Total Pageviews

Sunday, 30 June 2013

Astrid gets an interview, and a Fur Thing snippet

Mia Darien, author of the Cameron's Law series, was very brave and had Astrid from the Blue Moon Detective's over for a character interview, and let her snark all over her blog. Check it out here:

Fur Thing is coming along nicely, and I've got a snippet to share with you today. Usual warning: edits may change things, and there may be typo's. Enjoy.


Jenny Lightfoot had spent a lot of time in this room. Her scent was everywhere, especially in the bedroom doorway. She leant against it now, frowning at the bed, and I knew why the hotel staff hadn't thrown me out on my ear. This death was bugging the hell out of her, and I was a possible source of information. Once Sam Prent's husk left the hotel, Lightfoot had no case left. No suspects to question, no answers to get. Along comes Billy, and a way back into the case.
I couldn't really complain, since it got me a lot further than I would've by myself.
"Why is this one getting under your skin so much?" I asked her. She was right about the vamp-in-ice scent. It had crawled into every part of the room, seeping into the carpet and curtains and especially the bed. It entwined with the dry, ancient fur smell of a very large cat, and I had to restrain the urge to arch my back and hiss.  That was not a friendly smell. That was a smell that said 'If you cross my path I will eat you.'
"Do you know what I did in the Corps?"
I shook my head. "I know you were at Captain's rank, and I know they blew the hell out of you and your team. That's about it."
She nodded. "We were MP's. The IED that hit us was set by one of our own guys. He'd shot three civilians and his C.O. and run."
"Did you get him?"
"Oh, yes." Her eyes went flat and cold. "He  died in the blast."
I looked at her face and considered how certain injuries could be consistent with bomb trauma. I'd seen that look before. Astrid had no compunction about killing when it was needed, and she did it with the same eyes.
"Before we ended up getting blown to hell in the desert, I was stationed in Prague for eighteen months. The only case I didn't close was a murder in a smart hotel. Twofer; a visiting colonel and his wife. The colonel was shredded; his wife looked a great deal like the girl I saw on this bed a week ago."
"Same scent?" Astrid wouldn't find that case on any law enforcement database. Military investigators don't tend to share with the civilian cops.
"Same scent."
"How, exactly, was the colonel shredded?"
Lightfoot looked at me. "Ever seen what a cat can do with its back claws?"
I thought back to the video, and the glint of claws in dim light. Those things had been long enough to give Freddie Kreuger an inferiority complex.
"Shredded," I nodded. "Gotcha."
I'd seen enough. If Samantha Prent's ghost was in the hotel, it wasn't interested in talking to me. Maybe Ruth would have more luck. Ghosts and cats can interact pretty well, but if the ghost doesn't want to play, I can't go looking for them on the ether. There's nothing that can play hide-and-seek like a dead girl.