I wish I was tall. Not all the time, mind you. Just moments like today, when I was balancing precariously on a stepstool on my tiptoes. The bakery had an order come in for fifteen dozen cookies for a teacher's appreciation event at the grade school. There was no way we'd be able to fill the request without the extra sheet pans I kept on top of the rack on the back wall. This was the reason my four-foot-something body was doing a balancing act that would have made Cirque du Soleil proud. I'd been after Tony to stop by and help since the order came in, but he'd been buried in his own organizational issues in the back room of his record store. So here I was, genuinely weighing the odds that today was the day I finally broke something, when I heard a strange voice behind me.
"Need a hand with that?"
"Sure," I said, looking at the bespectacled man standing behind me. I descended the ladder and the man climbed up, taking my spot.
"Which ones are you after?" he asked.
"Just the sheet pans. There should be six of them."
"There's five," he answered.
"Having five beats not having any. I appreciate it. Mr…."
He carefully moved down the small A-frame ladder, pans in hand. "Stacey."
"Well, thank you, Mr. Stacey."
"It's Mr. Roberts. Stacey is my first name."
"Oh, what a coincidence. My business partner is a ‘Stacy’ too. But she's — well, a girl."
"I know, we met. She was busy with customers, and after either sizing me up for threat or for a tuxedo, she sent me back here. My name has an 'e' in it."
I took the sheet trays from him and slid them onto the prep counter. "So, how can I help you, Stacey with an 'e'?"
"I write the Madison Mysteries, and you commented on my book that if I was ever in Flat Rock, I should stop by and let you interview me for your Baker's Dozen series."
"That certainly sounds like something I would say." I gave him a quizzical look. "I read a ton of mysteries. I'm trying to place your…"
"A Serial Killer's Cookbook."
"Oooooooh," I said, it suddenly hitting me. "Amelia Stark. I loved that book." I shook my head. "Sorry — I guess I just hadn't connected it to the series name yet."
"Well, in your defense," he said, "I haven't written any more in the series yet. But I'm working on it."
"Then we have a lot to talk about. Let's grab a table and I'll get my notes."
We made our way back up front, with Stacey settling into the window table, while I retrieved my tattered writing journel and pen from under the counter.
"So, where are you from?" I asked, sitting down across from him and flipping open my notebook.
"I live in Northern Kentucky, just outside of Cincinnati”
"Wow, so not exactly a local. How did you find your way up to our tiny little lake town?”
“I was up in Minneapolis for a conference and thought — well, it's not that far. And you had made the offer, so..."
"I did," I said. "And I meant it." I clicked my pen. "Alright then, Stacey, tell me a little about yourself. Who are you when you're not writing?
"Well, I own my own business, which takes up most of my time. I have two Goldendoodles — Gus and Sally — and two cocker spaniels.” He paused. "Sally's a boy, by the way."
I looked up from my notebook. "Sally is a boy."
"Like me," he said, perfectly straight-faced. "A boy with a girl's name."
I wrote that down. "Go on."
"I'm a big history and politics nerd, so I spend a lot of time reading and writing in that area.”
“If you like history, you’d love it here. There’s a lot of history in and around Flat Rock,” I told him.
That was the moment Stacy showed up. Customers apparently handled, or close enough. She had a look on her face I recognized.
"Can I get you something?" she asked, directing this entirely at my new author friend.
"What do you recommend?" he asked.
I looked at Stacy. "He'll have an iced chai latte," I said, before he could finish the thought.
He blinked. "That's — actually exactly what I was going to order."
I read people by their coffee order. It's a gift.
Stacy wrote it down, and then leaned on the table, batting her eyelashes at him. "I'm sorry, I didn't catch your name."
“This is Stacey Roberts," I said. "He writes the Madison Mysteries. I'm interviewing him for the Bear Claw Approved Authors series. Stacey – meet Stacy."
"Oh, how fun," my partner said, and then, as casually as she could, "Are you married, Stacey?"
"I am,” he said.
I watched the corners of Stacy’s grin drop just a little. "Good for you," she uttered, and went to make our drinks.
And I continued with the interview.
“When did you know you wanted to write mysteries? I mean, was there a book or a moment that made you think, ‘yeah, this is what I want to do’?”
The author shifted in his seat. "They always say that you should write the book you want to read. I grew up reading Robert B. Parker's Spenser novels, and lately the Jack Reacher series. I love a good mystery. It just made sense to write one."
“That does make sense. So Parker, and Lee Child. Both great authors. Any others?
"Sue Grafton.”
No hesitation. I respect that in a person. I shook my head. “I loved Grafton. I once bought 'G is for Gumshoe' at a garage sale. I was hooked after that, and have been following her series for decades. So tell me about Amelia Stark, the lead character in your book. Is she like Kinsey Millhone, from Grafton’s Alphabet Murders?”
"Maybe a little,” He answered. “Amelia Stark is an amalgam of all the badass, independent women I've known in my life. She's a recovering alcoholic, a recovering spouse of a dim and selfish man-baby, and a single mother to a brilliant prodigy. Her life's mission is to protect and care for him and make sure he doesn't turn out like his father. And grandfather. And great-grandfather. She wants, above all, to live her life quietly." He smiled. "Unfortunately, events turn against her."
"As they tend to," I said.
Stacy sans the extra 'e' reappeared with my usual coffee and the iced chai latte. She set down our drinks with a smile, and then looked at our guest.
"You said you were married. Would that be happily?"
"Stacy...," I said.
"Just asking." She disappeared back to the counter.
The writer Stacey watched her go. "Is she always like that?"
"More or less," I said. "You get used to it. You were telling me about Amelia.”
"She’s an independent woman in small-town America, owns a vast amount of land, and has money that's only one generation old. She's an unmarried single mother. The provincials look askance at her — especially when people she knows start turning up dead."
“And all of this happens in Madison, Indiana?”
“Yep.”
“So why Indiana? Why not Kentucky or Ohio…or even Minnesota, for that matter?”
"Madison, Indiana is a jewel of a river town I stumbled across twenty years ago. The downtown area feels frozen in time. There's an air of nostalgia and simplicity that we don't get much of anymore. But since it's the world of my mystery series, a lot of things happen there to make it interesting."
"Sounds a little like Flat Rock," I said.
He looked around the bakery. "A little," he agreed.
“And your plots,” I asked. “Where do they come from? Do you know who did it before you begin writing, or do your character tell you?
"I make stuff up." He said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. "This one started when I found a recipe book from the 1950s in an antique store. So many Jell-O molds.”
I couldn’t help but laugh.
‘As with most of my ideas,” he continued, “it ended up with 'and then the murders began.' So, I imagined Amelia as a single mother who finds her aunt's old recipe book and decides to start cooking for budgetary and health reasons."
He leaned forward a little.
"There was also a post on Facebook once about recipe sites. You know the ones, where there are sixteen pages about how they came up with the recipe? Before they get to the actual cooking?”
“Oh, yeah, I know…” I said, worried that maybe the intro to my peach cobbler ran a little long.
“Someone on social media commented: What if a serial killer hid the clues to thier murders in the preamble to recipes, because no one ever reads that part?"
I set my pen down. "That is either the best or the most unsettling thing I've ever heard."
Roberts took another sip of his latte. “To answer your original question, I usually know who did it before I start," he continued. "My next Madison Mystery is about the JFK assassination, and I know who did it." He paused. "It's not who you think. The parts that get made up as I go are usually characters that I didn't plan, or scenes that grew organically. Like, the chapter from A Serial Killer's Cookbook with the meat fork."
I made a note: read the meat fork chapter again. “So, if my readers pick up your book for the first time, what should they know beforehand?”
"It's pretty funny," he said. "For a murder mystery."
“I’d have to agree, though it’s been awhile since I read it. I’ll have to go back and read it again,” I said, pointing to the bookshelves that lined the hallway heading back to the bathrooms.
“You’ve read all of those?” Stacey asked.
“That’s just part of my collection. I have seven or eight shelves just like those at home, full. Not bad for someone who only gets a chance to read now before bed. I’m up at four a.m. every morning to begin baking. Are you a morning or evening writer?”
"I have to start early. I'm a morning person — up at four-thirty — so if I'm going to write, it has to be early. I run out of steam before noon."
“That sounds familiar. I get more work done before noon than most people do all day. But then, it’s mostly because the croissants aren’t going to make themselves. I respect the discipline either way. Hard work builds character. Speaking of characters, is there a character in your books that you get excited to write about?”
"Gene Four," he said, without a moment's hesitation. "I love that kid."
I looked up. "Gene Four. Amelia's son, right?”
“Yes! He's twelve, is a prodigy, and gives his mother completely unhelpful advice about Roman emperors and murder motives."
"He sounds like someone I'd like," I said.
"Most people do," he said. "That's kind of the point."
I looked over and saw my lovesick business partner watching the two of us. If I didn’t wrap this up soon, I could just see her coming over and attempting to try and talk Stacey into moving here. “So, what are you reading right now? Any good mysteries? Or anything that is influencing what you're currently writing?”
"I just finished Remarkably Bright Creatures, I'm working through The Hail Mary Project, and I'm reading a biography of Mark Twain.”
“Samuel Clemens,” I playfully corrected. “I love Mark Twain. We have a playwright here who is working on a production of his visit to our fair town.”
“That’s incredible. He really came to Flat Rock?”
“No,” I said, “but her play is going to say that he did. She’s asked me to be her understudy.”
“You should do it. His book is the only one that influences my writing." He paused. "Other writers inspire me to keep going. The Twain book reminds me what's possible."
“There’s something satisfying about getting that type of inspiration from a writer. What else, would you say, makes a book satisfying?
He thought about that for a moment, which I appreciated. People who answer too fast haven't really considered the question.
"Most of my favorite mystery books, the Spenser novels, for instance, are never really about who did it. Discovering the killer is not the point of the book. It's the characters. Stephen King and Robert B. Parker had a gift for creating characters you just want to follow around and see what they do next. If they happen to be hunting a killer or doing battle with a possessed car, that's interesting. But it's the character you want." He picked up his latte. "Sue Grafton and Janet Evanovich do that exceptionally well."
I wrote that down slowly. Partly because I wanted to think about it. He wasn't wrong. I also didn’t want the interview to end.
"We’re getting near the end of the questions, and for as much as I hate it, I have cookies for kiddies I need to start baking. I do need to ask you something, and it’s something I ask everyone. If Amelia walked into my bakery right now and ordered something, what would it be and why?”
"A cinnamon bun with extra icing," he said. "Because she's been cutting back on sugar."
I liked that answer very much.
We both stood, and the two of us made our way to the doorway. As we walked, I asked, “What's next for you and your series? What should readers be watching for?”
"Well, Amelia is going to be hot on the trail of a new serial killer in my next book.”
“And we can expect more of Gene Four, I hope?”
“Absolutely! I'm also working on a Madison Mystery set in the same world — many of the same characters — but in this one the hero is a former one-term Vice President who, in his depressed retirement, stumbles over a new 9/11 plot. No one in government is taking his calls. His party got shut out when they lost re-election, so he has to try and solve it himself. With his trusty recovering alcoholic of a Secret Service agent."
I stared at him for a moment. "You have a lot going on up there."
"It's a gift," he said. "Or a problem. The Jury's still out on which."
I opened the door. Jefferson Street was doing its usual mid-morning thing.
"You know," I said, "you didn't have to drive all the way up from the Cities just for this. I really appreciate it."
"You'd be surprised how far I'd go for a good chai latte. Madison, Indiana to Minneapolis is a long way. My hotel in the Cities to Flat Rock was barely a detour." He smiled. "Besides. You made the offer."
I had. And I meant it. My Stacy gave the man a sad little wave goodye as he stepped through the doorway and out into the sun.
Stacey Roberts writes the Madison Mysteries series. A Serial Killer's Cookbook is available now. Find him at staceyroberts.net, on Facebook, and on Goodreads.
Bear Claw Approved.
