‘False Relation’ . . . is due to be published. . .

. . . in May this year, and Kirkus have already given it a nice review, ending with the words, ‘A wonderfully hectic antidote for readers who think English village mysteries are too sedate.’ This is the last of four stories in which Bea and her husband get mixed up with the odd goings-on at a run-down estate in the Home Counties. I attach a copy of the cover for you to see what it looks like. The plot? There’s a millionaire who’s lost his bottle, his wife, and managed to disappear, a car crash which was intended to be a murder, a spring with health-giving water that’s drying up, and the threat of big business moving in to take over.

                 Too many plots. . .                

After a couple of months when I didn’t get any worthwhile ideas for another story, I’m feeling – most ungratefully – that I could do with traffic lights to tell my brain what to work on next. Scenes from the next short story are trying to push into my mind as I work on MURDER WITH ROMANCE. This latest book is a full-length Ellie Quicke. She’s upset because her husband has been accused of romancing someone out of all her money. Scandal is spreading faster than he can prove he was not the man responsible. Oh yes, and Ellie’s daughter Diana is in trouble again. I honestly don’t know how you deal with a much-loved daughter who cheats and lies and expects you always to get her out of trouble. Can you still love them, no matter what they do or how badly they behave towards you? Is your love tempered with caution? Perhaps there is no easy answer.

So to the next short story for the Methodist Recorder for their Easter edition. I’m going to have fun with this. I’m imagining a sweeter-than-pie influencer who tells us how happy she is to do good everywhere she goes. She challenges her readers to do likewise, contrasting her lifestyle with that of two women who spend their lives running from one family problem to another . . . and then . . . can there be a reckoning?

Finally, the next cat story is banging away at my ankles. This particular cat – no, it’s not Max – is white, large, and lanky. He has a yowl to rival that of a police car siren, and a hunger for a loving home. Also, he hates being kept waiting. And yes, I know it has to end happily or you’ll all be complaining.

          There are no more short stories for you yet . . .

. . . but perhaps this short piece about ‘Walking with’ . . . might amuse as a Thought for the Day. You can read it here.

A blessing on those who understand complex maths problems and have the patience to explain them to me when I want to run away and hide.

Veronica Heley