Today's blog post is Chapter 1 from my first South American mystery novel, "The Empanada Affair". On the positive side, readers will find out how Roger and Suzanne first met and became a couple. Readers will get to visit Salta, Argentina and the surrounding areas, a region my wife and I both loved when we lived there. Lots of tourism, local food, and a mystery story, all for the bargain price of less than a dollar. On the less positive side, it was my first ever novel and I was learning how to write a book by doing it. If you are interested in seeing the evolution of a mystery writer and their characters, this is a must read---comparison with "The Surreal Killer" or "The Matador Murders"will dramatize my learning process. And a caution for adult content (this was my first, and only, attempt to write an erotic book; I think readers will support this decision).
Without further preamble, here is Chapter 1 from The Empanada Affair:
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CHAPTER
1.
It was a sunny day in November, one of those days the
Los Angeles Chamber of Commerce tries to convince the tourists is typical of
our weather all year round. I was
sitting at my desk waiting for a client to walk in and hire me. I had been sitting at the same desk for
a day or two, and was getting bored with nothing much to do. It had been a good year for me and I
had been working hard until the end of last week. That meant I was sitting on a nice bank balance and could
afford to be without a client or a job for a while longer. On the other hand, I didn’t
particularly enjoy doing nothing and thought about taking the rest of the
afternoon off and making a quick trip to work out at the new Gracie Jiu Jitsu
gym I had seen written up in the local news section of the L.A. Times. A moment later the decision was taken
out of my hands.
There was an assertive rap on the door, which opened
and she walked in. About 5’8”, on
the good side of 30 years old, lean athletic body, Scandanavian looking face,
long blond hair, and an aura of success and good breeding. Wearing $300 jeans
and Bruno Magli heels, her look was casual but at the same time Los Angeles
sophisticated. Maybe it was pheromones, maybe it was
just how beautiful she was, but somewhere deep in my mind a little voice was
shouting, “Wow, this could be the one for you!”
I introduced myself and made a gesture; she sat on
the client chair facing my desk, crossed her long legs, and leaned forward.
There was a pause while she decided what to say. I could read the letters on my door backwards; they still
said “Roger Bowman Investigations”.
I glanced around the office seeing again the desk with a computer
monitor on top, the computer tower and a laser printer under the desk, the
client chair in front, and a couple of file cabinets against the wall. The opposite wall featured a large
window with a great view of the smog hiding the Tehachapi Mountains to the
north, and a sprinkling of my various martial arts competition trophies on
shelves on the walls, an overall image far less elegant than my potential new
client.
“Hello. I assume you are Roger Bowman”, she said.
“Yes, I am” seemed to be the right answer.
“My
name is Suzanne Foster.”
“What
can I do to help you Ms. Foster?”
“I’m being followed”, she told me, “and there seem to
be at least two people taking turns doing the following. This has gone on for more than a week
that I am aware of, and I don’t know for how long before that until I realized
I was seeing the same two men behind me over and over”.
“Do you have any idea why someone would want to have
you followed?” I asked.
