Please welcome back
author Kris Bock to the blog today with an excerpt from her new mystery,
Someone
Cruel in Coyote Creek: The Accidental Detective Mystery Series. This is the
third book of the series. Published by Tule Publishing, this book is scheduled
to be released on Tuesday in eBook format.
Turning fifty in
her childhood bedroom wasn’t on her bucket list…
Kate Tessler is convinced her sister is trying to kill her.
In fact, she might prefer death to Jen’s “50 for 50 Challenge,” where Kate will
try fifty new things throughout the year she turns fifty. She’s still adjusting
to the limp she got after a bombing as an international war correspondent and
her new underemployed life back in her childhood home in Phoenix. The last
thing Kate wants is to prepare for paddle boarding, especially when she receives
an anonymous message claiming that Mayor Todd Paradise is taking bribes. The
author claims to have proof, including photos, and challenges Kate to publish
the story.
Could good guy Todd, Kate’s almost boyfriend,
really be corrupt, or are political enemies trying to destroy his career? Kate
sets out to discover the truth, with help from her multi-generational,
unconventional, and often troublesome crew. She thrived reporting from war
zones, but can she survive a deadly fundraising party, a close encounter with a
taser, a turn at an open mic night, and a hundred-pound dog named Whiskers?
Chapter 1 Excerpt:
“You’re trying to kill me,” I said.
After a lifetime of desert living, I had not expected a
watery death. I’d grown up in Arizona, spent much of my adult life as a war
correspondent in the Middle East, and had returned to Arizona a few months earlier
after a bomb tore up my leg. Now my sister had determined that I should do a
“fifty at fifty” challenge, where I tried fifty new things the year I turned
fifty. It was hard to say no to Jen, mainly because she ignored the word and
rolled right over you anyway. My birthday was a couple
of weeks away, so we’d started early. At least she was paying for this
“adventure” (in the financial sense; I might wind up paying in other ways), and
she was doing it with me.
“Don’t be a baby,” Jen said. “Lots of people do
paddleboarding. Children do it.”
“Uh, you do realize it’s called stand-up
paddleboarding? Have you seen me stand lately?”
Jen gave a dramatic sigh. “You’re fine. You’re getting too
dependent on the cane anyway.”
Easy for her to say. She wasn’t the one who had to use it.
To be honest, my leg had gotten stronger over the last few months. I still
limped and bumped into walls when I first got up after sleeping or sitting for
a while, but once I’d taken twenty steps or so, I could usually walk straight.
And the paddleboard instructor knew about my . . . situation. I still hesitated
to use the word disability. It didn’t seem fair to claim that status
when my injury was sudden and hopefully temporary. Plus, I didn’t want
to be disabled. Granted, who did? Most people probably faced that future
kicking and screaming, or in my case, punching and screaming, since kicking got
harder when you had a bad leg.
The instructor got each of us set up with a life vest and a
safety whistle. The whistle was required by law, in theory to warn boaters, but
I figured it would also let me call for help if I got in trouble. An ankle
leash would keep the board close, and the board could also be used as a
flotation device. The paddle would help us move out into the lake and back again.
Then we had hats, sunglasses, and long-sleeved shirts for sun protection. I’d
gone into war zones with less equipment.
While the guide, Misty, helped the other people in the
group, I quickly checked my email on my phone. I was hoping for a response from
my boss at the Associated Press on my latest submission. I
hadn’t been able to return to the field, and I reluctantly had to admit I might
never be fit enough for that kind of reporting. As if the injury weren’t bad
enough, my body didn’t bounce back nearly as quickly anymore. I’d started
writing longer, more in-depth stories targeted at magazines, but I hoped to
give my AP boss an excuse to keep me on a little longer since I needed the
health insurance I wouldn’t get as a freelancer.
No response from her. I did see an email marked Urgent: Private, which was intriguing
enough for a quick look.
Mayor Todd Paradise is taking bribes. Do you have the
courage to publish the story?
I went cold, and not from the cool breeze off the lake. Todd
Paradise had been a year behind me in high school. He’d gone from junior class
president thirty years ago to mayor of our local town within the greater
Phoenix area. I’d been spending time with him since I got home, and he seemed
as nice and honest as ever.
The note wasn’t signed, and the email address didn’t provide
any clues to the identity of the sender. It would be easy to dismiss the
accusation, but that wouldn’t do Todd any favors. I could see three
possibilities. Todd was taking bribes, in which case the story should be told,
regardless of my personal feelings. Todd had done something that led someone to
incorrectly believe he was taking bribes, in which case it was better to find
out what was going on now, before the accusations became public. Or someone was
targeting Todd with lies, in which case he needed to know that.
I emailed back: I’ll need proof and I need to know who
you are.
“Time to put your phones away,” Misty said. Many people had
been taking pictures of themselves or each other as they geared up. Now Misty
collected the phones to stow them in the van. None of us could guarantee we
wouldn’t take a spill into the water, and I could pretty much guarantee I
would. The company had waterproof cameras for sale for those who wanted to
record their adventures. Jen had one, of course.
We practiced getting onto the board and standing up several
times on land before wading into the water. “I’m going to get you for this,” I
whispered to Jen. “Be honest. Your real business plan is to make money off of
humiliating pictures of me, isn’t it? You realize I don’t have any money to pay
blackmail.”
“That’s fine,” she said. “The real money is in ads on
YouTube videos. I’ll need you to go viral though, so make it good.”
We spread out in the shallow water, far enough apart that if
one of us fell, we wouldn’t crash into the next person. Then Misty led us
through the process of getting onto the board in a kneeling position, then
crouching, and finally standing.
My muscles strained with the effort to balance. Falling into
the water wouldn’t actually kill me, but I wanted to prove something, if only
to myself. At the very least, I didn’t want to be the first person in the group
to fall.
“See? I told you it wouldn’t be so bad,” Jen said.
I very slowly and carefully turned to look at her.
“Hold on. I want a photo to prove this happened.” She
shifted her paddle to her left hand and fumbled with the waterproof camera
strapped around her wrist.
My board bobbed gently in the waves at the edge of the lake.
My bad leg ached as I tried to keep my knees bent and my back straight, as
instructed. I attempted a smile that felt more like a grimace.
As Jen got the camera up to her eye level, she wobbled. Her
paddle smacked against the side of the board. Her arms flailed, the camera
flying to the end of its wrist strap.
Jen plunged into the cold lake water.
She came up spluttering and tossing her head. I laughed so
hard I had to kneel on my board and grab the sides. The water rocked the board
and splashed my hands and knees, but at least I didn’t fall off.
When I could breathe again, I said, “Don’t forget to get a
photo of yourself. I want to prove this happened.”
Jen grinned, pointed the camera toward herself, and took a
picture as she leaned on the board with one arm.
Maybe this fifty at fifty thing wouldn’t be so bad after
all.
Kris Bock ©2022
Kris Bock writes novels of mystery, suspense, and
romance, many with outdoor adventures and Southwestern landscapes. Her Furrever
Friends Sweet Romance series features the employees and customers at a cat
café. Her romantic suspense novels featuring treasure hunting, archaeology, and
intrigue in the Southwest are perfect for fans of Mary Stewart or Barbara
Michaels. Learn more. As Chris Eboch, she writes for young people, including
ghostwriting for popular children’s mystery series. The Eyes of
Pharaoh, a middle grade mystery set in ancient Egypt, brings the past to
life as three friends investigate a plot against Pharaoh.
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