The losers include the short stories "The Good Time Girl" and "New Beginnings," and the first chapter of Murder at the KiMo (book 3 in the Couriers series). Based on the winners in its category, I'd have to say that the judges don't value cozy mysteries.
I honestly think that "The Good Time Girl" is at least as good as the two that won, but, of course, it all depends on the competition. I thought about posting it here, but I think I'll hang on to it for an anthology of short stories based on characters from the Couriers series. I've got some ideas about Liz's son ... If you want to read "The Good Time Girl," let me know and I'll email you a copy.
I liked "New Beginnings!" Since it's a standalone that I probably won't do anything with -- here it is :
New Beginnings
Jane
pulled into the garage, turned off the engine, and sat staring straight ahead.
She dreaded going into the house. Dick would be home, as he always was since
he’d retired a year ago. She wasn’t afraid of him. Dick was never violent,
never nasty. It was just that he’d be in there, sitting in front of the t.v.,
watching some old detective series from the 1990s, waiting for her to get home
and fix dinner. He’d come to the table when she called, he’d eat whatever she
put in front of him, he’d tell her that “It was good,” and then he’d go sit in
front of the television until it was time to go to bed. Where had their passion
gone? What had happened to the romance? Or even just the fun? They were both
still young; she certainly was. Far too young to just give up on life. He still
did the yardwork and took care of small repairs around the house and could be
counted on to get the cars serviced regularly, but she could pay someone to do
that. What she needed was some of that old spark, but it had slowly extinguished
itself. She couldn’t face twenty more years of this. She’d felt the dread
growing on her for months, but she hadn’t said anything. What was there to say?
“You’re starting to bore me?”
She
smiled as she thought about John, the new supervisor she’d met in an
administrator’s meeting a month before. John was anything but boring. Not only
was he fit enough to wear those slim suits that were in style, he sported
cowboy boots and a Paul McCartney hair cut. Dick wore nothing but t-shirts and
baggy shorts these days. Whenever John looked into her eyes and smiled, which
he did frequently, she felt a small shiver of excitement run up her spine.
There was a time that Dick would look at her in the same way, but these days,
he looked mostly at the television.
She
remembered how John had leaned over at a meeting and whispered a sarcastic
comment about the speaker in her ear. She’d had to hold her breath not to laugh
out loud. Dick’s conversation, such as it was, revolved primarily around the
plots of the shows he was streaming and what they were going to have for dinner
the next day. He told the same jokes over and over. She found herself tuning
him out more and more lately.
She
and John had started going to lunch together a couple of times a week after
he’d made her laugh in the meeting. He always insisted on paying, saying that
it had been his idea. It was almost like a date. She and Dick hadn’t been on a
date night in, well, something like six months. She couldn’t remember why
they’d stopped. It wasn’t a conscious decision, they’d just let it slip away
from them. Dick had said something about not having a schedule or a structure
making it difficult to plan … What did the reason matter? They’d stopped.
She
was pretty sure that John had started making up excuses to stop by her office.
He was always “on his way” to or from some other part of the floor and just
“stopped by to say “Hi.”” She knew that she looked for any reason to pass by
his, even if it meant going the long way around the floor. She let her mind
wander to what might happen if they both were working late, alone …
She
shook her head and sighed. No point in sitting here any longer. It wouldn’t
change anything. No matter how long she sat here, Dick would still be inside
waiting for dinner. She opened the car door, picked up her purse from the
passenger seat, and entered the house. She stopped, confused. It was dark. And
quiet. No light or sound from the television in the living room. Had something
happened to Dick? She felt a cold hand grip her stomach. He might be boring and
getting a bit flabby, but he was still her husband. She took a few steps
forward in the dark, then heard footsteps in the hall. The lights suddenly came
on, and there was Dick. She stared in disbelief. He was wearing a tuxedo —
where had that come from? He didn’t own one — with a crisp white shirt. The
suit fit perfectly and camouflaged his incipient paunch. His shoes were
polished to a mirror shine, he was freshly shaved, and his hair was cut and
brushed back in a way that she had told him made him look like Pierce Brosnan.
He held a martini glass in each hand.
“Forgive
me for not meeting you at the door, Madam. I was otherwise occupied,” he said
in a lightly teasing tone, as he handed her one of the glasses. He looked into
her eyes and smiled beguilingly, the way he used to.
“Oh,
that’s, um, that’s ok,” she said in confusion. She sipped the pale green
cocktail and beamed at him. “A gimlet! My favorite! You remembered.”
“Of
course.” He offered her his elbow and walked her down the hall toward the
bedrooms. “Now, if Madam would like to freshen up and slip into something more
… comfortable … dinner will be served in the dining room in fifteen minutes.”
She
smiled tentatively at him. He bowed to her and walked back to the dining room.
She set her purse down on her dressing table and slipped her shoes off. What
was going on? Dick had never done anything like this before. She once again
felt that cold hand of fear grip her. Was he planning to leave her? Was this
his way of softening the blow? Had he heard about John?
“Stop
being silly,” she muttered to herself. “There’s nothing for him to hear.
Nothing has happened … yet.” Still, other employees had seen them leaving for
lunch together and it was unlikely that no one had noticed how often they were
in each other’s office. Or had Dick met someone else? He was alone from the
time she left for the office until she got home at night. He must do something
other than watch television and mow the lawn once a week. Some younger woman in
a coffee shop or at the grocery store? He would do the shopping if she left him
a list. Is that why he was so willing to do it?
She
hung her jacket on its hanger in the closet and clipped the slacks to the
hanger’s crossbar. Her blouse and socks went into the hamper. She went into the
bathroom and, smiling at the phrase, “freshened up.” Coming out, she looked
through her closet for something to wear. He’d said, “Something more
comfortable.” But he was wearing a tux, so surely he didn’t mean her nightgown.
What did she have? There, at the back, the dress she’d worn for their twentieth
anniversary party five years ago. Dick’s eyes had widened when he’d seen her in
the floor-length royal blue velvet with the plunging v-neck that showed off her
still-attractive cleavage, while the elbow-length sleeves hid the developing
“bat wings” of her upper arms. With its high, Empire waist, it was surprisingly
comfortable for such an elegant gown. As she slipped it over her head, she
hoped that it would remind Dick of their years together and give him second
thoughts about turning her in for a younger model.
She
debated wearing pantihose but decided that knee-highs were more “comfortable.”
Dick was wearing his dress shoes, so she pulled out her navy-blue pumps. She
took a moment to brush her hair back into place and freshen her lipstick, then
fastened the sapphire pendant that Dick had given her for that anniversary
around her neck and hung the matching earrings from her lobes. She wasn’t going
down without a fight.
Taking
a deep breath, she strode down the hall to the dining room and whatever awaited
her there. If this were one of Dick’s detective shows, it would be murder. She
was smiling at the absurdity when she entered the dining room. Again, she
stopped in disbelief. The table was set with their best white linen tablecloth,
the one they only used for holidays and birthdays. A floral arrangement with
candles stood in the center of the table. Two places were set with their best
china, their silver (plate, but still, it was shiny), and their crystal wine
glasses. A bottle of champagne rested in the ice bucket on a small side table.
Dick stood with his hands on the back of one of the chairs, smiling as he
looked her up and down. The dress seemed to be having the effect that she had
hoped it would.
“If
Madam would care to sit here?” he said, while pulling the chair out. She
nodded, speechless, then stepped over to the chair. He slid it in just until it
touched the backs of her legs and she was able to sit down gracefully. He must have been practicing, she
thought, He never could get that right
before. And then wondered With whom?
Dick
filled their champagne flutes, then sat across from her and raised his glass.
“To new beginnings,” he said. She raised her glass in return and gave him a wan
smile. New beginnings? It IS another
woman! She sipped at the champagne. Well, she wouldn’t ask. She wouldn’t
make it easy for him.
She
set her glass down and picked up her soup spoon. At the first taste of the pale
green soup, her eyes once again widened. “Where did you find sorrel soup?”
“I’d
like to be able to tell you that I made it myself, but it’s from that new
French bistro that opened in the mall. I often go there for lunch.”
She
swallowed. Is that where he met her? “I
didn’t know that you went out for lunch.”
“Occasionally,”
he said, looking down at his soup plate.
And now he won’t meet my eyes. They finished their soup in silence.
“That
was lovely, dear,” she forced herself to say. No, she wasn’t going to make it
easy for him, no matter how much she wanted to demand an explanation. She would
be bright and cheerful and charming.
Dick
rose and picked up his soup plate, then hers. “I’m glad you liked it. Do you
remember when we first had sorrel soup, on our honeymoon?” She nodded, holding
back the tears. “I’ll be right back with the main course.” He left for the
kitchen.
She
remembered their honeymoon — and their wedding — and their courtship. And all
the years since then. No, she would not give up all of that without a fight. No
new woman, however young and attractive, knew Dick the way that she knew him.
No new woman had weathered the storms with him that she had. She just had to
show him what he would be giving up. She sat up straight and pasted a smile on
her face as she heard his step in the hall.
Dick
slid a plate in front of her, then set one at his place. He picked up a bottle
of red wine from the sideboard and filled both of their wine glasses, then sat
down, putting the bottle on the table between them. She stared down at the
filet mignon, glazed carrots, and fondant potatoes.
“Did
you get this at that bistro, too?” she asked, struggling to keep her voice
level.
Dick
shook his head and laughed slightly. “No, these I made myself. You know I was
always good with a steak and I learned how to make the carrots and potatoes from
one of those cooking shows.”
She
looked at him in surprise. “You didn’t tell me that you’ve been watching
cooking shows.” What else don’t I know?
He
grinned wryly. “I did, but I don’t think you were listening … tell me what you
think of this wine.” She sipped at the garnet fluid and nodded, grateful that
he’d changed the subject. He was right. She hadn’t been listening.
She
praised the wine. “It’s smooth and has just enough tannin for the steak.”
Neither she nor Dick were exactly wine connoisseurs, but she did enjoy a good red.
“The
man at the wine store assured me that this was a particularly fine California
zinfandel.”
She
stopped herself from asking when he had started frequenting a wine store. He
might already have told her. No doubt his young woman from the bistro had
introduced him to it.
He
sliced into his steak and held the piece up for her to see, turning it slightly
to show both sides. “It’s a perfect medium rare, if I do say so myself.”
Jane
cut into her steak and smiled brightly at him. “Yes, a perfect medium rare, as
your steaks always are.”
She
chewed a piece and swallowed, feeling as if she were choking. She managed to
get down a bite of carrot and potato. “The vegetables are wonderful. I’ve never
had better glazed carrots and the fondant potatoes … well, Gordon Ramsay
himself would be envious.”
“Thank
you, my dear.” He smiled at her as he continued to eat his dinner, apparently
oblivious to her struggles. Jane forced herself to follow his lead, making
occasional comments on the sweetness of the carrots and the creaminess of the
potato, and how well the wine complemented the meat.
Suddenly,
she could tolerate it no longer. She dropped her knife and fork onto her plate,
placed her hands on the table, and cried, “What is this all about? What brought
this on?” She felt tears starting up in her eyes. “Stop this torture and tell
me!”
Dick
stopped eating and stared at her in surprise, holding his knife and fork in the
air. He looked down at his plate, took a deep breath and looked back up at her.
“I saw you,” he said in a flat voice.
“Saw
me?” Jane shook her head. “What do you mean?”
“The two of you,” he replied. “I was
in town getting the car serviced, so I went to your office to invite you to
lunch at the French bistro and I saw the two of you leaving the building
together. You and that young man.”
“I
… we …,“ Jane gasped. She didn’t know what to say. She wouldn’t insult him by
lying. “It was only lunch.”
Dick
set down his utensils and shook his head. “You looked so … happy. You were
smiling up at him and laughing the way you used to… And the way that he was
looking at you …” He shook his head again, then looked directly at her. “I
followed you. You went to that gastropub. I’m sure you know the one I mean.”
She
nodded. “I didn’t see you.”
“I
took care that you didn’t, and that place is so dark, I almost lost track of
the two of you.” He laughed shortly. “I had sensed that you were drawing away,
and now I knew why.”
Jane
shook her head. “No … He’s just … just a friend. A colleague.” Her excuse rang
hollow in her ears.
Dick
looked at her wryly. “He may be that now, but believe me, he wants to be more.
I was relieved when you headed back to your office afterward.”
He
sat back. “I was angry, at first. And hurt, of course. But it gave me a lot to
think about.” He looked directly at her again, “And, after I got over the anger
and the hurt, I realized that I had been taking my beautiful, interesting,
accomplished wife for granted. And that if I didn’t change things soon, I could
lose her to a man who clearly does value her.” He reached across the table and
took her hands in his. “Can you forgive me?”
“Can
I forgive you?” Jane laughed breathlessly. “I thought you were going to tell me
that you’d met another woman.”
Dick
sat back, astounded. “Another woman? What would I want with another woman?” He
leaned forward and took her hands again. “You’re the only woman I could ever
want.”
“I
thought you’d found someone younger and … “ she looked down at the table, “And
less critical, more attentive. Someone who laughed at your jokes.” She looked
back up at him questioningly.
“I
haven’t been easy to live with lately,” Dick said, smiling. “And I have been
telling the same old jokes. Even I don’t find them funny anymore.” He patted
her hands. “We’ll say no more about it. I meant it when I said, “New
beginnings.” Now, one more surprise.” He collected the plates and silverware
and walked out of the dining room. Jane followed him with her eyes. He really
was still a fine figure of a man and with the grey in his hair … it wouldn’t be
a stretch to call him a “Silver Fox.”
He
returned shortly with two of their crystal dessert dishes piled high with rich,
creamy chocolate mousse and a bottle of port under his arm. He set all three on
the table, then pulled his chair around to her right. He set the mousse at each
place and poured the port into the dessert wine glasses, then sat at an angle
to her side. Holding the glass in his right hand, he placed his elbow on the
table. Jane smiled in remembrance and, holding her glass in her right hand,
wrapped her forearm around his. They bent their heads toward each other as they
sipped from their glasses. They kissed softly.
Dick
murmured, “I’ve always loved you in that dress, but I like you even more out of
it.”
“Well,
then …” she murmured in return.
“Well,
then,” Dick replied. “But first, …”
“The
mousse,” they said in unison and picked up their spoons.