Stormy Weather

... not a metaphor

As I write this, a storm just moved out. More than the booms and the lightning, it’s the wind that makes me curl in a ball as acorns bombard the house like hail stones.

After months of drought that made every TV channel spit doom and gloom, we’ve had six days of constant thunderstorms, spectacular because the wide expanse of the lake just outside my windows displays the show to me in glorious Cinemascope (that’s super widescreen for the youngsters among you. Watch The Bridge on the River Kwai or Lady and the Tramp on a movie screen to get a taste. It rocks).

The storms always remind me of my grandmother who used to say that thunder was God moving the furniture (“c’est le Bon Dieu qui déménage”). Considering the frequency of the rumblings, He must be a compulsive remodeler. I also find comfort in Seth MacFarlane’s “Thunder Buddy”, from Ted. In the early hours of the morning, under the duvet, when it’s pandemonium outside, believe me, it helps.

To give you a feel of the place where I live, when Nature throws a seasonal tantrum, here’s an excerpt of a book I’ve been working on for a while. It belongs in the Declan Shaw detective series (Love You Till Tuesday is the first installment). The main character is not in this scene that can be read on its own, a separate vignette.

The sky was a purple canvas dripping ink into the tin pan of Lake Livingston. The anglers had hurried back to shore ahead of the storm. Nobody wanted to be caught on the water when the wind picked up and whitecaps curled and raced to smash bulkheads and boathouses.

Images of shipwrecks flashed through Belinda Spencer’s mind as she inspected the beaten-up boat dock. Fall storms had warped and loosened the splintery boards, and popped the nails straight out as if they had been hammered in putty. Belinda had been living at the lake long enough to have developed a healthy respect for the weather and the speed at which it could change. The violence of nature left her in awe that this placid body of water could so easily turn into a wildly rocking menace. She shot a glance at Matt, standing by the shed. She knew he enjoyed a day like this, a day that promised chaos and the full heavenly orchestra in peak symphonic form. Matt had a flair for the dramatic. It served him well in his career. Amanda was by the greenhouse door, wrapped in a shawl that flapped in the wind. She yelled something that got lost on the wind. She pointed at the garden chairs. Belinda thought they were heavy enough to resist the onslaught but she motioned at her daughter. Yes, move them under the porch.

Trees shook and the neighbor’s flag pole bent down for a deep reverent salute. The frayed Texas flag would not survive much longer; the tattered A&M banner had already been torn to shreds. Belinda raised the pontoon boat as high as it would go in the boathouse and checked for anything that could go flying into the lake.

It was a winter storm, not a Cat 4 hurricane. It might knock over flower pots. She should go inside, mix a drink, and enjoy the show. The lake had turned a spectacular Caribbean green enhanced by a deep slate sky promising hell on earth. Awesome. Belinda laughed in the gusts.

She noticed the dock missed two planks. They were probably on their way to the other side of the lake and some guy’s backyard. When the winds shifted, it would be that unknown guy’s turn to need new boards.

The storm was almost on top of Belinda now. She watched a sheet of rain move across the lake. Lightning struck the peninsula to the west; thunder was close behind. She would soon be soaked through.

She ran to the house. Matt was fastening the door of the toolshed with a length of twine. A previous storm had ripped it off its hinges. She spotted Amanda on the left, under the trees where their neighbor’s property began. She should know better than standing under old trees in the middle of a storm.

Amanda turned toward her. Her eyes looked too big for her face, and she was pale, so pale that she glowed in the eerie light.

The rain was on them in big slapping sheets. Belinda tucked her head into her shoulder and aimed for the trees. When she passed the corner of the house, she was out of the wind and she moved faster. She was at Amanda’s side in seconds.

“What do we do?” Amanda pointed at the furry mass by her feet.

Belinda went down on her knees. The ground was wet and soft. A dog lay in the tall grass. The big German shepherd was on its side, with its back leg caught in a trap. The kind of trap you only saw in graphic novels and fairy tales, a bear trap, or a wolf trap, a thing with cruel metal jaws. Teeth that shred. The dog’s chest was pumping hard, terror in its brown eyes, mouth half-open, a hint of wet pink tongue.

“We get him out,” Belinda said.

She didn’t wear gloves, but she grabbed the metal jaws. Amanda helped her push the trap open.

The dog was smart. It did its part, pulling out the injured leg as soon as it felt release from the contraption. The dog didn’t go anywhere. It just stayed there next to the two soaked women who risked a couple of fingers in its rescue.

Matt joined them. “What son of a bitch puts traps in my yard?” he yelled.

That was an appetizer. I hope you enjoyed it.

(picture M.E. Proctor)

Odds and Ends

Punk Noir published my very short story Night Walk. It’s free to read, 300 little haunting words.

Janie’s Got a Gun, the anthology inspired by the songs of Aerosmith is fresh off the presses. My story is called Drop Dead Gorgeous, takes place in Miami, and features Harry McLean, a laid back (and obsessive) detective. Go get it. The book has a killer table of contents.

The Thrilling Detective website did a cool portrait of Declan Shaw, the main character of Love You Till Tuesday.

And to conclude, I have an article in Mystery Readers Journal, (Partners in Crime issue). It’s called “Bop City Swing or How I Fell in Step with a Dancing Partner” where I talk about the noir novella I wrote in collaboration with Russel Thayer. The novella is scheduled for release next spring.