved into a diverse nation in the Islamic world, its culture spread.  Sugar, which originated in the lowlands of S.E. Asia, was brought to Persia and cultivated there. It then spread through the eastern Mediterranean and into Europe, and bakers created beautiful cakes and pastries—for the wealthy, of course.

 After the Muslim invasion of Iberia in the 8th century, followed by the Crusades and the developing spice trade, cooking techniques and ingredients began to reflect different civilizations, especially the influence of Arabian cuisine. In fact, one of the most treasured desserts of Italy, the Cannoli originated in Sicily and reflected Arabic recipes – but back to the cookie.

According to culinary historians, the cookie’s origin had a more serious purpose. It was, in fact, a test cake. Small amounts of cake batters were dropped onto baking pans to test the temperatures of the ovens. These little cakes were the first crude thermostats used to determine when the fires, fueled by burning wood, were at the correct heat to cook without wrecking the food, and each region or nation developed its own little cakes for this purpose. Eventually, these little test cakes morphed into the dry, hard-textured cookies we know today, and the renaming of these little cakes first appeared in print in the early 18th century.  

Eventually, the cookie came to America via the British Empire, where they were and still are called biscuits. After the Revolutionary War, the newly minted Americans changed the name to further separate themselves from Great Britain. They chose the Dutch variation Koekje/koek, which evolved into the word cookie, but it wasn’t until 1924 that the most beloved of all American cookies was created: the Chocolate Chip.

Ruth Graves Wakefield, before marrying, was a graduate of the Framingham State Normal School Department of Household Arts (at that time not considered a slur or degradation of women). She worked as a dietician and lectured on food. In 1930 Ruth and hubby Kenneth purchased a Cape-Cod style inn, The Toll House, in Massachusetts. Constructed in 1709, the house was a stop-over for travelers in Colonial times where they paid their road toll, changed horses, and dined. Under the Wakefield’s ownership, the Toll House  served traditional Colonial fare, and Ruth’s homemade desserts were quite popular. One day, in 1937, she discovered she didn’t have the baker’s chocolate required for her brown sugar cookies. Instead, she chopped a bar of Nestle’s Semi-Sweet Chocolate into tiny pieces, believing that adding them to the dough and baking would melt them, but the chocolate held its shape and softened to a creamy texture. The new cookie became very popular at the inn, and Ruth’s recipe was published in newspapers throughout New England, skyrocketing the sale of Nestle’s Semi-Sweet Chocolate Bars. Thus was born the Chocolate Chip Cookie.

And there you have the basics of the origin of cookies. But what you might ask, has this to do with mysteries besides the secrets of various bakers and recipes?

Cookies, I have found, are not only popular desserts and treats; they play an essential and often intriguing role in many culinary mysteries, especially the cozies.  I logged onto Goodreads and searched mystery books with the word cookie in the title. I was intrigued to find 18+ pages, 20 titles to a page, representing approximately 360  books, excluding cookbooks and children’s books. And that was only on Goodreads. Some of the titles I found brought a smile to my face. In the interests of full disclosure, I haven’t read any of them, but among my favorite titles were A Tale of Two Cookies, And Then There Were Crumbs, Misfortune Cookie, Tough Cookie, and Murder of a Smart Cookie.  

Many authors of cozies and some traditional mysteries weave the art of cooking and baking into their stories. In the Housekeeper Mystery Series, set primarily in Austin, Texas, Mrs. B., a fine cook, keeps the priests of St. Francis de Sales supplied with her home-baked Italian Lemon Drop Cookies (Anginetti), while she and the pastor, Father Melvyn, help solve crimes and find answers.  For cookie enthusiasts, I’m happy to share my favorite Lemon Drop Cookie recipe. See the link below.  

Meanwhile, happy munching and happy reading.   

http://www.thenibble.com/reviews/main/cookies/cookies2/cookie-history2.asp

https://www.cbc.ca/radio/undertheinfluence/the-best-selling-cookie-in-the-world-is-a-copycat-brand-1.7080582#:~:text=Oreo%20was%20priced%20cheaper%2C%20and,Joseph%20had%20the%20bigger%20company.

https://cookingwithgracedotnet.wordpress.com/2013/09/21/anginetti-italian-lemon-drop-cookies/

Submissions and Rejections

By N.M. Cedeño

No one likes rejection. Being rejected certainly doesn’t feel good, but anyone who wants to write (and who isn’t self-publishing their work) has to become inured to receiving rejections. While some of my stories have been accepted on their first submission, the vast majority of my traditionally published work was rejected at least once before it was accepted for publication. If I believed that the rejections were commentaries on the quality of the stories, I might have thrown the stories in a drawer after the first rejection and given up. This post is for everyone out there whose fellow writers and beta readers have told them their work is ready for publication, but who are afraid of rejection or think a single rejection is the end of the line.

Sometimes stories (even phenomenal stories that go on to win awards, so I’ve heard) take multiple submissions to find a publication home. These stories, through no fault of the story or the author, simply have trouble landing at the right market with the right editor at the right moment.

If I was the type of person to give up on a story and forget it after one rejection or even after five rejections, several of my stories would never have been published in magazines or anthologies.

Why do some stories take multiple submissions to be accepted if the story is well-written and ready for publication? Mostly, the story has to land in the right niche.

For example, one of my stories, “The Wrong Side of History,” ended up finding a home after ten submissions in After Dinner Conversation, which publishes stories that examine particular ethical questions. The story contains difficult subject matter that some editors won’t touch. I knew the story would be a hard one to place when I wrote it, so I wasn’t surprised when it wasn’t accepted until its tenth submission. Since the story was partially inspired by a paragraph in an article I read in a bioethics textbook, a magazine devoted to advancing ethical discussions was definitely the best place for it. The story can be found in After Dinner Conversation: Season Five.

Another hard-to-place story, “It Came Upon a Midnight Ice Storm,” was a cozy Christmas mystery. It was accepted on its ninth submission. I can find far more markets right now for dark crime fiction than for cozies, let alone Christmas cozies. Trying to figure out the right time to submit a seasonal story for a particular market is also difficult. Happily, I spotted an open call for cozy mysteries from Black Cat Mystery Magazine and found this story a home in issue #12 Cozies.

Other stories just linger on submission. Who knows why.

Recently another story with a long submission history was published. I wrote the first version of “The Ghostly Lady’s Curse” in about 2013, then left it in a file for a while. As near as I can tell, I rewrote a second version of it in 2017 and reviewed the story almost every time I submitted it after that. This was one of those stories that I kept tweaking– a word here, a sentence there, a paragraph added, a paragraph removed– between submissions, as opposed to one that I simply turned around and resubmitted without any changes. While the heart of the story never changed, the details did. On its tenth submission, it finally found a home in the Inkd Publishing anthology Detectives, Sleuths, and Nosy Neighbors.

My ghost story, “A Lonely Death,” which was published in Noncorporeal II from Inkd Publishing, was accepted on its eleventh submission. Among all my stories, this story has the dubious distinction of having the most submissions before being accepted. I changed a word here and there, but after about the third submission, simply resubmitted it. I had a reader tell me recently that they thought this is one of my best stories ever, which is nice to hear!

A glance through my submission records spreadsheet shows I have two other stories with lengthy submission histories. One story that I particularly like and want to see in publication is on its tenth submission. I’m hopeful that it will be accepted soon. But I know it might take some time to find the right market. The story in question contains difficult material, making it doubly hard to place. If it’s not accepted this time around, then maybe it will tie or set a new “number of submissions before publication” record.

If you want to see one of your stories published in a magazine or anthology, and you receive a rejection, DON’T GIVE UP! Don’t dwell on the rejection. Resubmit. Consider rejections as stepping stones to eventual publication.

N. M. Cedeño is a short story writer and novelist living in Texas. She is active in Sisters in Crime- Heart of Texas Chapter and is a member of the Short Mystery Fiction Society. Find out more at nmcedeno.com.

“PURE WRITERS…”

By Helen Currie Foster

A treat awaits at the end of the Audible recording of The Last Devil to Die, Book 4 in Richard Osman’s Thursday Murder Club series. https://bit.ly/4bJ55EP

The narrator, actress Fiona Shaw, interviewed Osman, who declared that, like so many of us, he believes in Stephen King’s On Writing. Thus his commitment: “Use no adverbs!” As Osman works on a scene he asks—“Is the scene propelling the action”? If not—out it goes. And how to propel the action? “Do it all with dialogue!”

I still believe mystery readers need to love (or at least like, or at the very least admire) their favorite protagonists. Osman says he loves his characters. He tells Shaw that he knows how each one talks. If you’ve read any of the Thursday Murder Club series you know that each character has a distinctive voice. Elizabeth, the retired spy, does not sound like Joyce, the voluble  diary-writer, or Ibrahim, the psychiatrist, or Ron, the finally-grown-up Tough Guy. Or Bogdan, the mysterious and indispensable…sometime criminal? Osman issues a challenge to fellow writers: consider what you yourself, or a particular character, would not say? (And maybe—what happens when you—or they––do say it?)

Another treat—this month we have two new books to relish! Daniel Silva gives us A Death in Cornwall, with his now retired Israeli spy Gabriel Allon rebuilding his original life as a restorer of old paintings. https://bit.ly/3LoP7Vz  Donna Leon presents Commissario Brunetti in A Refiner’s Fire, confronting and trying to understand youth gangs terrorizing the antique squares of Venice. https://bit.ly/46duLIE  Both books center on highly contemporary topics tied to—you guessed it—old sins in old wars.

Daniel Silva takes us on a deep dive into the almost unimaginably corrupt world of the ultra-rich, centered on the Geneva Freeport, where, Silva explains in his Author’s Note, 1.2 million paintings are stored, including more than a thousand by Picasso. Silva doesn’t mince words in describing one way the planet’s ultrarich escape paying taxes: they rent vaults at the Freeport using anonymous shell companies and avoid taxation if they sell paintings (or other assets) to another offshore anonymous shell company—in “transactions largely invisible to tax authorities.” https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Geneva_Freeport

A darker side to the Freeport vaults? Hiding works stolen from European Jews before and during World War II, with new “provenances” and new histories. Silva engages us from the beginning with Allon’s return to the Cornwall setting, the mysterious light burning in the cottage of a British art expert who has identified a Picasso stolen in 1943, and the return of young Timothy Peel, a lonely Cornwall lad befriended by Allon years earlier, and now an exceptionally able young policeman.

Add in a corruption issue involving British politics and Russian oligarchs and I predict you’ll be turning the pages. The famous spy doesn’t work singlehandedly, either—we travel to Corsica to find Allon’s mysterious colleague Christopher, then to Monaco with the computer whiz Ingrid, ready to steal documents from the Freeport, and then? As to telling the story with dialogue, and a separate voice for each character, maybe the way Allon chooses what not to say is what pushes the action.

Three days ago I picked up Donna Leon’s new A Refiner’s Fire at 8 a.m. Then I could not put it down. The first chapter starts fast (in a dark Venetian piazza), then accelerates. Meanwhile, Leon must reintroduce her characters. Her mastery of dialogue lights them up. One example: Commissario Brunetti must tread cautiously around Vice-Questore Patta, the vain and arrogant head of the police and not a Venetian, hence untrustworthy. Patta has lost at least five kilos in a new training program at a gym. A colleague tells Brunetti she overheard a compliment paid to Patta by the subtle and dazzling Signorina Elettra, the secretary who quietly controls the entire Questura office. Patta wore a new suit one day; Elettra admired it, saying “it was bolder than what he usually wore,” “[b]ecause it was single-breasted and thus more . . . revealing.” Elettra then complimented Patta “on his dedication to his vitality programme.” Brunetti whispers: “The Vice-Questore’s ‘vitality programme.’” He shakes his head a few times, “marvelling at Signorina Elettra’s ability to seduce people with a few kind words.” This exchange—combining a very Venetian fixation on exquisite fashion with the subtlety with which Elettra manages her boss––leave no doubt that she will also manage to extract from top-secret national computer systems the information Brunetti will need to resolve the crime wave Venice faces.

As in A Death in Cornwall, A Refiner’s Fire links new crimes––ongoing midnight gang battles and a vicious attack on the elderly Questura crime scene officer––to old crimes, committed during Italy’s participation in the Iraq war.

One more recommendation. I reread Dog Will Have His Day, from the Three Evangelists series by French archeologist-mystery writer Fred Vargas, set in Paris and Brittany. https://bit.ly/3WlR7nT  This time our protagonist, Louis Kehrweiler, bears the psychic wounds of an old war, World War II, with a German father and French mother. Kehrweiler is still investigating crimes by certain government officials—even though he’s been dismissed from the investigating ministry, he keeps watch over certain apartment buildings where potential targets live. When the book opens he’s watching people who walk their dogs, because he has found dog excrement on a grate by a bench…and then, after rain, when the excrement is rained away, he’s found that a bone remains. A bone from a human toe. Now he’s looking for the dog–and the victim. I found myself liking Kehrweiler a great deal—he’s a subtly drawn character. And Vargas? Oh, you must mean Fréderique Audoin-Rouzeau, French archeologist, historian and novelist, known for her work on the Black Death. and wildly creative with deep roots in French legends, tales, and countryside. https://www.fpa.es/en/princess-of-asturias-awards/laureates/2018-fred-vargas.html?texto=trayectoria&especifica=1;https://www.theguardian.com/books/booksblog/2009/jul/17/fred-vargas-deserves-prizes

Writers and readers both can enjoy Foul Matter, a 2004 sendup of the New York publishing world by Martha Grimes, author of the 25-book Richard Jury mystery series. https://bit.ly/3WnoqqJ

 (“Foul matter” is a sarcastic term for original manuscripts, galleys, and proofs which have been superseded by revised (i.e. edited) versions or the bound book and returned by the printer to the publisher.) Grimes’s Foul Matter threatens to morph into a murder mystery, even a thriller, while making fun of genre classifications and publisher behavior. The plot begins with a wildly successful author engaged in his own devious plot. His first step: “What Paul needed was hard to find: a pure writer.” He meant “a writer of a certain kind, one who didn’t really think about the arena of publishing.”

It’s fun to hear Foul Matter’s characters comment on their writing processes. One hates writers’ retreats, “Because we love to complain about not having enough time, or that we lack a proper writing environment. We don’t want any more time, and any environment will do, if we’re honest. Writing’s just damn hard. It can be torturous.. I don’t want to torture myself any more than is absolutely required. Besides, can you imagine having to sit down to dinner with thirty or forty other writers?”

Another character mocks this “writing is torture” complaint: “You can’t be blocked if you just keep on writing words. Any words. People who get ‘blocked’ make the mistake of thinking they have to write good words.” She analogizes to Field of Dreams: “Write it, and they will come.” A would-be writer asks, “Do you need to start with an idea?” No, says one writer: “If you want to write a mystery, just start with a body draped over a gate.” But do you need talent? “You just take out your yellow legal pad and pen and just start.”

Okay, fellow writers. Laugh, then pick up your pens. I can say that since momentarily I’m in the wonderful space where a book has just come out—Ghost Bones! (Book 9 in the Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery series)—and a new book is just beginning to ferment. 

Helen Currie Foster lives and writes the Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery series, set in the iconic Texas Hill Country, north of Dripping Springs, loosely supervised by three burros. She’s active with Heart of Texas Sisters in Crime, Austin Shakespeare, and Hays County Master Naturalists.

Follow her at http://www.helencurriefoster.com, and https://www.facebook.com/helencurriefoster/

THE MAGIC OF SUMMER AND HERBS.

Francine Paino, a.k.a. F. Della Notte

The long, dreamy days of summer are upon us – some places hotter than others, but summer all the same.  Along with daylight for twelve-plus hours to enjoy beaches, sand, and vacations from work and school, we are blessed with a profusion of herbs to flavor our food and our lives.

In archeology, evidence indicates the use of medicinal plants dates back to the Paleolithic age, approximately 60,000 years ago, and written information dates 5,000 years to the Sumerians, who compiled lists of plants and uses. It is no wonder that herbs flavor our foods and, through the centuries, has been used in medicines, and magic spells. Most people associate herbs in witchcraft with poisons, but even the herbs most commonly used in cooking have fun lore surrounding them, and summer is when we enjoy them in abundance and freshly picked.

There’s nothing sweeter than a bright, lush Basil plant. Its leafy growth gives off an aroma that is slightly sweet, clove-like, and peppery. It’s also described as giving hints of mint and anise. Basil is one of the few herbs that can be enjoyed raw. One of my favorites is the Caprese Salad, where its peppery flavor enhances sliced tomato, mozzarella, and olive oil. 

Basil has far-reaching, ancient folklore. With over 5,000 different varieties, ranging from Thai to Genovese, Basil is one of the most popular herbs in the world. In Hinduism, it is considered sacred. In India, it’s also regarded as holy and used to ward off evil. In Ancient Egypt, Basil was used in the mummification process because of its antibacterial properties. It didn’t, however, protect Lord Carnarvon.

Other than culinary and religious books, I haven’t found any fun fiction involving Basil in stories, other than Basil, the Great Mouse Detective. The same goes for what’s become known as the “pizza herb.”  

Oregano has a piney, peppery, sharp flavor with menthol and lemon undertones. Depending on the conditions in which it’s grown, it can have a warm, slightly sour, and spicy taste, and it lends its flavors to meats and sauces. Personally, this cook favors the Greek Oregano over the Italian—believe it or not!

It is reported that Oregano has been used in magic spells, and brings good fortune and protection. Some believe that growing Oregano near your home can protect you from evil.  Kept near you while sleeping, it may aid in visions and psychic dreams.  – I’ll pass on that one.

In herbal lore, Oregano is said to promote good fortune and was used as an antidote to poisons, treating convulsions and skin irritations. “In Shakespearian time, it was thought to cure overdoses of opium and hemlock.”  Whether or not any of that is true, herbalists still recommend it for its antibacterial properties.

Have you ever munched on Parsley? Try it sometime. Fresh and clean, it’s a good palate cleanser. It’s uplifting, chopped into soups, stews, and sauces, from Tabbouleh to Gremolata. I particularly enjoy its piney taste mixed with ricotta cheese prepared for lasagna. High in vitamins C, A, and K, iron, and folic acid, it has incredible health benefits on the spectrum of ancient uses.

In the spirit world, sprinkling chopped Parsley over your food would  help protect you from low-level spirits. Here’s an exciting find. “Ancient Greeks associated Parsley with Achromous, the Herald of Death, and covered their tombs with wreaths of it.” “Superstition held that only pregnant women or witches could grow Parsley.” Happily, that cultural restriction is long gone. You will find uses for Parsley in any cookbook, from domestic to foreign recipes, and Tamar Myers’s Parsley, Sage, Rosemary and Crime series may entertain you.  

Among my favorite herbs is Rosemary. This herb, with its woodsy flavor and subtle tones of pepper, lemon, and mint, is powerful, both in cooking and in magic. Adding a little is more than enough to enhance the flavors of chicken and roasts. Rosemary’s scent is described as pungent, astringent, somewhat similar to Eucalyptus or camphor. I liken it to pine.

Ancient uses and beliefs were that it strengthened memory. In literature and folklore it was a sign of remembrance and faithfulness. The power of Rosemary doesn’t stop in the cooking pots.

In fiction, it is mentioned in the movie Practical Magic—“plant it outside your front door for good luck.” Hang bundles to keep harmful people, like burglars, from entering. I have Rosemary beside my front door walkway and outside my kitchen door, but I don’t suppose I can leave either door unlocked.

In literature, Rosemary is a popular name, and there is the Jane Louise Curry mystery series, Parsley, Sage, Rosemary, and Thyme. Moving along, the next herb to season our foods and entertain us is Sage.

Stroking the soft, furry Sage leaf reminds me of stroking my cat’s soft, shiny fur. Sage doesn’t smell like any animal I’ve ever petted. It’s complex and multi-layered, with both herbal and earthy notes. Described as warm and woody, it hints of camphor and eucalyptus. I find Sage is especially effective in brightening the flavors of gamey, earthy meats like lamb.

“Sage was recognized as an herbal remedy in ancient Greece and Rome, as well as in Native American and Chinese medicine.” According to the Naturally Modern Witch’s website, Sage impacts balance, business clairvoyance, comfort, concentration, focus, consciousness, gratitude, harmony, insights, mental clarity, money, and wisdom.  That’s a lot of power for one leaf!

I’ve found Sage mentioned in fiction on a list of cozy mystery and witchy books.  Again, we can look to the Amish Mystery Series by Tamar Myers to find Sage referenced in multiple roles.

Thyme. The smell of spring. I have a large pot growing  a verdant Thyme planted outside my kitchen door. One of my pleasures is to cut a bouquet and before storing it in the fridge or freezer, bury my nose in it and inhale its beautiful, fresh, floral scent with hints of Rosemary, lemon, and grass. Close your eyes and breathe in its scent on dark, dreary days, and you’re transported to a summer field with clear blue skies and crisp air. I am happy to report that this morning I opened a plastic bag of Thyme in my veggie compartment, and the fragrance is almost as strong as when I cut it weeks ago. 

Thyme’s medicinal properties have been relied upon for thousands of years. In ancient Egypt, its antimicrobial properties made it essential in embalming. The Romans thought it brought strength and courage and used it in bathhouses to purify body and mind. It was relied upon in ancient Greece for its antiseptic powers and was often used to treat battle wounds.

Thyme has a strong herbal flavor, somewhat like lavender or Rosemary, and gives dishes a minty flavor—a little sweet and a little peppery. Its flavoring works for all types of meats and fish, and it’s great in vegetable soups, and stocks. . It can withstand long cooking times, so it can be added early to infuse dishes with its flavor Another interesting fact is that Thyme is often used in Cajun and Creole cooking, because it was easily available to the earliest settlers in Louisiana, who incorporated it into their cooking.

I’ve found a new fun book, with Thyme. Susan Wittig Albert’s mystery, Thyme of Death. It takes place in a small Texas town where an attorney leaves his law practice to open an herb shop and becomes involved in the first China Bayles Mystery.

All of these fascinating stories and facts about herbs are fun, but the true magic of herbs, even beyond the ones I’ve mentioned, is while often described with the same adjectives once they’re added to food, they add layers of flavors to any dish and are easily distinguishable.

So, happy summer, happy reading, and happy eating herb-infused foods.

References:
https://universalium.en-academic.com/188866/Rosemary
https://bronchostop.com/our-herbal-ingredients/what-is-sage.html
https://hort.extension.wisc.edu/articles/parsley-petroselinum-crispum/
https://foodprint.org/real-food/rosemary-and-thyme/#:~:text=According%20to%20%E2%80%9CThe%20Spice%20Lover’s,settlement%20of%20the%20Louisiana%20territory

This Blonde Had More Fun

by M. K. Waller

For my eighth Christmas, my grandmother gave me two Nancy Drew Mysteries: The Secret of the Old Clock and The Hidden Staircase.

And I fell in love.

Nancy Drew was so lucky. She was eighteen years old and had a housekeeper, a steady boyfriend, two best girlfriends, and a blue convertible.  The convertible seemed to have a perpetually full tank of gasoline.  She was also a blonde, which meant she had more fun.*

Her father, prominent River Heights lawyer Carson Drew, was not the average parent. He rarely, if ever, asked where she’d been all day, and when he found out, he never said anything like, “Nancy, the next time you climb into a moving van driven by thugs and hide under a rug, you’ll be grounded till you’re thirty.” Or, for that matter, “Time to get serious, Nancy. Either enroll in Emerson College and start working on a degree, or find yourself a job. You can’t play detective for the rest of your life.”

Hannah Gruen cooked and cleaned, so Nancy did no chores. Boyfriend Ned Nickerson escorted her to dances when appropriate but otherwise stayed busy at Emerson College and didn’t get underfoot. Friends—tomboy George, whose pet phrase was, in 1959,  an anachronistic “Hypers! You slay me!”; and George’s “plump” cousin Bess—provided companionship as well as help with investigations.

What was there not to love?  Well, Nancy herself wasn’t perfect. She teased Bess about being plump; I didn’t like that.  And her unfailing self-confidence sometimes grated. I’d have been happier if she’d expressed self-doubt now and then.

But she was eighteen and could take off in her convertible, wind blowing through her hair, seeking and finding adventure, solving mysteries along the way. To an eight-year-old convinced she’d never be old enough for a driver’s license, much less a car, Nancy’s freedom sounded like heaven.

But Nancy wasn’t a party girl; she took detective work seriously. She solved mysteries because she wanted to help people.

In The Clue of the Tapping Heels, for example, she helped restore a child’s trust fund. In The Secret of the Wooden Lady, she found the lost figurehead belonging to a historic clipper and helped the captain establish clear title to the ship. In The Clue of the Leaning Chimney, while looking for a valuable Chinese vase she stumbled upon a gang using immigrants as slave labor. In The Secret in the Jewel Box, she reunited Madame Alexandra with her long-lost grandson, a prince.

In addition to enjoying the stories, I picked up some interesting bits of information. From The Clue of the Black Keys, I learned about obsidian; from The Clue of the Leaning Chimney, about kaolin.

And Madame Alexandra, her long-lost grandson, and Mr. Faber, the jeweler who created the ornate jewel box, took on new meaning when I later read about the Tsarina Alexandra of Russia, Tsarevitch Alexei, and the Faberge eggs.

I said earlier that I fell in love with Nancy Drew mysteries, but I could just as well have said I got hooked on them. Two years after I read the first ones, I was penciling, in my neatest handwriting, letters to Joske’s Department Store:

Dear Sir:

Please send me the following books:

1 copy of The Secret in the Old Attic                   $2.00
1 copy of The Clue of the Tapping Heels             $2.00

Please charge my account.

My mother signed them. It was, after all, her account.

By my eleventh birthday, I’d moved along, fallen in love with Zane Grey’s westerns—society ladies from the East meeting up with cowboys down on the Mexican border, very romantic—and was writing to Joske’s about those.

But even though I no longer read Nancy Drews, I’m still hooked—on mysteries. Every time I pick up an Agatha Christie, a P. D. James, a Ruth Rendell, an Elizabeth George, a Martha Grimes, a Tana French, a Donna Leon, a . . . as I said, I’m hooked.

Nancy Drew made me a mystery reader. And Nancy is the reason I write mystery.

From what my friends tell me, a lot of them are in the same boat.

That Nancy Drew has a lot to answer for.

***

How did we know blondes have more fun? Television  and Lady Clairol told us so.

***

Image of clock by stux from Pixabay

Image  of egg by opsa from Pixabay