As has been mentioned before, a writer friend and I are collaborating on a mystery novel. At different times during the late 1970s and 80s, Ginger and I lived near the border of South Dakota and Montana, where the novel is set.
Writing the novel has been a great adventure. My keyboard takes me to the vast prairie where Hiram and I lived for seven years. The majority of the novel’s action takes place in late April, the best time of year on the high plains. The mosquitos and the grasshoppers have yet to appear, and little calvies and lambies gambol in pastures green from snow melt and spring rains.
And yet in this idyllic setting Ginger and I have exposed the dark underbellies of our souls. We’ll be describing a romantic picnic at Medicine Rocks State Park, and a dead body shows up. An afternoon drive from Buffalo to Slick Creek takes a detour into a savage beating. A shy, young rancher investigates a suspicious break-in and is whapped upside the head by an arsonist. And his mother, while attending an innocent Extension Club meeting, has visions of wringing the town gossip’s neck.
What is happening to us? I’m getting a little concerned. The climax of the novel is nearing and soon, Ginger and I will plan the end. We’ll decide whether the rancher who disappeared early in the story is in hiding or if he died, along with how many more innocent people have to die and what happens to the bad guys.
That’s not even the half of it. We’re planning a series of mysteries set in the area. And if there’s already this much madness and mayhem during the most beautiful time of year on the short grass prairie, what will happen when the weather turns bad? I don’t want to think about how dark our underbellies could get during a wintertime mystery when the drifts are eight feet high. Or in the summer when a plague of grasshoppers appears. Or in a dry fall with forest fires raging.
The whole project scares me a little, but not enough to make me quit. Instead, I’ll ease my conscience by giving you a word of warning. From now on, pay attention to the weather reports and invite me over only when the forecast is good. You’ll be a whole lot safer if you consider me a fair weather friend.
