Since I'm writing mysteries now, I wanted to reflect that on this page. The problem? I don't have any old mysteries of my own that I like enough to put up here. And while I was trying to meet my deadline for The Body in the Dump TRuck, I didn't have time to work on anything else. The good news? I'm not so rushed now. I'm working on plot points for the Jazzi Zanders's mystery #4, and I can only think of so many new ideas at one time. That means, I like to have other distractions while I fiddle around. By the way, if you're interested, my first Jazzi mystery--The Body in the Attic--is on presale now.
www.amazon.com/Body-Attic-Judi-Lynn-ebook/dp/B07B741L6N/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1532973337&sr=8-1&keywords=judi+lynn But I've already written a few short Jazzi stories for this page. I've moved them to the top of the list at the left. So I wanted to write something different besides my regular work day projects. That's how I came up with Chintz Calhoun and her husband, Callum. And this isn't exactly a cozy either. So I can push the envelope a little more. Anyway, I'm going to play around with a mystery for you, and I'll be writing it as I go. We'll see how that works. I don't even know how long I'm going to make it, but I intend to enjoy myself. I hope you do, too. But there's no way I can post more than one, maybe two if I'm lucky, scenes a week. Here's the first one:
A Baker's Dozen
The 1st Chintz and Callum Mystery
(1)
Shayla Gilbert slid her key into her apartment’s lock, turned it, then bumped the door open with her hip while balancing two grocery bags in her arms. She’d spent longer at the grocery store than she’d intended, but she’d bought every ingredient to try to replicate the shrimp and chicken skewers she’d had at the party she’d attended two weeks ago. She’d never been invited to such a swanky event and would be forever grateful that Brock Royl’s date couldn’t make it at the last minute. He’d called to ask her to accompany him but told her he’d appreciate it if she didn’t mention it in the office. “You know how gossip flies. I have a girl I’m getting serious about, but I like you. I thought we could have a nice time at the party.”
No other man, since she’d moved away from her small hometown, had shown her the least bit of interest. No wonder. She could barely talk when a male so much as stood by her desk. The two friends she invited over to have dinner and watch a movie every other Saturday went on dates once in a while, off and on, and gossiped about it over their lunch breaks at work. Shayla enjoyed listening to their adventures and misadventures, but was fine on her own. She’d always been shy, getting tongue-tied whenever she was in the limelight. Better to just do her work diligently and enjoy living by herself.
She was par-cooking bacon when she heard movement in the bedroom. She lowered the heat on the stove and was turning to go check on it when someone knocked on the door. When she answered it, Mrs. Lebowitz from the apartment at the end of the hallway asked, “May I come in?”
Shayla motioned her inside and led her into the kitchen. “I’m having friends over tonight. I have to keep cooking. How are you doing, Mrs. L?”
“I fell asleep on my couch and had a dreadful dream. It’s left me rattled.”
The poor dear had trouble telling dreams from reality when her blood sugar rose too high. “Have you checked your numbers?”
The older woman shook her head. “I didn’t want to. They’re going to be high. I shouldn’t have eaten the cream puff I brought home from the bakery.”
Shayla raised an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t have bought the cream puff to begin with, but since you did, you should have checked your numbers and given yourself the right amount of insulin.”
Mrs. Lebowitz shrugged frail shoulders. “My fingers were sore today. I didn’t want to poke them. Besides, a person can’t give up everything she enjoys in life.”
The problem was that Mrs. L might have eaten a donut for breakfast and already forgotten. Shayla cut the chicken breasts into cubes and patted them dry, then began to alternate the chicken and shrimp on the new skewers she’d purchased. “Did you take your insulin last night at bedtime?”
Mrs. Lebowitz nodded. “You don’t happen to have a bottle of wine, do you? A glass would taste good.”
Shayla let out an exasperated sigh. “You know you’re not supposed to have wine.”
“You could put it in a shot glass. It would help calm my nerves. And then I can go home and watch a little TV.”
“You’re not going to watch Predator again, are you? No wonder you’re having nightmares.” Mrs. Lebowitz had bought the DVD of that movie and watched it over and over again.
She shook her head, a naughty gleam in her eyes. “If you give me a thimble of wine to relax, I’ll watch an old Ginger and Fred Astaire movie.”
Shayla poured her an inch of wine and made the rub for the skewers. She needed to get her sweet neighbor out the door so she could concentrate on her cooking. She sprinkled the rub over the meat and put them in the oven when Mrs. L was ready to leave. Shayla walked her to the door and stood for a minute, watching her walk down the hallway to her apartment. She waited while she unlocked her door and disappeared inside. Then Shayla hurried back to the kitchen and was bending to open the oven door to check on the kebabs when something bright flashed past her. Her throat stung. She put a hand on it. Her neck felt wet and sticky. When she pulled her hand back, she stared at it--covered with red. She started to feel cold. Her legs went weak. Her knees gave, and she crumpled to the floor. As she lay on the cool tiles, she watched the red stain spread. Dots swam before her eyes, and then everything went black.
www.amazon.com/Body-Attic-Judi-Lynn-ebook/dp/B07B741L6N/ref=sr_1_1?ie=UTF8&qid=1532973337&sr=8-1&keywords=judi+lynn But I've already written a few short Jazzi stories for this page. I've moved them to the top of the list at the left. So I wanted to write something different besides my regular work day projects. That's how I came up with Chintz Calhoun and her husband, Callum. And this isn't exactly a cozy either. So I can push the envelope a little more. Anyway, I'm going to play around with a mystery for you, and I'll be writing it as I go. We'll see how that works. I don't even know how long I'm going to make it, but I intend to enjoy myself. I hope you do, too. But there's no way I can post more than one, maybe two if I'm lucky, scenes a week. Here's the first one:
A Baker's Dozen
The 1st Chintz and Callum Mystery
(1)
Shayla Gilbert slid her key into her apartment’s lock, turned it, then bumped the door open with her hip while balancing two grocery bags in her arms. She’d spent longer at the grocery store than she’d intended, but she’d bought every ingredient to try to replicate the shrimp and chicken skewers she’d had at the party she’d attended two weeks ago. She’d never been invited to such a swanky event and would be forever grateful that Brock Royl’s date couldn’t make it at the last minute. He’d called to ask her to accompany him but told her he’d appreciate it if she didn’t mention it in the office. “You know how gossip flies. I have a girl I’m getting serious about, but I like you. I thought we could have a nice time at the party.”
No other man, since she’d moved away from her small hometown, had shown her the least bit of interest. No wonder. She could barely talk when a male so much as stood by her desk. The two friends she invited over to have dinner and watch a movie every other Saturday went on dates once in a while, off and on, and gossiped about it over their lunch breaks at work. Shayla enjoyed listening to their adventures and misadventures, but was fine on her own. She’d always been shy, getting tongue-tied whenever she was in the limelight. Better to just do her work diligently and enjoy living by herself.
She was par-cooking bacon when she heard movement in the bedroom. She lowered the heat on the stove and was turning to go check on it when someone knocked on the door. When she answered it, Mrs. Lebowitz from the apartment at the end of the hallway asked, “May I come in?”
Shayla motioned her inside and led her into the kitchen. “I’m having friends over tonight. I have to keep cooking. How are you doing, Mrs. L?”
“I fell asleep on my couch and had a dreadful dream. It’s left me rattled.”
The poor dear had trouble telling dreams from reality when her blood sugar rose too high. “Have you checked your numbers?”
The older woman shook her head. “I didn’t want to. They’re going to be high. I shouldn’t have eaten the cream puff I brought home from the bakery.”
Shayla raised an eyebrow. “You shouldn’t have bought the cream puff to begin with, but since you did, you should have checked your numbers and given yourself the right amount of insulin.”
Mrs. Lebowitz shrugged frail shoulders. “My fingers were sore today. I didn’t want to poke them. Besides, a person can’t give up everything she enjoys in life.”
The problem was that Mrs. L might have eaten a donut for breakfast and already forgotten. Shayla cut the chicken breasts into cubes and patted them dry, then began to alternate the chicken and shrimp on the new skewers she’d purchased. “Did you take your insulin last night at bedtime?”
Mrs. Lebowitz nodded. “You don’t happen to have a bottle of wine, do you? A glass would taste good.”
Shayla let out an exasperated sigh. “You know you’re not supposed to have wine.”
“You could put it in a shot glass. It would help calm my nerves. And then I can go home and watch a little TV.”
“You’re not going to watch Predator again, are you? No wonder you’re having nightmares.” Mrs. Lebowitz had bought the DVD of that movie and watched it over and over again.
She shook her head, a naughty gleam in her eyes. “If you give me a thimble of wine to relax, I’ll watch an old Ginger and Fred Astaire movie.”
Shayla poured her an inch of wine and made the rub for the skewers. She needed to get her sweet neighbor out the door so she could concentrate on her cooking. She sprinkled the rub over the meat and put them in the oven when Mrs. L was ready to leave. Shayla walked her to the door and stood for a minute, watching her walk down the hallway to her apartment. She waited while she unlocked her door and disappeared inside. Then Shayla hurried back to the kitchen and was bending to open the oven door to check on the kebabs when something bright flashed past her. Her throat stung. She put a hand on it. Her neck felt wet and sticky. When she pulled her hand back, she stared at it--covered with red. She started to feel cold. Her legs went weak. Her knees gave, and she crumpled to the floor. As she lay on the cool tiles, she watched the red stain spread. Dots swam before her eyes, and then everything went black.
