I became a fan of Agatha Christie somewhere in my high school years and read her for fun all through college when I needed a break from Charles Dickens and Shakespeare, among other classic English authors. She’s written 66 detective novels, predominately with Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot, 14 short story collections, and plays. The Mousetrap is still in production. She sold more than 2 billion copies of her work.

HH and I usually watch one Christie murder a week, even though we’ve seen many of them before. We love the British atmosphere, the complicated plots, the complex characters. They were a staple on Sunday nights for years. Many of her books have been made into movies. MURDER ON THE ORIENT EXPRESS, MURDER ON THE NILE. I’m always happy to check out the new versions of her writing.

Recently, though, I have to concentrate to realize I AM watching a Christie. Producers/writers/somebody has decided they can mess with them. When I watched Murder on the Nile, the movie started with Poirot on a battlefield, wounded, and then sent to a hospital where the woman he loved visited him. Caught something. And died. As far as I know, that was never in the book or any of the previous movies. And it bothered me. Why fiddle with a great book? Who had to make it their own? Of course, it’s happened before. I love Benedict Cumberbatch, but when he played Sherlock Holmes, I never knew what to expect, even though I knew the stories pretty well.

HH and I just finished watching Christie’s new MURDER IS EASY. We’d recently watched it on Brit Box with Miss Marple. When this version started, though, it took us both a while before we realized the young, black Nigerian detective was playing the part of Miss Marple. A Miss Marple mystery with no Miss Marple? That took us a minute. During the cocktail party, the priest doesn’t die. He argues with the rich up-and-comer instead and doesn’t die until he’s on a tennis court. We knew we were in trouble then. We had no idea where or what would happen next. Everything was so different, we couldn’t even remember who the murderer was in the original version.

I’m not sure how I feel about taking original works and doing whatever you want with them. Christie’s stories have been done over and over again. Instead of making a new remake of the same-old-same-old, people are playing them. But why not come up with something original in the same vein? Before Christie died, she killed off Hercule Poirot so that some writer couldn’t use him and muddy up her vision of her famous detective. I doubt she ever considered people taking her books and changing whatever they felt like to make them “new.”

HH and I enjoyed the new MURDER IS EASY. It was a good mystery, but it was only partially.an Agatha Christie. And the incongruities kept tripping me up. But let’s face it. Rules are changing. I know for sure there was no black queen of England like there is in Bridgerton. How far can writers bend history and original works? Maybe as far as they want to.

Something I learned. What you don’t know CAN and DOES hurt you. After my Florida stomach bug lasted a week, everything I read and all of my nurse friends recommended getting plenty of fiber to help things move through me. USUALLY good advice. But the more fiber I consumed, the worse I got. I had a doctor’s appointment and was looking forward to it, but the doctor had a death in her family so it got cancelled. I was feeling sorry for myself, but my daughter–the nurse–called. Wrong strategy. She did a huddle with her nurse friends at the hospital, and they decided my digestive system and bowels had inflammation, so every time I ate fiber, I made it worse. I should eat bland, safe foods for a week to calm everything down. That’s working. But I’d lost so much sleep, every time I sat down, it was nap time. No consistent writing time. No reading. So, I decided to write a short story until I had enough energy to get back in gear. Writing makes me happy, and the minute I decided to write something short, I thought of Noira and Speed. They’re so unlike any of my other characters, they’re fun for me. And as soon as I thought of them, I got an idea I liked. So here’s the first installment of LOVE GONE AWRY.

Love Gone Awry

by

Judi Lynn

Noira glanced at the clock. Half an hour before she could go home. She was almost done sorting everything Judge Hershel needed to study before this case hit her court. Crime scene photographs in a file. Evidence at the scene in another. Witness statements. People interviewed. If she hurried, she might be able to leave a few minutes early.

Speed, her EMT live-in boyfriend, didn’t have to work today. He’d pulled three night shifts in a row and had two days off. Since it was spring, he’d decided to smoke ribs today to have for supper. He’d finish them on the grill, along with ears of fresh corn. The man made some of the best barbecue sauce she’d ever tasted, and he’d texted her that he’d picked up Lambrusco and a six-pack to wash everything down. After work last night, she’d made his favorite potato salad to finish out the meal. Tonight was going to be all about pleasure.

She was gathering everything to give to the judge when someone gave a quick knock on the office door and a woman stepped inside. Early thirties. The perfectly coiffed long blond hair and shapely legs of a model.

“Can I help you?” Cops, lawyers, and detectives bopped in and out of the office all day long, but this woman didn’t belong here.

“A security officer downstairs scanned my purse and wouldn’t let me bring my gun to show you. It didn’t have any bullets.”

Noira frowned. “Why would you bring a gun? You can’t even get a corkscrew past security.”

“Because I need someone to record what’s happened. I reported my gun stolen two weeks ago. I keep it in the small, top drawer of my dresser with my scarves. Two weeks ago, it was gone. Someone had taken it.”

Okay, that aroused Noira’s curiosity. “But it’s back now?”

“I opened my drawer this morning, and there it was.”

Even curiouser. “Why would someone take your gun and then bring it back?”

The woman came closer, resting her thigh on Noira’s desk. “I think they used it and hope to pin what they did on me.”

Not a bad theory. Noira glanced at the clock again. Ten minutes till five. But the woman had a legitimate worry. “Detective Hunter’s in the building. I saw him half an hour ago. I’m going to give him a call, and you can tell him what you’ve told me.”

“Can he pick up my gun from downstairs?”

“Probably.” Noira had worked with Hunter so many times, they’d become casual friends. She explained the woman’s problem to him, and he promised to meet them in her office.

Noira took the papers to Judge Hershel and Hunter walked through the door a few minutes later, carrying a .38 Smith and Wesson. “Nice gun.”

The woman glanced at it fondly. “My dad bought it for me when I moved here. Said big cities were dangerous. I keep it in my drawer, but I trust my security system more.”

Hunter pulled out his pen and notepad. “Can I get your name and address, a phone number so I can reach you?”

“Elizabeth Jordan.” She shared the rest with him.

Hunter paused. “Is there someone who really dislikes you? Someone who’d like to see you blamed for a crime you didn’t commit?”

Elizabeth shook her head. “I’m an interior designer. My clients tend to like me. I think my friends do, too. I was engaged to Merit Lamrose but broke it off two years ago. He started partying more, drinking more, everything more. I’m not into any of that. He wasn’t too happy when I gave him back his ring, but like I said, that was two years ago. He’s moved on. Has a new girlfriend.”

Hunter faithfully wrote down every detail she gave him, then closed his notebook. “I’ll look into this, and I’ll get back to you. But you’re right. It’s odd someone put the gun back. I’m guessing they were hoping you wouldn’t notice it was missing in the first place and that you wouldn’t know it was replaced. Otherwise, they’d shoot someone with it and dump it in the river so no one would ever find it.”

Her shoulders relaxed. “Thanks for taking me seriously. This whole thing has left me unsettled.”

Hunter started for the door. He was a busy man. “I’m glad you came in. We’ll have a better handle on things if something odd comes up.”

Elizabeth smiled at Noira. “Thanks for hearing me out. I could tell you were anxious to leave when I got here.”

“Part of the job,” Noira said. “Hunter’s a good detective. He’ll take good care of you.”

Elizabeth left, and Noira reached for her cane. Ever since the car accident, she walked with a limp. She drove home to their apartment complex and found Speed on the back patio, tending the grill.

“Hey, Gorgeous. Got caught at the office, didn’t you?” He poured her a glass of Lumbrusco and took a sip of his beer.

Noira knew she wasn’t a ravishing beauty like Elizabeth, the interior designer. She was five-five, a little overweight, with a mop of unruly, chestnut hair. Speed, on the other hand, could turn heads. Five-eleven, he had thick, wavy black hair, sexy stubble, and a great ass and abs. His legs were too skinny, but his beautiful, milk-chocolate brown eyes could melt hearts. And he was wickedly clever and funny.

Noira took a drink of her wine then told him about Elizabeth and her gun.

His black brows drew together in a scowl. “Remember the man Ditto and I picked up on Saturday around three a.m.?”

Ditto was Speed’s EMT partner. Every member had a nickname. Speed was the fastest and best EMT in town. Everyone knew it. And Ditto could keep up with him. She tried to remember what Speed had said about Saturday night. “He was bleeding out from a bullet wound, right?”

“Someone heard the gunshots and called them in, but he’d been shot three times. He didn’t make it to the hospital.”

“Did the victim have a name?”

“Merit Lamrose, and he was shot in an exclusive neighborhood on the north side of the city.”

“Autumn Hills? That’s where Elizabeth lives.”

Speed opened the grill to slather more barbecue sauce on the ribs. The corn on the cob had nice char marks. “What if Elizabeth reported her gun missing when no one took it? That would make her look innocent, and then she reinforced her innocence by reporting someone brought it back?”

Noira swiped her finger through the barbecue sauce and licked it off. Delicious. “Possible, I guess, but pretty gutsy. What if she’s telling the truth? And Knucklehead Merit came to confront her about something but someone shot him instead?”

“Is she serious about someone new?”

“Not that she said.”

“What about Merit? Does he have someone new in his life?”

“A new, serious girlfriend.”

“Maybe Hunter should talk to her.” He lifted the grill hood again, and Noira wanted to rip the ribs off the grates and dig in. She’d eaten a small lunch today, anticipating supper tonight. He grinned at her.

“They’re ready.”

That’s all she needed to hear. She went in to carry the potato salad to the patio table on their back deck, and he brought the ribs and corn. Supper was as wonderful as she’d expected. They carried things into the apartment, then settled in the living room. She gave a sigh of happiness to see all of the pizza and carry-in boxes thrown in the trash. Speed had picked up all of their cast-offs today. It was her turn to pick the movie.

Speed held up a hand. “I can’t watch The Thirteenth Warrior again. I like it, but enough’s enough.”

“Gosford Park.” She had a thing for Vikings and British mysteries. So did he.

As they watched, he polished off his six pack, and she finished the Lambrusco. When the movie ended, Speed fiddled with the remote and found an Avengers movie. She went for a small bottle of Pinot Grigio. Around three in the morning, she toddled off to bed.

I was going to post the second part of LOVE GONE AWRY this morning, but workmen came to change out electrical wires on our side of the street, and we didn’t have any electricity for three and a half hours. It was 27 degrees outside. I finally put two huge soup pans on the stove filled with hot water, hand lit our gas burners, and boiled the water to get a little warmth in the house. HH and I wrapped in blankets, and things were tolerable. Anyway, this is later than I expected, but here’s part 2 of Noira and Speed’s story:

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The alarm went off, and Noira pressed her hand to her head. Pain. This was going to be Hangover Wednesday. Speed had the day off. She should have gone to bed at a decent time last night, but they just kept watching one Avenger after another. And now, she was tired, grumpy, and had to go to work.

When she was young, she’d always wanted super powers. But after watching the movies, she’d decided everything was still a struggle because your enemies had super powers, too. No matter what, Life just wasn’t supposed to be easy, she guessed.

Groaning, she got out of bed, downed a few aspirin, and stumbled to the kitchen for coffee. If anyone walked in her office this morning, God help them. She was going to look like a wreck that barely survived.

The first person who burst through the door was Detective Hunter. He looked at her and laughed. “Speed must have had the night off last night.”

She glared. “What do you want?”

“Elizabeth’s old fiancee, Merit Lamrose, was shot early Saturday morning close to her home.”

She held up a hand. “Speed already told me that.”

He rolled his eyes. “Did he tell you Merit was shot with her gun?”

“No, but that figures, doesn’t it? I mean, either she faked that the gun was stolen or someone did steal it to make it look like she shot him.”

“What’s your gut telling you?” Hunter asked.

“I think someone’s setting her up.”

“And you base that on…?”

“She’s too put together to want to wear an orange jumpsuit.”

Another bark of laughter. “Okay, I’ll keep that in mind. I talked to the new girlfriend. A party girl. Not gorgeous but sexy. Works at a bar on Brooklyn Avenue. You should drink something with electrolytes. It might help.” And he left the office.

She winced when the door slammed shut. Then she got down to work. She’d learned to persevere, no matter what happened the night before. But she was grateful to go home when five o’clock finally came. Everything on her desk had been dealt with. She was going to eat supper and go to bed early tonight.

The truth was, neither she nor Speed were interested in cooking all that often. Tonight, they ordered in pizza. Pizzas might not be super healthy, but they weren’t super unhealthy either. And they tasted good.

While they ate, she told Speed what Hunter had found out.

“There’s only one bar I know of on Brooklyn,” Speed said. “Want to check it out?”

“Only if I get rid of this headache.”

He went to the fridge and got her a bottle of Gatorade and laid two aspirin beside it. Why not? She drank them down and felt a little better. An hour later, they drove to the bar.

Merit must have had a thing for blondes. The bartender had teased platinum hair, black eyeliner, and lots of curves. Her name tag read Jessica. Speed and Noira took two stools, and he ordered a beer and she ordered pinot grigio.

When Jessica had a break between customers, Speed said, “I was hoping to bump into Merit Lamrose in here. I heard he stopped in to see you from time to time.”

She stopped polishing a glass to stare at him. “Haven’t you heard? He’s dead. Someone shot him last weekend.”

“Shot him?” Speed looked surprised. “Why would anyone do that?”

“That uppity girlfriend of his, the designer, has been trying to win him back ever since she found out we were engaged.” She held up her hand to show a chunk of diamond on her finger. “But that girl wouldn’t know how to have fun if it bit her on the fanny.”

Speed took a sip of his beer. “When were you going to get married?”

“At the end of next month. Nothing fancy. Just one heck of a party. I already have my sequined dress in the closet. Neon blue to show off my eyes.”

“That’s rough. I’m sorry for your loss.” Speed finished his beer.

Jessica’s expression turned hard. “So am I.” A customer motioned for her at a nearby table. She nodded and headed to him.

Speed tossed a twenty dollar bill on the bar, and he and Noira left.

“Your thoughts?” he asked on the drive home.

“We just narrowed it down to two suspects. One of those women is lying.”

His lips quirked into a smile. “But which one is it?”

Hunter popped into Noira’s office the next morning. “Did you go to see Jessica?”

“How did you know?”

“I gave you the bar she worked at. I knew either you or Speed would take the bait. What did you think?”

“It’s one of the two women. Either Elizabeth is ticked because Merit was going to marry his party girl, or the party girl’s miffed because something went wrong.”

“I talked to a few of Merit’s friends, and they said he was beginning to regret losing Elizabeth, that he was thinking about ending the drinking and partying and hoping she might take him back. His best friend told him it was about time he got smart again, that it was time to get over his midlife crisis or whatever it was that made him stupid for a while.”

Noira had to chuckle. “Best friends tell it like it is.”

“This guy did. He said Merit had decided to go to see Elizabeth on the night he died.”

“Did Elizabeth know he was coming?”

“No, he was afraid she wouldn’t let him in the house. He meant to knock on her door and surprise her.”

“Did Jessica know he was going?”

“No, he told her that the guys had invited him to meet them for a night out.”

“Did he meet Elizabeth?”

Hunter shook his head. “She swears he never showed up.”

“Did Jessica work that night?”

“Yes, but you have to remember. Merit was shot at three in the morning. Her shift was done by then.”

Noira let out an exasperated sigh. “If he was going to see Elizabeth, why wait until three a.m.?”

“His bestie thinks he was probably drinking, trying to work up the courage.”

Noira could relate to that. She’d gotten plenty of calls from friends in the wee hours after they’d had too much to drink. She tried to focus on something solid, specific. “Did anyone see any car or person if they looked out their windows?”

“A man who lives on a corner saw a car’s taillights turn out of the subdivision and speed away.”

“Elizabeth wouldn’t do that. She’d walk into her house and pretend nothing happened.”

“True, but maybe the driver took off because he didn’t want to be involved in a shooting and have the police question him.”

Noira’s thoughts went in another direction. “If someone stole Elizabeth’s gun, how did he get past her security system? How did he get in her house? Did Merit have a key and her security code?”

“Elizabeth changed them when he dumped her.”

“So, who’d have both?”

Hunter frowned. “A good question. I’m going to look into that.”

He started to stand when there was a quick knock on the door and Elizabeth stepped into the office again. Noira motioned her to the chair Hunter was exiting. “We were just talking about you.”

Elizabeth had her blond hair pulled up in a careless knot today, highlighting her high cheekbones. She wore slim, black pants and a zebra print blouse. Stylish. But she had dark circles under her eyes, and her eyes were puffy. “Have you learned anything? I talked to Merit’s best friend, and he said Merit was going to ask me to take him back, that he wanted to quit partying and drinking.”

“What would you have said?” Noira asked.

“Yes.” Elizabeth pressed a hand to her forehead and winced, trying to massage away a headache. “I’m still not over him. I’d have given it another try.”

She sounded sincere. Noira believed her. “Can you think of any way someone got into your house to steal your gun? Wouldn’t your security system have gone off?”

“I’ve been thinking about that, and the only person who has a key and my code is my neighbor so that she can come and feed my cat when I’m out of town. But Toni would never steal my gun. Never. We’re friends. We’re there for each other.”

Hunter rubbed his stubbly jaw. He must have been in a hurry this morning and hadn’t taken the time to shave. “Has anyone new been in or out of Toni’s house?”

Elizabeth’s eyes widened in surprise. “She had a new cleaning woman for two weeks, but the girl already quit. Didn’t like the job.”

“Did you ever see her?”

“Only a glimpse. She had platinum hair pulled back in a ponytail, and she had a great figure. No uniform could hide her curves.”

Noira and Hunter locked gazes. Elizabeth frowned. “What?”

“I think you just described Merit’s party girl, Jessica.”

Elizabeth spread her hands in surrender, lost. “Why would she clean houses?”

“One house. Your neighbor’s. And I’m guessing she got your house key and pass-code.”

Elizabeth’s face drained of color. Noira grabbed her cane to go to her. “Are you all right?”

Elizabeth grabbed the edge of Noira’s desk and took deep breaths. “She killed Merit and planned to pin his murder on me. Why?”

Hunter answered. “I’d guess she wasn’t happy he was going to ditch her and go back to you.”

“But I didn’t hate her when she stole him from me. She just made me realize what a stickler I am, too goal oriented. And believe me, she went all out. Flirted with him and invited him to parties.”

Hunter headed for the door. “You and Jessica have nothing in common. And that’s a good thing. She’s a sore loser. But I want to get all my t’s crossed before I arrest her.”

Elizabeth’s shoulders slumped and all of the energy drained out of her. “Can I stay a minute to get myself together?”

“Stay as long as you want. Can I call someone for you? Have a friend meet you here?” Noira felt sorry for her. Justice was great, but it didn’t bring a loved one back.

Half an hour later, Elizabeth’s sister came to drive her home. Noira waited a few minutes, then called Speed to tell him the latest before he had to go to work. He worked seven to seven tonight. They’d eat supper together before he had to leave. Then she’d have the evening to herself.

It had been a rough day. Her thoughts and feelings were in turmoil. She’d buy a bottle of wine on her way home, then watch The Thirteenth Warrior. Vikings and violence held her attention. It almost always fixed whatever ailed her.

My grandson and his wife had our family’s celebration at their house in Indy this year. My stomach/system is doing a lot better, but I didn’t feel safe making the two-hour drive there and back, so we stayed home. My sister was our only guest for the holiday meal. Usually, my cousin would come, too, but she said St. Anne’s was doing an Easter egg hunt and party so she wanted to stay at the nursing home. That pretty much shows how exciting HH and I were this year.

My sister’s not a big fan of ham and the traditional sides, so I decided to make one of her favorite meals instead–beef and noodles over mashed potatoes. Green beans with pearl onions on the side, and a lemon sponge cake for dessert. We had way too much food, but I planned it that way, so Mary could take a bunch of leftovers home with her. I don’t monkey around when it comes to beef and noodles. I go all out since Mary loves them so much. I roasted two chuck roasts to shred for the meat, added chopped carrots, onions, and celery. Then I built from there before adding the Amish noodles. They were a big success.

Next year, Ty and his wife will have a baby to bring to Easter. Their little boy is due any day now. We’re all getting excited. So next year, Easter will be a big deal. This year, the nice, low-key celebration was relaxing and nice.

I’m reading Mae Clair’s The Keeping Place right now. And this is going to sound odd, but I can relate to SO many of the characters in the book that’s it’s poking at old memories and stirring them to life.

Glory, a faded movie star, has two daughters–Nicole and Janie. Janie–the younger daughter–is an eccentric, old soul. She keeps notebooks and makes lists, collects odd tidbits as treasures. She doesn’t fit in. I was the oldest daughter in our house, but I was like that as a kid. Lived inside my own head a lot. Only had a few close friends and wasn’t interested in meeting more. Wrote lots of notes but always threw them away. Never even considered being popular. I was happy doing my own thing.

Nicole, her older sister, is more together, more social. My younger sister was a lot more of a people person than I was. Loved attention. Loved boys. Nicole has a crush on Vin, and they plan to get married someday. Vin wants to be a cop like his dad, and they envision a happy life staying in their hometown.

Glory came back to Hornwood after the dream of being a famous movie star didn’t happen. She took over running her parents’ restaurant and becomes a minor celebrity, bringing tourists in to see her. She and her girls have a good life, recognizing and accommodating each other’s flaws until Nicole takes Janie to her senior party for the last day of school, and Janie disappears. Everyone assumes she fell into the creek and drowned, but years later, her remains are found in an old, derelict shack near the railroad tracks, and her death is ruled a homicide.

Glory blames Nicole for not watching over her sister like she was supposed to. The strain between them becomes so much, Nicole leaves Hornwood to live with her father and his new wife. I’m not sure exactly why it happened, but my mom and I grew apart when I started college. Mom thought college was a waste of time for a woman and wanted me to go to business school. I wanted to be a teacher, and the riff just sort of expanded over time. Even after I had our two girls, Mom and I never quite healed. We loved each other, but there was always a hurdle we didn’t cross.

Nicole’s dad’s new wife, Amelia, is a treasure and in her gentle way, helps Nicole heal. And then the news that Janie was murdered, not drowned, emerges, and Nicole returns to Hornwood to find out what really happened on the night Janie died. She has to face the many people she left behind, and to her surprise, none of them blame her for what happened.

I’m only halfway through THE KEEPING PLACE, but the characters in this book have sucked me in. Sometimes, I wish I were a faster reader but not this time. I want to savor every parcel of this story.

One of my favorite movies is Midnight In Paris where Owen Wilson, a would-be novelist, sits on a church step at midnight and a vintage car pulls up to invite him along for a night on the town, then he’s whisked back to a time when F. Scott Fitzgerald, Hemingway, and other artists are coming into their own in the city. The actor Corey Stoll plays Hemingway and Kathy Bates plays his agent, Gertrude Stein. As a writer, it was fun to hear their discussions about what makes a great book. Hemingway definitely had strong opinions. So, I got a kick out of watching Steve Lund play Hemingway in the latest episode of FRANKIE DRAKE Mysteries that HH and I watched.

The setting for the show is 1920s Toronto, and Frankie Drake is the city’s first female detective. Frankie Drake is nothing like Miss Scarlet in Miss Scarlet and The Duke, two Victorian era detectives. Miss Scarlet is serious about proving herself and earning a good reputation. Frankie is not above bending the law and social expectations to have a little fun. Hemingway is a newspaper reporter who irritates her. It’s mutual. He’s ambitious to write more than just columns for the paper, so he and Frankie end up working together to solve a murder so that he can have the big scoop of a story. For me, Lund did a good job of playing his part.

The Frankie Drake Mysteries is a little bit flippant, a little naughty, and so far has had solid mystery plots. Makes for some light entertainment on a Friday night.

I just finished reading Lynn Cahoon’s Murder in a Tourist Town novella that’s a prequel to her Tourist Town mysteries. And I was surprised by how short it was. Only 119 pages. But I love short stories, so I’m not sure that was my problem. I’m a fan of C.S. Boyack’s The Hat series, and I looked up their length. The last one was 146 pages, but it felt fully developed. Then I looked up Julia Donner’s last story in her Regency Friendship Series. About 146 pages. And it was completely and happily satisfying. Then I looked up the Harbor Pointe Inn series, which I really enjoyed, and one of them was only 109 pages, another one 117. But they felt complete.

So what made the difference? All of the other stories developed at their own speed. The characters drove the story from beginning to end. Murder in a Tourist Town started like that, and I fell for the characters in South Cove. I wanted Jill to leave her exhausting job as a divorce lawyer and find happiness. I wanted her to open a coffee shop/bookstore in South Cove. And I fell in love with Miss Emily. But then the author moved from Part One of the story to Part Two, and it felt like she gave me an epilogue–how everything worked out–and TOLD me what happened instead of just letting it develop. The ending felt rushed. It didn’t have to. Like I said, one of the Harbor Pointe Inn novellas was only 109 pages, but those pages developed the story and characters.

I’m still glad I read Murder in a Tourist Town. It’s a prequel to the rest of the series, and I learned new things about the characters I’ve been following for a long time. But the ending felt rushed. I’m happy with how everything worked out, but a few more pages wouldn’t have hurt to let the story move at its own pace.

My grandson and his wife just had their little baby boy. They live in Indy, so sent us Face Time with them and Clark. Okay, I know I’m prejudiced, but this kid looks like a sweetheart, like he’s already in tune with the world and ready to enjoy life.

I’m a bit of a horoscope fan, so I looked up his birthdate in my book, The Secret Language of Birthdays, Personology Profiles for each Day of the Year, and guess what the book said for April 16th? The Day of Cosmic Comedy. “Laughter is something that comes naturally to those born on April 16th, and with it, the ability to let others laugh, too.” What a wonderful life plan.

Our daughter from Florida is flying in on May 2nd to see the baby, so our little family in Fort Wayne is going to drive down to Indy and rent hotel rooms for May 2nd and 3rd to see her and the new baby. We’ll leave later on Saturday to drive home, and Robyn’s flying back to Indy early on Sunday. It will be fun seeing everyone and meeting our new great-grandson. I’m planning on making some food ahead for the new parents for days they don’t want to cook. I can’t help it. I love to feed people. I’m making Italian meatloaf because Emily loves it, a pork loin with veggies because it’s easy, and a breakfast casserole because both Ty and Emily like them. Then I want to make potato soup (it was one of Ty’s favorites when he was a little boy), a chicken and orzo soup because it’s super healthy, and a gumbo that they both love. That should buy them some lazy time when they don’t want to bother with supper or lunch.

And even though I’m going to have to pry my daughter’s fingers off the baby, I get a turn to hold him. We’re looking forward to meeting him.