IT'S PEACH PICKIN' TIME IN TEXAS!

Fresh from the tree

What’s better than a ripe peach picked right from the tree? Not much, at least in my opinion.

Years ago, Hero and I bought a small acreage that included a peach orchard. We planted more trees until we had hundreds.  No, more than that, we had over a thousand. Hero had always thought that when he retired, he would like to raise fruits and vegetables for fun and profit. Our daughters wanted horses, so we bought this land with both pasture and fruit trees that were mostly peaches. If you’ve ever seen a Chevy Chase movie, you’ll have an idea of our naiveté.

Yes, we were disaster waiting to happen. However, Hero is very good at whatever he sets his mind to accomplish, and we had great fruit and vegetables. We love peaches, and added some apple and plum trees and a couple of pomegranates. Grape vines grew in several places to round out our variety.

But, there was trouble in paradise. One spring, a tornado came through and upended over a hundred of our very best trees, and barely missed our house. We tried staking up eighty of the victims, but they never recovered. Neither did Hero, poor dear. He took that tornado personally!

We worked those peaches weekends and days off until we were able to build our home here. Then we were able to have a huge garden of spinach, black-eyed peas, green beans, onions, watermelons, cucumbers, and cantaloupe and a few tomatoes and peppers. We were rocking along pretty well. I canned fruits and vegetables and filled our freezer as if stocking up for Armageddon. I love canning except for one thing. If you have an important event you absolutely need to attend, you can guarantee that’s the day the produce will be at the perfect stage to harvest and process. Every time!

Peaches at market means hard work

All the inconvenience is justified later. Nothing is nicer on a wintry day than to open your pantry and take out vegetables that you have canned. If processed properly, home canned foods taste very different from commercially canned foods. In my opinion (pardon me while I pat myself on the back), my home canned and frozen foods are far superior in taste and nutrition. Hero bought a cider press and we juiced our apples. We were in business!

Being canned does not protect the food from spoilage, which happens mainly from four causes. One is that the food was not processed according to guidelines for that specific fruit or vegetable. A second is if the jars are not absolutely clean and sterilized from any residual bacteria and kept clean during filling. Third, if the canned foods get too hot while stored they are ruined. You can understand why people used to keep their filled jars in the cellar. Fourth, is that the lids were not sealed well at canning.

One of my blue ribbons
for peach jam

Peach jam is one of my specialties. Many times I won a blue ribbon at the State Fair of Texas, as well as for mustang grape jelly and for Blue Lake green beans. I love making jam and jelly, except for one kind: pomegranate.In my opinion, nothing in the world is stickier or stains worse than pomegranate juice. Don’t ask me how I know ☺, but suffice it to say Hero and I mopped the kitchen five times and our shoes still made that sucking noise when we walked across the kitchen floor. And before you ask, yes, we did clean the bottoms of our shoes. Even though we’ve never again juiced our pomegranates, I confess that the juice is wonderful and the jelly was the best ever. Frozen into those old-type ice cube trays, a couple of cubes of pomegranate juice dropped into a Sprite or 7-Up makes a terrific personal size instant punch.

Eventually, Hero realized that when he retired, he would not want to work as hard as required to operate an orchard and truck farm. (For you city folks, a truck farm is what you call a garden large enough to sell your fruits and vegetables by trucking it to market.) After all, farming is hard work and retired is retired, right?  We sold all but five-and-a-half acres to the two neighbors whose land adjoins ours, one of whom already used our pasture. Both buyers took out the peach trees to have more grazing for their cattle. We still have a dozen peach trees, and that’s enough for us. And their fruit is ripe now. Yum! Did I make you hungry for a fresh peach? Or how about a dish of warm peach cobbler with a dollop of ice cream on top? Oh, no, I've made myself hungry. Guess I'll go have another fresh peach.

Thanks for stopping by!

THANK YOU TO LOYAL READERS!

Last week when I offered readers the gift of a free copy of my new cozy mystery, DIGGING FOR DEATH, I belatedly realized there were terrible formatting problems. My sincere apology! I immediately corrected the error, but to atone I’m once again offering the book FREE. Yep, free cozy mystery giveaway Monday, June 11, through Tuesday, June 12 on Amazon Kindle. One thing I would very much appreciate is IF you like the book, please put a favorable review on Amazon. If you hate the book (how could you hate my baby?) then please keep it a secret except to email me why so I can perhaps correct any plot errors in the next book.

The book’s protagonist is Heather Cameron, 28-years-old, who manages her family’s garden center and landscape firm. Her master’s degree from Texas A&M qualifies her to do a great job, but she is compelled to prove herself to her grandparents. Heather’s parents died when she was eight, and her grandparents, Meg and Richard Gillentine, along with her great-grandmother, Elizabeth “Gigi” Gamble Gillentine, raised her. Helping Heather is her assistant manager, Miguel Diaz, and her shop manager and best friend, Chelsea Bedford. Heather is excited that she scored a plum landscaping job, but the client’s husband is the meanest man in town, Vance Rockwell. What a jerk he is.  

Here’s a blurb about DIGGING FOR DEATH:

Garden center manager Heather Cameron is DIGGING FOR DEATH to prove her old family friend, mentor, and employee, Walter Sims, is innocent of murdering the meanest man in town. Heather can’t trust the police to find the real killer when all clues point to poor Walter. The dead man was beaten to death with Walter’s shovel several hours after they were overheard arguing, and the two men had a long history of enmity. Walter definitely looks guilty, but Heather is sure—well, almost positive—okay, she certainly hopes her friend and mentor is innocent.
  Heather is compelled to scour the fictional North Central Texas town of Gamble Grove to exonerate her old friend. She’s encouraged when the new police detective in town, Kurt Steele, shows interest in helping her look for clues. The deeper Heather digs into the dead man’s life, the more she justifies his ruthless reputation. Walter is indicted, but police begin to suspect the victim’s stepson as murderer. Heather is convinced the stepson couldn’t have murdered anyone either—although it’s clear no love was lost between the two men. The attempted murder of the victim’s real son creates a new twist. Can Heather solve the murder without becoming the killer’s next victim?

Here’s an excerpt:

Lining the Rockwell’s drive nearest the new garden plot were a fire engine, an ambulance, a van, what was probably an unmarked police car, two black and whites and—dang, wouldn't you know it?—the Gillentine Gardens truck. The muscles in my stomach were like vise grips clenched on my insides as I drove past the other vehicles and parked. Sickly dread overwhelmed me at what I might find.

I wanted to turn my car around and drive home and run up to my bed and pull the covers over my head. No such luxury for me. I climbed out of my car and strode quickly toward the crowd, swallowing down fear’s metallic taste in my mouth.

Container rose bushes destined for Bootsy Rockwell's garden almost filled the garden center’s staked-bed truck. Miguel Diaz sat on the truck’s bed with his feet dangling off the end. Steve Harris sat beside him. Bad vibes shot through me. A uniformed policeman and another man stood talking to Miguel. Miguel looked ashen and ill, but he nodded to me. Steve said nothing, merely hung his head.

"Hello, Heather." Miguel shook his head, despair evident in his sad brown eyes. "It's really bad."

"What's happened?"

The officer turned to me. "You know the whereabouts of Walter Sims?"

"He's supposed to be at the garden center. What's happened?" I repeated my question.

Steve looked up, but said nothing.

Miguel looked as if he were trying to send me some sort of signal. "Heather, it's—“

The man in plainclothes quieted Miguel with a glance as he stepped forward. Good heavens, what a giant. Must be six-four with shoulders broad as our truck. Even a long, tall Texas gal like myself had to look up to meet his gaze.

Whoa. What a gaze it was. Worried and puzzled as I was, I couldn’t fail to notice his eyes were delphinium blue and his dark hair the color of moist peat moss was cut short. He wasn’t GQ handsome, but definitely attractive.

"I take it you're Miss Cameron? I'm Detective Kurt Steele and this officer is Sergeant Jack Winston. We need to ask you a few questions."

"Not until I know what's happened. Why are you questioning Mr. Diaz and Mr. Harris?" Darn, stress must have fried my mind. I couldn’t believe I refused a detective.

"Vance Rockwell was murdered early this morning with Walter Sim’s shovel. We want to speak with Mr. Sims. No one here seems to know where he is.” He paused. “Do you?"

Rockwell dead and Walter missing? Panic rose with the bile in my throat.

No, please don’t let Walter be the killer.

At that moment, paramedics wheeled a gurney bearing a black body bag past the truck and loaded it into the ambulance. Oh Lord, Rockwell dead from Walter’s shovel? And Walter hated him.

Carole King was in my head, and the earth really did move. Dropping away from my feet, leaving me drifting. The sky tumbled down. Swirling, everything was swirling. Spiraling around me. I thought I might throw up or pass out—or both.

The detective stepped forward and grabbed my arm, anchoring me in the mixed up universe. "Miss Cameron? Maybe you should sit on the truck by Diaz and Harris."

But the sky still tumbled, the earth spiraled around me. I was a kid spinning until I was drunk with dizziness.  Sky flipped places with earth. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

"Yes...Yes, I’d better." With Detective Steele's help, I staggered to the truck. I shrugged off his hand intent on levering myself onto the bed. But I stood there as if in a trance. The detective hoisted me up onto the truck s if I were a kid. I sat there wondering if I were going to pass out.

I felt Miguel’s hand at my neck. “Your head, put it between your knees.”

I did as he instructed, closing my eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths. When I straightened, my head was throbbing but the earth and sky had resumed their correct positions.  Sky above, earth below.
Willing my eyes to focus on the detective, I insisted, "Walter wouldn't bash in anyone's head." I prayed I spoke the truth.

Detective Steele referred to his notes. "It appears he and Mr. Rockwell had a heated argument yesterday about a quarter of five. Mr. Sims stalked to the truck—“he pointed at Steve”—where Harris waited, and peeled off."

Drat Walter, coming here when I’d ordered him to stay at the garden center. "If you consider anyone who argued with Rockwell a suspect, you'll be interviewing half the state." I almost included myself but thought better of it. "Besides, you said Walter left."

Sergeant Winston said, "Maybe he returned."

"Phffft." I peered at Detective Steele. "Sounds like you’re grasping at straws. What kind of detective work is that?"

Steele's clenched jaw displayed a small tic.

Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.

He stood directly in front of me and glared. "We just started the investigation. If we had some cooperation, maybe we could wrap this up in time to buy donuts before we take our lunch break."

Way to go, Heather. Not a good idea to annoy the police.

I took another deep breath. At this rate, I’d soon hyperventilate. “There’s no need for sarcasm. I don't know where Walter is, but I know he wouldn't kill anyone, not even Vance Rockwell."

He raised his eyebrows, making his nice blue eyes more noticeable, darn him. "Not even? What does that mean?"

"Rockwell was not a popular man. I imagine you'll find a long, long list of people with motives, detective. Leave Walter alone." I glanced at Miguel slumped beside me and patted his shoulder. "Leave all my employees alone. None of them would have done such a thing."

Detective Steele poised his pen over his notebook. "Where were you just after midnight, Miss Cameron?"

I thought again about his nice blue eyes, but pushed those thoughts aside because of his nasty question. "In my apartment. Asleep."

He raised one eyebrow.

I shot him a glare. "Alone."

"So, you have no alibi?"

"People who live alone never have an alibi. That doesn't mean they're guilty of anything more serious than drinking juice from the carton."

He pulled out a business card and handed it over. "We'll be in touch. Call me if you hear from Mr. Sims."

"Can Mr. Diaz and Mr. Harris go?"

Detective Steele nodded. Miguel and Steve slid off the truck bed to the ground, and Miguel helped me down. While they walked to the truck's cab, the detective speared me with another no-nonsense glare.

"If you hear from Walter Sims, you'll be doing him a favor if you convince him to call us. We need to talk to him, and the sooner the better."

I turned and walked back to my Honda. My heartbeat fluttered and my throat threatened to close so I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it to the car, but I climbed in and turned the ignition.

Here’s the link:
http://www.amazon.com/DIGGING-Heather-Cameron-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B0086PAIDK/ref=sr_1_22?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1338736184&sr=1-22

The next book in the series is DIGGING FOR BONES, but it’s probably not going to be released until 2013. However, I do plan to release DIGGING FOR DEATH in print in the very near future.

And if you enjoy mysteries with a sheriff protagonist, you might also enjoy ALMOST HOME, a Link Dixon mystery.
http://www.amazon.com/Almost-Home-Dixon-Series-ebook/dp/B005J865J8/ref=sr_1_1?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1339192012&sr=1-1

Happy reading! Thanks for stopping by!

A VISIT TO CHANDOR GARDENS, WEATHERFORD TX

Weatherford TX Courthouse

Weatherford is a city in Parker County, Texas, United States,a western suburb of Fort Worth, and part of the Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex. Nicknames are Cutting Horse Capital of the World and Peach Capital of Texas. I confess I do not know if these nicknames were bestowed by the Weatherford Chamber of Commerce, or because of the town's reputation.

When I first moved to the western edge of the Metroplex my mom's friends from Lubbock kept asking her if I’d toured Chandor Gardens in Weatherford yet. Until they did, I'd never heard of Chandor Gardens. And there's a reason. For many years the gardens were closed and in a state of disrepair. One courageous and preservation-minded couple, Charles and Melody Bradford, stepped in and restored the grounds, then sold the property to the City of Weatherford. This spring, I learned that the gardens were having a special discounted-price open house, and Darling Daughter 2 and I attended. We're both fans of discounts, gardens, tours, and goofing off in general. A first trip to Chandor Gardens for each of us, we were pleased to tour this beautiful property.

But that’s the shortened version. Here’s a more complete story.

Douglas Chandor painting

Douglas Granvil Chandor was born 20 August 1897 to Lucy May (Newton) and John Arthur Chandor in Surrey, England. World War I began a few months after he completed his education at Radley, and at seventeen he joined the Life Guards, First Regiment of Household Cavalry. Later, he served as a member of the celebrated Scottish Lovat Scouts.

In 1918 Chandor was discharged from the Scouts after contracting typhoid and severely damaging his knee. He recuperated in Surrey, then pursued his childhood interest of art. In 1919, he received his first major commission, to paint Sir Edward Marshall-Hall, K.C. When it was displayed at the British Royal Academy Exhibition, the portrait attracted further offers for the young artist, including a commission to paint the Prince of Wales, a work he completed in 1921. The painting drew "half of London" to the Grieves Gallery. Two years later Chandor accepted an invitation to portray the prime ministers of the British empire at work during the Imperial Conference held in London at 10 Downing Street.

View of Japanese bridge

Included among the invitations was a request to paint President Herbert Hoover, Vice President Charles Curtis, and the entire cabinet. Chandor's painting of Hoover, combined with his earlier portraits of British aristocrats, established his reputation as a painter of the world's political leaders. During his career he painted about 300 portraits. Significant subjects included President Gerardo Machado y Morales of Cuba, Prime Minister Winston Churchill, Queen Elizabeth II, Samuel T. (Sam) Rayburn, and President Franklin Roosevelt. His portrait of Eleanor Roosevelt is believed to be the only one for which she formally posed; he also painted Sara Delano Roosevelt and the wives of James and Elliott Roosevelt.

Spirea (bridal wreath) and arbor

Chandor was divorced from Pamela (Trelawny) in 1932 and married Ina Kuteman Hill of Weatherford, Texas, in 1934. He returned with his wife to her native city where they lived in the family mansion. I love living in Texas, so please don't misunderstand me, but I've been to England. Talk about culture shock for Douglas Chandor. After the green of his native country, his first glimpse of Northwest Central Texas must have been a killer, but perhaps having "a family mansion" helped soften the blow, no disrespect intended. For the rest of his career Chandor spent half of each year in New York and the remaining time in Weatherford. He developed the grounds of his estate into a showplace that the Chandors named White Shadows Gardens. 

Tiered fountain

The house, which sat on a hill overlooking the city, was surrounded by an elaborate network of walls that enclosed an array of plants and trees, Chinese pagodas, a Japanese water garden, and a miniature replica of Mount Fujiyama. To most, this chalky hill in North Central Texas would seem an unlikely place for a garden of such imagination and splendor. Although his claim to fame was his talent as an artist, Douglas found his real passion as a gardener. He once told Ina that his talent for painting was merely a means that enabled him to fulfill his dreams of building a "living artwork". Douglas Chandor's destiny would be to turn these dreams into a reality.

I was pleased the Koi show up in my photo.

The gardens were carved from 4 acres of rock-hard terrain that was once a cow pasture. The project began in 1936 with the aid of picks, shovels, dynamite and mule-drawn plows. Truckloads of topsoil and tons of boulders were brought in to transform the barren cactus-dotted property into a peaceful haven enclosed by hedges and walls. Chandor devised a series of garden rooms, each with individual character and stunning views, all connected by meandering walkways. His creation combines the styles and ambiance of Chinese and English gardens with such delights as fountains, grottos, and even a mountain waterfall.

Mount Cox waterfall

Another view of Mount Cox that shows
cave-like grotto behind waterfall
(sorry about too much sun)

The Chandors worked tirelessly together in the gardens until Douglas' death from a cerebral hemhorrage after returning from a trip in 1953. Ina renamed them Chandor Gardens as a tribute to her husband. The gardens remained open to the public until shortly before her death in the late 1970s. Because there were no direct heirs, the property remained unattended, overgrown and deteriorating for 20 years.

Half of Dragon fountain

Charles and Melody Bradford purchased the estate in 1994 and took on the enormous task of restoring the gardens and home. In what could only be described as a true labor of love, they painstakingly spent years clearing and cleaning away the debris of decades of neglect. Many large old trees, Douglas' original wisteria and boxwood plantings, and his magical hardscapes remained. Everything else was replanted by the Bradfords, and thanks to their efforts Chandor Gardens was once again transformed into a lush tranquil delight.

Stone of the Immortals,
sculpted by  Douglas Chandor. This
was my least favorite feature.

In time, the Bradford's had completely restored the property and decided to sell and offered the gardens to the City of Weatherford. They must have given the City a really good deal, because Weatherford  purchased Chandor Gardens in May 2002. After minor renovations necessary for compliance with the American Disabilities Act and City building codes, Chandor was re-opened to the public in the fall of 2002.

I know they're everywhere, but purple
iris were my mom's favorite flower

The gardens are available for public and private tours. The gardens along with the Chandor mansion are available for rental, and are popular venues for wedding ceremonies and receptions, photography, meetings, and special events...and for just strolling through for photos and relaxation..A walk in a garden is always time well spent!


Thanks to Wikipedia, http://www.ci.weatherford.tx.us/index.aspx?NID=457
and http://www.tshaonline.org/handbook/online/articles/fch17

Thanks for stopping by!

FORMATTING PROBLEMS CORRECTED ON DIGGING FOR DEATH! TODAY ON KINDLE!

Yesterday, the first day DIGGING FOR DEATH was free, Cassie kindly notified me my formatting was screwy. So sorry if you're one of the people who downloaded it! Now, the formatting has been corrected and it's ready to download and read for FREE.

Isn't free a wonderful word? And my cozy mystery, DIGGING FOR DEATH, is free today on Amazon! This is the first of the Heather Cameron mystery series. One thing I would very much appreciate is, if you like the book, please put a favorable review on Amazon. If you hate the book (how could you hate my baby?) then please keep it a secret except to email me why so I can perhaps correct any plot errors in the next book.

Heather
Cameron

The book’s protagonist is Heather Cameron, 28-years-old, who manages her family’s garden center and landscape firm. Her master’s degree from Texas A&M qualifies her to do a great job, but she feels compelled to prove herself to her grandparents. Heather’s parents died when she was eight, and her grandparents, Meg and Richard Gillentine, along with her great-grandmother, Elizabeth “Gigi” Gamble Gillentine, raised her. Helping Heather is her assistant manager, Miguel Diaz, and her shop manager and best friend, Chelsea Bedford. Heather is excited that she scored a plum landscaping job, but the cordial client’s husband is the meanest man in town, Vance Rockwell. What a jerk Rockwell is, and Heather isn't the only one in town who thinks so.

Here’s a blurb about DIGGING FOR DEATH:

Garden center manager Heather Cameron is DIGGING FOR DEATH to prove her old family friend, mentor, and employee, Walter Sims, is innocent of murdering the meanest man in town. Heather can’t trust the police to find the real killer when all clues point to poor Walter. The dead man was beaten to death with Walter’s shovel several hours after they were overheard arguing, and the two men had a long history of enmity. Walter definitely looks guilty, but Heather is sure—well, almost positive—okay, she certainly hopes her friend and mentor is innocent.
  Heather is compelled to scour the fictional North Central Texas town of Gamble Grove to exonerate her old friend. She’s encouraged when the new police detective in town, Kurt Steele, shows interest in helping, but Kurt warns her away from her own investigation. She doesn't believe the police will exonerate Walter without her assistance. The deeper Heather digs into the dead man’s life, the more she justifies his ruthless reputation. Can Heather solve the murder without becoming the killer’s next victim?

Here’s an excerpt:

Lining the Rockwell’s drive nearest the new garden plot were a fire engine, an ambulance, a van, what was probably an unmarked police car, two black and whites and—dang, wouldn't you know it?—the Gillentine Gardens truck. The muscles in my stomach were like vise grips clenched on my insides as I drove past the other vehicles and parked. Sickly dread overwhelmed me at what I might find.
I wanted to turn my car around and drive home and run up to my bed and pull the covers over my head. No such luxury for me. I climbed out of my car and strode quickly toward the crowd, swallowing down fear’s metallic taste in my mouth.

Container rose bushes destined for Bootsy Rockwell's garden almost filled the garden center’s staked-bed truck. Miguel Diaz sat on the truck’s bed with his feet dangling off the end. Steve Harris sat beside him. Bad vibes shot through me. A uniformed policeman and another man stood talking to Miguel. Miguel looked ashen and ill, but he nodded to me. Steve said nothing, merely hung his head.

"Hello, Heather." Miguel shook his head, despair evident in his sad brown eyes. "It's really bad."

"What's happened?"

The officer turned to me. "You know the whereabouts of Walter Sims?"

"He's supposed to be at the garden center. What's happened?" I repeated my question.

Steve looked up, but said nothing.

Miguel looked as if he were trying to send me some sort of signal. "Heather, it's—“

The man in plainclothes quieted Miguel with a glance as he stepped forward. Good heavens, what a giant. Must be six-four with shoulders broad as our truck. Even a long, tall Texas gal like myself had to look up to meet his gaze.

Whoa. What a gaze it was. Worried and puzzled as I was, I couldn’t fail to notice his eyes were delphinium blue and his dark hair the color of moist peat moss was cut short. He wasn’t GQ handsome, but definitely attractive.

"I take it you're Miss Cameron? I'm Detective Kurt Steele and this officer is Sergeant Jack Winston. We need to ask you a few questions."

"Not until I know what's happened. Why are you questioning Mr. Diaz and Mr. Harris?" Darn, stress must have fried my mind. I couldn’t believe I refused a detective.

"Vance Rockwell was murdered early this morning with a shovel owned by one of your employees. We want to speak with Walter Sims. No one here seems to know where Mr. Sims is.” He paused. “Do you?"

Rockwell dead and Walter missing? Panic rose with the bile in my throat.
No, please don’t let Walter be the killer.

At that moment, paramedics wheeled a gurney bearing a black body bag past the truck and loaded it into the ambulance. Oh Lord, Rockwell dead from Walter’s shovel? And Walter hated him.
Carole King was in my head, and the earth really did move. Dropping away from my feet, leaving me drifting. The sky tumbled down. Swirling, everything was swirling. Spiraling around me. I thought I might throw up or pass out—or both.

The detective stepped forward and grabbed my arm, anchoring me in the mixed up universe. "Miss Cameron? Maybe you should sit on the truck by Diaz and Harris."

But the sky still tumbled, the earth spiraled around me. I was a kid spinning until I was drunk with dizziness.  Sky flipped places with earth. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.

"Yes...Yes, I’d better." With Detective Steele's help, I staggered to the truck. I shrugged off his hand, intent on levering myself onto the bed. But I stood there as if in a trance.

The detective hoisted me up onto the truck as if I were a kid. I sat there wondering if I were going to pass out.

I felt Miguel’s hand at my neck. “Your head, put it between your knees.”

I did as he instructed, closing my eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths. When I straightened, my head was throbbing but the earth and sky had resumed their correct positions.  Sky above, earth below.
Willing my eyes to focus on the detective, I insisted, "Walter wouldn't bash in anyone's head." I prayed I spoke the truth.

Detective Steele referred to his notes. "It appears he and Mr. Rockwell had a heated argument yesterday about a quarter of five. Mr. Sims stalked to the truck—“he pointed at Steve”—where Harris waited, and peeled off."

Drat Walter, coming here when I’d ordered him to stay at the garden center. "If you consider anyone who argued with Rockwell a suspect, you'll be interviewing half the state." I almost included myself but thought better of it. "Besides, you said Walter left."

Sergeant Winston said, "Maybe he returned."

"Phffft." I peered at Detective Steele. "Sounds like you’re grasping at straws. What kind of detective work is that?"

Steele's clenched jaw displayed a small tic.

Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.

He stood directly in front of me and glared. "We just started the investigation. If we had some cooperation, maybe we could wrap this up in time to buy donuts before we take our lunch break."

Way to go, Heather. Not a good idea to annoy the police.

I took another deep breath. At this rate, I’d soon hyperventilate. “There’s no need for sarcasm. I don't know where Walter is, but I know he wouldn't kill anyone, not even Vance Rockwell."

He raised his eyebrows, making his nice blue eyes more noticeable, darn him. "Not even? What does that mean?"

"Rockwell was not a popular man. I imagine you'll find a long, long list of people with motives, detective. Leave Walter alone." I glanced at Miguel slumped beside me and patted his shoulder. "Leave all my employees alone. None of them would have done such a thing."

Detective Steele poised his pen over his notebook. "Where were you just after midnight, Miss Cameron?"

I thought again about his nice blue eyes, but pushed those thoughts aside because of his nasty question. "In my apartment. Asleep."

He raised one eyebrow.

I shot him a glare. "Alone."

"So, you have no alibi?"

"People who live alone never have an alibi. That doesn't mean they're guilty of anything more serious than drinking juice from the carton."

He pulled out a business card and handed it over. "We'll be in touch. Call me if you hear from Mr. Sims."

"Can Mr. Diaz and Mr. Harris go?"

Detective Steele nodded. Miguel and Steve slid off the truck bed to the ground, and Miguel helped me down.

While they walked to the truck's cab, the detective speared me with another no-nonsense glare.
"If you hear from Walter Sims, you'll be doing him a favor if you convince him to call us. We need to talk to him, and the sooner the better."

I turned and walked back to my Honda. My heartbeat fluttered and my throat threatened to close so I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it to the car, but I climbed in and turned the ignition.

Here’s the link:
http://www.amazon.com/DIGGING-Heather-Cameron-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B0086PAIDK/ref=sr_1_22?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1338736184&sr=1-22

The next book in the series, DIGGING FOR BONES, is scheduled for early 2013 release.

Thanks for stopping by!

LAUNCHING MY NEW COZY MYSTERY SERIES!

Thanks for stopping by to help me celebrate the launch of my new Heather Cameron cozy mystery series, DIGGING FOR DEATH.  I am beyond excited that this book is now available for readers. While it’s only at Amazon Kindle for now, I’ll be releasing it in print as soon as possible. So, pour yourself your beverage of choice (alas, mine is a cup of hot tea) and join me while I tell you about Heather and her family.

Heather Cameron

Heather’s great-great grandparents helped found the town of Gamble Grove north of Dallas on Highway 75. Gamble Grove is only a real town in my imagination. It’s near where Van Alstyne and Anna are on the map. My dad was born nearby at Pilot Grove and my own maternal great grandparents were named Gamble, hence the name Gamble Grove. Like real towns in the area, Gamble Grove is rapidly growing and fighting to retain its small town charm as it copes with expansion.

Heather’s grandfather founded Gillentine Gardens and Landscape Design. In spite of the usual big box type stores that come with growth, customers are loyal to Gillentine Gardens. Heather, who majored in horticulture and landscape design at Texas A&M University, also holds a B.S. in business. She is a sharp young woman. The death of her parents when she was eight resulted in her being raised by her maternal grandparents and great grandmother. One of her mentors has been Walter Sims, who had been a good friend of her dad’s and worked for her grandfather. Now Grandpa Gillentine has retired and put Heather in charge of the business. Her best friend, Chelsea Bedford, works for Heather in the garden center shop. Heather's overall assistant manager is Miguel Diaz, a man so reliable and loyal that he receives a percentage of the year's profits.

Here’s the blurb for DIGGING FOR DEATH:

Garden center manager Heather Cameron is DIGGING FOR DEATH to prove her old family friend and employee, Walter Sims, is innocent of murdering the meanest man in town. Heather can’t trust the police to find the real killer when all clues point to poor Walter. The dead man was beaten to death with Walter’s shovel several hours after they were overheard arguing, and the two men had a long history of enmity. Walter definitely looks guilty, but Heather is sure—well, almost positive—okay, she certainly hopes her friend and mentor is innocent.
  Heather is compelled to scour the fictional North Central Texas town of Gamble Grove to exonerate her old friend. She’s encouraged when the new police detective in town, Kurt Steele, shows interest in helping her look for clues. Or, is Kurt just interested in spending time with Heather?
The deeper Heather digs into the dead man’s life, the more she justifies his ruthless reputation. Walter is indicted, but police begin to suspect the victim’s stepson as murderer. Heather is convinced the stepson couldn’t have murdered anyone either—although it’s clear no love was lost between the two men. The attempted murder of the victim’s real son creates a new twist. A chance observation at dinner after the reading of the murdered man’s will slips the last piece into the crime’s intricate puzzle. Can Heather solve the murder without becoming another victim? (Of course she can...it's her series!)

Do you like the cover?

Here’s an excerpt of DIGGING FOR DEATH:

     Lining the Rockwell’s drive nearest the new garden plot were a fire engine, an ambulance, a van, what was probably an unmarked police car, two black and whites and—dang, wouldn't you know it?—the Gillentine Gardens truck. The muscles in my stomach were like vise grips clenched on my insides as I drove past the other vehicles and parked. Sickly dread overwhelmed me at what I might find.
     I wanted to turn my car around and drive home and run up to my bed and pull the covers over my head. No such luxury for me. I climbed out of my car and strode quickly toward the crowd, swallowing down fear’s metallic taste in my mouth.
     Container rose bushes destined for Bootsy Rockwell's garden almost filled the garden center’s staked-bed truck. Miguel Diaz sat on the truck’s bed with his feet dangling off the end. Steve Harris sat beside him. Bad vibes shot through me. A uniformed policeman and another man stood talking to Miguel. Miguel looked ashen and ill, but he nodded to me. Steve said nothing, merely hung his head.
     "Hello, Heather." Miguel shook his head, despair evident in his sad brown eyes. "It's really bad."
     "What's happened?"
     The officer turned to me. "You know the whereabouts of Walter Sims?"
     "He's supposed to be at the garden center. What's happened?" I repeated my question.
     Steve looked up, but said nothing.
     Miguel looked as if he were trying to send me some sort of signal. "Heather, it's—“
     The man in plainclothes quieted Miguel with a glance as he stepped forward. Good heavens, what a giant. Must be six-four with shoulders broad as our truck. Even a long, tall Texas gal like myself had to look up to meet his gaze.
     Whoa. What a gaze it was. Worried and puzzled as I was, I couldn’t fail to notice his eyes were delphinium blue and his dark hair the color of moist peat moss was cut short. He wasn’t GQ handsome, but definitely attractive.
     "I take it you're Miss Cameron? I'm Detective Kurt Steele and this officer is Sergeant Jack Winston. We need to ask you a few questions."
     "Not until I know what's happened. Why are you questioning Mr. Diaz and Mr. Harris?" Darn, stress must have fried my mind. I couldn’t believe I refused a detective.
     "Vance Rockwell was murdered early this morning. We want to speak with Walter Sims. No one here seems to know where Mr. Sims is.” He paused. “Do you?"
     Rockwell dead and Walter missing? Panic rose with the bile in my throat.
     No, please don’t let Walter be the killer.
     At that moment, paramedics wheeled a gurney bearing a black body bag past the truck and loaded it into the ambulance. Oh Lord, Rockwell dead from Walter’s shovel? And Walter hated him.
     Carole King was in my head, and the earth really did move. Dropping away from my feet, leaving me drifting. The sky tumbled down. Swirling, everything was swirling. Spiraling around me. I thought I might throw up or pass out—or both.
     The detective stepped forward and grabbed my arm, anchoring me in the mixed up universe. "Miss Cameron? Maybe you should sit on the truck by Diaz and Harris."
     But the sky still tumbled, the earth spiraled around me. I was a kid spinning until I was drunk with dizziness.  Sky flipped places with earth. Up. Down. Up. Down. Up. Down.
"Yes...Yes, I’d better." With Detective Steele's help, I staggered to the truck. I shrugged off his hand intent on levering myself onto the bed. But I stood there as if in a trance.
     The detective hoisted me up onto the truck s if I were a kid. I sat there wondering if I were going to pass out.
     I felt Miguel’s hand at my neck. “Your head, put it between your knees.”
     I did as he instructed, closing my eyes and taking a couple of deep breaths. When I straightened, my head was throbbing but the earth and sky had resumed their correct positions.  Sky above, earth below.
     Willing my eyes to focus on the detective, I insisted, "Walter wouldn't bash in anyone's head." I prayed I spoke the truth.
     Detective Steele referred to his notes. "It appears he and Mr. Rockwell had a heated argument yesterday about a quarter of five. Mr. Sims stalked to the truck—“ he pointed at Steve ”—where Harris waited, and peeled off."
     Drat Walter, coming here when I’d ordered him to stay at the garden center. "If you consider anyone who argued with Rockwell a suspect, you'll be interviewing half the state." I almost included myself but thought better of it. "Besides, you said Walter left."
     Sergeant Winston said, "Maybe he returned."
     "Phffft." I peered at Detective Steele. "Sounds like you’re grasping at straws. What kind of detective work is that?"
     Steele's clenched jaw displayed a small tic.
     Oops, I shouldn’t have said that.
     He stood directly in front of me and glared. "We just started the investigation. If we had some cooperation, maybe we could wrap this up in time to buy donuts before we take our lunch break."
     Way to go, Heather. Not a good idea to annoy the police.
     I took another deep breath. At this rate, I’d soon hyperventilate. “There’s no need for sarcasm. I don't know where Walter is, but I know he wouldn't kill anyone, not even Vance Rockwell."
    He raised his eyebrows, making his nice blue eyes more noticeable, darn him. "Not even? What does that mean?"
     "Rockwell was not a popular man. I imagine you'll find a long, long list of people with motives, detective. Leave Walter alone." I glanced at Miguel slumped beside me and patted his shoulder. "Leave all my employees alone. None of them would have done such a thing."
     Detective Steele poised his pen over his notebook. "Where were you just after midnight, Miss Cameron?"
     I thought again about his nice blue eyes, but pushed those thoughts aside because of his nasty question. "In my apartment. Asleep."
     He raised one eyebrow.
     I shot him a glare. "Alone."
     "So, you have no alibi?"
     "People who live alone never have an alibi. That doesn't mean they're guilty of anything more serious than drinking juice from the carton."
     He pulled out a business card and handed it over. "We'll be in touch. Call me if you hear from Mr. Sims."
     "Can Mr. Diaz and Mr. Harris go?"
     Detective Steele nodded.
     Miguel and Steve slid off the truck bed to the ground, and Miguel helped me down.
     While they walked to the truck's cab, the detective speared me with another no-nonsense glare.
"If you hear from Walter Sims, you'll be doing him a favor if you convince him to call us. We need to talk to him, and the sooner the better."
     I turned and walked back to my Jetta. My heartbeat fluttered and my throat threatened to close so I couldn’t breathe. I was afraid I wouldn’t make it to the car, but I climbed in and turned the ignition.

I hope that excerpt tempted you to buy DIGGING FOR DEATH. It’s available from
Amazon Kindle at
http://www.amazon.com/DIGGING-Heather-Cameron-Mysteries-ebook/dp/B0086PAIDK/ref=sr_1_23?s=digital-text&ie=UTF8&qid=1338171621&sr=1-23

Thanks for stopping by!

SPRING BRINGS PROMISE AND HOPE

Spring is my favorite time of year. Everything is green, flowering, and beautiful. Even the high winds and fires nearby can't eliminate my delight with the season. Every flower encourages me. The song of each bird lightens my mood.  

You can imagine my pleasure last week when Darling Daughter 1 and I visited a nearby botanical garden. The day was perfect--cloud cover to cool us but no rain. I'm sharing the photos I took and will share Darling Daughter 1's photos later. Her photos are much more professional than mine.

That's a white swan grooming herself on the lagoon's bank

"The most important word in the English language is hope." Eleanor Roosevelt.

Wise woman, and I so agree. As a romance writers, I sell hope through my books. Readers know that no matter how hard the obstacles, the hero and heroine will overcome to reach a happily ever after conclusion. Their success inspires readers facing their own obstacles.  Reading a story with a foregone conclusion gives the mind a break while the reader enjoys the read.

Pink poppies with roses
in the background

"Alone we can do so little; together we can do so much." -Helen Keller

And who better to know that a woman both blind and deaf? If she could succeed, there's hope for each of us!

Poppies and snapdragons with
lavender near the hedge

 
"No one can go back and make a brand new start. Anyone can start from now and make a brand new ending." - Jeanne Bice

So true. Stop rehashing the "if onlys" and "I should haves" thoughts that drive us nuts. Begin with today. God gives us a brand new begining each morning. Don't waste it.

A fountain donated by
 friends of the garden

















"Spend some time alone every day." the Dailai Lama

This is important. If I'm not comfortable with myself, how can I be comfortable with others? Sometimes we need to be still and think, evaluate, and/or pray--maybe all three.

Walking trail through the gardens

Because this is a sacred season to those of us in both the Christian and Jewish religions, I'm sharing my favorite Bible Scripture: "For I know the plans I have for you declares the Lord...plans to give you hope and a future." Jeremiah 29:11
Isn't that appropriate for Spring and this religious weekend?

Please return on Monday when my good friend Celia Yeary will pay a visit.