|As noted here, I’m commenting daily on the WMG Holiday Spectacular—which is a great project that releases a story every day. These might be reviews. Or not. They might be interesting. Or … um … not. They will be fun, though. For me, at least.|
Here’s the next story.
“Evergreen and Crimson”
Yes. Yes. Yes.
I’ve been waiting for a Lisa Silverthorne.
If you have read my blog for any sustained period over the past—holy crap—twenty-five years, you are aware this place has been through more than a few iterations, but one of the few constants is that Lisa Silverthorne pops up in my entries every so often. She is arguably the main reason it exists. In fact, for the helluvit, I just went back and did a quick scan. The first time she appears in one of my entries is October of 1996. So, yeah, twenty-five years. And counting.
Lisa is both one of my favorite people, as well as one of my favorite writers. To get a new story from her is always going to be a delight.
Anyway, today arrived “Evergreen and Crimson,” which is a not-quite hard-boiled detective story set in West Lafayette, Indiana in the snowy days before Christmas. Or is it a not-quite who-dun-it? I won’t say because I’m not going to describe the plot. Because, well, because it’s a detective/whodunit story and you can follow that along with a lot more anticipation if I don’t give such specifics. All I’ll say is that you can feel desolate chill of winter in the story’s prose, and that Detective Bode Jameson is a still-green cop in the Lafayette PD. I’ll also say that he’s still dealing with what kind of a life that’s going to mean, and that by the resolution of the tale, he’s still not really sure but that with help from a key player or two, maybe he’s going to figure it out.
I’m wondering if we might find a few more Bode Jameson stories happening in the future. Maybe with title like “The Student Union Slaying,” or “Death of A Librarian.”
Perhaps that’s an idea for a later Spectacular.
And then another, and another, and then a collection and then, heck, there goes another twenty-five years in the can, right?