I’m a suspense junkie and I always have been. While I read all sorts of stories, I like thrillers best of all.
As a writer I feel like a marionette puppeteer pulling the strings of my characters to heighten the suspense in the plot. It’s fun. It’s great fun.
Excerpt (from Black Cat Blues launching January 15, 2016)
This is the opening from the book I’m launching in a couple months.
Walking through a dark alley at three-thirty in the morning wasn’t smart, but Maggy Malone didn’t have a choice, or at least not one she liked. A bone-numbing cold wind off the Strait of Georgia hit her face as she opened the back door of the Black Cat Blues bar. Pulling her jacket close to her body, she descended the stairs into the inky darkness of the night, her guitar case in one hand. She checked over her shoulder before she started her descent.
Vancouver in November—endless grey skies and drizzle. The waning moon slipped behind layers of dark clouds leaving her little light to help her on her way. She quickened her pace. A warm glow beckoned from the street lamp, a hundred yards away. Her scalp tingled. She took a deep breath of the salty night air.
What the hell. She could handle a few minutes of fear. Singing in the best blues bar on the coast had been her dream since she was a teenager. If it meant getting up close and personal with the creepy back alley on occasion, then so be it. Her shoulders tightened.
Stepping over the dirty needles, used condoms and Micky D wrappers left behind by the prostitutes, addicts and homeless who shared the alley, she tried not to let the filth reach inside her, but the stagnant stench of rotting garbage and urine turned her stomach. If only it would rain, really rain, then the city would be washed clean.
Where were all the street people? Usually there’d be one or two around at this time of night, huddled against the cold brick walls with only a blanket to keep out the cold and misfortunes of the night. Something felt wrong. She looked over her shoulder again. No one.
Her throat constricted as a chill crawled up her spine. She adjusted the weight of her canvas guitar case into her other hand, ready to run. It had been a long night. She should never have descended into this God forsaken alley. Friggen Frank. She took a deep breath, eyes darting in every direction.
The lights of the street were only a few yards away when she saw the body. Lying in a pool of blood with a silvery spike protruding from his chest—