Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 7

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, and 6 scroll to the bottom of the blog where it says OLDER POSTS.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" MJ glared at me.

"What?"

"You gave this bird to Skye. You can't suddenly up and decide that you're taking the bird away after telling her Kookie belongs to her."

A slow stain crept up my neck. I turned to my friend and said, "Skye, I apologize. MJ's right. What do you want to do?"

Skye gave a long, low sigh. "I'm not sure what to do, but I don't want to own a dead bird, so maybe it's best that we find a way to reunite Kookie and Helen."

Honora had been curiously silent throughout Pete's exam. Now she patted Skye's arm and said, "You're an old soul, Skye. You've made a brave decision."

With that decided, I thanked Pete and asked for a bill. "MJ's already promised to go with me to a concert at the Kravis Center, so you're paid up."

"MJ, can I impose on you for one more favor? Can you handle the store by yourself while Skye and I take a ride? I can't just put the bird in the car and drive over to the assisted living facility."

"Why not?" MJ raised perfectly plucked eyebrows at me. "Even if you have to get turned away and you have to take him back into the car, at least he might start eating again. Isn't that the goal?"

I bit my lower lip. Having a big bird in the store made me nervous, but the thought of having that same bird in my car while I was driving nearly put me over the edge. I wanted to scream, "But I hate birds!" As I dithered, trying to find the right words, another white feather drifted off of Kookie and fell to the tile directly in front of me. What was it Kiki Lowenstein always said? Time to pull up my big girl panties and do what needed to be done. "All right. Fine. Let's do this."

After I pulled Black Beauty, my Camry, around front, Skye walked out with Kookie on her shoulder. Although I shivered as she climbed in and adjusted her seatbelt, what really bothered me was the churning of my tummy as Kookie climbed off of Skye's shoulder and onto the back of the passenger seat.

"Do you know where this place is?" My voice sounded like a frog's croaking.

"I think so." Skye issued directions, and we were off, winding our way over the railroad tracks, turning south on Dixie Highway, and heading toward Hobe Sound.

A few more turns along the way and we pulled up at a sign, "Martin Gardens: Senior Living Facility." The name brought a smirk to my face. "Evidently the owner played a lot of Monopoly as a kid."

Skye didn't get that. Instead, she pointed to our right. "Look."

As I turned my head, my jaw dropped. Plunked down in the middle of a mud puddle was a residential building, a place that reminded me of a school without one spec of landscaping. Not even a stray weed. I'd never seen such a barren spot in all my life.

"Oh, my gosh," said Skye. "That's plug ugly. It's awful! Can you imagine? What if you lived there and your window opened out on...on that? Yard after yard of ugly, dirty mud? How could they do that? Is it even legal?"

I pointed the nose of the Camry toward the sliding glass doors under a green fabric canopy. As we moved closer, a sign became obvious: ENTRANCE.

"Wow. What a totally cheerless, desolate place," I said.

And to that Kookie let out a loud, angry squawk.


~To Be Continued~Okay, kids! Show me some love! If you are liking this serialized short story, go to my Facebook page and hit "Like" the little blue thumb in a tiny white box under the big picture of me. (My toes point to the right. There are three boxes. "Like" is the second box.) Or tell a friend about the Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series. Here are the links:  Tear Down and Die  http://tinyurl.com/TearDD and Kicked to the Curb http://tinyurl.com/KickedTTCurb the blog post and click on OLDER POST.

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 5

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, 3, and 4 scroll to the bottom of the blog post and click on OLDER POST.

Skye was thrilled with Kookie. The minute she came through the front door, she raced over to see the bird, even though she was still wearing her server's uniform from Pumpernickel's. Usually Skye can't wait to get out of the black slacks and white blouse. They are totally not her style.

"Isn't he beautiful?" she gushed. "I didn't realize he'd be a blue-eyed cockatoo. These are really, really rare. An endangered species or close to it."

In response, Kookie eyed her warily. With a bit of coaxing, Skye was able to get the big white bird to step onto her outstretched finger. He stared at her, fluffed his feathers and wailed, "Helen? Kookie loves you!"

"Poor baby." Skye brought him closer for a cuddle, and Kookie allowed her to rub her face against his chest. But he didn't give her a kiss like he'd given Helen.

This love fest went on for half an hour. Finally, Skye let Kookie take his place back on his perch. "I'm going to run upstairs and get him grapes and carrots. He'll love those."

As she raced away, MJ shook her head at me. "I was wrong about what a cockatoo is worth. At least, I was wrong about what this one is worth."

"Not as valuable as you thought, eh?" I chuckled.

"On the contrary. Much more valuable. A bird like Kookie would go for ten grand at least."

I coughed. "Pardon? Are you sure?"

"Absolutely. He's a blue-eyed cockatoo. That ring of bright blue around his eyes? It's a telltale marker. That's the clue I didn't have."

"Wow," I said, channeling my friend Kiki Lowenstein.

"Should I start writing an ad for Kookie? Sid can put him up on Craigslist and some of the other sales sites."

I thought about Skye's reaction. She never asked me for anything. Lately she'd been kind of down because her relationship with Lou, a local detective, had hit a rough patch. "Not right now," I said. Once the excitement of owning a big bird wore off, perhaps she'd be willing to trade the cockatoo for cash.

"Have it your way," said MJ, with a shrug that told me she thought I was absolutely nuts.

A few days went by, and I came to agree with her. Although Skye was totally smitten with the bird, the cockatoo had not settled in. Hour after hour, he cried, "Helen? Kookie loves you!" He fixated on the front door, growing excited each time it opened and despondent when Helen did not magically appear. Worse yet, he had started to pluck out his own feathers. Each morning, I swept up a small pile from the floor around the cage.

"I'm really, really worried about him." Skye started chewing a fingernail.

"I'll call my friend Pete, the vet," said MJ. "But you're going to owe me, Skye, because Pete only wants to be re-paid by going on a date together. If I do this for you, you better come up with something really, really great to make it up to me."

Skye nodded. "I will."

~To Be Continued~

Okay, kids! Show me some love! If you are liking this serialized short story, go to my Facebook page and hit "Like" the little blue thumb in a tiny white box under the big picture of me. (My toes point to the right. There are three boxes. "Like" is the second box.) Or tell a friend about the Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series. Here are the links:  Tear Down and Die  http://tinyurl.com/TearDD and Kicked to the Curb http://tinyurl.com/KickedTTCurb

Cara Mia Delgatto and the Bye-Bye Birdie, Part 4

Note: We've had so much fun with serialized stories that I'm trying my hand at one again! Here's the next installment of a new adventure for Cara Mia Delgatto and her friends. To read Parts 1, 2, and 3 scroll to the bottom of the blog post and click on OLDER POST.

Carrying the cage was awkward, but MJ and I managed. By the time we got it situated in the store, near the big display window, Honora had discovered her friend. She and Helen chatted amiably while Kookie looked on.

Next we hauled in the large perch. It looked like wrought iron and felt just as heavy. Admittedly, it was beautiful with a sculpted border on the stand and rich wooden arms. While MJ positioned it, I went back to the Cadillac and grabbed a large bag filled with bird food, treats, and vitamins. After carrying all those accoutrements in, I watched as Helen walked over and encouraged Kookie to step onto one of the arms of the perch. For the first time, I could see that Kookie was actually wearing a harness that clipped to a leash. Since the bird was snowy white, and the harness was too, you really couldn't tell that Kookie was restrained. Helen snapped the leash to the perch.

"Now, dear friend, it's time for us to part," said Helen, stroking the bird's breast. "I love you. I will love you until I go to my grave, and we'll never be parted in spirit. If I could take you with me to the assisted living facility, I would, dear Kookie. Give me one last kiss."

The bird had been watching her curiously, his head tilted as he regarded Helen. At the word "kiss," he leaned toward her and extended his beak to touch her lips lightly. With an almost human sigh, he said, "Helen, Kookie loves you."

A tear dribbled down Helen's face, leaving a wet mark where it journeyed over her skin. "And I love you, Kookie."

Without another word, she turned quickly, in an about-face movement, and walked out of the store.

Despite how I feel about birds, a lump had formed in my throat. Grabbing a tissue from the cash station, I dabbed my eyes. Honora followed suite. MJ swallowed repeatedly.

"I feel so bad for Helen," I managed.

Honora nodded. "She lost Jeb twenty years ago. That's when she adopted Kookie. I thought I'd never see her smile again after her husband died. They were devoted to each other. But she and Kookie formed a bond that's obviously kept Helen going."

Pausing to wipe her eyes, Honora added, "She's been hoping not to go to the assisted living facility, but she needs more and more skilled nursing care, and they have a room that's open. It's that new place not far from Cove Road. If Helen takes residence now, she won't have to move when the...when she...when hospice is called in. She has no family, so it's for the best, really."

Since my own mother died of cancer, I understood what Honora meant. Most likely Helen's last weeks would be grueling. She would need heavy-duty painkillers and around the clock care.

"Is it nice?" asked MJ in a quiet voice. "That facility?"

"I drove past it," said Honora. "I would describe it as bleak. The original developers went bankrupt halfway through the building process. A new company bought it, finished the work, and opened it, but the takeover was costly. There's no landscaping."

"I remember." MJ sighed. "It was supposed to be a state-of-the-art building. A real showplace."

"Yes. Now it's functional, or so I've been told." Honora's hand trembled as she wadded up the tissue. "Growing old in America is a real nightmare."

~ To Be Continued ~

Okay, kids! Show me some love! If you are liking this serialized short story, go to my Facebook page and hit "Like" the little blue thumb in a tiny white box under the big picture of me. (My toes point to the right. There are three boxes. "Like" is the second box.) Or tell a friend about the Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series. Here are the links:  Tear Down and Die  http://tinyurl.com/TearDD and Kicked to the Curb http://tinyurl.com/KickedTTCurb

Excerpt from Shotgun, Wedding, Bells (Kiki Lowenstein #11)

Excerpt from

SHOTGUN, WEDDING, BELLS

(Book #11 in the Kiki Lowenstein Mystery Series)

By Joanna Campbell Slan

Chapter 1

Detective Chandler Louis Detweiler took my hand and helped me up the last step of the gazebo. Standing side-by-side, we faced the minister, our friend Lorraine. I loved feeling of his shoulder against mine, strong and solid, a reminder of the way we intended to live our lives.

          "Not too bad for a wedding thrown together in forty-eight hours," he whispered in my ear.

He was right. I hadn't had much time to plan our wedding, although I had been planning to marry Chad Detweiler ever since I met him nearly three years ago. I kept telling myself that the ceremony was only a formality, but deep down, I wanted to wear a wedding band again. And even if the marriage didn't matter to us—to Detweiler and me—it mattered terribly to our two kids, and to the baby who would make his appearance less than a month from now.

          In fact, one could argue that we'd hurried to the chapel because of the bump in my belly. Initially I'd planned to start working on a ceremony immediately after Christmas, because business would slow down in my retail store. Detweiler and I had even talked about flying our whole family to Las Vegas, until my friend Clancy Whitehead shook her head and said, "Uh, you're eight months along. They don't allow people that pregnant on a plane."

          Oops.

          Who knew?

          So I'd tabled the whole project, noted it in my calendar for revisiting after December 25, and I would have put the idea out of my head, except for something Erik said.

          Have you ever noticed that when riding in the back seat of the car, kids come up with the darnedest things? After I picked five-year-old Erik and his sister, thirteen-year-old Anya, up from the house that my sisters share with my mother, he explained to me that because Detweiler and I weren't married, our son would be a "littermate."

          "A littermate?" I glanced back in the rearview mirror. Erik's solemn face stared at me. His chocolate brown eyes, his mocha-colored skin, and his red hair a testimony to his biracial beginnings. He might not be the child of my womb, but he's certainly the child of my heart. I adore that little boy.

          "I don't understand what you mean, sweetie," I said to him.

          Anya turned from her seat on the passenger side, she rolled her eyes and explained, "He means i-l-l-e-g-i-t-i-m-a-t-e."

          It took me a while to put those letters into a world. When I did, I almost drove off the road. "Uh, Erik, honey? Who was talking to you about the baby being a ...littermate?"

          "Grandma Collins," he said.

          "That figures."

          My mother. That paragon of parenthood.

          I gritted my teeth. That did it. My Mom moved one step closer to an apartment in assisted living. In fact, the only problem with putting her there immediately was financial. Because she'd only recently transferred her assets to my sister, Amanda, any facility that accepted her could access her savings. My sister had been begging my mother for years to transfer her money into Amanda's name. My mother would respond by getting angry and saying, "I'm perfectly capable of handling my own finances. How do I know you won't steal me blind?"

          Over the past year, Mom's physical and mental health had declined dramatically. The three of us siblings—Catharine, Amanda and I—talked at least once a week about what to do next. Not only was Mom meaner than a water moccasin with a sunburned belly, she'd also fallen twice. My sister Catherine ran out for a carton of milk and came back to a fire in the kitchen. Mom had turned on the oven and forgotten about it.

          A peculiar smell emanated from my mother's room. Amanda took her out for lunch, while Catherine and I investigated. We found a small pumpkin shoved in the back of her closet. Since Halloween was nearly three months ago, the pumpkin had not fared well.

          In the area of personal hygiene, Mom was also slipping, fast.

          But this calling my child "illegitmate" marked a new low, even for her.

          I told myself to shrug it off. To consider the source. But Anya turned her denim blue eyes on me and said, "She's right, Mom."

          "Don't worry," I said. "Detweiler and I still have plenty of time to tie the knot."

          Two hours later, the contractions started.

~To Be Continued~

Shotgun, Wedding, Bells will be available for pre-order early January 2015.

Excerpt from Kicked to the Curb (Book #2 in the Cara Mia Delgatto Mystery Series)

By Joanna Campbell Slan

From the press packet —

The Treasure Chest Philosophy: Even the humblest items (aka “trash”), despite their origins or their prior usage, have value.

Chapter 1

Mid-January

7:45 a.m. on Thursday

The Treasure Chest in downtown Stuart, Florida

~Cara~

“We’ve got a problem,” said Detective Lou Murray, of the Stuart Police Department. His bulk filled the threshold of the back door to my store, The Treasure Chest. With the bright sun behind him, I couldn’t see his expression, but the tone of his voice was ominous.

             “What’s up, Lou?”

The big cop has gotten into the habit of dropping by most mornings. He claims this is part of an initiative to make police presence more visual in our picturesque downtown.

But I know better.

Lou is head over heels in love with Skye Blue, my friend and part-time employee. She’s also my tenant, renting one of the two apartments upstairs, while I live in the other, its mirror-image twin. I glanced over to see that Skye was busy in the sink, bonking around a couple of mugs and the water carafe for the coffee maker.

Drying her hands, Skye hugged me. “How’d you sleep?”

            I did a so-so motion with my fingers.

            “Cara? I need ten minutes of your time,” said Lou. As he spoke, he only glanced at me. He kept looking out the window of my back door.

“Right now? My dog needs to go outside, and I haven’t had my morning jolt of java. I am not fully human until I have my coffee.”

“Right now,” said Lou, firmly. “I need you to look at a car parked behind your grandfather’s gas station.”

“Let me guess. Today’s the day they start jackhammering that old pavement around the Gas E Bait, right? And the car is in the way? Just tow it,” I said. “That’ll teach the owner a lesson.”

“Not that simple.” Lou frowned as he ran a hand through his cropped hair.

Chapter 2

~Cara~

“I’ll take Jack,” said Skye, reaching for my rescue pup and tucking the white Chihuahua under her arm. She, Lou, and I had made it to the back stoop when MJ Austin pulled up in her pink Cadillac.

            “Morning,” said MJ. She is a full-time employee of The Treasure Chest, a real find because she used to work for the previous owner.

 “Good morning,” I said to her. “Lou wants me to take a gander at the car parked behind Poppy’s gas station.”

“Shouldn’t be there,” said MJ.

“Right,” Lou muttered.

We had just crossed the alley that separates the parking spaces behind my store from the parking spaces behind the gas station when a truck pulled up, a black Ford F150. A tall man in an orange tee shirt stepped out of it. Sunlight glinted gold on his hair, a long surfer cut that brushed his collar. His eyes were a mystery behind his Wayfarer sunglasses. He glanced at us and then toward the parked Toyota.

 “And you are?” Lou asked the newcomer.

“Jason Robbins. Project manager for Fill Up and Go corporate.”

 “Detective Lou Murray and this is Cara Mia Delgatto,” said Lou, flashing his badge. Skye and MJ hung back a few paces.

 “You’re exactly as your grandfather described you,” Jason said to me. He smelled of sandalwood and soap as he shook my hand.

“Cara, have you ever seen this car before?” Lou asked, as he used his hand to shade his eyes against the morning sun. “Take your time looking it over. But don’t touch it.”

I stared at a rusty Toyota with balding tires.

“Why don’t you just run the plates?” I wondered.

“Answer my question, please,” said Lou.

The vehicle looked familiar. I took two steps to the left, blinked in the glare of the sunlight, and looked closer. The giveaway was a dog-earred paper sign sitting in the back window. It said SHORELINE NEWS.

“I’m pretty sure that car belongs to Kathy Simmons. She’s a reporter for the Shoreline News. Her roommate has been calling the store for three days. She says Kathy’s been missing. Is that true?”

 Lou didn’t answer my question. Instead, he frowned. “Anything else that helps you identify the owner?”

I moved even with the rear passenger door. A rotten breeze had kicked up from the ocean. A lot of dead fish must have rolled up with the tide.

Cupping my hands over my face to block out the bright light, I stared inside the car. A plastic food storage container rested on the back passenger seat. Next to it was a white shopping bag.

"That's definitely one of my new shopping bags," I called over my shoulder to Lou. Skye and MJ stood a few feet away from him. MJ had her arms crossed over her chest. Skye was shuffling her feet. Neither looked happy.

I continued, "Kathy bought a picture from me the night of our media event. I put her purchase inside a bag like that one. MJ packed up leftovers for Kathy to take home. The container looked like the one on the seat. It was late at night and raining when I walked Kathy to her car, so I didn’t get a really good look, but I’m almost positive this is her vehicle.”

“Let me make sure I’ve got this straight,” said Lou, and his frown deepened. “Four days ago, Kathy Simmons attended your media event.”

“Right. We invited all members of the local media to come and preview our Old Florida Photo Gallery exhibit. Served them food. Gave them press packets. Let them wander around the store. Answered their questions. Kathy Simmons came on behalf of the Shoreline News. Her editor came too, but he left early.”

“Had you ever met her before?”

“No.”

“Tell me about the event,” said Lou.

“It started at seven in the evening and ended at eight. A dozen reporters came. I gave a little spiel about our mission to recycle things and be creative with found objects. I showed them old black and white photos we’d framed and mounted in refurbished frames. The three of us—MJ, Skye, and I—played hostess.”

“What was Kathy Simmons wearing?”

That was easy. “A weird vinyl raincoat printed like newspapers. Oh, and a headscarf. Before we went outside, she pulled the scarf out of her pocket to cover her hair. It was raining on Monday night.”

“What else can you tell me?” he asked in a serious tone. “What happened immediately before you two walked to her car?”

“What do you mean?” I couldn’t hide my surprise.

“Is it true there was an altercation?”

“W-w-what?  How do you know that?” My mouth went dry.

Skye was studying the pavement. Her shoulders slumped in defeat.

“Let me summarize,” said Lou. “You had an event for reporters. Kathy Simmons came. You two had words. You walked her to her car—and now she’s been missing for three days. Is that right? Today her car shows up in a space behind your grandfather’s gas station.”

 “U-u-uh,” I stuttered, trying to think of what to say.

Skye shook her head sadly. She mouthed one word at me, “Sorry.”

MJ rolled her eyes. “Cara, quit answering his questions and call a lawyer.”

 “Y-y-you can’t seriously be suggesting that I had anything to do with Kathy’s disappearance!” I looked from Lou to the Toyota and back to him. “You’ve found her car. She has to be around here somewhere.”

“Maybe,” said Lou.

 Jason crossed his arms over his chest and studied me solemnly.

“Ladies, go back to your store,” said Lou. “Cara, I’ll talk to you later.”

“Why? First you drag me out here. Then you accuse me. Now you want me to go inside and wait? I am not your puppet, Lou.”

There it was, the terrible temper that’s gotten me in trouble my whole life. I should have turned around and left Lou to it. But after the grilling he’d given me, the last thing I wanted was to follow his suggestion.

Lou reached inside the pocket of his navy blue blazer for a pair of latex gloves. “Have it your way.”

The detective moved closer to the trunk. The top was slightly ajar; the locking mechanism hadn’t caught.

Pulling an ink pen from his pocket, Lou tucked it under the hood of the trunk and lifted. It opened with a squeal of surrender. A foul stench rolled out.   

Involuntarily, Lou took a step backwards. When he moved, I could see inside the trunk.

Kathy Simmons stared at me with dull, dead eyes.

To buy your copy of Kicked to the Curb, go to http://tinyurl.com/kttcurb  Or visit Joanna's page on Amazon http://tinyurl.com/JoannaSlan

The Rising Tide of Cozies, Part 1

I just completed a four-part article about 'craft cozies," mysteries that center around a craft or a person involved in crafts. The first installment is now up at ForeWord Magazine, and you can read it here: http://tinyurl.com/puxwyk

Why should you care? Well, maybe you'll come up with a couple new marketing ideas or an idea for a mystery series of your own!

Tweet, Tweet, Tweet--and You Could Win a Big Box of Books!

Argh. Every day I open my email and think: I don’t have time for all this. I especially don’t have time to update my website, to check all the posts on all the list-serves I belong to, visit every online community I need to, and comment on everyone’s blog as I should.

But I do have time to Twitter. Apparently, the rest of the world agrees. The site has reported an eight-fold rise in visitors since 2007, and in December reported 2.7 million people stopped by. At this rate, it is poised to overtake Facebook. It’s especially popular among the young and restless. One in five people between the ages of 18 and 35 with Internet access have “tweeted” or posted short messages of 140 characters on Twitter at least once.

Why do we twitter? Because we can. Because I can dash off a 140-character (that’s letters and symbols, not characters as in people who populate books!) post to update people on the release date of Cut, Crop & Die, the second book in the Kiki Lowenstein Scrap-N-Craft Mystery Series. (That’s June 1, so mark your calendars or go to Amazon.com and place your order.)

Because I can post regular journaling prompts to remind scrapbookers the world over to write about their own lives. (Check it out at twitter.com/joannaslan. If you are an author, the journaling prompts are great tools for overcoming writer’s block. Try them and you’ll see!)

Because I can follow my favorite authors, geeks, and newsmakers by hitting the FOLLOW button.

Because I can make a post to Twitter from a Blackberry. (Try doing that with a regular blog post. I mean, if you are young and have well-trained thumbs, you probably can handle this, but I can’t. Yet.)

Because Twitter will automatically take any regular URL and turn it into a tiny URL and post the link for me. Because I can quickly scan the posts and see what interests me. Shakespeare said, “Brevity is the soul of wit,” so I think he would have LOVED Twitter.

Because Twitter fits. I can squeeze it in.

Want to see how it works? Become one of my followers on Twitter and I’ll enter your name in a contest to win a Box of Books. Yep, I did find time to cull an entire box of mysteries from my bookshelves. (It's a honking big box!) So, add your name to my followers on Twitter by going to twitter.com/joannaslan, hitting, FOLLOW, and then EMAILING me at savetales@aol.com and telling me you are now following me. Be sure to tell me your “twitter” name so I can see that you did it! (No cheating!) I’ll choose one follower and mail him/her that box of books. For best results, share your postal address with me. Otherwise if I can't get a hold of you and get your address confirmed within a day or two, I'll choose another winner. (Life's too short to chase you down!)

Let’s see if this Tweeting works!

PS You can hear a live broadcast of a scrapbook crop at http://www.blogtalkradio.com/circle-of-seven/2009/02/14/readers-entertainment-radio-with-guest-joanna-slan-author-of-paper-scissors-death If you have NO idea what a “crop” is, or why women love them, this will be very, very enlightening!