Back from our mini book tour through Southern California with fellow mystery writer Cara Black. Ah, the glamorous life of a mystery writer: driving 300 miles around LA, swinging by Starbucks for espresso (triple for Cara) and back to motel late at night. Bagel for breakfast from the motel lobby.
And the usual minor disasters. In Thousand Oaks we went into a French cafe because Cara had given a luncheon speech at which everyone else ate except her. I got a small pastry and didn't realize that the plate was expertly decorated with drizzles of chocolate. Carried back the plate and wound up with a line of chocolate across my white top. (Typical Rhys Bowen!). Then the next day Cara stopped me going into a store and whispered, "You've got white on your black pants." I don't know where it came from. It looked like white paint. Came off with a little scrubbing in the rest room.
But we had lovely people who came out to see us at each of our venues and the reassurance that brave little independent bookstores are still hanging in there, still supported by loyal customers, and Kindle is not yet taking over the world. I had a pleasant surprise last night when we did an event at Books Inc at Laurel Village in San Francisco and they ran out of chairs and space, on a Monday evening. Ingrid, the events coordinator had provided French wine and treats because Cara's books are set in Paris.
Now I've two days to do laundry, catch up before I head off to Sacramento to Left Coast Crime. I'll report from that!