Why I Write Mysteries
Kathleen Kaska
When I was four years old, I planned
my first escape. At the time, my family lived two doors down from my
godparents. I loved visiting them. Aunt Henrietta always treated me with
cookies. One afternoon, I asked my mom if we could visit and she said, “Later,
after you’ve had your nap.” Well, “later” and “nap” didn’t suit me one
little bit. I sneaked out into the backyard and scoped the area. I discovered I
could duck-walk below the windows to the fence and squeeze through the gate
without opening it. I was on Aunt Henrietta’s doorsteps in mere seconds. Before
I could say cookie, my mom was at the door. I should have known my aunt, my
mother’s sister, would tattle.
For the first and only time, for
only one time was necessary, I got the “good girl” lecture. That lecture
destroyed my sense of adventure, turned me into a shy, quiet kid, and caused me
to lose all my self-confidence. Okay, maybe that last statement is an
exaggeration, but that’s how I felt. So I worked really hard the rest of my
childhood to never disappoint my parents. I never sneaked out of the house
again. I never lied to my parents; well, almost never, but you get the idea.
I honestly believe this is why I
became a mystery writer. I live vicariously through my main characters, doing
things I’d never have the nerve to do and saying things I’d never say. In
“words,” living dangerously.
I also became a mystery writer
because I love reading mysteries. In my younger years I read all fifty-six
Sherlock Holmes stories and everything Agatha Christie wrote. I marveled at
Arthur Conan Doyle and Agatha Christie’s remarkable ability to plot. In college
I became hooked on authors like Dashiell Hammett, Mickey
Spillane, Rex Stout, and Raymond Chandler, who created hardboiled
detectives.
Hammett’s Sam Spade in The Maltese Falcon
and Chandler’s Philip Marlowe in The Lady
and the Lake were true inspirations for me. I also enjoy the humor of
Elizabeth Peters, Janet Evanovich, and Lisa Lutz. When I started writing
mysteries, I wanted to create hardboiled detectives, but I wanted my stories to
be light and humorous. And I wanted my protagonist to be a woman. The result
was sassy, sexy, twenty-nine-year-old Sydney Lockhart. My
series is set in the early 1950s. I
chose this decade because
it was a pivotal time for women in terms of lifestyle choices. Sydney’s an independent woman,
struggling to make it on her own—not an easy task back
then. Oh, yes, and she’s very sneaky and lies often.
Bio:
Kathleen Kaska is a writer
of mysteries, nonfiction, travel articles, and stage plays. When she is
not writing, she spends much of her time with her husband traveling the back
roads and byways around the country, looking for new venues for her mysteries
and bird watching along the Texas coast and beyond. Her latest mystery is Murder at the Driskill
(LL-Publications). It was her passion for birds that led to the publication The
Man Who Saved the Whooping Crane: The Robert Porter Allen Story (University
Press of Florida).
Murder at the Driskill
Changes are happening
fast and furious for reporter Sydney Lockhart and her detective boyfriend,
Ralph Dixon. No sooner than they open their new detective agency, a high-profile
case walks through the door. Stringer Maynard, an influential Austin
businessman, wants business partner/brother-in-law, Leland Tatum, investigated
before Tatum’s campaign for governor begins. Seems Tatum has been keeping
company with an avante garde crowd whose activities might jeopardize his chances
of winning the election.
Maynard
invites Sydney and Dixon to the famous Driskill Hotel for Tatum’s formal
campaign announcement. Before they even meet the candidate, a gunshot sends
them hurrying into the next suite where they discover Tatum has been shot and
killed. Suddenly their professional services turn to a murder investigation. As
the suspect list grows, Sydney acquires an unwanted partner Lydia LaBeau, a
twelve-year-old daughter of one of the potential murderers. To assist Sydney in
clearing her father’s name, Lydia dresses up like Sherlock Holmes and begins to
collect her own bag of evidence. Although much to Sydney’s annoyance, Lydia
proves to be the smarter detective.
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