The Unwritten Volume 4 Review

 The Unwritten, Volume 4: Leviathan  

Author/Artist: Mike Carey/Peter Gross

Publisher: Vertigo

American release date: October 25, 2011

Format/Genre/Length: Graphic Novel/Fantasy/144 pages

Publisher/Industry Age Rating: Suggested for Mature readers

Overall Personal Rating: ★★★★★

Similar series or titles to check out: Sandman, Lucifer, Hellblazer

Tommy and Lizzie and Savoy find themselves on a tour bus labeled White Whale Tours in Pittsfield. Tommy is insistent that they need to be there. Part of the tour includes the house where Herman Melville wrote his magnus opus. Savoy isn’t doing so good—his skin is crawling like he’s got ants, and the light hurts his eyes; he thinks it’s an allergic reaction to the sun, because he’s British.

Synopsis:

According to the map, the Arrowhead Farm is “the source”, whatever that means. But Tommy won’t move on until he finds it. Searching for a place to stay, Tommy chooses The Spouter Inn, as it has the same name as the inn Ishmael stayed at in Chapter Three of Moby Dick. Meanwhile Mr. Pullman is recruiting the services of an old dollmaker, and tempting her to shed her neutrality by offering her the chance to get the Maanim.

Lizzie remembers something Wilson once said to her about symbols, as she and Tommy sit in his room. Lizzie doesn’t want to be alone, so Tommy tells her to read the book to him, but one thing leads to another… Meanwhile, Savoy’s got his own issues, and things are getting strange. Or stranger, depending on one’s perspective.

While Lizzie’s in the shower, Tommy glimpses a great white whale from the window of the inn. He leaves Lizzie a terse note and off he goes after it. Lizzie grabs Savoy and chases after him, but they’re just a little too late, and Tommy finds himself aboard the Pequod, facing its too familiar and obsessive master. The Toymaker is alerted to the presence of the trio in Pittsfield, and Savoy tells Lizzie about the new development in his situation, as well as his theory as to how the heck this happened

At the end of this volume is Stairway to Heaven, in which we meet our friend Pauly again.

 Commentary:

The fourth volume of the Unwritten series takes us deeper and deeper into the belly of the beast—in more ways than one. This one is no less gripping than its predecessors as Tommy and his friends continue their literary journey to find the truth. We run into old friends in the form of Frankenstein’s monster and Mingus, as Tommy works his way through understanding what is going on, especially once he finds himself in the belly of the whale. Can Savoy be what he really thinks he’s becoming? And from a fictional character such as Count Ambrosio? Or is the written word more powerful than anyone suspects?

I can’t say enough about this series. The artwork is fabulous, the writing amazing.  Mike Carey and Peter Gross must be great guys to hang out with; I love how their minds work. Just when you think you have things figured out, something else happens and you realize you don’t know shit. Can’t wait to read volume five.

Wednesday Briefs: Dallas in Wonderland #16

Another Wednesday means more flash fiction courtesy of the Wednesday Briefers! The prompt for this week was: "Love is like basketball because...."  And the alternative prompts were:  Doctor Who, banana,  Elvis Presley (for extra points, work in the word Daleks) or "Burn, baby, burn...." or litigation, sandwich, auto-erotic asphyxiation or 

"It's time to make the doughnuts..."

Dallas in Wonderland continues this week with Dallas finding himself in one bizarre situation after another. Last week as you'll recall, he was trying to become larger once more. Did he succeed? Find out! And then join the other Briefers, whose links follow this story, to see what they've done!

Dallas in Wonderland #16

Dallas looked up, looked down, then back at the large green stalks with the serrated edges. Grass?  Really?  He ran his hand along one in disbelief, staring as a thin line manifested itself on his skin.  It quickly turned red, as it filled with blood, and it also stung.

Damn.

Shaking his hand, he spit out what little of the mushroom he still had in his mouth. Apparently he’d picked the wrong side. So much for playing the odds. Now, should he turn the damn thing around and try again? But what if he were wrong? What if there was no right side?  Would he grow smaller and smaller until he became as tiny as a grain of sand? Or even smaller? Would he simply wink out of existence? Would he still be sentient?

Think, Dallas, think. Most of all, don’t panic.

Casting about in his mind for a prudent course of action, the world about him grew dark, as a large shadow fell across the ground. For a moment, Dallas feared a sudden storm had developed. Just what he needed. At his present size, a good shower would easily wash him away. The shadow seemed to loom larger, accompanied by strong winds. He glanced fearfully up, only to discover not a major storm system, but a monstrous black crow, flapping its huge flame-tipped wings.

The crow flew so close he could see its cold, beady eyes. The feathers about its head were red, and the it sported a long pigtail.

He hastily stuffed what was left of the mushroom into his pocket and prepared to run. Fight or flight, his brain said, and he chose flight over taking his chances with a monster of that size, considering that he was shorter than a blade of grass himself.

The giant bird’s shadow engulfed him before he could flee. With a raucous caw, it lifted him from the ground, and began to rise. Dallas struggled, pummeling it with his diminutive fists. Damn. Now he knew how the kid who faced down Goliath felt. Very puny indeed.

The crow held him fast by Dr. Levi’s coat. Dallas was fearful that its talons might poke holes in the fabric, but that was really a moot point if he was going to end up dead soon anyway, unable to return the garment to its rightful owner. He could barely hear himself think above the cacophonous cries.

But how, his logical brain argued, had the coat shrunk to his current size? That made no sense whatsoever. Perhaps it wasn’t exactly germane at the moment, but it did prevent him from panicking quite as much as he might otherwise have done.

He barely had time to mull over the question when he felt the bird’s harsh grip suddenly released. Momentarily he felt as if he were suspended in the air; that lasted for all of two seconds, before he began a rapid head-over-heels descent, frantically flailing as he plummeted back to earth. He couldn’t think of a single prayer—appropriate or otherwise. He opened his mouth, intending to scream, but what came out instead was, "It's time to make the doughnuts..." just before he hit the water with a small splash.

Water filled his mouth—it tasted like strawberry. The current was faster than he’d realized when he’d gazed on the river from the safety of the shore—and from quite another height. He tried to right himself so that he could at least attempt to swim, but he could do no more than float helplessly on his bank, and watch the shore fly by at breakneck speeds, tangerine and raspberry blurs.

He heard a sudden splash. Turning his head, he beheld a bedraggled mouse. He swam alongside him in short frantic strokes. Dallas heard him mutter something that sounded like, “Carving knife! Carving knife!”

“I say!” Dallas hailed the woebegone chap. “Having a swim, are we?” Somehow it seemed rude to ask if the mouse had fallen in, and this gambit sounded far more diplomatic.

The mouse turned his head, regarding Dallas, before emitting a great squeak. Dallas wondered what he had said that was so offensive when he realized it wasn’t him, it was something behind him, just as a large strawberry wave broke over them both. Did rivers really have such waves Dallas was wondering when he suddenly found himself tumbled pell-mell tumble-bumble onto a sandy beach, taking a large mouthful of sand in the process.

He spluttered, spitting out sand and water, as he took note of his new surroundings. He had no way of telling how far he’d been carried by the errant river. Nothing in this place even looked familiar. As strange as this day had been so far, he wouldn’t have been at all surprised to see Doctor Who come strolling along, in any of his many incarnations. Or even a Dalek or two.

“One more for the party.”

Dallas’ head jerked up. Apparently he was not alone.

“Throw another shrimp on the barbie, why don’t you?”  The speaker was dressed completely in black leather, including the cap upon his head, and the shades that covered his eyes. He was stretched out full length on the side, his head propped up in one hand.

As Dallas watched in stunned disbelief, a policeman in full uniform came up behind the leather man, pushing at him with a booted foot. The latter rolled over, giving Dallas an eyeful of his assless pants.

“Do I look like your personal chef?” the cop queried. Leatherman’s response was muffled against the sand.

“Seriously, don’t you think we should find…” Dallas’ attention was drawn to a third man. He wore leather garments, fringed, decorated in beads, and a feathered headdress, as if he were some sort of tribal chief.

“Chief, pipe down.” Yet another country heard from.  This man was dressed more simply, in working man’s garments and a hard hat.

What the fuck?

to be continued

Don't forget to see what's up with the other Wednesday Briefers!

Nephylim     m/m

RC Donitz      m/f

Sara York    m/m

Scarlett Knight     m/f

That's all for now. Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Awake with Jason Isaacs? Yes, please!

Last week NBC premiered their new series, Awake, starring Jason Isaacs, who is one of the hottest actors ever to come out of Great Britain, one of the hotties from the Harry Potter film series, among other things. He was the sexiest Captain Hook, and he played in Showtime's series Brotherhood as a gangster with a heart, Michael Caffee.  I would have watched the show anyway, for Jason, but the premise hooked me from the start.

Michael Britten is a policeman who's been in a car accident, along with his wife and son. When he awakens afte the accident... well, there's the problem. It appears that he has two realities. In one, his wife survived, and he has one partner, and one psychiatrist, but when he closes his eyes, he opens them to a different reality. One where his son survived, and he has a different partner and psychiatrist. As a consequence, he never knows if he's awake or dreaming. And right now, he doesn't want to change a thing, because he has the best of both worlds.

Each psychiatrist tells him that the other reality is just a dream, so who is he to believe? The pilot was really very good, I'm looking forward to seeing more of it. Jason looks fantastic, as always. It was interesting to see Wilmer Valdertama as his partner in one reality. B.D. Wong, of Law and Order plays one of the psychiatrist. NBC now has two shows that I find interesting enough to watch - this, and Grimm. Keep up the good work!

Last week, Top Chef Texas concluded with the finale, which was between Paul and Sara. It was a close battle, down to the finish, but a foregone conclusion, and I'm happy to say that Paul won. He was consistently a better chef than Sara. The only other person I would have rather seen win was Edward. All in all, this will not go down as my favorite Top Chef season, and I really hated the Last Chance Kitchen. I hope they don't do that again. That's as bad as the wild card spots in professional sports. I wish they'd bring back Master Chef or Hells Kitchen, I need me some Gordon Ramsay!

The Walking Dead has only two episodes left this season.  **SPOILERS AHEAD** This season has certainly gotten darker in many ways, not least of which was the discover of the missing Sophia as a walker, and her subsequent death.  The revelation of Shane and Lori's affair. Shane's growing belief that he should be in charge. Hershel's distancing himself from the group. Carl's increasing hardness, as he becomes inured to the brutality of the new world - and welcomes it. The last episode dealt with some thorny issues. They end up with a young man on their hands, part of a larger group that tried to hurt them. They fear if they let him go, he'll lead his group to them, with dire consequences. Shane wants to put him to death, but Dale fights the idea, and it's decided to put it to a vote. Carl discovers a walker stuck in the mud and taunts him, but in doing so he  accidentally unleashes an unfortunate sequence of events which results in tragedy and death. I'm wondering if he's going to confess to his part in what happened. Right now, I don't like this kid much. I never did like his mother. I like Rick, and I like Glenn. Something I didn't realize until it was pointed out to me - the girl who plays Maggie was in Vampire Diaries as Rose. Makes me wonder what is coming up in the last two episodes, and for next season.

This week on Sandwich King, Jeff showed us how to make his versions of two classics - a reuben, and a  roast beef. Both looked delicious, although I confess to not being a fan of horseradish. Jeff is exuding a great deal more confidence now, and is doing well. I'd love to have him cook for me - he has a lucky family!






That's it for now, more about Californication, Once Upon a Time, Alcatraz and Grimm later.

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

The Tenth Legion has Arrived! - Visiting with Mike Arsuaga

Welcome back author Mike Arsuaga! His newest release, Tenth Legion, came out February 29th from  MuseitUp Publishing. It's a great tale, and I should know - I was privileged to be Mike's editor. This was my introduction to the world of Subspecies, and I have to tell you, it made me want to know more. Today Mike is going to tell you a little bit about how he came to write it, and then give you a glimpse inside. First, I think a drink is in order, so while I catch the bartender's eye, Mike, why don't you start?

The Process of Writing "The Tenth Legion"

Originally, I intended the book to to be the pilot of a spin off from the Subspecies series, something like what the SyFy channel did with "Caprica" in relation to "Battlestar Galactica". Jennifer, my daughter, convinced me to abandon first person and to write from the POV of a female character. I chose my feisty granddaughter Larrna, the Official Apple of my Eye, as the inspiration for Lorna Winters, the heroine. Soon, the story took on a life of its own as the strength of Lorna's character emerged vividly, complimented by that of Ed White, the vampire grandson of Samantha "Sam" and Jim, the main characters of the first three books. In "10th", the elder Whites make cameo appearances as mature, but still hot-looking, great-grandparents. I had a lot of fun portraying them through from the viewpoint of Lorna and the other characters.

During the creation of the book's cover, the link between Larrna and Lorna became permanent. I sent the cover artist a school picture of my beloved little apple. The whole family agrees the woman on the cover bears an eerie resemblance, down to the beauty mark.

"10th" is the only one of my books with scenes that brought my wife Cynthia to tears. To this day she won't tell me which parts did the trick, but firmly maintains the tale of Lorna and Ed is the best of the series. More from loyalty to my beloved characters Sam and Jim I disagreed, but during editing, which required me to complete a detailed reading after a long absence, the clarity of Lorna, Ed, and all the supporting characters leaped from the pages. The story complimented rather than competed with its predecessors, in particular paying Sam and Jim the homage they deserved.

EXCERPT:

Two spaces, each as large as a respectable-sized bedroom,opened into a mirrored hallway between. The mirrors were on the back sides of sliding doors that accessed the closets. At the end of the hall, under lights blazing in violation of a dozen utility conservation laws, sat a make-up vanity with a comprehensive selection of new-in-box cosmetics for her use. Lorna examined a few of them. The colors were right, but the brands were well above her price range. Heck, she still fished around in the depths of her present lipstick with a Bobbie pin to get the last bit of gloss in order to postpone another purchase for as long as possible.

Opening the first panel of the closet door, she peeked in. The space had room for ten times more clothing than she found. A dozen dresses, skirts, and gowns hung together, occupying a fraction of the long mahogany pole. A built-in dresser contained underwear, hosiery, lingerie and belts. Another hanging rod held blouses. All brand new. A shoe rack covering the long side contained a half dozen pairs of shoes, placed precisely in the middle. Lorna had to admit, someone had done an excellent job of color coordination, but more to the point, they’d known what she liked. The collection boasted a lot of green, her favorite color.

Nothing like a closet full of expensive, attractive clothes to relax a contentious situation. Lorna decided to postpone pursuing further plans to escape, at least for a while.

With her inspection of the wardrobe complete, Lorna returned to the main part of the bedroom, taking off her clothes and spreading them around. She wanted to stake the space out as her territory with objects containing her scent, if only temporarily. Confidently, she assumed the newer, bolder aromas she brought would overwhelm the ones already there. Out of curiosity she concentrated, in order to sort and decipher the indigenous fragrances. Much more than odors answered. Sensations flooded her, telling of immense, sustained happiness witnessed by the room, as well as the furniture within it. The joys of love and family were burnished by the fullness of time; of loyalty, faith, and trust crossing generations. Binding all together, she perceived the enduring passion between beings who loved deeply. The outpouring overwhelmed her. She quickly retrieved her things and put them in a small pile, returning the room to the spirits who rightfully owned it.

Mike, it's been a pleasure as always! Come back any time!


Can't get enough of Subspecies? Never fear! Tenth Legion isn't the end. Watch for LaGrange Point! Another winner from Mike Arsuaga!


Until next time, take care!


♥ Julie

Thanksgiving in March - and why you shouldn't sweat reviews, or get excited

No, I haven't taken leave of my senses, although I'm sure there are some who would argue that point. I'm making Thanksgiving dinner today, not to celebrate the actual holiday per se, but because my son Michael is home for a week, from Hawaii, and it's my chance to do it. The reason he's home isn't a happy one. He received emergency leave because his father is in the hospital, and they had to amputate his foot. But I'm very happy he's here.

Life is full of mixed blessings that way. The good with the bad. No one is immune from either. So you have a choice - you can sit around crying about the bad, and not appreciating the good, or you can make the most of any situation. For example, maybe his father lost a limb, but he still has his life. There's a lot you can do missing a part of yourself, not so much when you're dead. Yes, it's all part of my take those lemons and make lemonade philosophy.

Sure, the unknown is scary. Worrying about how you're going to survive without money. Wondering where that money is going to come from. Worrying about your kids and how they're going to make it in a world that seems to be going to hell. But making yourself sick about it doesn't do anyone any good, least of all yourself.

Some people are fortunate to have families that are supportive and loving, but not everyone has that. Family doesn't have to be blood. Family is about what's in your heart. Some families have no heart. Sometimes it doesn't matter what you do or how hard  you try, they're not there. There's no use in beating yourself up over it. Love the ones you can. Life's too short to spend it being upset over what you can't change.

I count my blessings in the four children that love me, and mourn the fifth who wants nothing to do with me.  So today, I'm having Thanksgiving, and counting my blessings all over again. Of course, the big meal isn't necessary, but  it's nice, and I enjoy cooking, especially for my family.



Now, on to reviews.

Everyone likes to boast when they get a good one. Some cry when they get bad ones, or get angry and gnash their teeth, and swear that the reviewers are out to get them or something. But I have to tell you this - reviews don't really mean shit. Good or bad. They're one person's opinion. And I hate to tell you, they can be biased, either for or against the author, the publisher, the subject matter - any of a number of the ingredients that go to make up your book. Don't judge a book by a review, but use it as a guideline. I never read reviews before I choose to pick up a book - I look at the cover, read the blurb, and go inside to get an idea of the writer's voice and style. Some people are paid to give reviews, while others wouldn't give you a good one if you write the number one bestseller of all time, just because that's how they are.

Same with review sites. Some are scathing and vicious and in love with the sound of their own voices. Who cares what they think? Other than the ass-kissers who follow what they say, lemming-like, and think they're the end-all and be-all of literary knowledge. They aren't. Neither am I, and I'm a reviewer. I don't even pretend to be the best reviewer out there, and I'm certainly not the worst. Do I cushion my reviews? Maybe to the point where I'm not as scathing as I could be, sure. But what purpose does that serve? You can get your point across in other ways without deliberately hurting someone's feelings.

One of the worst places for looking at reviews is Good Reads, because there are a lot of vicious people there who'll give you a low rating just because they can, or because they don't like you. I had someone put me on their authors behaving badly shelves. What the hell does that even mean? In this case, it means I voiced an opinion on someone else's review. So I guess this person thinks authors should not do that. Oh well, I don't give a fuck. Last time I checked, I still live in America, and at least for right now, I have freedom of speech. Your placing me on your shelf doesn't affect a damn thing, just makes you look stupid. Of course, you didn't need my help for that.

But the same thing goes for good reviews too, no matter how you trot them out and wave them around and yell look what I got. There are reviewers out there who kiss ass too. And the good means little more than the bad, except for being an ego booster.

So, how can you benefit from a review? Well, when you talk to your friends and ask them their opinions on books and movies, how do you know which ones to listen to, and which have suspect taste? Because you know whose tastes are similar to yours, so you're more likely to listen. If you think your friend has good judgment and discerning taste, then let that be your guide. Not XYZ reviewer who tells you the sun rises and sets on this author. Check it out for yourself before you put down good money for anything.

I'm not saying don't be happy over good reviews, certainly not. They are a boost to the ego, to know that someone likes what you did. And all authors need that boost, heaven knows. But don't take the bad ones too much to heart, or get cocky over the good ones. Most people won't tell you what they think, even if they like it. That's why they're the silent majority.

The first person you have to please is yourself. The rest is gravy.

I have a pie in the oven, a mashed potato casserole in the fridge, and later I'll be making pumpking bread, sausage stuffing and the turkey! I'd invite you all to join us if I could!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie

Winners and a new release!

As promised, here are the winners of my Backlist Friday contest. I decided to pick two. Congratulations to Debby and PaParanormal Fan! I'll be getting in touch with you both!

Yesterday, the third installment of my Forbidden series released. Let me tell you a bit about it.

Blurb:   Jerico’s wish to be alone with sexy Father Sergio comes true when an unexpected storm traps them in a farm on their journey to Sanctum. Jerico lays his plans for a night of seduction, while Sergio’s assistant, Valencia, is left to explain to a very wealthy and influential man why his son isn’t where he should be.

Things are heating up out on the farm, and they promise to get even hotter…

Excerpt:

“How will you see where you’re going?” Sergio asked. The question was practical, but Jerico was way ahead of the priest.

“Couldn’t you guide me?”  Jerico tried to make the request guileless but figured by the look on Sergio’s face that he hadn’t been successful. Oh well.

“Come on, let’s do this.” Sergio took Jerico’s wrist in a strong grip. Jerico practically lit up inside at his touch.

“Let’s go,” he agreed, and followed the priest from the house. He heard Sergio shut the door behind them. Keeping his head down as instructed, he held the blankets tightly against his body. Sergio led him down the steps and across the yard. The rain fell in a steady deluge.

“God’s wrath,” Jerico murmured.

The listing van loomed in the darkness.  Head down and eyes focused on the muddy ground, he caught a glimpse of the ruined tires outlined in silhouette when a streak of lightning lit the area. He blessed Mother Nature and the priest’s apparent inability to perform routine vehicle repairs. Jerico had never had that problem. Not like he knew one end of a wrench from the other, or anything else having to do with his car.  The James Family employed a mechanic, and when that gentleman asked a few too many questions, Jerico found a mechanic of his own. Hopefully, he’d be back behind the wheel and home before he needed to learn any new skills.

Sergio’s grip was firm and comforting, despite the drizzle that engulfed them. All too soon, they quickly traversed the distance between the house and the barn. One moment they were in the rain, the next they were inside the darkened structure. It smelled suspiciously like wet wood. Jerico sneezed. Sergio released his hand to his disappointment and closed the door.

“Bless you.”

Jerico sneezed again and sniffled. What was that smell? He glanced warily about him, but that didn’t help. The lantern had its limits, one of them being a small range of visibility, but it was better than complete darkness. Noises outside the circle of light startled him so badly he almost ran right back out into the storm. What the hell was in here with them?

As if reading his mind, Sergio supplied the answer. “Their animals.”

“They have animals?”

Sergio’s laughter traveled straight down Jerico’s spine to his cock.

If you want to read more, Unexpected Storm: Forbidden 3 is now available!

Silver Shorts Week 9: Personal Business

 I used the prompt: "Forgotten loves are like..." to write my flash fiction for this week's Silver Shorts flash fiction. To my surprise, it turned out to be the first chapter in what will be my first PI novel. Enjoy! You can download the entire anthology free here.

Personal Business, Chapter 1

Forgotten loves are like time bombs waiting to explode. The trouble is they don't always pick the best of times to detonate.

The idea of a forgotten love, while romantic, is a misnomer. Real love is never forgotten, so by its very nature those that are weren't true love, but infatuation. Or obsession. Or any one of a dozen other nomenclatures. A rose by any other name…

If you truly loved someone, you wouldn't forget. I never forgot Jeremy. Even to this day, I think about him, wonder how he's doing. Is he still married? Does he still pretend to love her? Do they have kids? You don't have to love someone to give them kids, or sleep with them. Any port in a storm, as the sailors like to say.

He made his choice, and it wasn't me. It was her. He denied who he was in order to hide that person. To pretend to fit in so that he could do what society considers normal and proper—i.e., get married and procreate. How ironic, since it's society that prevents guys like us from getting married in the first place, when there's nothing I'd rather do.

Yeah, I admit it. I want to find Mr. Right, settle down, get married and build a future. White picket fence, 2.5 kids, dog, the whole nine yards. Okay, maybe I'd rather have a cat, but that's beside the point. I can't have that because of who and what I am—a gay man in a straight world.

If it were the other way around… If the straights were in the minority and the gays the overwhelming majority, do you think we'd bother to deny them the benefits and joys of marriage because of where they choose to dip their wicks? Hell no, why would we? What goes on in other people's bedrooms is no one's business but theirs. I wish the heteros saw it that way.

Did Jeremy ever love me? Truly love me? He said he did. He swore it with every breath, kiss, hug, caress. Every moment he stole to be with me. With every beat of his heart, every throb of his cock, every earth-shattering climax proclaimed his love and adoration.

And yet, he left me for her. Was it love? Was I so easily forgotten?

Maybe that's part of why I became what I am. Holden Heidegger, private investigator. Delver into secrets and illuminator of lies. The nastier the truth, the harder I work to unearth it.

My father always said that detective work suited me, that I was made to seek out the truth. Even as a kid, I was obsessed with knowing what was real and what wasn't. Not that I think things can't be real even if they aren't. I mean, stuff like Santa Clause or fairy tales. There's a difference between using one's imagination and lying, although I've been told on good authority by some of my writer friends that that's a very thin line indeed.

 He was proud of me, my Pop. He knew I was gay shortly after I did, because I told him. He never thought less of me because of it. Said he was proud that I knew myself well enough to be myself. I still miss him, even though he's been gone for seven years. I always will. So do the guys down at the station, the ones he used to work with. They treat me like their kid or something. When I pop in, often doing some routine investigation, they're always helpful, never give me the runaround. And usually the conversation, once it's run its official course, winds up being about my Pop.

Mom I never knew. She was gone before I was aware she'd ever been there. Do I miss her? How can you miss what you didn't know? Pop did, I know, whether he admitted it to me or not, 'cause he didn't. Admit it, that is. But you don't keep photographs of someone you don't think about or care about, just because you hate them. He loved her 'til he died. Did she love him?  I couldn't say. If she did, I guess that makes him her forgotten love.

A lot of my clients are women. Most, in fact. They want to check out the men in their lives. Make sure they're on the level. See if they're what they claim to be. So I follow their guys and see what secrets they're keeping from them. Mostly it's two-timing with some other chick. I've taken so many pictures of motels, I could print my own brochure of the best places to stay in the tri-state area. If you're into sleaze, that is. Most guys who cheat on their women don't do it at the Hilton or the Ritz. For one thing, those aren't cheap places. For another, those are charges that might be difficult to explain on one's credit card bill. Places like Bill's Hideaway or Pete's Discreet demand cash and get it. No questions asked.

Sometimes the men that I shadow are thieves, stealing from their employers, or from other people. One guy turned out to be a cat burglar. He told his wife he worked at a security job, but in reality he was doing B&E's in upscale homes on the West side. He might have gotten away with it longer, if someone hadn't turned in an anonymous tip regarding his illicit activities.

C'est la vie.

"Mr. Heidegger?"

I'm kicked back at my desk, resting my feet while I mull over a few things. Like if I need to bring someone else into the business. Not as a partner, more of an employee. I'm getting more and more jobs these days; it might not be a bad idea. But do I trust anyone enough to do it?

The door to the office stays open, naturally. Can't expect clients to deal with a locked door, so naturally they come in at any time, in order to conduct business. That's why I have a secretary, just so people don't walk in on me. Normally she sits in the outer office and handles the walk-ins. I'm guessing she's stepped out for a minute.

I try not to choke on the bottle of root beer I'm guzzling. Pushing back my chair, I plant my feet on the floor, set the bottle on the desk and take a quick swipe at my mouth.

"Yes, ma'am. Holden Heidegger." I rise, wiping my damp hands on my trousers, then hold one out to her. She takes it without reservation.

She's not a bad looking woman. If I were into women. I can see where guys would be attracted to her. She's a little over five feet—maybe five three or so. Dark curls frame a heart-shaped face. Pale complected, like she doesn't get out much. Cupid lips with a light coating of gloss, just enough to produce a shine. She's wearing a dress. You don't see that much in young women nowadays. It's mostly pants and T-shirts. Don't think I'm complaining, 'cause I'm not. I just notice things. And no, I'm not particularly into fashion, one way or another. Still, you can tell a lot about a person by the way they dress. In my line of work, powers of observation are handy to have.

She's married. A quick glance at her ring finger confirms that. Not surprising. Like I said, many of my clients are women looking to catch their spouses doing something they shouldn't.

"Won't you have a seat, Mrs…?" I wave at the chair on the other side of my desk, and she takes it, crossing stockinged legs, setting her handbag beside her on the seat.

"Call me Pamela, please, Mr. Heidegger."

"Then make it Holden." I offer her a smile, trying to set her at ease. I know it's not an easy decision, digging up dirt on one's mate or potential mate. The lucky ones do it before they tie the knot. Some women need to get their eyes opened first, before they realize there's anything to worry about.

"How can I help you, Pamela? Would you like something to drink? I have some root beer. I can make coffee, if you prefer."

"No thank you, Holden." She leans forward, wringing her hands in her lap, twisting at the wedding band nervously.

"I came… that is, I was told… A friend of mine recommended you. Margie Dunwood. Do you remember her?"

Margie Dunwood. Ah yes, the wife of the financier who was not only spending his evenings diddling an associate on company property, but he had her cooking the books for him and putting some of the profits in his pocket. Ironically, his mistress became my client too, when she suspected he was cheating on her. What a shock it came to her when she found out his wife hadn't died, as he claimed.

I nod. "Yes, I do remember Mrs. Dunwood. How's she doing?" Last seen, she was well on her way to a rather beneficial divorce which promised to yield a great deal of money. Sometimes those pre-nups can work in a woman's favor.

"She's doing better. Found herself someone else who treats her like a queen. Mr. Heid—Holden… I think he's cheating on me. I'd like you to follow him, please, and let me know what you find out. I just want the truth, that's all. Only the truth."

She fumbles with her purse, setting it onto her lap. It's a small red clutch. Doesn't look very practical, unless you don't need to carry a lot of things. She rifles through it, before pulling out a photo, laying it on top of the desk.

"Here he is. I just know he's seeing someone, but I can't ask him about it. I'm afraid to. Can you help me?"

I pick up the photo. This won't be the first or the last time I've gotten one of these. I have a collection of them too. Regular rogues' gallery of cheating hubbies.

Handsome guy. Very nice looking. I frown at the photo, holding it up to catch a better view. Is this someone I've trailed at some time in the past? Maybe he's been married before and I've already done this? Repeat business isn't impossible, not in my line of work. Some people get married the way other people eat candy. It's all in the adrenaline surge that comes from that happy ever after feeling when you tie the knot. Or so I've been told.

"Who's the lucky guy?" I ask, squinting into some damn pretty eyes. And he's got one of those chins, you know the kind. With the dimple in it. Something about those drives me crazy.

"Jeremy Daniels," she says, just as recognition washes over me.

The time bomb has just gone off…

to be continued

I'd love to hear what  you think about my PI, about the story - feel free to comment! Tomorrow I'll announce the winner of my Backlist Friday contest! Stay tuned!

Until next time, take care!

♥ Julie