April 21st is the launch date for Death Wears a Crimson Hat, the first book in the Underground Authors’s Magnolia Bluff Crime Chronicles series.
One town.
Nine authors.
And a whole lot of murder.
I have the honor of being the lead off batter, so to speak. My 8 fellow authors, starting May, will each publish one book a month. The ninth book will appear in time for Christmas.
This has been an incredible project. Requiring many scores of emails to make sure everything flowed smoothly. Each of us has a core set of characters for our individual novels. But we also have a few characters that are public domain, as well as using each other’s characters in minor roles.
One town.
Nine different visions of that town.
To whet your appetite, I’m giving you chapter one of Death Wears a Crimson Hat to sample. Enjoy!
Chapter 1
The drizzle made a soft tattoo against the windowpane. In another lifetime, a morning such as this would’ve kept Harry Thurgood under the covers. But not this morning. Not this lifetime. Not the one he was living in Magnolia Bluff, Texas.
He got out of bed, showered, shaved, dressed in his custom made Tom Jones suit, and quickly descended the stairs to the Really Good Wood-Fired Coffee Shop, which he owned, operated, and lived above.
Harry paused a moment in the doorway and let his eyes roam the seating area of the shop. He was pleased with what he saw.
“What a contrast to the dump this place was three years ago,” he murmured.
The tables and chairs he’d brought in from T.A. Tandy in Chicago. Henri Vernier of New York had supplied the flooring and lighting. He was especially pleased with the commissioned paintings by California artists Jane Dillon and Lawrence Pruett that hung on the walls.
A smile formed on his lips. This was a coffee shop worthy of any that could be found in New York, Chicago, or San Francisco.
The smell of high-end brewed coffee filled the air, and he heard Miguel, his cook, singing a song in Spanish. Miguel had been a good find, and, being a second generation native of Magnolia Bluff, had helped Harry acclimate at least to some degree to the small town.
“Good morning, Miguel,” he called out as he stepped out onto the floor.
“Good morning, Mr. Thurgood. John Paul has already been here with the egg delivery.”
Harry stepped to the window behind the counter that looked into the kitchen.
Miguel continued, “I roasted three pounds of the Kenya Double A. While the fire is still hot, do you want to roast anything else?” The voice had a decidedly south of the border accent. Harry supposed that came from speaking Spanish before English.
“The Celebes Kalossi. Three pounds.”
“Sure thing, Mr. Thurgood. I left a message for Mr. Bauer asking him to deliver a load of hickory. We’re running low.”
“Thanks, Miguel. And on that note, a new day begins.”
“Si, Mr. Thurgood.”
Harry turned around. “Can’t disappoint the regulars,” he murmured, and added, “All three of them,” as he made sure the Windsor knot in his tie felt perfect.
He heard a tapping, and through the glass, he could see one of his regulars, like clockwork, waiting for him to open.
He unlocked the door, held it open for her, and said, “Good morning, Reverend Cole. I see you’re dressed for the weather.”
Ember Cole closed her umbrella. “Are you making a joke about my attire?”
“Who me?” Harry pulled the door closed to keep the January chill on the other side. “Nah. I wouldn’t do that.”
“Yeah, right.” Ember walked to the counter and took a seat on one of the stools. “Besides, I thought men liked women in black.”
He walked to the end of the counter and came up the other side to stand opposite her. “We do. Just not the black you’re wearing. Want your usual?”
“Yes, sir, I do.” She set her saturno on the counter. It was one of those hats that Catholic priests sometimes wore.
Harry called back to Miguel, “One fried egg sandwich on wheat toast for the Reverend.”
“Si, Mr. Thurgood.”
Harry poured coffee into a heavy ceramic cup, added lots of cream and two sugars, and set it before his friend.
“I hope you like Java Plantation. That’s what I’m going with this morning.”
“Don’t know that I’ve ever had that before, but I’m sure it will be good. You’ve never yet served a bad cup of coffee.”
“Thank you for that. What’s on your schedule today, Em? A funeral?”
“Will you cut it out? Black befits my position as a member of the clergy. It has nothing to do with me performing a funeral, or my outlook on life, or my emotional state. It’s my uniform. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
Harry held up his hands. “Okay. Sorry. Didn’t know you’d gotten out of bed on the wrong side this morning. Or did your cat throw up on you again?”
“Are you always this cheery before noon? No, wait. I’m here often enough to know you aren’t. So what gives today?”
“Okay, ya got me. I’m only cheery when I see you.”
“Uh-huh.” She took a sip of coffee to hide her smile, then lowered the cup, holding it with both hands. “Just the usual on today’s agenda. Hospital visit. Work on my sermon. Some neighborhood visitation. Nothing out of the ordinary.”
“Be here for lunch?”
She set the cup down and leaned forward, gazing into Harry’s eyes. “And what if I said no?”
“I’d cry me a river.”
Ember sat up straight, rolled her eyes, and picked up her coffee cup.
“Order up for the Reverend.”
Harry retrieved the plate and set it in front of Ember, along with a knife, fork, and spoon, all rolled up in a paper napkin.
“There you go, ma’am.”
Ember began eating and, after a moment, Harry said, “So why is it you come here every morning instead of going to the Silver Spoon or the Flower? Everyone’s there. You’d have the low down on what’s going on around town in five minutes flat. Wait. Don’t tell me. It’s my coffee.” He gave her a big grin.
“I didn’t order a side of ham.”
Harry laughed and then became serious. “Is it the coffee?”
Ember smiled. “In part. You brew up some pretty exotic stuff.” She paused, then continued, “To tell the truth, I feel out of place over there at the Spoon. All men. They clam up when they see me. And it’s no better at the B and B. We’re outsiders, you and me. Small towns don’t trust outsiders.”
“No, they don’t.”
“And they especially don’t trust women ministers.”
“But this is a college town.”
“It is. Doesn’t make the people here forward thinking.” She looked at her watch. “Oh, shoot. I’m going to be late for my haircut appointment.”
Harry reached behind him and grabbed a styrofoam box. “Here.”
“Thanks, Harry.” She picked up the box, put her sandwich in it, plopped her hat on her head, grabbed her umbrella, and turned to go.
“Wait.”
Ember turned back to face him.
“Here.” He reached over and tilted her saturno so it sat at a more rakish angle on her head. “There.”
“Very funny, mister.” The smile, though, belied the sternness of her voice.
“See ya at lunch.”
“Bye, Harry.”
She turned and left. Harry watched her go, and then collected her dishes.
The Reverend Ember Cole is a mighty fine woman, he thought. Makes me want to have a soul so she could save it.
Hope you enjoyed the sample. Comments are always welcome. And until next time, happy reading!
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CW Hawes is a playwright, award-winning poet, and a fictioneer, with a bestselling novel. He’s also an armchair philosopher, political theorist, social commentator, and traveler. He loves a good cup of tea and agrees that everything’s better with pizza.
