CAROL KILGORE—CRIME WITH A KISS

 ICED COFFEE FOR A HOT DAY

My guest is romantic suspense author, Carol Kilgore. Carol hails originally from Texas, seems overly fond of Tiki Huts, has a great sense of humor, and a heart the size of Texas. I first met her as a fellow blogger and I've enjoyed reading her blog and getting to know her. This is not her first visit to Over Coffee. You may remember reading a story she wrote, SECRETS OF CHRISTMAS, as part of my Holiday Shorts I do each  December. 

It's my pleasure to have Carol back with us and this time with her debut, In Name Only.  

Thank you, Sia, for hosting me today. I'm very happy to be here and to share some things about me and about my debut novel, IN NAME ONLY.

My personal style is eclectic. I like to mix it up. If I wore a uniform, I would most likely pair it with frilly and/or colorful undies. I would know.

Bear with me. You'll see where this is going.

If our home came close to having a design style, it would be something like eclectic coastal contemporary, even though we no longer live at the coast. We have art and accessories from other places we've lived—like the New Mexico mountains and New York City—and a few family pieces mingled with an overall contemporary look.

It's the same with my blog, Under the Tiki Hut. It's all about the beach, which I love. I'm a Native Texan and write stories set in Texas, so the beach I most often see in my mind is a Texas beach, where tiki huts are also called palapas. But that doesn't mean you see my beach. I try to maintain a Tiki Hut feel for any beach anywhere. From Fiji to Oregon to Maine to the Irish Coast and back again.

So it follows that this eclectic mix extends into my writing as well. I mix a cup of this, a dash of that, a spoonful of the other into a blend I call Crime Fiction with a Kiss. Always at least one crime; always a love story.

Besides being eclectic, I'm also a little OCD about research. Not only do I love the process, I want to make sure all the facts in my fiction are correct. I don't claim to be perfect—no doubt readers will find things I got wrong. And there may be other things that slip past.

Here are a few of the many things I researched for IN NAME ONLY:

Local Trees. In Chapter One of IN NAME ONLY, Summer leans against a palm tree. The palm started out as a mesquite tree (pronounced mess-KEET) and would have remained a mesquite except for one tiny problem—I learned mesquites have long thorns. Ouch!

• Shark Fishing.  A lot of guys in South Texas fish for shark from the Padre Island National Seashore beach. You can watch a short video at Texas Shark Fishing to see the last part of the process of bringing the shark to shore. It's a catch and release video of a 12-foot tiger shark. It may take the fisherman hours to reach this point. Look at the size of the man and look at all his gear. I spent the better part of a couple of days researching equipment for this sport, which ended up having only a few mentions in the story. But it was fun to learn!

• Firefighters. Lots of information on firefighters is available on the web. I spent many days reading. I also talked one-to-one with some real firefighters with the Corpus Christi Fire Department who told me how they do things there.

• The Federal Witness Security Program. Not much out there, and nobody was talking. Which would make me pretty darn happy if I were in the program. So I felt free to draw upon my imagination.

• Padre Island. And of course, I spent time on Padre figuring out where everything in the story would physically be located. You'll need to make your own visit to the Island to find out which locations are real and which are specially created for IN NAME ONLY.

If you happen to see Summer Newcombe while you're there, say hi for me!

BUY: AMAZON

IN NAME ONLY


No home. No family. No place to hide. For Summer Newcombe, that's only the beginning.

The night Summer escapes from a burning Padre Island eatery and discovers the arsonist is stalking her, is the same night she meets Fire Captain Gabriel Duran. As much as she's attracted to Gabe, five years in the Federal Witness Security Program because of her father’s testimony against a mob boss have taught her the importance of being alone and invisible.

No matter how much she yearns for a real home, Summer relinquished that option the night she killed the man who murdered her father. But Gabe breaks down her guard and places both of them in danger. Summer has vowed never to kill again, but she's frantic she'll cost Gabe his life unless she stops running and fights for the future she wants with the man she loves.

~*~*~*~

Carol Kilgore is a Texas native who has lived in locations across the U.S. as the wife of a Coast Guard officer. Back under the hot Texas sun in San Antonio, Carol writes a blend of mystery, suspense, and romance she calls Crime Fiction with a Kiss. She and her husband share their home and patio with two active herding dogs, and every so often the dogs let them sit on the sofa.

Learn more about Carol and follow her here:
Blog: http://www.underthetikihut.blogspot.com

Website: http://www.carolkilgore.net
Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads: 

HOLIDAY STORIES: SECRETS OF CHRISTMAS

Wednesday:  I will be interviewing JESSICA BELL. Interesting interview from an interesting woman. Be sure to stop by what she has to say about growing up as a daughter of Rock musicians, her furry baby, Holly, and what she's working on next.


TODAY:  I have another holiday story for you to enjoy. Crime doesn't take a holiday and neither does tragedy but the moments of joy still prevails in this world and that's a good thing.


Carol Kilgore contributed this Christmas suspense story. Carol hails from San Antonio, Texas and writes a fun blog, Under The Tiki Hut. She writes mysteries and suspense novels with a nice dollop of romance.


Enjoy the story, I sure did! 

The occupants of the dark house had gone out for an evening of fun at Syntagma Square--the place to be in Athens the week before Christmas. Greek Christmases were nothing like what Katia Marengo had grown up with on the South Texas coast, and she loved the excitement. The air frosted her breath. Her coat and cloche hat offered a little disguise, and the chill allowed her to wear close-fitting leather gloves. All were perfect for breaking and entering.

The small house was home to a minor Turkish diplomat and his family. Kat had become friends with the diplomat's wife, the chatty and careless Yagmur. The test came now. Kat inserted the key she'd made from an impression. She'd aced that class during training, but each time she used an impressioned key in the field, she experienced a moment of panic. The key turned. Yes!

The aroma of mint greeted her. She pressed on the tiny LED lights fitted into the brim of her hat. As long as no one had changed the alarm code she was home free--7, 6--crap. The edge of her glove hit the 3. Clear. Once again, this time more controlled--7,6,9,1. Green light. Thank you, Yagmur.

Yagmur had said Ediz had two safes. He thought the first was too obvious. She didn't say where they were located. Kat would search first in the master and second in the kitchen, the two most likely locations.

She found one safe set into the master bedroom wall behind a painting. Obvious. Where would she install a second? She'd want easy access without a hint of anything different from the surroundings. The tiled floor. On her hands and knees she explored each exposed tile and all the grout, then the ones under the bed, chest, and chair. Nothing.

"Oh!" In the chair or chest. By having the safe in his personal belongings, Ediz would need to install it only once as it would travel with him from posting to posting. She found the second safe, with a keycard lock, in the bottom drawer of the chest. The CIA prepared its officers well--she came ready for any type of device and withdrew a plain black card from her messenger bag.

She inserted the card into the slot. "Do your magic, Houdini. Spring that lock."

While the software on the card worked to unlock the newer safe, she exposed the older safe behind the painting. That one looked as ancient as the house. For grins she tried the old lever handle. It didn't budge.

Kat studied the single old-fashioned combination dial, memorizing the setting. No smudges, threads, or other alerts. She pulled a stethoscope from her bag. It trailed a USB plug that she plugged into a handheld computer.

She spun the dial a few times to the left and twice to the right. Then she placed the stethoscope monitor to the metal near the lock and turned the knob one number at a time. Her fingers felt the first tumbler fall. The computer beeped and recorded the number. She turned the knob to the left and concentrated. The computer beeped again and recorded the second number.

Her shoulders ached. She stretched and relaxed her fingers before going for the third number. Houdini emitted a soft trill. She checked the safe in the drawer. Empty.

"Ediz, you are a clever fox. But I'm going to find your secrets."

Kat returned Houdini to her bag and went back to the old safe. "Okay, baby, Mama's back. Show me your stuff." She turned the dial and hoped the old safe wasn't booby-trapped. Maybe Ediz had a third safe.

An eternity passed. Inside her gloves, sweat formed on her palms. Her mouth grew dry, and she tried to swallow. Beep. No boom. Kat breathed again.

"Ediz, you better not have booby-trapped the handle."

She pushed down. The door opened to Ediz's secret stash. Papers typed in Turkish. Four Greek passports with photos of Ediz, Yagmur, their children--his safety net. Yagmur's jewelry. A man's Rolex. She removed the watch with her left hand and pulled its twin from her bag with her right. She studied them under the light.

Ediz's timepiece was more worn than the replacement, but not by much. Nothing her little hammer and pick couldn't replicate with a few minutes work. The same number of links filled each band. The back of Ediz's watch bore no engraving for her to match. She breathed a sigh of relief.

Kat placed Ediz's watch in her bag and its replacement in the safe, closed the door, reset the dial. Her return visit on New Year's Eve would take less than five minutes.

Outside, she walked to the nearest thoroughfare with a confident stride, her head held high. She hailed a taxi. "Syntagma Square."

The driver nodded, and started the meter. She would arrive early for her meeting with Dave Krizak in front of the carousel. Amid the noise and bustle, she would pass Dave the Rolex.

Dave would be the case officer to take the watch into the Embassy for the installation of the stealth transmitter. Ediz was to be part of a delegation to Tehran in January. The transmitter would give the U.S. ears without outside embellishment.

The taxi screeched to a stop. Kat paid the fare and stepped out. Ahead she saw Dave paying his driver.

The world exploded in a fireball.

Kat hit the sidewalk.

When she came to and sat up, chaos reigned. People shouted and screamed. Sirens wailed. Her bag still hung around her neck. Houdini, the tiny computer, and the Rolex still rested inside. Dave. Where was Dave?

The stench of burnt rubber and flesh hung in the air. Several bodies lay motionless on the blackened street and sidewalk, curled in the fetal position, charred. Kat threw up in the gutter.

Worst case, she was a target. But the explosion had made it her responsibility to get the watch to the Embassy. The Hard Rock Café was a few blocks away, and she would find taxis there.

- - -

The next day, Kat arrived at Langley. In the two years since the bombing, she'd been back to the Agency once--on this date last year--to touch Dave's star on the Memorial Wall. To tell him goodbye.

Technically she was on long-term leave, still paid but not yet working. As she'd fought her way back to the living, she'd leaned on Remy Sonnier, the instructor who had taught her--as he said--stealing for fun and profit.

He'd called her one day, said he was moving to Corpus Christi, and would like her to help him find a place. Not for one minute did she think his presence was coincidence. The Agency was keeping an eye on her. She'd gone from Remy's star student to his current assignment.

She pulled into his driveway and got out. Along the South Texas coast, the balmy mid-December weather was nothing like Athens. It matched her happy mood. She was getting better. It felt good to smile, to laugh. Kat pushed the front door open and stuck her head in. "Remy! Are you home?"

"In the kitchen, cher."

She passed a Christmas tree decorated with Mardi Gras beads and ornaments shaped like shrimp, crab, and alligator and giggled. Her Cajun friend brought the bayou to Texas with everything he did.

"What smells fabulous?" She entered the large square room centered with a wooden table and benches.

"Gumbo. It's not ready." Remy returned the lid to the pot and wiped his hands on his apron. "How you holding up?"

"I'm good. Really good."

"I knew you would be, cher. I have something for you. I'll be right back."

Kat walked to the window. Sun diamonds danced on the green water. Kat's stomach growled at the pungent aroma of the gumbo. "Remy, you want me to stir the pot?"

"Don't touch it."

A minute passed, and she heard footsteps behind her.

"Merry Christmas, Kat."

She spun around. "Dave?"

He nodded. "It's me."

She touched his face, the scar that traveled from his hairline, in front of his left ear, and down his neck beneath his collar. "I can't believe you're alive. I was there, I--"

"Sshh." His finger touched her lips. "I read the debriefing. I know."

"But your star--" Burn scars mottled Dave's hands.

"Belongs to another officer."

Another family, other friends saddened by death. Life wasn't fair, but in the last two years, Kat had learned to accept and-- "Remy?"

"He didn't know until last week. He said he's going fishing for a little bit so we can catch up and I can tell you what's new."

The old excitement returned. "We're working again?"

Dave smiled. "You and me, babe. Remy also said for you to keep your hands off his gumbo."

Kat laughed. "Merry Christmas, Dave."

~*~*~*~

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