Poisoned Pairings: Second in the Hera Knightsbridge Master Brewer Series

I've changed the blog and included the cover of the second Hera Knightsbridge Master Brewer series. 

The second book is Poisoned Pairings.  Here's a short blurb on it:

A student helping set up for a beer and food pairings event in Hera Knightsbridge’s microbrewery dies there under suspicious circumstances.  At first the death looks like a suicide, but the medical examiner determines it is murder, and Hera and her lover, Deputy Sheriff Jake Ryan again find themselves partners in searching for the killer.  Not only does murder threaten the community, but something more explosive has come to the valley—hydraulic fracturing or fracking, a controversial gas drilling technique whose proponents say can take the poor families of the region out of debt.  Hera and her fellow brewers are convinced it will contaminate the water supply, as it had in other places, and change forever the pristine beauty of the valley.  Connections among the student, the family of a dead brewer, a religious leader and the gas companies lead Hera and Jake into a maze of confusing and conflicting clues.  Before the two can unravel the case’s tangled threads, Jake is called away to another job, leaving Hera alone to uncover the identity of the killer before she becomes the next victim.

And a bit more to whet your appetite for beer and murder:

Rafe Oxley, my closest brewing friend, and I sat next to each other in a darkened room in the county office building. My fellow microbrewers in the Butternut Valley and other interested members of the county gathered to watch a video portraying gas exploration using hydraulic fracturing or fracking, a horizontal drilling technique injecting water, sand and chemicals under pressure to shatter underground shale and release the gas trapped inside.


Some individuals in our valley desperate for the income had already signed gas leases. Others worried the drilling would change the valley forever, destroying roads, polluting the air, poisoning our water.

The image on the screen was that of a drilling rig juxtaposed against the verdant background of virgin forest. To its left, a Caterpillar tore a trench through a nearby meadow leaving a gash which ran straight through grass and wildflowers into the scrubby pines behind the site. The camera panned to a fracking pond where the water and chemicals used to force the gas to the surface collected in a landscaping tarp to prevent leakage back into the ground.

The scene shifted to water tumbling over rocks in a small stream. A voice from off-camera said, “Let’s see if we can light this.”

A hand flicked a butane lighter and touched the flame to the water. With a whoosh, the stream caught on fire. The unexpected explosion startled me. I jumped and reached for Rafe’s hand.

“Mrs. Attenby down the road had her well explode on Christmas Eve last year,” said the man who had lit the water.

“The state has stopped the drilling, right?” asked the reporter covering the story.

“Right, but now the water around here is undrinkable. The companies are trucking in safe drinking water to the people who signed drilling leases. ‘Course, since there’s no more gas being taken, the people don’t get their monthly checks.”

Rafe and I glanced at one another, knowing what the other was thinking. Water was the lifeblood of micro brewing. We bought our malt, yeast and hops, shipped them in from other places. Some hops came from as far away as New Zealand. But the main ingredient in our beer, water, came from our wells.

Rafe leaned toward me and whispered what all of us must have been thinking.

“Our wells are connected. We saw that this summer. When one dried up, so did the others. If one well is contaminated, all of them will be. We have to stop this madness.”

Rafe and I turned to look at Teddy Buser, the largest brewer in the valley. He was scowling and shaking his head, the only one of the Butternut brewers who thought making money from natural gas seemed like a good thing. Teddy could afford to buy water, but what of the rest of us? Rafe and I scowled back at him.

The book will be available May 1 from Mainly Murder Press, Amazon, and your favorite indie bookseller.

The Virtues of a Small Publisher II: Why did you choose a small publisher?

Virtues of a Small Publisher Sleuthfest Panel Members: Back row from left: Lesley Diehl, Cindy Cromer, Mike Dennis; Front row from left: Lynnette Hallberg, Marty Ambrose

We are continuing our discussion of small publishers this week.  I think there are many good reasons for using a small publishing house.  During the Editors and Agents Panel at Sleuthfest, several panel members pointed out that advances with large publishers are getting smaller, publicity support is shrinking, less editing occurs, and midlist authors fear their contracts may be terminated.  Given this picture, many small publishers with their emphasis on more intimate and supportive relationships between author and press court talented writers and offer them a home where personal contact and input into the process is part of getting into print.

Myths about small publishers abound.  You pay them.  Not true.  That's a vanity press. They have no way of distributing your books once they are in print.  That depends upon the publisher, but most use Ingram and Baker and Taylor, as do the larger houses.  Your local bookstore cannot return the books.  Also not true in most cases.  There is no vetting process nor editing with a small publisher.   Again that varies from house to house.

I'm certain there are other myths.  I'd like to take this blog to clear up misconceptions about small publishers as well as be honest about what a small publisher can and cannot do for you.  This week I'd like your input on why you decided to go with a small publisher.  It's your decision whether you want to name your publisher or not, but I'd like to hear about the paths you took to publication and how they are working for you.

In the next few weeks we'll be talking about other aspects of going with a small publisher,so stay tuned here.

A day to curl up with a good book

 

Okay, so she's not really reading it, but she doesn't mind leaning against it, so it can't be that bad!

This morning was cloudy.  By noon we got rain, a real downpour, although we could use more.  I thought I'd never say that after all the rain in May and early June.

The second Hera Knightsbridge Mystery

Good news.  I signed a contract with Mainly Murder Press for the second Hera Knightsbridge master brewer story.  The tentative title is Poisoned Pairings, and it focuses on pairing beer and food, and, oh yes, murder.  It is set against the backdrop of the controversial procedure for extracting natural gas from shale, a process called "fracking" or hydraulic fracturing.  Water and other chemicals are introduced into the shale layer under pressure to break it up and release the gas.  Unfortunately, there is evidence to suggest it may pollute well water as well as introduce carcinogenic chemicals into streams and waterways.  The release date for the book is May, 2012.  I'll keep everyone updated on it.  I'm very excited its being published.  Many readers have asked if a second one was coming out so here you are.  I'll post snippits of it here in the near future to entice you.

Food and Brews

For those of you who are interested in cooking with beer or like the idea of pairing beer and food and are off on vacations soon, take a look at the right hand side of this bog where I've listed cities where you can tap into places featuring great food and excellent brews.  Click on one of them, and you'll be sent to a site providing you with information about pubs, breweries, restaurants, and events featuring food and beer.  There are recipes also.

Countdown to Motorcycle Widowhood: Murder on Route 66 hits the road

The cowboy is off on his book promotion trip, leaving around the middle of August.  He left the date open.  I hope he doesn't think he can sneak off, not with those pipes!  If you live in the southwest or anywhere near Roue 66 and hear a roaring in the distance, that's him riding by.  Give him a wave and wish him well.  Send me some cyber scotch in which to drown my loneliness.