It’s 4:30 AM. The sky is starting to lighten. My backpack is open on the already-made bed. I shove in my running shoes with extra socks stuff inside them, laptop, phone charger, and my clothes rolled into tight cylinders: three sets of underwear, t-shirts, an extra pair of jeans, and sweats to sleep in. There’s still room for paperbacks. I’m into the classics these days so it’s all Agatha Christie. Six go in the backpack. What if I finish them all and get bored while I’m gone? I pull two more off the shelf and try to squeeze them into the front pocket. They won’t fit because of the bottles and jars of skin products I planned to luxuriate in. Not that anyone is going to see me. I pull the potions out and fit in the books. Finally, my favorite, And There Was None, goes into the pocket of my rain jacket. I see a yellow pad with a pen clipped to it on my nightstand. What use do I have for that? I won’t be lawyering where I go.

Maybe I’ll write Tom a letter. With some jiggling of contents, I make room for the pad and pen and slide those in too. He’s in Homer right now, probably up like I am. He’s always been an early riser. I don’t know where he’s staying when he isn’t crewing on a halibut charter. Probably some rank little motel room, got a good deal from a friend. He has friends everywhere.

The last time we talked was days ago. He got quiet when I told him about the job at Fox Island Lodge. Like I’m betraying him by going to work in a kitchen? I’m not the one that left Anchorage. Besides, I’m not so sure about practicing law anymore. Not sure I’m cut out for it. And if I don’t go back into practice, why would I ever see him again? He was just my investigator, that’s all. Nothing more.

My old mentor, Arthur Nelson, says I have a job with him. Anytime I want, just let him know. Doing what? Bailing fat cats out of white-collar prosecutions? Drafting contracts? Carrying his briefcase? Just shoot me now. As much as I love Arthur, and appreciate his offer, I’d shrivel up and die doing that kind of work. Besides, there’s no room for Tom at Arthur’s firm. What would they do with a foul-mouthed, cocky private investigator?

The cab will be here soon to take me to the train station. I put the backpack by the door, make sure all the windows are locked. I don’t know when I’ll be back again. I love this place, my little condo by the lake. I don’t know if I have the heart to sell it.

The sun will be up soon. The loons are already calling to one another. I pour one last cup of coffee and go out onto the deck to listen to them one last time.

Giveaway: Leave a comment below for your chance to win a digital (Kindle or Nook) of Hell and High Water, limited to U.S. residents. Giveaway ends April 19, 2020. Good luck everyone!

Hell and High Water is the third book in the “Maeve Malloy” traditional mystery series, released March 31, 2020.

They don’t call lawyers sharks for nothing. Maeve Malloy has come to the conclusion that law is a tough business. Half the other lawyers hate you. Most of the law office staff hates you. The public hates you. All she wants is to be treated like everyone else.

Maybe, she wonders, she isn’t cut out for it. Maybe she should think about something else, like working in a library or selling cupcakes out of a bright pink van. Then one day she spots a help wanted ad. A tourist lodge on a remote island needs a dishwasher. It’s just the ticket, she thinks. Maybe she’ll even learn how to bake.

Just after she lands at Fox Island Lodge, the tail end of a hurricane moves into Resurrection Bay, cutting the lodge off from civilization. Maeve’s trapped with an ageing hippy cook, a stoned handyman, a biker chick hotel manager, a botanist, two nuns, and a couple of California tourists.

Then someone is murdered. The locals cop can’t get to the lodge because of the storm so he asks Maeve for help. Her cover is blown and she’s thrown back into investigating the who, why, and wherefor of death.

“Continuing to build after a strong start, Powell turns her beady eye and compassionate heart towards the corrosive nature of old secrets and the dangers of reckoning with the truth at last. Maeve Molloy’s third outing is atmospheric, gritty and completely satisfying.” CATRIONA Mcpherson, multi-award-winning author of Strangers At The Gate

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About the author
Keenan Powell is the Agatha, Lefty, and Silver Falchion-nominated author of the Maeve Malloy Mystery series. Her first publication was illustrations in Dungeons and Dragons, 1st edition, while still in high school. Art seemed to be an impractical pursuit – she wasn’t an heiress, didn’t have the disposition to marry well, and hated teaching – so she went to law school instead. The day after graduation, she moved to Alaska. As a young pup, she provided criminal defense representation in a variety of cases spanning from the infamous federal walrus round-up case to murder.

A past winner of the William F. Deeck-Malice Domestic grant, her publications include Criminal Law 101 in the June 2015 issue of The Writer magazine and several short stories. She writes the legal column, Ipso Facto, for the Guppies’ newsletter, First Draft, and blogs with the Mysteristas.

When not writing or practicing law, Keenan can be found oil painting or studying the Irish language.

Visit Keenan at Facebook and on Facebook.

All comments are welcomed.