I called to order copies of my latest book, Open Season, for a launch party later this month and found out the first print run has sold out and there are a number of back orders. Wowser, the book just came out December 15th for library purchase first, then to the general public the first of January. Apparently the great reviews I got from Publisher’s Weekly and Library Journal have really spurred sales.
While that is great news, and I will be dancing around my office on my next break, it does pose a bit of a problem. I am not sure if I will be able to get books for the party which is scheduled for Jan 27 at a local B&B. The owner has graciously offered to host the party and we nailed down date and time, etc, just before she took off for a two-and-a-half week vacation.
My editor says the second run is in progress and books should get to the warehouse by Jan 21. I’m a bit nervous about cutting it that close on getting books, but I have no way of contacting my gracious hostess to see if we can move the date. So, here I sit with invitations to make out, and I don’t know if I should send them or not. “Oh, my, Oh, my, what am I to do?”
While I try to figure this out, enjoy a little sample of the book:
Grabbing a cup of coffee, Sarah descended the few steps into the Homicide area, relieved that her fellow officers held to tradition. No one made a big deal out of her return, and no one mentioned John’s name. His desk, cleared of all papers and personal effects, stood in sharp contrast to the clutter on nearby desks. Seeing it brought an ache to Sarah’s heart she didn’t want to feel.
Walking past the desk, Sarah pushed the pain away and headed toward the briefing room. She opened the door and glanced around, finally spotting an empty seat at a table halfway into the room. She pulled out a chair and sat down, nodding to the woman in a smart, tailored suit across the aisle from her.
Must be fresh out of the uniform, Sarah thought, remembering her first week in civvies six years ago. The professional image had seemed important then, but quickly bowed to practicality. Socks lasted longer than nylons. Reeboks were easier to run in than heels. And there wasn’t a perp alive who cared diddly about whether you wore jeans or a skirt.
The woman turned to give Sarah the briefest of nods, and she recognized the mass of tight curls haloing a creamy mocha complexion as belonging to a former patrol officer. Angel?
Couldn’t recall her last name, but the woman had been at a couple of crime scenes with Sarah. Other than being a little too eager to prove herself, Sarah remembered her as more than capable. It wasn’t surprising that she’d made detective.
Sarah’s attention was drawn to the front of the room as Sergeant Murphy hitched his belt over his ample stomach and started outlining the on-going cases. “Simms and Burtweiler, you’re still on the Highland Park B&E case.” Murphy pulled another paper from the podium. “Frankfurt and Aikins, you pulled a cush one. Crime-watch meeting over at SMU”
“Can I go, too, Sarge?” Another officer called out. “My date book’s getting a little thin.”
A wave of laughter swept the room, and Murphy waited it out without even breaking a smile. When the last chuckle subsided, he continued, “Kingsly and Johnson, you’ve got the big one today. Homicide over at Northwood Mall. Call just came in from patrol.”
Sarah turned sharply to look at Angel, and the elusive last name clicked. Something else clicked, too. An attitude that Angel wielded like a sword, heralding the proclamation, “Don’t think that the only reason I’m here is because I’m a woman and I’m black.”
Sarah hated attitudes, especially ones that might be honed to a new sharpness by recent events. She held the other woman’s gaze, trying to get a read. It wasn’t friendly. She expected judgments from people like the Reverend Billie Norton and the crowds he managed to assemble for public outcry. He didn’t have a clue what it was like on the streets. But Angel knew. Everyone who ever wore a badge knew. So where were her loyalties going to fall?
Murphy’s voice cut into her thoughts. “You two might want to hustle your butts over to the crime scene before the corpse decomposes.”