I think this is a post worth reading and definitely worth sharing.
Source: A Culture Addicted to FREE—How FREE is Poisoning the Internet & Killing the Creatives
Last Monday, I logged onto my Amazon author’s page and much to my surprise, I learned that my book, BONE GIRL, was blocked. Amazon refused to sell it.
I immediately emailed the company and received no response. I sent a second email on Tuesday and again, I received no response. Meanwhile, BONE GIRL could not be bought in e-book form on Amazon. It was and is still available at Nook, Kobo and iBook. Smashwords, the distributor I used for my books, had no qualms with BONE GIRL.
On Wednesday, I received an email. Amazon demanded I prove I am the author of BONE GIRL. Okay. No problem. I publish the book via my own small press, Baskethound Books. I sent them an image of my business license. On Thursday, I sent them a copy of the copyright for BONE GIRL. This is the only book I have bothered to seek a copyright for, and I did it only so that I could submit it to a writing contest.
On Thursday, I made the mistake of publishing my experiences to a writer’s board called KBoards. I asked if other authors had the experience of Amazon suddenly and without warning blocking their book. The replies soon came and with them, the venom of my fellow writers. Here’s what those writers had to say: Of course Amazon blocked your book: it has the word “bone” in the title; it must be erotica. Of course Amazon blocked your book: you are copy-catting the best book of 2014: GONE GIRL. It’s obvious: just compare the movie poster to your cover. How dare you? I expressed my innocence: I’ve never read GONE GIRL. I didn’t even see the movie. My book cover features a horse; the movie poster features Ben Affleck. How similar are those? In the end, I asked that my profile be removed from KBoards.
Some writers think Amazon doesn’t help anyone but itself. I don’t know if that’s true. But, I’m foolish enough to wonder if Amazon blocked BONE GIRL with no warning and no explanation, what is to stop them from blocking A YEAR WITH GENO or any of my other books? Will I just log on one day and see that they are not for sale? Maybe.
Some authors publish their books only on Amazon, and I have chosen that route on occasion in the past. But now I’m asking: is it possible for me to publish my books without using Amazon at all? Well, maybe. For example, my readers love print books. Okay. What if I choose – and I do love that word – to publish CELEBRATION HOUSE and its two sequels only in print? I could do it via Ingram Spark. Then, if readers want a copy, they visit Barnes & Noble in person or online and buy one there. Or they could go to their local independently owned bookstore and request the book. It’s not like I’m a bestselling author. Not yet.
As for ebooks, what if I publish with Smashwords only? Readers could buy it from Kobo, iBook or Nook. It’s still available, just not on Amazon. This idea intrigues me: is there life without Amazon?
One last thing: what really bothers me about Amazon and its decision to block my book is that there’s no accountability. I queried them three times to ask why. Why did they block my book? But they do not tell me. They have no phone number. I have only the option of sending emails. It’s kind of like KBoards. The people who post there, especially the venomous ones, do not have a public profile. They like to remain anonymous. That way, they can say whatever they want and there’s no accountability. Hmm. Does that seem like cowardice? I don’t know. What do you think?
Hands and arms inside the cart: Next, still trying to learn how to manage an event venue
P.S. I forgot to say: Amazon removed the block yesterday. Why? I don’t know.
Today, I welcome Joyce and Jim Lavene to talk about their collection of mystery short stories, Gone by Midnight. Take it away, Jim!
Why do you write fiction?
I wrote for a local newspaper, that was a format that was “Just the facts.” I’m an avid reader of fiction of many genres. The idea of just writing non-fiction was kind of boring. I wanted to write something like my favorite authors: Carole Nelson Douglas and others like her.
Please tell us about your book. What ideas or images inspired this book?
This book is a collection of short stories that my wife Joyce and I wrote over the years. Most of them are in the fantasy genre. I guess the inspiration would be some of the fantasy books we read by various authors.
Do you have an ideal reader in mind when you write? If so, please describe that reader.
I think every author has an image of an ideal reader. It would be someone who loves to read all genres like we write and can’t wait to read the next one.
Please describe your writing routine.
First thing I do when I get up is review what I’ve written the day before, adding to it to stay focused for the day. Then I take the grandkids to school. I come back and make a latte then start writing again until lunch. After lunch I edit and do promo work. That pretty much sums it up.
What advice do you give new writers just starting out?
Write what you really care about and don’t let anyone tell you that it can’t be written like you want to do it. The next thing is persistence. Keep after your goal.
More about Gone by Midnight:
Fans of Joyce and Jim Lavene will thrill at this collection of thirteen short stories. Many are set in the worlds of their national bestselling mystery series, including the Missing Pieces Mysteries, the Renaissance Faire Mysteries, the Retired Witches Mysteries, and an upcoming mystery novel!
These stories contain the elements of mystery and fantasy the Lavenes are famous for, as well as some new things their readers have never seen. Several stories feature characters interacting with ghosts, magic, and the supernatural—the healing woman in “Courtship;” the Civil War widow in “One with the Darkness;” the city girl who summons a wizard from the past in “The Magician and the Sorceress/Accountant;” and the young introvert in “Aunt Edna” who finds her calling with help from a ghostly visitor.
Poignant, charming, and captivating, Joyce and Jim Lavene bring their characteristic wit and heart to these stories and introduce each one with a passage about its origin or how it ties into the universe they’ve created. Gone by Midnight is a treasury of tales that will delight the mind and touch the heart from one of the most prolific writing duos of our time.
Joyce and Jim Lavene write award-winning, bestselling mystery fiction as themselves, J.J. Cook, and Ellie Grant. They have written and published more than 70 novels for Harlequin, Berkley, Amazon, and Gallery Books along with hundreds of non-fiction articles for national and regional publications. They live in rural North Carolina with their family.
How to contact them:
http://www.joyceandjimlavene.com
http://www.facebook.com/joyceandjimlavene
Today, I welcome author Janice Peacock to talk about her cozy mystery, A Bead in the Hand.
Without further ado, here’s Janice!
Can we talk about romance?
Many readers have asked me if the main character in the Glass Bead Mystery Series, Jax O’Connell, is much like me. I must admit, we have a lot in common. We’re both glass beadmakers and jewelry designers, love cats, and live on the northwest coast of the United States—Jax is in Seattle and I live near San Francisco—oh, and we both adore espresso drinks. One way that we’re not alike is our love lives. Since it’s so close to Valentine’s Day I thought I’d write about that today.
Let’s start with me. I’ve been happily married for some twenty-odd years, and believe me when I say that some of them have been pretty odd! But, I digress. My days of juggling boyfriends are long past—that never really happened much. Okay, not really at all, I must admit.
Jax, on the other hand, having reached her mid-forties, is still unattached. This doesn’t seem to bother her, nor should it. She had been in a long term relationship with a man named Jerry who ignored her, except when she was too slow to order take-out food for dinner—that is, if he even turned up for dinner. After Jax inherited her great-aunt’s bungalow, she left Jerry and moved to Seattle. That was a challenge for her, giving up not only her partner, but her home and her livelihood, so she could live a life of creative passion with people she loved.
In Seattle, she hadn’t found anyone she wanted to date until she met a newspaper reporter named Allen Sinclair. Handsome and a bit preppy, he seemed genuinely interested in Jax. That is, until her cat, Gumdrop, launched himself into Allen’s cocktail, leaving him and everything else a sticky, sopping-wet mess. You’ll have to read High Strung, A Glass Bead Mystery, to find out what happens with Jax and Allen, and Gumdrop’s high dive. Here’s a hint posted by a reader in a 5-star Amazon review: “I… doubt I will ever look at a mojito the same again!”
In A Bead in the Hand, the second book in the Glass Bead Mystery Series, Jax is back with a new set of challenges. Other than finding a dead body, which is certainly a difficult experience, she also has a pleasant surprise. A handsome security guard named Ryan Shaw wants to protect her from harm as she tries to find a murderer in the Red Rose Hotel in Portland. But what he’d really like to do is get his hands on her and show her a really good time! Jax is attracted to this hunky guy, but also has no idea how deal with someone who is in hot pursuit of her. Adding to the complexity of the situation, a stern detective who Jax met in Seattle during a murder investigation a few months before likes to stop by Jax’s house unannounced. Jax has discovered that this serious and stiff man transforms from Clark Kent to Superman any time he removes his glasses, much to her delight.
As Valentine’s Day approaches, Jax is left wondering: Ryan or Zachary? You can find out the answer (at least for now!) in Be Still My Beading Heart, A Glass Bead Mini-Mystery. The short story, released just in time for the most romantic holiday of the year, is available free on Amazon at tinyurl.com/BeStillMyBeadingHeart
About The Author
Janice Peacock decided to write her first mystery novel after working in a glass studio full of colorful artists who didn’t always get along. They reminded her of the odd, and often humorous, characters in the murder mystery books she loved to read. Inspired by that experience, she combined her two passions and wrote High Strung: A Glass Bead Mystery, the first book in a new cozy mystery series featuring glass beadmaker Jax O’Connell.
When Janice Peacock isn’t writing about glass artists who are amateur detectives, she makes glass beads using a torch, designs one-of-a-kind jewelry, and makes sculptures using hot glass. An award-winning artist, her work has been exhibited internationally and is in the permanent collections of several museums. She lives in the San Francisco Bay Area with her husband, three cats, and seven chickens. She has a studio full of beads…lots and lots of beads.
How to contact Janice:
Website: http://www.janicepeacock.com/
Blog: http://blog.janicepeacock.com/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/JanicePeacockAuthor
Twitter: https://twitter.com/janpeac (@janpeac)
Pinterest: https://pinterest.com/janpeac
Instagram: https://instagram.com/janpeac
Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/8389583.Janice_Peacock
More about A Bead in the Hand:
A bead bazaar turns bizarre when jewelry designer and glass beadmaker Jax O’Connell discovers a dead body beneath her sales table. Suspected of murder, Jax and her friend Tessa scramble to find the killer among the fanatic shoppers and eccentric vendors. They have their hands full dealing with a scumbag show promoter, hipsters in love, and a security guard who wants to do more than protect Jax from harm. Adding to the chaos, Jax’s quirky neighbor Val arrives unexpectedly with trouble in tow. Can Jax untangle the clues before she’s arrested for murder?
***
High Strung
Be Still My Beading Heart
B&N – http://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-bead-in-the-hand-janice-peacock/1123025263?ean=9781513705613
Last week, as I was leaving my day job after a particularly difficult shift, I shared an elevator with a fellow nurse. She asked me how my day went, and I told her it had been a rough one. I queried her in return, and she told me hers had been challenging too: one of her favorite patients died at the age of 48. I’ll be 48 on my next birthday.
Her simple words quickly reminded me of how lucky I am to have my health, a good-paying job and a clean, safe home where my small family waits for me.
I thought a lot about that elevator conversation, and it spurred me to think more about my legacy as a writer. Recently, I stumbled upon a website about Victoria Holt, a romance writer who died in 1993 and wrote more than 200 books. Her fans built the website as a tribute to her after her death. Can there be any higher praise?
As a writer, I spend a lot of time – dare I say waste? – looking for validation by either selling lots of books or collecting five-star reviews. But, really, is that what matters?
I write because I have stories I want to tell. I have characters whose voices I hear loud and clear, and if I don’t share their stories, then those characters wane and fade away. And I believe each of my books has one reader it’s meant for – either to entertain or to reassure that they are not alone in their struggle. I don’t write about popular girls; I never was one. I don’t write about wealth; I’ve never known it. I write about working-class heroines who struggle to make ends meet and build a home for themselves and those they love. Not a lot of glamour in that.
There are certain things I can control on this journey. I control the quality of my storytelling. As an indie author, I choose my cover art and hire an editor and proofreader. I choose the actors who record my audiobooks, and I schedule the date my books publish.
But there are certain things I cannot control. I’ve queried numerous agents and editors and received many no-thank-yous. I’ve submitted my books time and time again to the biggest promotion site available, and I hear no. I refuse to pay for reviews, so my books will never be featured in Publishers Weekly or RT Magazine. None of that matters.
What matters to me is this: I want to be known as a writer who helps other writers. I want to be known not for the bucket loads of books I sell but for the encouragement and boost-up I give to my fellow wordsmiths.
So, with that goal in mind, I signed up to host other writers on Great Escapes Book Tours. On Friday, I share a post by Janice Peacock, who writes A Glass Bead Mystery series. She talks about romance and her newest book, A Bead in the Hand. On Sunday, I host Joyce and Jim Lavene, a husband-and-wife team who wrote Gone by Midnight, a collection of short mystery stories. If my meager efforts help these authors sell a few books, that’s great. If those sales encourage them to keep writing, that’s even better.
I can’t think of a better legacy.
Hands and arms inside the cart: Welcome, Janice Peacock.
Have you ever heard the phrase, “You get what you focus on?”
This is Stanton Hall, an antebellum mansion in Natchez, MS. I keep a photograph of this magnificent home by my computer. It’s how I envision Stratton House. Beautiful, huh?
I think there’s a lot of wisdom in those six words. And in 2016, I’m applying them to my writing career.
Ever since Celebration House was published by Tirgearr Publishing in August of 2013, I’ve been talking and blogging and blabbing on about the sequels to it. Well, this is the year. This is the year of Celebration House.
I’ll admit there are some hurdles. To begin with, I signed a contract with Tirgearr Publishing in April of 2013. According to the contract, they have exclusive rights to the book for five years. That means, I don’t have the right to publish my own creation via Baskethound Books in any form – audiobook, print or e-book – until August of 2018 unless I pay them $500. Okay. $500. Got it. Let us shake hands and wish each other well.
Then, there is the task of writing the two new books. I’ve started and stopped several times. I’ve had a few diversions, such as writing a novella, A Beautiful Day in Alaska, and my first cozy mystery, Death Goes to the County Fair, as well as the screenplay adaptation for Bone Girl. But those projects are done. Or perhaps I should say done enough for now.
But there are some structural problems with Celebration House. I wrote that book years ago, and I don’t write that way anymore. So, I’m adding new scenes and deleting the passages where I tell and don’t show. I’m reworking the book so it’s clearly a romance and not women’s fiction.
And I’m having a blast! I love revisiting my heroine, Carrie, as she fights to save a falling-down antebellum mansion that was built 100 years before she was born. I’m happy to be back among the cast and crew of that book, including my hero, Maj. Stewart, who still looks so much like Hugh Jackman; they could be brothers. I love catching up with the other ghosts who demand Carrie’s attention, like Col. Stratton for whom the house is made, and his wife, Virginia. Violet is still my favorite.
And then there are my new heroines. Beth Kozera, the nurse who helped Carrie in Celebration House, stars in Volume 2. Beth, like me, knows nothing about running an event venue. She and I are going to learn together. We started by interviewing the manager of the Van Valey House here in Everett, Washington. That event venue is owned by the City of Everett, so now I’m querying owner-operated locales to ask my many questions.
The third, and last installment, stars Melanie, Carrie’s older sister. Melanie is the most complex character I’ve ever written. She’s the villain in the first book, so how I turn her from criticizing shrew to the heroine is going to be a writing feat. Fortunately, I’ve got a mighty tool: I’ve got grief. Oh, the things grief does to us. I’ve already written the prologue to Melanie’s story, and I still can’t read it without crying.
What? Tears? Oh, yes. Keep a box of Kleenex nearby. You’re gonna need them, my friend.
Can you hear how excited I am about this project? Honestly, it’s the best antidote to the winter grays that descend upon me every year.
I’ve got my cover artist lined up and my proofreader. I still need an editor who knows, really knows, romance. I haven’t found her (or him?) yet.
Any sex scenes in my books? Nope. Sorry. But I’m going to create so much sexual tension that the reader will wish there were sex scenes. I’m honing my skills. I’m joining a local chapter of Romance Writers of America, and I’m either going to find a critique group or start one. I’m busy!
And target reader, I know who you are. After almost three years since I first published, I finally know who my target reader is. How sad is that? You are my Aunt Mary Rose. You are my co-worker, Joelle. I’ll spare the demographics and just say this: Target Reader, you are going to love, love, love these three books.
So, when will they publish? I don’t know the exact month and day. I’m still working out those pesky details. But I know this: 2016.
Hands and arms inside the cart: Beth Kozera and I go looking for an event venue
During the week of Jan. 4-10th, you probably saw lots of Facebook posts from me about my cozy mystery, Death Goes to the County Fair. You may have even read a review or two. All of this publicity is thanks to Lori of Great Escapes Book Tour. Lori and 10 bloggers generously agreed to help spread the word about my mystery.
I now have six reviews and lots of new Twitter followers
. Thanks to the book tour, I sold a pleasing number of copies. The tour also featured a giveaway of a $10 gift card, which I will award at the end of this week.
I wanted to tell Lori and her blogging minions how much I appreciate the time and effort they put forth to promote me and my humble work. Thank you. Most of the bloggers are just that: they write reviews and post them. But a few of the sites belong to authors. So, in a small way, I’d like to repay their kindness with a little promotion of my own.
Amy Metz, who hosted me on A Blue Million Books, also writes mysteries. Please consider visiting her website: http://amymetz.com/. Her two-book mystery series, Goose Pimple Junction Mysteries, can be purchased there or at Amazon: [amazon text=Amazon&asin=B00NE1H8FW]
D.E. Haggerty, who blogs at Readsalot, is a fellow mystery writer and graciously reviewed my book. Here’s a link to her most recent work: [amazon text=Amazon&asin=B014IP8VRQ]
Thanks again to Lori and all of the folks at Great Escapes Book Tour.
Next: hands and arms inside the cart: remodeling Celebration House.
This photo was taken in May of 1988 when I graduated from Northeast Missouri State University, now known as Truman State University. My first professional job out of college was as news editor for the Pleasant Hill Times. This year-long stint provided much of the inspiration for “Death Goes to the County Fair.”
Today, I join the ranks of mystery writers. My novel, “Death Goes to the County Fair” premiers.
When I put this book together, I had to include a disclaimer. Mine looks like this:
“This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author and have no relation to anyone bearing the same name or names. Any resemblance to individuals known or unknown to the author are purely coincidental. The town of Ogallala, Missouri does not exist. It is a fictional location.”
Most of that is true; there is no Ogallala, Missouri. Ogallala is a town in Nebraska that my husband and I drove through in May of 2014. I just loved the name of the town.
The main character, Joni Harte, is a recent college graduate who accepts the job of photographer and reporter at the Ogallala Gazette. She is a figment of my imagination. Well, sort of.
Almost 30 years ago, I worked as a journalist. My first job out of college was for a weekly newspaper in Pleasant Hill, a small Missouri town south of Kansas City. I did all of the things Joni does – I covered city-council and schoolboard meetings. I took photos of toddler beauty-contest winners. I had two amazing co-workers – one named Nancy and the other Ed. And like Joni, I was late for a parade and threatened with the loss of my job. I struggled to learn the intricacies of small-town life.
As in my novel, many of the town residents reached out and welcomed me. The small convenience store next door started stocking my favorite beer: Lowenbrau. Do they even still sell Lowenbrau? A couple I wrote a feature article about invited me to be a judge at their BBQ contest. And like Joni, I lived next door to my landlords: Barry and Ann, who fed me dinner on more than one occasion. Barry used to call me a “greenhorn.”
Any murders happen while I was the news editor for the Pleasant Hill Times? Nope. Not a one. House fires? Yes. Two. Including one house fire in which the old woman who lived there did not escape. I still remember standing by the remains of the house, sick with the sadness of it. That’s likely what inspired the book’s prologue.
What about Sheriff Cletus Butane? He is, I admit, my favorite character in the book. I don’t remember the Pleasant Hill police chief’s name in 1988, but I do remember he was gracious and patient with me. I know. I know. We’re not supposed to like our police, but I do. I like to think Sheriff Butane is a mix of Andy Griffith and Marshall Matt Dillon.
There was a small restaurant across the street from the Times office. It wasn’t named the Wagon Wheel though. That’s actually the name of a small restaurant that my aunt owned in Linneus, Missouri. And yes, her pies were amazing. My fictional protagonist, Joni, loves the banana cream, but I loved my great aunt’s chocolate cream pie.
Like Joni, I made a few mistakes, including writing a feature article about a disabled woman and not getting her guardian’s permission to publish it until the day we went to press. I also misspelled a name or two. This is very frowned upon in the journalism world.
No, sadly enough I did not drive an AMC Gremlin. I drove a 1970-something Pontiac Grand Am until the day a man rear-ended me and totaled it. Then, I bought a very old and beat-up Chevrolet Impala from my landlord. Like Joni, I longed for a car made in the decade in which I lived.
This book is the first in a mystery series. I have lots of ideas for sequels, including titles like “Death Goes Spelunking,” “Death Goes Antiquing,” and “Death Goes to College.” Lots of ideas. Now to turn those ideas into books. Therein is the challenge.
What’s next for me? Completing the two sequels to Celebration House. The trilogy will publish in 2016.
Meanwhile, I wait to hear what readers think about Joni Hart and Sheriff Cletus Butane. It’s my strongest hope they will love these two characters and the others who live in my fictional town of Ogallala, Missouri.
Hands and arms inside the cart: Next, learning how to manage Celebration House.
Dedication: This one’s for you, Aunt Mary Rose.
Chapter 1
July 30, 1988
The swaying of the small wooden boat rocked the dead man’s head back and forth on indifferent shoulders. His blue eyes bulged from their sockets in his mottled face. His thick tongue hung halfway out of his mouth.
“Turn this damn ride off!” Sheriff Cletus Butane shouted before spitting thick brown tobacco juice onto the dying grass.
A carnival worker scurried to the control panel of the Love Moat amusement ride and hit the off switch. With the power cut, the corpse stopped rocking. His ride was over.
Joni didn’t even think about what she was doing. The auto rewinder whizzed as she took picture after picture with her Nikon 35mm camera.
Sheriff Butane narrowed his eyes and glared at her. Joni ignored him. As the sole reporter and photographer for The Ogallala Gazette, Joni felt that she’d taken more than her share of photographs of prize pumpkins and toddler beauty-pageant winners. Now, at last, a news story.
“Joni, you do know I could confiscate that camera, don’t ya?”
This did get her attention. She jerked her head up and stared at the huge bulk of a sheriff. On this July morning in Ogallala, Missouri, the thermometer read 95 degrees with humidity to match. At nine in the morning, the sheriff was already drenched in sweat. Dark circles underneath the arms of his uniform gave testimony as to why Sheriff Butane spent most of his work day in his air-conditioned office.
“Freedom of the press, Sheriff,” Joni answered.
“Un, huh. We’ll just see about that, missy. Earl! Where the hell is the coroner?”
“On his way, Sheriff,” said the lone deputy, Earl Tatum. Everybody, except the sheriff, called him Tator because his head was shaped like, well, a potato.
A crowd began to gather around the carnival ride. Early morning fairgoers mingled with the carnival workers who huddled around their boss, Ben Boggs. He explained to the sheriff what he’d found this morning when he arrived at the Love Moat ride.
“I knew something was wrong, Sheriff, when I counted the boats and saw two were missing,” Boggs said. “I thought maybe one of my workers forgot them inside the ride, so I turned it on, and sure enough, here come the boats. But that came too,” he said, pointing at the corpse.
“I want to talk to the carny who closed down this ride last night.”
“That’d be José. Go get him,” Boggs barked.
One of the workers left the crowd and ran toward the lot full of old campers and Army surplus tents where the workers lived during the 10-day event.
The sheriff swiped the sweat from his face one more time before yelling, “Move the hell back, people. Mercy! I can’t breathe. Earl!”
“Right here, sheriff.”
“Get on the horn and find out where the coroner is.”
“Yes, sir.”
Joni continued to circle the boat where the dead man lay, snapping pictures. Bringing her camera down, she saw a multi-colored 2-foot long piece of thin nylon rope encircling the dead man’s neck. She stepped closer and took a picture of it. Then Joni stepped back and snapped a frontal picture of the corpse.
“You know Jerry won’t run that picture on the front page of the Gazette, don’t ya’, Joni?” the sheriff asked.
She looked up at the him. Son of a biscuit! Butane was right. Jerry wouldn’t.
“Un, huh. Just sinking in, is it?” the sheriff asked. “You may be the college graduate, but I’m the one who knows how things work in Ogallala.” He accentuated this last word with a splash of the tobacco juice near her tennis shoe. “So go on. Take all the pictures you want. I think that’s a fine idea. It saves me the money of having someone else do it. And then, after we get this John Doe on a stretcher and covered with a clean white sheet, I’ll stand next to him, and you can take my picture. ‘Cause that’s the one Jerry’s gonna print on the front page, and we both know it. Don’t we, Joni?”
“Sheriff, Doc Moreland just got here,” Tator yelled.
The crowd parted, and an ancient thin stooped man with glasses perched on his forehead ambled onto the scene. Behind him, two local ambulance volunteers pushed and pulled a stretcher through the same parting of the crowd.
“Sheriff,” the coroner said in greeting.
“Doc,” the sheriff answered. “Sure is nice of you to join us this morning. Damn sorry we had to interrupt your golf game.”
The coroner glowered at the sheriff before he growled, “I was making rounds at the hospital, Butane, and you know it. Well, what have we here?”
Joni watched as the deputy and the ambulance workers pulled the boat into the concrete docking area and lifted the corpse out. They laid him on the ground, and the coroner, on creaking arthritic knee, bent down to examine him. After donning white latex gloves, the coroner began his cursory inspection. The multicolored string Joni had noticed earlier was embedded deep into the skin of his neck.
The coroner gently unwrapped the cord from the man’s neck. A thin maroon-colored line marked its success.
“Well, shouldn’t be too difficult to determine the cause of death,” he said, looking up at the sheriff. “That only leaves the question of who this is and more importantly, why he died.”
annettedrake.com 