Work in Progress
Although I frequently decide to concentrate only on one book at a time, I inevitably find myself with more ideas than I need, so end up with several works in progress. At the moment, I’m busy with four new books:
A long Cool Glass of Murder
The second volume in my Terry Bell Mysteries series begins with the intrepid taxi driver finding another corpse:
I knew as soon as I reached the top of the stairs that something was wrong. Tina Overton wasn’t the sort of woman to go around leaving her front door open, neither was she the sort whose tastes included screechy violin music. The final bars of something discordant and unappealing in a fingernails-scraping-down-a-blackboard sort of way, floated out from somewhere beyond the open doorway, heading for an equally unappealing climax.
But that wasn’t the problem. The problem was the bad feeling in my gut. The one that had been foisting itself on me at regular intervals ever since the last time I’d discovered a dead body. I consoled myself with the observation that at least this time it would be occupying someone else’s living room floor, rather than mine.
The Watson Letters- Volume 4: Revenge of the Hooded Claw
Book 4 in my Watson Letters series, finds the intrepid duo battling Moriarty, werewolves and the Hooded Claw:
As I followed Sikes down the alley, the stench of the river assaulted my nostrils, warning me our route was now running perilously close to the banks of the Thames – one slip and either of us might disappear forever beneath those treacherous waters, sinking into the mud and slime of that deadly channel.
“Urry up, Docter,” urged Sikes, taking hold of my jacket. “I fink I just saw ‘im up ahead.”
We had reached the corner of the alley where the darkness was less all-encompassing. I could now make out the lights of the south bank glowing dully across the water in front of us. To our right, a dim figure was running towards a group of what I supposed to be warehouses by the water’s edge.
“That’s him,” I said, and we set off again along a solid, but slippery pathway.
The man vanished into a gap between the warehouses and, not wishing to play the hero, I allowed my companion to go first.
“Don’t you worry, Docter,” said he. “I’ll protect yer.” And with that, Sikes dashed into yet another dark alley.
Shading my eyes the better to see my way through the shadowy passage, I hastened along behind him, completely failing to notice a hand reaching out of the shadows as I passed a small doorway. A moment later, I was jerked roughly into one of the sheds and thrown to the floor.
The Phantom of Fiddler’s Lane
Book 3 in my middle grade Christie McKinnon Adventure series, finds young Christie targeted by an old enemy:
“Gracie. Come away.” The boy beckons to the girl, but her eyes are still fixed on the man at the corner, or rather, the strange creature dancing around on top of the music box.
She watches the man’s grimy fingers fluttering over the keyboard, his feet pumping away on pedals underneath the contraption. Grinning up at him, she holds a hand out to the monkey.
“Careful lassie, he’ll hae your fingers off.” The man smiles, his mouth a veritable graveyard of blackened teeth.
“Oh,” she says, withdrawing her hand sharply.
Robbie trudges back up the lane. “Come on, now,” he says, taking her sleeve. “We’ll get a row off Ma if we’re late.” He watches as the monkey holds out its tiny hat towards them.
“Can we no give him a penny, Robbie?”
He glances at the old man and a wave of guilt washes over him. “Next time, maybe. Now come away, will you?” He smiles at the man, but the musician’s happy face has gone.
The girl finally takes her brother’s hand. “Fine, but we’ve tae come again tomorrow.”
“Aye, maybe,” he says, pulling her away from the busy street and down the alley towards home. The snow begins to fall as the two children hurry away, their coats pulled tight against the cold.
The man in the black cap steps out of the shop doorway opposite and crosses the street. He watches the animal’s antics for a moment, then digging into his pocket, holds out a coin. The creature stops jumping around and reaches towards him.
“A fair exchange – a ha’penny for a bit of entertainment.”
The old man stops pumping the pedals and lifts his hat. “Most grateful, I’m sure.” His tired eyes flick across the stranger’s face, but there’s something in the newcomer’s expression that prompts him to drop his gaze. Nudging the monkey, he takes the coin from its leather pouch and drops it into a bag tied to the musicbox. The animal screeches and performs a miniature bow, while its master resumes pedalling, grateful to turn his attention back to his task. He begins the tune again with renewed vigour.
Terry McManus gives a sullen nod, digs his hands into his pockets and moves off down the lane, following the two children. With any luck, they’ll be the perfect bait to lure that interferin wee lassie Christie McKinnon into his trap. And this time, she’ll no be gettin away so easily.
The Curse of Calico Jack
The second book in my middle grade Skeleton Cove Horror series, is a new mystery for Jeff and Suzi Q:
Something cold and wet hit the back of my neck.
I looked up, but there was nothing to see, only never-ending blackness. An icy draught blew across my face making me wince.
Blinking, I shook my head. Was this a dream? Was I in the middle of some outlandish nightmare? Struggling to focus my thoughts, the last thing I could remember was the party. But this was no celebration…
The voice was so unexpected, it made me jump and a sudden pain shot up my leg. The course surface of whatever I was sitting on had scraped my ankle. It must be a rock, or a ledge of some sort, I thought, moving my legs away from the cold surface of the stone.
“Suzi?” I whispered. “That you?”
Another drop of water landed on the back of my neck, prompting me to lean sideways out of its line of fire.
“Here,” said Suzi, a tremble in her throat.
Turning my head, I looked in the direction her voice seemed to have come from. “Where?”
A movement close by, then she grunted, and I felt her arm touch mine.
“Thought we must be dead,” she said, with a grim laugh.
Blinking again, I moved my head around, peering into the darkness, but it was impossible to make out any detail of our surroundings.
“Where are we?” I said, noting how the words echoed back at me. “A cave, d’you think?”
Suzi leaned against me and I made to reach out to her. It was only then I realised my arms were held fast at my sides.
“What?” I said, looking towards her.
Turning, I saw it in the far distance – a blurry glow, waving from side to side. Narrowing my eyes, I stared, striving to make out details, a shape, anything, but all I could see was the dim light, moving ever closer. Unable to drag my eyes away, I watched as the figure of a man came into focus. Talking long deliberate steps, he walked slowly towards us through the darkness. One arm hung at his side swinging a lantern, while in the other, a gnarled fist grasped something long and silvery that glinted in the half light. My gaze slid up to his face and the two dark holes that were his eyes stared dully back at me.
“It’s him,” Suzi murmured. “He’s coming back. And he’s got a knife – a really big knife.”