Find more from this author on:
About the author:
This is my third book, the second one in a series. I grew up in Port Stanley, Ontario and enjoyed swimming in Lake Erie. Today I live in the country near Bayfield.
What inspired you to write your book?
Once I got started on this story I wanted to see how far I could stretch it. To keep characters going and to see what trouble they can get into.
Here is a short sample from the book:
It was getting cold in Bob's Diner with no glass in the big picture window. Mitch Wilder, the only customer still in there after the scuffle, shivered in his seat but didn't move. All he did was watch Bob Marshall, the owner, clean up the glass that had shattered all over the place. Outside was Mitch's son, Darren Hoffman, with another broom.
“Here,” Bob's wife handed Mitch his watch. “Didn't I say it would show up?”
Mitch held it in his hand. “I'm sorry, Sue. I didn't mean to cause all this.” He looked over at her husband. “I hope Bob believes us. That there's nothing going on between us.”
“Me too.” She slid into the booth across from him. “We've explained it often enough. It's just a thank you gift for helping with my divorce and getting me away from John.” She looked wistfully over at her new husband. Bob was sweeping glass into a pile, his jaw set in a hard line as he concentrated on what he was doing. “I wish now that I hadn't had the watch engraved with your name on it. That trucker wouldn't have known whose it was.”
Mitch shook his head. “I've never done anything like that before, leave something for a husband to find.”
“I never thought I'd see anyone jump through that window either.” They both glanced at the gaping hole in the wall.
Mitch wiped the blood from his swollen lip. “Well, that trucker sure hit hard.”
“Uncle Mitch,” Todd Breckenridge said, as he walked into the diner and stopped a few feet away. “Can we borrow your truck to get a couple sheets of plywood?” He was the spitting image of Mitch's sister, Nora.
Justin Marshall, who followed Todd, added, “Dad wants the window covered so we can lock up.”
Mitch handed his nephew the keys. “Wait,” he said, reaching for his wallet. “I'll pay for it.” He handed Todd two twenties. “That should cover it.” He looked back down at the watch. After the boys left he pulled the pins out to set the time and date. Monday, 3 p.m. April 1, 1968. “Happy April Fool’s Day,” he said.
“Hey,” Darren yelled through the window. “You just going to sit there and let us clean up your mess?”
Mitch's left eyebrow went up as he looked over at his son. “I didn't make that mess.” He didn't want to move, his body ached all over. Depression was his enemy now, hitting him when he felt tired or run down. He made a mental note to take another Paxil soon.
Bob turned to face Mitch. “It's sure your fault, though. If you'd learn to keep your pecker in your pants you wouldn’t get into these situations.” He shook his head. “No wonder your wife ran off with your brother.” Claire had run to Tom Fleming, Mitch's stepbrother, after she caught Mitch with yet another woman.
“Go to hell. Both of you.” Mitch would have stormed out but his truck was gone. Instead, he slipped the watch onto his wrist and stood. Bob threw a broom at him. Mitch thought about throwing it back, then decided he better not. He went outside to help Darren. Most of the glass had scattered all over the sidewalk. “Piss off,” he said to Darren when he grinned at him. Mitch did the zipper up on his jacket. The wind was picking up, the temperature was dropping.
By the time they had all the glass swept into a pile, Todd was back with the truck. He and Justin carried the sheets of plywood over to the wall. Bob brought out a stepladder, a bunch of nails and a hammer. As the boys held the plywood over the broken window, Bob hammered it into place. Darren swept the shards of glass onto the shovel that Mitch now held. He dumped it into a garbage can that Bob had taken outside earlier.
Big Joe Breckenridge ran up to them from four doors down. He owned Elgin Gym and was as big and solid as a house. Todd looked over at him. “Hi, Dad.”
Joe nodded at his son then looked at the boarded-up widow. “What in hell happened?”
All Darren had to do was point at Mitch. Joe shook his head. “It never ends. Does it?”
“Some big guy dragged his wife into the diner,” Bob said, as he looked down from his perch on the ladder, “looking for our Romeo, here. Stan had him handcuffed, but he got loose and made another door.” He said this as he nodded toward the window.
Mitch stood there, caught in his brother-in-law's stare and shrugged.
Joe shook his head. “Are you ever going to grow up, Mitch?”
Sue stepped out the door. “I have coffee on. Come inside and warm up.” Bob hammered in three more nails.
As the group headed into the diner Mitch grabbed Darren's sleeve. “I'm going home to pack. And like I told my bastard brother, I don't know when I'll be back here.”
“Sure, Dad.” Darren pushed his long dark hair out of his eyes.
“Don't ever forget that I love you, Darren. I'll keep in touch. But I think I need to stay away for a while, to recuperate.”
Darren nodded. “I know. It must have been hard on you when Claire moved in with Tom.”
“Yes, it is.” Mitch gave Darren a hug. “I'll miss you.”
“Me too, Dad.”
Mitch let go, turned around and opened the truck door. “Shit,” he said, heading back into the diner. “Todd, where are my keys?” He ignored the glares from Joe and Bob as Sue poured them their coffees.
“Oh, sorry, Uncle Mitch.” Todd reached into his jacket pocket and pulled them out. Mitch grabbed them and stormed out of the diner. “Want your change?” Todd yelled. Mitch just kept going. He drove over to Darren's house, where he lived when he was home, in Port Shetland. He packed a big suitcase and threw it into the back of the truck. Mitch drove across town.
Diana Smithers let him in when he knocked on her door. Her eyes were red from crying. “I'm sorry, Di,” Mitch said. “What are you going to do?”
“I'm in the middle of packing. I'm leaving my husband, while he's in jail.” She wiped her eyes. “I called the police station. He's being charged with assault, for hitting you. And for destroying property.”
Mitch pulled her into his arms. “Come with me, I'll take care of you.”
“Yes. I'll set you up in an apartment. Your husband won't find you there. I'll even help you get a divorce, if you want.”
“Oh, I'm going to get a divorce, Mitch. One way or another. He'll probably throw me out now, anyway.”
He looked down at her from his six-foot height. Diana was short compared to most of the women Mitch took to bed. “So what do you say, you want to become my mistress?”
Diana smiled up at him. “I get my own apartment?”
“Yes.” Mitch let her go. “I have someone living with me there. She must never know about you.”
“I thought I did a good job staying away from your wife. She knows about me now, doesn't she?”
“Yes. But she won't know that we're still seeing each other.”
“Are you going to get a divorce?”
He shrugged. “I don't know.”