I owe a huge debt of gratitude to the group of artists who invited me to go along with them to Folly Beach, SC, for an entire week of painting—or, in my case, of writing. They went off to paint each day, leaving me alone, in a windswept house overlooking the ocean. The shape of Wee Dose formed itself to the backdrop of seabirds calling and waves rolling in.
Then my friend Peggy Dixon offered me the use of her mountain cabin. That was where I wrapped up the story amid towering North Georgia pines. Having a mama bear and two cubs living in the area helped with inspiration. So did the ride on the mule.
Sharron Grovner, a woman who works at the Reynolds Mansion on Sapelo Island, suggested the Univex and invented a story line unique to her, in which she had Karaline give a ride to a stranger (NOT recommended) who just happened to be an out-of-work pastry chef. I told her that with such a vivid imagination, she should be writing books herself.
Erica Jensen, my Middle English researcher, finds lovely words for Dirk.
Someone at Kittredge Foodservice Equipment & Supplies in Williston, Vermont (I’m sorry I didn’t get his name), confirmed that it would take an SUV to haul an SRM-20. Then he passed me on to Bob Beattie, who assured me that Chester could get away with wearing red suspenders. I relocated Kittredge’s warehouse/showroom from Williston to Winooski for the purposes of the plotline. When I lived in Vermont years ago, I learned that the Abenaki word Ouinousqui (as spelled by early French explorers) meant wild onions, which grew plentifully along the “Onion River.”
Michele McMahon, a nurse who works with the Emergency Preparedness departments of three Georgia counties, said a ten-hour operation was more believable than the four-hour one I’d originally written, considering the extent of gunshot damage. She also admitted that cold ghostly healing hands would be a big help, and we grossed out everybody else at the table as we talked about perforated intestines and nicked diaphragms.
David Funderburk, biology teacher extraordinaire, shared stories of his years teaching biology to students of all ages and grades and gave me the silver nitrate story.
Jesse Reisch illustrated the cover of A Wee Murder in My Shop, the first ScotShop Mystery, and put a Scottie dog on the cover—something I hadn’t even considered—so, of course, I had to go back and write in a dog for the Sinclairs—and, in this book, Scamp for the ScotShop.
Scamp evolved from only a vague idea to a real pooch after I contacted Rhea Spence, president of the Scottish Terrier Club of Greater Atlanta, who invited me to a dog show. There I met Judi Helton. Both these women added greatly to my knowledge of Scotties and educated me on the value of maintaining distinct breeds.
Kari Hill of Charthill Scottish Terriers was showing several of her dogs that day, and spent a great deal of time explaining, sharing, bragging about, and just generally loving her dogs with me. She showed me their teeth, let me pat their waterproof coats, explained their history, let me feel their heart-shaped rib cages, and showed me how stable their broad rear ends are when they “play patty-cake.” She’s the one who suggested that Scamp might like to sit in the display window. “Give him an ottoman, would you? He’d like something soft to sit on.”
Edwin Lowe gave me the term “GBBD.”
Finally, I must thank my agent, John Talbot, who found me and coached me through the process of being traditionally published; Michelle Vega, my editor at Berkley Prime Crime, who recognizes deadwood, sees what needs to be expanded, and still manages to treat me with utmost gentleness; and all the fantastic professionals at Berkley Prime Crime, who turn my manuscripts into works of art.
From my house beside a creek
on the other side of Hog Mountain, GA,
Fran Stewart
April 2015