MY EDITOR INTERVIEWS ME!

Writers know how important it is to have a good editor. When you get an excellent editor, you consider yourself EXTREMELY lucky! 

I've worked with Carina Press editor extraordinaire, Alissa Davis, on 12 books now, and I am beyond fortunate for her incredible insight, wisdom and intuitive sense of story. A few years ago she interviewed me for my publisher. I thought it would be fun to share our interview. It's just a little peek into what goes in to the editor-author relationship!

Alissa: Julie, you were already a published author when we started working together. Did you have any expectations or concerns when we started edits on Book 1?

Julie: I really didn’t have any expectations or concerns at the start. I knew you liked the books and the characters (a lot!), based on how quickly you acquired it, so I felt comfortable with the idea that we could work out any needed edits together. You were actually like my fourth or fifth editor at that point in my career, so I’d been around the block starting fresh with an editor. Nothing scared me by then. Ha! Luckily, we were very compatible. In fact, I can honestly say you are my favorite editor ever. It is an honor to work with you!

Alissa: What aspects of editing have gotten easier the longer we’ve worked together? Harder?

Julie: A lot has gotten easier. First, I trust you implicitly. We’ve been together since the inception of Lexi and the gang. You know her and the supporting characters almost as well as I do. Sometimes better! It’s scary. J  So, when you say something isn’t working, I don’t even think twice. I trust your gut. It gets a rewrite. Also, I think that after eight books together, you don’t have to explain in as much detail what you want me to do. I get you and you get me. It’s pretty simple and totally wonderful! That’s not to say there aren’t times when you need to boink me over the head about something—there are. However, usually one comment will suffice to help me get things back on track. I call it a quiet confidence in our ability to work together to get the book pulled together exactly right. Now, I’m going to clarify and say none of this applies to the start of the book. I think I’ve had to totally rewrite the intro to each book in the series at least once. It’s just a killer for me each time. Hahaha! But after I rewrite the start based on your suggestions or comments, I always like it ten times better—so you are spot on. I appreciate the pushback and the fact that you won’t let me sneak by when you know I can do better. Ha!

Alissa: Although we’ve worked together for many books, edits do vary from book to book, right?

Julie: Absolutely true! Interestingly enough, some books require more attention to the plot and others a greater need a focus on the character arcs. Sometimes things are working and sometimes they aren’t. In my particular case that typically happens when the characters do things I didn’t expect or the story shifts in a way that is logical when I’m writing, but that I didn’t see coming in advance. Flexibility is key and taking a step back to decide what’s working and what isn’t. Occasionally things like copyright infringement (No, Julie, you can’t use Star Trek quotes even as a cultural reference) can cause a major rewrite. J

Alissa: Do you have a specific routine for attacking edits? Does it vary each time?

Julie: I have no routine when editing, probably because I squeeze in edits when I can. Luckily I work from home, and my day job is writing as well. I usually tackle one writing assignment at a time so I don’t get things mixed up in my head. When it’s time to edit a book, I turn my full focus on it. But it’s hard to predict when I’ll find time for edits, so there is no special routine I fall into. I’m definitely aware of my deadline and I try to make sure it gets done before then. Depending on the day job, that time may come in the wee hours of the night or morning. I wish I could give a glamorous answer and say I pour myself a glass of wine, listen to a relaxing soundtrack and wear a special nightie while feeling the breeze off the ocean from my open balcony, but that’s all fantasy. The reality is I’m wearing no make up and have on yoga pants and a sweatshirt, my hair is in a ponytail, I’m eating a power bar because I missed lunch, and (in the summer) my soundtrack is “Mom, he touched my stuff,” followed by “That’s because he breathed on my arm,” ending up with “Help! I think there’s a bee in my shorts. MOM!”  J

Alissa: Any advice on building a good working relationship with your editor?

Julie: Absolutely. I have a few cardinal rules:

1.)  Be Professional. That doesn’t mean your relationship can’t blossom into a friendship because when two people work really well together, that’s often what usually happens. But you both have a job to do and you are required to do it together. You must get the novel into shape so it sells oodles of copies. You need each other to do that, so build on your strengths to do it. Manners and positive interaction are always key. I always think humor helps a lot, too, especially in those critical days before a deadline.

2.)  Communicate. I know several authors who live in terror of their editor. That’s not the way it works. You are a team working together to whip a manuscript into the next blockbuster. Believe that for each and every book. If you have questions about your editor’s comments, ask. If you don’t agree, say so. Miscommunication, or no communication, is counterproductive and serves no one. Don’t be timid or scared, but don’t be overbearing or insufferable either. Go back to tip #1 and be professional. This is a business pairing and like any relationship, you need to communicate for it to work properly. The book is your product, so treat it as such.

3.)   Do Your Best Work Every Time. It’s not your editor’s job to write the book. That’s yours. Send in your finest, polished effort each time. Editing is a darn hard job. Even with what you think is a totally polished effort, there will be a lot of editing required to take it to the next level. Someone once told me that if you compare your manuscript to a car and you give your editor a two-door Fiat then you’d better understand that you are NOT coming home in a Mercedes. You’ll come home in a polished up two-door Fiat. If you want a Mercedes, then you’d better turn one in.

4.)  Learn From Your Editor. Writers should be constantly learning and working on their craft. Your editor can help enormously with that. Stay open to suggestions and challenges. I almost never start edits right away, especially developmental edits. I carefully read everything my editor says and then I think about it. Usually for a day or so. I cannot stress the importance of perspective and reflection during edits. Don’t be hasty or defensive. Make it a rule to take at least one full day to reflect.

5.)  Thank Your Editor. Their job is to make you look good. Appreciate them for that! Since their work is done behind the scenes, they do not often get the recognition they deserve. Remember that behind every successful book is a fantastic editor. If you find a good one, make sure they know it!

      Julie Moffett is the best-selling author of the Lexi Carmichael mystery series, the YA mystery/spy series, White Knights, and other books. For more information on Julie or her books, check out her website at www.juliemoffett.com.

Come Travel With Me

I love to travel. I suspect part of the reason for that is my upbringing as a military child. My dad was in the Air Force and we were transferred to many different bases during my childhood. One of my fondest memories of travelling was when my family moved to the small island of Okinawa, Japan. I spent three years there attending high school and made some amazing memories and wonderful, lifelong friends.

So, it's probably no surprise to those who know me well, that my mystery novels are often filled with travel to exciting and different locales. In fact, just a week ago, I returned from a 10-day trip to Paris and London. Of course, the entire time I was there, I was mentally taking notes, wondering what situation I could create to get my characters there as soon as possible. Here are just a few of my favorite pictures from my trip.

If you've read any of my geeky mysteries, you'll see how many places I take her and the gang. From Italy to Africa to Hollywood and Egypt ... those are just a few places so far. To finish off this blog, I'm going to share a trailer for my Lexi Carmichael mystery series that will show you just how much I enjoy traveling, even in my writing life. So, if you haven't had a chance to check out the series... Come Travel with Me! 

By the way,  where is the ONE place you've always wanted to travel?

HOW DO YOU SLEEP?

We all sleep. Some of us sleep more than others. But the way we sleep can be very different. There are many positions to sleep in and each of us favors a particular way more than others. So, for your reading enjoyment, here is a brief rundown of the most popular sleeping positions and some interesting tidbits from various research studies about them.

Back Sleepers

According to some studies, back sleepers make up only about 8% -10% of snoozers. People who sleep on their backs have the most problems with snoring and sleep apnea, but it is considered the best position for the alleviation of the body's aches and pains. Back sleepers are considered to be quiet, introverted and hold others to high standards.


Side Sleepers

There are two types of side sleepers, those who sleep with their arms tucked in tight and those who keep their arms stretched out. If you sleep with your arms tucked in tightly you are easy-going and good natured, but may also be stubborn and inflexible, especially if you feel you are right about something. Around 15% of people are side tuckers.

If you sleep on your side with your arms stretched out, you may be more stubborn and cynical, but also curious and open-minded. About 13% of sleepers are side stretchers.

Stomach Sleepers

Stomach sleepers crash on their tummies with their faces planted into their pillows. Most stomach sleepers also hug their pillows. This group had the smallest amount of sleepers at 7%, but those who flatten out face- or cheek- first into the pillow are considered outgoing, daring, and adventurous, but they also worry a lot and constantly feel as if they are not able to get caught up on things.

Fetal Position

To my surprise, the most popular position by far at over 40% was the fetal position. Fetal sleepers are sensitive and emotional, but can have tough exterior shells. They are also courageous, organized and honest.

There are multiple variations of all of these sleeping positions and experts agree most people sleep in more than one position during the night. But consider that your go-to position for falling asleep may tell you more about your personality than you know.

Conclusion

So, by this point you may be asking, why in the world is Julie Moffett blogging about sleep on a mystery and romantic suspense blog?

The answer is easy. For you writers out there, the next time you write a character and you want to reveal a little bit more about your character, pick a sleep position that matches their characteristics. For readers, now you know what all the sleep positions can reveal about the inner nature of a character. For everyone else, does your sleep position match your personality?

For me ... well, I've been thinking a lot about sleep lately, because I haven't been getting much. Why? Because my next book NO STRINGS ATTACHED is releasing in less than a month (July 4) and I'm on deadline. By the way, I'm a stomach sleeper. How about you?

THE BEST HOLIDAY GIFTS FOR WRITERS

Well, the holidays are upon us so that means gift giving galore for most of us. While it's great to get that comfy pair of slippers and a fuzzy sweater, the writer in us longs for specific gifts. Not sure what they are? No problem. Grab a pen and a piece of paper because I'm here to help you find just the right gift for that writer in your life.

THE BEST GIFTS FOR WRITERS

1.) TIME.  For writers (especially those with children) the most precious gift is the TIME. Time alone time to plot, think and actually write. Offer to babysit or take their kids somewhere. You will get so many bonus points as a friend/spouse/companion for giving this that you will end up gifting yourself in terms of gratitude from said writer.

2.) A TRIP TO A WRITER'S RETREAT/CONFERENCE. Give the writer in your life the chance to go away on a writer's retreat or conference. This is important because writing is a solitary profession and writers NEED that connection with other writers to commiserate the hardships or celebrate in the milestones that only other writers can understand. This can be a monetary gift, making the arrangements for the conference/retreat or watching the house/cat/children while the writer goes away.

3.) EXTRA MONEY FOR PROMO. These days writers are not only writers, but they must also be marketing whizzes as well. Since most of us are trying to figure out how the heck to do this right, we need to experiment a bit with advertising. A little extra support in the promo budget would be very welcome. If you are flush and want to offer the gift of a personal assistant -- well, I freaking guarantee you that will go over WAY better than a diamond bracelet.

4.) BUY THE BOOK. Buy the writer's book and encourage all your friends/family/co-workers to do the same. Talk up the writer to everyone you know and be sincerely proud of their hard work. This is a low cost gift, but would be much appreciated.

5.) WRITE A REVIEW. This is a no-cost gift in terms of cash, but the gratitude you will receive from the writer in your life will come back to you tenfold. A kind word-of-mouth about the writer's books and a review or two will be very well received, I promise you.

Every writer is different and each writer will want different things. My advice is to ask the author in your life what they need to support their writing. The fact that you asked will also earn you bonus points.

By the way, if you are MY friend and you want to know what to get ME for the holidays -- my latest book, NO ROOM FOR ERROR, the seventh book in my geeky, mystery series was just released and is available for purchase here. Hint, hint!

Good luck with your gift giving and Happy Holidays!  Love, Julie

Happy Book Birthday to Murder in Real Time!!!

Today is the official release day! MURDER IN REAL TIME, the final installment of my debut cozy series is loose in the wild and I'm having enormous emotional conflict. The experience is surreal, bitter-sweet and mind-boggling. The debut in this series, MURDER BY THE SEASIDE, released one year ago this month and way back then, today seemed impossibly far away. Now, today is here, the series is ending and I'm whirling between euphoria over my baby's release and utter bereavement over the ending of an era. 

To celebrate this wonderful day, I thought I'd share a sneak peek of MURDER IN REAL TIME, then offer a digital copy of all three books in the series to one commenter. So, if you like the excerpt and want to read more, leave a comment with a way to reach you and I'll select a winner at random on Friday.

Happy Book Birthday to my baby, MURDER IN REAL TIME, and if you're wondering how this babbling author completed an 82,000 word novel when this tiny blog post is a total mess, so am I.

Enjoy!

MURDER IN REAL TIME: Sneak Peek!

Chapter One

My phone vibrated on the Tasty Cream table between a dish with four French fries and a bowl that once contained the world’s greatest hot fudge brownie sundae. I glanced away from the bowl and placed a paper napkin over the chocolate carnage to cover my shame.

“Covering that bowl won’t erase the fifty thousand calories you ate. You know that, right?” My best friend, Claire, smiled and sucked on the straw of her chocolate malt, unaffected by the damage we’d done to our waistlines by ordering half the Tasty Cream menu.

“It wasn’t fifty thousand calories.” My guilty gaze swept over the napkin barely concealing the enormous bowl. “It was maybe a day’s worth of calories. I can skip eating tomorrow and it will be like this never happened.” Lies. Skipping meals wasn’t in my repertoire of practiced disciplines.

“Mmm-hmm.” Claire shook her cup and poked the straw in and out of the lid. “Or,” she smiled wider, “you could train with me. We can rock and run together.”

I rolled my eyes and rubbed my tummy. “I can’t run a marathon, even if there is live music.”

My phone buzzed again and I flicked it with my fingertips.

“The Virginia Beach Rock ’n’ Roll Mini is a mini marathon. It’s right there in the name. Only three-point-one miles. You could run that far without breaking a sweat.” She made a sad face. “It’s no fun alone. Please?”

“Stop making that face. I swear, when you’re sad a little fairy dies somewhere. It’s not natural.” This time I lifted my phone when it buzzed. Telling Claire no was tougher than keeping my internal promise to only eat half the sundae. I read the text display and scrolled through the few messages I’d ignored during dinner.

“Sebastian?” she asked.

“Adrian.” I smiled, though I shouldn’t have. Adrian had been my one true love, until he left me for college. I plotted my revenge for a decade and then moved home when the FBI downsized me in July. Guess who’d also moved home? Yep. Adrian. We sorted things out after I saved his well-toned heinie from a murder charge and again after he saved mine from a crazy lunatic. Somehow, the saving and the sorting left things…complicated. In some ways it had been easier when I wanted to shove an ice cream in his nose and be done with him. Now, I alternated between wanting to squeeze his middle or squeeze his neck. I shifted in my seat. “He probably has another crazy plan to garner votes.”

I needed to make peace with my waffling emotional attachment to my ex. The flipflopping was exhausting, plus he was the town’s homegrown golden boy and running for mayor. We were going to be sharing our little three-by-seven-mile island for the foreseeable future.

Most of the locals had watched Adrian and I grow up together and some still pined for us to reconcile.

“Adrian runs three point one miles before breakfast.” Claire sighed. “I’ve seen him. It’s nice to watch.”

“So, ask Adrian to run with you.” I sipped the tepid water in my glass, regretting my over-indulgence more by the minute. I blamed the Tasty Cream’s inviting old-time soda shop ambience. The minute I treaded over black-and-white checkered tiles and pulled up a little red cushioned chair, anything was possible. Except eating only half my sundae.

“Uh-uh. Adrian’s your man.” She held a palm up between us. “I don’t care what you say. You loved him once and that means I can say hi to him and we can have fun together, in your presence, but I’m not running a marathon with that man, mini or otherwise, if you aren’t there. It’s not cool.”

I loved her so much.

“Besides, I need time to talk to you.” Claire’s long dark bangs fell over her eyes and she pushed them away without making eye contact.

“About what?” My phone buzzed in my hand.

“Answer the poor man. You know how excited he gets about things. What’s going on now?” She crossed and uncrossed her legs, shifting in her chair.

“He says he has a surprise for me.”

Claire clucked her tongue.

“It’s not that.”

“What?” Her large brown eyes widened in faux innocence. “I didn’t say anything.”

I pulled a few dollars from my purse and placed them on the table. “I know what you’re thinking, and it’s not that.”

“You can’t know what he has for sure. It wouldn’t be a surprise if you knew.”

I followed Claire to the register to pay the bill. Her sea-green pedal pushers were amazing with black platform heels and a black silk blouse. I’d break my neck in anything higher than a three-inch heel, but Claire could outrun me in stilettos. It had happened more than once in Macy’s. With heels, she was average height. Without them, she was stretching for five foot two. Her posture, confidence and general disposition screamed runway model. All those cotillions her parents forced her through gave her a taste for self-respect and fashion. The rest was lost in translation. Like the part where they thought she’d settle down and start a family. Claire had the crazy idea it wasn’t 1955 anymore.

That reminded me. “Do you have plans to see the SWAT guy again next weekend?” She’d waited months for a member of the FBI’s SWAT team to ask her out. They turned up at my birthday party together last weekend, but she hadn’t mentioned him since.

She shook her head before I finished the question.

I handed the teen at the register my bill and some cash but fixed my attention on Claire. “Is that what you wanted to talk to me about?”

She shrugged. “That’s part of it.”

“I love talking about guys with you. Why on earth would you try to make me run three miles for that? Meanie.”

Claire huffed while I stuffed the change from my bill into my wallet. “It’s a mini marathon. Three miles, not thirty, and it’s at the beach.”

“I live on an island. I see the beach every day.” Chincoteague, Virginia, was a delightful costal town adjoined to the mainland by a bridge, the harbor and the sky. The bridge seemed to attach us to the world but, in all honesty, Chincoteague was its own planet. We had a long history of traditions and customs. Some were quaint, and some were odd by mainland standards, but Chincoteague was the epitome of small-town living. Peaceful. Beautiful. Islanders were family. Granted, every family had its quirks, especially one with twelve hundred people.

“Come on. Virginia Beach.” She threw her arms wide and held the door with one hip as I passed. “They play live music. There will be tons of people there. It’ll be like college all over again.”

“I’m too old for college.”

“Speak for yourself.” She stopped short and sighed. “You’re right. Never mind. It was dumb.”

I touched her elbow. “It’s not dumb. I just ate a gallon of ice cream. I should be begging you to make me run a marathon. Look,” I lifted my shirt. “I had to unbutton my pants.”

She laughed. “Put your shirt down before someone takes a picture.”

A flash illuminated the evening.

I blinked through the dots floating in my vision. A man speed walked away from us, wearing a navy-colored windbreaker and khakis.

“Who was that?” Claire asked. “I think he really took our picture. Unless he was shooting the Tasty Cream.”

I turned to examine the ice cream parlor behind us. Its cone-shaped roof interrupted the beautiful island sky. The sun set earlier since fall had arrived and though it was barely past dinnertime, deep hues of smoky gray and violet above us suggested the hour was much later. A few stars shone in the distance over the water. I rubbed my eyes and turned in a circle, seeking some other item of interest a tourist might photograph. A family pressed open the Tasty Cream door and a heavenly mixture of sweet and salty scents drifted on the air to meet me. Fries and ice cream rolled in my tummy. A tummy now captured on film, popped button and all.

“If I find him, I’m demanding he delete that picture.” I stepped off the curb and crossed the street to my apartment, with Claire at my side.

“Tell me about the SWAT guy. Wyatt. What happened with him after you left my birthday party?”

Claire sighed but didn’t answer.

I rented the only available space on the island when I moved home during the summer. Thanks to Adrian and a silly rumor about the house being haunted, no one ever wanted to live there. The owner hadn’t rented the space in a decade. Not the upstairs apartment I now called home, and not the downstairs unit, which had housed numerous failed businesses over the years. Now I lived in the apartment for next-to-nothing rent and Adrian owned the building. He used the downstairs for his campaign studio. Lucky me, living upstairs from temptation.

Except, I wasn’t tempted. Not really. Not normally. Possibilities for a future with Adrian had dissolved long before our reunion this summer. Destiny had already dropped six-foot-sexy, Special Agent Sebastian Clark into my life. Sebastian, my personal hero. When Adrian was accused of murder this summer, I’d called Sebastian for advice. These days, I also called Sebastian my boyfriend. I adored him. In fact, I expected to see him soon. He rented a room by the month at Island Comforts, the local bed-and-breakfast, but spent more nights at work or my place than at the B&B.

My tummy gurgled.

Claire looked at me. “You better hope that picture doesn’t end up in the paper tomorrow.”

I shook off her comment. Weirder things had happened to me since moving home. “You’re dodging my question. What happened with the SWAT guy and what do you want to talk to me about?”

“I need your advice.” She braced her palm on the exterior railing to my apartment and began climbing the wooden stairs. “Not as my best friend, but as, you know, the other thing.”

Before the FBI downsized me from my human resources position, I’d finished my counseling degree and planned to work with agents under stress or those who had discharged their firearm or been injured in the line of duty, etc. It was a good plan. The FBI paid big money to contractors for those services. I thought hiring me would save the bureau a ton of money. They thought firing me would too. So, I moved home to chase my dream and open a private practice, which proved more complicated than one would think. Small towns. Nosy neighbors. Those sorts of things weren’t always a counselor’s friend.

“You want me to counsel you?” I worked to keep my voice flat. Any inflection on my part might be misinterpreted by her, and our friendship would take the hit. I slid my key into the lock, opened the door and motioned her inside.

“A little.”

“Finally!” Adrian rushed from my kitchen to meet us at the door. “I texted you four times. I was ready to come and get you. What were you doing over there for two hours, anyway? Never mind. I don’t care.” His stormy blue eyes were wild with pleasure. “I have a surprise.”

“You mentioned that.” I normally complained when he let himself in through the secret staircase hidden in the wall of my bedroom closet, but clearly this wasn’t the time. I hadn’t seen him so excited since he won the state spelling bee in third grade and got a new Nintendo with all the games.

“Sit down.” He motioned us to the couch.

“Is he okay?” Claire whispered. “He looks a little crazed.”

Adrian stood before us, rubbing his palms together. A sudden frown replaced his eager expression. “Where’s Sebastian?”

“He had a deposition with internal affairs.” Claire still worked with Sebastian at the FBI in Norfolk.

I envied that sometimes.

“What’s going on?” A deep tenor sent tingles over my spine, and my cheeks ached with a sudden smile. Sebastian stood in my open doorway with flowers and a bottle of champagne.

Adrian’s jaw fell an inch before he recovered some of his enthusiasm. “I have something to tell you guys.”

“It’s a surprise,” Claire added.

Sebastian widened his stance. As a general rule, special agents didn’t love surprises. “Go on.”

Adrian cleared his throat, evidently thrown by Sebastian’s entrance and gifts.

“Fine. I rented my home through Halloween night and it’s all very hush-hush. I can’t give you all the particulars yet, but details are coming, I promise.”

“And?” Sebastian leveled his gaze on Adrian, who rolled his shoulders back.

“And I hoped I could stay here.”

“With me?” My voice hitched on the second word.

“Yes.”

“No.” Sebastian moved inside and shut the door. He got a vase from under the sink and put the flowers in water.

Adrian gawked at me, waving his palms as if I could change Sebastian’s mind. His panic compelled me to intervene, though I wasn’t sure whose side I was on yet. I took a few deep breaths. Was the air thinner in the upstairs apartment? Getting in the middle of these two always made it hard to breathe.

I stood and faced the kitchen. “Um, well, let’s think this through.”

Sebastian turned narrowed eyes on me. I shook my head at Adrian. He motioned wildly again. I stood back up and stepped toward the kitchen. Sebastian glared from Adrian to me.

Claire giggled. The sound snapped me back to reality. This was my apartment. I decided who stayed here, not Sebastian. I anchored both palms over my hips and turned on Sebastian. Adrian took my seat on the couch and nudged Claire with his elbow.

“I don’t see why he can’t stay here. Is there a reason you have a problem with that?” I cocked a hip for good measure.

Sebastian looked past me to the couch, his expression blank.

I moved forward until the toes of my goddess sandals bumped Sebastian’s shiny dress shoes. “Fine, then it’s agreed. Adrian stays here. You can stay here, too.”

The corner of Sebastian’s mouth pulled down. “What if only I stay here with you and Adrian stays in my room at Island Comforts?”

Oh. Yeah. That was better. My moment’s pause was enough to settle it. Sebastian tossed his key over my head.

“Sweet.” Adrian jumped up and headed for the door.

“Hey,” I turned to Adrian. “What was the secret you texted four times to tell me about?”

“I told you all I can.”

“You didn’t tell me anything.”

He flashed his politician smile. “That’s because it’s a secret.”

Adrian disappeared and Sebastian popped the cork on his champagne. “I’m glad that’s settled. Tonight we celebrate.”

“What are we celebrating?”

Claire sashayed across the floor and leaned over the little island in my kitchen. “I take it the deposition went well?”

Sebastian slid a glass to Claire. “Internal affairs closed my case. I was cleared of all culpability. The board determined I’d followed every protocol on the operation and justice prevailed again.”

“Congratulations.” She lifted the glass in a toast motion and sipped.

Relief flooded through me. “What about Jimmy the Judge?”

Jimmy the Judge was the mob boss who wanted Sebastian dead. Sebastian had worked undercover for eight months in Jimmy’s operation, infiltrating his crew and leading a bust that resulted in the death of five members of Jimmy’s crime family. Jimmy somehow turned to vapor and slipped between Sebastian’s fingers in the kerfuffle. Sebastian had moved onto the island to hide while he hunted Jimmy, and Jimmy hunted him. I got an ulcer.

“We have fresh intel suggesting Jimmy’s in Vegas. I’m headed there in a few days to follow up on a couple decent leads.”

I tipped my head and tossed back the alcohol. I didn’t want to think of Sebastian chasing Jimmy, but I didn’t want to open my mouth and ruin his good news either.

Claire set down her glass. “Well, congratulations, Sebastian. Thank you, Patience, for a lovely dinner. Now, I’m heading home. It’s a long drive, and I have to get up early. I’ll leave you two to celebrate.” She winked.

“Hey, how’d it go with the marshmallow from SWAT?” Sebastian asked.

Claire screwed her mouth into a knot. “It’s funny you call him that because he was kind of like talking to a marshmallow.”

I scrunched my brows together. “I thought when you called people marshmallows it meant they were soft and weak.”

“I don’t know about that,” Claire said. “He was all muscle. Unfortunately, his head was one big muscle too. Hard as a rock.” She wrapped her knuckles against the side of her head.

I pushed my bottom lip into a pout. “Bummer.”

“Yeah, but it’s okay. Can we talk later?” She lifted a brow.

“Anytime.”

Sebastian lifted my glass with his and followed us onto the stoop outside my door. He sat. I walked Claire to her car, enjoying the cool night air.

We reached the sidewalk as the Sheriff Fargas climbed out of his car. “Evening, Patience.” He took off his hat when he saw Claire. “Miss Claire.”

Claire blushed on cue, accentuating her flawless mocha latte complexion, and lowered her long curly lashes. “Sheriff Fargas.”

Those two had started flirting a few weeks ago and it still confused me.

“I was on my way to the Tasty Cream for dinner,” he said. “Would you like to join me?”

“I don’t know.” Claire looked at me. I wasn’t sure what I was supposed to do. Make an excuse for her? Encourage her?

“Your phone’s ringing,” Sebastian called to me.

At the same moment, Sheriff Fargas pulled his phone from his pocket. “Fargas.” His eyes shut for two quick beats before turning to Sebastian. The set of his jaw and rigidity in his stance was grim when he returned the phone to his pocket.

Sebastian waved my phone in the air. “It’s still buzzing.”

“Mine?” I called up the steps.

“Yeah. Double-oh-seven.” Sebastian read the display.

“That’s Adrian,” Claire interjected.

Sebastian answered my phone.

“I’m afraid I need a rain check.” Fargas touched Claire’s hand lightly and turned for his car.

Sebastian bounded down the steps two at a time, keys in hand.

“What’s going on?” Claire demanded as Fargas tore away from the curb in his cruiser.

“Adrian found two dead bodies in my bed.”

Grab your hat and pail, you guys! Let's go!

Murder in Real Time, The Patience Price Mysteries, book 3

With the chaos of summer tourists and fall birders out of town, counselor Patience Price is looking forward to the quiet life she remembers. She longs for some peace. And an apple fritter. But the calm is cut short when a reality show sets up camp to film a special about ghosts on her little island. Now fans, reporters and crew have flocked to sleepy Chincoteague. Who knew ghost hunters had an entourage?

When two cast members are killed in a room at the local B&B—a room usually occupied by Patience’s FBI agent boyfriend, Sebastian—she finds herself on the case. Sebastian doesn’t want Patience ruffling any feathers but, as always, she can’t help herself.

Patience promises to let Sebastian handle the investigation—he is FBI, after all—but after a drive-by shooting, her wicked curiosity gets the best of her. And with the TV show forging ahead with filming, the list of suspects (and the line of food trucks) only grows. But has the shooter already flown the coop? And how do you find a killer when you don’t know who the target is?

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