Murder With Reservations

Author Elaine Viets is pictured above. She is a fellow crime writer and a classy lady who has had some miserable luck. Her new book is just out, and she was to moderate a panel at the Edgar's tomorrow and also be mistress of ceremonies at the Agatha awards this weekend. In spite of her youth, she had a serious stroke from which she is expected to recover, but these things take a LONG TIME. She won't be able to go on tour with her new book.

The crime writing community is a friendly, generous and compassionate group of writers, who are helping out with scheduled signings and trying to give Elaine and her writing a boost up while she is (temporarily) down. Kate Flora, another class act, likes to say that mystery writers are so friendly and nice because they get all the bad stuff out of their systems by killing off people in their fiction.

I met Elaine at an MWA meeting in Florida. She was friendly to a "new writer," which is another term for "total unknown." Her "dead end jobs" series is a well-written, light-hearted and intriguing.

Murder with Reservations: A Dead-End Job Mystery

The young couple looked like inept burglars sneaking through the lobby of Sybil’s Full Moon Hotel in Fort Lauderdale. They were both dressed in black, which made them stand out against the white marble. At their wedding two days ago, they’d been slim, golden and graceful, trailing ribbons and rose petals through the hotel. Now they moved with the awkward stiffness of amateur actors trying to look natural. The bride’s black crop top exposed a midsection sliding from sexy to sloppy fat. The groom’s black T-shirt and Bermudas failed the test for cool. They were boxy rather than baggy. He looked like a Grand Rapids priest on vacation. The honeymooners avoided the brown plastic grocery bag swinging between them, carefully ignoring it as it bumped and scraped their legs. That screamed, “Look at me.” They stashed the bag behind a potted palm while they waited for the elevator. “Red alert,” Sondra at the front desk said into her walkie-talkie. She was calling Denise, the head housekeeper. “The honeymoon couple just passed with a suspicious grocery bag. They’re getting out on the third floor.”

Elaine's friends and fellow writers are wishing her well, and helping publicize her book.

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