The Story Behind the Story with Author Connie Cook

 

Let’s welcome Connie back to the Scribbler.

 

She has been busy since her last visit in 2022 with a new novel to share with us.

If you missed her most recent visit, please go HERE.

Read on my friends.

 

 

 

Connie Cook is a Retired Registered Nurse. As background research for the novel, she completed an online course to become a private investigator. Connie enrolled in writing classes and has been writing ever since. Her short stories have been published by Chicken Soup for the Soul, Pacific Magazine, CommuterLit and Feminine Collective.

 

 

Title: The Queen of Swords

 

Synopsis: When Jennifer's best friend Deslyn vanishes after a date with an online stranger, her world is thrown into chaos. As a seasoned ER nurse, Jennifer thrives under pressure, but this time it's personal-and she refuses to sit idly by. Meanwhile, Detective Joe Moretti from the Boston PD is hot on a similar case: three women dead, all linked through the same online dating site Deslyn was using before her disappearance. The trail has gone cold, until a chilling new discovery points north to Port Credit, Ontario, where a recent victim pulled from the lake matches the killer's MO. But this time, there's a twist: the victim is still alive.

Arriving in Canada, Joe meets Jennifer, the ER nurse assigned to the latest victim. Sparks fly between the sharp-witted nurse and the determined detective, each holding pieces of a puzzle that could stop a killer. But Jennifer has a secret weapon-her mother Portia, the town witch and psychic, who might be able to tip the scales in their favor. In a race against time, they'll need every advantage they can get.

As danger escalates, Jennifer and Joe must navigate a tangled web of deceit and trust, their quest symbolized by the tarot cards that guide their path. Can they expose the killer and locate Deslyn before it's too late? Will Portia's magic help uncover the truth? Intuition meets investigation in this gripping thriller, where the power of the otherworldly may hold the key to solving the case and saving lives.

The Story Behind the Story: I’ve always been a fan of mystery novels and TV shows so creating a mystery novel was fun to do. Also, I’ve been fascinated with tarot cards in the past, not necessarily for fortune-telling but more on how they can help you be more creative in interpreting the pictures and making up a story out of groupings of cards.

At the local bookstore I came across a book titled Tarot for Writers, by Corrine Kenner and published by Llewellyn Publications. It seemed a perfect fit and I used the cards to depict either the character in the chapter or an action that occurred within. This resulted in the novel The Queen of Swords, a Tarot Card Murder Mystery.

A question before you go, Connie:

Scribbler: Where is your favourite spot to write? 

Connie: Favourite place to write has to be at my desk, with my black cat laying in front of the monitor and occasionally stepping on the keyboard.

 

THE HIGH PRIESTESS/Prologue

   

The Card depicts a woman holding a crystal ball in one hand, an open book in the other. A full moon overhead casts shards of light through the darkness.

Meaning: Look inward and seek enlightenment. The Priestess is a channel, a medium for exploration of the soul. She embraces the elements of earth, air, water, and fire to balance her intuition and magick.

 

Portia never read the tarot cards on a Monday. Card reading required her full attention, and today was her day off. For most people, Mondays were for cleaning, doing laundry, and other normal things. But Portia came from a long line of witches and being normal was not how she would ever begin to describe herself. As the town witch and local psychic, cleaning took on an entirely different perspective.

She opened the windows to let the fall breeze blow through, ridding her storefront shop of bad karma and residual effects from customers over the weekend. Love, money, health, and travel were the big four when it came to a reading, and as a white witch, she adhered to the mantra of do ye no harm. Portia picked up the antique straw broom with its leather-lace wrapped handle and swept, even though it wasn’t dust she was sweeping. It was the air that needed cleansing.

 Syris, her twelve-year old black cat, skillfully moved and weaved his way over the tall wooden shelves stocked with apothecary jars filled with mugwort, wormwood, vervain, and the more common choices of lavender, geranium, and rose petals. He was careful and never knocked anything over; even tolerated the broom when it came near.

The tinkle of the shop bell over the door startled her. Darn, had she forgotten to engage the lock after cleaning the windowpanes? The CLOSED FOR THE DAY sign was clearly posted. She frowned, then summoned a smile as she tucked an errant strand of hair behind her ear.

A tall, slim figure stood silhouetted in the doorway. The background sun made it hard for her to see his face. His stance seemed harmless enough. The reek of stench that surrounded him and wafted through the open door spoke otherwise. Odor infiltrated her nostrils, sent her sixth sense into overdrive. Portia was no stranger to evil. She had faced it in the past and survived, but not without sacrifice.

Careful, I must be careful, she cautioned herself before speaking. “Sorry, I must have forgotten to lock the door when I was cleaning. I’m closed today. Perhaps you could come back another time?”

         The sound of a glass bottle hit the floor. Shards and splinters sent flying. Syris leapt from the top shelf and raced to the back of the shop. Okay kitty, good response. I’m getting your message loud and clear. A chill reverberated up her spine. Syris was an intuitive cat, her “familiar” in witch-speak, and she’d learned to trust his instincts.

        She waited for a response from the man who had insinuated himself into her space. He was taking his time, as if he was in control. Portia knew better. The Purple Pentacle was her shop, her domain, and whoever this demon was, he’d best not tangle with her. Even so, she clutched the straw broom in front of her, as if to put a barrier between her and the stranger.

“My apologies,” he replied. His voice was surprisingly mild, not what she’d been expecting. “Yes, I’ll be sure to visit you again when you’re open. I’m new to the area, just absorbing the local flavor.” As he came closer, black expressionless eyes took in not only her, but the entire room. Portia met his gaze, not flinching, totally focused.  He turned to leave and said, “Perhaps you’ll do a reading for me another day. In the meantime, remember to lock your door.”

His stench permeated the shop. It smelled like death and rotting flesh.  Portia couldn’t get to the door fast enough when he left. Even the sound of the lock clicking home didn’t make her feel safe. She peered through the window as the tall lanky stranger wandered down Lakeshore Road towards the Credit River. He tossed his head back a couple of times, looking at her as if to say, You’ve not seen the last of me!

A dark brown aura wafted over the Port Credit marina, a mere block away. Normally it was a clear blue azure, and in Portia’s experience, the universe always got things right. Bottom line, this guy would be back. Instinct told her she would need to be prepared. It had been many moons since she’d faced someone this evil. Every ounce of her being and skills would be pulled into action.

 She closed her eyes, willed her mind to focus, and called on the spirit guides to aid her in what was to come. They’d never let her down before and she trusted their guidance. We’re here, we’re here for you. Trust in your abilities and all will come to pass the way it is intended. The welcoming whispered voices soothed her soul and intuitively, Portia knew they would be present with her along this journey, as they’d been there for her in the past.

She lit a lavender incense stick to cleanse the air and restore peace and calm to her shop. As smoky plumes of fragrance filtered through the room, Syris returned from his hasty retreat and perched on the wooden counter, near the deck of tarot cards. It wasn’t like him to be there. He’s picking up on my vibes, she thought. I need to reassure him. Upon her approach, he swatted the deck. Five cards were strewn on the floor. Four were turned face side up. His message was clear. The cards needed to be read.

Portia knelt beside them, gently brushed the glass shards aside. First was the King of Swords, a protector. Who was he and why was he there? Beside him and overlapping was the Queen of Swords. Portia knew that card well. It represented her daughter Jennifer, a Registered Nurse who frequently showed up in her readings.  But why were they so entwined? She’d never had Jen show up in the cards before with a man.

A foot away was The Devil, no doubt the guy who’d been in her shop earlier. It was the fourth card that clamped her heart in an icy grip. A female body lay on the ground near water, her back impaled with ten long blades. It was the Ten of Swords. There were three swords in the first four cards, too many to be a coincidence. Swords meant strife or conflict. Was her daughter or someone she knew in trouble?  Or could it be someone else?

The fifth card had skittered under the table a few feet away. Her hand shook as she turned it over. It was from the major arcana, the card of Death. Mostly, the death card meant unexpected change, a release from the past, or transitioning. It wasn’t to be taken literally. The chill up her spine spoke otherwise.

Portia reached for the Ten of Swords, the presumed victim, one who required safety. The card vibrated between her palms. She closed her eyes and listened to the spirits, surveyed the scene, heard the message sent from the heavens. Some of it was a vision, part sounded like a voice pleading for help, like a desperate last attempt to stay alive. The images faded in and out. She struggled to make sense of them, closed her eyes, and focused, trying to hone in on the message. Through the fog in her brain, a voice filtered, not that of the victim—perhaps a spirit guide speaking for her, guiding her to safety.

…

She is cold, barely any feeling left in her body.  Her shoulder scrapes against a rock as gentle waves from the Credit River wash her to shore. She is oblivious to the abrasions, the pain. As her head grates against the graveled shoreline, she struggles to inhale. Her chest feels tight, pressured, like a weight is sitting on it. The rest of her still floats in shallow water at the river’s edge.  At least her face is above the waterline. She struggles to gather her bearings, struggles to breathe. It is a mess of confusion. Lost thoughts, memories, what in hell is happening to her?

Is that a dog barking, or just more noise in her head? It jumbles together as she hears a voice yell, “Shit, call 911.” More movement as she feels herself being pulled from the water, something thrown over her. Don’t cover my face, she silently begs. I need to breathe.

Minutes later, the pulsing wail of a siren splits the cold autumn air. She closes her eyes, and hopes and prays they are coming for her.

…

        Portia knew this girl was still alive. The victim’s subconscious thoughts were vivid, current. But there were others who had passed. Shades of spirits floated, surrounding this girl who was still tethered to earth.

Syris paced a protective circle around the cards three times, including the errant fifth card. His paw came to rest on the King of Swords.

And so, it began.

 

 

Thank you for being our guest this week, Connie. And for sharing an excerpt from your novel. We wish you continued success with your writing.

And a thousand thank yous to all our visitors and readers.