Formed in 2009, the Archive Team (not to be confused with the archive.org Archive-It Team) is a rogue archivist collective dedicated to saving copies of rapidly dying or deleted websites for the sake of history and digital heritage. The group is 100% composed of volunteers and interested parties, and has expanded into a large amount of related projects for saving online and digital history.
For years, all my stories were set in winter because I love snow. It occurred to me that if I like winter so much, the mystery of Santa, and all things Christmas, why wasn’t I writing holiday stories? So I started writing them, and it turns out I actually enjoyed writing them. I mean, what's not to love about Christmas? The scents and smells of all the baking, the smell of Christmas trees, pine scented candles, and pumpkin. Oh my God, can you believe there's pumpkin everything now?
My Christmas books are inspired by fond memories our own Christmases. With our firstborn, we were so excited that first Christmas, but our son had absolutely no interest in anything Christmas. The second Christmas was all about the boxes. We would unwrap the presents, and he played in the boxes, but Christmas number three was a game changer. We had so much fun. He tore into all of his presents and ours. And I think we could have rewrapped everything and he would have been delighted to tear them open again. Years four and five were full of joy. There is nothing better than young children and Christmas.
One of my most favorite Christmases was when our oldest son was five, and I’d told my husband I wanted a food processor. I already knew he’d gotten it for me and had taken our son to buy it. They’d wrapped it together and put it under the tree. At least once a day I would mention how much I wanted that food processor. Our son would slap his hand over his mouth to keep the giggles from escaping (didn’t work). My husband and I brought it up the whole month of December and our son would react the same way every time. It's still one of my most favorite memories of the holidays, and at some point, some form of this memory will end up in a book.
This is the first year I haven't written a new Christmas story, but my latest release, Falling in Love With Her spans the holidays from Halloween to New Year's Eve. I am planning to have two new Christmas stories out in 2024, book three in the Vermont Christmas Romance series and book five in the Crooked Halo Christmas Chronicles.
To whet your Christmas story appetite, there are two books in the Vermont Christmas Romance series and four books in the Crooked Halo Christmas Chronicles. I also have a free Christmas book I’m giving it away today. It's a short, short Love and the Yuletide Firebug that I wrote last year as part of the Windtree Press anthology, Crime Never Takes a Holiday. This story actually led to me writing Falling in Love With Her.
Here’s an excerpt from Love and the Yuletide Firebug.
Paradise Falls, Idaho
Ingie Pulaski climbed the wide porch steps of the cottage-style Victorian that was decked out for the holidays with enough lights and decorations to light up the whole town of Paradise Falls. Serenity Lake peeked through the cluster of hemlocks just beyond the neatly kept yard covered in three feet of snow.
Her nose rosy from the crisp December air, she pushed open the door. Voices raised in heated discussion filtered down the hallway. She followed the sound to the kitchen.
Charlie Pulaski’s voice boomed from the massive table on the other side of the center island. When he saw her, he grinned and hustled over to sweep her into his arms. A barrel-chested bear of a man, her uncle had been her encouragement and support since her father had died.
“Ingie, you made it.” He pulled back and gestured to the smorgasbord on the back counter. It held everything from waffles to hash browns. “Fill up a plate and join us.”
Her uncle settled back into his seat next to his brother-in-law, Erwin Stein—his polar opposite—long and lanky with a slow, melodious voice.
Charlie pinned Ian Callahan, her childhood friend and the local arson investigator, with his steely blue stare and picked up the conversation her arrival had apparently interrupted. “No, no, no. We are not interfering with your investigation.”
Ingie filled her plate, grabbed a cup of coffee, then squeezed in between Genevieve McVey Yang, the Chinese/Scottish proprietor of Ye Olde Hardware store, and Cornelius B. Mumford, Esq., her best friend Willa’s uncle.
Ingie sampled her food as the Trench Coat Brigade or TCB, as they were also known, interrogated Ian about a series of suspicious fires set over the past few weeks. The group met every Sunday morning, and when she wasn’t doing boat repair at the shop or guiding fly-fishing groups, she sat in on the meetings. She loved mysteries and enjoyed doing research for the group, but she also acted as the voice of reason.
Today, Ian had the dubious honor of trying to rein in the geriatric team of amateur detectives.
“I really think—”
Erwin cut him off. “I apologize for the interruption, but I don’t understand how our investigation would affect you. We’re only looking for possible suspects.”
“And what will you do if you stumble onto the arsonist?” Ian asked, annoyance coloring his voice.
Her uncle jumped on the morsel Ian had just provided. “So, you’re saying these fires were definitely arson?”
Ingie’s pulse kicked into overdrive when Ian’s brown eyes locked with hers. Those eyes sparkled with the hint of the devil. If only they saw her as her namesake Ingrid Bergman—a woman who’d carried herself with grace and dignity.
Dream on.
That woman had been her mother’s idol when she’d named her only daughter after the movie star. That was notIngrid Sofia Pulaski, known to friends and family as Ingie.
All Ian saw right now was his pal Ingie, a mousy brunette with size B cups and grease-stained nails, and he was silently begging her to save him from the TCB.
Ingie cleared her throat and spoke to the group for the first time. “I think Ian was merely pointing out that we need to be cautious.”
Genevieve pushed to her feet, her spry, sixty-year-old body moving with the ease of a woman half her age as she crossed over to refill her coffee mug. Slipping into the Scottish brogue she used to attract tourists to her store, she said. “Ye know as well as I do, we’ve handled murderers befor’ and managed just fine.”
Ingie slathered butter on her biscuit. True, but she wouldn’t say it had always been without a hitch.
“There’s more to these arsons than just some firebug lighting fires,” Charlie persisted. He pointed to the massive whiteboard against the wall, meticulously listing the date, time, and place of every fire on one side. On the other, under Yuletide Firebug, was a list of suspects, each with Christmas bells drawn beside the name.
No one could say the TCBers didn’t get into the holiday spirit.
Ingie struggled to contain her laughter when she saw the list still included two ninety-year-olds with emphysema who regularly raced their motorized wheelchairs down Elm Street. She’d tried and failed to convince the group they couldn’t possibly be suspects, but she’d been overruled when they’d apparently had a kitchen fire the TCBers deemed suspicious.
“I concur, Charles.” Cornelius offered his opinion in his most imperious British accent, referring to her Uncle Charlie by his given name, the same as he did everyone else.
“So, Ingie, do you think we’re overstepping?” her uncle asked.
“Yes, what’s your take on this?” Ian broke in, obviously hoping she’d side with him.
She took her time answering, adding jam to her biscuit before responding. “To be honest, I don’t see how searching for an arsonist is all that dangerous,” she paused, casting a sidelong gaze at her uncle and the other members, “so long as the TCBers do nothing more than that.”
Ian narrowed his eyes, muttering, “Thanks a lot.”
She ignored his complaint. He’d willingly come here today, so he had no one but himself to blame for getting caught up in the latest TCB project. Everyone in town knew what the TCB did. They even had a webpage—www.mysterysolvers.org—so if he was unaware, that was on him.
Ingie offered Charlie her sweetest smile. “It seems to me we’re straying off topic. Isn’t the best use of our time focusing on the fires since Ian is only here today?”
A thunderous expression crossed Ian’s face as Erwin, Cornelius, and Genevieve vigorously nodded.
An hour later, they wrapped up the meeting. Ingie grabbed her backpack, intending to head for the door before her uncle could waylay her about doing more research, but it wasn’t Charlie she needed to sneak past—it was Ian.
“Got a minute? I have a question about Gert.” He snagged her arm before she could slip away and escorted her outside.
They were out the door and down the steps before Ingie could blink.
Sarcasm oozed from him. “I really appreciate how you had my back in there.”
They reached her truck, and she tossed her backpack into the cab. “Being grilled by the TCB is part and parcel of accepting an invitation to brunch.”
Ian released a beleaguered breath. “I forgot it was Sunday when Charlie invited me, and I didn’t want to miss a meal at his house.”
Ingie pressed her lips together to restrain a smile. “So your appetite was your downfall.”
“Yeah.”
“What’s wrong with Gert or was that just an excuse to leave the meeting?”
He silently studied her. “No, it wasn’t. Can I bring her by tomorrow?”
Ingie thought over the stack of repairs she had lined up, but sucker that she was, she couldn’t turn him down. Besides, she had a connection to Gert since she’d helped Ian rebuild the boat when they were in high school. “Sure.”
Ian gave her a friendly wave goodbye and walked to his SUV, clueless to the heavy thud of Ingie’s heart or how desperately she wanted him to see her as more than a friend.
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