Of Ice Cream and Spring 

Contrary to the evidence of peevish and changeable April weather outside, it is spring—and spring brings a new Lane Winslow! A False and Fatal Claim. 

I love that my books are scheduled for spring releases. It signals the end of hunkering down, working in the brief daylight hours, trying to give names to the many shades of grey the sky offers, scowling at my outdoor patio planter garden, which never takes on the romantic desolation of a winter garden in the designer magazines. (My planters just look like abandoned waifs.) 

Even with wet flakes of snow pelting down at the official opening of the spring season, my heart is lifted because my calendar fills up with invitations from libraries and indie bookstores and readers and writers’ festivals. There are launches to plan, and ferries to book, and so many Lane Winslow fans to look forward to talking to. And of course I have to gaze into my closet, trying to remember what the heck it is that people wear in the spring. Sandals and a puffer coat?

I am excited about my new book. It takes place entirely in the Kootenays and involves real duplicity and skulduggery by a man so powerful that he manages to fool everyone, even drawing perfectly innocent people into his criminal enterprise.

Lane and Darling (well, Darling, let’s be frank) will be tested by the placement of yet another child in their home, just until something more “permanent” can be arranged. This time it is a delinquent fourteen-year-old boy nobody else wants. And of course, April McAvity is working at the Nelson Police Station and loving every minute. Everyone is desperately trying to think of ways to convince the stingy and misogynist mayor to agree to keep her on, but her days look numbered. On the bright side, though, there’s a wedding to look forward to!

I had a lot of fun writing this book, and for people who know what usually sets me off on a Lane Winslow adventure, this, too, is the result of an image I saw in my mind. In this case, it was Lane tooling down to the wharf with a book and towel for a peaceful afternoon, only to be confronted by a sinister black car speeding up the narrow one-lane road toward her …

People often ask me if Lane is actually me, and I have to think about this. She is famously inspired by my extraordinary mother, but it seems inevitable that Lane thinks as I do on some issues. For example, she likes children a lot more than she thought she might. When I was a teenager, I really disliked babysitting and formed the idea that I didn’t really like children. Then I had one at twenty. Love at first sight! From then on, my entire life has been shaped by my deep empathy for the young, and all the work I ever did was with kids from group homes, through teaching and running schools.

Lane has recently also shown evidence of some of my habits: talking out loud to traffic as she drives, avoiding piles of laundry, loving a little something sweet. On the other hand, I was never hampered by being unable to cook. When I was sixteen, my mother began her quest to collect master’s degrees and abandoned her work in the kitchen, so I took up the slack. I didn’t love it, but I learned to cook (and now I do love it!).

Like Lane, my mother grew up with cooks in the house, so she never really learned until she married. And while she didn’t really like the day-to-day provision of meals, she used to throw fabulous dinner parties where suddenly it transpired that she knew how to make elaborate roast beef and lamb spreads, with homemade strawberry ice cream for afters. I have never tasted ice cream like that from that day to this, and when I asked her for the recipe, she demurred, claiming it was a family secret—and then she darn well took it to her grave. I hope she’s enjoying it. My one hope is that Lane knows how to make it and will share the secret with me one of these springs!