Keira looked at what he was typing even though she knew better.
“It’s like eavesdropping on a private conversation,” he said, snapping the laptop lid shut.
“A private conversation with yourself?” She smiled at him.
He snorted. “I guess you could say that.”
“I just did say that.”
He snorted again and turned away. “I have to get out of this stupid airplane seat and find the men’s room. If you read what I’ve been writing, I will know you did it.”
Keira watched as he stepped into the aisle, set the computer on his empty seat, and disappeared toward the back of the darkened cabin. She didn’t need his password because she’d read everything before he noticed.
“Keira looked at what he was typing even though she knew better.”
Join me at Inkberry Books in Niwot, Colorado, at 7 p.m. Saturday, November 16. What to expect: some words about writing what you know, a little reading, some Q&A, some book signing, and an author reception.
FYI, Niwot is a cool little place with friendly people who love music and serve some great food, coffee and craft beer. It’s conveniently located about halfway between Longmont, where I live, and Boulder, where I work. I stopped in at this independent bookstore recently while riding my gravel bike on the LoBo Trail and I’m looking forward to being there again soon.
If you’re in or near Boulder County on November 16, let’s meet at Inkberry Books.
Earlier this summer I had a chance to visit Beaverdale Books, a for-real independent book store in a Des Moines neighborhood where I used to spend a lot of time. The neighborhood is also home to a fictional bicycle shop / taproom that I made up for my second Detective Red Shaw novel.
When you’re in Beaverdale, you can actually buy both of those crime novels at Beaverdale Books. However, you won’t find the bike shop Red Shaw and Phil Vega visit in the following excerpt from North of Grand.
In which detectives visit a Beaverdale beer & bike shop…
…while investigating the murder of a cyclist.
Beaverdale Bike-n-Ale sold bicycles in the same spot for
twenty years before new owners came along with a new business model. They
thought they could draw in more cyclists, many of whom liked good, trendy beer,
if they also attracted a share of the growing numbers of craft beer drinkers
who didn’t necessarily give a rat’s ass about bicycles, resting heart rates, or
power-to-weight ratios. The bicycle side of the shop sold custom-fitted road
machines and mountain bikes that cost more than Shaw’s first two cars put
together. The taproom offered an ever-changing menu of craft lagers, ales,
stouts and other concoctions as long as they came from anything other than a
brewery that had even the faintest whiff of international consolidation.
A chalkboard behind the bar caught Shaw’s
attention. “If you want Bud Light, leave now,” read the top line. The day’s
list of carefully selected brews on tap filled the rest of the board.
A bearded twenty-something behind the bar
sported a red farmer bandana and a tattered Tour de France t-shirt. He was
rinsing pint glasses and four-ounce tasters in hot water before setting them on
a mat to dry. Clean glasses hung in rows from an overhead rack. Vega eyed a
pair of patrons at a nearby table and nudged Shaw, nodding to indicate where he
“That’s a man bun, Phil,” Shaw said. “You’d look good with one.”
Bun Man overheard the comment and turned
to the detectives. “I can see that,” he said, pointing at Vega’s black waves.
“Let it grow a couple more inches and you could definitely rock a bun.”
“Yeah, and Rosa would definitely snatch it
off in a second.”
Bun Man’s companion commiserated by
rubbing his shaved head and laughing. “Sssssnatch
you bald,” he slurred.
Shaw flagged down the bartender, who
looked over after putting up the last beer glass.
“What can I get you, sir?”
Shaw caught a name on the whiteboard that
told him the Ale Agent on Duty was James. “Nothing right now, James,” he said
as he held out his badge, “but we need to ask you a few questions.”
Vega produced his own shield and James
yawned as he glanced at it then looked back at Shaw. “What?”
“Do you know a Zachary Costa?”
“Yeah, I knew Zach. He used to come in a
lot. Every few days. Not lately, though.”
“So you heard about his death?”
“Who hasn’t? It’s all over.”
“Fuck that, the newspaper,” he said as he
snatched a smartphone from a back pocket and held it out. Shaw saw Vega twitch
toward his Glock before catching himself and relaxing. “It’s all over the
internet, man. Where you from, fucking 1990?”
Vega pulled his own smartphone out and
laid it on the bar. “Nice attitude, James. When’s the last time you saw Zach
James took a deep breath and exhaled,
slowly. “Week ago. He had a couple of pints with Emma, his girl, and they
“Did you know him outside of here? You
guys hang out or anything?”
“No, we just talked beer and bikes when he
came in.” He nodded toward Bun Man and Bald Guy, who were heading for the door.
“Those guys probably knew him better.”
Shaw caught Vega’s eye and nodded their
way to send him after them.
“You know their names?” he asked James.
“Yeah. And I’ve got one of their credit
cards. Tab’s still open.”
“It looks like you need to close it out
and call a ride for them.”
James grabbed a rag to wipe down the bar.
“No, I think Gav’s okay, and he’s driving. Jeff has probably had enough,
Shaw picked up Vega’s phone. “My partner
has some pictures of Zachary Costa’s bicycles we’d like to show you.”
James smiled. “To hear him talk, he had
some nice rides.”
“He had a couple of higher-end Treks that
he raced, and another one he called his ‘investment.’”
“What was that one?”
“A Paramount from like the sixties. He
thought a collector might buy it for four or five grand.”
Bun Man and Bald Guy were back soon, after
a quick smoke in the alley, with Vega trailing behind.
“Detective Vega, can you show James Mr.
Costa’s bicycles?” Shaw asked.
Vega took the phone and flipped through
the images one by one as James provided a running commentary. “That’s one he
probably raced … that’s a beater … another beater … yeah, that’s a time trial
bike he talked about.”
“Thank you, James,” Shaw said. “That’s
“What about the other one?” James asked.
“The Paramount? No picture of that one?”
Vega dodged the question. “Let us know if
you hear anyone else asking about it, okay?”
Doing crossword puzzles will never be the same once you read Blood Solutions: A Detective Red Shaw Novel.
Not that I want to wreck your crossword experience, if you’re into that sort of thing. (I was addicted for a while.) It’s more of a heads-up that you will look at crossword puzzle clues a little differently after this.
* I rarely do this, for a couple of reasons. 1. The world is cluttered with too many free ebooks that are just plain crappy and I worry that it reflects poorly on the book. 2. I make my living as a writer and prefer to get paid for what I do. Both Red Shaw novels are worth a few bucks. 🙂