Spotlight & Giveaway: Deadlier Than Fiction by Carol Light

Today it is my pleasure to Welcome author Carol Light to HJ!

Hi Carol and welcome to HJ! We’re so excited to chat with you about your new release, Deadlier Than Fiction!

To start off, can you please tell us a little bit about this book?:

Professional organizer Crystal Ward donated her client’s collection of old novels, but her client’s husband, Don Shirley, is upset. He wants the books back and demands she return them immediately. They’ve been promised to his brother, who’s found a dealer to sell them. But recovering the novels won’t be easy, especially since Crys didn’t make a list of the titles. Also, it seems that Don and his brother aren’t the only ones with an interest in reclaiming the old bestsellers. When a friendly retired cop starts showing up in her life and an old pal of the Shirley brothers disappears, Crys realizes that the dusty tomes must have more than sentimental value. If she can’t figure out the secret her sorting has threatened to expose, Crys could lose more than the business reputation she’s so carefully nurtured.
 

Please share your favorite lines or quote(s) from this book:

The red shade of his face now registered at the apoplectic level. He looked at Crys as if she had just announced a tornado had destroyed his home. And family. Maybe the whole city.

Leola wore black pants and a white shirt that served as a plain canvas drawing the eye up to the masterpiece of multicolored layers of hair above.

Crys fell to her knees, trying to become smaller, less of a target. Another blast, and she tried to shrink more. Smaller than the white flake of paint on the cold vinyl floor an inch from her face. She squeezed her eyes shut, imagined she was dust on that flake. A speck. So small she was invisible.

What inspired this book?

Long-hidden secrets coming to light was an inspiration for this novel. It’s amazing, for example, how many family secrets DNA profiling has revealed, such as unknown half-siblings or parents who aren’t blood relations. Although Deadlier Than Fiction doesn’t involve DNA testing, my protagonist, Crys Ward, inadvertently becomes caught up in a dangerous secret that not everyone wants exposed. What could possibly be so special about a collection of bestselling novels from the seventies? Ever curious, Crys is soon on the hunt…but she isn’t alone.

Also, the movie Airplane inspired a running joke in this story. You’ll have to read it to see how!

How did you ‘get to know’ your main characters? Did they ever surprise you?

This is the second book in the Cluttered Crime mystery series, so I knew my main and recurring characters. Crys Ward, my protagonist, is a wife and mother of two who has started a business decluttering and organizing her clients’ spaces. She is a problem solver with great people skills and an eye for detail that helps her solve the crimes she encounters. She is also curious and hates loose ends. Determined to make a success of her business, she still has to manage an overly protective husband, especially when she becomes caught up in potentially dangerous situations. I’ve come to appreciate how much braver Crys is than I am.

Crys is married to Rick, a former homicide detective for the Chicago Police Department, who was shot chasing a suspect five years ago and paralyzed. Now working a desk job in financial crimes, Rick is still leery of Crys going into strangers’ homes, but he and Crys have worked out an arrangement involving him running background checks on new clients. In this book, Crys is hoping to persuade her husband to agree to her advertising on the internet. Overcoming Rick’s protectiveness and suspicion of strangers is a huge challenge for Crys but essential if her business is ever going to really flourish. Rick is also walking a fine line between wanting his wife to be happy doing work she loves and wanting to keep her safe. As a detective, however, Rick is also curious about what’s going on with Crys’s clients. Can they work together as partners, or will Rick freak out as what starts as a simple den decluttering project turns deadly?

An interesting character development in this story involved the improved relationship between Crys and Detective Mitch Burdine. In Room for Suspicion, my first Cluttered Crime mystery, Crys’s long-held anger toward Mitch made her interactions with him tense. Forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting, and Crys’s old habit of suspecting the worst of Rick’s former partner still occasionally surfaces. It’s a relationship that is being nurtured back to health by both parties, and I enjoyed writing about them rebuilding their friendship.

What was your favorite scene to write?

Apart from the climax, which I can’t share without spoiling the ending, I enjoyed writing scenes with Vince, a retired Chicago police detective who is a friend of Crys’s neighbor, Connie. This is a scene when Vince accompanies Crys to do some sleuthing:

“This place looks familiar,” Vince said as she parked the van behind the Midtown Café. “You need more caffeine?”
Crys pulled her phone from her purse. “No, thanks. I thought I would treat you to a haircut.”
“I don’t need a damn haircut.” He ran a hand over his head. “Not for another week or two. Wait a minute—you’re not talking about me going into that beauty parlor, are you?”
“It’s a hair salon for both women and men.” She laughed at his expression. “Relax. I’m kidding. We’re both going in. I called this morning and found out Leola is off today.”
“So what’s the point of going in if she isn’t there? Unless you’re trying to dig up some information from her coworkers.”
“It’s worth a try.” Maggie’s suggestion to question Leola’s fellow stylists had been a good one. While Crys wasn’t willing to risk involving Maggie, she had no such qualms about Vince, especially after learning he’d been following her.
He reached for his door handle. “What’s our story?”
“What do you mean?”
“You’re not going to make me get that haircut, are you?”
“No.” She hadn’t thought through how to explain Vince’s presence to the staff. “You can be…my dad. I’m a walk-in hoping to have an appointment with Leola. They’ll tell me she’s not there and offer to have someone else do my hair.”
“That’s crap. I’m not gonna have to sit there for three hours, am I?”
“No. Not even one. Just look like a bored, grumpy man. Think you can manage that?”

What was the most difficult scene to write?

This scene shows the conflict between Crys and Rick over the risks she continues to take to straighten up the lives of her clients and right wrongs. Crys wants Rick to help her search online for the identity of a man she thinks may have assaulted two women she knows. Although Rick’s not officially involved in the case, he wants to keep his stubborn wife safe. Like Kurt and Dana, their children, I don’t like to see them fight, but I also know that conflict is inevitable in marriage—and in fiction.

“This isn’t a good idea,” Rick said later that evening. He placed his iPad on the kitchen table and set the brake on his wheelchair. “You need to tell Mitch. It’s still his case.”
“I just want to find out his full name. That will save Mitch some time if we can find him.”
The worry line on her husband’s forehead deepened. “And then what? I know you won’t stop there.”
“I might, depending on what we learn about him.”
“Yeah, right. Like last month when you pursued that dirtbag who nearly killed you?” He snatched the iPad from the table and reached to release the brake. “We’re not going to do this.”
“Rick, all I’m asking you to do is help me search online. Two women have been assaulted in the last few days. Two women that I know. If their attacks are related—”
Rick swore. “You’re doing it again! I can’t always be there in case some psycho tries to strangle you. I almost lost you. The kids almost lost you!”
His voice was low, a whispered shout so Dana and Kurt wouldn’t hear. His breathing still sounded like he’d just run a race, and his face bore the pain of a second-place runner who had just missed winning by a fraction of a second.
She stared back at him, waiting for him to subdue his fears and accept that she wasn’t going to back down. She wanted him to help, to be her partner in this, but he had to trust that she was as invested in her own and their family’s safety as much as he was.
His hand twitched on his brake, but he didn’t release it.
“I want to be safe,” she said softly. “I want whoever is attacking these women caught and arrested. We’ll both feel safer then.”
“You’ll call Mitch and tell him everything you told me?”
“I’ll call him right now, if that’s what you want.”
He looked down at the tablet. After a moment, he turned it on. The screen lit up to show his Home Screen and rows of colorful icons. “There are a few places we can look, but there’s not much to go on. You don’t have a picture of him, do you?”
Relief swept over her.

Would you say this book showcases your writing style or is it a departure for you?

I would say it showcases my writing style. I love writing mysteries! It’s fun to gradually reveal clues, provide multiple suspects with reasons to have committed the crime, mix in some action and plot twists, build to an exciting climax, and then have a surprise or two at the end.

What do you want people to take away from reading this book?

I think this story shows how destructive dark secrets and greed can be and how the lives of family members not even directly involved in the original crime may be affected. Also, a theme that runs through the book is that we usually see what we expect to see, and sometimes we’re blind to what’s really right in front of us. Appearances can be deceiving until the truth is revealed.

Also, I hope readers will enjoy spending time with Crys, Rick, Mitch, and the other characters, both old and new, in this second Cluttered Crime mystery.

What are you currently working on? What other releases do you have planned?

I’m currently working on the fourth book of the Cluttered Crime mystery series, which is due to be published in June, 2024. The third book, Killer Close to Home, will be released on January 11, 2024.

Thanks for blogging at HJ!

Giveaway: Winner will receive one e-book copy of DEADLIER THAN FICTION plus one Tule e-book of the winner’s choice!

To enter Giveaway: Please complete the Rafflecopter form and Post a comment to this Q: Do you think spouses should ever keep secrets from each other and, if so, what kinds of secrets are best not revealed?

 
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Excerpt from Deadlier Than Fiction:

Chapter One
“What the hell have you done?”
Don Shirley’s ruddy complexion had darkened two shades beyond puce. His reaction to decluttering his den wasn’t what Crys had expected and certainly not what her fledgling career as a professional organizer needed.
She brushed dust from her hands. Stay calm. “I know it looks like a disaster at the moment, but don’t worry—we’re not finished yet.”
His eyes widened. He turned around, taking in the entire room. Following his gaze, she realized why her words, intended to be reassuring, had alarmed him. The wood-paneled den looked bare, as if it belonged to someone in the process of moving. The only pieces of furniture remaining were the largest: a sectional and a mahogany china cabinet. Five open cardboard boxes filled with items from the built-in cabinetry around the fireplace awaited today’s sorting session.
“What I mean is we’re in the process of determining what to bring back into the room. It helps to clear everything out to see what should be kept and what should be tossed. Or donated,” she added, in case Don, like his wife, Barbara, was big on second chances. “After the room is emptied, we start bringing items back in and determine what works with your plan for the room.”
It was only a thumbnail sketch of what she did when tackling a room as a professional organizer. The plan for this den was to make it more of an adult space and less of a child’s playroom—or at least that was the vision Barb Shirley had shared. Her granddaughters, who had played here, were now ten and twelve and living in Champaign. Barb wasn’t optimistic about her other daughter ever having children, which made letting go of the toys easier. They had already donated a large plastic child’s kitchen, a dollhouse, and a collection of Barbie clothing and accessories that her grandchildren had outgrown.
Apparently Barb hadn’t shared her vision for the den with her irate husband, who was now peering around the back of the china cabinet. She also wasn’t in the room to explain.
“The bookcase is gone. What did you do with it?”
“Do you mean the short one that was over there?” Crys gestured toward the spot on the bare wall where his gaze had frozen. “Three shelves filled with hardback novels?”
“You haven’t—” He paused. Beads of sweat glistened in the spikes of his closely cropped salt-and-pepper hair.
To her relief, his wife chose that moment to return. “Oh, Don. Are you fussing about that old bookcase? It’s in the garage with the other furniture for now. We couldn’t move these big pieces, but—”
Barb’s husband didn’t wait for her to finish. Instead, he rushed into the kitchen, which had access to the garage. A door slammed, hard.
“Well, thank you very much!” Barb said, hands on hips as she looked in the direction her husband had gone. Her eyebrows arched beneath the bangs of her blond hair styled in a sleek pageboy. “He’s got to be kidding me if he’s that upset over an old bookcase. He hasn’t read a book in years. I’m surprised he even noticed it was gone.”
Oh, he’d noticed all right. Many of her clients had emotional attachments to at least some of their possessions. Encouraging them to let go of items with sentimental value that no longer served them was one of the most challenging aspects of her job. It was a process requiring patience. First they had to identify their vision for their space, and then she encouraged them to narrow their keepsakes to only a few special pieces that captured their most important memories or sense of self. One person’s junk was another person’s treasure, and what seemed ordinary or even ugly to her could evoke quite a different reaction in her client.
A bookcase, for example.
“We can incorporate it back into the room, if that’s what he wants,” Crys said. Maybe painting it would helpful—or using it as an end table next to the sofa? Or perhaps it would work in a bedroom upstairs. There were tons of possibilities.
Barb waved a hand as if brushing away a fly. “That’s not what I want. I don’t even remember where that bookcase came from. Now, this monstrosity,” she rapped her knuckles on the china cabinet, “was his mother’s. We brought it here when we took Alva in during her last months. I hope you’re not superstitious. She died in this room.”
Crys murmured a sympathetic reply. She wasn’t superstitious, although on her first visit, she’d sensed the den’s sad, low-energy vibe. She had ascribed it to the abandoned toys and mismatched furniture. The room had become a catchall for past lives: children and grandchildren who had grown older and a mother-in-law who had passed.
“We rented a hospital bed and placed it right over there,” Barb continued. “I thought having some of her furniture surrounding her would make her feel more at home. She was always proud of her china cabinet, so in it came. We filled it with some of Alva’s favorite knickknacks. That green-striped armchair we moved into the garage was hers, too. She always sat in it before she became too weak to leave her bed.”
That explained the odd assortment of furniture in the den. Crys pictured a hospital bed against the wall across from the fireplace. As a location for a bedridden patient, the room was a good choice. The Shirleys’ three bedrooms were upstairs, but this space conveniently adjoined the kitchen and had access to a powder room just off the entrance hall. It would have been easier to care for Don’s sick mother here than to manage stairs. The den could also be easily accessed by visitors coming to see the dying woman.
“It was very thoughtful of you to surround her with her own furniture. Not many people would go to all that trouble.” Not many people today would provide care for an elderly relative at home. Crys couldn’t imagine caring for her own mother-in-law as Barb had done. Her client was truly a saint.
Barb did her fly wave again. “There were practical reasons for doing it.” She lowered her voice to a whisper, as if her deceased mother-in-law could hear her. “We didn’t tell her we’d already begun to clear out her house.” She frowned. “Come to think of it, Don didn’t seem to have any problem doing that or selling the home where he grew up. Of course, his brother, Bob, was all for it, too. He’s not the least bit sentimental, and his wife wanted it sold as soon as possible.”
“Still, it must have been a comfort for your mother-in-law to be surrounded by familiar items.” Maybe Don, too.
Barb laughed. “Unfortunately, no. Every time she looked at that china cabinet, she asked me why she was in a bed in the dining room. I think it confused her more than anything.”
There was a sharp rap at the front door. Barb excused herself to answer it.
“Ma’am, we’re finished.”
“You’ve removed that hedge already, Carlos? That was fast work,” she said. “Come in out of the cold. I’ll get my purse.”
“Oh, no, ma’am. We’re—”
“Come in, come in. A little dirt doesn’t bother me.”
When Barb crossed through the den into the kitchen, Crys moved to where she could see the two men standing just inside the front door. They both wore lived-in jeans and identical black T-shirts with the bright yellow OutStart logo of Barb’s nonprofit organization that assisted many released felons—or “returning citizens,” as she referred to them—to find training and work to restart their lives in the community. The larger man, whose dark hair and swarthy complexion suggested Hispanic heritage, smiled at her. His companion hung back. He was a thin, pale, wisp of a man. Dirt on his hands and black work boots seemed to be the only things about him that grounded him to the earth. As if sensing her gaze, he wiped a muddied hand on his bib overalls.
Barb returned with cash and paid them.
Carlos said thanks and pocketed his money. “We could start planting tomorrow, if you like.”
“Oh, I haven’t had a chance to go pick out the plants. Crys, would you excuse me for a moment? I need a quick consultation with my landscaping experts here.”
“No problem. I’ll start without you.”
When Barb and the men left, Crys checked her phone. Kurt had sent a text to check in at four, the same time she had arrived here:
Home with Rafe.
No surprise there. Her son’s best friend was often at their house.
He’s invited for dinner, she replied.
Dana was at her best friend’s house. With her children organized, Crys pocketed her phone. No need to text Rick. She should be home before her husband.
A door slammed from the direction of the kitchen, startling her.
“Barb, where are the books? I looked all through the stuff in the garage. Don’t tell me you—Where’s Barb?”
“She’s outside with Carlos talking plants.”
Don pursed his lips. He had what Crys’s mother would call a rosebud mouth, adorable on babies but unusual on grown men. His complexion, which seemed to easily flush, had again darkened.
“She’ll be right back, but maybe I can help you, Don. Did you find the bookcase?”
He glanced toward the hallway before turning back to her. “The bookcase? Yeah, but it’s empty. Where are the books that were in it?”
He wasn’t going to like her answer. “We gave them all away.”

Excerpt. © Reprinted by permission. All rights reserved.
 
 

Book Info:

Can she get the right read on this situation before someone ruins the ending?

Professional organizer Crystal Ward is at a crossroads with her business, Organizing Chicago. Her husband, Rick, isn’t on board with online advertising, and their friends and family are running out of referrals. And now her client’s husband is outraged to learn that Crys donated novels he had promised to his brother. Crys’s only hope of salvaging the situation is to recover the titles.

But she shouldn’t have judged those books by their covers. The secret they contain is valuable, and she’s not the only one trying to find them. What’s more, she’s now hiding a secret of her own. She’d promised Rick, a former homicide detective, that she’d avoid sketchy situations that could land her in danger. Her best move? To team up with a retired detective, who suddenly has his own agenda.

With danger mounting, she must use all of her sleuthing skills to sort out friend from foe and fact from fiction before a killer can write her own final chapter.

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Meet the Author:

Carol Light is an avid reader and writer of mysteries. She loves creating amateur sleuths and complicating their normal lives with a crime that they must use their talents and wits to solve. She’s traveled worldwide and lived in Australia for eight years, teaching high school English and learning to speak “Strine.” Florida is now her home. If she’s not at the beach or writing, you can find her tackling quilting in much the same way that she figures out her mysteries—piece by piece, clue by clue.
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