I'll be honest with you about something before we start.
When Kevin asked me to sit down with authors and write about them, I said yes before I fully understood what I was agreeing to. That's a habit of mine that Stacy has been trying to break me of for years. Just look at our Special-Order clipboard for proof. But then Kim Beatty walked through the door on Tuesday morning, and her smile lit up the room in a way that had nothing to do with the overhead lighting I keep meaning to upgrade. That’s when I thought, "Alright. I understand this now.”
She ordered one of our signature bear claw and a white chocolate mocha, which gave me some clues as to who I’d be spending the next hour with.
“Milk?” I asked.
“Oat milk, if you have it. But I don’t want to be a bother.”
Stacy pushed me aside and made a shooing motion at us with her hands.
“No bother at all. I’ve got you covered. You two go get settled.”
I led the way to the table by the window and gestured at the chair across from me. “So, while we wait for our drinks, tell me a little bit about you," I said. "Not the author version. The real one. I want to know who you are when you're not writing?"
Kim didn't hesitate.
"I’m like three over-caffeinated raccoons in a trench coat."
I set down my coffee cup and stole a glance at the back of the bakery. We’d had a problem with the furry beasts invading our dumpster, and just hearing the ‘R” word put me on edge.
“How so?” I asked, cautiously.
"Too much caffeine," she continued, perfectly comfortable with what she'd just said. "Not enough vegetables. Staying up too late reading."
I looked at her for a moment. "That's the most honest answer anyone has given me to that question."
"I find honesty easier," she said. "Less to keep track of."
I liked her immediately.
Stacy brought over our drinks, and I thanked her and dug back into the questions.
"When did you know you wanted to write mysteries specifically?" I asked. "Was there a book, or a moment?"
Kim thought about it. "I've always loved a good whodunnit. You know…true crime, thrillers, all of it. But cozies were what finally made me actually sit down and write one." She wrapped both hands around her coffee mug and licked a dollop of the dairy-free topping. "I needed a break from the darker stuff. And there's just something about a cozy. Something comfortable and familiar. Like, you already know the town before you get there."
"Like coming home," I said.
"Exactly like that. A co-worker had said something that lit the spark. Pies, Lies, and Alibis was born from that conversation.”
“What did they say?" I asked, curious.
She smiled. "Honestly? I don't even remember the exact words anymore. But it was something that clicked."
I understood that. Some of the best things start that way.
"Tell me about your main character," I said. "I did a little bit of research. Kendall Howard. What makes her tick?”
"Well, she owns a bakery called City of Pies," Kim said. "She's in her forties, has ADHD, and she's getting to experience the best and worst of being a woman of a certain age." She paused. "She's sarcastic. Very sarcastic. It's been a defense mechanism for so long that she has a hard time turning it off."
I turned and looked at Stacy, who was wiping down the espresso machine behind the counter, pretending not to listen.
Ms. Sarcastic herself looked back at me and grinned.
"She wears band t-shirts and flannel," the writer continued. "All the time."
I thought of Tony’s employee, Jeremiah, and was about to ask if Kendall had an older brother who lived here in Flat Rock, and then decided against it.
"What does she do when she needs to think?" I asked. "When something's bothering her, and she needs to work it out?"
Kim looked at me like the answer was obvious. "She bakes."
"Of course she does," I said.
"It's the only thing that works," Kim said. "Give her a task, something real to focus on, and her brain sorts everything else out underneath it."
I have been saying this exact thing for years. Nobody in my life has ever fully believed me. I'm considering having it embroidered on something.
"Describe your setting, Millwood, to someone who's never been there. Is it like Flat Rock?"
Kim leaned forward slightly. "It's a small Midwestern town, probably pretty similar to here. Except it’s somewhere in the Northwestern Indiana and Chicagoland region. I always describe it as close enough to the city to take the train but small enough that everyone knows your business before you do."
“Well, that part is definitely like Flat Rock,” I quipped.
My interview subject stifled a laugh. "The heart of it is Mill Street. Historic shops on both sides. A vintage shop, a hardware store that's been in the same family for at least seventy-five years, a hobby shop, a floral shop, an Irish pub."
"And Kendall's bakery," I said.
"And Kendall's bakery. Which shares a building with a bookstore called Pack Up The Books. Her best friend owns it."
I set down my cup. "A bakery," I said slowly, "and a bookstore. Under one roof."
"Dream setup, right?" She glanced at the bookshelves I had Mason from White’s Hardware build for me that lined the hall leading back to the bathrooms.
I wasn't able to respond right away. I was picturing it. What if all of the walls here were bookshelves…and the books were for sale instead of just to borrow? I quickly pushed the thought aside for now and continued.
"How do you plot?" I asked, regaining my composure. "Do you know ‘who did it’ before you start writing, or do you figure it out as you go?"
She gave me the look of someone who had been asked a perfectly reasonable question they found slightly painful. "I am really bad at planning things," she said. "Like…genuinely bad. I have every intention of following an outline, and then I sit down and just…go."
"And?"
"Sometimes the characters know what's going to happen before I do," she said. "They take matters into their own hands. My original draft of this book is completely different from what ended up published."
"Did your characters know the story better?" I asked.
She smiled. "Probably. They usually do."
The writer took another sip of her mocha. “This is really good!” She said.
“Are you surprised?” I asked
“No, not at all. And it goes with your bear claw perfectly.”
“People learn that everything goes well with our bear claws. Speaking of surprises, tell me something that readers who haven't picked up your book yet might be surprised to discover?"
"Hmmmm. I guess I’d say that the people who already know me — from real life or from following me online — will probably recognize a lot of me in Kendall." She gestured at herself. "It wasn't intentional. It's just what happens when you write what feels natural."
"The band t-shirts?" I said.
"The band t-shirts," she confirmed. "The sarcasm. All of it."
"O.K., here’s a question. I’m up at 4 am every day. What does a writing day actually look like for you?" I asked. "Be honest."
She laughed first, which I took as a good sign. "I don't have a set schedule. I write when it feels right, and if it doesn't, I don't push it. I wander between rooms. I play a silly game on my phone to clear my head." She paused. "On good days, I take my laptop outside."
"And on days when the writing itself isn't cooperating?"
"I work on other book things," she said, and looked at me with a smile. "Like a lovely author interview."
"I'm glad I could help. Wait until you try my peach cobbler." I said.
Then I leaned forward. "So, I read a lot and have developed some favorite characters over the years. Is there someone in your books — maybe not the main character — that you have a soft spot for? One that readers might not expect?"
She considered me across the table for a moment. "That might give away some spoilers."
I have been keeping this town's secrets for a long time. One more wouldn't trouble me. But I appreciated the loyalty.
I thought for a moment about my next question. "What do you think makes a mystery satisfying?" I asked. "Not just good. But truly satisfying."
"The subplots," she said, without missing a beat. "The romance, the character growth, the small relationships building in the background. If those feel off, the whole story feels off. Even if the mystery itself lands perfectly." She paused. "Does that make sense? Maybe I need more coffee."
"It makes complete sense," I said. "It's the trail you follow between the big moments. That's what keeps you walking."
She pointed at me. "Yes. Exactly that."
"Last question, I swear," I said, "If Kendall walked through my door right now and walked up to the counter, what would she order?"
Kim didn't even have to think about it. "She'd look for pie first. That's always first. If there's no pie, she goes for a scone or a muffin. And coffee, always, if it's available." She paused. "She'd never say anything critical out loud. But her inner monologue would be going a mile a minute, comparing every bite to her Gran's recipes."
"She sounds," I said, "like someone I'd enjoy having at this table."
Kim smiled that smile that I said lit up the room when she first walked in, and I meant every word of it.
Pies, Lies, and Alibis is Book One in the Millwood Mystery series. Book Two is coming soon. Find Kim at kimbeattyauthor.com and on Instagram at @thepeachmartini.