by Lorie Lewis Ham

Special coupon for Dinuba Platinum Theatre at the end of this review.

As a proud Trekkie, with each new Star Trek movie I am filled with excitement and yet concern. Will they do this cult favorite that has literally been a part of my life since birth, justice? (Star Trek and I were born in the same year). Well JJ Abrams has done it again! Into Darkness continues to breathe new life into this reboot of the Star Trek stories. It not only remains true to the original characters and world, but adds to it.

Into Darkness begins with Kirk doing what he became famous for, not following orders, as he disobeys the prime directive not only to save a dying species, but also to save Spock’s life. Just as he is about to suffer consequences for his actions, a rogue Starfleet officer, John Harrison (Benedict Cumberbatch), blows up a Starfleet archive building and attacks all of Starfleet’s top officers. Kirk is given back his command and sent to kill Harrison who has escaped onto a Klingon world. Harrison is brilliantly played by the amazing Benedict Cumberbatch. Benedict is as compelling as a super villain as he is as Sherlock.

While I’m itching to share more with you about the plot, I don’t want to spoil any surprises for you, of which there are many. I will say though that this movie is filled with great moments, many of which involve Spock and Kirk, and at one point I even cried–which I almost never do at movies. I believe JJ Abrams picked the perfect Star Trek story for the second movie and I can’t wait for the next one! If only we’d get a series out of this.

The casting continues to prove to be perfection. These characters that I have loved and shared my life with for so many years are brought back to life perfectly by Zachary Quinto, Chris Pine, Karl Urban, and all the rest of the wonderful actors. It couldn’t have been done any better had Gene Rodenberry done it himself. The chemistry between all of them is also perfect–which I feel is a vital component of the Star Trek story, especially in the original series.

Yes there are differences–partially because of the changing of history and their timeline, and partially because some of them are updated a bit–but the changes work. Uhura (Zoe Saldana) is a far more confident, capable woman than in the original TV series. You get to see more of the Uhura that was revealed in some of the movies. Yes I’ve heard people complain that her primary role is to be Spock’s love interest, but I think she’s more than that and I can’t wait to see how they continue to develop her character. You won’t hear this Uhura saying, “Captain, I’m frightened.” Instead, at one point in the movie she even gets to kick ass with the best of them. She also gets to have the dream of many a Trekkie, a relationship with Spock.

Scotty (Simon Pegg) is still funny and snarky, Chekov (Anton Yelchin) is adorable and enthusiastic, and Sulu (John Cho), who is another of my favorites, is confident and capable, showing hints of the future captain he became in the original timeline. If I had one complaint here it would be that I would have loved to see Sulu have a chance to be a little more involved in the action, however there is one scene where he has the con that is perfect! As to McCoy–Urban could be a clone of DeForest Kelley! Quinto was hand picked by Nimoy to be Spock and you can see why, and Pine is a perfect Kirk.

It has been interesting for me to see how this change in the timeline has affected the characters–but to me each change is believable and in many cases these changes have brought some of them to more mature decisions and places in their lives much earlier than in the original timeline.

This movie is filled with all the action and great character interaction that one would expect from Star Trek. Abrams has indeed done a brilliant job of bringing back to us our beloved characters and world, and at the same time introducing new fans to the wonderful world of Star Trek. Again, I can’t say enough about how PERFECT the casting is. There is not an off character among them!

Be warned, if you are a Trekkie you will laugh, smile, jump out of your seat, and cry before this movie is over. And even if you are a sci-fi fan that is new to the Star Trek world, you will love this movie! My only real complaint is that I want more–NOW!

Star Trek Into Darkness is currently playing at Dinuba Platinum Theatres 6, also in 3D. Showtimes can be found on their website. Platinum Theaters Dinuba 6 now proudly presents digital quality films in 2-D and 3-D with 5.1 Dolby digital surround sound to maximize your movie experience.

Print this coupon and enjoy a special discount for Kings River Life readers only!

Lorie Lewis Ham is our Editor-in-Chief and an enthusiastic contributor to various sections, coupling her journalism experience with her connection to the literary and entertainment worlds. Explore Lorie’s mystery writing at Mysteryrat’s Closet.

by Lorie Lewis Ham

You may or may not know about Basically Brandon–the Valley’s first late night talk show. Up until recently it could be found on CentralValleyTalk online. However, recently the show moved to TV and KRL had the chance to talk with host Brandon Delsid about this exciting move. Hopefully after this interview, if you have never watched Basically Brandon before, you will check out this fun local talk show for yourself! And if you are already a fan–be sure and catch their new episodes!

KRL: Tell us where the show is moving to and when?

Brandon: We are now being produced by a local television company called CMAC as well as by The No Talent Show, which basically means the show is going to be done on a bigger scale that will allow us to be on Comcast(channel 93) and AT&T U-Verse(channel 99) while still also being online!

Brandon and co-host Camille Gaston on new set

KRL: What time and days of the week will we be able to see the show?

Brandon:The show will air on Comcast(channel 93) and AT&T U-Verse(channel 99) at different times so follow us on Facebook or Twitter @basicallybrandn to get exact air times, however our episodes will be available at Vimeo.com at anytime to be viewed simply by typing in Basically Brandon!

KRL: How did the move come about?

Brandon: We were offered to do the show on a larger platform and as you will see that means new sets, guests, segments, shenanigans, but the same Brandon and Camille!

KRL: Will it be the same length?

Brandon:Our episodes will now be the perfect length of 30 minutes. We will incorporate all the same segments people loved like Hot Topics, wild games, sketches and of course over the top interviews with interesting and talented local personalities, actors, musicians, and more!

Photo from Friday Night's episode

KRL: Will there be changes to the show or are you just changing where it is aired?

Brandon:We like to think the show as a whole has grown, you will see our episodes are now definitely more edited and put together, but they still have the same raw quality that helped make the show lovable and entertaining! You never know what is going to happen! On our new episode featuring Fresno Bee writer, Donald Munro we have a surprise for him at the end! (this episode aired this past Friday night)

Photo from Friday night's episode with Donald Munro

KRL: Will it still involve the same cast and crew?

Brandon:Yes! We have the same on air talent and most of the same behind the scenes crew, with a few fabulous additions, who will make sure the half hour episodes are chalk full of humor, informative interviews, and things you want to see! Our new crew members and producers from The No Talent show have done a tremendous job at coming on and making sure the episodes have the same feel the original Basically Brandon episodes did!

KRL: Where will you now be filming it?

Brandon:We are now filming at Fresno State University in their Media Lab, which gives us the capability to use all of their gorgeous sets, green screens, microphones, and technology! We love our new set, which you will get to see heavily featured on our new episode!

KRL: Any idea how long your season will be?

Brandon:As of now, we don’t have a season finale planned for anytime soon but we will be sure to let you know as soon as we have one planned!

KRL: How do you feel about the move?

Brandon:I am thrilled about the move. I have had the time of my life getting to do it, as well as doing it with my friend Camille and others! The response to our new episodes has been fantastic and now the show is reaching people we never thought it could! It is such a blessing and we can’t thank King’s River Life enough for always helping promote us!

KRL: Tell us again where and when will we be able to find the show online?

Brandon:We will make sure our Facebook and twitter pages always post links to the show! However if you search for Basically Brandon on Vimeo you will have access to full episodes which you can watch at your viewing pleasure!

KRL: Does the show have a new website to go with the move?

Brandon:As of now our Facebook is still Basically Brandon on CentralValleyTalk.com however Basically Brandon will always be the name of the page so try to always search for that and it should come up! Our Twitter will stay the same: @basicallybrandn. Both of those social networks are constantly updated with giveaways, videos, and content so please follow us on them!

KRL: What are some of the things you have planned for upcoming shows?

Brandon: On our next few episodes which will be released in the coming weeks we have appearances scheduled with Mark Norwood of Reedley’s Opera House, a Psychic, tons of local actors, animals, and much much more! We have big things in store for this season that we can’t wait to show you so stay tuned!

KRL: Anything else you would like to add?

Brandon: We just want to thank everyone who has ever watched an episode of Basically Brandon, and if you haven’t it’s never too late to start! We appreciate it from the bottom of our hearts and we hope you will continue to watch us! I’ve been so pleased with the way the new episodes have come out and I can’t wait for everyone to see them! Until then please follow us on Facebook and Twitter! Yay!

Here is the link to the latest episode that aired yesterday!

KRL will also be keeping you up to date on what’s up with Basically Brandon & you learn more about how the show originally got started in a past article here in KRL!

Lorie Lewis Ham is our Editor-in-Chief and an enthusiastic contributor to various sections, coupling her journalism experience with her connection to the literary and entertainment worlds. Explore Lorie’s mystery writing at Mysteryrat’s Closet.

by Joyce Brandon

Joyce is a part of Animal Compassion Team, an animal rescue in Fresno.

Rescue is really nothing more than a mirror of life. Birth, growth and death, victory and defeat, are all a part of the cycle. If you rescue animals long enough you will experience all the different phases. It is the “Circle of Life” to use a phrase made famous by Disney’s Lion King.

Writing this article has been a challenge for me. The past few weeks have been difficult; we have dealt with a lot of death and a lot of heartache. I don’t like reading sad stories and I know you don’t either, but sometimes it is difficult to come up with uplifting material. I couldn’t seem to find a great story to tell you this month, not until my shelter visit today, that is. This story doesn’t start out very happily, but I promise you–it gets there.

She wasn’t the dog I was called down to look at; in fact, she was never pointed out to me at all. I had made the rounds checking on old friends and meeting new ones, when she caught my eye, not because she commanded attention, or because she possessed incredible beauty, but because of her trembling. From across the room I spotted a tan dog, making herself as small as possible, curling up on her little blanket. “Who is that?” I asked the Animal Control Officer.

Mama dog in van

“Oh, just another pregnant dog” he told me. My curiosity got the best of me, so I wandered over for a closer look. She didn’t even lift her head to meet my gaze. Her whole body was trembling and she looked as though she was about to burst with the puppies she was carrying. I knew I’d never be able to walk out and leave her behind.

“Her owners gave her up and even paid us to take her,” the ACO explained. How incredibly sad, I thought. Let your dog get pregnant then dump her in a shelter as she is about to give birth. The only good news with that statement is, there was no ‘stray hold’ time to serve. She could leave with me and though you already know this, leave with me is exactly what she did.

She was a nervous wreck. I didn’t have a transport crate with me so she rode loose in my van. Mostly, she hid under the seat. When we got home, I managed to get a slip lead around her neck and it is a good thing. Once out of the van, she went crazy trying to get away from me. As I was trying to get her calmed down, she let out a loud cry and dropped a puppy right there on the concrete! This was a first for me. The puppy was born “dry”. I realized then that when the ACO picked her up and I thought she urinated all over him, in fact, it was her water breaking. Thankfully, the puppy was fine, loud and angry, but strong and healthy.

New family taking much deserved rest

What a predicament! I had a crazy mama dog at the end of a leash in one hand and a new born puppy in the other; I was home alone so there was no help available. I somehow got her to calm down enough for me to pick her up and we went straight into the house where I managed to get her and the puppy into a crate in my bedroom. I was hoping that she would settle down and take care of the baby, but she showed absolutely no interest. No nurturing, no cleaning, no nothing! I was concerned, but hoped that if I left them alone her mothering instincts would kick in.

I checked on her maybe twenty minutes after I had left them in my room. I was shocked to find that another puppy had been born. This one fully encased in his watery sack and mom showed no interested in helping him to escape. I can only imagine had this puppy been born in the shelter he would have never taken his first breath. I grabbed a towel and went to work freeing him and was elated when he took his first breath. He let out a holler which was music to my ears. After cleaning him up, I offered him to mom and again she looked away with no interest whatsoever. About twenty minutes later, we repeated this scene when yet another puppy came into the world to a mom that had no desire to even look at him.

I was afraid to leave my room, afraid that if another puppy came and I wasn’t there it would lay there and die. While my goal was to give her privacy, it could mean death for any of her unborn.

I sat quietly and watched. After a while I noticed a change in her demeanor. Her stiff body relaxed and her eyes once distant, connected with mine. I spoke quietly to her, assuring her she was safe and that we meant her no harm. She let out a big sigh and turned her attention to the puppies. I watched her nudge them, then very slowly her tongue came out and just touched one pup. As if centuries of instinct suddenly kicked in, she began cleaning each pup with great care. I sat and watched quietly, feeling blessed to be a part of such a special moment.

It has been a few hours now since the birth of her third puppy and I think she may be done, but I am still checking them regularly. I kind of think though, that if another pup is born she will know what to do. I haven’t even had time to name her so suggestions would be great!

In Loving Memory of Dakota

Check out more animal rescue stories in our Pet Perspective section. Advertise in KRL and 10% of your advertising fees can go to ACT.

Joyce Brandon is co-founder of Animal Compassion Team, has lived in Squaw Valley for 21 years and has always had lots of four legged friends sharing her mountain home along with her husband Jim, and five children. Joyce works part time for Mountain Valley Community Church and splits the rest of her time between family and animal rescue work. Joyce believes animal rescue is a mission field God has called her to and has given her a passion for.

by Alicia Lieu

There are some fun bacon recipes to try at the end of this article!

Bacon Rugs

Baconery Cafe in New York offers not just bacon in any cut you could wish for but also sweet and savory baked goods, and serves Bacon Mac N’ Cheese for dinner. Word on the street is that Wesley Klein’s (a former manager at Best Buy and the genius behind Baconery) favorite thing on the menu is the Chocolate Peanut Butter Bacon cookie. The combination of sweet and savory fuels his passion for offering baked goods with bacon. As if two incredible flavors weren’t enough, Wesley successfully combines sweet, salty, and bacon in exactly the right ratio.

Every time you ask someone if they have heard of Baconery, people are astounded by the concept and ask how they have not heard of it before. Located on Columbus Ave and 104th street, the place is average size by New York standards, tiny by suburban standards. The kitchen is in the back and there is seating in the front. The atmosphere has been bacon-ized as well. Bacon adorns the walls, the floor, the cushions. There is even a shelf full of bacon themed goods for sale.

Baconery Walls

Wesley was busy preparing a special celebration for Baconery’s two year anniversary. He has good reason to celebrate. Baconery has received a good deal of press from The New York Times, NBC, Fox, and others. I had the privilege of speaking with Stephanie Aiuto, Baconery’s Director of Social Media Marketing, who gave me this tip: the only right way to cook bacon is in a 400 degree oven for 10-15 minutes. Using a skillet is a waste of bacon.

Bacon Brownie

Upon Stephanie’s recommendation, I ordered through Seamless for a pick-up. I had the chocolate covered bacon, bacon brownie, the Wilbur Sandwich (a BLT with avocado, easy on the mayo) and stashed away the bacon croissant for breakfast the next day. I brought these back to the office and people were astonished and intrigued. And pleasantly surprised by the deliciousness after trying to decide if it would be tasty or not. It’s worth a trip out to Baconery if you just try the chocolate covered bacon. But trust me, you’ll want to try more than that. You can order these goodies online at Baconery.com. The Baconery is celebrating its two year anniversary and hopefully will not be just a trend but have some staying power.

Wilbur Sandwich

The following Candied Bacon recipe would be a great pairing with a Bloody Mary or a martini. These seem to be trending nowadays. I was introduced to Clams Casino by a friend during a beach outing in Long Island. Even though Wesley Klein proved that bacon can work with anything, Clams Casino has to be one of my favorite uses for bacon.

Candied Bacon
Ingredients:
1 C brown sugar
1.5 pounds uncooked bacon
Directions:
1. Prepare a jelly roll pan with wire cooling racks covered in cooking spray. Preheat the oven to 425 degrees.
2. Coat each slice of bacon with brown sugar.
3. Bake for 15 to so minutes until the bacon caramelizes.

Clams Casino
Ingredients:
18 Little Neck clams, steamed 5 minutes, then cooled
3 strips bacon, cooked 10-15 minutes in a 400 degree oven
reserved bacon drippings
3 cloves garlic, minced
3 tablespoons red bell pepper, diced
1/3 cup plain breadcrumbs
1 tablespoon Parmesan cheese, grated
salt and black pepper
2 tablespoons chopped parsley
lemon wedges for serving
Directions:
1. Remove clams from shells and place each one on a half shell.
2. Sauté bell pepper and bacon drippings. Add garlic and continue sautéing for one more minute. Remove from heat and add breadcrumbs, Parmesan cheese, salt and pepper to taste.
3. Place clams in a large baking dish lined with foil. Divide the breadcrumb mixture evenly over clams and top with bacon.
4. Broil clams until the top mixture becomes crispy.
5. Sprinkle with fresh chopped parsley and serve with lemon wedges on the side.

Check back every month for Alicia’s next food column & check out past columns in our Food Fun section. You can follow Alicia on Twitter @AliciaJLieu.

Alicia Lieu grew up in Cupertino, California. She has Master’s Degree in Music Composition from the San Francisco Conservatory of Music and Bachelor of Art from UC Santa Barbara. A New Yorker with the heart of a Californian, she currently resides in Queens, NY and blogs about food in Jackson Heights.

by Cynthia Chow

This week we have a review of the new Daniel Rinaldi mystery by Dennis Palumbo, as well as a giveaway of the book-details at the end of this post.

Also at the end of this post is a link to purchase a copy of the book from Mysterious Galaxy if you can’t be at the signing. If you order before the event you can ask for a signed copy.

Night Terrors: A Daniel Rinaldi Mystery By Dennis Palumbo

Review by Cynthia Chow

Maybe Freud had it right. It’s all about the mothers. In Dennis Palumbo’s third mystery featuring Pittsburgh psychologist Daniel Rinaldi, the acerbic but still hopeful PSTD specialist finds himself enlisted in two cases, due to his reputation and featured presence in the media stemming from several recent brutal events. After Wesley Currim confesses to the robbery and murder of the missing businessman, Edward Meachem, Currim agrees to reveal the location of the body only if Rinaldi, the psychologist Currim has seen on television, accompanies them to West Virginia to deal with his “trauma.”

What they find is a grotesque sight; a snowman, topped not by a snowball, but by Ed Meachem’s severed head. This would be a gruesome case quickly closed and best forgotten were it not from a plea from Currim’s mother, claiming that she has proof of his innocence and begging Rinaldi to help her secure his release, and uncover why Wes would have falsely confessed to murder.

Even as Rinaldi struggles to separate himself from that case he is unwillingly drawn into a rampage of revenge being carried out by the “Biggest Fan” of a serial killer. After John Jessup was beaten to death by a guard during a prison riot, the guard responsible for the beating, as well as the judge who sentenced Jessup, was shot to death in what is not believed to be a coincidence.

The FBI have placed the profiler responsible for helping catch Jessup, John Barnes, in protective custody, but his uncontrollable fits of “Night Terrors” have them calling Rinaldi for help. A man who has seen far too much of the most horrifying of cruelties people can inflict upon on another, since his retirement and especially since Jessup’s death, Barnes has been experiencing nightmares so terrifying that the agents guarding him are unsettled. Particularly difficult in treating night terrors is that, despite the alarming screams and nightmares, those who suffer from them are often unable to remember anything about their dreams.

However, before Rinaldi and Barnes can do much exploration into this fascinating realm of night terrors, Barnes escapes from protective custody and unfortunately places himself on the very short list of suspects. Rinaldi’s sense of obligation and admiration for the profiler have him unable to give up pursuing the man’s trail, despite the FBI’s adamant declarations that the psychologist’s services are no longer needed. Rinaldi is immersed in two investigations that cross numerous police departments and where the killer is always two steps ahead, with too much insight into the law enforcements’ activities.

As a clinical psychologist, Rinaldi treats patients who have been traumatized by violence and face the difficulties of coping with the resulting fear, helplessness, shame, and survivor’s guilt. These are symptoms Rinaldi is well acquainted with, as having been an amateur boxer he still feels that he should have been able to protect his wife from a mugger’s the fatal gunshot. Rinaldi eventually pulled himself out of his depression and trauma by devoting himself to helping others suffering from the same fate, and led to his becoming a consultant for the Pittsburgh police. Although Rinaldi still mourns for his wife he has begun a very tentative relationship with Detective Eleanor Lowrey, a beautiful African-American woman, whose obligation to her family is as much as obstacle as their professional alliance.

The action never stops in this psychological thriller, populated by well-described, elaborate personalities with even more complicated motives. What the author ably crafts characters so realistic, that the reader truly feels invested in their fates and mourns those who are victimized. The brutality of the violence is always balanced by the wit and humor of Rinaldi’s narrative, making this a thoroughly enjoyable read with a very complicated plot and just as satisfying conclusion.

Link to purchase Night Terrors from Mysterious Galaxy:

Night Terrors: A Daniel Rinaldi Mystery

To enter to win a copy of Night Terrors, simply email KRL at life@kingsriverlife[dot]com by replacing the [dot] with a period, with the subject line “Night”, or comment on this article. A winner will be chosen May 25, 2013. U.S. residents only.

Check out other mystery articles, reviews, book giveaways & short stories (including Dennis’ Smart Guys mysteries) in our mystery section.

Cynthia Chow is the branch manager of Kaneohe Public Library on the island of Oahu. She balances a librarian lifestyle of cardigans and hair buns with a passion for motorcycle riding and regrettable tattoos (sorry, Mom).

by D.J. Reimer

My final prom took place on April 27 at the Grand Hotel in Fresno. This years’ prom saw one of the greatest ticket sales in RHS history (over 500). The theme was Lucky 13 and the luxurious hotel was decorated with red and black and included a comfortable upstairs region with poker tables and photographs. The dance floor was crowded, exactly as it should be! I was nominated for prom king and I was crowned king alongside my close friend Avery Perez! We danced a lovely dance serenaded by Joseph Ham singing a Sinatra song, and the 500 plus students seemed completely satisfied. Mission accomplished.

DJ and friends just before prom

But, even though I have no motivation whatsoever to do anything, there is still much to do before graduation. One of them, spring week, will take place May 20-24. This week of festivities will include dress up days, activities, food booths, the annual Powderpuff football game, and end with our traditional car show. Monday will be “Work out” day where students will dress up in work out attire, sweat bands, etc. and the activity at lunch will include a Zumba lesson. Tuesday is hippie day and will involve students from all corners of campus in a cardboard box race around campus (in 90+ degree heat). Wednesday is Patriotic day and will include a flag ceremony at break by our very own NJROTC. Thursday is Opposite Day…..pretty self explanatory, and will feature a tug of war with the female powder puff football players and a sneak peak of the powder puff cheerleaders. Wednesday and Thursday will have food booths provided by In-n-Out burger. Friday is just general Spirit day that will include the car show at lunch.

DJ Reimer

Following that will be the Spring choir concert on May 29 at 7 in the PAT. It will feature music by Disney, Coldplay, Bon Jovi, and more! The week after that is finals week, which also contains Grad night at Disneyland (bring on the Red Bull) and the Senior picnic on June 5. And then of course the big day–graduation–on June 14.

This year is coming to an end. The roles of ASB President, Yearbook Editor, and writer have tested me and have beyond prepared me for life after high school. It’s more sweet than bitter, but bittersweet nonetheless. It has been a long journey of my life that I am prepared to leave. It is not an end but merely a new beginning. I cannot wait to see what wonderful journeys on which life takes me.

Watch for a graduation day report from DJ next month!

Follow RHS ASB on their Twitter @RHS_ASB, and like them on their Facebook page.

D.J. Reimer has lived all of his life in Reedley and is a senior at Reedley High School where he serves as President of the Associated Study Body & Editor in Chief of the Yearbook. He is also very active in student clubs, choir, and drama at Reedley High School. After graduating, he intends to pursue either international business or political science and improve the world in which he lives.

by Lee Juslin

When Shiloh decided to get a dog, her first dog, she took all the right steps. She went to a breeder with a reputation in the breed and selected a puppy. When the puppy seemed to have recurring tummy problems, she immediately took him to a vet. And, when that vet couldn’t diagnose the problem to her satisfaction, she went to another vet. It took several vet visits before she found one who could get to the bottom of the problem. Duke, her Rottweiler puppy, her first dog ever, had Irritable Bowel Syndrome and an undersized liver, conditions the vet told her were inherited.

Duke in therapy vest

Shiloh immediately attempted to contact the breeder to explain Duke’s situation. She wanted to urge her to take steps like not continuing to breed the two dogs that had produced Duke and to contact owners of other puppies in Duke’s litter. She received no response.

Although the vet bills were beginning to grow beyond what Shiloh had expected for her puppy, she was determined to do her best for Duke. Since there was no dog food available for both his IBS and his liver problems, Shiloh made his food for him with an almost completely vegan diet needed for his two conditions and went to the vet with him weekly for various treatments.

Through all his problems and pain, Duke proved to be a very sweet-natured dog who loved people and only wanted love and attention in return. So, Shiloh, having read and heard about therapy dogs, decided this might be something for Duke. Despite his discomfort, or maybe because of it, Shiloh knew Duke had something special to offer to people who were also in pain, and therapy visits would give Duke just enough exercise and plenty of people to give him the attention he loved.

Duke at Halloween

Because most dog trainers used treats in their training programs and Duke was on a very restricted diet, Shiloh undertook the training herself. She downloaded the requirements to get Duke certified, and they worked faithfully to achieve the necessary obedience levels. Duke was an eager student and in no time he was ready to become a therapy dog. “I had heard about Love on a Leash,” said Shiloh, “so that was the group I wanted us to join.”

Duke did well in his ten required supervised visits and soon he and Shiloh were a full-fledged therapy team and doing several visits per week. “We visited at the VA Hospital, a Paws to Read program at our local library, and Duke’s personal favorite, The Arc, a center for adults with mental handicaps. Everywhere Duke went his gentleness and happy personality won him friends.” Sometimes Duke would encounter resistance just because he was a Rottweiler, a breed that is often dismissed as aggressive. On one occasion he and Shiloh were visiting at the VA. “We approached a patient and he said that he didn’t like Rottweilers. I said okay, sat down nearby, and began talking to him with Duke lying calmly on the floor. Soon, without even realizing it, the man began patting Duke.”

At the vet clinic where Duke had become a favorite, there was one tech who was afraid of him and would run out of the room when Duke came in. However, one day she was assisting the vet and when Duke entered the room, she had no choice but to stay. Within only a few minutes, she fell under Duke’s spell and became yet another one of his many fans. “Duke was always at ease in the vet’s office. He didn’t care if you were giving him a shot. It was attention, and that’s what he wanted.”

Duke loved his therapy visits and even when he was not feeling well, he was eager to go. Because of his health problems, Duke was thin and sometimes patients they were visiting would ask Shiloh why Duke seemed underweight. “In those cases I would explain about his health problems.” One day a paralyzed vet at the VA asked Shiloh about Duke and after she explained why he was thin, the man leaned down, cradled Duke’s head and said, “I’m sick, too. We can be sick together.” Then he looked at Shiloh and said, “I hope you will keep coming to visit.”

On another visit, when Shiloh and Duke were part of a group of visiting therapy dogs, a patient was asked if he’d like to see the therapy dogs. “I guess not,” he said. “I’m blind.” Immediately he was asked if he’d like to touch the dogs. The patient smiled and said he would very much like to. Duke stood beside the man who then patted him and explored Duke’s body with his hands. “Oh, he’s so beautiful,” he told Shiloh.

Duke and friends

Finally, Duke’s medical problems proved to be too much and at just over two years old, the vet told Shiloh that Duke was terminal. “I was determined his last months would be happy ones and since he loved people and loved his therapy visits, that’s what we concentrated on.” Then, on New Year’s Eve and just shy of his third birthday, Duke crossed the Rainbow Bridge. But, his send off was special. At the vet’s office the doctors and staff came in to say good-bye; even staff members who were not working that day came in to give Duke a last cuddle and pat. Amidst that outpouring of love, the most memorable and encouraging part came from Dr. Martin, Duke’s beloved vet, who told Shiloh, “I think you know how special Duke is, but you don’t really know how special he was to so many other people.”

“Although caring for Duke, doing our therapy visits three times per week, and maintaining a full time job with the sheriff’s department was a struggle, I wouldn’t have missed it. Every time we finished a visit, I always took away something special.”

Today, while Shiloh is not ready for another dog, she has an arrangement with her brother who has a German Shepherd that is retired from the sheriff’s department. “He really was a bit too sweet natured for police work,” Shiloh said, “so I am training him for therapy work. He will live with my brother’s family, but I’ll be able to continue in pet therapy and have the time I need to recover emotionally and financially.”

You can find more animal rescue, therapy dog, and other pet related articles in our pet section.

Want to know how to see your ad like this at the end of an article? Email KRL at life@kingsriverlife[dot]com by replacing the [dot] for more info. 10% of all ad sales goes to animal rescue.

Lee Juslin is a free lance copywriter living in North Carolina with her husband, Scott, and her band of misfits: Tarquin, a Wheaten Scottish Terrier, and three handicapped cats. They can be seen on their website: Hampshire Hooligans. She owns I B Dog Gone, a small embroidery business and is the author of the Nurse Frosty books for children and Frosty’s Story: Tales of a Therapy Dog. She supports a number of national and regional terrier rescue organizations.

by Dennis Palumbo

This is the fifth story in the Smart Guys mystery series written by Dennis Palumbo. There are nine Smart Guys mysteries–watch for more here in KRL in the future and check out the first one, The Smart Guys Marching Society, the second, the third Mayhem In Mayberry, and the fourth one, right here in KRL.

“Do any of you guys believe in ghosts?” Fred asked, nursing his second Jack Daniels on the rocks. He stood at the small wet-bar in a corner of my game room.

“Define your terms,” Mark said. “You mean actual ghosts? Apparitions of the dead that haunt the living? Like Casper. Or Keith Richards?”

Fred just shook his head. Cretins.

“There’s also Ibsen’s play, Ghosts,” Bill said cheerily. “I did three weeks in Chicago in that sucker. Got huge laughs, too. Unintentional, but huge.”

Irritated, Fred turned to me. “A little help?”

“Are we talking about the after-life, something like that?”

Fred came over and took a seat on the couch. He looked somberly at the drink in his hand. “I’m talking about the dead, living on as ghosts. Spirits.”

I was struck by both his earnest tone, and the fact that our upright, cool-headed representative of the legal profession had, within minutes of arriving for our weekly Smart Guys meeting, gone straight for the hard liquor.

Meanwhile, Mark had made himself comfortable on my new Laz-E-Boy, showing us the bottoms of his scuffed Florsheims. “I read that somebody asked Samuel Beckett what he thought the after-life would be like. He said, ‘We’ll just sit around talking about the good old days, when we wished we were dead.’”

Bill laughed and spread eggplant appetizer on a sesame cracker. He’d done a deli run before showing up for this afternoon’s meeting, and had chosen a slightly more exotic mix of snacks than our usual fare. I myself was on my second crab wonton with apricot glaze. Not bad.

Isaac came in from the kitchen then, noting the sizeable buffet spread out on the coffee table. “My compliments, Bill,” he said, settling into his familiar corner armchair. He balanced a mug of Darjeeling tea on his knee. “We needed some culinary variety.”

“My pleasure,” Bill said. “That’ll be eighteen-fifty from each of you guys.”

“Do you take checks?” Mark asked.

“With two forms of ID and valid driver’s license,” Bill answered. “Can’t be too careful nowadays.” For some reason, Fred wasn’t amused by this dazzling display of wit. He just sat back on my couch, stroked his trim beard in a slow, deliberate manner, and looked off.

It was a typical late-spring Sunday afternoon in the San Fernando Valley, which means it was untypically cool and overcast. The TV weather people call it “June gloom,” a time when the marine layer gets trapped by competing air pressure fronts (or something), and we get a few weeks of damp fog worthy of Victorian London–before shifting into the glaring sun and 100-plus degree temperatures of summer in Los Angeles. Anyway, given the high-end chow arrayed before us, we did more eating than talking for the next half-hour, though a few topical items did slip briefly into and out of the conversation–mostly politics or the latest celebrity divorce circus–garden-variety stuff. Somehow, finally, we ended up debating the cultural ramifications of Internet dating–admittedly a dicey topic for a bunch of middle-aged, married guys–though it was clear that Fred’s mind was still elsewhere.

Not that the rest of us were firing on our usual eight cylinders, either. Maybe it was the weather. In fact, Isaac had actually started to doze, his empty mug resting on the side table next to a well-thumbed collection of Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple stories. For a few moments, we just found ourselves listening to his gentle, oddly comforting snore, at which point, Fred abruptly got to his feet. “Look, guys, I’m gonna have to cut it short today. I’m meeting my mother and uncle in a few minutes.”

“C’mon, man,” I said. “Obviously you have something on your mind. Want to talk about it?”

Fred considered this. “No. Well, yeah…but I sort of don’t know how. It’s personal.”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” said Bill. “They got pills for that now. Not that I’ve ever needed ‘em, but–”

Fred wisely ignored him. “It’s just that it involves my family,” he said, after a pause. “We’re all kind of shook up about it.”

“Anything we can help you with?”

“Maybe. Hell, I suppose that’s not a bad idea,” Fred gave a rueful grin, “as long as you all promise not to think my whole family’s nuts.”

“Don’t worry,” Bill said, “we take that as a given. They raised your tight ass, didn’t they?”

“Cool it, Bill.” Mark took off his glasses and looked at Fred. “You said you were meeting your mother and your uncle. Why not bring ‘em here?”

“Bring my family to a Smart Guys meeting?”

“Why not?” I said. “It wouldn’t be the first time we had guests.”

“We’re talking about my mother here,” Fred said.

Bill shrugged. “So we’ll watch our language.”

After a moment, Fred nodded. “Okay, I’ll call and ask them to come over.”

Mark stirred. “What’s this all about, anyway? I mean, can you give us a hint?”

“I’ll do better than that,” Fred answered. “How about a visual aid?”

With that, he took something out of his jacket pocket and tossed it to Mark.

“It’s a train whistle,” Fred explained. “It belonged to my grandfather, my mother’s father. He was a stationmaster for the Union Pacific. He died last week.”

“I’m sorry, Fred,” Mark said, “my condolences.”

“Mine, too,” I said. “But why didn’t you mention it?”

“You know me. I don’t like to talk much about personal things. I guess I have a lawyer’s reticence.”

Bill gave a cough. “Look, man, I was just messing with you before…I didn’t realize–”

“Hey, I know. Don’t worry about it.” Then Fred’s face softened. “He was a great guy, my Grandpa Joe. When I was a kid, he’d sit me on his knee and tell me amazing stories about his days on the railroad. Soon after he retired, he gave me his train whistle. He’d used that old thing for over twenty-five years, and he knew I’d always loved it.”

“And you’ve kept it ever since?” I said.

He nodded. “Every day, in one pocket or another. I guess I’ve always felt it brought me luck.”

“Funny,” Mark said, “you never struck me as the sentimental type.”

Fred smiled. “You never knew my grandfather.” With that, he went outside for some privacy to call his family. Meanwhile, we handed the old, brass whistle around.

When it reached Bill, he put it to his lips and blew. “My God!” Mark winced, but it was too late. The whistle made a sharp, high, one-note sound, instantly familiar from dozens of old movies featuring elegant train platforms and huge steam locomotives. As the sound faded, the silence in its wake was tinged with a sense of…well, I can only call it melancholy.

“See, I blew it the right way,” Bill was saying, rolling the whistle between his fingers. “None of that tweet-tweet crap. One nice long note, like in Murder on the Orient Express. Man, now there was a train!”

“Give me that!” Mark snatched it from Bill’s hand.

“Sure does remind you of the past,” I said, “when travel was more adventurous. Exciting.”

Isaac made a kind of chortling noise, eyes still closed. “Believe me, train travel had as many negatives as positives. Smoke, soot, cramped conditions. Not to mention the way the porters and baggage-handlers were treated.” He shifted in his seat, as though to rouse himself awake again. “It’s funny. You young people are always so quick to romanticize the world before you were born.”

Bill smiled. “See, that’s why I love having Isaac around. To him, we’re still young.”

As Isaac blinked awake, Mark handed him the whistle. Isaac was studying it appreciatively when Fred came back into the room. “They’re on their way,” he said. “They agree that running the story by some impartial listeners might help.” He sat down and reached for his whiskey glass. He drained it in a gulp.

“Take it easy, man,” Mark said.

“You do realize you’re self-medicating,” I told Fred, feeling a bit lame as I did so.

“Damn right I am,” he replied. “What would you do if your dead grandfather’s ghost suddenly showed up?”

A half hour later, Fred was making introductions. “Guys, this is my mother, Missus–”

“Just call me Ruthie,” his mother said. “No need to be formal at a time like this.”

I liked Fred’s mother instantly. She looked to be in her mid-70s, small and thick-waisted, with a cloud of white hair that seemed lacquered in place. Her clothes were appropriately dark and somber, and her face was etched with the tracks of recent–and frequent–tears, but her smile was warm and friendly. Her companion was a taller, more distinguished-looking man, perhaps a few years her junior. He had a broad, intelligent face and the firm handshake of someone confident about his effect on people. He seemed okay, too.

“This is my uncle,” Fred said. “My Mom’s brother, R. David Hastings. We all just call him Uncle Dave.”

His uncle laughed. “When your first name’s Rutherford, being called anything else is a blessing. Our parents had a strange sense of humor when it came to naming their kids. It’s the only thing I ever held against them.” Uncle Dave gave me a knowing look. “Ought to be a nice change for you, eh? My nephew here says you’re a therapist. I was a city planner, so I know what it’s like to listen to people complain all day long–though usually it was about their streets, not their parents. Thank God.”

Before I could reply, Fred’s mother spoke up. “Our father was a great man, in his simple way. Gentle and wise, with such a clear view of right and wrong. Unshakeable.” She smiled. “So naturally, when I brought home a rascal like Freddie’s father–”

“Mom, please,” Fred said. “And Dad wasn’t a rascal.”

Ruthie’s eyes suddenly held a playful glint. “In all the ways that made me happy, he sure as hell was…”

Fred groaned. “Okay, Mom. T-M-I. Too Much Information. Man, I knew I was gonna regret this.”

Bill laughed. “Hey, let your mother talk…Freddie.”

Fred gave him what can only be described as a death stare, but Bill just ignored him and offered Ruthie a seat. I did the same for Uncle Dave. I also offered him something substantial to drink, but he shook his head. “Never touch the stuff,” he said.

As Uncle Dave found a place on the couch, he nodded at Isaac. “I must say, it’s nice to see another man my age in the room. I don’t have to feel like such an old fart.”

“Happy to oblige.” Isaac lifted his empty cup. “I just had a cup of tea. I could make you some, if you like.”

“No, thanks. I’m strictly a coffee man, my only vice, sorry to say.” Then, just as quickly, the hearty mood he’d seemed bent on maintaining faded. His shoulders slumped a little. “First of all,” he said quietly, “thanks for making us feel so welcome. Truthfully, though, I’m not exactly sure how you fellas can help. But Freddie says you’ve sorted out problems for people before and at this point…” He looked down at his hands, as though he expected to find them shaking. “At this point, I’ll take whatever advice I can get.”

Ruthie sniffed loudly. “I gave you my advice, Dave. We should hire a good medium. Someone who could help us…” Here she hesitated. “Well, I mean, if it was Daddy…”

Fred shook his head. “Mom, that’s impossible and you know it.”

“Do I? You know I’ve felt his presence since the day after he passed on. Remember, I’m the one who’s been in the old house, sorting things. I’m the one who…”

She sniffed again, and reached into her purse for a handkerchief. “I’m just saying…I felt him there. Felt him watching me.”

Uncle Dave frowned. “But you said yourself, you’d sat down to rest and dozed off. Maybe you just…dreamed it. You’ve–we’ve–all been so upset since Dad died, it’s no wonder you imagined seeing him…”

“Then how do you explain what you saw last night? And what we all heard. How do you explain that?”

Her brother sighed heavily. “I–I can’t.”

Fred offered his mother a glass of white wine and sat near her on a chair. “Mom, I think it would help if we went over the whole thing again…from the beginning.”

“Good idea,” Mark agreed.

Fred turned to the rest of us. “My grandparents lived in the same old house for fifty years. Even when Grandma Rose died ten years ago, Grandpa Joe refused to move.”

“And God knows we tried,” Ruthie said. “We asked him to move in with Freddie’s father and me, but Dad wouldn’t hear of it. When we suggested a retirement home–and believe me, we found a really nice place–he just blew up. It was one of the few times I’d ever seen him angry.”

Uncle Dave grinned. “And you should see that old dump. Frankly, calling it a ‘fixer-upper’ is an insult to fixer-uppers. Needs new wiring, plumbing; the works. But Dad was determined to stay. He wanted to leave it to one of his children, as a legacy of sorts. The problem was–” He and Ruthie exchanged a guilty look.

“The problem was,” Ruthie finished for him, “neither Dave nor I wanted it. Still don’t.”

She sighed heavily. “Poor Dad. He always said he wanted to die in that house and not in some big hospital, with strange doctors and nurses. He didn’t get his wish.”

Uncle Dave quietly took her hand.

After a thick moment of silence, Fred continued. “Anyway, a few days after Grandpa Joe died, we heard from Walter Hicks, our family lawyer. He needed to meet with Mom, Uncle Dave and me in his office right away. When we got there, Walter had some files on his desk. He told us

Grandpa Joe called him to his hospital bed only days before his death. He told Walter that he’d made a new Will, written by hand, and that he’d put it in the wall safe in the old house.”

“A new Will?” Mark said.

Fred nodded. “Walter argued with him, of course and insisted that this new will should have been drawn up with his help, as was the old one. But apparently, Grandpa just laughed and accused Walter of implying that he wasn’t of sound mind, but Walter knew damn well he was. Plus, Grandpa Joe said he’d had the new Will witnessed by his gardener before putting it in the wall safe, so it was a legal last Will and Testament.

“Anyway, Grandpa Joe was the only one who had the combination to the safe, which he wrote out then and there in the hospital and gave to Walter for his files. Then Grandpa instructed Walter to gather the three of us together in the old house exactly one week after his death, which would make it Saturday–yesterday. Then Walter was to open the safe and read the contents of this new Will.”

“As you can imagine,” Uncle Dave said, “this came as a shock to all of us. So much so that poor Ruthie fainted, right there in Walter’s office.”

Ruthie clucked her tongue. “There’s no need to tell them that, Dave. Honestly, sometimes…”

“Well, Mom, it’s true,” Fred said. He turned back to the rest of us. “Mom got dizzy, so I helped her to the sofa in the adjoining room, while Walter ran to get some water.”

“Such a fuss,” Ruthie said, scowling.

“We were worried about you, dear,” Uncle Dave said.

“We were more worried the next day,” Fred went on, “when Mom went to the old house alone to start sorting through Dad’s stuff.”

“I know what I saw,” she said stiffly, “and I wasn’t dreaming.”

She looked past her brother and son to find Isaac’s kind face. “Let me see, we went to Walter’s office on Wednesday, so the next day was Thursday. I wanted to get started on some of Dad’s things in the old house, personal items that would mean something to his family. Trust me,

I know how relatives can be after a loved one dies. Who gets the embroidered tablecloth? Who gets Dad’s old tea kettle? Who gets my mother’s French silverware? Just stupid things, I know, but they’re keepsakes. Mementos of my mother and father’s life together.”

“We understand,” I said.

“Anyway, after an hour of sorting and wrapping, I got kind of tired. So I went into the living room, where it was dark, and sat down on Dad’s faded old armchair to rest.”

Her jaw set then, as though in anticipation of our reaction. “And, yes, I guess I was nodding off a bit…it was kind of gloomy in there, like I said, with the curtains drawn and everything, but I swear I saw, out of the corner of my eye…it was Dad, alive! But sort of…faded. He was just…drifting…past the doorway, in the hall…”

“Wow,” Bill said quietly.

“Then I–I forced myself all the way awake and tried to get to my feet, but I get dizzy nowadays when I stand up too quickly, and…” She sat back on the couch. “Well, as you can probably guess, by the time I got to the hallway, Dad was gone. There was no sign of anyone.”

Ruthie took a gulp of wine. “So if Freddie and Dave and the rest of you want to say I’m a crazy old lady, or that I dreamed the whole thing up, then fine. Think what you want, but I didn’t just see Dad…I felt him. I’m telling you, his presence is still in that house.” She turned to her brother. “And after what happened last night, I don’t know how you can say otherwise.”

“What happened last night?” Mark asked.

Uncle Dave looked abashed. “Well, here’s the funny part. I mean, I know it isn’t possible…it can’t be…but I’m afraid I saw the old man myself last night. I saw my father in the hallway. His…ghost, I suppose.”

It was then that I first noticed the misting rain outside the game room windows. Pushed by a late afternoon wind, rivulets of moisture dappled the glass and gently shook the magnolia trees in my backyard, plus, I swear the temperature dropped ten degrees in the room.

“Just what we need,” Bill said. “Atmosphere.”

Uncle Dave smiled weakly. “At times like this, I wish I were a drinking man.”

“Can we get back to last night?” Mark said sharply.

Fred took a breath. “Well, as arranged with Walter, we all planned to meet at Grandpa Joe’s place at eight. I picked up Mom, and Walter and Uncle Dave each drove there separately. Uncle Dave arrived first. Mom and I saw him knocking on the front door of the house as we drove up…”

“I’d just gotten there,” Uncle Dave said, “but I realized I’d misplaced my key. Anyway, I thought maybe somebody else had already arrived–Walter, perhaps–so I tried knocking. Finally, Fred and Ruthie pulled up.”

“Both Mom and I had our keys,” Fred continued, “but we decided to wait on the front porch for Walter. He showed up a few minutes later, so we all went in together. It was pretty creepy in there, I have to admit. Nobody’d lived there since Grandpa had been taken to the hospital six weeks ago. Not that he’d exactly been Martha Stewart before that. Dust, cobwebs in every corner, old furniture, gas stove. Tell them, Mom.”

Ruthie nodded. “It was just Dad’s way. Never fussed over domestic things, especially since Mom died…” She ‘teared up,’ and dabbed her eyes again. “It used to break my heart, the thought of him rambling around that dilapidated house all by himself these past few years.”

“Anyway,” Fred said, “we flipped on some lights and went down the hallway to the living room. The hallway goes right down the middle of the first floor, opening onto the kitchen, linen closet and guest bath, so we had to walk past all these open doors to reach the living room. At the back wall, behind a standing lamp that I think is a Tiffany knock-off was the wall safe.”

“Did the family know about this safe?” I asked.

“Oh, yes,” said Ruthie. “Dad had it put in years ago for his important papers, Mom’s few good pieces of jewelry–that kind of thing.”

“I’m surprised Walter Hicks didn’t suggest a safe deposit box,” Mark said.

“He did,” Fred answered. “So did I. But Grandpa Joe didn’t trust banks much. He’d lived through the Depression, after all. Hell, it took years to convince him to keep a checking and savings account.”

“Anything strange about the place that struck you at the time?” I asked him.

“No, I don’t think so. Some of the lamps had burned-out bulbs, but the overheads worked fine.”

“I probably should have changed those bulbs when I was there Thursday,” Ruthie admitted, “but I was so busy just sorting things out. Or at least, I thought I’d been busy. When we went down the hallway last night, I glanced into the kitchen and noticed that some of the cooking things I thought I’d wrapped were still out.”

Fred gave her a warm smile. “Mom, that just means you were more exhausted and stressed-out than you realized. It was so soon after Grandpa Joe’s death.”

“We told her all that wrapping and organizing could wait till later,” Uncle Dave said, gently touching her shoulder, “but my sister has a mind of her own.”

Ruthie folded her thin arms. “Well, I can’t help that. All us Hastings women are strong-willed, you know.”

Bill cleared his throat impatiently.

Fred took the hint and went on: “As I was saying, we all assembled in the living room. Walter took out the combination from some files he brought along and opened the wall safe. Inside was all the stuff Mom mentioned, plus a single business envelope with the words ‘My new Will’ written in ink on the front. We all recognized Grandpa Joe’s handwriting immediately. Anyway, Walter was just about to open the envelope when–”

“When suddenly all the lights went out!” Ruth’s voice was like a gasp. “The whole house–plunged into darkness!”

“You’re kidding,” I said.

“Mom’s being a bit melodramatic,” Fred said. “The power went out and it was pretty dark, all right, but some ambient light from outside still came through the windows.”

“Dark is dark,” Ruthie said. “What would you call it, Mr. Yale Law School?”

“Exceedingly dim,” Fred replied. “I just figured there had been some power outage in the neighborhood. Or maybe–” He hesitated, looking from his mother to his uncle, then back at the rest of us. “But then,” he went on quietly, “not thirty seconds after the lights went out, we heard it.”

“Heard what?” Bill said.

“Grandpa Joe’s whistle. His train whistle–from somewhere down the hall.”

“What?” Mark sat upright in the Laz-E-Boy.

“No way,” said Bill, wide-eyed.

“We all heard it,” Uncle Dave said. “Dad’s whistle. That’s when Ruthie started crying out, ‘It’s Daddy! He’s here! He’s with us in this house!’”

“I knew Daddy’s spirit was still in that house,” she said forcefully. “I’d seen him two days before, and now he’d appeared again, blowing his whistle…”

Mark turned to Fred, but before he could say anything the latter held up his hands. “I know what you’re going to say, Mark. But I had the whistle with me the whole time. When we heard the sound, I instantly reached into my pocket…and there it was, same as always. Nobody had taken it. Which means nobody was at the other end of the hall, blowing it.”

“Then who?” Bill said. “And how?”

“That’s what I intended to find out,” Uncle Dave said firmly. “I’m afraid I became quite irritated with Ruthie. “It can’t be Dad,’ I said to her. “I’ll prove it!” So before anyone could stop me, I went back down that blasted hallway, feeling my way, and–”

“I yelled at him to stop,” Ruthie said. “I told him not to do it–”

“So did I,” said Fred, “but he went anyway. In a second Uncle Dave had disappeared down the hallway…it was so dark I couldn’t see him at all. And still that mournful whistle…” He let out a long breath. “Truth is, I was pretty rattled. But then I started in the same direction myself, when all of a sudden, the whistle faded. Just faded away…like some ghostly sound in the distance.” He paused, then looked at Uncle Dave, who sat staring down at his hands again. His face looked less animated than before; you could see the wrinkles, the strain at the edge of his eyes.

“I know that what I’m about to say is ludicrous,” he began, “I don’t even believe it myself, but I saw Dad. I went down to the end of the hall, and…well…there he was. Standing there, not even looking at me. He had that damned whistle at his lips and he was blowing it. A mournful sound, like Freddie said. And then…and then, he just vanished.” He looked up at us. “I mean, I guess that’s what he did. One moment he appeared to be there, and the next he wasn’t. God knows, I was almost in a faint myself… and then Freddie was at my side, asking me what happened.
Frankly, I was afraid to tell him. Believe me, since that moment, I’ve gone back and forth with myself about what I saw–or didn’t see. It had to have been my imagination…with the lights out, in that wretched house, our being there to hear Dad’s new Will…I couldn’t have seen him. And yet–”

“Then how do you explain Grandpa Joe’s train whistle?” Fred asked him. “Mom and I both heard it, too.”

Uncle Dave didn’t answer.

“Well,” Bill said, “what happened then?”

“I helped lead Uncle Dave back to the living room,” said Fred, “where Walter was holding Mom. He was afraid she might faint again. Then I made my way to the back of the house and managed to find the fuse box. As I’d suspected, a breaker switch had flipped. I guess we’d overloaded the old circuits when we came in and started turning on all the lights. I flipped it back and returned to the living room.”

“Of course, with the lights on, everything just looked normal again,” Uncle Dave said. “If anything, all that did was make me feel even more foolish.”

“What about the Will?” Mark asked.

“Walter still held it, unopened, in his hand,” Fred said. “As you can imagine, nobody wanted to stay in that house any longer than we had to, so Walter slit it open and took out a single piece of paper. It was handwritten, as Grandpa Joe had explained, and merely said that all the terms of the previous Will were to stay the same, except for the disposition of the old house. According to this new Will, Grandpa Joe wrote that he was leaving the house to Uncle Dave.”

“Which was kind of a surprise,” Ruthie said. “Dave and I just assumed Dad would leave it to both of us.”

“And that was how it should have been.” Uncle Dave shook his head. “You have to understand, neither Ruthie nor I care for that house. Sure, it has many wonderful memories, but the cost of fixing it up, maintaining it…”

“That’s all this new document said?” Mark asked. “That the house was to go to Dave?”

“My father was a simple man, like I told you,” Ruthie said. “He just wrote, ‘I, Joseph Clarence Hastings, leave the house to Rutherford.’”

“Pretty simple, all right,” I said.

“So, guys,” said Fred, back to stroking his beard, “any thoughts about our strange story? Or should we do what Mom says and just go find a good medium?”

“I don’t know if we should be so dismissive about all this,” Bill said, with a surprising seriousness. “For one thing, I’ve never played a theater that wasn’t haunted, or at least, supposed to be.”

Mark nodded, almost reluctantly. “I gotta admit, I’ve seen plenty of places that felt haunted to me. Certain war zones, burned out buildings, old refugee camps.” His voice grew quiet. “Some places I’ve been…it’s like there’s an aura, a sense of some past violence or tragedy…as if the really weird thing would be if they weren’t haunted…”

I watched his eyes grow somber behind his dark-framed glasses. Though he never talked about his previous life as a covert operative, I often believed I could sense when its shadow passed over him; like now.

“So you boys agree with me?” Ruthie said at last. “You think it’s possible that–”

Her voice caught in her throat–as, suddenly, all the lights went out.

“What the–!” somebody shouted. I think it was Bill.

“Oh dear God!” Ruthie gasped.

I could hear the others getting to their feet, bumping into furniture. With the drizzle and gloom shrouding the windows, my game room was now as dark as night. “Nobody move!” I said. “I’ll get a flashlight.” Suddenly, I heard a high, sharp sound wafting through the room–single long note, rising in pitch.

“Daddy!!” It was Ruthie again, nearly hysterical.

“Get a light in here!” Mark’s clear voice pierced the darkness. “Where’s that flashlight?!”

Then, as unexpectedly as before, the lights in the room blazed on again. We all stood, in various awe-struck poses, blinking in the brightness.

“What the hell’s going on?” Bill snapped. “And where’s that damned whistle coming from–?”

“From me,” said a voice from the kitchen.

It was Isaac. At the same moment I recognized his voice, I also became aware that he wasn’t in the room. In fact, I couldn’t swear he’d been sitting with us for some time, even before the lights had gone out, but there he was now, standing in the kitchen doorway, with a steaming tea kettle in his hand. We all watched, in a kind of unthinking trance, as the kettle’s high whistle faded to a whisper, and then was silent.

Fred, fumbling in his pockets, drew out his grandfather’s train whistle. “But I thought…”

Isaac nodded, stepping into the room. He put the still-warm kettle on the side table. “You thought that high-pitched sound you just heard was from your Grandpa Joe’s whistle,” Isaac said, “just like you did last night, when the lights went out in the old house.”

“What do you mean, Isaac?” Fred said.

“I mean,” Isaac said, settling into his armchair, “that you and your mother were the victims of a trick.”

He looked at me. “Similar to the one I just did, after I flipped the breaker switch in your fuse box. By the way, I hope that was okay? I wanted to illustrate a point.”

“Uh…sure,” I said. “Mi casa su casa. I guess.”

“What’s this all about?” Uncle Dave said. Isaac ignored him. Instead, he turned to Ruthie with a sad smile. “I’m sorry, my dear. As much as you want to believe it was your father’s ghost, contacting you from beyond last night, I’m afraid it wasn’t.”

Uncle Dave sputtered. “Now see here, I saw the old man last night–”

“I saw Daddy, too,” Ruthie insisted. “Remember? On Thursday afternoon.”

Isaac shook his head. “You said yourself, Ruthie, you were too tired to keep working, and that you sat down for a rest. I believe you did, in fact, fall asleep, and dreamt that he appeared to you.”

Uncle Dave frowned. “That still doesn’t explain what happened last night. What about my story?”

“That’s even easier,” Isaac replied. “You lied.”

“How dare you!” Uncle Dave turned to Ruthie. “We don’t have to stay and listen to this.”

Fred gave him a sharp look. “You know, Uncle Dave, I’d prefer if you did. I want to hear what Isaac has to say.”

“So do I,” said Bill.

Uncle Dave looked as though he were about to speak, but didn’t. He merely sat back and folded his arms. After a pause, Isaac began. “I may get some of the details wrong, but I do have a theory about the chain of events you three described.” He glanced over at Uncle Dave. “Feel free to jump in whenever I get it wrong.”

“Go to hell,” said Uncle Dave, eyes narrowing.

Unruffled, Isaac continued. “Just before he took ill, I think Grandpa Joe somehow found out that his son Dave wanted to sell the old house–despite his clear desire that it be kept in the family. So Grandpa Joe drew up an amendment to his Will, a single piece of paper, on which he wrote by hand that he wanted the house to go to Ruth. I’m sure he believed that she, unlike Dave, would honor his wishes and keep possession of the house.”

“Pure supposition,” Uncle Dave said, with a tight smile. “Besides, haven’t I made clear my lack of interest in the old place?”

“You’ve sure worked hard to give that impression,” Isaac agreed, “but let’s move on. Uncle Dave, of course, has no idea that Grandpa Joe had become suspicious, and certainly no idea that he’d changed his Will. Not until Walter Hicks informs Dave, Ruthie and Fred in his office a few days after the funeral. Dave guesses instantly that a change in the Will is probably bad news for him. But then, he gets a lucky break.”

As Isaac spoke, a picture began forming in my own mind. “Ruthie suddenly faints…”

“Exactly. When Ruthie faints, what happens? Fred helps her onto the couch in an adjoining room and Walter Hicks goes out for some water. This leaves Uncle Dave alone in Walter’s office for just a few moments…enough time to go to the desk and find the combination to the wall safe that Grandpa Joe had written out for the lawyer. Dave memorizes it, and then comes to Ruthie’s side, with no one the wiser.”

I saw Ruthie cut her eyes over at her brother, as though struggling to believe what she was hearing. Isaac sat forward, hands on his knees. “The next part of the plan required that Dave arrive at the old house some time before the others. Using his key, which of course he hadn’t misplaced, he goes into the house, opens the safe and takes out the envelope containing the new Will.”

“Hold on, Isaac,” Fred said. “I saw that envelope when Walter took it out of the safe. It was still sealed, but you’re implying Dave somehow tampered with it…”

“He did,” Isaac said, “by use of one of the oldest tricks in the book. I believe Dave took the envelope into the kitchen and unwrapped Grandpa Joe’s old tea kettle…” He turned to Ruthie. “Remember how confused you were when you went back to the house last night? You mentioned the ‘cooking things.’ You said you thought you’d wrapped them on Thursday afternoon, and yet when you glanced into the kitchen some of them were unwrapped. That suggested to me that one of those items might be the old tea kettle you’d alluded to earlier.”

“This is outrageous,” Uncle Dave announced, though by this point no one was paying him much attention.

“As I say, it’s an old trick. Dave unwrapped the tea kettle, filled it with tap water and set it to boiling. Then all he had to do was carefully hold the envelope over the whistling spout and steam it open. I can imagine his anger when he took out the piece of paper and saw, just as he feared, that Grandpa Joe had left the house to Ruth.”

“I–I can’t believe what I’m hearing,” said Ruthie.

“That’s because it’s utter nonsense,” Uncle Dave said.

Fred took a step toward him. “I want you to keep quiet now, Uncle Dave. Do you understand?” Something in Fred’s tone cowed the older man. He made a big show of squaring his shoulders indignantly, but he didn’t say anything.

“If I may continue,” Isaac said, smiling. “Here’s where Dave got his second lucky break. Grandpa Joe had foolishly handwritten his new Will, whose last sentence originally read ‘I, Joseph Clarence Hastings, leave the house to Ruth.’ It was easy, then, for Uncle Dave to add with his own pen the remaining letters necessary for the last word in the sentence to now read ‘Rutherford.’ I’m sure Dave brought with him last night a number of pens of different-colored inks, to make sure it was a close enough match to that used by Grandpa Joe.”

I glanced over at Uncle Dave, who sat perfectly still.

“After that,” Isaac went on, “Dave poured the water from the kettle into the sink and put it back on the stove. Then all he had to do was put the forged Will back in the envelope, seal it again, perhaps with a glue stick, also brought along for that purpose and return the envelope to the wall safe.”

“But wait a minute,” Fred said. “When Mom and I pulled up to the house, Dave hadn’t even gone in yet. He was on the front porch, knocking at the door.”

“Yes,” said Isaac. “I can only wonder how long he’d been standing there, knocking, waiting for you to arrive so that it would appear he’d not yet been inside the house. Again, for anyone who reads mystery stories as avidly as I, it’s a familiar trick: you leave the scene of the crime, shut the door, and then stand there knocking on it as though you’d been outside the whole time.” Isaac shrugged. “All Dave had to say when you finally showed up was that he’d lost his key. Why in heaven’s name would you doubt him?”

“Yeah,” Fred murmured. “Good old Uncle Dave.”

“That brings us to the moment when you were all assembled in the living room,” Isaac said, “and Walter Hicks takes out the will from the safe. Suddenly, the lights go out–”

“I had nothing to do with that,” Uncle Dave said.

“For once, you’re telling the truth. No, you didn’t. As Fred later discovered, a breaker switch had flipped. But you weren’t worried. After all, this sudden glitch wouldn’t affect your plan, but something else might…” Isaac leaned back, putting his fingertips together. “Because here, at last, is where Dave’s luck ran out. My guess is, when he’d poured the water out of the tea kettle, he hadn’t totally emptied it. He’d inadvertently left a small amount of water at the bottom of the kettle, which he’d put back on the burner which he’d also neglected to turn off. So that now, minutes later, as you all were about to hear the contents of the new Will, the kettle finally came to a boil again and began to whistle. A long, single high note, sounding exactly like–”

“Grandpa Joe’s train whistle!” Fred said.

“Poor Uncle Dave,” said Isaac. “He couldn’t let Fred or Walter Hicks go investigate the source of the sound. They’d find a whistling tea kettle, one that Ruthie had thought she’d wrapped and put away. It might cause them to start asking questions.”

“I think you’re giving me too much credit,” Fred said wryly. “I probably would’ve thought Uncle Dave had just boiled some water for tea.”

“Really? But when did he do that? He was outside the house, claiming to have lost his key, when you and your mother arrived. As far as you, Ruthie and Walter Hicks were concerned, Dave hadn’t been in the house before that.”

Isaac smiled. “Besides, as Dave himself said earlier, he doesn’t drink tea, only coffee.”

“Wait, I got a question,” Bill chimed in. “If the electricity had gone out, how come the stove was still hot enough to keep the kettle whistling?”

“It was a gas stove, remember?” Isaac replied.

“Oh,” Bill said. “Right. Never mind.”

“Where was I?” Isaac paused. “Oh, yeah. Dave couldn’t let either Fred or Walter go down that dark hallway to the kitchen. But then he had a brainstorm off of Ruthie’s reaction to the whistle, and her belief that it was another manifestation of her father’s ghost, Dave suddenly announced that he would prove her wrong. He would go investigate. So he went bravely off, before anyone could stop him, down the hallway, toward the kitchen…”

By this point, Ruthie was openly staring at her brother, but he wasn’t returning her look. “Dave knew he’d be swallowed up by the darkness,” Isaac continued, “but still he had to act quickly. He went into the kitchen, took the kettle off the burner, and then went back out into the hall. He’d supposedly just seen Grandpa Joe’s ghost when a concerned Fred caught up with him. But, unfortunately, the apparition had conveniently vanished a moment before.” Isaac smiled. “Now here’s the beauty part. Dave not only claims to have seen the ghost of Grandpa Joe, but he’s the most vocal in discounting that fact. ‘I must’ve been seeing things,’ he says. ‘This can’t have happened,’ and so on. Nothing makes a person more convincing than when he himself seems reluctant to be convinced.”

We all fell silent. “Well, I’m convinced,” Bill said finally. Then, to my surprise, Ruthie turned suddenly and slapped her brother across the face. Hard.

“You bastard,” she said bitterly. “If you want the old house so much, you can have it. But I’ll never forgive you for this.”

R. David Hastings just stared. “The house? You think I want that dilapidated piece of crap? It’s not the house, you silly bitch. It’s the land.”

“Boy, you have an inflated view of the real estate market,” Fred said, “especially in that area.”

“No, my dear nephew,” Dave said coldly, “it’s you who are misinformed. Thanks to certain friends of mine down at City Hall, I happen to know they’re planning to run a freeway spur through that part of town. Exactly where the old house is standing, in fact. That land will soon be worth a fortune.”

“Not to you,” Mark said. “You’re toast, Rutherford.”

Now it was Uncle Dave’s turn to look smug. “Not at all. None of what this old fool claims can be proved. None of it! Even if I did pretend to see a ghost, is that a crime?”

“No,” replied Fred, “but tampering with a legal document is. And Grandpa Joe’s new Will, though hand-written, is still legit. He had it witnessed, remember?”

“So what?”

“So.” Mark picked up the thread. “A forensics lab will be able to ID the glue you put on the envelope, as well as the traces of the original envelope sealant removed by the steam. Then there’s your handwriting, though I’m sure you knew your father’s handwriting well enough to match it, I’ll bet handwriting experts will be able to detect subtle differences between the letters making up the name ‘Ruth’ and those comprising the remaining letters.”

“Not to mention the inks,” Fred added. “Even if you think you matched the ink color, forensic experts can isolate chemical differences in types and brands of ink.”

Bill shook his head. “Man, CSI has really raised the bar on this kinda stuff, eh?”

“At the very least,” I said, summing up, “it’s pretty clear there’ll be an investigation.”

“Which means,” Mark said to Uncle Dave, “I think we can safely stick with the ‘toast’ analogy, when it comes to your chances of cashing in on this little scam.”

By now, Uncle Dave had begun looking a bit ill. “Well,” his sister said, glaring at him, “what do you have to say for yourself?”

I have to give him this: good old Uncle Dave managed to rally somewhat. He coughed, got to his feet, and bowed to his hosts. “Thank you all for your hospitality,” he said. “I think I can see my way out.” With that, he turned and strode out of the room, and then out of my house. Moments later, I heard his car turn over in my driveway.

Ruthie looked puzzled. “But he was my ride.”

Fred bent and kissed her on the cheek. “Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll give you a lift home.”

As he helped her to her feet, she smiled at Isaac. “Thank you, Isaac. Though I must admit…well, I am a little disappointed. I so wanted some sign that Daddy was still with us, still watching over me.”

Isaac rose and took her hand. “Who’s to say he isn’t? After all, it’s just my opinion that you’d fallen asleep and dreamed that you saw him. Maybe you actually did. Then there’s last night… Doesn’t it seem oddly coincidental that the lights would suddenly go out and the tea kettle would whistle, so that Dave would have to improvise some way to explain it, and thus reveal himself?”

Ruthie’s eyes glistened. “I…I hadn’t thought of it like that. You might be right, Isaac. Thank you.”

Then, to my astonishment, he bent and kissed her hand.“ My pleasure, Ruthie,” he said. The old rascal.

“My thanks, too, Isaac,” Fred said, as he led his mother out of the room.

“Well, good work, Isaac,” Mark said. “Again. Sometimes I wonder why the rest of us even bother to show up.”

“Don’t be bitter,” Bill said.

I turned to Isaac. “That was really nice, Isaac. What you said to Ruthie before she left.”

“I wasn’t trying to be nice,” Isaac answered. “Not my style. I merely expressed what I believe to be true.”

“Which is?”

“Which is you never know.” With that, he picked up the kettle from the side table and headed for the kitchen.

“Anyone for tea?” he asked.

Check out a review of Dennis’ brand new mystery novel Night Terrors in this issue & enter to win a copy of the book!

Dennis Palumbo is a former Hollywood screenwriter (My Favorite Year; Welcome Back, Kotter, etc.), who is now a licensed psychotherapist and author of Writing From the Inside Out (John Wiley). He also blogs regularly for The Huffington Post and Psychology Today. His mystery fiction has appeared in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, The Strand, Written By and elsewhere, and is collected in From Crime to Crime (Tallfellow Press). His crime novel, Mirror Image (Poisoned Pen Press), the first in a new series, features psychologist Daniel Rinaldi, a trauma expert who consults with the Pittsburgh Police. The sequel, Fever Dream & the brand new one, Night Terrors, are also now available. You can find more info on his website.

by Christopher J. Lynch

“The killer crept slowly through the bushes towards his target. Through the windows of the house he could see lights blazing inside, indicating the victim was home. He wanted to make sure that there was no way a call for help could go out. When he reached the back of the house, he took his cutters and snipped the phone line.”

Wait a minute shamus! Cut the phone line? What are you writing here…a retro piece? Welcome to the 21st century and to smart phones, cloud servers, and GPS tracking devices. If technology can alter the landscape of our everyday lives, it can extend into our writing as well. And everyone, from your most lovable protagonist, to your most wicked bad guy, are having to behave differently these days–whether they like it or not.

Raymond Chandler's Philip Marlowe

Take the automobile. Unless your character happens upon a vintage vehicle, he will have a lot harder time stealing it then just putting two wires together. But besides being more difficult to abscond with, they are also easier to recovery, thanks to systems like Lojack and OnStar. The police can even have OnStar disable the vehicle remotely, as long as they follow a strict set of protocols (visual contact with the vehicle, and a confirmation callback to the requesting police station).

Tracking a vehicle can be easier for your pet sleuth as well, thanks to GPS devices no larger than a cigarette pack. Rather than maneuver in and out of traffic to keep up a tail, today’s PI can watch the whole thing go down on the screen of his iPad. Still, every technology has its counter-measure, and the well-heeled bad guy of today would carry an RF scanner with him to sweep the car of any broadcasting bugs.

My character, a professional blackmailer named One Eyed Jack, encounters this same vexing counter strike when he tries to track some Russian mobsters. Thwarted in his attempt to follow their movements using a GPS device, he turns to even more creative technology–a UAV, or as it’s more commonly known, a drone. These airborne “eyes in the sky” are gaining wider usage with everyone from law enforcement, oil and gas production, timber; farming–even pig hunters use them.

And speaking of “eyes in the sky,” have you ever plugged your home address into Google Earth and taken a close look at it from outer space? Before he checks out a hotel where a compromising video was taken, my character looks at it on his phone and knows the layout before he ever sets foot onto the property.

It’s hard to believe that for as much as it’s transformed our lives; the Internet has only been around since 1983. Pre-Orwellian by a mere year, this either world has connected billions of people around the globe–sometimes anonymously. Do you think any modern kidnapper would waste his time clipping individual words or letters from newspapers and magazine and gluing them onto a sheet of paper to make his ransom note? They would use a disposable email address that, like a Mission Impossible tape recorder, self-destructs.

The email could then be routed through a Byzantine network of offshore “Spider” servers, that kept its source point so convoluted it was essentially untraceable. So much for paper and scissors.

Besides communication, the web is increasingly being used as alternate file storage. Does your bad guy have some scandalous pictures of the congressman and his mistress he’d like to keep secure? Who needs actual prints kept in a safe deposit box when he could keep as many digital copies as he wanted out on the cloud? And if he’d like a little insurance policy just to make sure they aren’t forgotten about if he coincidentally meet an untimely demise, he could open an account at Deathswitch.

Originally created as a way for people to announce their death and say goodbye to friends and family through the use of letters, photos or video, the website service could also function as a virtual “poison-pill.” An account is setup to prompt for a login on a routine basis. If the login request isn’t responded to after a certain number of attempts, the site assumes that the owner has gone to the great beyond and then emails a group of recipients any information he’d like to send them. And those recipients could be the media, and that information could be the pictures of the congressman and his chippy.

No story about technological advances would be complete without a discussion of cell phones, and how much they have evolved over the past couple of decades–and continue to at a meteoritic pace. Once the size of a brick–and about as smart–these ubiquitous mobile devices have come so far and so fast, that they have changed our everyday lives in ways Captain Kirk couldn’t have even imagined.

Need to get the license plate number of that car the bad guy is driving? Snap a picture of it with your phone. A wife thinks her husband may be cheating on her? She can “accidentally” leave her phone in his car and then activate the “find my Phone” app to see if he really did go off to work that day. Want to see who’s trying to unlock your phone and check out your calls? Activate the secret camera app that silently takes a picture any time the phone is unlocked.

“Spoofing” a different number is also a handy feature for your gumshoe to keep in his toolbox. A bounty-hunter/PI once explained to me how he snookered a felon who had jumped bail into a trap to apprehend him. They knew that the felon was in the Phoenix area where his mom still lived. They had the felon’s cell phone number–and his mother’s. They spoofed the mother’s number and called the felon, impersonating an EMT and informing him that his mother had had a heart attack and that they were transporting her to the hospital. When the felon arrived at the hospital to check on her, they arrested him without incident, a perfect blend of modern technology and good old-fashioned deception.

Obviously, I’m only scratching the virtual surface here of what is possible, but you get the point. While your characters and story doesn’t have to be all about wiz-bang high tech toys, it’s hard to ignore the fact that we live in a rapidly changing world and that our work eventually has to reflect that change. Think of it as spice for your story without changing the meat of it. And maybe your protagonist is a stuck in the mud curmudgeon who doesn’t hold for new-fangled things, but remember, some of the earliest adopters of new technology are the criminals themselves.

Check out other mystery articles, reviews, book giveaways & short stories in our mystery section.

Christopher J. Lynch is a writer living in Los Angeles. His novel, One Eyed Jack is the first in the series about the adventures–and misadventures–of a professional blackmailer. You can learn more on his website. And you can check out a video trailer of his protagonist in action at: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XvraVL8dMY0

by Cynthia Chow
& Sue Owens Wright

This week we have a review of Sue Owens Wright’s latest Beanie and the Cruiser mystery Braced For Murder, a fun guest post by Sue about her love affair with Basset Hounds & you can enter to win a copy of Braced For Murder-details at the end of this post.

Braced For Murder: A Beanie and Cruiser Mystery By Sue Owens Wright
Review by Cynthia Chow

A freelance reporter for the Tahoe Tattler and full-time advocate for basset hounds, Elsie “Beanie” MacBean finds herself unable to be objective when covering the story of Lakeside Animal Shelter and its inhumane conditions. Her empathy also prevents her from ignoring an unadopted “problem” basset hound named Calamity who more than lives up to her name but whose imminent death sentence has Beanie taking on the adorable hound and her less than attractive talents of destruction. It’s an adoption that could have come at a better time, as Beanie is already committed to volunteering for the Bassetille Day Basset Waddle that will raise funds for a new no-kill shelter.

The problems of over crowdedness, uncleanliness, and mismanagement pale in comparison to Beanie’s discovery of the body of Rhoda Marx, the cruel manager of the pet shelter she managed to get dubbed “Auschwitz for animals.” A heartless bureaucrat, Rhoda’s shelter still implemented brutally primitive CO suffocation chambers to euthanize pets and her haste in sentencing her furry inmates to death led to the premature killing of Roberta Finch’s beloved basset Gilda, a known runner who would have been returned to her home had Rhoda taken the time to check Gilda for a microchip. That Beanie believes the shelter to be haunted by the ghost of Gilda has her friends more than a little concerned, especially when combined with her absolutely hatred for Rhoda. Added into the mix is the extremist group TAILS, the Tahoe Animal Impoundment Liberation Society led by Tori Thatcher and who has few qualms about putting the fate of animals first. In regard to the murder of the woman who ironically met her fate in the same chamber where she had doomed so many animals, the question isn’t who would have killed Rhoda, but who wouldn’t.

Beanie’s good friend Sheriff Skip Cassidy is on the case, but he has his own distractions in the form of a brand new former Playboy centerfold deputy who has him dancing around sexual harassment lawsuits in the department. The break-ins at Beanie’s home, the release of animals at a shelter by activists that frees a pack of aggressive strays, and a lively town meeting concerning the new animal shelter all make the normally placid Lake Tahoe community a dangerous place to live.

As Beanie wonders if one of her animal-friendly friends is guilty of a very human murder, her supermodel daughter Nona comes home for a visit with unfortunate health concerns and wanting to look to their old Washoe healing traditions for the help that modern medicine may not be able to provide. There is nothing Beanie will not do for her daughter, even if it means reaching out to her nemesis Sonseah Littlefeather, the tribal elder who organizes a Native American Church ceremony for them with hilarious results when their use of traditional–and not entirely legal–medicine lands them all in the pokey due to an overly enthusiastic deputy.

This is a must-read for anyone who loves their mysteries to be filled with humor, love of animals, and characters who are charming and likable. Beanie is accompanied by her trusty rescue basset hound Cruiser, but it looks as though their patience will be tried by the stubborn, focused, and extremely strategic Calamity. The author balances her viewpoint that focuses on the need to protect pets in humane shelters with the extreme animal liberation protestors whose practices endanger both humans and animals with their acts of violence. Also revelatory are the practices of past and new, more humane animal shelters, and a highlight of the novel is the fundraiser that has bassets outfitted in possibly embarrassing but extremely entertaining costumes.

Since the subtitle to this novel is “Introducing Calamity, Cruiser’s Canine Partner in Crime,” it would appear that the Basset Hound with a mind of her own will be assisting and exasperating Beanie in books to come. While this may be a somewhat dubious treat for Beanie it will be a definite pleasure for readers who will revel in the antics of these intelligent and lovable friends.

Cynthia Chow is the branch manager of Kaneohe Public Library on the island of Oahu. She balances a librarian lifestyle of cardigans and hair buns with a passion for motorcycle riding and regrettable tattoos (sorry, Mom).

Low-Slung Love: The Long and Short of Life with a Basset Hound
By Sue Owens Wright

I was on my honeymoon, strolling arm-in-arm with my newly wedded husband, when I fell for a handsome Frenchman I happened to see on the avenue. He was long on charm, a wag, a heartbreaker. He was a Basset Hound. That first encounter in 1973 was the start of my enduring love affair with this low-slung breed of dog. I have since been owned by a long succession of drool slingers.

In the Beanie and Cruiser mysteries, Elsie MacBean shares her mountain cabin with rescued Basset Hounds, Cruiser and Calamity, the new canine partner in crime I introduce in Braced For Murder. Through their Tahoe adventures, I reveal what I’ve learned about Bassets after living with the breed for over half my life. Calamity’s character in this newest book in the series is based on my most challenging rescued Basset, Daisy, or Crazy Daisy as she better came to be known. Like Daisy, that dog could make a dog whisperer scream. When Beanie rescues the young hound from a local shelter, she soon discovers that Calamity is aptly named.

Sue Owens Wright

In Stanley Coren’s book, The Intelligence of Dogs, he ranks the Basset Hound number 71 out of 79 for obedience and working intelligence. That’s because Basset Hounds are focused on scenting prey (though they don’t ever catch it). Hey, that is their work, and they’re doggone good at it. You can’t blame the Basset if he’s a little distracted. He’s doing exactly what he was bred to do, so it’s a bit unfair to expect him to behave like a border collie or a poodle, dogs #1 and #2 on Coren’s list. Perhaps there needs to be a special intelligence ranking just for hounds. They are much more intelligent than they get credit for. They’re certainly a lot smarter than their owners are or they wouldn’t manage to train us so well.

Most people would never suspect that there’s a cool, calculating brain contained in that pointy little noggin. You may think that when your hound is loafing on the sofa—the one generously coated with fur because he sheds like a son of a Basset—that he’s pouting because you haven’t given him his third walk of the day. More likely he’s plotting how best to snatch the other half of your ham sandwich before you can eat it. Or perhaps he’s scheming how to nab the Sunday roast from the kitchen countertop.

Puzzle: “How can I stretch my sausage body high enough to reach the roast?”
Solution: “I can’t, so I’ll shove a chair over to the counter and climb up.”

Don’t laugh. It’s been done. Bassets are expert counter surfers. They are also artful at stealing your favorite chair, just as soon as you vacate it to let the dog out the back door where he was whining only a moment ago. Who ever said bassets are slow? That’s why we keep a sign in our house informing guests, “If you want the best seat in the house, move the dog.”

Bassets often end up being surrendered to shelters because the dogs are deemed untrainable. That’s because its owner hadn’t reckoned on that hound stubborn streak. Bassets can be difficult to train because of their dedication to the task they think is important. There’s no use fighting it. No wonder that their devotees, who understand the breed and accept its quirks with good humor, call themselves slaves.

Nose deafness is something you’ll have to learn to tolerate if you’re going to live with a Basset. Forget about whistles and clickers. A Basset Hound will respond to no summons before its time. That’s because there are far more interesting things to do, like sniff every single blade of grass. Why do you think the basset has a long, white-tipped tail that seems to be in perpetual motion? It’s so you can spot your low-slung hound waving his “flag” when out among tall weeds in the field, assuming you don’t hear him howl, or “give tongue,” as Basset fanciers refer to the dog’s melodious vocalizations. We didn’t need to install a Bay Alarm in our house to keep burglars away. We have the real thing!

Bassets may not respond immediately to every command, but that’s not saying they can’t learn tricks. I’ve had Bassets that could sit, shake, roll over, and give me a high five…er…four. One of my dogs, Patience, could do more tricks than any of the others. But it took a lot of patience to teach tricks to Patience or any of my Bassets because they always have their own ideas about the way things ought to be.

Sue's Basset Bubba

All of them excel at one trick. The Basset is a master at the art of begging, which is why so many become belly draggers and there are contests for Lowest Ground Clearance at Basset Waddles. There is nothing that will cause you to crumble quicker than that cookie you’re holding just out of snarfing range than a basset hound’s Sad Sack face.

Besides his unique appearance, easy-going nature, and endearing personality, it’s the Basset Hound’s dogged determination that sets him apart. That trait is also shared by writers, especially one like me who adores Bassets, lives with bassets, and loves to write about them. My dogs have provided me with limitless affection and endless inspiration for my books and essays. The hope is always that in addition to enjoying a good mystery, my readers will gain an appreciation and understanding of Basset Hounds as the wonderful, devoted companions they truly are.

To enter to win a copy of Braced For Murder, simply email KRL at life@kingsriverlife[dot]com by replacing the [dot] with a period, with the subject line “Braced”, or comment on this article. A winner will be chosen May 25, 2013. U.S. residents only.

Check out other mystery articles, reviews, book giveaways & short stories, including a past interview with Sue & reviews of her other books, in our mystery section.

Want to know how to see your ad like this at the end of an article? Email KRL at life@kingsriverlife[dot]com by replacing the [dot] for more info. 10% of all ad sales goes to animal rescue.

Sue Owens Wright is a Maxwell Award-winning author of fiction and nonfiction about dogs. Her novels include Howling Bloody Murder, Sirius About Murder, Embarking on Murder, and Braced for Murder. Her nonfiction books are 150 Activities for Bored Dogs, What’s Your Dog’s IQ? and People’s Guide to Dogs. She lives in Northern California with her husband and rescued Basset Hounds. Learn more on her website.

by Lauren Tashjian

Immanuel Junior High and High School are headed into the future of technology. The school will be starting the one-to-one iPad program for the 2013-2014 school year. This program will include grades seven through 12. Although it requires an enormous amount of planning, Principal Ryan Wood seems up for the task.

high school students using the ipads

Because education is transitioning from a conventional atmosphere into a technological atmosphere, there are many positive outcomes from this change. One of these changes is that there will be fluidity in the classroom with students and teachers. The iPads allow students to engage in online discussions. Since most discussions are within the classroom during school hours, these discussion threads allow the conversation to continue in the parking lot, at lunch, and at home. These online discussion threads allow the students to view their peer’s writing, while in the traditional classroom, it is almost impossible for a student to review thirty other pieces of writing.

Since immediate feedback is vital for the teacher, iPads make this simpler. Online surveys allow the teacher to be notified within seconds whether or not the students understand the concepts. In order to keep up with the demands of education, research is imperative. The Immanuel teachers have had individual iPads for the past two years, making them knowledgeable in all of the common apps and usage of them within the classroom. iPads allow students to research in the classroom and share their findings with each other during class.

Immanuel Schools are paving the way for schools in the Central Valley. Because technology is playing a huge role in the lives of most people, educators have no choice but to get on board and be familiar with the various technological tools. Ryan Wood stated that he knew of no other schools in the valley doing any other program like it. Central High School might consider doing a program like the one-to-one iPad program in a couple years, but not this coming year. Because Immanuel High School is starting the technology craze in the Central Valley, schools should be able to follow in their footsteps.

Although this may be a financial burden for some parents, Mr. Wood has made it easier for the students to have access to the iPads. The iPads will run just like the school’s financials do: scholarships will be available. Immanuel understands that financials can be difficult, but they try to make it as accessible as possible because a solid education is important to them. Since scholarships are limited, iPads will also be available for rent. The school understands the economy and is willing to help in any way to make this program be complete.

Immanuel Schools are all about community. Ryan Wood thinks that this program will bring us closer together. The staff is all in favor because it is a step towards the technological future. Everyone is communicating in the same way, causing the body of Immanuel to be unified in the education aspect. Although using technology is easy for the upcoming generation, Ryan Wood has created this program around using the technology responsibly, so no one will continually stare at a screen without any focus! Immanuel Schools are creating the way for the future and everyone seems to be on board. There will always be tweaks and updates, but in general the program will allow students and teachers to connect. It will bring the community of Immanuel closer together.

This will be Lauren’s last article with us as she prepares to graduate and move on to new things! We are happy to have had Lauren here with us these last several months not only as a writer but as an intern.

Lauren Tashjian is a 17 year old senior at Immanuel high school. She played volleyball for 4 years, loves to write and loves photography. Lauren plans to attend Fresno State and to become a special education teacher.

by Lorie Lewis Ham

One of the biggest events of the year in Kingsburg, The Swedish Festival, begins tomorrow. It runs May 16, 17 and 18.

The Festival began in 1924 when a group of women from the Concordia Lutheran Church presented a mid-summer festival for residents of the Concordia Home, a retirement home located near the present Kingsburg Hospital. A year later, the celebration was moved to the church where it continued until 1941. The Kiwanis Club sponsored the event, holding it at Kingsburg High School. The celebration was skipped in 1945 due to wartime restrictions. The Kingsburg Chamber of Commerce has sponsored the event since 1996.

Past Festival

“This is the 47th Festival under the guidance of the Chamber of Commerce,” stated Kingsburg Chamber of Commerce Executive Director Jess Chambers.

When asked what her favorite thing was about the Festival Jess answered, “Recognizing how special Kingsburg is to have the unique Swedish heritage to celebrate. Where else in California will that happen. Let’s celebrate and not be critical of the process. We’re unique here.”

Swedish Festival Schedule of Events:

THURSDAY, MAY 16

• Swedish Pea Soup & Pancake Dinner

5:30PM – 7 PM Draper Street – Downtown

Peas Soup & Pancakes $8 – Pea soup $4 – Pancakes $5

• Kingsburg Farmer’s Market

5PM Draper Street – Downtown

• Crowning of the Queen

6:30PM Draper Street – Downtown

FRIDAY, MAY 17

• Swedish Smörgåsbord

5:30PM – 7:30PM at Coffe Pot Park

Adults $10 – Children $5

• Arts & Crafts Booths

(only) Open after 5PM

• Swedish Entertainment

5:30PM – 9PM at Coffee Pot Park

SATURDAY, MAY 18

• Swedish Pancake Breakfast

6AM – 10AM at Coffe Pot Park $7

• Dala Horse Trot 10k and 2 mile runs

7AM at Trot Course

• Dala Horse Trot Awards

9AM Kingsburg Post Office

• Welcome Ceremony & Hambro Dance demonstration

10AM on Draper Street

• Swedish Festival Grand Parade

10:30AM on Draper Street

• Raising & Dancing Around the Maypole

after parade on Draper Street

• Swedish Entertainment

12:30PM – 5:30PM

• Presentation of Parade & Band Awards

1:30PM at Coffee Pot Park

• Kingsburg Art Center – Juried Art Show

9AM – 5PM at Village Mall

• Gammaldans Dancing

7:30PM – 10PM at Coffee Pot Park

Lorie Lewis Ham is our Editor-in-Chief and an enthusiastic contributor to various sections, coupling her journalism experience with her connection to the literary and entertainment worlds. Explore Lorie’s mystery writing at Mysteryrat’s Closet.

by Jessica Ham

Special coupon for Dinuba Platinum Theatre at the end of this review.

The Great Gatsby has been my favorite book for years. It is beautiful and tragic and inspires you to experience life on a bigger scale. This book means the world to me so I was very nervous about seeing Baz Luhrmann’s adaptation of it. I was worried it would be too flashy or the meaning of the book would get lost somehow. But, I was pleasantly surprised.

Many people have been criticizing the movie, but I loved it so much. To me, it was so much like the book that it made my heart sing with gratitude towards the director. I wanted to call him up right then and there and thank him for portraying my favorite book of all time so beautifully. I don’t care what people are saying, it is exactly like the book, minus a couple of things in the movie that were added to make it transfer better from book to film. Because let’s face it, some things that make sense in a book do not make sense in a movie. But all in all, I thought it was as much like the book as it could be. It was beautiful and it made me want to cry because it was so wonderful.

Leonardo DiCaprio was the perfect Gatsby. He was shy, insightful, positive, loving, and mysterious, just like Gatsby was in the novel. He made him exactly as how I imagined him while reading the book. If Leo doesn’t win an Oscar for this stellar performance, I will be utterly disappointed. Tobey Maguire as Nick was perfection. He was awkward and a little dorky just like he is in the novel. And any scene that he had with Gatsby, you could just see how much Nick cared for him. The Nick and Gatsby friendship is my favorite part of the novel and they both portrayed that beautifully and perfectly. Carey Mulligan, who played Daisy, was also brilliant. She made you love Daisy and hate her at the same time.

People complain, but to me, that was the most perfect an adaptation of a novel could have been.

You can learn more about the plot of this movie in Jessica’s review of the book, The Great Gatsby, right here in KRL.

The Great Gatsby is currently playing at Dinuba Platinum Theatres 6, also in 3D. Showtimes can be found on their website. Platinum Theaters Dinuba 6 now proudly presents digital quality films in 2-D and 3-D with 5.1 Dolby digital surround sound to maximize your movie experience.

Print this coupon and enjoy a special discount for Kings River Life readers only!

Jessica Ham is 20 years old and an ongoing contributor to our Teen Talk section; with dreams of being on Broadway, she’s right at home covering Entertainment.

by Jessica Ham

With The Great Gatsby movie just release this weekend it seemed a perfect time to review the book it is based on. Watch for a review of the movie soon!

The Great Gatsby is a book that almost every high school student has had to read. Most of the time students hate the books they are forced to read in school, but I can guarantee you that The Great Gatsby is not one of them. I read it my junior year of high school and although I knew nothing about it, the description sounded intriguing. I got a couple pages in and I was hooked. The Great Gatsby has been my favorite book for four years now and it always will be. Romance, betrayal, and a strange, mysterious guy, what more do you need in a book?

The Great Gatsby was written by F. Scott Fitzgerald and takes place right before The Great Depression. The book is narrated by the character Nick Carroway, a WWI veteran who takes a job in New York City as a bond salesman. Nick rents a house on Long Island right next door to the mansion of Jay Gatsby, a mysterious millionaire. Nick is soon invited to one of Gatsby’s infamous parties where he meets Gatsby, who becomes his friend for the rest of the novel. We are then introduced to Daisy Buchanan, the female main character who has a mysterious past with Gatsby. The Great Gatsby all in all is a telling of Nick’s days of friendship with the infamous Jay Gatsby and the rich people connected to him.

The story is not the only great part about this book. The writing is beyond incredible. Fitzgerald uses so many clever metaphors and symbols. You could take apart every sentence of the novel and find that every single sentence has a deep meaning. In most of Fitzgerald’s novels he is writing about his own life in a way. He was always in love with a rich, out of his league woman. And so is Gatsby, and many of the other protagonists in his other novels. While reading The Great Gatsby you feel sorry for Fitzgerald, because he is Gatsby.

So go to a library or a bookstore and pick up a copy of The Great Gatsby. I guarantee you won’t be disappointed.

Jessica Ham is 20 years old and an ongoing contributor to our Teen Talk section; with dreams of being on Broadway, she’s right at home covering Entertainment.

by Lee Juslin

My name is Jacoby Koh or Jake to my friends and clients. I am a certified therapy cat, but not just any therapy cat, because, while there are many good therapy cats out there, I’m at the top of the therapy game.

Usually my human and I make regular visits to patients at Tufts Medical Center, but on this particular day we were told no visits because the city is on lockdown. Huh? Must be big to stop my work. My curiosity was aroused, and you know what they say about curiosity and cats.

Jake

Later, we got an email from our friends at Tufts telling us to report for duty at a place called the Boston Sheraton. There was to be an event sponsored by the Boston Athletic Association to benefit the first responders and folks who had been at the finish line or in the medical tent at the marathon when the bombs went off. Soon I was in my Pet Partners uniform, my custom carriage standing at the ready, and we were off. Little did I know that this would be the toughest assignment yet of my stellar career.

When we arrived, the first thing I noticed was a number of other therapy teams on hand. Whoa, this was big! And, speaking of whoa, there was my therapy associate, Lily, she of the equine persuasion. We had little time for small talk. Duty called.

Jake and Lily

As we went into the hotel lobby, I was immediately struck by a sense of almost overwhelming sadness mixed with a bit of fear but also determination, blanketing the entire area. I sat up straight and tall in my carriage, my chocolate coat gleaming, my gorgeous green eyes darting here and there to take in the entire scene. I knew right away I would need my A game.

People, who seemed quiet, even a bit lost, began to mingle with us professionals. I had my purr cranked all the way up to high, and I head butted and rubbed against folks as eagerly as I could hoping to change sad faces to happy smiles. I am, if I do say so myself, especially good at doing just that.

Here we all are ready to help in the aftermath of the Boston bombing.

Those people who came over to meet me were all class acts. They were cat people, and some shared photos of their own cats with us. Between my human talking to them and my comforting purrs, we made quite a team. First, we talked to a nurse who had been in the medical tent and had seen some awful sights. She showed us photos of her cat, Fred. Then, we talked to a military woman, also a cat person, who really enjoyed stroking me. But, who wouldn’t given my beautiful, soft coat. Did I mention these people were all very discerning types?

This is one of the memorial shrines we visited.

The one thing I still don’t understand is that you humans have declared yourselves the highest, most evolved species. That opposable thumbs thing and all. Yet, you are the only species capable of committing acts of mindless atrocity against one another. The only species that can produce pure evil. Perhaps you are not as evolved as you think you are.

Look closely to see how my human and I contributed to the Boston Marathon Shrine.

Respectfully submitted,
Jacoby (Jake) Koh with Lee Juslin and Coco Koh

If you would like to follow Jake’s adventures, check out the daily Abyssinian blog: Aby A Day.

Lee Juslin is a free lance copywriter living in North Carolina with her husband, Scott, and her band of misfits: Tarquin, a Wheaten Scottish Terrier, and three handicapped cats. They can be seen on their website: Hampshire Hooligans. She owns I B Dog Gone, a small embroidery business and is the author of the Nurse Frosty books for children and Frosty’s Story: Tales of a Therapy Dog. She supports a number of national and regional terrier rescue organizations.

by Corey Ralston

Here Ye Mateys of Fresno. ‘Tis be the time where you can gather your treasure and head out to the thriving Pirate community of New Providence in the year of our Lord 1718. For two days Roeding Park will be transformed into a dastardly pirate’s school for all landlubbers.

A group of kids learn the way of the Pirates from a group of costumed characters.

Queen Elizabeth, known as “Good Queen Bess”, was dubbed the Pirate Queen because she needed a way to defeat the Spanish Armada. So, the wise lass sent letters to Sir Francis Drake and other pirates to raid the Spaniards and share the booty collected with the Crown. And that is where we find ourselves–in a town that glorifies the heroic thieves.

“The Fresno Pirate Festival began as Queen Bess and the Pyrates nine years ago. We have moved around to several parks, beginning in Bakersfield, and finally settling in Roeding Park where we have been for the last three years,” Event Producer Joyce Roberts said.

Roberts says the event will be very family oriented with lots of activities for children. There is archery, a scavenger hunt, and entertainment all day long on both days. “We have Fowl Tales, a dog and bird act, the Banat Tanjora belly-dancing group, and a magic act called Myth and Magic. There is food and ale available, and many vendors to separate you from your hard earned doubloons. There are cannons, battles, boat races and lots of other events geared towards the family enjoyment.”

A little swashbuckler takes the wheel.

Thanks to the ever-popular Disney Film Series The Pirates of the Caribbean, pirates have staked their claim in pop culture once again. But according to Roberts, these pirates are not what they revere or emulate.

“Being from the Renaissance culture myself, I try to keep the main characters true to type. There are many that do not appear in history, but the main theme going through the day and the actual actors in the battles are from history,” she said.

Pirates like Black Bart, Blackbeard, Henry Morgan, Madame Po and Captain William Kidd are the historical figures that the event aims to teach your children about.

Did you know most pirates died of alcohol or were hung? They did not bury their money; they spent it. They did not wear fancy clothes; they sold them and bought alcohol. They did not walk the plank, however they did torture prisoners over fires called bucans, hence the term Buccaneers.

So lace up your boots and strap that parrot to your shoulder, and come learn about history’s most misunderstood criminals.

Corey Ralston is a freelance writer & photographer. He has worked for Fresno Life, The Selma Enterprise, Kingsburg Recorder, Talk Magazine, The Fresno Bee, Totts Magazine, Lifestyle Magazine and Valley Response Magazine. He resides in Hanford with his partner and his dog, where he sings, acts and directs local theatre. He also runs his own portrait photography business called Corey Ralston Photography.

by Diana Bulls

Since tomorrow is Mother’s Day it may seem a bit late to plan a Mother’s Day tea, but it is still doable and would be a lot of fun. You can also plan a post Mother’s Day tea for next weekend, or just do a tea party for no particular reason except that it’s fun!

Nothing says Spring or Mother’s Day, like a tea party. Drinking tea was once a lost ritual in the U.S., but it is now making a comeback. The specialty tea market has grown and tea shops can be found all over, even in cities like Fresno! Tea can be sweet or savory, spicy or fruity and it has depth and flavor. Tea is for people of all ages, and especially for those people who like to feel warm and fuzzy on the inside.

Tea parties are supposed to be cozy, so invite your mother or grandmother, or make this a mother-daughter event and invite some good friends. Set up a pretty table, serve tea and a few goodies, sit back and enjoy the conversation and companionship.

Here are the steps, and a few ideas for a fun and simple get together:

1) Choose the party date and invite your guests.
Invitations should be sent out (written, phoned or e-mailed) not less than one week in advance, but two weeks is better. Be sure to give your guests all the details: if you will be outside, for example, they may want to wear a hat and flats.

2) Gather your tea party supplies.
a. Teapot–If you are lucky enough to have a silver tea service, by all means use it but be sure to polish it up. If not, a china or pottery pot works just as well. Check thrift stores for possibilities or borrow one. The teapot should be large enough to pour each guest one cup of tea, but not too heavy to lift easily. If you like, you can use two tea pots for two types of tea. You can also add a small pot filled with plain hot water for diluting strong tea.
b. A tea infuser–To hold loose tea leaves if you are not using tea bags.
c. Waste bowl–This is any small, wide-mouthed bowl in which the cold tea dregs or tea bags may be dumped.
d. Sugar bowl and creamer–Remove the lid to the sugar bowl. If using granulated sugar, place a spoon or sugar shell in the bowl. If you fill with sugar cubes, use sugar tongs. Fill the matching creamer with milk.
e. Tray (optional)–Choose a tray big enough to hold the teapot, sugar & creamer, waste bowl and infuser. This also helps to protect the tablecloth.
f. Teacups, saucers, and small plates–Use your good china cups & saucers and dessert plates, or if you are lucky enough to have a collection of tea cups, use those. Pieces don’t have to match–just look pretty on the table.
g. Tea spoons and dessert forks–Again, bring out the good silver and be sure they are polished and shining.
h. Special serving pieces–Depending on your menu, use pedestal cake stands lined with doilies, tiered sandwich plates, crystal bowls or dishes. Don’t forget serving spoons or a cake server.
i. Lemon plate and fork–Any small plate may be used; place a fork atop thinly sliced lemon.
j. Table linens–Use a pretty tablecloth, lace or embroidered, if you have one. If not, a piece of pretty plain or floral fabric (or a sheet) that coordinates with your china will look just as nice. Linen or embroidered napkins are nice to use as well, but pretty floral printed paper napkins will work. You can always check out thrift stores or yard sales for tablecloths and napkins.
k. Centerpiece–Use fresh flowers in a nice vase or a lovely potted plant. Keep the centerpiece low so your guests can see over it.

3) Plan your menu. Keep it simple, sweet and light.
If you have time to do everything from scratch, please do so, but remember, the grocery store is your friend and has everything you might need. A simple menu could include chicken salad sandwiches cut into pretty shapes with cookie cutters–freeze the bread, it makes cutting easier–thin sliced lemon poppy seed bread (or mini-muffins), mini-pastry tart shells filled with lemon curd or raspberry jam, fancy cookies (think Pepperidge Farm) and big, fresh strawberries to dip in powdered sugar. Check out the internet for more ideas.
4) Buy tea. I might suggest Lemon Lift or Plantation Mint (Bigelow): both light and refreshing, and perfect for spring. Also good for people who don’t know if they like tea. Check out the grocery store–there is a huge variety. You can also ask your guests what they might prefer. You might want to practice brewing a pot of tea before your party as tea should not be allowed to steep more than five minutes. Instructions for brewing tea below.

On the day of the tea party:

Prepare your goodies and place on their respective serving plates and platters. Be sure you include a serving utensil if one is needed.

Set the tea table up in your garden, patio or inside. Place the tea tray at one end of the table, making sure to leave plenty of room for you. As the hostess, you will be serving the guests their tea. Place the lemon, milk and sugar next to the tea, and the rest of the food at the other end of the table. The guests will serve the food themselves. The centerpiece goes in between.

Dress the part. Don’t be afraid to dress up a bit more than you would for a normal gathering with friends.

Begin boiling the water and setting out the food about 10 minutes before guests are scheduled to arrive. Take this time to put the tea infuser or bags inside the tea pot. Greet your guests as they arrive. When the teakettle is whistling, pour the water into the tea pot and take it to the table, along with your guests.

Serve tea to your guests, asking if they prefer lemon, milk, or sugar. Pass around the goodies, put on your best manners, relax, have fun and enjoy the company of your family or friends.

How to Brew Tea

1. Boil cold, fresh water.
2. Measure tea. You’ll need 1tea bag or 1 teaspoon tea leaves per 1 cup water.
3. Preheat teapot by rinsing with very hot water.
4. Put tea bags or leaves in infuser and then in pot, then pour in boiling water.
5. At the tea table: follow the recommended steeping time for your tea, generally 1-5 minutes.
6. Remove bags or leaves from pot and serve your guests.

Diana Bulls is an ongoing contributor to our
Hometown History section, having collected vintage kitchen utensils for over 40 years; she is also actively involved with the Reedley Historical Society.

by Deborah Harter Williams

A Ferrari 308GTS revs past scenes of ocean and tropical forest, a Detroit Tigers baseball cap, Hawaiian shirts, Higgins and “the lads”. T.C. pilots the chopper, Rick serves drinks at the King Kamehameha Club, the luxury of Robin’s Nest. For eight years, Thomas Magnum was on the case.

Hawaii has long been production gold for movies and television. Both exotic and American, it offers a rich mix of possibilities for mystery and adventure. Detecting Hawaiian style was a hit from Hawaiian Eye (1959-1963) to Hawaii 5-O (1968-1980). As 5-O prepared to sign off, CBS had two problems. First of all, no replacement for the 9 p.m. on Thursday slot and second, they had invested a lot of money in production facilities on Oahu.

Enter Glenn Larson, Donald Bellasario and Tom Selleck.

Glen A. Larson started his career as a songwriter (26 Miles Across the Sea) and member of The Four Preps. After working for Quinn Martin Sr. on projects such as The Fugitive he discovered his talent as a developer of show ideas, not all of them original, but remarkably sellable.

His first hit was Alias Smith and Jones, a Western a la Butch and Sundance. He was also involved in development of The Six Million Dollar Man and continued with Quincy, M.E., Battlestar Gallactica and Buck Rogers in the 25th Century.

Donald Bellasario, graduated from Penn State and joined the Marines (where he served along side Lee Harvey Oswald) rising to the rank of sergeant. After a career in advertising, he took on Hollywood and landed a writing opportunity on Switch where he worked with Glen Larson.

He was a producer on Stephen Cannell’s Black Sheep Squadron, and wrote for Kojak before getting his first executive producer credit on Quincy, M.E. (Note to mystery fans: Elvis Cole/Joe Pike creator Robert Crais was a writer on Quincy.)

Tom Selleck was at the University of Southern California on a basketball scholarship studying business in 1965 when he made his first TV appearance on The Dating Game. Small roles followed and led to a two-episode part on The Rockford Files. His Lance White character was the anti-Rockford–a lucky, trusting nice guy. Where Rockford gets knocked down and scuffed up, White stumbles blithely into clues.

He did help catch the murderer in that episode–a character played by Larry Manetti (destined to be Orville “Rick” Wilbur Wright). In another Rockford episode Roger Mosely played loan shark, Electric Larry. Roger, of course, would be Magnum’s Theodore “T.C.” Calvin.

And so it was that when CBS needed a solution to their two problems, fate converged to bring all the elements together for another long running series set in Hawaii. On December 11, 1980 Magnum P.I. debuted.

In this series can be found many answers to the perpetual question–what makes a good TV series? Action, scenery, camaraderie, humor, stories of war, honor, loyalty, chivalry and occasional high silliness.

Interesting that this stellar example of male bonding should have two strong female writers. Chris Abbott started her career writing for Little House on the Prairie and Cagney and Lacey. Afterwards she worked on Quantum Leap, Dr. Quinn Medicine Woman and Diagnosis: Murder.

Jeri Taylor also wrote for Little House and The Incredible Hulk and was producer and director on Quincy, M.E. Post-Magnum she would go to Jake and the Fatman (also set in Hawaii) and Star Trek: The Next Generation also helping to create Star Trek: Voyager.

Insuring authenticity of Viet Nam references was writer Chris Bunch. Decorated veteran, and member of the Long Range Reconnaissance commandos, his television work included Quincy, Hulk, and post Magnum, Walker, Texas Ranger.

Did you remember?

At the end of the seventh season Magnum dies. The show was cancelled and the “series finale” already filmed, with Magnum killed by gangsters. Fan pressure got the show renewed for another season, so when the eighth season started, Thomas was a ghost until it was explained that his “death” was a dream.

Crossovers. Magnum’s pilot show references Hawaii 5-O’s McGarrett and in the current Hawaii 5-0 the team sings the Magnum theme song during a helicopter ride.

Magnum episode “Tigers Fan” has guest characters talk about “Last night’s Rockford Files (and)… this Lance White character.” Joe Santos (Dennis Becker on Rockford) was Police Lt. Nolan Page on the episode.

Jessica Fletcher made a guest appearance, as well as the sleuths from Simon and Simon.

Worth seeing. Some of the early episodes with the original theme song and where the characters are introduced. Episodes with Orson Welles as the voice of Robin Masters, and those where Higgins’ siblings show up and he gets to play a dual role. Look for elements that will later be incorporated into NCIS.

Check out other mystery articles, reviews, book giveaways & short stories in our mystery section.

Deborah Harter Williams works as a mystery scout, seeking novels that could be made into television. She blogs at Clue Sisters and was formerly a mystery bookstore owner.

Check out more mystery interviews/reviews by subscribing to the All Mystery e-Newsletter:

by Rebecca McLeod

Rebecca shares with KRL another fun story from the perspective of her pet rats. This one may resemble a certain musical.

Cast of Characters:

Willow: a high-strung blue and white doe, mother of fifteen.
Gonzo: the notorious one-eyed hairless hermaphrodite, mother of eleven.
Cloud: a refined Himalayan rat, a rescue who moved to the Rattery with her young daughter.
Bob: a sweet, but not too bright little blue doe, Sister to Willow.

Sitting round a table fashioned of a Q-Tip Box, the mother does enjoyed a late brunch, compliments of their offspring and indulgent owner. There were scrambled eggs, sliced fruit, and veggies with a little brown bread to round out the edges of the meal. As the hustle of snagging the best pieces of food died down, the does began to compare notes on Mother’s Day and how their individual sessions with their offspring had gone.

“I got ear cream,” volunteered Cloud, who was considered a very fancy rat. She went to the salon regularly to get her tummy bleached and have her ears and nose darkened. The other does suspected a little tail waxing was also done on the sly, but of course no one dared bring that up.

“For eating?”asked Bob.

“No, silly, so that my ears don’t get wrinkly!”

The other does thought about this. They were unable to recall if they’d ever seen another rat with wrinkly ears, but perhaps this ear cream stuff was the reason. All resolved to put it on the grocery list.

“So what did your babies get you, Gonzo?” asked Cloud.

Gonzo

Gonzo scowled. “One of dose cheeky little buggers got me a Father’s Day card instead. He’s definitely getting poop in his stocking this year!”

“But Gonzo, you does have…y’know–” Bob tried to think of a diplomatic phrase, “–spare parts.”

“They just make me awesomer, not a daddy! I know who my babies’ daddy is and he owes me cashews!” snapped Gonzo.

“Eleven babies and then he goes to the Rainbow Bridge before I can raise dem all. When I see him, he’d better have a whole food stash waiting.”

“Men!” Cloud sighed. “I never got so much as a carrot out of Mike. They have no idea what it’s like trying to raise twelve babies at once.”

“I’d like to point out that some of us had more than that,” preened Willow, who held the rattery’s record with fifteen babies, all who lived to adulthood.

“Ya, but your babies were shrimpy,” Gonzo retorted, “My babies can beat ‘em up, no problem.”

“Gonzo’s babies beat everyone up,” Bob mourned dolefully. She had recently been held upside down and deprived of a strawberry by Gonzo’s biggest baby, Snowball.

“Ya Gonzo, you needa speak to your babies about that,” agreed Cloud, who privately thought that Gonzo’s four white daughters, the biggest rats in the entire cage, could use more than just a little talking to.

Gonzo grinned. “They’re my miracle babies. Everyone said I couldn’t get pregnant, but I sure showed them!”

“And how!” muttered Cloud into her piece of watermelon.

“I was a teen mom with no family to support me,” began Gonzo, launching into the familiar story. The other does silently groaned and focused on their food.

“Separated from my mother at a very young age, I was saved from being snake food and rescued by a lady who thought I was a boy and then I got sent here where they also thought I was a boy. The boy rats figured out that I was both and we had an awesome time until Mom freaked out on us. She said that I probably wasn’t pregnant, but I got to be the size of a tennis ball and then one day…”she left a dramatic pause, “I made babies. Lots! And even though I hairless and we terrible at nursing babies, I was awesome at it and all my babies made it and now they’re big enough to beat us up,” she finished in triumph.

“And that’s a good thing?” asked Willow, drily.

“Snowball seems to like it,” said Bob, scarfing a piece of pineapple. She was so happy to have been invited to a brunch where the babies couldn’t take food from her, she couldn’t care what conclusions Gonzo drew.

“At least I not a baby-eater,” muttered Gonzo. Willow spat out a piece of bread, stung by the accusation.

“I never ate any! I shuffled them around! I can’t help it if I’m high-strung!”

“Bet there were sixteen and you ate one!” taunted Gonzo.

“Oh c’mon Gonzo, that’s mean!” protested Bob. “She can’t help her nerves.”

“Well den she better stop talking smack about my babies. They’re my babies and I say they’re awesome.”

“Fine,” agreed Cloud quickly, “everyone’s babies and mothering skills are wonderful. Fight over. Now, what would everyone like to do for Father’s Day?”

The reply was unprintable.

Check out more of Rebecca’s rat stories in KRL’s rodent ramblings section.

Rebecca McLeod, enslaved by the whimsical charms of rats in her early twenties, spends her evenings slicing up vegetables and fruit for the vermin, chauffeuring them to the vet, and bragging about their many accomplishments to anyone who will listen. She & her husband Matthew run Bec and Matt’s Rats, a hobby rattery based out of Saskatoon, Saskatchewan (Canada) and are an active part of the Canadian rat fancying community.Rebecca holds a B.A. Hons. in English from the University of Saskatchewan and is a freelance writer. Visit Bec and Matt’s Rats on ]]> http://kingsriverlife.com/05/11/rat-tales-a-mothers-day-brunch/feed/ 7 http://kingsriverlife.com/05/11/rat-tales-a-mothers-day-brunch/ http://feedproxy.google.com/~r/KingsRiverLife/~3/WhNKbGCq4XM/ http://kingsriverlife.com/05/11/if-mama-could-see-me-a-mothers-day-mystery-short-story/#comments Sat, 11 May 2013 14:59:10 +0000 Lorie http://kingsriverlife.com/?p=29070

by J. R. Chabot

Throughout this week leading up to Mother’s Day we will be publishing several mother related mystery short stories and one non-mystery one. If Mama Could See Me first appeared in issue 17 of Blue Murder in 1999. Be sure to check out the rest of the stories! You can also find all of them after they are posted, and many others, in our Terrific Tales section!

I have my own room. Of course, since Mamma died, the whole house is mine. Mamma left me the house and the money. But this room is really my own. I grew up here. All my treasures and all my secrets are here. My father left before I remember, so it was always just Mamma and me. And now she’s gone.

My room is on the second floor, with one window looking out to the rear, another showing the house next door. That’s how I saw the new people moving in. I was sitting on the window seat, just watching, when the big U-haul pulled in. Two men got out. The driver was a big man, with arms and shoulders so big he seemed top heavy. That’s Mr. Jefferson. The other man was smaller, darker, with quick movements.

Then a big black SUV pulled in behind, and she got out. She was small and wore tight blue jeans and a tight blouse. She had dark hair, cut short, almost like a boy’s. But she was no boy. The way she moved and the tight blouse, and…she was the kind Mamma warned me about.

I watched off and on as they moved in, the men lugging the sofas and tables–the bigger pieces–while she carried in boxes. They were at it most of the day, stopping only once to go somewhere in the car–I guess to lunch. Once, when Mr. Jefferson was inside, I saw her go up to the other man, put her hand on his arm, and whisper something to him. They both laughed and I wondered what that was about. What was between them?

During the next week I didn’t see much of Mr. Jefferson–he left for work early. I’d hear him at some ungodly hour, revving up the SUV, then finally hear him back out and be off.

But I saw her, mostly in the afternoons. There’s an in-ground pool in their backyard. The yard is enclosed in a privacy fence, but from my second story room I can see the pool. The Monday after they moved in, she came out wearing a short terrycloth robe and sunglasses, carrying a magazine. She took off the robe, spread it on one of those tubular frame chaises, and stretched out to read. From the gleam of her skin, I guessed she had put on sunscreen before she came out. She must have had to use a lot, because the bathing suit didn’t cover hardly anything.

After she’d been reading for maybe fifteen minutes, she put down the magazine, took off the sunglasses, and rolled over on her stomach. Then she untied the top part of her suit, and lay there, her back bare, only that little bit of a bottom part of her suit showing, practically naked, right there for all the world to see. And you couldn’t really call it a bathing suit, anyway. I watched her until she went back into the house, nearly an hour, and she never went near the pool. Oh, yes, Mamma would know what kind of woman she was.

It was like that every day there was sunshine–the robe, the sunglasses, the magazine. She’d stand there, teasing, then slip off the robe and stretch out. Sometimes it would be as much as twenty minutes before she’d roll over and undo the top.

It was while she was lying like that–this was about a week after they’d moved in–that the other man showed up, the small dark one who’d helped them. He drove up in a little red sports car. After trying the front bell, he came around the side and yelled something through the privacy fence. She got up, slipped on the robe, and went to open the gate for him. They were talking, real close like, as they walked back to the pool. Then she took his arm and practically pulled him into the house. I mean, it was so brazen. I wondered what Mr. Jefferson would do if he knew. He hadn’t struck me as the forgiving kind.

Well, two or three days later, she didn’t come out to sun herself. It was a little overcast, but I didn’t think it was all that cloudy. I waited until well past her usual time, just to be sure, but she never appeared. Then her husband came home, a little later than normal. Instead of going straight into the house, he went to the rear of the SUV, opened the rear hatch and took out a box. A very unusual looking box. It was wooden, about six feet long, and maybe a foot and a half wide. I wondered what he could possibly do with something like that. He curled one beefy arm round it and carried it into the house. From the way he handled it, I guessed it to be empty.

So then, what do you suppose? Not fifteen minutes later, he came out to the back yard carrying a pick and a shovel. He had changed into raggedy blue jeans and a T-shirt with some kind of sports logo on it. He went to the back corner of the yard, lay down the shovel, and began swinging the pick. After a while, he’d stop, use the shovel to scoop out the loose dirt, then go back to the pick. I sat there watching, horrified as I saw what he was doing. He was digging a shallow trench along the back wall.

So, tell me, what would you have done? I didn’t know him or his hussy of a wife, but still…In the past week I felt I had gotten to know her in a way. Not that I approved of her, understand, but how could I approve of what he was doing? I tried to think–what would Mamma do?

I remember, in the hospital, just before she died, she said something very strange. She was very weak and I had to bend real close to hear her. And she said, “Bobby, what’s to become of you?” It was strange because Mamma taught me how to cook and keep the house. I can take care of myself. Maybe she was afraid I couldn’t, what with her being gone. If she only knew.

I called 911 and told the woman who answered what was happening. She wanted me to give her my name, but of course I didn’t. Why would she need my name?

***

There weren’t any sirens. I was hoping there would be, but it was just a police cruiser pulling up very quietly. At first, they just sat there. Then a young policeman got out from behind the wheel. The passenger door opened and another one emerged. He was a big man, older than the first. They stood there for a minute, looking around, taking in the neighborhood. Then the older one shrugged, and they started up the drive. The young one went to the front door, while the big man walked to the fence gate. Pretty soon the young one joined him. They talked a bit, and then began knocking on the fence, calling something.

I looked back at Mr. Jefferson. He stopped, annoyed, then came to the fence, and stepped through, closing the gate behind him. After that it was all outraged gestures and red-faced anger on his part, mixed with a few unintelligible ravings. The policemen stood quietly, the young one’s hand hovering near his nightstick.

Jefferson stopped gesturing, held up his hand, and marched to the side door. He opened it, stuck his head in and shouted, “Nita.” Even through the wall and the distance, I could hear that. “Nita, get out here!”

They all stood waiting, eyes on the door. Me, too. Then she came out, wearing a bulky bathrobe and slippers, a box of Kleenex under one arm. She kept dabbing at her nose with a tissue. So that’s why she hadn’t come out to the pool. There was some more talk, more questions. At one point, she straightened up, angry, looking around as if wanting someone to light into. I pulled back from the window, not wanting her to see me.

Then it was over. I saw the young policeman walking back to the patrol car. I’d lost sight of the older one. Then I heard the doorbell ring.

He was even bigger standing in my entryway. His black uniform seemed to fill the foyer.

“Mr. Bates, I understand you called 911 earlier today.”

“Me?” How could he know that? I hadn’t given my name.

“Someone from this house. It wasn’t you?”

“Well, yes, I mean . . . I thought . . .”

“That something had happened to Mrs. Jefferson.”

“Uh, yes.”

“Well, I just wanted to let you know she’s all right.”

I had seen that for myself. Except for the sniffles, she was….“What about the box? That coffin he brought in?”

“He’s a gun collector. Old rifles, muzzle loaders. He keeps them in those boxes. It helps protect them from rust.”

“Oh. Well, he was digging a grave, wasn’t he? I saw that.”

His expression said that he was losing patience. “No, sir. He’s putting up a shed out there. He was digging trenches for a cinderblock base. Really, sir, there’s nothing to worry about.”

“Then who is the other man? The one she was with. The one who helped them move in.”

He gave me a hard sort of look, and said, “I’m not sure that’s any of our business, is it?”

I started to say something, but I could see the disapproval on his face. He went to the door, but just before opening it, he said, “The man who helped them move is her brother, sir.”

***
Two days later, she was back on her chaise. I had missed her. But there she was, flaunting herself as she always did. The routine was as usual. She read for a while, then turned onto her stomach and undid the top. It was good to have her back. I watched.

She had been lying there for only a few minutes, when a dog somewhere began to bark–loudly, insistently, on and on. She raised up on her elbows and looked around, annoyed. The top part of her bathing suit stayed on the chaise. Oh, my God, I almost looked away. Then I did, as I saw her staring directly at me. I didn’t jump back, as if I had been caught peeking or something. I looked to one side, casually, then slowly got up and moved away. I went far enough back into the room where I was sure she couldn’t see me. When I looked again, she was standing, pulling on her robe, still glaring at my window.

That evening, Mr. Jefferson brought home another of those boxes.

***
Now they know who called the police, and they know I saw her like that. And they’ll try to do something. I don’t know how they plan to do it, but I can imagine. I think she’ll call some afternoon, and ask me to come over. She’ll have some excuse, something plausible. All innocence. Just being neighborly. And if I go, she’ll be wearing that little robe and who knows what else. And she’ll seduce me. Women like that know how. I’ve thought about that a lot. After that, her husband would come in and kill me and they’d put me into one of those boxes. I saw him out there last night digging another trench.

But I’m safe up here in my room. The doors are locked and I don’t answer the phone anymore. They won’t get me that way. I go out only at night to get whatever I need. I stay up here in my room, sitting by the window, safe from everyone. And I watch. Mamma would be so proud.

John Chabot grew up in southern California and small town Nebraska. He married a girl from New England, and has lived in North Carolina for the past 35 years. Retired, he keeps busy by telling stories and other lies. You can learn more on his website.

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