One of the settings in my mystery novel, Fatal Whispers, is the Old Port district of Portland, Maine. Known for its cobblestone streets and 19th-century architecture, the area houses specialty shops, restaurants, colorful cafés, and bars.
What fascinated me while researching the history of Portland was the discovery of a Great Fire that occurred there in 1866. While the city was celebrating the first July 4th after the Civil War, a massive fire broke out. It destroyed most of the commercial buildings and left 10, 000 people homeless. However, recovery was swift, and the city was rebuilt with red brick structures in grand Victorian style to portray its economic rebirth. Even today, many of these buildings remain—a testament to the resilience of the architectural style of the past and the energetic development of the community.
The lasting power of these structures reminded me of the main protagonists in my mystery series—characters who beat the odds and overcame obstacles, no matter how dire the consequences. Ghostwriter Megan Scott and investigative reporter Michael Elliott stand tall in the face of attempts to thwart their crime-solving efforts. They don’t flinch in the face of threats but remain resolute in digging up the truth.
As an example, here’s a short passage from Fatal Whispers that portrays Megan in a risky situation:
I could feel the sweat gathering along my forehead and upper lip. I held my breath, praying I wouldn’t inhale any of the poison inside the box. In desperation, I tore my gaze from the potential catastrophe in my arms to the indicators that signaled what floor the elevator was on. Only the third? What was taking so long?
Getting stuck in small dark spaces was a phobia that originated from my childhood days. I’d locked myself in a cedar chest by accident once while playing a game of hide-and-go-seek in the attic. My mother had rescued me after my playmates had told her I’d vanished into thin air.
My claustrophobia was in full force now. I looked to my left, then to my right. People behind me. People in front of me. The elevator was filled to capacity. Like a recurring nightmare, the doors opened on almost every floor but no one got off. The doors kept opening and closing, opening and closing, until I thought I’d scream.
I didn’t remember the rest of the ride down. When the elevator doors opened on the ground level, an invisible net seemed to pull me into the lobby with the others and force us to move as one. My legs felt stiff. I couldn’t break away.
The crowd finally dispersed and cleared a path in front of me.
I saw Michael. His expression turned to one of unease the moment he spotted me. His stare dropped down to the oblong box in my arms. I could always tell when he gets worried. Tiny furrows form along his brow and his blue eyes lose their sparkle.
Want to read more? You’ll find Fatal Whispers at online retailers listed here.
