I'm fortunate that afternoons at the Bear Claw usually run themselves. The muffins are done, the lunch rush has cleared, and Stacy has things well under control. The sunshine of May peeked through the front window of the bakery like an invitation, and rather than head right home, I decided to stretch my legs and take a walk over to B-Sharp.
Sometimes my visits to the vintage record store were to check on Tony. Other times they were because I liked the smell of old records and the quiet that settles over a room when good music is playing softly and nobody is in a hurry. Judging by the number of customers milling about the stacks, it seemed I wasn't the only one with that idea today.
I had only been sitting on a stool beside the sales counter for a few minutes when a young man I didn't recognize approached. Jeremiah, who was stationed in front of the register, was fiddling with the decrepit laptop he'd brought in to help with inventory.
"Do you carry anything by Lana Del Rey?" the man asked.
Tony looked over from his seat next to me, opened his mouth, and then closed it again.
Jeremiah, having given his boss ample time to respond, finally answered.
"She sings Summertime Sadness," he said to Tony, like he was reading from a file. "Born to Die album. 2012." He paused, doing what Jeremiah did best — educate. "In 2023, Rolling Stone named A&W one of the 500 greatest songs ever recorded." He turned to the customer. "Sadly, we don't have anything by her. Most of what we carry is pre-turn of the century. Unless you count Taylor Swift." He stole a glance at Tony and rolled his eyes, obviously not a fan of the pop stylist, or my boyfriend's insistance at carrying her records.
The young man nodded like he'd expected that. "What about Fleetwood Mac?"
And just like that, Tony was given a chance to redeem himself.
"Now we're talking," Tony slapped his knee, and was up and moving towards the classic rock bin. He came back a couple of minutes later with a copy of Rumours and set it on the counter like he was presenting evidence. "1977. If you don't already own this, we need to fix that today."
"I've got that one, a classic, for sure. I was thinking something deeper. Tango in the Night, maybe."
Tony looked at him for a long moment. He then looked at me and then went back to check the bins.
I introduced myself while the man waited.
"Brenda Welch. I'm one of the owners of the Bear Claw Bakery, over on Jefferson Street."
"It's nice to meet you. I'm Tevin Stewart, but you can call me Jessie."
"What do you do, Jessie?" Jeremiah asked.
"I'm a mystery writer," he said.
Hearing that, and seeing the expression on my face, the old man rose from his space behind the counter and decided that Mr. Stewart was in capable hands.
"I have a question, and this is going to sound a little crazy," I said, "but do you have a few minutes to talk about your writing?"
"Talk about my writing? It's one of my favorite subjects. I'm in no hurry."
"Well, I'm a big fan of mysteries, and I've been interviewing authors about their work. How would you like to be the subject of one of those interviews?"
Ten minutes later, after paying for his record, the two of us were walking down Monroe Street toward Mabel's.
"So, tell me about yourself," I said.
"Oh, gosh." He laughed. "I always freeze up when I have to talk about myself. My brain has to reload." He thought for a moment. "I was always the quiet introverted kid who hardly left the house. But, when I did venture outside, you'd find me gallivanting through the sketchy forbidden woods. Like I was looking for vampires, or uncovering a mystery from one of the books I loved."
"That sounds amazing. Do you still do that?"
"No. Now I'm a complete homebody. Video games, working out, dealing with a dog who sticks to me like velcro. Building things. I recently built a gaming PG, and then I had to build a desk to put it on."
"No more woodland adventures?"
He shook his head. "Now I'm like a complete vampire. I barely even open my curtains."
"When did you start writing mysteries? Was it those adventures that inspired that?"
"Actually, it was TV. All those teen dramas from ten or twenty years ago. Even the ordinary high school ones would have these episodes that went somewhere darker. A mystery subplot. Something with real stakes. There was always something about that tone that got to me. They left me wanting more of it."
When we reached Mabel's at the corner of Third and Monroe, I held the door open for him and waved him inside. The restaurant was quiet, as it normally gets that time of day. Clive Hendrix was holding court at the counter, and a couple of retirees were nursing coffee at a table in the back. We settled into a booth beneath an old black-and-white photo of Lake La Pointe from an earlier time. Tevin set the record beside him in the booth just as Marge appeared.
"Hey, Brenda. What can I get you and your friend?"
"Coffee for me, thanks."
"And for you?" she said, looking at Tevin.
"Do you have lemonade?"
"Of course we do. Regular or strawberry?"
Something about the way he answered — "strawberry, please," no hesitation, like it was never a question — made me look at him a little more carefully. I read people in the bakery by their drink orders. This one was going to be interesting.
When Marge left us, I reached into my bag and pulled out the journel I kept for occasions just like this.
"So, tell me, who shaped how you write?"
"Hmmmm. I would say R.L. Stine was an influence growing up. Barry Lyga's I Hunt Killers is incredible, and of course I have to give a nod to the great Stephen King. Carrie has always been near the top for me. The way it shows every perspective. The protagonist, the villain, the people around them, all circling the same event. I love mysteries that do that. The villain is always the most important aspect, in my opinion."
"I'd have to agree," I said. "A mystery is only as good as what you're chasing. Who is your main character?"
"That would be Peyton Drescott."
"Tell me about Peyton."
He leaned forward a little, the way people do when they're talking about someone they genuinely care about.
"Peyton is an amalgam of a lot of things. She's a teenager who's battling herself. She wants a normal life. She wants to find her mother's killer. And there's this part of her that may actually enjoy the ability she didn't ask for." He paused. "You see, she has telekinesis. TK. And it's connected to her emotions in ways she can't always control. It's like a tug-of-war. Sometimes I think she's talking to a twin. Two versions of herself, pulling in opposite directions."
I looked up from my notebook. "A murder mystery with telekinesis?"
"Subtle," he said. "For now."
Marge came back with the strawberry lemonade and my coffee. Tevin wrapped both hands around the glass like it was exactly what he needed.
"And where does all of this happen?"
"Gresham, Missouri. About thirty minutes outside of Branson." He said it like he was giving directions. "It looks like any other American town on the surface. A vibrant community, where everyone knows pretty much everyone else. You've got your big shots, your local law enforcement, your nosy housewives who gossip about nothing all day." He smiled. "But, just ignore them and check out the beach with the abandoned lighthouse on the edge of the cliff. Stop by Sweet Josie's for one of her freshly baked treats."
It sounded a lot like Flat Rock, except for the lighthouse. But my mind stopped on his last comment.
"A bakery?" I said.
"Of course," he said with a laugh.
"What does Sweet Josie make?"
He thought about it. "She seems like a pie person."
I approved of that.
"Where do your plots come from? Do you know who did it before you start writing?"
"All of my plots come from a mixture of fictional things and things I've actually witnessed in reality." He picked up his lemonade. "I probably shouldn't say too much about which was which. But yes, I knew who Marley's killer was going to be before I wrote a single word. The scenes, the clues, well, those I figured out as I went."
"I haven't read your books yet, but I'm downloading Outsider the minute I get home. Tell me...what's one thing that will surprise me?"
"I think you'll be intrigued by the murder mystery being intertwined with something supernatural. The telekinesis is subtle in this first book, but as the series progresses, the suspense of it is going to grow. I'd be curious to hear what you think of it."
"Oh, I'll let you know, for sure. So, do you write every day? What does a regular writing day actually look like for you?"
He smiled as he considered the answer. "A lot of procrastination while sitting in front of my computer. I'll look at the screen and randomly pay attention to a thousand other things before I finally write one word. And that's just on my days off." He shook his head. "You can consider that my toxic trait."
"We all have them," I said. "Mine is waking up at ungodly hours to make bear claws."
"See, that's not toxic, that's discipline. What I have is the intention of discipline."
"In your books, who is a character you have a soft spot for? Like, one that maybe your readers just don't fully understand yet?"
"Principal Drake," he said, without hesitating. "He'll probably come off to most people as mean and bitter. Very one-dimensional on the surface. But, I think there's something more to him. A softer side he hasn't shown anyone yet." He paused. "I find him funny, honestly. I'm looking forward to seeing where is character goes."
Marge came by and refilled my coffee without being asked, then disappeared into the back.
"What are you reading right now?"
"I need to catch up, honestly. I'm getting into You Shouldn't Have Come Here, a horror graphic novel called GremoryLand, and an indie slasher called Tastes Like Candy, by Ivy Tholen."
"Indie slasher, huh?" I repeated.
"It's good. Dark, but good."
"I've found that the best writers are the ones who can identify what makes a mystery truly satisfying. Not just good in a storytelling sense, but genuinely satisfying. What does that mean to you?"
"I love mysteries that plant seeds. Clues and suspense in real time. I want to find things out and theorize alongside the characters, not just be told what happened. It needs to unfold in a way that makes the lightbulb go off in your head." He tapped the table lightly. "That moment when everything clicks. That's the whole thing, right there."
He picked up his lemonade and drained the last few drops, the ice shifting back and forth in the glass. I stuffed my notebook back into my bag and pulled out cash for our drinks, leaving a hefty tip for Marge and sliding the bills under the ketchup bottle on the table.
"Last question. If Peyton walked into my bakery right now and ordered something, what would it be and why?"
He answered immediatly.
"Strawberry cake. Strawberries were her favorite thing as a kid. She used to eat so many that the juice would stain her shirt. Someone she loved, a man who was like a surrogate father to her since she grew up without one, used to call her Strawberry because of it."
I looked at the empty strawberry lemonade glass sitting in front of him.
He smiled. "I know," he said. "I know."
We got up from the table and made our way outside into the sun.
"What's next?"
"Books two and three are already on the way. Peyton gets closer to uncovering Marley's killer. Nothing is what it seems with several of these characters, and we'll learn a lot more about who Marley Harvey actually was. As a friend, a daughter, a lover, and a mother." He paused. "And Peyton's ability is going to progress as she comes to terms with it. She can't keep the lid on it forever."
I shook his hand, thanked him for his time, and then watched as he walked back towards the record store. I crossed the street and walked down Third Street. It was time to get home with my journel full of notes and order a new book for my To Be Read pile.
Not a bad afternoon.
Tevin 'Jessie' Stewart writes the OutSider Saga. Book One, OutSider, is available now on Amazon. Find him on Threads, Instagram , Facebook, and on TikTok.
Bear Claw Approved.