Flint House by Kathleen L. Asay
Sometimes a book is more than just a book. Sure, it’s the first book I’ve written that’s made it into print and it took long years to happen. It’s also the first book I’ve written that is not strictly a conventional mystery. To a reader, it’s only a few hours diversion. To the publishing world, the world in general, it’s barely a blink of the eye. Still, this book, Flint House , is more than just a book, my first book, my first non-mystery, to me . Many years ago, when I was first married, I worked in an office building on a major boulevard in Los Angeles and across the street was a bookstore. In that bookstore, often enough, was an older woman dressed in yellow, with 1930s make up and yellow hair. A lovely looking woman, one you would notice even if you were twenty-five. I looked at her and I wondered who she was and who she had been since she was clearly trying to hold onto that person. Too shy to ask, I vowed to give her story someday. I was writing mysteries, ho...