Fans of Roxy Parker and my Ghostwriter Mystery series will be happy to hear I have now completed the fourth book in the series and it is with my US editor as we speak. I've had many wonderful emails from fans begging for another Roxy Parker adventure, so I hope this one delivers on every scale. It's now called Dying Words and actually derives from a real-life incident that happened to me about two years ago.
A man I had met and interviewed once very briefly called out my name on his death bed. He was begging for a photo to be returned. It was a photo he had given me for a relatively dull book on Surveying that I had just completed. I had to Express Post the photo back to him before he died and it got me wondering: why did he NEED that picture back, so desperately? Was there something hidden in the picture? Some clue to a secret treasure or a cause for his death?
And so Roxy Parker gets the same desperate plea in my next book, Dying Words. In her case the man was definitely murdered and she must try to work out why he called out her name before he slipped off this mortal coil. Thus begins a very baffling adventure for the adventure-prone ghostwriter who goes on a frantic chase to locate an old missing photograph before a mysterious burglar beats her to it. This seemingly benign, black and white portrait of six people in 1975 holds the key, not only to the man's senseless murder, but to another very brutal crime that happened 37 years ago.
Along the way, we also reunite with Roxy's motley collection of mates including gutsy copper Gilda and Roxy's now-boyfriend Max (who has a secret bombshell he's about to drop!)
It's an intriguing tale and I hope you enjoy it. I certainly enjoyed writing it and it's also been great fun creating the cover with my talented Aussie designer Stu Eadie. This cover will be a little different to the last three and I'll give you all a sneak peek once I have it in my hot little hands (or should that be hot little hardrive?).
Once again, thanks to everyone for your patience and support, and I'll let you know once it's available online. In the meantime, you can catch Roxy's other adventures (or try one of my other books, The Agatha Christie Book Club or An Island Lost) at Amazon:
http://www.amazon.com/s/ref=nb_sb_noss?url=search-alias%3Dstripbooks&field-keywords=C.A.+Larmer
All feedback most welcome.
Happy reading,
Christina
Showing posts with label revenge. Show all posts
Showing posts with label revenge. Show all posts
Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Monday, November 21, 2011
The Other One (a free quick read)
HEY GUYS: Here's an example of my short fiction (with a twist) that's available for free at:
http://freequickreads.blogspot.com.au/
The Other One
by Christina Larmer
My sister has always been more beautiful than me and I don't understand why. We're identical twins. We're supposed to look the same. But for some reason, men are more attracted to Kara. Hell, everyone's more attracted to her: old women, little kids, even the dog next door gallops across, tail wagging a million miles a minute when Kara comes around. He offers me not so much as a sniff, and it bugs me. Or, at least it did until last week, when Kara turned up dead.
They say a handsome young man found her body. Of course. He alerted the police, they called in the fire brigade who in turn called in the search and rescue squad. She was hard to get to, stuck in a tree, halfway down a cliff. Just dangling there, like a dead pig in a butcher's window. For all to see.
The irony of it hit me. Kara was always eager to be seen and death did not let her down. Of course if you spent as much time on yourself as Kara did, you'd probably be noticed, too. She always knew what to wear, how to do her hair. Subtle make-up, sexy shoes. I gather she spent all she earned at that glamorous PR job on her shoes. I've got them all now, of course, but they aren't taking me where I thought they would.
I'm thrifty. A mad saver, really. And not at all into fashion or lipstick or highlights in the hair. The 'plain one', I hear them say, sympathy edging out the disdain. They don't compare themselves to her, of course. Just me. Her other half.
I'm an accountant. Wealthier, wiser, lonelier. Had a boyfriend once. Until he met her. Of course Kara would not be tempted by someone so dull, but she might as well have. He was as good as gone after that; sex occasionally, the fire extinguished from his eyes. Unless he was thinking of her. I knew when that was because he was excited, animated, fervent. Alive. That's when I would slip off midway and leave him there, dangling.
Dangling. It's a funny word, isn't it? Ugly. Humiliating. Out of control.
Kara was never normally out of the control. She spoke well, she made friends easily, she drank just enough, never put on weight. She was School Captain and University President. She had been in love, but she never fell there like the rest of us. She sauntered up instead, opening the door to it, offering it a seat. And she always left them, a few expected tears, and happiness again.
"I love being single," she told me once. "I love being on my own." I'd noticed. Apart from our nine months wedged together early in the piece, we'd never been close. I laugh at the thought of poor, beautiful Kara stuck in the slimy environs of my mother's womb, her limbs entangled with mine, unable to get away.
Last week she got away from me. For good. She was pushed from a cliff. Then she really was all alone. And now in death as she lies rotting beneath the soil, she rests all alone. Except for the constant visitors of course. Mum can't bring herself to leave Kara's grave. Has practically set up a camp site. Old boyfriends have driven miles to pay their last respects, weeping over her marble plaque, leaving perfectly healthy roses to wilt without water and die. And I watch this all from a distance, disbelieving and distraught. I'm still here, guys! The other one. Give me a second of your time, hand the flowers to me.
One man has started paying me attention, though. A policeman by the name of Jones. Talks to me a lot, asks all sorts of questions, mostly about me. He discovers that I did it. He locks me up for life and throws away the key.
It's not so lonely in here. I have a room-mate called Sharon, and she's not going anywhere.
ends:
Read my latest short story at: http://freequickreads.blogspot.com
http://freequickreads.blogspot.com.au/
The Other One
by Christina Larmer
My sister has always been more beautiful than me and I don't understand why. We're identical twins. We're supposed to look the same. But for some reason, men are more attracted to Kara. Hell, everyone's more attracted to her: old women, little kids, even the dog next door gallops across, tail wagging a million miles a minute when Kara comes around. He offers me not so much as a sniff, and it bugs me. Or, at least it did until last week, when Kara turned up dead.
They say a handsome young man found her body. Of course. He alerted the police, they called in the fire brigade who in turn called in the search and rescue squad. She was hard to get to, stuck in a tree, halfway down a cliff. Just dangling there, like a dead pig in a butcher's window. For all to see.
The irony of it hit me. Kara was always eager to be seen and death did not let her down. Of course if you spent as much time on yourself as Kara did, you'd probably be noticed, too. She always knew what to wear, how to do her hair. Subtle make-up, sexy shoes. I gather she spent all she earned at that glamorous PR job on her shoes. I've got them all now, of course, but they aren't taking me where I thought they would.
I'm thrifty. A mad saver, really. And not at all into fashion or lipstick or highlights in the hair. The 'plain one', I hear them say, sympathy edging out the disdain. They don't compare themselves to her, of course. Just me. Her other half.
I'm an accountant. Wealthier, wiser, lonelier. Had a boyfriend once. Until he met her. Of course Kara would not be tempted by someone so dull, but she might as well have. He was as good as gone after that; sex occasionally, the fire extinguished from his eyes. Unless he was thinking of her. I knew when that was because he was excited, animated, fervent. Alive. That's when I would slip off midway and leave him there, dangling.
Dangling. It's a funny word, isn't it? Ugly. Humiliating. Out of control.
Kara was never normally out of the control. She spoke well, she made friends easily, she drank just enough, never put on weight. She was School Captain and University President. She had been in love, but she never fell there like the rest of us. She sauntered up instead, opening the door to it, offering it a seat. And she always left them, a few expected tears, and happiness again.
"I love being single," she told me once. "I love being on my own." I'd noticed. Apart from our nine months wedged together early in the piece, we'd never been close. I laugh at the thought of poor, beautiful Kara stuck in the slimy environs of my mother's womb, her limbs entangled with mine, unable to get away.
Last week she got away from me. For good. She was pushed from a cliff. Then she really was all alone. And now in death as she lies rotting beneath the soil, she rests all alone. Except for the constant visitors of course. Mum can't bring herself to leave Kara's grave. Has practically set up a camp site. Old boyfriends have driven miles to pay their last respects, weeping over her marble plaque, leaving perfectly healthy roses to wilt without water and die. And I watch this all from a distance, disbelieving and distraught. I'm still here, guys! The other one. Give me a second of your time, hand the flowers to me.
One man has started paying me attention, though. A policeman by the name of Jones. Talks to me a lot, asks all sorts of questions, mostly about me. He discovers that I did it. He locks me up for life and throws away the key.
It's not so lonely in here. I have a room-mate called Sharon, and she's not going anywhere.
ends:
Read my latest short story at: http://freequickreads.blogspot.com
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