Breaking Records

A Different Type of Record

It's July!

We've been setting all types of records (yeah, not the musical ones, but I like the picture). The USA celebrated it's 250th birthday earlier this month.

Record heatwaves and storms have been happenng everywhere.

And I've broken a few records of my own.

Ready to go?

Let's Rock!

Writing

A decade ago, if someone had told me that I'd have written and published almost a dozen books and a bunch of short stories, I would've been tempted to check their sobriety and sanity.

Me? 12 books?

Yeah, right.

Somehow that's exactly what's happened. Right now I have eleven titles in print. That includes five of the Jamie Richmond series (with Inkspell Publishing) three of the Jefferson Chene series (with The Wild Rose Press) and three books I've self-published. Every time I complete a book and it moves forward in the publishing cycle, I break another of my records.

Each year, I participate in multiple gigs, whether they be festivals, arts & craft shows or author events staged by a library. In 2025 I was in thirty different shows. Many people would say that's crazy. But it's the best way to get my stories front of readers. Summer is a busy time for these kind of festivals. It's a great opportunity to meet people, talk about my books and with any luck, sell a bunch. In some cases, I'll connect with repeat customers. They bought one of my books at an earlier show and they track me down to buy more. Gotta love it when that happens.

While I don't share specific details as to how many copies of each title I sell, the numbers keep climbing. Which breaks another record. There has been some fluctuations with popular titles. Now that the second quarter of the year is complete, here are my top three bestsellers.

In first place, by a whisker is "Rules of Desperation".

In second place, "Why 319?"

Close behind in third place "Stealing Haven"

Seeing this makes me smile. That's one book from each series and one of my independent or self-published titles. Having variety on my table does make a difference.

There are some events where the Jamie Richmond mysteries (amateur sleuth with a touch of romance) jump off the table. At other shows, it's the Jefferson Chene mysteries (police procedural). And then the indie books have their turn.

So setting a record or a goal is important to me. Breaking those records is motivation to keep going.

The Sneak Peek The Wayward Path is this month's feature. It's set in Motown during the middle of the summer. This is the third book in the Jefferson Chene series. Chene and Pappy Cantrell are investigating a cold case homicide that requires collaboration with agents from the FBI.

Here's a scene to get you started.

Tuesday morning there was a car parked across the bottom of my driveway. Not a sleek, suburban hotrod but a large dark sedan. It should have had a label across the doors reading ‘Feds’ or something along those lines. It had been out there since six. The driver’s door opened as I approached. Banks, one of the female agents I met yesterday, slipped out from behind the wheel.

“Morning, Chene.”

“Uh-huh. What brings you by?”

She checked her watch. It was one of those multi-function athletic things that probably doubled as a phone while checking her heart rate and counting how many steps she took. Maybe it monitored her biorhythms too. Or her aura. She held up a finger and appeared to be counting down. At precisely seven o’clock, the phone buzzed in my pocket.

“That will be MacGregor,” she said.

“What’s the deal?” I asked, clicking on the phone.

“And good morning to you, Chene. SAC’s orders. You and Cantrell can dig, but we tag along. That way we’re already up to speed if you find something.”

“Who’s riding with Pappy?” I tried unsuccessfully to fight back a grin.

“I am. We’re just about to sit down to breakfast.”

“Enjoy your grits.” I switched off and tucked the phone back in my pocket. My eyes went to Banks. “I am not riding in that. You can either follow or get in my car.”

She hesitated. “If I follow, do you promise not to try and lose me?”

“I can’t be held responsible for rush hour traffic.”

“MacGregor said you were a bit of a smart ass.”

I shrugged. “Your call.”

Banks ducked behind the wheel, started the heavy car, and rolled it back ten feet. Then she grabbed a thick file from the front seat, climbed out and locked up.

“So where are we headed?” Banks asked.

“Going to talk to a source. Make some connections.”

She shifted and looked right at me. “You’ve had the case files less than twelve hours and you already have a source?”

“Sometimes it works that way.”

I could have made this drive with my eyes closed. The Pontiac seemed to know exactly where to go. I pulled into the lot beside the old building. There was plenty of room to park.

Banks gave me an incredulous look. “We’re going to church?”

“Like I said, meeting a source.”

“You trying to tell me that your source attends early morning religious services on a Tuesday?”

I bit back a grin. “Something like that.”

We headed to the rear doors. Inside the large cathedral there was a small gathering, about thirty people, scattered among the pews closer to the altar. We ducked into a row near the back of the church and watched the priest and an altar boy distribute communion. There was a blessing, followed by a brief prayer and a hymn. The altar boy collected a crucifix on a long pole and led the priest to the back of the church as the song faded. The priest’s hands were pressed together in prayer as he drew close. I caught the nod and the wink he threw.

We waited while the faithful trickled out the various doors. Banks raised her palms and shot me a quizzical look. Only when I heard his footsteps behind us did I get to my feet.

“Hello, Jefferson. It’s been a long time.”

“That it has, Father Dovensky. You’re looking well.”

He scoffed and patted his protruding stomach beneath the vestments. “Maybe I will take up jogging. Or tennis.”

“Start with a long walk. Ease into it.”

“Should I assume your appearance today is related more to your profession than mine?”

“That’s a safe bet.” I gestured to the woman beside me. “This is Special Agent Banks with the FBI. We’re working on a case together.”

Dovensky turned his full attention on her and extended his hand. Banks gave him a firm shake, but the old man didn’t let go. Instead, he took her hand in both of his and stared intently into her eyes.

“I’m a humble priest, but it’s always been my habit to address others by their given name. What do your parents call you, my dear?”

Banks hesitated. I noticed a flush of color creeping up her neck as she responded. “Robin.”

“Robin?”

She nodded. The color rose to her cheeks as a smile tugged at her lips.

“Robin Banks?” Dovensky was unable to keep from roaring out a laugh. “And you’re an agent with the Federal Bureau of Investigation! Your parents obviously had a sense of humor.”

“It’s a long story.”

Dovensky was still chuckling. “Those are the best kind. Jefferson, why don’t you escort Robin to my office while I finish up. I’m sure you remember the way.”

“Of course, Father. C’mon, Banks.”

I led her up a side aisle as the priest walked to the altar. In my peripheral vision, he was still laughing, shaking his head.

Ten minutes later, Dovensky entered the office. He was in casual mode, khaki pants with a white golf shirt. A leather lanyard with a small wooden cross dangled down to his chest. I couldn’t recall ever seeing him this way. Right behind him was one of the housekeepers for the rectory. She was bearing a tray with a decanter of coffee, mugs, and a plate of oatmeal chocolate chip cookies. Dovensky settled behind his desk and waved two fingers at me. I poured a mug for each of us, passing them around. The cookies were in the middle. Banks demurely took one and set it on a napkin beside her mug. The housekeeper was an excellent baker. I took two for starters.

“Let’s hear the story,” the priest prompted.

She sipped her coffee and nibbled the cookie. Dovensky made a steeple with his fingers in front of his chest and waited. I didn’t say anything.

Banks explained that her original last name was Morris. Her parents divorced when she was five. Two years later, her mother began dating. It was a long, slow courtship. His name was Nathan Banks. He knew it was a package deal: mother and daughter. Morris had moved away and rarely saw his daughter. On almost all the dates with her mother, Robin was included. When Nathan proposed, he included her. They both said yes. A few months after they were married, Banks wanted to make it official and adopt her.

“I don’t remember much about my biological father,” she said. “It’s been years since I’ve seen him. When Nathan adopted me and I took his last name, I never thought much about it. I was no longer Robin Morris. I became Robin Banks. At work I go by my initials. R.A. Robin Ann. I took some ribbing while going through the academy, but it’s rare that it comes up nowadays.”

Dovensky sipped his coffee. “Doesn’t the FBI investigate bank robberies?”

“We do. But I’ve been working different task forces over the years.”

“Robin Banks.” He grabbed a cookie and chuckled again. Then his eyes shifted to me. “Now I suppose you’d like to get back to the matter that brought you and Robin here.”

“I’d appreciate that.”

Banks and I took turns describing the cold case. Dovensky’s humor faded quickly as we talked about the disappearance of Charity Gray fifteen years ago and the recent discovery of her body. We didn’t get into the arrest warrant for Leo Agonasti. I’d told Banks before that our focus with the priest would be on the girl’s life. Father Dovensky leaned back in his chair, the mechanisms creaking under his weight. His coffee remained ignored on the desk blotter.

“The poor child. But what assistance do you think I can provide?”

“Charity attended St. Bartholomew’s Catholic School. I thought you may know the principal there, maybe even the nuns who taught her classes.”

Dovensky steepled his fingers again, propping his wrists on his stomach. “It’s possible some of the staff may still be affiliated with the school. But it’s August. School is not in session. It’s not uncommon for the sisters to go on sabbatical during the summer months, or perhaps traveling to other areas and continuing their work. There are many parochial schools in the Detroit area. We’re not exactly Facebook friends.”

“I’m open to suggestions, Father.”

With a sigh, he turned to the computer on the edge of his desk. A few keystrokes later, the priest found what he was looking for. The printer behind me hummed to life. Dovensky pointed over my shoulder. “Contact information of the principal. Sister Augusta. A good person. I expect you to treat her and her role with dignity and respect.”

“Of course, Father D.”

He made a noise that could easily have been a scoff of disbelief.

Banks and I stood. Dovensky hesitated, as if he had something to add. He shook it off, then moved from behind the desk. I grabbed the sheet from the printer as he escorted us out. He took Banks by the hands and beamed a smile. “Robin Banks. Even under these difficult circumstances, it was a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you, Father Dovensky. Same here.”

“I’d like a minute with Jefferson,” he said.

“Of course.” She glanced at me. “I’ll meet you at the car.”

We watched her walk down the sidewalk. “What’s on your mind, Father?”

“This old case. A young girl taken like this is very sad. You really think someone at the school can help you with the investigation?”

“I need background information. The more I know, the better chance there is of figuring out who killed her and why.”

He nodded and extended his hand. “Be careful, Jeff.”

“Always. And thanks, Father.”

“You’re welcome here anytime.” A wide smile crossed his face. “Not only when you’re chasing the bad guys.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

I was three strides down the walk when he called after me. “Be polite with the fair sisters. I understand they still swat knuckles with rulers.”

Work In Progress

There has definitely been some progress on the fourth Chene mystery. Since I don't write with an outline, I don't always know where the story is going. Writing one scene can often trigger an idea for another. Sometimes those random scenes are connected in the timeline. Other times I'll have an inspiration for a part of the story and don't know exactly where it will fit in.

As mentioned last month, I spent some time blocking, or moving scenes around to where they make the most sense. This creates a consistent flow for the book. I was pleased with the results. This also gave me an opportunity to write some new scenes that help keep the story going forward. The word count continues to climb, which can be motivating.

Occasionally I'll just kick back with a notebook and a pen, brainstorming possible characters and scenes. So even if I'm not at the keyboard, I'm still working on the book.

Events

I'm definitely a road warrior this time of year. Here's the rundown for some upcoming festivals. Joining me for all three events will be Heather Ashle who writes the Realm Riders fantasy series. The picture below is from last year's event in Holland.

Art in the Park Saturday, August 1

Centennial Park 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.

250 Central Avenue

Holland, MI

First Presbyterian Church Saturday, August 15

323 W. Grand River 9 a.m. to 4 p.m.

Howell, MI

Green Acres Park Saturday, August 22 Sunday, August 23

620 W. Woodward Heights Blvd. 11 a.m. to 7 p.m. 11:00 to 5 p.m.

Hazel, Park, MI

Music

While I enjoy a wide range of music, rock and roll take center stage. So whether I'm in the car crusing down the highway, in my office at the college or in front of the computer at home, music keeps me company. Lately I've been hearing a number of tunes from Tom Petty

Petty was the lead singer, songwriter and guitarist, with numerous hits from Tom Petty and the Heartbreakers. He was also a key member of The Traveling Wilburys. Petty and the Heartbreakers were inducted into the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame.

Here are my top five favorites.

American Girl: https://youtu.be/Fy_jSSJOAjQ?si=K2HAH4dBWsjhwq14

Running Down a Dream: https://youtu.be/Y1D3a5eDJIs?si=XQjboMLX9xeWUoPc

Won't Back Down: https://youtu.be/bl7lmymUQCk?si=pClTD0TDyzJQStta

Don't Do Me Like That: https://youtu.be/8uZ7klzbJYc?si=F8hPPcziPbwOgury

End of the Line: https://youtu.be/UMVjToYOjbM?si=9ovzvU7Qxe0I5Pvr