#Handbag Monday - Romantic Suspense author Jo-Ann Carson with & a book! #MFRWorg #RssosSister #shoesrock

If it's Monday, it's
Handbag Monday
where we're showing off our favorite accessory
and a book

with author Jo-Ann Carson

A purse to fit my life into...

My cat purse is fifteen years old and even though its vibrant blues have faded, I love it as much as the first time I laid eyes on it. The design by Laurel Burch appeals to the cat and art lover inside me. The one who wants out.

I used it exclusively as my go-everywhere purse for two years. Large and solidly built, I could carry a whole tomcat in it if I chose to, but instead it held an odd collection of the bits and pieces of my world. I thought initially that I could fit my whole life into it, or at least what I needed to get by. As time passed the small knitting projects, which I tucked into one corner, started creeping out and taking more space, until the purse became my knitting bag. I always smile when I look at it, partly because of the aesthetic of the beautiful cat design, but mostly because it holds so many memories and my knitting. 

Maggy Malone, a curvy, blond, blues singer with a sultry voice and a razor sharp mind is starting her life over after a lousy marriage… when a dying man tells her a dying secret 

Walking through a dark alley at three-thirty in the morning wasn’t smart, but Maggy Malone didn’t have a choice, or at least not one she liked. A bone-numbing, cold wind off the Salish Sea hit her face as she opened the back door of the Black Cat Blues Bar. Pulling her jacket close to her body with one hand, and holding her guitar case in the other, she descended the stairs into the inky darkness of the night. But after her first step, she checked over her shoulder.

Vancouver in November—endless gray skies and drizzle. The waning moon slipped behind layers of dark clouds, leaving little light to help her on her way. She quickened her pace. A warm glow beckoned from the street lamp, just a hundred yards away. Her scalp tingled as if a dozen spiders slipped across it. She took a deep breath of the salty night air.

What the hell. She could handle a few minutes of fear. Singing in the best blues bar on the coast had been her life dream. If it meant getting up close and personal with the creepy, back alley on occasion, then so be it. Her shoulders tightened.

Stepping over dirty needles, used condoms and Micky D wrappers left behind by the people who shared the alley—the prostitutes, the addicts and the homeless—she tried not to let the sadness of their lives reach inside her. But the stagnant stench of rotting garbage and urine turned her stomach. If only it would really rain, then the city would be washed clean.

Where are the street people? Usually there’d be one or two around at this time of night, huddled against the cold, brick walls with only a blanket to keep out the cold and misfortunes of the night. Something felt wrong. She couldn’t put her finger on it . . .  but something. She looked over her shoulder again. No one.

A chill crawled slowly up her spine. She adjusted the weight of her canvas guitar case into her other hand and prepared to run. She wasn’t sure what she would be running from, but just in case. A woman in an alley has to be ready.

It had been a long night. She should never have descended into this God forsaken alley. Friggin Frank. It was his fault. She took a deep breath as her eyes darted in every direction. The feeling of darkness, much darker than the night around her, picked at her senses. Her throat tightened and she couldn’t swallow.

I’m just scaring myself. The lights of the street were only a few yards away. Everything will be fine.

Then she saw the body lying still in a pool of blood. A silvery spike protruded from his chest.



Find Black Cat Blues at: Amazon

Thanks, Vicki, for hosting me today. You are not only a great writer, but also a great friend to other writers. Hugs… Jo-Ann (www.jo-anncarson.com)

 

My pleasure, Jo-Ann! Now, I want to know who out there is a dog or a cat person? Or both???