Where Did the Slipper Go?

Today is the third day of release fun for the first book in the Ever After Mysteries, The Last Gasp. I’m quite excited about this book and I’m so excited that we are beginning to release the series! (My book is book five, so it will be awhile, but in the mean time, you can go get four other books!) To celebrate the release, all the Ever After authors are doing a blog hop that includes a mini-mystery and prizes. For my part, I’m trying to prove that I do not have Cinderella’s slipper in my possession…

Just Where Did the Slipper Go?

“Where is Cinderella’s glass slipper, Miss Jones? We have two men, who say they saw you with it in your hand at the Lost Dutchman’s Museum.”

When the deputy sheriff found me in my favorite coffee shop, wrapped in one of my favorite coats, writing my new book to the sounds of chit-chat, coffee making, and Louie Armstrong, I couldn’t rightly answer his question.

I really had not expected a hot June day to cause me trouble for so long. My friend Christianna and I had planned to explore the area around the Superstition Mountains, starting with the Lost Dutchman Museum. June in Arizona, you must know, is really rather scorching, but with some determination and a good breeze, we set out for adventure.

I didn’t plan to become a thief that day – I really didn’t! Christianna and I had wandered the museum a bit before we came across the wildlife exhibit. A lovely exhibit really, full of a variety of native wild animals, stuffed and polished to look quite alive. Except, they didn’t move. Perched atop a giant rock on the wall, lounged a beautiful and very lifelike Mountain Lion. Her eyes seemed to pierced right through you. And by her enormous and frozen paw, lay the most beautiful slipper I had ever seen in my life. Even in the lights of the museum, it glistened and sparkled like a polished diamond. I had no idea that it had belonged to Cinderella though – how could I?

Christianna and I felt certain the slipper did not belong in the exhibit, possibly not in the museum itself, but what were we to do? We decided to leave it be.

Until the last minute, when Christianna started to walk away, and I decided to snatch it up. It seemed dangerous to leave it there; anyone could walk away with it. I dropped the slipper in my purse; Cinderella must have had truly diminutive feet, because that slipper fit in my rather small vintage purse and still snapped closed. Christianna somehow didn’t notice, which is very unlike her, but that place was distracting.

I had planned to ask the ladies who ran the museum about the slipper before we left. Truly, I did! But I got so caught up in my research that I completely forgot and walked right out with it. That’s the truth! I only remembered the slipper in Goldfield hours later, when I opened my purse to pay for tickets to the exhibits.

Now, I should have turned around then and there to return the slipper to the museum – if it even belonged there, which I doubt. I didn’t want to miss out on exploring Goldfield though, so I decided to do it later. It was a fatal and foolish mistake.

The slipper survived the train ride and various wanderings around town. I know, because I peeked at it a few times, for fear it might have fallen from the purse or been stolen without my notice, despite the fact I hadn’t let go of my purse even once. I had just about had enough with carrying around such a valuable object, when we descended into the mine for our next tour. The tour guide, in an effort to allow us a glimpse of how dark the mine would have been in the 1800’s, shut off all the lights – then blew out her candle. Someone jostled me, causing me to nearly lose my balance, and my purse flung from my wrist. I heard a thud.

When the light returned, I looked around the dirt floor for my purse, but I didn’t see it anywhere. Christianna noticed my search and joined me, as we fell behind the group. She found it, lying atop a wooden structure – I don’t think it could have been a table, but maybe – that had been behind us in the shadow.  The purse lay open as it had apparently fallen, my wallet peeking out and my handkerchief my sister had made me resting on the wooden surface. The slipper, however, had vanished. I searched in vain; there was no sign of it!

I told all of this to the deputy sheriff, while he watched me with very serious eyes. Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything else, but he made me nervous, so I told him that I had seen Marji Laine in the mine. I didn’t speak to her, except in passing, as I don’t really know her; just her picture. I didn’t really mean to imply that she stole the slipper, but I think he took it that way. Particularly when I told him that she had been standing next to me before the lights went out.

I suppose my say-so won’t get her arrested. They might question her though. Who knows? Maybe she has the slipper! I don’t know. I only know that I don’t have it anymore.

You can go judge for yourself whether Marji has that slipper or not… If nothing else, she might give you another clue. Don’t forget to enter to get the reward (some people call it a giveaway, but we know better,) for helping the authorities catch the culprit!

Café Chocolaté: Chapter XXIX

Chapter XXIX – Ginger Thomas

If talking to Adrian and Xavier ought to have made Ginger feel better, it didn’t work. With a still heavy heart and even higher anxiety, she left them. Anna moved on her approach and the waitress knelt beside her brother once more.

“How is he doing?”

Eddie’s eyes opened at the sound of her voice. Pain clouded them so, that it hurt Ginger to look at him.

Timothy still looked more haggard than usual. “He’s doing as well as can be expected. Stable and the bleeding is down to manageable levels.”

A spasm of pain made Eddie tense. Ginger put a hand on his shoulder.

“His pain level appears unchanged.”

Ginger frowned. “Can’t we give him something for it?”

Timothy shook his head. “I wouldn’t risk it. When we get out of here, if he needs surgery…” He let the sentence hang.

With a sigh, Ginger took her brother’s hand instead. Exactly when can we hope for that to happen? We’re stuck in here.

“Ginger, what did you tell them?” Eddie’s voice rasped.

Ginger shook her head. “I told you that you don’t need to worry about it.”

He winced. “I will anyhow.”

“Is he confessing?” Mary’s whimper, as the woman crept closer to them, made Ginger flinch.

No.” She hardly dared to look at the woman.

“Well, you lied, and if you are siblings, he probably did too…”

“What?” Ginger swiveled around. Eddie squeezed her hand in a silent plea for her to remain calm.

“I-it’s true!”

“No, it isn’t!” Ginger calmed herself with an effort. “And I didn’t lie.”

“Even if she did, siblings don’t always share failings.” Fabian leaned against the table near Mary.

“They could though and probably would.” Mary wrung her hands, creeping forward with the most ridiculous shuffle. “He’s still alive. I didn’t kill him. I keep expecting him to slip away.”

“Yes, he is still alive.” Fabian straightened. “No, you may not try again.”

Mary gave him a wary glance, shuffling backwards a hair. She almost squeaked. “He lied.”

“We don’t know that he lied.” Anna stood behind Ginger. “And this conversation is getting incredibly old!”

“We do know!” Mary’s voice raised beyond a squeak.

You don’t know anything.” Ginger couldn’t keep from speaking. “You’re just a hysterical nutcase who could easily get us all killed through sheer idiocy!” Timothy cleared his throat and Ginger clenched her teeth.

“I-”

Fabian straightened. “Let’s break and go to our separate corners, before someone draws more blood, shall we?”

Ginger didn’t look directly at the man but turned toward her brother again. Mary backed away.

Eddie watched her, but she looked away. The room fell quiet and felt more oppressive than she had ever experienced. Sweeping her gaze across the room, Ginger noted everyone sitting away from each other. Alone.

Fabian watched Mary from a distance with an occasional glance toward Renee. Kimberly huddled alone, still sipping at what must have been some disgusting cold coffee. Anna absently rubbed her arm at a little distance from Ginger, while staring toward the worthless exit. The cousins still sat together with the little girl, but the rest… Their distrust of each other seemed to have increased. She wondered if Timothy would have kept a similar distance, if Eddie didn’t need him.

We don’t know who might try to stab us next for our own protection.

Renee shifted slightly in her chair, attracting Ginger’s attention again. The woman seemed to wilt and droop as if a burden crushed her very shoulders. Ginger thought back over her acquaintance – if it could be called that, – with the woman. Something about her had changed over time.

“I think her husband is gone.” She said it more to herself, but Timothy looked up.

“You think what?”

She didn’t turn. “Renee. I think her husband is gone.”

“Well, he certainly isn’t here.”

Ginger turned toward him with a roll of her eyes. “Not here, silly. I think he’s actually gone.”

“As in deceased?”

“Or he left her or is in prison or something.”

Timothy placed another folded towel beneath Eddie’s head. “Seems an extreme conclusion.”

“I finally remembered who he is.” Ginger shook her head. “I only saw them together once, but they were obviously together. She didn’t have a baby bump yet. She came to meet him here – they only stayed a moment after she showed up. He used to come in every Tuesday with his buddy.”

“And from that, you divine that he’s now gone? Be careful, you’ll start to sound like Mary.”

Ginger fought a glare. “The week that he stopped coming in, Renee started showing up. She’s come in every Tuesday since – except twice. Last week she was here on Wednesday or Thursday, and about a month ago, she came in on a Monday.”

Timothy reached to take Eddie’s pulse again. “You could be correct or it could be a coincidence. She didn’t seem to want to talk about it though, I’ll grant you that.”

“No, she didn’t.” Ginger glanced toward Renee, then back to Timothy. “She’s also sad. Very sad. I could be wrong, but I think something has happened to him. He’s gone. I just can’t tell if she thinks he’s coming back.”

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A Nickname Turned Novel…

“…Rumpelstiltskin.”

I looked up at the grinning blue eyed little girl, her blonde hair dancing around her shoulders. I don’t recall for certain what she said to me, other than that she included her newest nickname for me. In the short time I’d known this girl, several years my junior, she had come up with a small number of names to call me, often with a meaning that went above my head. Like today.

I turned my attention back down to the Monopoly board, but her brother shook his head. “Wow. You have the nicest names for her!”

I snapped my head up again and the girl’s grin deepened. I turned to her brother. “What is Rumpelstiltskin?”

She started to giggle, while he raised his eyebrows. “You don’t know who Rumpelstiltskin is?”

“No.”

He didn’t answer, but took his turn at Monopoly instead.

“Is Rumpelstiltskin good or bad?”

He shrugged. “He’s pretty much a villain.”

The girl laughed.

That night marked my very first introduction to the gold spinning character of fairy tale. Over a decade later, that grinning blue eyed girl still calls me Rumpelstiltskin (or Rumple, depending) except she’s a lovely blue eyed woman instead. (And one of my favorite people, in case you’re still questioning her choice of nickname.) I looked up the fairy tale when I had a chance and it stayed on a shelf in my mental library. Just waiting, apparently.

Waiting until Chautona Havig told me about the mystery fairytales series. She told me all about them one night, all about the plans to turn fairytales into mysteries set in the 1920’s. Despite being in the middle of deadlines for other books, I found myself fascinated. Fairytales and mysteries together? It sounded like so much fun.

When the opportunity to join the series came my way, I took it. As for fairytale? I said I had an idea I could do for Beauty and the Beast, but what I really would like to do would be… Rumpelstiltskin. Years of hearing my nickname had created an affection for the fairytale, while those same years of ruminating on the storyline had wrought a desire to do something with it myself. I just wasn’t sure that anyone else would like the idea. But Chautona did – and off I went!

I discovered one problem, however. I didn’t have much of an idea how to write about Rumpelstiltskin in the real world –  with a murder mystery, no less. I only knew that I wanted to…

In southern Arizona lies Superstition Mountain. It’s beautiful, high, and majestic. It is also one of my favorite sights. To add to the fascination, Superstition Mountain has a legend buried deep within its canyons. The Legend of the Lost Dutchman Goldmine.

I have been enchanted with the legend of the Lost Dutchman Goldmine since childhood and when I thought of Rumpelstiltskin and that goldmine together, they simply clicked. Every roadblock I came up with faded away. I started research – so much research – and even that seemed to align perfectly as I went along. Tiny Apache Junction, the Goldfield ghost town, the dance pavilion, the beautiful desert with all of its cacti, scraggly plants, and critters… The area around Superstition Mountain began to populate, 1929 began to come alive. I saw twirling dresses, slow moving burros, storytelling old prospectors… And then, Dorothy Sinclair showed up, looking out of her low window with the Superstition Mountain towering above her… And I knew I had my story.

It took some time as I went along until I found my Rumple, but find him I did… I just won’t tell you where or how.  Thus, The Lost Dutchman’s Secret was born into the Ever After Mysteries Series.

And speaking of the series… We’re doing our cover reveals! You really ought to go back and see the covers that we’ve already put up – but today is the cover reveal for The Lost Dutchman’s Secret!

But there’s a thing – see, Amazon has a placeholder cover for the book currently, but it’s changing soon and the first person to find the placeholder cover replaced with the real cover on Amazon, shares it somewhere online, and sends the link or screenshot to that share will win a free advance reader copy for the book! You’ll get it before anyone else (except the launch team) gets it!

What are you looking for?

Remember, the left is the placeholder that is on Amazon now. We’re releasing one final cover per day on Amazon and making a game of it. Watch the Amazon Book Page for the change to the beautiful cover painted by Josh Markey. (I loved the new cover the moment I saw it!) We’re so excited that he’s doing this series! His work is just lovely. Keep an eye out, share that link, then send your email to celebratelit@celebratelit.com. The first email to arrive with proof of sharing The Lost Dutchman’s Secret wins!

It’s a series though, so tomorrow make sure you go and see Denise Barela’s cover reveal, (it’s her debut novel!) watch out for her cover change, and share it too!

To the KING be all the glory!

Thanksgiving 2020

It is Thanksgiving 2020.

This year has been a difficult year for so many. Regardless of your political views, opinions on masks and lockdowns, level of health, or place of residence, the likelihood that you are among those who struggled this year is fairly high.

Exactly 400 years ago in the year 1620, the ship The Mayflower reached the shores of Cape Cod. What followed may be called the greatest trial in the lives of some of those pilgrims, if not all; out of their small band of just over 100 people, nearly every one fell terribly ill. Half of them died before the end of their first winter. During their first year in the New World, the pilgrims underwent intense hardships, privations, and losses. Yet, when harvest time came in 1621 and they found themselves blessed by God with a good harvest, they invited their friends and celebrated a Thanksgiving feast because the LORD had blessed them.

I am not going to try to compare our hardships to the pilgrims of 1620. I don’t think that can be done, neither do I find it helpful. Job losses, illness, depression, loneliness, disappointment, loss of loved ones… I know the list goes on. Our hardships look different than those of the Plymouth colony, but hardships they are. As we near the end of the year, “2020” has become synonymous with a bad time. If they could, there would be a rush to end it yesterday and get on to the, hopefully, brighter future of 2021. Thanksgiving Day seems so insignificant and boring in light of some of the other things we’ve been fighting.

Let me encourage you, however, to take a step back and pause. I’m not going to tell you that you need to wait for Thanksgiving Day to pass before you put up your Christmas decorations – it’s a little late for that anyhow. I would like to suggest though that, this year, this difficult, painful year, where so many of us, myself included, have experienced fear, loss, loneliness, heartache, isolation, illness, job loss, and many other things – may I submit that this year is the year that we need to follow in the footsteps of the Plymouth Pilgrims and remember Thanksgiving.

This year, the year where so many difficulties, trials, and struggles seem to have collided into one place, this year where we are tempted to just wish the year be gone, this year is the one that we need to remember Thanksgiving and practice the name in deed. This is the year we need to take the time to recall the blessings that the LORD planted in the midst of the trials – and I know that He did – and thank Him for those, because this is the year it’s difficult. This is the year, we want to get wrapped up in our trials and might just forget altogether.

Have we eaten? Talked to our best friend on the phone? Attended church? Made a new dress? Found a new job? Enjoyed a Zoom call? Reached the end of a project or goal? Worked through depression? Written a book? Read a book? Bought a new book? Found a new favorite song? Taken up walking? Spent more time with people that you normally don’t see very often? Survived a dreadful illness? Had water to drink? How about coffee or tea, or even better, both?

These are blessings, even in the midst of trials. (And I know there are more. I’m not trying to be exhaustive.) These are gifts of the LORD to the people that He created and we, as His people, ought to be thanking Him no matter what has gone on, because He is good and His mercy endures forever. And even if we can’t think of a single thing – and I’m certain we can if we try hard enough – have we been forgiven and cleansed by the saving blood of the Redeemer? Am I a child, loved by my Father, the Creator of the Universe? Then we have much reason to be thankful!

This year, more so than its easier predecessors, we need to refuse to allow ourselves to brush off or forget Thanksgiving. Christmas is beautiful – but it can wait (or take a break) for a day. This year, even more than we ever have before, let’s take this day and thank the LORD for His blessings, His provision, His love and kindness. Make lists, share on social media, talk about them with others. We should be filled with thanksgiving and praise to the LORD every day, but let’s make a point to set aside this Thanksgiving holiday as an especially grateful one. Let us join the psalmist and “come before His presence with thanksgiving, let us joyfully shout with psalms. For the LORD is a great God and a King about all gods…” And He is still great and still King, even amidst the hardships of 2020. Let’s remember that and thank Him!

“Oh give thanks to the LORD, for He is good, for His lovingkindness is everlasting.” Psalm 107:1

To the KING be all the glory!

Café Chocolaté: Chapter XXVIII

Chapter XXVIII – Monique Rodriguez

Monique poked and prodded at Mr. Pickles, trying to bring some sense of his round shape back into his face. She succeeded very little, no matter how hard she tried.

Come on, Mr. Pickles. If you get too flat, someone might think you’re a rag instead of a bunny. They might throw you in the trash can.

Every now and then, she looked across at Miss Ginger, who sat opposite to Mr. Xavier. Watching her face made Monique frown. Miss Ginger had scared her with her shouts and threats, but even when she glared at Mr. Xavier, she didn’t scare Monique now.

Daddy used to say to look at people’s eyes, Mr. Pickles. I heard him tell Mommy that’s what he would do. Sometimes, even if they sound mean, you can see something different in their eyes.

Between attempts at fluffing, Monique watched the waitress’s eyes. She watched her hands when they could be seen above the table, ready to curl into fists. She watched how frequently Miss Ginger raised her chin in a quick, sharp movement, how her voice could go from soft to rough in the flash of a second.

You’re still very flat, Mr. Pickles. But we have to stay brave, even when we’re flat.

“He’s my brother.”

Monique looked up again. She frowned and tried to see past Mr. Xavier to the man lying on the ground. She couldn’t see much. Mostly just his shoes.

Mr. Xavier said he was hurt really bad, but he won’t say if he’ll be okay, Mr. Pickles.

She switched back to Ginger.

Her eyes are sad. She sounds unhappy, but Daddy would say that her eyes are sad. I’m sure of it, Mr. Pickles.

She poked the bunny again. He still didn’t fluff much at all. The three adults stopped talking and Mr. Xavier looked down at her with a half-smile.

“Are you doing all right, sweetheart?”

She nodded at him, frowned at Mr. Pickles, then looked up once more. “Do you think she loves her brother very much?”

Her whisper must have been too quiet, because Mr. Xavier blinked and looked lost.

“What was that, sweetheart?”

“Does she love her brother very much?”

Mr. Xavier glanced back to Miss Ginger, who raised her eyebrows in question.

“She wants to know if you love your brother very much.”

Miss Ginger looked surprised. “Why would she ask something like that?”

“I love my brother very much.” Monique didn’t know why she ventured to speak loud enough for Miss Ginger to hear. “I would be sad to see my brother get hurt.”

Miss Ginger didn’t say anything at first. Monique thought she might just stare at her forever.

Why is she staring at me, Mr. Pickles?

Monique pulled the bunny’s ear without looking down. “Are you sad to see your brother get hurt?”

Miss Ginger closed her eyes for a brief second with a droop of her head. She looked up at Monique again, her shoulders falling. “Yes. I am sad to see him get hurt. If I could have kept him from getting hurt, I would have.”

“I’d keep my brother from getting hurt too.”

And we have to, Mr. Pickles. We have to.

“How old is your bother, Monique?”

The child looked up at Mr. Xavier and blinked.

Was I supposed to talk about him? They didn’t say not to.

All three of the adults had turned toward her now. She looked down at Mr. Pickles.

Can I answer them, Mr. Pickles?

She knew he couldn’t tell her what to do. She wished that he could. She shook her head without raising it.

“Aaron is four-years-old. He’s my little brother.”

They didn’t say I couldn’t talk about him.

“Where is Aaron, Monique?” Mr. Adrian asked.

Monique barely glanced up at him, her voice growing softer. “At the other house.”

“The ‘other house?’” She could feel Mr. Xavier watching her.

She nodded, pulling on Mr. Pickles other ear.

“Do you see him very much?”

She shook her head, pulling both of the bunny’s ears at once.

But if we’re good and very brave, maybe we’ll see Aaron again soon, Mr. Pickles.

The others didn’t ask her anything else and she ventured to raise her eyes again. Miss Ginger lifted her chin.

“Can I go now?”

“I think so.” Mr. Xavier nodded toward his cousin. “Adrian?”

Mr. Adrian looked up from his notebook. “Yes. I don’t have anything else to ask.”

Miss Ginger stood. She started to go, but stopped and turned back. “I am sorry that I didn’t tell you everything up front. You have to understand that I did what I did to protect Eddie, but that my actions do not make him guilty. I was irrational.”

“So you said,” Mr. Xavier answered.

Miss Ginger grit her teeth, but didn’t move.

“We have not accused Eddie.” Mr. Adrian closed his notebook again.

“Mary Dill-”

“Mary Dill can believe as she likes, but we are still investigating and are not making accusations as of yet. We are doing exactly as you asked.”

Miss Ginger looked from one to the other a moment. Monique watched her face, wondering why she stared so intently. At last, she gave a slight nod and turned away.

Monique pulled Mr. Pickles ears again. “I think that she loves her brother very much, even if she doesn’t say so.” She whispered the words, but Mr. Adrian heard them, because he sighed.

“I think that she does, Monique. I wonder though if her brother knows it.”

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