WHO? WHEN? HOW? So What’s the Answer?

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by HELEN CURRIE FOSTER

The great thing about a winter storm? A glut of reading. I took refuge in re-reading the broad swath of Tony Hillerman mysteries. What a writer! And what a setting he creates.

I live just west of Austin, beyond the limestone wall of hills known as the Balcones Escarpment, on the Edwards Plateau—a vast hilly area of fractured porous Cretaceous limestone, full of fossils, and dry, except for its secret springs and precious narrow waterways. This Hill Country provides a sharply different landscape from the forests east of Austin and the lush coastal plain around Houston. Indeed, my college roomie (from Manhattan) famously asked, on her first trip to Texas, “Isn’t it kind of scruffy?”

Maybe, but only from a distance.

And limestone’s part of our culture and setting. On our dirt road in the country, all the houses are built of limestone and wood—except for one new red brick house that looks out of place. South of us, the old town of Dripping Springs still holds old limestone buildings—as do Blanco and Fredericksburg.

Back to Hillerman. Of course we readers plan to figure out WHO killed the victim and WHEN and HOW. But also, for mystery lovers, setting is key. Hillerman immerses us in the broad landscape his characters Joe Leaphorn and Jim Chee must travel as Navajo Tribal Police officers. Duty leads them not just throughout New Mexico but on into Utah and Arizona, along roads that dwindle into narrow dirt tracks, leading to canyons and cliffs. Leaphorn and Chee are always noticing desert flora—grama grass, buffalo grass, agave and yucca, and cottonwoods along a draw or seep. The sky sets the scene: “The light was turning red. The sun had dipped beneath the western Horizon, and the clouds in the west—dazzling yellow a few moments earlier—were now reflecting scarlet. Soon it would be too dark to see.” The Ghostway, Ch. 8.

And always the weather holds sway—a factor for Jim Chee to consider when driving off-road into a remote canyon: “By the time he reached the graded road leading to the Toadlena boarding school he was weary to the bone, with another thirteen miles through the snow…” (Ch. 23). Sky, weather, plants, sky, cliffs, canyons…all part of the setting. And housing? Hillerman describes the adobe buildings, the circular wood and stone Navajo hogans, the sheep pens, the Hopi cliff dwellings with their squares and kivas, where mystery unfolds. Access to scarce water may mean seeps, springs, buckets.

And as to the questions every mystery poses for the reader—which every reader plans to solve: WHO DID THE MURDER? WHEN? HOW? I loved revisiting Hillerman and searching for the answers. Not infrequently, water plays a role.

Coffee Creek, my made-up Texas town in the Alice MacDonald Greer mystery series, lies atop the Edwards Plateau. The lawyer protagonist, Alice, treasures her small ranch, with its impressive broad-branched live oaks, shallow creek, and scratchy cedar scrub––and her three watchful burros. She re-seeds her pasture with native grasses–buffalo grass and blue grama–and waits with eagle eyes to see the spring swaths of bluebonnets and the first incredibly beautiful prairie celestials. Alice also keeps an eye on water levels in her creek. Flash floods? Or drought? The Hill Country delivers both.

Currently, Barton Springs-Edwards Aquifer Conservation District, which manages groundwater for the Barton Springs segment of the Edwards Aquifer, has declared Stage 3 Drought Conditions for only the second time in its 39-year history. We got a bit of moisture during last week’s Deep Freeze but that may not be enough to avoid Stage 4 drought conditions. https://www.kxan.com/texas-water/texas-water-district-nears-historic-stage-4-emergency-drought-declaration/

In Ghost Justice, Book 10 in the series, Alice’s Coffee Creek clients seek her help opposing a huge proposed concert venue in an area lacking sewers, where concert sewage effluent threatens the town’s water supply. As the frontier adage has it, “Whisky’s for drinking, but water’s for fighting.” Recently a similar actual proposal which could have affected Barton Creek near Dripping Springs was withdrawn after different owners bought the property. And yes, there’s murder, and yes, Alice is determined to solve it.

Water’s key in the Hill Country. To find out what happened in Ghost Justice—WHO killed the original victim, and WHEN AND HOW…and what happened to the perpetrators– you can find the bookonline or at BookPeople in Austin!

Meanwhile, I’m still deeply interested in Texas rock art (rock art is critical in Ghost Cave, Book 1 of my series), especially after the recent thrilling discovery of a 67,800 year old hand print stencil on Muna Island in Sulawesi, Indonesia. https://www.nationalgeographic.com/history/article/worlds-oldest-rock-art-indonesia-hand-stencil

I’m also reading I Heard There Was a Secret Chord (2024) by neuroscientist and musician Kenneth J. Levitin, who’s exploring music and healing. One intriguing fact: of the 4500 species of animals on our planet that sing or hum, humans are the only species that live on the ground. Apparently, all the others live in the water or in trees. Humming! Levitin also notes, “The 60,000-year-old bone flute discovered in the Divje Babe cave near Cerkno, Slovenia, plays a pentatonic scale that would be recognizable by anyone alive today.” Id. At 308.

The human animal—a mystery! With history!

Helen Currie Foster lives and writes the Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery series north of Dripping Springs, Texas, loosely supervised by three burros. She’s drawn to the compelling landscape and quirky characters of the Texas Hill Country. She’s also deeply curious about our human history and how uninvited, the past keeps crashing the party. Follow her at http://www.helencurriefoster.com.

Her books are available online at Amazon and at BookPeople in Austin.

WRITING WITH MULTIPLE TIME ZONES IN SPLIT-TIME NARRATIVES

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BY FRAN PAINO, A.K.A. F. DELLA NOTTE

Being a figure skating enthusiast, I tuned in at 4:30 a.m. to the last major international figure skating competition before the 2026 Winter Olympics: The Four Continents, from Beijing, China. At the time, I was unconcerned with the time difference and what it meant to U.S. audiences, and since I communicate with family in Europe frequently, I’m accustomed to thinking about “what time is it” before I make a call. It was when the American Ice Dance team of Emilie Zingas and Vadym Kolesnik were interviewed after their win that time zones became front and center.

Emilie made a point of thanking her parents for all they do and for “staying up in the middle of the night” in Michigan to watch her skate to victory, as China is 13 hours ahead of Michigan, and 14 hours ahead of Austin, Texas. That’s more than half a day, and perhaps like jet lag without leaving your home. I agreed with Emilie, it warranted a special mention and thanks, and it gave rise to my question. Are there structured guidelines for incorporating different time zones into the same stories, and why is that important?

There are technical terms for the methods of writing split-time narratives, and how to use them to give readers clear structural signals. They include Alternating Chapters for specific times and/or locations; sectioned timelines, grouping multiple chapters from one timeline into a distinct “part” before switching to another time zone; and converging plots, even when each thread is at a different point in time, weaving them into a shared climax.

Clarity and Transitions can be emphasized by using time stamps or actually noting the time zone. i.e., Noon, CST, or using geographic descriptions, or outright statements, such as XXX miles away, in …, which tell the reader where they are going next in the story, what the time there is. Each timeline should have its own internal conflict and resolution, and stakes that are equally compelling so readers won’t feel it’s okay to skip any of them. Again, the endings should be woven together. These techniques are vital for clarity and flow for the reader, who should not stop to wonder where we are and what time it is there.

In my upcoming fourth novel in the Housekeeper Mystery Series, Murder in the Cat’s Eye, A Roman Antiquities Mystery, much of the action takes place simultaneously between Rome, Italy, and Austin, Texas. The distance is approximately 5,700 air miles, and Rome, Italy, is on Central European Time (CET) during the winter months, and switches to Central European Summer Time (CEST) from the last Sunday in March to the last Sunday in October, keeping it seven hours ahead of Austin. This time difference comes into play in several chapters, when Mrs. B. and Fr. Melvyn take a small group from St. Francis de Sales in Austin, Texas, to Rome, Italy, to learn about the lives of early Roman Christians.

They get more history than they bargained for. First, an antique cross shows up in Mrs. B.’s book bag, then she’s kidnapped on Halloween night. The young thief responsible for stealing the cross is murdered, and the life of an antiquities dealer is threatened. The leader of a local crime family becomes involved, and the hierarchy of the Catholic Church swoops in to determine if the cross is a missing relic thought to be a myth, and to whom it belongs. Unfamiliar with the differences in law enforcement and unsure of who to trust, Father Melvyn reaches asks his friend, Jake Zayas, an APD police detective, with contacts in Interpol, for help.

Austin diocesan responsibilities require Father Melvyn to return to Texas, before Mrs. B. leaving her embroiled in power battles, mayhem, and murder. Upping the tension is the frequent shift between continents and time zones, which requires careful attention to keep the story’s actions flowing in sensible, understandable streams for the reader.

Using timestamps and location methods, along with descriptions of the cities and time gaps, adds to the drama. Precise notes and clarity are needed to prevent the reader from losing the narrative’s thread. Handling time zones that are an hour apart, like moving between states or Canada and the Midwest in Blood Calls for Blood, is more straightforward than managing the seven-hour gap in Murder in the Cat’s Eye. This significant time difference can intensify narrative tension; for instance, a phone call at eleven a.m. in Rome reaches Austin at four a.m., which is far from routine, and these time gaps aren’t just dramatic devices for fiction.

Returning to sports and time zones, there will be a 6- to 9-hour time difference between Milan, and Cortina, Italy, and the various U.S. time zones for the 2026 Winter Olympic Games. The drama and suspense of the events will air on NBC, USA, and, for subscribers, Peacock TV. This will give a full range of times to watch live or on playback.

Meanwhile, Mrs. B., Father Melvyn, and the cast of Murder in the Cat’s Eye will conclude their time and involvement in Rome, Italy. Will they all get back to the U.S. alive and well? What will they have learned about ancient Christian history? About themselves? Which friendships will hold? Will they make new friends? How will they have grown from their experiences in Rome? Watch for Murder in the Cat’s Eye, A Roman Antiquities Mystery, to find out.

Meanwhile, enjoy the Olympics and happy reading!

2025 Wrap Up and Review

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By N.M. Cedeño

As many authors have noted in the last few weeks, 2025 wasn’t a great year for the short mystery fiction world. Between controversies over contracts at the major publishers and the dwindling number of markets available for short mysteries, authors have had a lot of reasons to worry. Like others, I had stories left in limbo this year by the sudden closure of a publisher, and I’ve spent an ever-increasing amount of time trying to find places to submit stories. However, I’m going to take a moment to focus on what went well for me in 2025.

One goal that I set and met in 2025 was participating in a major writing conference.  I attended Bouchercon New Orleans in September, and thoroughly enjoyed it. I planned to meet editors and other short mystery fiction writers in person and I did! I met Robert Lopresti, Daniel and K.T. Bartlett, Bonnar Spring, and Avram Lavinsky. I met Josh Pachter and spoke to Steph Cha and Linda Landrigan. I sat on a panel and discussed authorial voice with Daniel Bartlett, Mark Thielman, Warren Moore, and Carol Orange, with Catherine Tucker moderating. Being a massive introvert, the convention left me on people overload, but it was worth every minute.

I planned to submit at least two stories a month for publication in 2025. I accomplished that goal. I’d hoped to hit three a month, but that was not to be this year. While my submissions remained solid, my productivity dropped. Increasing my output of stories will be a 2026 goal.

In 2025, two of my stories appeared in Crimeucopia anthologies edited by John Connor. The first, “Murder by Alternate Facts,” was published in March in Crimeucopia: Chicka-Chicka Boomba!. The second story, “Disappearance of an Easy Lover,” was published in December in Crimeucopia: The Not So Frail Detective Agency. I ended the year with five additional stories pending publication. While I don’t have firm dates for any of the stories yet, I’m looking forward to most of them coming out in 2026.

2025 brought me one surprise accomplishment! My story “Predators and Prey,” which was published online in 2024 by Rusty Barnes on TOUGH, was selected by Steph Cha as an “Other Distinguished Story of 2024” in the list at the back of this year’s Best American Mystery and Suspense. The anthology came out in October, but I knew my story was on the list since someone forwarded a screenshot to me before I went to Bouchercon. When I spoke to series editor Steph Cha at Bouchercon, she confirmed that my story was on the list, and she remembered it! While it’s gratifying to have anyone remember one of my stories, to have Steph Cha remember it in casual conversation while walking down a hall was particularly pleasing. The story is available online to read here: Predators and Prey on TOUGH.

The end of 2025 also marked the end of the previous group blog to which I belonged. I was happy to receive an invitation to begin posting with the wonderful people here at Austin Mystery Writers. I look forward to writing along side them and learning from them in the coming year.

Happy New Year!

AND ONCE AGAIN, IT’S CHRISTMAS

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Francine Paino, a.k.a. F. Della Notte

Three days to Christmas! Everyone ready? Is everyone tired of the pressures of preparing for Christmas Day? Are we looking forward to getting past this frantic time of year?
In the past, I’ve complained about the second- and third-rate holiday movies clogging TV programming since before Halloween – that hasn’t changed. What’s changed is my new offerings for those who would like to read something not just Christmas-themed, but also good stories and terrific mysteries.
In 2024, the following three were, and still are, at the top of my list: A Christmas Carol, by Charles Dickens, The Spy Who Came for Christmas, by David Morrell, and Agatha Christie’s Hercule Poirot’s Christmas. While they remain my favorites, I have six new stories that I think are worth reading even after Christmas Day, 2025, has passed. In order of preference, I recommend the following:
THE CHRISTMAS JIGSAW MURDERS, by Alexandra Benedict.
The story started slowly and made me wonder why I was reading about a rather nasty old woman, but by chapter 14, I was hooked. The personality of the lead character, Edie, a crossword setter who seems to hate Christmas, evolves as jigsaw pieces sent to her announce the deaths that will occur by Christmas Eve. Through the story of Edie’s efforts to discover who was sending these pieces and why the targeted victims were to die, she grows as a human being (who said old people can’t learn or change?). It’s fascinating to watch her involvement in solving a case her policeman nephew is in charge of, as they sort through family and professional difficulties. Will they endure, together and separately? Will they find the answers? This is a Christmas crime-and-family story that keeps the reader totally drawn in.
In David Baldacci’s THE CHRISTMAS TRAIN, a disillusioned journalist, Tom Landon, is forbidden by the FAA to travel by air anywhere in the U.S. for two years after he “blew a big one” (his words regarding his meltdown at security at LaGuardia Airport in New York. His use of words that shouldn’t be used “within four miles of any church,” and the fact that he grabbed the offending security wand a TSA worker used indiscriminately and snapped it in half, was a small example of his tirade. Despite cheers from fellow travelers, Langdon was forced to appear before a magistrate who let him off with a slap on the wrist – and an order join an anger management program. He was, however, forbidden to fly in the U.S. for two years.
Hence, he must get from New York to LA for Christmas, and he decides to travel cross-country by train to join his occasional paramour for Christmas. The reader sees Landon travel into the depths of his own heart and experience a reawakening to the attractiveness of train travel and adventure. It’s more than a means of reaching a destination; the journey is its own adventure. Personal relationships develop, Langdon faces his own demons, and they all must deal with a thief who keeps stealing personal items. While they sort out this problem, the train’s path takes them into a heavy snowstorm and an ensuing avalanche. They are trapped, and everyone is at risk.
THE CHRISTMAS THIEF, by Mary Higgins Clark and Carol Clark. Very entertaining. Everyone’s favorite lottery winner, and frequent character in Mary Higgins Clark mysteries, Alvira, turned amateur sleuth, and her companion, Regan Reilly, a private eye, are visiting Stowe, VT, to see the eighty-foot blue spruce Christmas Tree selected to be delivered to Rockefeller Center in New York City. Unbeknownst to everyone except a particular criminal named Packy Noonan, a priceless stone had been hidden in this tree years earlier by him. Noonan, who has just been released from jail after serving his time. Will he be able to recover his ill-gotten gem, or will Elvira Regan get in the way?
A CHRISTMAS MURDER, by Mary Grand. Nice. Predictable. Many twists and turns. I couldn’t relate to the protagonist, who does a reluctant favor for a local hotel owner who had an accident and needed an extra pair of hands for the holiday guests booked into her hotel on the Isle of Wight. Lots of lovely atmosphere, including snow and a holiday setting, with a cast of characters who ranged from mildly interesting to annoying – including Susan, the protagonist, who impressed me as a real busybody, without truly endearing characteristics.
A CHRISTMAS KILLING, by Blake Banner, has more twists and turns than a mountain river running downhill, but it’s grisly. The story takes place at Christmas, but you won’t be getting any Christmas spirit here.
And in a class of its own is a real classic from the Golden Age of Mysteries, by Georgette Heyer, entitled A CHRISTMAS PARTY. Written in 1941, Heyer’s locked-room mystery is reminiscent of the Queen of the Golden Age, Agatha Christie. In the writing style of days gone by, for this one, you will need to settle into an easy chair and read with leisure, as she delves into a family’s functions and dysfunctions while involved in the murder of the family patriarch. Everyone in this family has a motive, and in comes Scotland Yard. A fun read for the holiday season.
Perhaps like me, you’re looking forward to the quiet that follows the parties, activities, duties, and celebrations of Christmas. Wherever your cozy-up chair is, curl up with one of these mysteries and a nice hot cup of whatever is your pleasure. Since I’ve already read the Christmas-themed books I’ve recommended, for me it will be a DVD of the Mariinsky Nutcracker Ballet – my favorite of all the Nutcrackers. BTW – No matter what your age, Maurice Sendak’s book on E.T.A. Hoffman’s tale makes for good reading too, with gorgeous illustrations.
Wishing you all Merry Christmas, Happy Chanukah, and a fantastic 2026, with lots of great reading.

Letting Go

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VP Chandler

by V.P. Chandler

I recently read The Poisonwood Bible for the second time. It’s interesting how it’s a different experience after I’ve become a mother and after I’ve have had more life experiences. What stuck with me this time wasn’t the politics, religion, or the history as much as a mother’s fear of living in a place that doesn’t feel safe.

Years ago, we lived on a ranch where there were a lot of rattlesnakes. (I know, you’ve heard me talk about this before.) We had hundreds in the vicinity. For the first year we were there, I worried almost every single day that my small child would get bitten. And possibly die since we were far from any hospital or antivenom. I didn’t talk about it much, but it was always there in my head. Every walk outside, every noise in the grass, every moment my child was out of my sight. I truly believed that any day could be the day something terrible would happen.

After about a year, something shifted. I still knew the danger was there, but I wasn’t consumed by it anymore. I had learned where the snakes were likely to be, when to be extra careful, and when I could relax a little. The fear didn’t disappear; it just stopped running my life.

One day I told my husband how I wasn’t worrying as much. He was stunned, and frankly, kind of appalled. He couldn’t believe I had lived with that level of anxiety every day. He had no idea. We were in the same place, raising the same child, but our inner experiences were completely different.

I thought about this when reading The Poisonwood Bible. A mother, Orleanna, did the best that she could, given her circumstances, to prepare for their new life. Like bringing cake mixes for her daughter’s birthdays, only to have the mixes turn to rock in the humidity. Such a symbol of motherhood/parenthood. We do the best we can. The trials that we may face are not the ones we expected. And Nathan, so sure he was right, so focused on his mission and his authority, his divine calling, that he didn’t notice what was happening to the people around him. (Not that my husband was a tyrant or a fanatic!)

The book also made me think about living and trying to parent in an oppressive patriarchal society. A general observation, while male egos and cultures clash, it’s the citizens who pay the price. Nathan’s rigid religious authority collided with local power structures and culture. While he was so wrapped up in his zeal to save souls, trying to live by the laws in The Bible, that he missed the message of The Gospel. And he was so bent on changing the local “heathen” customs, without really looking at or connecting to the people, he was doomed to fail. No one wins when the people in power are fighting to maintain power instead of helping society. When patriarchies rule, all citizens end up paying the price. Even those in charge seem trapped by the need to dominate rather than care.

I guess I’m feeling this more than ever before. It’s what’s happening in the world. For me, The Poisonwood Bible landed as a reminder that paying attention matters and caring about people matters. And the people who notice danger, who quietly adapt, who carry the worry, so others don’t have to, are often invisible. But they’re doing the work that keeps everyone alive.

I think about that first year with the rattlesnakes sometimes. I think about how long I carried that fear alone. And reading this book helped me see that experience more clearly—not as weakness, but as awareness.

And now here is a picture of a Christmas kitten so you won’t be so bummed out.

Pixabay url

V.P Chandler writes westerns and crime fiction. Her most recent publication is found in The Mysterious Bookshop Presents the Best Mystery Stories of the Year 2025.

This post was originally posted on Substack. You can follow V.P. Chandler there.

That First Line…and More?

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by Helen Currie Foster

November 24, 2025

Writers live in trepidation that they’re failing a much-publicized writing test: a great first line.

Crafting the Hook: Why Your Novel’s First Line is Crucial

Maybe that’s not a fair burden. If I already like a writer’s work—a favorite mystery-writer, for instance–I don’t demand a blockbuster first line. But I do need reassurance that I’m going to like that writer’s new book as well as the last. So on the opening page, I hope to see a reminder of the detective’s personality, of an interesting setting, of the vagaries of the detective’s colleagues.

If, however, it’s my first encounter with an author—I need to be drawn in swiftly. Looking at first lines (and what immediately follows) is a good exercise. Each reader knows when the opening has worked, and they’re hooked on a story—or not. Maybe the lesson is this: when the reader’s eyes fall on the first page, the writer must promise the story!

“Tell me a story!” That’s what we’re looking for when we open a book. The first sentence, the first page, needn’t summarize the book, but we want very quickly to know we’re going to get a story.

Here’s a first line that kept me reading: “When Augustus came out on the porch the blue pigs were eating a rattlesnake—not a very big one.”

Blue pigs? I’d never heard of blue pigs, much less pigs dining on rattlesnake. Of course I kept reading, just to hear more about Augustus: “Pigs on the porch just made things hotter, and things were already hot enough. He stepped down into the dusty yard and walked around to the springhouse to get his jug.” By then the reader might also be feeling thirsty and might wonder if Augustus would share that jug… but the author hadn’t finished:

“[T]he sun had the town trapped deep in dust, far out in the chaparral flats, a heaven for snakes and horned toads, roadrunners and stinging lizards, but a hell for pigs and Tennesseans.”

What a setting, and what a contrast to Augustus’s home—he’s stuck in godforsaken dusty chaparral flats, heaven for snakes and horned toads, and far from the moist green hills of Tennessee.

McMurtry’s first sentence is great. But then he gives us just a couple more sentences—and we find ourselves already longing to hear more about Augustus as the saga begins—Lonesome Dove, of course, and thank you, Larry McMurtry.

The on-line lists of “famous first lines” include perennial favorites. Of course Moby Dick is famous—“Call me Ishmael.” We’re notified that our protagonist will be wandering far….

Also there’s Pride and Prejudice: “It is a truth universally acknowledged that a single man in possession of a good fortune must be in want of a wife.”  Jane Austen doesn’t keep us waiting. By the end of the first page we know that “a single man of large fortune” has arrived in the neighborhood—and we tingle in anticipation of the plot suggested in the opening sentence.

What about Shogun? The first line of James Clavell’s novel hauls us in: “The gale tore at him and he felt its bite deep within and he knew that if they did not make landfall in three days they would all be dead.” Then, “Too many deaths on this voyage, he thought, I’m Pilot-Major of a dead fleet. One ship left out of five—eight and twenty men from a crew of one hundred and seven and now only ten can walk and the rest near death and our Captain-General one of them. No food, almost no water and what there is, brackish and foul.”

What will happen? Will the pilot survive? We’re hooked by the first sentence, and the next few sentences convince us that we’ve got a tale to read in Shogun. Even if we’ve never yet read any Clavell, we’re confident—as we are in Lonesome Dove, and in Pride and Prejudice––that the author’s got a story for us.

Hilary Mantel is a genius at first lines. The Mirror & the Light begins In London, in May 1536, with this sentence:  “Once the queen’s head is severed, he walks away.” It takes another page before we begin to grasp that “he” is Cromwell, attending the execution of Anne Boleyn. And already we know that this story will be frightening.

As a lover of mystery novels, I’m critical about beginnings. I liked Batya Gur’s mysteries, set in Jerusalem, with Chief Superintendent Michael Ohayon. Here’s the first line of Bethlehem Road Murder:
“There comes a moment in a person’s life when he fully realizes that if he does not throw himself into action, if he does not stop being afraid to gamble, and if he does not follow the urgings of his heart that have been silent for many a year—he will never do it.”

Okay, but who’s thinking that? The next sentence reveals the thought belongs to Chief Superintendent Ohayon himself, and he’s thinking that thought while he’s engaged in leaning over a woman’s corpse and trying to get a better look at the silk fibers from the rip in the scarf around her neck. In other words, our detective’s already on the job—but what are the “urgings of his heart” that we just heard about? I’m hooked—we have a corpse, a murder (surely a mystery to solve)—and also a mystery about what’s bugging our protagonist.

Here are the first and second line of one of Tony Hillerman’s later mysteries, The Shape Shifter (2006):

“Lieutenant Joe Leaphorn, retired, stopped his pickup about a hundred yards short of where he had intended to park, turned off the ignition, stared at Sergeant Jim Chee’s trailer home, and reconsidered his tactics. The problem was making sure he knew what he could tell them, and what he shouldn’t, and how to handle it without offending either Bernie or Jim.”

If you didn’t already know Lieutenant Leaphorn, you’d at least grasp from the first sentence that he’s tactful, careful, thoughtful. But what’s the issue he’s wrestling with? We’ll know by the end of the paragraph, and we’ll be deep into a new story. Just as we hoped.

And here’s the first line of Hillerman’s earlier The Ghostway (1986): “Hosteen Joseph Joe remembered it like this.”  The next paragraph explains how this witness “noticed the green car just as he came out of the Shiprock Economy Wash-O-Mat…The car looked brand new and it was rolling slowly across the gravel, the driver leaning out the window just a little.” And what Hosteen Joseph Joe remembered next was that the driver—though he looked like a Navajo—had yelled at Joseph Joe, who was eighty-one, and “that was not a Navajo thing to do.” We already feel a story—why would someone yell at Hosteen Joseph Joe?—but by the time Hosteen Joseph Joe winds up his narrative (just paragraphs later) he has also described the ensuing pistol shot leaving a dead man on the ground. Who was murdered? By whom? Why? We’ve definitely got a story.

If you read Reginald Hill (his protagonists are Detective Superintendent Andy Dalziel and Peter Pascoe of the Yorkshire CID), you know that he begins every mystery differently. His Bones and Silence (1990) is no candidate for a mere “first sentence.” Instead, it opens with a letter to Superintendent Dalziel from an anonymous correspondent who intends to commit suicide, but wants to be in correspondence with Dalziel before this occurs. The letters continue to arrive for Dalziel for months—anonymous, and we don’t know whether the writer is man or woman—as he and Pascoe toil through a series of apparently unrelated murder investigations. We readers are kept in suspense until the very last page.

Finally—and do you remember being assigned this book?—consider this first sentence: “The cold passed reluctantly from the earth, and the retiring fogs revealed an army stretched out on the hills, resting.” Thus opens The Red Badge of Courage, by Stephen Crane. We see the landscape—and we see the army, “resting.” “Resting”? The army must need  rest and we wonder why. “Resting” somehow builds suspense for what may follow –for what may happen when the army finishes resting. We know there’s a story––but we don’t know what, and we won’t meet that young private for a couple of pages more.

Our craving for stories is what makes us human. Think of the power of those four little words: “Once upon a time…!” Four words that assure us of a story. We gather around to hear it, whether we’re three, thirty, ninety.

Robert Louis Stevenson, author of such tales as Treasure Island and Kidnapped, was given a name by the Samoans: TUSITALA—the Teller of Tales. What an honor!

And that’s who we aspire to be. Raconteurs! Storytellers! Writers! Authors! Tellers of Tales!

And now–here in the Hill Country west of Austin, we finally (FINALLY) got some rain. Wishing you a HAPPY THANKSGIVING!

My latest tale, Ghost Justice, came out August 29, 2025. It’s Book 10 in the series involving Alice, a lawyer working in the small town of Coffee Creek in the iconic Texas Hill Country. Legal drama, and matters of the heart! The next tale is simmering! Find Ghost Justice at BookPeople in Austin or on Amazon. https://www.amazon.com/Ghost-Justice-Helen-Currie-Foster/dp/1732722943

Follow me at http://www.helencurriefoster.com.

THE EMPRESS’S JEWELS AND THE STUNNING LOUVRE HEIST. by Francine Paino, a.k.a. F. Della Notte

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In a world where the news is filled with violent crimes against other humans, it’s almost refreshing to hear of a daring, Hollywood-esque jewel heist, where no one was hurt, although it lacked the romance of Alfred Hitchcock’s 1955 thriller, To Catch a Thief.

This most recent shocking, daring, and scandalously simple heist of French crown jewels on display at the Louvre in Paris, France, took place on Sunday, October 19, 2025, at 9:30 a.m., when brazen perpetrators dressed as construction workers parked a basket lift on the side of the museum. Using it to access the balcony, they then cut through a glass window and entered the Apollo Gallery. Passersby would not have been suspicious, as these types of basket lifts are commonplace and used to move furniture in and out of buildings. The audacious criminals needed a grand total of eight minutes, only four of which were spent inside the museum, breaking the display cases and grabbing the jewels worth 88 million euros ($102 million), before descending in the basket lift and fleeing on waiting motorbikes. The Empress Eugenie’s crown was dropped and damaged during the escape. It was retrieved by the French museum authorities, who have promised to repair it. (That thief probably wasn’t a woman)

The French minister of Culture, Rachinda Dati, described these criminals as being “very efficient.” They obviously knew exactly what they wanted and where to find the jewels. Taken were a tiara, necklace, and earrings from the sapphire set belonging to 19th-century French queens Marie-Amelie and Hortense. Also taken were an emerald necklace and a pair of emerald earrings from Empress Marie Louise, a reliquary brooch, and a tiara and brooch belonging to Empress Eugenie, Napoleon III’s wife.

As of this writing, a Reuters report dated November 13 states that the French police immediately notified their Antwerp counterparts in Belgium using the “’ Pink Diamond’ network, a secure channel overseen by EU law in Europol that unites investigators specializing in high-value thefts.” Antwerp is the Belgian port city at the heart of the world’s diamond trade. Over the last 30+ years, it has become a growing underworld hub for hundreds of gold and jewelry shops, where “fences” can sell stolen gold or jewels, putting the Antwerp World Diamond Centre’s reputation at risk due to questionable money-laundering practices involving drug proceeds.

Of the seven arrests made within hours of the Louvre burglary, four have been charged and three released. Still, the jewels have not been recovered. These gems are still too “hot” to be cut and polished by the few capable Antwerp cutters and polishers with the necessary skills. One would think that, given the history of successful museum robberies, the French authorities would be more intent on preventing the theft of such national treasures of enormous value. But one cannot criticize the French when the biggest art heist in American history in 1990 is still unsolved 35 years later.

THE ISABELLE STEWART GARDNER MUSEUM HEIST

In Master Thieves – the Boston Gangsters Who Pulled Off the World’s Greatest Heist (Winnipeg Free Press), journalist Stephen Kurkjian chronicles his 25-year quest to research and report on the world’s greatest art heist. He gives detailed descriptions of the characters involved in the events and the lead-up to the March 18, 1990, night when two men, dressed as police officers, rang the night bell of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston and told the guard they were responding to a reported disturbance. Now, 35 years later, there have been no arrests, and the canvases are still missing, despite all the police theories and all of Kurkjian’s work. The ongoing search has come to nothing.

There have been other notable heists, such as the theft of the Mona Lisa, again from the Louvre in 1910. This was another remarkably straightforward strategy. An Italian handyman hid in the museum overnight and concealed the canvas under his work smock. The next morning, he simply walked out while the museum was still closed. In this case, the canvas was recovered two years later when the thief tried to sell it in Florence. His motive was that he believed it belonged to Italy.

While none of the real-life robberies were catalysts for the fourth book in the Housekeeper Mystery Series, Murder in the Cat’s Eye, the events have shown how simple art thefts can be, and the avenues available to ‘fences,’ especially in Europe. Father Melvyn’s and Mrs. B’s newest case involves the theft of an ancient cross and murder in Rome, when they take a small group of parishioners to Italy to learn about the lives of the earliest Roman Christians. They must navigate theft, murder, criminals, and the international arm of the law that reaches back to Austin, Texas.

The cases of the Louvre and the Gardner museums inspired ideas for character development, and background materials for the antiquities robbery. Although the theft in Rome does not victimize a museum, it addresses the fundamental problems of smaller museums and private collectors who are willing to engage in black-market purchase of items unavailable or unaffordable through legitimate channels. And of course, dealing with the black market means dealing with organized crime, drug money laundering, and often, murder.

Coming soon, the release of book four in the Housekeeper Mystery Series: MURDER IN THE CAT’S EYE, An Antiquities Theft and Death in Rome.

Meanwhile, happy reading.

For more information on the 2025 Louvre heist, there are many online reports, including https://www.reuters.com/world/europe/chasing-louvre-loot-inside-antwerps-jewellery-underworld-2025-11-12/

For comprehensive details of the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum heist, I highly recommend Master Thieves, by Stephen Kirkjian.

Imposter at the Library

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By Kathy Waller

In late October, I spoke at the J.B. Nickells Memorial Library in Luling, Texas. An author talk, although I feel like an imposter calling it that. I write slowly, have published only a few short stories plus a novella co-written with a real author, haven’t published a novel of my own, . . .  I’m not really an author . . . Well, you get the idea.

The condition is not new, and I’m not the only sufferer. New Austin Mystery Writer Noreen Cedeno recently posted on Ink-Stained Wretches Bouchercon and the Imposter Syndrome. On today’s Writer Unboxed blog, Rachel Toalson posted The Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Imposter Syndrome Crisis. Nobody looking at these two writers’ lists of publications would describe either as an imposter—they are writers. I, on the other hand, am an imposter.

When invited to speak in Luling, however, I didn’t let impostership stop me. I said, Yes. I had my reasons.

In the first place, I love talking about books. I’d rather talk about other people’s books, but since retiring as a librarian, I don’t get to give booktalks anymore. I miss that.

In the second place, I was born in the old Luling Hospital and six years later left my tonsils there. I grew up, and lived for years after, in Fentress, a very small town ten miles from Luling. I was a member of the Rainbow Girls chapter in Luling. I spent a lot of time at the Luling DQ. My maternal great-grandparents lived there; my grandmother was born there. My mother’s family lived there for two years when she was in junior high (and she and her sister were the first girls to wear shorts to play tennis in Longer Park). And two cousins on my father’s side who grew up three blocks up the street from me in Fentress married Luling natives. In short, Luling is my old stomping ground.

I wanted so much to speak in Luling that I decided to pretend I was a real author.

Note: I’m not a total fraud. I mean, I not only gave booktalks at my libraries, I once gave a booktalk at a meeting of the Seguin, Texas, Kiwanis Club. I was a professional librarian. Real.

As a professional, I arrived prepared: outline, notes, quotations, copies of the anthologies containing my short stories and of the novella co-written with Manning Wolfe. The librarian escorted me to the room where I was to speak. I laid out my books and materials.

Then things fell apart.

About a half-hour before the presentation was to begin, kinfolk arrived: Peggy, a second cousin whose family lived up the street in Fentress; Brownie, her late sister’s husband; and Brownie’s daughter and son-in-law and granddaughter. I hadn’t seen them in forever. So the family reunion began.

By the time I went on stage, so to speak, I was was having so much fun that I scrapped my notes and just talked. And talked. And talked.

Minna Katherine Stagner Veazey and Col. John L. Veazey

First, I shared some local history that has faded from the town’s memory: the story of my great-grandfather, Col. John L. Veazey, who took his wife and two young daughters to Cuba for the Spanish-American War, and who was murdered in broad daylight on Luling’s Main Street in 1904. No one in the audience had heard the story. I told other stories. I talked about writing. I had a drawing and gave away some books. I talked.

Afterward, there was more family reunion, and Fentress reunion, since one member of the audience was the daughter, and the granddaughter, of Fentress residents.

I had the time of my life.

Then speaker’s remorse set in. I had done a terrible job, just babbled, talked too fast, bored the dickens out of everyone, left my education at home, made a fool of myself—it’s not like I don’t know how to conduct myself before an audience, but I totally forgot myself, lost all sense of decorum, and was just awful. Imposter author, imposter speaker. Simply dreadful.

But. One man—actually, the only man who stayed for the program—Tom Brown Webb, Jr., familiarly known as Brownie. He married my cousin Janell Waller sixty-nine years ago, when they were both nineteen. That was just before my fifth birthday. When I was a child, I knew Janell and her sisters were princesses. She died nearly four years ago,

During the reunion, I told Brownie something I’d wanted to say for a good while—I thanked him for being so nice to me when I was a disgusting and ever-present four-year-old extremely excited about wedding plans; he always treated me as if I were a real person and not just a little kid.

He left right after I finished speaking. I just knew he’d been so bored that he couldn’t wait to get outta there. But we had all agreed to meet soon for lunch at a cafe in Fentress. I would apologize then.

Last week, nine days after we met at the library, Peggy called to say Brownie had died. Unexpectedly. She also said he’d enjoyed his evening at the library. His daughter said the same thing, that he’d talked a lot about it, said he learned things he hadn’t known, that he could “just see” everything I described, and “wouldn’t your mother have enjoyed that.” After the funeral, his son-in-law told me the same.

Imposter Syndrome. If I’d given in to it and declined the invitation to speak in Luling, I wouldn’t have seen Brownie one last time. I wouldn’t have told him how much I appreciated his kindness to a little girl. I wouldn’t have known he enjoyed listening to the stories I  told. I wouldn’t have the memory of a happy time with a treasured relative.

I still feel like an imposter. But I’m finished with speaker’s remorse. Brownie enjoyed my talk. That’s all the validation I need.

***

Kathy Waller blogs at Telling the Truth, Mainly. She has almost completed a draft of a mystery novel. When she gets to “The End,” she will no longer feel like an imposter, probably.

She is grateful to fellow Austin Mystery Writer  Helen Currie Foster for telling the librarian at the Nickells Library that she is a writer, and for not mentioning that she is an imposter,

 

 

 

 

 

The Value of (Human-Created) Art

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I recently spent a Saturday in Gruene—a historic district of New Braunfels known largely for Gruene Hall, a dance hall famous for hosting iconic musical talents including Lyle Lovett, Lucinda Williams and Willie Nelson. Gruene regularly hosts artist events and attracts people who appreciate art in its many forms. Recently, Gruene hosted the 33rd Annual Texas Clay Festival, an event showcasing the work of 80 talented potters and clay artists. 

As I took my time admiring each booth’s offerings, I was moved by the sheer diversity of design and how many ways a single piece of clay could be transformed into something beautiful, something useful, something unique. It felt as though each artist revealed their specific personality through their offerings.  For someone who the phrase, “throwing a bowl” means something entirely different, I enjoyed learning about how they practiced their craft.  One artist’s style—employing technique and tools similar to Ukranian Pysanky egg etching—caught my eye. I stopped, we chatted, and I fell in love with her work. I’m writing this post while drinking coffee from one of her stunning mugs. Her art continues to brighten my day, and this experience reminds me that art in all its forms, offers an experience. 

I’m sometimes drawn to art because of the story behind the piece and the story of the person creating it. For me, those things are all intertwined, connected. Art touches us in a way that’s not easily quantified but deeply resonate. It’s distinctly personal, particularly human.

AI tools have now entered the chat. It can feel discouraging for artists to create in this new era of AI and LLM tools, all claiming to write/design/create better than we can. But can they, really? 

I don’t think so.

 I can’t imagine those creations will connect with people in the same way. Human created art moves us, stirs something in us, stays with us. AI will likely improve certain aspects of science, automation, engineering, and medicine—which is not something I discount– but art? We need less RAM and more soul. 

AI has exacted a particular kind of pressure on those who create for a living. I am one of many authors whose novels and short stories were found in LibGen, a database of pirated works that was used to train Meta’s LLM. I was neither asked nor compensated, and while Anthropic is in the middle of a settlement suit related to their own behaviors, I have little faith that these companies will do better in the future. They’ve shown us who they are. I’m taking Maya Angelou’s advice on this one. 

You know those authors whose distinct voice shines in their work (Sara Gran and Tana French)? The musician whose sound and lyrics move you to hit ‘replay’ countless times (Stevie Nicks, Prince, Tom Petty)? The painting that moves you? I still remember the first time I saw Sargent’s El Jaleo at the Isabella Stuart Gardner Museum in Boston. I was deeply drawn to its movement, beauty and scale. Which artists move you and why? And if you’re an artist, what compels you to continue? Whatever it is, keep it close and tend to it often because what you create might be a gift to others. 

I’m still writing because it’s what I’ve always done. I don’t know how to stop, nor do I want to. I see the world in stories, and there are still so many characters and places I need to explore. I simply can’t imagine doing anything else. For me, writing a novel is like following a winding trail, filled with side quests and new discoveries. My process is sometimes messy, often imperfect and completely human. 

And one more thing—I’ve used the em dash for longer than I can remember and probably more than is recommended. Em dashes aren’t a sign of using LLMs—we were here first. =)

Pottery Artists:

https://www.shannonceramics.com

https://kopottery.com/

https://www.3rdcoastclay.com/who-we-are

Laura Oles is the award-winning author of the Jamie Rush mystery series. Her work has appeared in crime fiction anthologies, consumer magazines and business publications. Her debut mystery, Daughters of Bad Men, was an Agatha nominee, a Claymore Award finalist, and a Writers’ League of Texas Award finalist. Depths of Deceit, her second novel, was named Best Mystery by Indies Today.She loves road trips, bookstores and any outdoor activity that doesn’t involve running.She lives in the Texas Hill Country with her family.

Fall Comes to Paris

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By Helen Currie Foster

Travel thoughts.

It’s fall in Paris. The rows of chestnuts flanking the Seine are turning golden-brown; gingko trees sport their distinctive yellow leaves, preparing to fling down, on one afternoon they keep secret, all their leaves at once.

Fall fashion? Long hair for women, slim tan trench coats at mid-calf, midi-length swishy skirts. Anyone can wear jeans and sneakers (male, female, old, young) with a blazer-cut jacket. In the markets, apples from the Garonne (Pixie Pommes!), quantities of mushrooms, cashmere scarves. Kids scurry to school at eight while their older siblings stride down Rue de l’Universite toward Science Po. 

I’m forever grateful to Madame, our wondrous French teacher at McCallum High in Austin. On the first trip to Paris over fifty years ago, fresh off the early train, my husband and I stopped at a café where I opened my mouth in fear and trembling to order in French—deux cafes et deux croissants.

To my shock the proprietor didn’t blink. And the result was magic—our first taste of croissant.

Long past high school I still say “Merci, Madame!” A Parisienne, she had (I believe) a PhD. She maintained perfect class discipline—even with smarty seniors. When anyone asks, how did you learn French? I say, “Madame! She made us sing songs!” https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=96JRl7bER3g&list=RD96JRl7bER3g&start_radio=1

As to “à la Claire Fontaine” I suspect she omitted the first two verses—at least I don’t remember singing about bathing beneath a tree! But this song and the rest we still remember, decades later.

Sur le Pont d’Avignon…Frère Jacques…Alouette, gentille alouette, je te plumerai (le nez, le cou, et la tete, et le dos, etc.). At Christmas, Il est né, le divin enfant. Twisting your tongue around the pretty French words leaves you with life skills.

(She didn’t teach us La Marseillaise. But I still get chills when, in Casablanca, Victor Laszlo leads the crowd at Rick’s in singing it.)

And another beloved teacher taught both Latin and English. She could order grown seniors to race to the blackboard to diagram sentences, and insisted we use proper punctuation.

What was it about those favorite teachers? They made us learn. They brooked no foolishness. They could tell when we faked preparation. They thrust us into difficult novels, demanding paintings, complex unfamiliar music. Hitherto hidden histories. Concepts we hadn’t invented or come upon by ourselves.

Maybe we did learn. Maybe—that learning is worthwhile.

Yesterday we visited La Fondation Louis Vuitton to visit what architect Frank Gehry dreamed of as an iceberg with sails.

Curves, lines, water, wood… magical in their power.

The building invites you to wander and wonder. What imagination, what creativity, what a vision! I listened to the rippling water traveling down the slope—the sound took over. Couldn’t hear traffic, or talking. Just the water–in the middle of a vast city. Being there takes you back to Roman stonework (rectangles, arches, roads in straight lines), and then to the power of curved sails, moved by wind and water. People working there seemed quietly confident that visitors should and would be (but not literally) blown away.

READING: I’m very much enjoying Susan Wittig Albert’s Thyme, Place & Story website where she is now serializing the first China Bayles book–A Bitter Taste of Garlic. Many of us are fans of this series, and would be delighted to visit China’s herb shop in a town not far from Austin…!

I just finished Mick Herron’s Down Cemetery Road. I found it much scarier than the Slow Horses novels…but still wanted to know the ending. It was published over 20 years ago and apparently will be streaming in October.

On the flight over I was reading Graham Robb’s France, including some tales of Paris that were scarier than Down Cemetery Road. Like being the butt of your buddies’ jokes and winding up as a prisoner in Fenestrelle, a political prison during the Napoleonic era. https://fr.wikipedia.org/wiki/Forteresse_de_Fenestrelle

Meanwhile, at home, Ghost Justice is now out! Book 10 in my Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery Series set in the Hill Country. Available at BookPeople on Lamar Blvd. in Austin https://bookpeople.com/ and on Amazon. https://amzn.to/4pk8WQO

Hope you’ll enjoy it!

Helen Currie Foster lives and writes the Alice MacDonald Greer Mystery Series north of Dripping Springs, loosely supervised by three burros. She’s drawn to the compelling landscape and quirky characters of the Texas Hill Country. She’s also deeply curious about our human history and prehistory and how, uninvited, the past keeps crashing the party. Follow her at http://www.helencurriefoster.com.