Into the Fire

                     
This is a greeting card I bought for myself. I love it! Let's ride! 

(*Credit to Shannon Martin Design)

Father, you know me inside and out. You made me sensitive but resilient. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

For the appeal we make does not come from error or impure motives, nor are we trying to trick you. On the contrary, we speak as men approved by God to be entrusted with the gospel. We are not trying to please men but God, who tests our hearts. You know we never used flattery, nor did we put on a mask to cover up greed – God is our witness. We were not looking for praise from men, not from you or anyone else.

1 Thessalonians 2:4-6 (NIV)

From my one and only mystery . . .

Two

A long day ahead introduced itself accompanied by the gut feeling this was indeed a homicide and it wasn’t going to be an easy solve. My partner Jesse Davidson called to tell me he was en route. The ME arrived shortly after Jesse’s call. Doctor Loren Walsh set the initial estimate of time of death at sometime between midnight and 3 AM., a fairly precise window, putting the girlfriend at the top of my suspect list if natural causes were ruled out.

     Racetrack security, our patrol officers, and Detectives Phil Phelps and Mark Griffin helped keep the group outside the tape from crowding the scene and separated and contained those who first arrived because of Carmella’s frantic screaming. At my request they’d contacted the particular guard who manned the gate during the shift when Carmella supposedly arrived back at the track and sent a replacement to relieve him so he could come talk to us.

     We needed to notify the owner of the racetrack and inform him of our investigation. No doubt he wouldn’t want this publicized and neither did we, but word always manages to get out. I’d send Detective Griffin to do this after we got done with the preliminaries.

     The official cameras flashed recording the scene, and the two other detectives converged to get interviews after we spoke discouraging those with cell phones attempting to take pictures although the crime scene itself was not visible.

     Jesse arrived looking a whole lot more refreshed than anyone should at this hour. I’m obsessive about how people dress so I notice Jesse’s attire. Dapper dude that he was, he’d elected to wear pressed Levis and some kind of Redwing boots with his professionally cleaned button-down pale yellow shirt with the one button undone at the neck to expose the tight-curving collar of a blinding white T-shirt, and his black leather jacket which he tossed into his car to don his ballistic vest. The brisk morning air sent a shiver more than once under my light POLICE windbreaker, my polo shirtsleeves not providing much warmth in spite of the extra layer my vest provided.

     “So. Guy dies in his sleep? Girlfriend can’t remember if she’s in bed with him? Convenient, huh?”

     “Looks that way.”

     “That her over there?”

     “Uh-huh.”

     “Kinda hot, huh? How ‘bout him? He a looker too?”

     “Oh yeah.”

     “Okay. We find the other guys and gals these two’ve been sleepin’ with and we got a suspect pool. If we need one.”

     “Pretty much.” 

Father, you wanted this one written. It was hard for me, but with your design and Patrick's help, I did it. Thank you for it. It's fun to be able to say I've written one mystery. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

Remembering this first novel. A comprehensive saga of horse racing at a middle echelon Thoroughbred Racetrack that takes place in the 80s. Took 8 and 1/2 years to write it through working 7 days a week at the track, homeschooling some of those years, some lay ministry at church. Time was hard to come by. There's some good writing in it, but, of course, it would've been 1/2 the size if I'd had any experience at that time writing a novel – and better written. Definitely a first novel! 

I'll say this much for it: it was authentic. I used the racetrack "language," "lingo," and terms and put a glossary in the back to define what the average non-racetracker wouldn't understand. And I do believe I captured the average lifestyle of many people who live, race, and move around with the horses. It was written for an adult audience, not for young girls who love horses, because of the lifestyle. 

On the cover is a horse we trained. His name was Cops and he loved to come from behind with a good stretch run. The jockey is local legend Gary Baze. 

Father, you told me to write a "Christian novel about horse racing." I did it, Lord. Took longer than I thought, but you kept urging me on. You have a purpose in all things. I can't ever thank you enough for that experience and every one since. Please keep me writing. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

Great band. Great horns. Fun music. 

Father, thank you for music, for musicians, singers, all using the gifts you've given them. May they honor you with those talents. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

Beneath the Grove by L.T. Ryan and C.R. Gray is Book 7 in A Maddie Castle Thriller.

Book 7 opens with Maddie accepting a case of a frantic mother wanting to find her adult missing daughter (Jasmine). It also picks up where Maddie left off emotionally in Field of Bones.

Maddie's boyfriend Bentley and her dad (Sam) hid some important things from her while trying to help find Bentley's kidnapped sister-in-law Daisy. Maddie finds it hard to forgive the depth of their deceit even though deep down she understands why they did it. She's refusing to talk to either of them, wondering if she can reconcile what they did.

Instead, after listening to the mother's, the brother's, and the ex-fiancé's details of the missing girl's life, Maddie decides to go undercover to the cult-sounding Willow Grove where Jasmine has landed. 

What she realizes once she's inside Willow Grove is it's a weird place for vulnerable individuals who need a sense of community where what they do has some sort of purpose and alliance. However, what funnels this sense of belonging and loyalty to their suspicious, condescending leader and his wife (with everyone making up their own names) are homemade/homegrown drugs. Jasmine, it seems, has bought into it all. 

Maddie plays her part well but is surprised by two major events before everything turns chaotic. There are discoveries, threats, a car chase, and a gruesome act that lands Jasmine in the hospital. When it's all said and done, there is hope for reconciliation for a family but disturbing and unresolved questions about the cult. 

There is a bit of a cliffhanger in this book as well, but it's more of an interesting possibility that is a result of the previous rescue of Daisy and the newfound freedom and opportunities in her life. 

(Profanity present.) 

Father, you know us all from the inside out. You give us grace, mercy, and every opportunity to turn to you. You allow it to be our choice. May each one know you, that any and all talents and gifts are from you. Bless these authors, Lord, as only you can do. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.

Devote yourself to prayer, being watchful and thankful.

Colossians 4:2 (NIV)

From . . . in a love song  

Four

Saturday morning at the supermarket buzzed with women and kids. He had to put a couple of things back when he figured there’d be too much to carry. He’d bring the Jeep after work on Monday. 

     Headed back to Eva’s, he spotted Pet approaching The Tavern from the opposite side of the street. She carried a large purse over her shoulder, walked briskly with her arms folded across her chest, and seemed more petite than she did behind the bar last night. Blue jeans and a short-sleeved white blouse tucked in with a black belt hugged what he could see of her. Dark brown hair curled around her face instead of being pulled back in a ponytail like it was last night. He picked up his pace, but there was no way he could catch up to her the way she was walking.

     She stopped at the entrance and brought her purse down off her shoulder to grab keys. Just as she was about to push open the door, she glanced his way and hesitated. He kept his gaze steady, and she looked like she might wait for a moment but instead gave him a quick look of recognition and disappeared behind that bulky wooden door.

     The connection made, he slowed his pace and felt the air warming. He hoped for early heat and a long summer. The scents of sagebrush and early-crop alfalfa reminded him of why he loved the country wherever it took him.

     As he contemplated juggling the bags to grasp the door knob, Mrs. Johnson opened it wide for him and closed it behind him.

     “Mr. Rivers, I was wonderin’ if you might do me a favor in your spare time.”

     The woman didn’t mince words, and he decided he liked that about her. “Sure thing. If I can.”

     “Why don’t you put your groceries away and I’ll be here when you get done. Alright?”

     “I’ll be back down in a minute, Mrs. Johnson.”

     “Eva, if you please, Mr. Rivers.”

     Her shy smile at the request for informality surprised him. He smiled back at her and quickly took off up the stairs. Two sacks crammed full didn’t take up much room, and he was back down the stairs to the lobby in less than ten minutes.

     Mrs. Johnson wasted no time. “Mr. Rivers, I had an old friend of mine rebuild me two new screen doors for my front and back doors, and I was hopin’ you might be able to put them up for me. One of my tenants took them down for me and loaded them in my pickup, but he’s moved on. They’re sittin’ out there in the truck whenever you might have time. I’ve got all the mountings in the basement sitting on the work bench. Since you’re in the construction business, you’ll appreciate Mr. Johnson’s tools, I’m sure.”

     She sounded all business until she said her husband’s name and her voice wavered. He knew the man had passed away not too long ago and that he’d bought this big old home for his wife when he retired because she’d always wanted to make it into a rooming house. His new coworkers filled him in on all kinds of stuff about the town and people, but it briefly occurred to him that none of them had mentioned Pet.

     “It’s Dale, ma’am, and I can do it right now if that’s alright with you.”

     Her face lit up at his response, and she headed off, “Follow me then.”

     The concrete basement with its winding path leading off to alcoves gave the necessary fortress-like appearance of a solid foundation for the huge house set upon it. Straight ahead a twelve foot long wooden work bench stood just as firm with every tool he’d ever seen mounted above it. Drawers underneath it were filled with screws and nails and drill bits.

     “Was your husband a builder?”

     “Not so much. A woodworker, though.”

     That explained some of the fancy molding and extra features like his tiny closet and attractive cabinetry in his room upstairs. He could hear the hitch in her voice and moved the conversation forward. “Okay, then. Why don’t you show me those new screen doors, and then I’ll come back down here and get what I need.”

     She led the way to the back parking lot where the doors were protected in packing material in the back of her red ’80 Ford 4 X 4.

     “One of my favorite years for Ford pickups,” he remarked as he dropped the tailgate, easing the doors down flat.

     She laughed briefly. “You and my husband seem to like the older models. Donald always said they had more muscle and durability.”

     “Nothin’ like the old V-8s.” He gripped one door and eased it out of the bed, leaning it upright against the side of the truck. Across the brown packing paper, black permanent marker said “Front”.

     He glanced at Mrs. Johnson once he had them out of the truck bed. “This shouldn’t take long, Mrs. Johnson.”

     “Eva, Mr. Rivers.”

     “Dale, ma’am.”

     He picked up the proper one and carried it to the back porch, cutting the twine with his pocket knife and unwrapping the packaging.

     “If there’s anything else you need, Mr. Rivers, I’ll be in the lobby. Thank you for this. I’ll make it right with you.”

     “I’m glad to help out, Mrs. Johnson. I’ll let you know when I’m done.”

     “Eva,” she said quietly as she walked in the back door and closed it behind her.

     “Dale,” he said with a smile when she was gone.

Father, thank you for every character, story, the words. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen. 

When you're young and dumb and playing with your new Konica 35mm camera with black and white film. So fun. 

"Nicole by Nicole" A very long time ago. 

Father, you waited for me. I can never thank you enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.