Dear Readers: I am delighted to welcome Author Kassandra Lamb as my guest on Help From My Friends Friday. What better way for a retired psychotherapist to share her professional background and continue her own education than by incorporating them both into a fictional world. Let’s learn all about her books as well as her upcoming cozy release, Lord of the Fleas.
Author Kassandra Lamb
By: Kassandra Lamb
There’s a reason why I love historical fiction, and also stories set in exotic places that I’ll likely never visit. I love learning new things while I’m being entertained.
Say the word history to me and I immediately flashback to high school and my handsome but boring history teacher, Mr…. Actually, I have no idea what his name was because he was so boring, despite his drop-dead gorgeous good looks. I can see him in my mind’s eye but I’m totally blanking on his name.
But as much as I found history boring back then, I find it fascinating today. Especially when it is made palatable by being part of a good book.
My life-calling has been to help others understand their psyches better so they can live happier and healthier lives. As a retiree turned fiction writer, I’m delighted to be able to continue that calling—by educating others about psychology while entertaining them with my stories.
In my first mystery series, the protagonist is a psychotherapist, as I was in my former career (write what you know). As such, she’s the go-to girl for all the other characters when they need to understand why the bad guys are doing what they’re doing. She’s even been hired a few times by the local police lieutenant as an official consultant. This set-up made it easy for me to insert small doses of information about various psychological dynamics and disorders into each book.
Some of the stories even include parts of counseling sessions with her fictitious clients, so readers have a window into how therapy works, if they’ve never experienced it themselves.
With my newer cozy mystery series, I’ve had to work a little harder in the research department. Its protagonist is a service dog trainer who trains dogs for veterans with PTSD and other psychological issues related to their military service.
I know PTSD and the other psychological stuff, but I’m neither a service dog trainer nor have I ever been in the military. Thank heavens for the internet! It makes research so much easier, plus I have several folks I consult with, from various walks of life. So I too am getting an education!
In my most recent story (releasing next month), there are a lot of law enforcement officers (LEOs) involved, from both the sheriff’s department of a fictitious Florida county and a real small town’s police force. Fortunately, I happen to know someone who just retired from that police force. And bless him, he gave me a grand tour of the town and all the scoop on how such agencies operate.
Here’s the scene he helped me with the most. It may seem a little over-the-top, but he assured me that there are indeed some bad-apple LEOs that would do things like this, or worse.
To set the stage, Marcia (pronounced Mar-see-a, not Marsha) is training with her veteran client, Derek Bradshaw, teaching him the ins and outs of working with his service dog, Fred. Derek is a partial paraplegic—something else I had to research. He can walk with two canes but it is exhausting, so he also spends considerable time in a wheelchair. Buddy is Marcia’s Black Labrador, her four-legged best friend and mentor dog. They are training in Derek’s backyard, and Marcia has just transferred Fred to Derek’s control when this happens… (Note: Andy is an officer on the small town’s police force and also Marcia’s best friend’s husband, and Ms. Snark is Marcia’s name for the sarcastic part of herself, which she tries to stifle, normally.)
Excerpt from Lord of the Fleas, a Marcia Banks and Buddy Mystery
The dog gave me a slightly confused glance, but then he touched the side of Derek’s hand, where it clutched the cane handle, with his nose.
I resisted the urge to cheer, which would distract the dog. Fred might be a bit funny looking, but he was one incredibly smart boy.
Derek took several steps, and Fred stayed right with him, on his right side.
Well, that was easier than you thought it would be, Ms. Snark commented.
I nodded. And opened my mouth to call for a break. The slamming of car doors out front interrupted me.
Derek and Fred turned and moved back toward the house, but it was slow going from the far end of the yard. Whoever was out front would have to be patient.
I was about to offer to go see who it was, when two men rounded the corner into the backyard. Both wore uniforms, one dark blue and the other the dark green that most sheriff departments in Florida wear.
The guy in green stopped. His hand went to his holster.
The one in blue called out, “Mr. Bradshaw?”
I recognized the voice. “Andy?”
At that same moment, the guy in green yelled, “Drop those things in your hands! Get down on the ground.”
I blinked, unable to process what I was seeing. The sheriff’s deputy had pulled his weapon, and it was aimed at Derek.
My stomach clenched, my heart rate soaring.
Derek had frozen in place. Fred immediately went into the Cover position, facing behind him.
On the porch, Buddy jumped up growling.
“Stay, Buddy!” I ran forward and inserted myself in front of Derek. I’d like to say I was bravely defending a veteran, but honestly my first thought was that this deputy might shoot one of the dogs by accident.
“Is that you, Marcia?” Andy called out.
I decided that was a rhetorical question. My focus was on the crazy deputy with his gun drawn. Sorry, Andy. I let Ms. Snark rip.
“You idiot,” she yelled at the deputy. “This man can’t do either of those things without doing himself harm.”
Andy held out a hand in the deputy’s direction. “Easy, Joe.”
The deputy ignored him. “Get out of the way, Miss. This man is a person of interest in a murder case.”
Murder? Crapola!
“Is this your client?” Andy called out to me.
“Yes!”
“Joe, lower your gun.” Andy had a touch of steel in his voice.
“Not until he drops those sticks. He can use them as weapons.”
“They’re canes, you nitwit,” I screamed. “If he drops them, he will fall down.”
The guy in green—Joe—seemed unimpressed. “That’s where I want him, on the ground.” His pistol remained pointed at us.
“Deputy Jackson, I know these people,” Andy sounded a little desperate—his hand had gone to his own holster. Was he going to draw on another law enforcement officer? “You’re in my jurisdiction,” he said in a firmer tone. “Now lower your gun!”
The deputy’s hand slowly sank, and I blew out air.
What a total jerk, Ms. Snark said internally.
Again, no argument from me.
Andy walked toward us, as Derek moved up beside me.
“Murder investigation?” I said when Andy was close enough I didn’t need to shout. My voice shook a little.
Grim-faced, Andy looked at Derek. “Mr. Bradshaw, do you know Ezekiel Lord?”
“Yeah.” Derek swallowed hard, his Adam’s apple bobbing in his throat. “Has somethin’ happened to him?”
“I’m so sorry.” Andy sounded like he meant it. “I’m afraid Mr. Lord has been murdered.”
Derek wobbled. “Murdered?”
Andy was next to him in a heartbeat, gently grabbing his broad shoulders and steadying him.
“No, no,” Derek wailed. “Zeke can’t be dead.” He kept shaking his head.
Fred looked at me as if to say, What do I do now, boss?
I shook my own head, then gave him the release signal and patted my thigh. Best to get him out of the way.
The next few moments were a blur as somehow we all made our way to the back door, Andy half holding Derek up. We crammed into his small kitchen.
I pointed to a corner, then held my hand out flat and lowered it toward the floor. Both dogs trotted over and laid down.
Andy settled Derek at the table and poured him a glass of water from the faucet.
As Derek took a few sips, Andy said, “The Crystal County sheriff needs you to come to the flea market and unlock your stall. They’re searching the whole place.”
“Why are you here?” I asked Andy quietly.
He glanced my way. An odd grimace flashed across his face, so fast I thought maybe I’d imagined it. “Since Mr. Bradshaw lives in our jurisdiction, protocol requires the sheriff’s deputy here to coordinate with our department. Our Deputy Chief sent me along.”
I squinted at him, beyond curious. Why didn’t they just give the deputy permission to pick Derek up?
Andy gave a slight shake of his head.
Okay, this is getting interesting, Ms. Snark commented internally.
“I need you to come with me,” Deputy Joseph Jackson said to Derek in a crisp tone.
Considering the deputy’s recent behavior, I had some trepidation about Derek willingly entering his jurisdiction. “I’m going with,” I announced.
Jackson puffed out his chest. “I’m not allowed to transport civilians who are not related to the case being investigated.”
Moments like this, I wished I cussed. I stared at Andy.
He gave another small shake of his head. This time it seemed more a gesture of confusion. He’d probably planned to extract himself from the situation once Derek agreed to cooperate.
He held my gaze for a long moment, then nodded slightly.
(After some additional back and forth over the wheelchair, during which Deputy Jackson continues to act like a jerk, they end up in two vehicles, headed for the flea market.)
Meanwhile, I was gritting my teeth and counting to ten. I was on nine and it wasn’t helping much.
Andy glanced my way and held up a hand. “The wheelchair can go in my backseat,” he said in a hard voice. “We’ll follow you. Come on, Marcia.”
Once in his cruiser, I said, “That guy is a piece of work.”
“He’s a piece of something.” His expression grim, Andy stared out the windshield. “Don’t repeat this or you’ll get me in trouble, but the Deputy Chief took me aside and told me this guy’s an as… I mean, a jerk. That’s why he sent me along.” He shook his head. “But I sure didn’t expect him to pull his gun on Mr. Bradshaw.”
“Um, I didn’t want to correct you in front of the jerk deputy, but it might help to call him Sergeant Bradshaw, to remind folks that he’s a veteran.”
Andy nodded. “Duly noted.” He sighed. “Jackson wasn’t totally out of line, at first. We’re trained to react to any potential threat and neutralize it. But once you’d pointed out they were canes, he should’ve stood down.”
He shook his head. “I’d heard rumors before, but I didn’t quite believe them. Now I do. Seems a few years back, Jackson tazzed one of his father’s pigs, just to see what would happen.”
I stared at him, horrified.
He glanced my way. “The pig was okay. No permanent damage.”
“Didn’t he have to be tazzed himself when he went through training? I thought that was protocol for new officers in most law enforcement agencies.”
Andy nodded, his gaze flicking my way again. “His father’s a county commissioner.”
“Ah, which explains why the jerk hasn’t been fired.”
I hadn’t even met the Crystal County sheriff yet, and I already felt sorry for him…
By the way, while Deputy Jackson is a fictitious character, the tazzing story is based on a true incident by a real LEO, which was reported in the local paper. Also, there are plenty of LEO characters in my stories who are intelligent and dedicated officers, including Marcia’s husband. But every barrel is at risk of having that one bad apple…
Lord of the Fleas is now available for preorder… Just $2.99 during the preorder period, goes up to $4.99 after release. (And the first book in this series, To Kill a Labrador is FREE.)
(Links used above:
https://misteriopress.com/bookstore/to-kill-a-labrador/ )
Blurb
What could be more innocent than a country flea market?
When service dog trainer Marcia Banks takes up temporary residence with her best friend in Williston, Florida, her goals are simple: spoil her toddler godchildren and train her newest dog’s veteran owner, a vendor at a local flea market.
Ha, the universe has other plans. When the owner of the flea market is found dead and her client is a prime suspect, she discovers that nothing is as it seems—from the flea market owner himself, to the ornate dragonhead cane he gave to her client, to the beautiful but not very bright young woman whom her client has a crush on.
The only true innocent in the bunch seems to be her guileless, partial paraplegic client. But when he shares a confidence that puts her in a double bind with local law enforcement, she’s not sure she can even trust him.
Despite her promises to her new husband, the only way out of her no-win dilemma seems to be to find the real killer. The flea market, however, is hiding more secrets, and at least one of them could be deadly.
Thank you so much, Donnell, for letting me hang out with you today!
Kassandra, thank you! Apologies for not knowing the difference between Thursday and Friday!
xo
That’s okay. Most of the day yesterday I thought it was Saturday.