Naked Came The Phoenix
Annotation
Nevada Barr, J.D. Robb, Nancy Pickard, Lisa Scottoline, Perri O'Shaughnessy, J.A. Jance, Faye Kellerman, Mary Jane Clark, Marcia Talley, Anne Perry, Diana Gabaldon, Val McDermid, Laurie KingFrom Publishers Weekly
An all-star lineup of 13 women mystery authors has produced one madcap, murderous tale in the same serial fashion as Naked Came the Manatee (1996). To some extent, position determines each contributor's role, but each author has ample opportunity to display her unique talents. Nevada Barr, who leads off, deserves credit for introducing heroine Caroline Blessing; her surprising mother, Hilda Finch; and several more of the zany inhabitants of Phoenix Spa, snuggled in the Blue Ridge Mountains of Virginia. J.D. Robb, in the number two spot, wastes no time shifting the plot into gear with the murder of the spa's flamboyant owner, Claudia de Vries. Those who follow (Nancy Pickard, Lisa Scottoline, Perri O'Shaughnessy, J.A. Jance, Faye Kellerman, Mary Jane Clark, Marcia Talley, Anne Perry, Diana Gabaldon and Val McDermid) each get a crack at muddying the waters or putting a new spin on an already dizzy character or in some cases, adding a new victim to the growing pile. Lucky 13 Laurie King dazzles by weaving a prettily finished quilt from the motley patches created by her comrades. Readers will relish the resulting comic soap-opera murder mystery, taking especial pleasure in watching these pros deftly recast a scene, a clue or a character to keep the story rollicking along. (Aug. 13)Forecast: Together these women command a huge fan base, and if enough of them are willing to promote, this collaborative effort could rack up strong sales.
Copyright 2001 Cahners Business Information, Inc.
The promise of discretion and pampering-and a long-overdue reconciliation with her mother-draws Caroline Blessing, the young wife of a newly-elected Congressman, to the fancy Phoenix Spa. But after her first night in the beautiful Blue Ridge Mountains, Caroline wakes to find the rich and famous guests in turmoil and under suspicion: the spa's flamboyant and ambitious owner has been murdered. As the secrets come out-and the body count rises, can Caroline keep herself from becoming the next victim?
Naked Came The Phoenix
© 2001
Chapter 1. Copyright © 2001 by Nevada Barr.
Chapter 2. Copyright © 2001 by Nora Roberts.
Chapter 3. Copyright © 2001 by Nancy Pickard.
Chapter 4. Copyright © 2001 by Lisa Scottoline.
Chapter 5. Copyright © 2001 by Perri O'Shaughnessy.
Chapter 6. Copyright © 2001 by J. A. Jance.
Chapter 7. Copyright © 2001 by Faye Kellerman.
Chapter 8. Copyright © 2001 by Mary Jane Clark.
Chapter 9. Copyright © 2001 by Marcia Talley.
Chapter 10. Copyright © 2001 by Anne Perry.
Chapter 11. Copyright © 2001 by Diana Gabaldon.
Chapter 12. Copyright © 2001 by Val McDermid.
Chapter 13. Copyright © 2001 by Laurie R. King.
To the millions of breast cancer survivors everywhere, in hope of an imminent cure
The making of this novel has been, in every way, a collaborative effort.
First, to the thirteen amazing women who said "yes" when I called-Nevada, Nora, Nancy, Lisa, Pam, Mary, Judy, Faye, Mary Jane, Anne, Diana, Val, and Laurie-thank you for your talent, enthusiasm, cooperation… and patience.
To my agent, Jimmy Vines, for giving me the idea and sticking with me every step of the way while I ran with it-thank you for the countless hours you spent helping me put the project together and keeping it on track.
Thanks to Jennifer Weis at St. Martin's Press for giving us a good home.
And to the dozens of authors' agents and assistants who juggled a seemingly endless stream of contracts, schedules, correspondence, and e-mails… thanks, we couldn't have done it without you.
IntroductionWhen my agent first suggested that I try my hand at putting together a novel like
Naked Came the Manatee
, a collaborative effort first serialized in the
Miami Herald
by a baker's dozen of top Florida journalists, including Carl Hiassen, Dave Barry, and Edna Buchanan, I smiled. I remembered-because yes, I am that old-a 1969 literary hoax perpetrated on the reading public by Mike McGrady and twenty-four of his Long Island
Newsday
coworkers; an unabashed sexual romp entitled
Naked Came the Stranger
that succeeded beyond McGrady's wildest dreams. In fact, "Naked Came…" is now synonymous with a collaborative novel written serially.
Naked Came the Manatee
, a collaborative effort first serialized in the
Miami Herald
by a baker's dozen of top Florida journalists, including Carl Hiassen, Dave Barry, and Edna Buchanan, I smiled. I remembered-because yes, I am that old-a 1969 literary hoax perpetrated on the reading public by Mike McGrady and twenty-four of his Long Island
Newsday
coworkers; an unabashed sexual romp entitled
Naked Came the Stranger
that succeeded beyond McGrady's wildest dreams. In fact, "Naked Came…" is now synonymous with a collaborative novel written serially.
"Penelope Ashe,"
Naked Came the Stranger's
fictional suburban housewife/author, wasn't the first to pen such a collaboration, of course. The roots go back much further, to 1931 Britain and
The Floating Admiral
, written by "Certain Members of the Detection Club," including Dorothy L. Sayers, Agatha Christie, G. K. Chesterton, and other giants of the mystery genre. Wouldn't it be fun, I thought, to assemble a group of modern mystery and suspense writers-all women-write such a novel, and donate a portion of our royalties to breast cancer research? I sketched a cast of characters, plopped them down in an exclusive health spa because, let's face it, there are dozens of interesting ways to bump off a character in a health spa, and
Naked Came the Phoenix
was born. Twelve women accepted my invitation, Nevada Barr picked up her pen, and six thousand words later, the game was afoot.
Naked Came the Stranger's
fictional suburban housewife/author, wasn't the first to pen such a collaboration, of course. The roots go back much further, to 1931 Britain and
The Floating Admiral
, written by "Certain Members of the Detection Club," including Dorothy L. Sayers, Agatha Christie, G. K. Chesterton, and other giants of the mystery genre. Wouldn't it be fun, I thought, to assemble a group of modern mystery and suspense writers-all women-write such a novel, and donate a portion of our royalties to breast cancer research? I sketched a cast of characters, plopped them down in an exclusive health spa because, let's face it, there are dozens of interesting ways to bump off a character in a health spa, and
Naked Came the Phoenix
was born. Twelve women accepted my invitation, Nevada Barr picked up her pen, and six thousand words later, the game was afoot.
The rules were simple. Each chapter was to be written in the third person and, in the spirit of The
Floating Admiral
, with a definite solution in view, even though we were well aware that subsequent authors might take-indeed were expected to take-the plot in divergent directions. "It was dangerously liberating to know I didn't personally have to deal with the consequences of whatever I put in my chapter," wrote Nancy Pickard.
Floating Admiral
, with a definite solution in view, even though we were well aware that subsequent authors might take-indeed were expected to take-the plot in divergent directions. "It was dangerously liberating to know I didn't personally have to deal with the consequences of whatever I put in my chapter," wrote Nancy Pickard.
Although authors were cautioned to avoid cliff-hanger endings that would require Houdini-like efforts on the part of the next author (and our heroine), "the real fun" comes, according to Laurie R. King, "in seeing thirteen sweet-tempered lady crime writers stab each other thoughtfully in the back." Nancy, too, "loved the diabolical feeling of cooking up an outrageous plot twist and cackling, 'Heh, heh, heh, let's see what you do with
this
, Lisa!' " Because, as the game is played, there is no going back. No fair asking a previous author to change a clue. Against the rules to beg her to bring a promising character back to life.
Pssst! Hide this bloody knife in the potted palm in chapter two, will you
? is simply not allowed. Each writer is left to plant a new clue, target a fresh victim, point the finger at another suspect, introduce a new character, catch another in a lie, overhear a heated conversation-on and on-until it falls to the hapless writer of the final chapter to pick up all the problematic threads and tie them off in a nice, neat solution. I am deeply grateful that Laurie R. King volunteered for this task and that she did it so brilliantly.
this
, Lisa!' " Because, as the game is played, there is no going back. No fair asking a previous author to change a clue. Against the rules to beg her to bring a promising character back to life.
Pssst! Hide this bloody knife in the potted palm in chapter two, will you
? is simply not allowed. Each writer is left to plant a new clue, target a fresh victim, point the finger at another suspect, introduce a new character, catch another in a lie, overhear a heated conversation-on and on-until it falls to the hapless writer of the final chapter to pick up all the problematic threads and tie them off in a nice, neat solution. I am deeply grateful that Laurie R. King volunteered for this task and that she did it so brilliantly.
And we had fun. Anne Perry enjoyed the discipline of writing about characters already created and thinking, "What can I do with them to give the story a twist and stay within the bounds set?" For her and others, it was the chance to try out a completely different time and place setting-the present day United States, for example, as opposed to Victorian London or sometime in the future. Still others relished the opportunity to experiment with new characters and new voices. What I enjoyed most was borrowing a character from my Hannah Ives mystery series and giving him a job at Phoenix Spa. And, of course, we all felt it necessary to do exhaustive, firsthand research in luxury health spas all across the country.
As
Naked Came the Phoenix
goes to press, it pleases me to learn of a new link with
The Floating Admiral
. We have come full circle, with one of our sisterhood, Val McDermid, being elected to membership in the famed Detection Club.
Naked Came the Phoenix
goes to press, it pleases me to learn of a new link with
The Floating Admiral
. We have come full circle, with one of our sisterhood, Val McDermid, being elected to membership in the famed Detection Club.
Val's a professional. And as Laurie reminds me, it takes a professional to play the game well. I think you will find thirteen of them here.
MARCIA TALLEY
Annapolis, Maryland
May 2001
NAKED CAMETHE PHOENIX
Chapter One
SHE WENT THROUGH LIFE LIKE AN open razor
. Caroline couldn't remember where she'd read that phrase, but there was little doubt in her mind that it had been inspired by a woman like her mother. Maybe Hilda herself had been the muse. She cast a long shadow, Caroline knew firsthand; she and her father had lived in it, Hilda always center stage between them and the light.
. Caroline couldn't remember where she'd read that phrase, but there was little doubt in her mind that it had been inspired by a woman like her mother. Maybe Hilda herself had been the muse. She cast a long shadow, Caroline knew firsthand; she and her father had lived in it, Hilda always center stage between them and the light.
Two weeks before, Hamlin Finch, Caroline's father, had finally been set free. Throat cancer, brought on, Caroline was convinced, by decades of angry words unspoken, had killed him. Now she hoped he was standing in the light. Hoped, not believed.
She toyed with the idea that her father watched them. Because Sunday school had left its benign scar across her psyche, she pictured him in his battered La-Z-Boy, Frosty, his beloved Siamese cat, across his knees, the newspaper in an untidy heap on the puffy white cloud supporting his chair. The sky above was impossibly blue, the clouds TV-commercial white, the sun gold and sentient.
Would he be pleased that after thirty-seven years of berating him for ruining her life, his wife had toppled into a bleak depression once he died? Or would he, like his daughter, wonder if it was another of Hilda's cunningly executed manipulations to get what she wanted?
This time what Hilda had wanted was a ten-day stay at one of the most exclusive-and expensive-spas east of the Rocky Mountains. And she'd gotten it. Douglas had paid for it.
Douglas. Thinking of her husband, Caroline smiled.
Husband
. The word was still magical. In the eleven months they'd been married, she'd often thanked the gods for bringing this man into her life. Douglas, a freshman congressman from the state of Tennessee, was handsome, respected, admired. And he was kind. It was the kindness Caroline loved most. He'd found the twelve thousand dollars to send them to Phoenix Spa because he believed Hilda was in pain and he was a good man. Caroline had agreed to accompany her, not because she was a good daughter, but because she was afraid that Hilda's increasingly bizarre behavior since Hamlin's death would reflect badly on Douglas's career.
Husband
. The word was still magical. In the eleven months they'd been married, she'd often thanked the gods for bringing this man into her life. Douglas, a freshman congressman from the state of Tennessee, was handsome, respected, admired. And he was kind. It was the kindness Caroline loved most. He'd found the twelve thousand dollars to send them to Phoenix Spa because he believed Hilda was in pain and he was a good man. Caroline had agreed to accompany her, not because she was a good daughter, but because she was afraid that Hilda's increasingly bizarre behavior since Hamlin's death would reflect badly on Douglas's career.
Phoenix Spa was so exclusive that it was booked two years in advance. Once Hilda knew Douglas would foot the bill, she'd wrangled two spots in less than a day. Claudia de Vries, the spa's owner, had been Hilda's roommate her first-and only-year at Brown University. Hilda said Mrs. de Vries made room for them because of old friendship. Judging by the bitter undercurrent that soured her greeting when they'd arrived, Caroline couldn't help thinking it might have had more to do with a spot of petty blackmail.
Caroline looked across the table at her mother. She didn't bother with a covert glance. Hilda liked to be watched and courted attention. Hilda was in her element, or what she'd always believed her element should be. Phoenix was a favorite hideout for the rich and famous and those who wanted to be rich and famous. They paid for the promise of the motto carved in gothic letters across the massive stone arch at the entrance:
Incipit Vita Nova
-the new life begins.
Incipit Vita Nova
-the new life begins.
To Hilda's left, elbows planted heavily on the crisp white tablecloth, was Howard Fondulac. Claudia swooshed by their table, dust and fawn silks fluttering, exquisitely applied makeup doing a fair job of camouflaging the sharpness of her eyes and an age she surely lied about, and introduced Fondulac in what was apparently the most important factor at the spa: not who you were but what you were. Caroline was "Congressman Blessing's wife." Fondulac was a "leading Hollywood producer." Claudia listed highlights from Fondulac's resume: a Mel Gibson film, movies by two of the Baldwin boys, one with Sarah Jessica Parker. If Caroline remembered right, the most recent had been made six years ago.
Claudia de Vries was more of a politician than any congressman Caroline had met in her time as a political wife. Small of stature and big of ego, she had dragged herself up from poverty to become an arbiter of health and fashion for the privileged few. Hilda, smug in her own upper-middle-class heritage as a podiatrist's daughter, said Claudia went to Brown on scholarship. Not even having enough money for a nice dress for homecoming, she had to borrow one Hilda had worn in high school.
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