FEARLESS FRIDAY
You're going to love this post, readers. Welcome to the blog, Lida.
Sometimes
I feel like I’m onboard a pirate ship in the middle of a vast, restless ocean,
surrounded by strangers of questionable character. I’m stuck…unless I want to
dive over the side into dark, bottomless waters hiding hungry creatures with
long, sharp teeth and a passion for blood. I’m talking about my day job as the
director of a legal non-profit.
Most
of my days are harmless; all are action-packed. I work with over 600 lawyers
and judges. I run different programs that sometimes bring out the complicated,
the unpredictable, and once in a while, the unstable in the community
I’m
rarely alone in my suite. Other attorneys populate the building, leaving me
with numerous capable hands and minds to help when needed. Except for this one
day.
My
assistant was out, and so it seemed was everyone else in my section of the
building. It was late morning, a lovely day in Southern California. Life was
good. I sat in my office, reviewing paperwork, when the door to my suite
opened. I stepped out to the desk usually occupied by staff. A gentleman in his
sixties stood before me, wearing a suit and tie, carrying a file in one hand. I
took him for a lawyer or possibly a prospective client. Life was still good.
I
asked if he needed help. He replied, “I’m
here just for the day, from Pebble Beach.”
Pebble
Beach is a posh community just southwest of San Francisco. He captured my
attention with that tidbit. He appeared legitimate.
“I
need to file for arbitration.”
“I’d
be happy to help.”
He moved closer and dropped his file on the
desk. He emptied his pockets. Keys, pens, and a bottle of medication tumbled
out. The rest of his words were a blur. He mumbled something about his criminal
case, his unjust imprisonment, how his attorney was in cahoots with the DA and how
they wouldn’t get away with it. I started to feel nervous.
“I
need to move my car.” He raced out the door. Without his keys. And up the
stairs to the second floor…where there was no parking lot.
I
moved toward the door, but he was back before I could exit.
“Why
aren’t you helping me?” His next words spilled out in one stream. “Are you in
cahoots with them too?”
For
a moment, I saw myself as a headline in the morning news. Mild mannered non–profit director
found… and I got angry. “You need to leave.”
“I’m
not going anywhere. You don’t know who you’re dealing with. I’m the godson of
JFK. I dated Hillary during the Whitewater scandal, I…”
Okay,
so at least one screw was loose. I wanted him out. In my novel, my heroine
works for a boss who lays down the law, Marshall Law that is, (his name is
Marshall), about unseating difficult people. Marshall suggests having a lunatic
present when involved in a potentially sticky situation or, if no lunatic is
handy, to act like one yourself. I squared my shoulders, stood tall, pointed to
the door, and in my best Darth Vader voice, I boomed. “Out!” I could have
chased a Grizzly Bear in high heels at that moment.
The
guy grabbed his belongings and turned to say something, but I maintained my
stance. He left.
I
never thought I’d take advice from a fictional character in my own novel.
Little did I know.
Blurb: Watch out Southern
California! There's a new entertainment attorney in town and she's got game.
Only problem is, it’s not the one she should be playing. Corrie Locke belongs
behind a desk, not behind a Glock. She should be taking VIP calls, not nosing
around a questionable suicide. Instead, she's hot on the trail of a
murderer.
Luckily, she's the daughter of a late, great private eye and she's inherited his love of sleuthing…and illegal weaponry. It doesn't help matters that her gene for caution is a recessive one. Corrie finds herself in the center of a murder case, unearthing suspects in shocking places. With a cold-blooded killer on the loose, Corrie will have to up her game, or die trying.
Luckily, she's the daughter of a late, great private eye and she's inherited his love of sleuthing…and illegal weaponry. It doesn't help matters that her gene for caution is a recessive one. Corrie finds herself in the center of a murder case, unearthing suspects in shocking places. With a cold-blooded killer on the loose, Corrie will have to up her game, or die trying.
Biography: Like her
heroine, Corrie Locke, Lida Sideris worked as an entertainment attorney for a
film studio. Unlike her heroine, she did not get blackmailed into investigating
the suspicious death of a co-worker. Lida resides in the northern tip of
Southern California with her family, their rescue shepherds, and a flock of
uppity chickens. She was one of two national recipients of the Helen
McCloy/Mystery Writers of America scholarship for mystery writing.
Links:
WEBSITE: http://www.lidasideris.com/
FACEBOOK: https://www.facebook.com/lidasideris
TWITTER: @lidasideris
Goodreads: http://www.goodreads.com/book/show/26139837-murder-and-other-unnatural-disasters?from_search=true&search_version=service
Purchase Links
A Book Excerpt:
I veered out of the
parking lot and bounced onto the cavity-ridden dirt road. The mystery
car appeared out of nowhere from beneath the tall pines, eclipsed by the
darkness. Now it raced away somewhere ahead.
“Why didn’t we hear it start?” I asked James.
“It’s a hybrid.”
“We’re in a car chase with a Prius?” A car chase with a Porsche
or Ferrari was respectable, but with a battery operated car? All bragging
rights vanished.
I shifted into warp speed and surged downhill. Seconds later, we
faced the hybrid’s rear bumper. The spot for the license plate sat empty.
“He’s not getting away,” I said.
The hybrid turned and launched up a hill, kicking up pebbles and
a dusty haze. It fish-tailed and I nearly nipped it in the rear. I executed a
sharp left and ran over something large. And lumpy.
“Stop,” James said.
I skidded to a halt, a cloud of dirt trapped in my headlights.
The Prius escaped through an open gate and onto La Paz. My eyes cut to the
rearview mirror. My tail-lights illuminated the road behind us in an eerie red
glow. As I surveyed the scene, not a trace of saliva remained in my mouth.
