Author of murder mysteries and ghost stories, author Victoria Roder is here today to share how a recurring dream inspired one of her stories. For the authors out there, discover a new reference book to add to your library.
**Contest: Victoria will be giving away a pdf copy of The Dream House Visions and Nightmares. All you have to do is leave a comment or ask a question to be entered in the drawing. Good Luck!
Tell us a little about yourself: I’m thrilled to be on KMN Books Blog, Karen. I’m author, Victoria Roder. I’m a down home girl from central Wisconsin. I enjoy camping and hiking with my husband and our three dogs. I also have two spoiled cats and a blue tongue skink (lizard). We ride motorcycle, shoot bow at 3D targets, and snowshoe in the winter.
Bolt Action is your newest release. Tell us about your heroine, Detective Leslie Bolt. Detective Leslie Bolt is a tough talking, gun hording, motorcycle riding investigator with as much insecurity as the rest of us. After a life of abuse at the hands of her father, she has a kick ass outer shell and a chip on her shoulder. She stashes a collection of pistols, revolvers, and rifles about her apartment. Leslie is a top investigator, but no one wants to work with because she is stand-offish and down right rude. We may all think sarcastic thoughts about other people, but in addition to thinking them, Detective Bolt says them out loud!
Tell us about the two men, who are vying for her attention. Which man would you chose and why? Detective Lance Kestler is Leslie’s ex-lover. He is cocky, head-strong, and knows he is sexy as hell, but his inability to trust, sarcasm, and inability to commit mirrors Leslie. Medical Examiner Jack Donington is muscular, handsome, fun loving, polite, rides motorcycle, and is able to bring out the best in Leslie. Because of the turbulent past between Lance and Leslie, I would have also moved on to the equally sexy, but humble Jack Donington.
How did you come up with the idea of the “State Quarter Killer?” Oh, no! The secret is out! I had the story line for Bolt Action, the characters, the murders, the motive, but I needed something that would tie what appeared to be unrelated murders, together. I ran it past my husband and he said, through a state quarter under each body. Men! They make it sound so simple!
I believe Leslie Bolt has room to grow and another investigation to solve.
You’ve also written a ghost story/murder mystery. Tell us about your story, The Dream Visions and Nightmares. Although a sweet romance develops through out the novel, it is a murder mystery wrapped in a paranormal ghost. I personally have had a recurring dream since I was a child about a house that my family lived. With encouragement from my sister, Tammy, that dream and the house became the premise for my novel, The Dream House Visions and Nightmares. A ghost in a bloody nightgown pleads for help for her children, dream sequences of blood spewing out of windows, drowning, and walking across human bones foretell of sins of the past and forewarn of danger in the present. After recurring dreams stalk her, Hope Graham returns home to learn that the truth can be more frightening than a nightmare. The Dream House Visions and Nightmares contains, ghosts…dream interpretation…revenge…and murder! www.asylettpress.com
Do you believe in ghosts? Have you ever seen one? I believe there is a spirit world all around us. Some people are aware of their presence and others aren’t. I have never experienced a ghost and although I can write frightening books, I’ll need someone to hold my hand if I do see one!
Do you cast your characters using pictures or actors to inspire what they look like? Not so far.
Do you have a favorite reference book? Howdunit How Crimes Are Committed and Solved Edited by John Boertlein.
What are your current projects and works in progress? I am excited about, and in the final edits of my paranormal horror, The Haunting of Ingersull Penitentiary: A penitentiary founded on the system of separation and torture, built on land cursed by a witch from the sixteen hundreds, now converted into a bed and breakfast…what could go wrong?
I am also working on a children’s puzzle book and two picture books, An Important Job to Do – A Noah’s Ark Tale and Baby’s First Book of Jesus.
Is there anything else you’d like to tell the readers? I have no sense of direction, so I even get lost in large buildings. Touching cotton balls gives me the heebie-jeebies…or did you what me to say something pertaining to writing? In that case, my first children’s picture book, What if a Zebra had Triangles? has been contracted and will be coming soon from Vintage Reflections Publishing.
With a Ruger Blackhawk .357 under her pillow, a Browning A-Bolt Stainless Stalker rifle in her broom closet, and a Saturday Night Special in her road-hog cookie jar, Detective Leslie Bolt’s sarcastic attitude and inability to trust, alienates her from most people. Forced to work a serial murder case with her ex-lover, doesn't improve her disposition. The "State Quarter Killer” is selecting victims that appear to have nothing in common except for the State Quarter placed under their lifeless bodies. When her sister goes missing the question rises, will Detective Bolt capture the serial killer before her sister is the next victim?
Lying in the dark shadows of my bedroom, I awoke with a start at a slamming sound. Every hair on my arms crystallized as I grappled under the pillow for my Ruger Blackhawk .357 and flashlight. Baby, my cat, scared to near death, screeched and ran from the bed. My heart lurched in my chest. In the silence of the night, the sound of the Ruger cocking ricocheted off the walls.
In an attempt to become undetectable in the darkness, I inhaled the slowest breaths possible without passing out. Convinced someone observed, perhaps studied, my every movement, I summoned my courage with a prayer. I flipped the flashlight on and scanned my bedroom.
For the third time this week, nothing, no one present. To ease my mind, I proceeded through my duplex with stealth-like movements, as if I were responding to an armed intruder call. Keeping my wrists crossed with my Ruger in my right hand and the flashlight in my left, I crept from one
room to another, turning on every light available. With my duplex lit up like a landing strip, I positioned the flashlight on my oak end table. Confident the twelve-and-a-half inch
barrel of my .357 protected me, I jerked open every closet door, hoping someone waited inside to be shot. I believed an apprehended suspect might be my chance at sanity, putting to rest the repetitive noises and sensation of being watched. With a predator-like approach toward the bathroom, I noticed the shower curtain stirring. My pulse throbbed in my esophagus, threatening to cut off my air supply. Creeping into my nineteen-fifties Pepto Bismol pink bathroom, with a trembling hand I grasped and jerked open the curtain. The
sound of the rings scraping against the rod made a deafening screech.
Succumbing to mental exhaustion, I leaned my head against the bathroom door.
“Shit.” In the silence, the sound of my own voice startled me. I couldn’t keep going like this night after night. A slamming noise vibrated between the duplexes.
Sprinting to the kitchen, I set the flashlight on the counter and pressed my face against the kitchen window. I cupped my left hand around my eyes to peer into the driveway. I
surveyed the driveway I shared with my neighbor Mark, but I couldn’t detect his car.
If he’s gone, where is the noise coming from? I thought of one place I hadn’t checked. The thought of entering the moldy, reeking storage area made my stomach contents curdle like cottage cheese. With my desire to find the source of the noises superseding my fear of dark,
damp spaces, I tucked the Ruger in the waistband of my drawstring sleep pants.
Out of my collection of weapons that I have stashed around my apartment, I choose my Browning A-Bolt Stainless Stalker rifle from behind the mop in the broom closet. I headed in the direction of the enclosed storage area. Flipping on the porch light in hopes of frightening an
intruder, I exited my front door. As I reached the bottom of the wooden steps, I could detect an outline of a person in front of the shadowed storage area door. Male-at least six feet tall.
Cocking the rifle, I warned, “Stop. I have a rifle.”
“Calm down, Bolt. It’s just me.” Lance Kestler ran his hand through his thick black hair as he stepped from the shadows into the glow of the porch light.
“Oh for crying out loud. What the hell are you doing here?” I released the trigger. “Did you just come out of my storage area?”
“No, I got out of my car and walked toward your door.” Kestler placed his hands on his slim hips. “How come you never wear your hair down during the day?”
I ignored the question. “I heard a door close.”
Kestler shrugged his broad, black Fieora-clothed shoulders, and wobbled on his feet. “Must’a heard my car door.”
Headlights from a passing car shined toward me and I slid the rifle behind my back. “Whatever. It’s like midnight—what the hell do you want?”
“Well, I remembered you don’t sleep much at night so I assumed you’d still be up. Or maybe you just didn’t sleep at night because I kept you up—or should I say you kept me up?” Kestler took a stumbling step forward.
I blew out a breath in frustration. How did I ever get involved with this guy in the first place? “Get off it, Kestler.
You’ve been drinking. What do you want?” “Aren’t you gonna invite me in?” He winked in his
typical cocky manner. “It’s been a long time since I’ve had your firm body under mine.”
I couldn’t help but roll my eyes and shake my head. “Are you kidding me?”
“Look, I just want to apologize for how things have been going between us lately.” Lance stumbled and dragged his hand across the side of the duplex to stabilize himself.
“Apologize?” The rifle dug into my hand as I tightened my grip on it. “You can’t even talk in complete sentences.
How come you only show up and want to talk after you’ve been drinking?”
Kestler advanced two steps toward me. “What’s wrong with you? I’m trying to rekindle a civil relationship between us, and you show up acting like Annie Oakley the sharpshooter.”
“You don’t do apologies, or favors without an ulterior motive.” I pointed the rifle towards him. “What the hell do you want? Why don’t you just go home?”
“What? You’re gonna shoot me? ” Lance threw up his hands, pretending to surrender, and laughed.
His humor was lost on me. I wanted Kestler off my property and wanted him to know I meant business. Not that really would have shot him. Probably. “You’ve been drinking, and you’re trespassing. I believed you were an intruder and I had to defend myself.” I shrugged my
shoulders. “Sounds convincing. I might be able to get someone to buy that.”
My finger itched to pull the trigger. “Don’t you remember my target scores where always better than yours?”
Lance winked at me. “That’s because I was distracted by your cute ass.”
I rolled my eyes. “You are an ass.”
“I’m done with trying to be nice to you.”
“When did you start?”
“Screw you.” He turned to stomp back toward his car.
I lowered the rifle and called out, “Kestler, you’ve been drinking. Should I call you a cab?”
I heard him open his car door. As I walked backward up the three steps to the front door, it didn’t take detective skills to realize he didn’t have the ability nor the courtesy to
answer me. Kestler was six feet tall—could he have consumed more then two drinks an hour? I ran back down the steps to offer him a ride.
“Kestler!” I pounded on the hood of the car. “Kestler, wait!”
He jammed the car in reverse, spun it around and squealed his tires on the usually quiet street. I watched him
drive off and prayed he wouldn’t hit someone on his way home. Retreating inside my apartment, I locked and dead- bolted the front door. I returned the A-Bolt rifle to its spot behind the mop in my closet, and headed for the phone to call in a tip about a drunk driver. If he was lucky, he’d be
stopped by a friendly cop. If not—if he had to spend the night in the drunk tank—at least he wouldn’t kill himself or anyone else. My infuriation with Lance Kestler made my hands jitter as if I had guzzled three pots of coffee.
Buy link for Bolt Action at: http://www.omnilit.com/product-boltaction-426568-152.html