Murder in Pueblo del Mar

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Murder in Pueblo del Mar

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Puerto Peῆasco – AKA Pueblo Del Mar.

In Arizona, Puerto Peῆasco is known by its English name – Rocky Point.

The ‘AKA Pueblo Del Mar’ is the name I used for one of my ‘Bailey Crane Mystery Books’. There are six titles in that series, and Murder in Pueblo Del Mar is the fourth book in the sextet. While fictional, this book was inspired by a true event in Rocky Point some years ago.

The ghastly murder in Rocky Point of an Arizona wife and mother happened a few hundred yards from my father-in-law’s villa. The good lady was on holiday with her husband and two children.

In writing Murder in Pueblo del Mar – A Bailey Crane Mystery, book 4, I built two of my characters from Bob Gerhandt, my father-in-law, and his wife, Diane. Bob and Diane had a beautiful villa which they had built to their architectural plans…unique for the area at that time. They gave the villa a name – La casa de las campaῆas y de las mariposas (The house of bells and butterflies). So beautiful, It became a directional marker for people having trouble finding friends in the Las Conchas subdivision. 0n one side of the villa’s great room was the master suite. On the other side were two guest bedrooms with access to a long curving veranda. The villa had three red-tiled turrets. The tiles for floors and showers were specially made for Diane – with bells and butterflies on the white facing.

From the veranda was a most glorious view of the Sea of Cortez. My wife, Julie, and I spent many happy weekends in that lovely villa…we called them ‘Bridge Weekends’ and the bridge game winners were usually Papason and his partner – me. (Papason was the nickname I gave to Bob.) Ah, the memories – cocktails on the sweeping veranda watching dolphins frolic in the sea, looking out at the far horizon, and listening to Placido Domingo and John Denver sing ‘Perhaps Love’ on a favorite CD.

Bob and Diane are now gone, and I find myself often thinking of our bridge games and wonderful soft desert treks on our three-wheelers near the estuaries. The big handsome and husky giant with the white sculpted hair played his football for the Denison ‘Big Red’ in Granson, Ohio. I wonder at times if he is playing Bridge with ‘Clarence’ and the Angel Group… I miss the big guy!

So, in writing Murder in Pueblo del Mar – A Bailey Crane Mystery, I was in a familiar atmosphere, knew well the area, knew many of the details in the actual murder case, and knew some of the personal problems Bob and Diane were having, vis a vis Diane’s alcoholic consumption. So, as Bailey Crane is wont to do, he muses about the effects of his friends’ personal lives while helping Pueblo del Mar’s Chief of Police solve the murder case.

The true details of the mother’s brutal murder, the transsexual element in the case, and the US –Mexico pre-occupation with jurisdictional matters, are for the most part accurate in the book. Even, some of the fictional elements have validity. I am of course biased but I believe Murder in Pueblo del Mar makes for a darn good read.

A number of the six ‘Bailey Crane Mysteries’ are fictionalized but inspired by actual cases and true events. You can easily find them all, plus seven other books at my website: http://goo.gl/nWMXm3

This blog is in part an ‘In Memorium’ for Bob and Diane, both now in a happy afterlife adventure – at least, that is my hope. The other part is an attempt to create a different kind of sleuth in Bailey Crane, one who stays tuned to a case but muses a lot with his alter ego about life’s many elements, his loves, his miscues, a sleuth that readers will like. I suppose the phrase is ‘cozy mystery’… For me, I get a lot off my mind. J

Actually, I just want to write serious books that have fun elements with an amusing entertainment narrative and quality. So many times the characters ‘tell’ me where to put them and what action to give them.

Each of the six ‘Bailey Crane Mysteries’ stand on its own, but there is a progression in Bailey’s development.

One last point about Murder in Pueblo del Mar – A Bailey Mystery (book four of the series), I was fortunate to live for several years in Rocky Point (Puerto Peῆasco, ‘Pueblo del Mar’) on the Sea of Cortez and enjoyed the nostalgic feel of old Mexico. That was after Bob and Diane had passed. The town is located about sixty miles from the Arizona border and a 4-hour drive from Phoenix (or, less). The people are generous with their kindness, and ‘Kiko’, the mayor, is a fine gentleman who is making great inroads for tourism. I have met him and know he intends to do good things for Puerto Peῆasco.

If you ever wish to visit, there are great rental deals on the Sea of Cortez… Google and check it out.

Oh, and buy Murder in Pueblo del Mar – A Bailey Crane Mystery (Book 4). You will enjoy the read. It’s available in paperback and Kindle – FREE on Kindle Unlimited.

Billy Ray Chitwood – April 1, 2016

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Spring and Summer

butterfly.jpgSpring and Summer

The boys are playing baseball – a rite of Spring, synonymous with Mom’s apple pie and Pop’s homemade vanilla ice cream.

The girls are wearing their tank tops and cut-off jeans, strutting model-straight as they pass the boys in school hallways all across the country…getting close to bikini time and raging hormones.

The high school football boys are looking for summer jobs that will build up their bodies for the fall/winter pigskin season.

Come Summer, some of the young and timid boys and girls with acne spend many hot days in the sun, hoping to hit the zits with its brutal rays. At least, by the start of school in September they have a great tan.

The private and public swimming pools with diving boards are open for the boys to get attention from the girls as they perform their half-gainers, one-and-a-half flips, and swan dives. Naturally, there are an adequate share of belly flops and bruised egos.

There are family weekends, many spent in the mountains, or, many go on a full two-week vacation to a beautiful lake or ocean resort, or, few are off to sponge off relatives or friends who live in a swankier spot on the map.

There are couples saying their nuptials, to love and honor and obey all marital pledges. There could be pre-nuptials here and there, just to be on the safe side.

There are once-happily married couples getting divorced, some with kids in troubled states of mind.

There are political primaries to elect a new president, with television debates and all the ads – ad nauseam. During this important time period, there are many private political debates as well. Some neighbors become enemies, and, in other instances, a person thought an enemy becomes a friend.

There are in our world uncivilized, unholy earthling barbarians, cutting off Christians’ heads, cutting off heads of people who will not do their bidding in building a global Caliphate, drowning people in large cages, burning folks to death, and, of course, shooting the infidels. These ogres of the innocent and oppressed are coming our way – in fact, they are already here… So, I’m thinking it might be a very good idea to wipe these bastards off the face of the earth.

Yes, our Spring and Summer come to us this year with some major events taking place. Be wary and watchful but enjoy as well you can this beautiful time of the year.

This author will continue to write his blogs, his books, and songs until the cow is back in the proverbial barn giving milk for our newly born.

Life is full of proverbial ups and down, good deals, bad deals, war, peace, love, harmony. It’s all recorded in our history books…if they are not too severely revised. Some of us feel we must be pretty dumb not to be heeding the advice given by history.

We will get back to that.

Billy Ray Chitwood – March 24, 2016

 My thirteen books of Mystery, Suspense, Romance, Memoir can be previewed at my Website:  http://www.goo.gl/nWMXm3


 

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Proud recipient of eleven blog awards  

Custard-Filled Doughnuts and Sunsets

Custard-filled Doughnuts and Sunsets

Dreamers and Romantics have a keen sensitivity to life, some mysterious alchemy within their souls that mark their steps through time and dimension.

They see the sun pausing, creating a great palette of lucent magic as it makes its final descent into the morning on the other side of the world. Something stirs within the Dreamers and Romantics, and they must somehow celebrate this mystique that sight can only present. They cannot embrace this beauty they behold, cannot feel the orgasmic wonder that comes with the climactic end of two joined in making love.

There is an intense urge to capture this supreme moment of sunset, so the Dreamer and Romantic compose their lines of verse, their songs of longing and love. Words will come but they must be noble, virtuous, and worthy of this scene that has aroused   their souls.

It is so as well with the novelist, short story, and flash fiction writer. There is a need to express some inner desire, some exposition of a great notion or theory.

Are these Dreamers and Romantics special people among the masses?

Perhaps they are to those who like to read, who like the singular turning of a phrase, a poem, story – those who have other talents, those who design and build our great structures, our bridges, our roads, those who fly our planes, drive our buses and trains, those who sweep our streets, clean our houses.

I’m a Dreamer and Romantic! I love that sunset and a lovely woman with whom to share it. As Lord David Prosser might say, I want to hug that sunset! What I believe David is saying (if he were to say it),  The sunset is so beautiful that spoken words fail to express the exalted feeling…you want to hug it, make love to it, more than just say, it’s beautiful!

That is why we have Dreamers and Romantics writing, painting, composing music – and, at times, being real pains in the arses. Some can be rascals, malcontents, arrogant, pompous, perhaps thinking they are a special breed…well, actually, they are! Otherwise, no dancing, no reading, no sculpting, no painting – well, you get the idea.

Can you believe it? All of this came from eating a custard-filled doughnut this morning – I saw the sunset in my ‘pictures’ file.

Billy Ray Chitwood – March 17, 2016

My Website – My bio and books: goo.gl/nWMXm3

http://www.about.me/brchitwood

Twitter.com/brchitwood

Facebook.com/billyray.chitwood

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Proud member of: #asmsg – #IAN – #AHA

Proud recipient of eleven Blog Awards 

Custard-Filled Doughnuts and Sunsets

sunset.jpg

Custard-filled Doughnuts and Sunsets

Dreamers and Romantics have a keen sensitivity to life, some mysterious alchemy within their souls that mark their steps through time and dimension.

They see the sun pausing, creating a great palette of lucent magic as it makes its final descent into the morning on the other side of the world. Something stirs within the Dreamers and Romantics, and they must somehow celebrate this mystique that sight can only present. They cannot embrace this beauty they behold, cannot feel the orgasmic wonder that comes with the climactic end of two joined in making love.

There is an intense urge to capture this supreme moment of sunset, so the Dreamer and Romantic compose their lines of verse, their songs of longing and love. Words will come but they must be noble, virtuous, and worthy of this scene that has aroused   their souls.

It is so as well with the novelist, short story, and flash fiction writer. There is a need to express some inner desire, some exposition of a great notion or theory.

Are these Dreamers and Romantics special people among the masses?

Perhaps they are to those who like to read, who like the singular turning of a phrase, a poem, story – those who have other talents, those who design and build our great structures, our bridges, our roads, those who fly our planes, drive our buses and trains, those who sweep our streets, clean our houses.

I’m a Dreamer and Romantic! I love that sunset and a lovely woman with whom to share it. As Lord David Prosser might say, I want to hug that sunset! What I believe David is saying (if he were to say it),  The sunset is so beautiful that spoken words fail to express the exalted feeling…you want to hug it, make love to it, more than just say, it’s beautiful!

That is why we have Dreamers and Romantics writing, painting, composing music – and, at times, being real pains in the arses. Some can be rascals, malcontents, arrogant, pompous, perhaps thinking they are a special breed…well, actually, they are! Otherwise, no dancing, no reading, no sculpting, no painting – well, you get the idea.

Can you believe it? All of this came from eating a custard-filled doughnut this morning – I saw the sunset in my ‘pictures’ file.

Bill Chitwood

Billy Ray Chitwood – March, 2016

My Website – My bio and books: goo.gl/nWMXm3

http://www.about.me/brchitwood

Twitter.com/brchitwood

Facebook.com/billyray.chitwood

Linkedin – goo.gl/sn8w4y

Proud recipient of eleven Blog Awards

Proud member of #asmsg – #IAN – #AHA

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Requiem For A Beautiful Lady

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Requiem For A Beautiful Lady

The fish smell came to her on the breeze but it was filtered by the ocean waters that slapped against the wharf pilings and made for a joyful smile upon her face.

“Oh, Daddy, I’ve missed our lunches and our wharf walks.” She hugged her father and kissed him on the cheek.

Having just left the restaurant they stood now at the pier railing looking out across the waters at pelicans cawing and flitting from morsel to morsel along the wharf. The sky was a soft blue and sea gulls floated effortlessly above a distant spit of land.

“I’ve missed you, too, my golden-haired princess.” He was still a relatively young father, still handsome without the mid-life paunch and burdensome weight. He looked into the soft blue eyes of his daughter, squeezed her shoulder while milliseconds rapidly retraced in his mind the lovely vignettes of memory.

She was twenty-three now and a most beautiful young woman. Her blond hair tossed about in the wind and her marvelous blue eyes twinkled like tiny stars of wonder.

It was their day together. She was just home from a trip abroad. Mom was at home. Brother was at work. Her fiancé was on a business trip. This was their time together to update their days apart.

She told him about her fiancé’s rental car breaking down on the outskirts of a cobble-stoned city in southern France called Perpignan. She laughed time and again as she tried to pronounce the name of the city. “’Purr-peen-yong’ is the best I can do, Dad, but the car problem was minor and it turned our trip into a delightful fairy tale. We met young people our ages in restaurants and cafés all over France and Spain. Some spoke English. Most did not but it didn’t matter – we laughed and had fun making it into a sort-of ‘Charades’ game.”

So they walked and talked, stopping occasionally to pause and view the boats and landmarks.

It was during one of their stops when the daughter gave a whimper, “Oh, Daddy!” and collapsed in his arms. The shocked father tenderly lowered her to the ground. “What is it, sweetheart? What’s wrong?” He was bewildered as people began to gather. Her eyes were closed, and he felt for a pulse. There was none. His confusion now turned to tears of agony, and he saw the blood coming from her body.

It was determined the daughter was shot by an illegal alien some distance away who was immediately arrested, an illegal alien who it was later reported had been deported five times from the United States, had just recently been released by the sanctuary city of San Francisco. The felonious Illegal alien, deported five times, was in the United States for the sixth time.

This tragedy, this heartbreaking homicide was covered in the media. A great furor came from the crime, and a case was pled by many to do away with sanctuary cities in the United States. Another case pled for a law that would automatically imprison an illegal alien for five years if it was found he/she was illegally in the US and committed a serious crime.

Finally, many believed that,we have a feckless and inept federal government and that this was the year for accountability with a general election coming in November. Many said that our free market system, our freedom and our liberty were being eroded by the liberal progressives. Many more people said that the face of our country was now near unrecognizable, and that it was crucial ‘we the people’ took back our nation by electing only people who pledged and swore under penalty of dismissal to follow the law of the land and follow no action or precept that was not to the benefit of the electorate.

Time would tell.

Flash Fiction from Truth by: Billy Ray Chitwood

March 10, 2016

My 13 books of mystery, suspense, thriller, crime, romance, memoir, fiction, and non-fiction are presented on my website at goo.gl/nWMXm3

SOME LINKS:

goo.gl/nWMXm3 (Author’s Website)

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http://goodreads.com/author/dashboard/billyraychitwood

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Proud member of #asmsg, #IAN, and #AHA

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To Be or Not To Be

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To Be Or Not To Be

To Be or Not To Be

“You can go ahead and get dressed, Daisy. We’re finished with the examination.”

Dr. Pickering handed a hastily scribbled prescription to his nurse attendant, “Call this in to the pharmacy and tell them Ms. Catrell will be picking it up within the hour.”

Daisy Catrell zipped up the front part of her easy-wear workout top. “Will the pills hasten the miscarriage, Dr. Pickering?”

“No, Daisy, the pills are to lessen the daily anxiety you’re feeling. Look, I told you I’m not an abortion doctor. I know you’ve declared you don’t want the baby because you’re too young with too much living to do. You’re twenty-three years old and you should have had those thoughts before you engaged in sexual activity with your live-in room-mate…”

“But, Doctor, Jimmy doesn’t want the baby either!” She started to say more but saw the anger building in Dr. Pickering.

“’Doesn’t want the baby’!” the doctor slammed his file folder on the computer counter. “Daisy, you’re thirteen weeks into the first trimester of your pregnancy. Your baby has formed, has a face, a body, the fingers are growing nails. In the fourteenth week, you go into the second trimester where the baby will release urine into the amniotic fluid. Your baby will be able to form facial expressions, maybe even suck its thumb. You have a healthy life inside your body, being protected by you, nourished by you, fulfilling one of the most meticulous, miraculous and sacred rituals known to our world.”

Dr. Pickering paused, studied Daisy’s face, saw the tears forming and spilling from her eyes and down her cheeks.

“I’m so scared, Dr. Pickering. You’ve told me before how you feel, but I thought you were going to help me today.”

“I’m trying very hard to help you, Daisy.”

“My parents, they don’t know. It will be so hard for them to take.”

“Nonsense, Daisy, I’ve met both your father and mother. They’re sensible, caring, people. They will be there for you, even if Jimmy is not… I’ll be here to help you. This is a life we’re talking about, Daisy, not a toy doll. This person inside of you could grow up to be president, a great artist, a scientist, an inventor.”

“Oh, I’m so mixed up, doctor. You make good sense, but…”

“Look, Daisy, take the pills I’ve prescribed for you. Let’s see if they lessen your doubts. If you wish, bring Jimmy in and we will have a long talk about all of this. Will you do that for me? Will you, please, not do anything foolish at anyone’s suggestion? That would devastate me.

“I’ve been your family doctor for years. Please trust me on this. Come to full term on your pregnancy. If, at that time, your final wish is to give up your baby for adoption, I will help you. But, don’t kill it before it has a chance to see the world. Will you agree to that, Daisy? I promise you, the pills will help, and you will feel better, even excited, about this beautiful person you’re carrying inside of you. In just a few weeks we will know its gender. You can see the baby’s sex on mid-pregnancy ultrasound.”

“Okay, Dr. Pickering, I will agree. The idea is so new to me, and I’m flustered. And, what you’ve said here today has helped me a lot. Thanks for that.”

Daisy embraced the doctor and left the examination room.

On her way home, Daisy stopped at the pharmacy and picked up the prescription Dr. Pickering had ordered. The label on the pill vial noted: ‘Take one a day’. She bought a bottle of water and took a pill on the spot.

Daisy then decided at the last minute to drive by her parents’ house and share her pregnancy with them. It was time they were told, and she knew, as did Dr. Pickering, they would be loving and supportive.

On her way to her parents’ house, she thought about what Dr. Pickering said: His words made a difference the way he put everything. It’s neat that I may have a future president in my stomach, somebody who will possibly gain fame and fortune. Ah, it doesn’t matter so much about the fame and fortune – just be healthy, little person. You will surely get all the love you need. Old Doc Pickering knows how to reach a person with words. He changed my perspective. I think I always wanted this baby. Now, my tiny person of an unknown gender, I love you and will keep rubbing my tummy and telling you that every day until I hold you in my arms…

She saw the school bus too late as she went through the intersection. The bus was not moving very fast but it T-boned her and pushed her car into another moving vehicle.

Daisy Catrell and her unborn baby died at the scene instantly and without time to surrender to bodily and emotional pain.

              Flash Fiction by Billy Ray Chitwood- March 4, 2016

           My bio and thirteen books of Mystery, Suspense, Thriller, Romance, Memoir…can be viewed on my Website: http://www.goo.gl/nWMXm3

P;ease follow me on Twitter.com/brchitwood