December is not the time to look back on our former life. I might cry, remembering the days I drove out to the end of Santa Monica Boulevard, found a parking place on Ocean, and strolled along the cliffs, dodging 40-year old skateboarders with blond dreadlocks and 70-year old homeless men sunning their leathery skin on the grass while smoking suspiciously fragrant cigarettes. The LA vibe is as laid back as it’s possible to be without falling down. A stroll in either direction offered me a range of lunch options from upscale falafel to perfect sushi to clam chowder made in house and succulent lamb chops arranged over pearls of couscous.

Or, at least, that’s how I remember it today as I herd the big, wet dogs into the kitchen, grit my teeth as they shake themselves dry and turn my old stone floor into a slithery mess. My coat is wet through and my beret needs drying on a chair in front of the fire, although it will compete for space with said dogs, the yellow cat who came with the house in Reigny-sur-Canne, and my husband’s second-best pair of cowboy boots.

When Michael and I decided to kiss LA goodbye, it felt right. My husband was tired of having his lack of musical success shoved in his face every time his old band won another Grammy. My clothing boutique, with the hand-painted scarves and tops I created, shared a trendy block on Main Street with a dozen other darling boutiques, and I was adding new merch faster than the old stuff sold. So, phooey on LA and onward to a sweet if rundown stone house that the online ad claimed was built in the sixteenth century and crowded with climbing roses and hollyhocks behind its ancient iron gates. All of which was true but should have caused us to ask questions, like have any improvements been made since the sixteenth century? (The answer is yes and no. There are modernish bathrooms. There is what is laughingly called central heating. There is electricity.)

What the ad didn’t mention because who wouldn’t know this is that winter is, well, winter. December in this isolated town – if you can call it a town – deep in Burgundy requires heavy coats, multiple hats, several pairs of leather or rubber boots, and the skill required to fix the balky central heating mechanism at least once a week.

Today, I am braving December’s wind and rain without dear Michael, who is, miraculously, recording an album in Memphis, the beginning of what we hope is a fresh chance at success after a couple of hard decades. It’s 57 degrees and sunny in Memphis. Here, it’s 33 (my outside thermometer came with me so it reads Fahrenheit) and what’s coming down may technically be rain if rain can look like little ice chips. I made a rash promise to drive a small group of American tourists who obviously know as much about real winter as I did, into a nearby town to visit the area’s most charming attraction, a town house that’s been converted into one woman’s vision of a costume museum. One more latte, a few bites of a slightly stale croissant, and a fresh coat and a wool hat, both of which I found at a vide-grenier, the traditional town attic sales that pepper Burgundy all summer long, and I will be off. While the tourists enjoy the current museum show, I will stop by the butcher’s for some sausages and perhaps a bit of madame’s pate, and a fresh baguette. As long as I drive the van slowly, what could go wrong, right?


You can read more about Katherine in Dressed For Death In Burgundy, the second book in the “French Village” mystery series.

After finding herself mixed up in a murder investigation the previous Summer, Katherine Goff’s life simply has not been the same. Her husband has been in the US recording a new album, the Burgundy region locals are finally starting to see her as a real neighbor, and Katherine has even started helping out with “tourist” excursions. It seems she’s finally found her place in the small community of Reigny-sur-Canne.

But when Katherine stumbles across a body in the local museum during a tour, she finds herself caught up once again in a whirlwind of gossip and speculation. When the police zero in on her friend Pippa as a suspect, Pippa and Katherine team up to find the real killer and clear her name.

However, the more clues they discover, the more the real killer wants them off the trail. When Katherine and Pippa start receiving threats, they must decide what they are more afraid of―the police getting it wrong, or possibly becoming the killer’s next targets.

Find out what happens next in the second installment in the French countryside murder mystery series the New York Times calls “a pleasant getaway.”

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About the author
Susan C. Shea spent more than two decades as a non-profit executive before beginning her career as a mystery author. Susan is past-president of the northern California chapter of Sisters in Crime and secretary of the national SinC board, a member of MWA, and blogs on CriminalMinds. She is also the author of the Dani O’Rourke mystery series. Susan lives in Marin County, California and travels to France as often as she can.

Giveaway: Leave a comment to be eligible for a signed copy of Dressed For Death In Burgundy, which debuts on May 1 from St. Martin’s Minotaur. And, if you’re curious about Katherine’s first foray into her French life, pick up Love & Death In Burgundy, the series opener and for a short time reduced in price from the publisher! U.S. entries only, please. The giveaway ends May 3, 2018. Good luck everyone!

All comments are welcomed.