All I've done

      All I've done is the play. That's it. Nothing else. We open Wednesday night. I will be both sad and happy when it's over. I've enjoyed this cast and this play. And I think I've done a good job directing it. But I will like having my nights free again.
      My sister has her surgery Wednesday afternoon. Please pray for her. If I hear anything before I go to the theater, I will try to get on here and keep you updated.
      And that's about it. Here's another excerpt from Murder by Dewey Decimal. Bernard and Lisa finally meet. At last.

Except 2.1 from Murder By Dewey Decimal
Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

      Bernard sat on the stone bench outside the library, watching the police search the grounds. He still felt jarred almost as if someone had struck him on the head. At least my hands have stopped shaking, he thought. Now if my stomach would settle down, I'd be okay.
      Bernard sat on the stone bench outside the library, watching the police search the grounds. He still felt jarred almost as if someone had struck him on the head. At least my hands have stopped shaking, he thought. Now if my stomach would settle down, I'd be okay.
      He was embarrassed by his reaction and even more so by Sims's concern. Treating me like I was a child, he thought disgustedly, aware that he was being unfair. Of course, I'm not acting much better than one. Although anyone would be shocked by finding a dead person, he couldn't help but feel that he was being unmanly. But the way her throat gaped open --
      The scene swam before him. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. As quickly as he could, he placed his head between his knees, trying to remember if that was what you were supposed to do if you felt faint or did you do that if you felt sick? Either way, it's right, he thought. Slowly he began to feel better.
      "Are you okay?" a female voice asked.
      He didn't raise his head. "No, I may be sick."
      "Oh." Someone sat down beside him. "Do you need a doctor?"
      "No, I just need to sit still." And be left alone, he added silently.
      She was quiet for a moment and then asked, "Are you sure you don't need one?"
      He sighed and raised his head slightly. A slender woman with straight brown hair was sitting beside him, watching him expectantly. She looked vaguely familiar.
      "No, I'll be okay," Bernard said, trying to place her. “Thank you, though."
      "What's wrong? Is it the heat?"
      "No." He sighed again. "I just -- had an upsetting experience."
      "What happened?" She leaned forward.
      "Do I know you?" he asked.
      "I don't think we've met, but I'm Lisa Trent. I used to work for the Ryton Journal and News. I'm ... stringing for the Oklahoma City Dispatch now."
      "I'm Bernard Worthington," he said. "I don't know if I can talk to you. I mean, I don't know what the procedure is in cases like this."
      "Cases like what?" Lisa asked.
      "I don't think I should answer any questions until the chief says it’s okay," Bernard said, realizing that he was still leaning over. He straightened up, embarrassed.
      "Chief Donaldson?"
      "Yes, he's up there," Bernard said. "And I think I should have his permission first. I'm sorry."
      "No problem. I'll just go and talk to him and catch you later," she said, watching a policeman poking around under the shrubbery.
      Bernard expected her to leave then, but she remained, leaning back on the bench and writing in a notebook she produced from a pocket in her faded jeans.
      "What are you doing?" he asked, alarmed by the thought she might be writing about his refusal to talk to her.
      "I'm just setting the mood," she said. "I find details bring a story alive. I wish I had my recorder."
      "Where is it?"
      "I ... left it in my purse, and I left that at a friend's house." She frowned, and her mouth twisted.
      He noticed her eyes were deep brown. "The library has recorders you could check out."
      "Really? That would be great." She turned to him. "Aren't you a librarian here?"
      "Yes, I'm the assistant librarian."
      "Now, I remember. I did the story when the City Council hired you. It wasn't that long ago. I can't believe my memory sometimes. I kept thinking I had seen you somewhere."
      "Don't feel bad. I was trying to place you, too."
      He smiled at her. She smiled back. With something akin to panic, he realized he wanted the conversation to continue but could think of absolutely nothing more to say.
      "Well, I guess I better go find someone to interview," she said, closing her pad and placing her pen behind her ear.
      "Maybe you should just go ahead and interview me. But ask the chief if what I say is okay to be published."
      She looked at him.
      "You'll probably want to later since I found her body."
      "Body?" Lisa flipped her pad open. "Go ahead."
      After Bernard finished telling his story, he watched as Lisa sat in thought, her brow wrinkled.
      "How bizarre," Lisa said. "I know the old lady was a witch, but I can't see someone killing her for that. Did you like her?"
      Bernard could feel her eyes studying him. "Frankly, no. She made this job a good facsimile of Hell."
      "Yeah, I remember she wasn't too happy when they hired you."
       She paused, obviously considering a question, and Bernard thought he knew what it was.
       "No, I didn't kill her," he said.
       "I didn't ask."
       "You were thinking of asking."
       "Well, yes. After all, aren't most murders an inside job, so to speak? You know, the husband, boyfriend, and other fun folks."
       "What would be my motive?" he asked.
       "Maybe you wanted her job?"
       "Not really. I want to move away from Ryton, and I can get a better paying job elsewhere."
       "So how did you end up here in the first place?"
       The thought of Sherry intruded on Bernard's mind; as always, it hurt.
       "I made a bad choice," he said shortly. "And the sooner I'm away from here, the better."
       Lisa looked like she wanted to ask a question but didn't get the chance.
       "Bimmer," Sims called from the library door. "The chief wants you."
       "I'd better go." Bernard rose, his stomach immediately tightening again.
       "I think I'll tag along." Lisa followed Bernard. "What did he call you?"
       "Bimmer," Bernard said. "It's my nickname because I have the same initials as the car. Bernard M. Worthington. B.M.W."
       "Do you like it?"
       Surprised, Bernard looked at her. "You know, I think you're the first person who has ever asked. I guess so. At least it's better than Bernie." They walked up the library steps where Sims waited.
       "Hey, Lisa. What are you doing here?" Sims asked. "I thought the paper closed yesterday."
       Bernard glanced at the reporter. Her face reddened.
       "It did," she said. "I'm stringing for the Oklahoma City Dispatch now so you'd better be careful. You can't push me around any more." She lightly hit Sims on the arm.
       "Of course not, Your Hineyness. We will treat you with police TLC."
       "What's that? You only hit me where it doesn't show?"
       "No. It means we use the soft end of our sticks."
       Their easy banter irritated Bernard. "Isn't the chief waiting?"
       "Let's go," Sims said, opening the door.
       Sims led them to Agatha's office. A man in gray coveralls knelt before the door, working on the lock. The chief frowned at Lisa. She smiled brightly.
       "I thought the paper closed," the chief said.
       "She's working for the Oklahoma City Dispatch now," Sims said. "Pretty hot stuff."
       "Congratulations," the chief said. "I always thought you were good."
       "Thanks," Lisa said. "I don't suppose you have a statement yet."
       "No, but I will some time today," the chief promised.
       "I've got it, Chuck," the locksmith said. "And it was a bear. That lady had a good lock."
       "Thanks, Tom," the chief said. The chief stepped forward. Bernard realized he was holding his breath. The chief opened the door.
       The office had been Agatha's pride and joy. From the polished oak desk to the Burgundy leather chairs to the large portrait of Eliah Ryton to the deep pile carpet, it was hers completely. Lax about other things, she kept her office immaculate.
       Now, books and papers were strewn across the floor. The backs and the seats of the chairs were slashed open. The portrait lay on the floor, its glass broken, its frame pulled apart. The desk drawers were in a pile and the desk overturned. But, what captured everyone's attention was the east wall where a wall panel was slid aside to reveal the open door of a safe.
       Sims stepped inside and went to it. "It's empty."
       "What was in there?" the chief asked Bernard.
       "I don't know," Bernard said slowly. "I didn't even know she had a safe."
       "Chief," Sims said. "Look over there." He pointed at the floor by the desk.
      A dark red stain glistened on the floor. Splatters of the same fluid spotted the carpet in large amounts.
       "All that blood ..." Lisa said, her voice shaking.
       "She probably thrashed around a lot," Dimes said, stepping into the room and kneeling beside the blood. "I'd say this was where she was killed."
       "You going to tell me that without a lab test?" the chief asked.
       "In this case, yes," Dimes said, holding up a pair of tweezers with a bloody object in it. "There's chunk of her throat here."
       Bernard barely made it to the restroom before he threw up bile.

End excerpt. Copyright 2007. All rights reserved.

      A lot of people who read this book the first time around commented on how much Bernard threw up. You'll be pleased to learn that he doesn't throw up any more after this.
      I, however, thought his reaction was how many people react when confronting the carnage of a violent death. I know this because I threw up the first time I saw a beheaded man in the flesh so to speak. For Halloween sometime, I'll tell that story.
      This book, however, doesn't have a lot more blood in it. I was trying for a "cozy" rather than a thriller. That doesn't mean people are safe. No, far from it. You can kill people in a lot of ways that don't involve a lot of blood.
      Anyway, it's time for me to call it a night. Pleasant dreams.