It took three years, but my new sapphic romantic mystery, Out to Get Her, is finally ready!
It took a while to find the real heart of this book. It deals a lot with pushing back against dysfunctional systems and burning down the patriarchy (sometimes literally), but at its core, this is a book about owning who you are and letting go of the urge to prove yourself to everyone. It takes Erin and Samantha a while to figure that out, and it took me a while to figure out how to tell their stories, separately and together, in a way that felt right… amidst all the fun plot twists and turns!
Ready for a sneak peek?
Here’s a look at the first chapter of this sweet sapphic romance meets cozy queer murder mystery set in a small (imaginary) Louisiana town…
Erin held up an arm to block the smoke from entering her nostrils. She remembered how people around here liked to burn their trash, but she also remembered the smell of things burning that shouldn’t be. Whatever this was, it was definitely in the “shouldn’t be burning” camp.
After replacing the gas nozzle, she headed inside the mostly empty station. This place had always been packed every afternoon. Teenagers stopping before and after school for boudin balls and caffeine. Retirees chatting at the counter with nothing better to do on a Wednesday afternoon. And you couldn’t get on the lot at lunch when the food was hot out of the fryer and the gossip even hotter.
But for all she knew, this could be the new normal. Maybe half the town had done the smart thing, the same thing Erin had done, and hauled ass right on out of here at the first chance.
The jingle bells rattled from the handle as she entered the building and took a quick left turn toward the coolers. She grabbed two Dr. Peppers, one for later, since the house wouldn’t be stocked with anything but orange juice, bread, and deli meats. Then she headed back to the front counter where a tall, dark-bearded man leaned an arm against the hot foods display case while he recounted a recent fishing trip to the cashier. The poor woman’s hair was falling out of her ponytail post-lunch-rush, and she looked like she’d heard ten versions of this story already today.
“If it hadn’t of been for me, that bastard would of lost that bluegill.” The man’s voice dripped with arrogance. Although, if Erin could have put money on it, the real story was probably more like “that bastard” having to bail this guy out instead.
She knew the type. They were all that type around here. Young. Old. Didn’t matter.
The cashier punched in the amount for her drinks as Erin told her which pump she was on. “Who’s burning a mattress or whatever out there?”
The woman paused a moment before announcing the total. Then she added, “You didn’t hear about Addie’s?”
Addie’s.
Erin racked her memory for whoever or whatever an Addie was, but she came up short. Best not to admit that, though. The last thing you wanted to be in this town was an outsider. They were probably sizing her up already. Trying to figure out whose kid she was and why they hadn’t seen her around lately. Erin just shook her head.
“Didn’t you see all that smoke out there behind the building?”
Oh. That Addie’s. Addie’s Lunch Shack. It was maybe half a football field from this gas station. Had a damn good BLT.
“I could smell it, but couldn’t tell where it was coming from.”
“They probably put it all out by now, I guess,” the woman said. “Grease fire or something.”
“That’s a shame.” Because now Erin had a craving for a BLT, and Adeline Weaver’s place was probably still the only “restaurant” in town.
As she handed over her cash, the big man pointed a thick finger at her. “Ain’t you Michael’s kid?”
Shit.
She was wrong. The absolute last thing you wanted to be in this town was recognized. By anyone. But especially by guys in gas stations who had more time than they knew what to do with.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, honey,” the cashier said. “I didn’t recognize you. What with the hair and all.”
Erin resisted the urge to play with the ends of her wavy turquoise bob and took her change and drinks. “Thanks.”
“Your grandpa came in here every weekend for smoked boudin and cracklins. Nicest man around here, I swear. And I’m not just sayin’ that.”
No irony at all in everyone ignoring the fact that an assumed heart attack had done him in.
Erin nodded in agreement, swallowing the uninvited lump forming in her throat.
Nope. There was absolutely no time for grief. She needed to tamp down this feelings stuff, take care of business, and get the hell back out of this place.
Before she could turn away, that finger pointed at her once again.
“Yeah, I remember you.” He squinted hard at her. “When did you get back, girl?”
She struggled to place who this man was so she could deflect the conversation by asking about some cousin of his, but her brain couldn’t distinguish him. All the men around here were one big pile of memory mush.
“Just on my way in. Haven’t even been to the house yet.”
Translation: Whatever you think I did, it wasn’t me.
This time.
For crying out loud, the one crime she’d actually been investigated for was years ago. How was she going to settle all of her grandpa’s affairs and get back to her life if the whole town was still accusing her of every single petty-ass crime. She wouldn’t be surprised if someone jumped around the corner and accused her of clogging Grandpa Darryl’s artery.
The still-unidentified asshole grunted, and Erin took that as her cue to bail. Once in her car, she twisted open one of the drinks and tossed the other on her passenger seat.
Great, the inside of her car smelled like smoke now. Not that it had smelled delightful before, but at least it hadn’t smelled like a grease fire.
She wondered how bad that fire at Addie’s really was. Like… was it just a little grease fire that had burned a tiny corner of the kitchen, or was it a no-way-in-hell-you’re-getting-a-BLT level of bad?
A peek wouldn’t hurt, right?
Curiosity and hunger got the best of her, so she put the cap back on her Dr. Pepper and aimed for the smoke cloud.
“I’m telling you, Sam, someone is out to get me.”
Samantha tightened her grip on the pen and clipboard in her hands and fought to unclench her jaw. A stress headache wouldn’t do her any good. Especially since this week and Addie were out to get Samantha now.
She calmly and silently raised an eyebrow at the late-middle-aged woman before her in the bright pink collared shirt and turquoise apron. Her dark brown hair was tied up in a neat bun, not a strand out of place despite the ruckus of the fire.
“I’m sorry, Sergeant Ardoin,” she corrected. Her thick Cajun accent oozed through the contempt-laden apology. “But I mean it. And it’s not post-traumatic stress or whatever. Someone is really out to close my store, I tell you.”
This wasn’t the first time Adeline Weaver had come up with a wild conspiracy theory, but this was the first one that involved arson. The last thing Samantha needed was a bogus arson complaint a week and a half before the election. Sure, she could clearly prove this was accidental—and had statements to back that up—but the paperwork alone would be a nightmare. Not to mention the hit-job Adeline would initiate if Samantha openly dismissed the woman’s crack-pot theory of the week.
“Addie, I just spoke to your own kitchen staff, and they all gave statements that this was an accident.”
Three people were on record with the same story. Too many ice crystals on a batch of fries splashed oil onto a nearby burner. Flames went up on the stove, but since Addie kept the hood and grease traps clean, the fire remained pretty isolated. Could have been a lot worse.
“Maybe one of them did it. Or maybe one of them’s covering for someone else.”
Samantha took a deep breath and tried her best to remain calm. But calm was nearly impossible in this woman’s presence. Still, nothing would get solved here today if Samantha lost her cool. Least of all this case.
“So you want to make an official statement suggesting that a member of your own staff set fire to your restaurant. Is that what you want me to write down on this piece of paper?”
Addie was a lot of things, many of them not pleasant, but she was by all accounts an excellent person to work for. She treated her employees like family—for good or worse—and bought them each unique gifts every Christmas and baked them each a cake for their birthdays, all personalized to their tastes.
“Well, no.” She frowned. “Aw hell, don’t you dare write that down.”
Samantha raised her brow, but put the pen down.
“And don’t give me that eye, Sergeant Ardoin. I changed your diapers for a year when your mama first went back to work. You may be a grown woman now and a sergeant, but I will not have you disrespecting me with those pretty brown eyes of yours.”
The diaper thing. Again. It was Addie’s one card to play whenever she was in some kind of trouble and needed to pretend she had the authority in a situation. Over the years Samantha discovered it was simply Addie’s way of flailing like a wounded animal backed into a corner. When the diaper line came out, Samantha knew she was actually the one with the upper hand, whether or not Addie realized it.
Fighting back a smile, Samantha said, “All right. Then what would you like me to say?”
“I want you to find out who set my kitchen on fire. That’s what I want.”
She wouldn’t let this go, would she? Samantha would have to make a whole charade of an investigation to appease Addie. Once again.
That should be simple enough. It just wasn’t how she wanted to spend her time this week.
A spot of blue the shade Addie’s apron caught Samantha’s attention in the restaurant parking lot.
It was hair. Turquoise hair. Not exactly a regular sight here in Etta, but someone’s teenager could have easily ordered dye online, even if they couldn’t find any in a store for fifty miles.
The owner of the hair closed the driver’s side door of a gray compact car. They stood fairly still, looking at the building, assessing the damage. Some nosy onlooker, like the dozens she’d turned away earlier.
Samantha squinted. Not a teenager. A woman. Mid-to-late twenties. Short stature. Average build. She couldn’t make out specifics from this distance, but she had a running mental record of every person living in this town. Blue hair or not, this person wasn’t on Samantha’s list. Most everyone who might have fit that description had fled this place years ago. Off to colleges or new jobs or bigger cities.
Oh, no.
“Did you hear a word I said?”
Samantha turned from the unwelcome sort-of-stranger to find Addie’s hands in fists on both her hips.
No, no, no, no.
If Samantha was right about the owner of that hair, and if Addie caught even a whiff of her around here, this week would take a steep nosedive. If Addie already thought someone had messed with her restaurant…
“I’m sorry, Adeline. I was just running those statements through my head again to think if I missed anything.”
“Oh. Well, then.” That seemed to appease her. For now. “Did you come up with anything?”
Samantha shook her head. “No, ma’am, but I promise you I will take this all into careful consideration. If this was anything but an accident, I’ll get to the bottom of it.”
Good thing it really was just an accident.
But if Addie caught sight of that hair and the person attached to it, Samantha might end up with an assault case on her hands. Or worse. This town held grudges like nothing else. And they sure as hell didn’t like anything or anyone who didn’t “fit.” From everything Samantha remembered, Erin Sonnier most definitely did not “fit” here.
But she and her grandfather had been quite the pair, and that gentle soul would have taken down anyone who disparaged her. Like everyone else, Samantha had expected Erin to handle everything she could from a distance. Surely the woman wouldn’t have stepped foot back in this town if she didn’t have to.
Samantha put a hand on Addie’s arm and gently walked her behind the restaurant where the volunteer firefighters were clearing out. “I’m going to go out front to check on a few more things, then I’ve got to head back to the station to file these statements. I’ll be in touch if I have any more questions. Did you call your insurance yet?”
Addie’s face dropped, and she began patting at her apron and pants. “Oh my Lord, no. Not yet. Now, where is my phone?”
Thank goodness. That should keep her occupied. At least long enough to keep her away from the front of the building and keep her from making more accusations while Samantha sent Erin on her way.
Samantha turned again but found the gray car alone. No blue hair. No Erin.
Crap.
Out to Get Her releases August 2, 2023, on Amazon and in KU (for a limited time). You can get it for the preorder price of just $2.99 before then!
Can’t wait for the release. I am already interested in what’s next. Glad you worked it out.
Thanks, Ali!