EPILOGUE

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My first book signing comes three years after I finished the manuscript that was inspired by my brush with death in the Rocky Mountains. No, I didn't write a novel set in the bitter cold of Aspen, Colorado. That would have been too obvious, but I came up with a story that landed me an agent and eventually a deal with the largest mystery publishing house in New York. If anything, what I learned was how to use an effective red herring. Get people leaning one way with a sleight of hand and then surprise them from whichever direction I so desire.

My boyfriend, the ex-park ranger and now publicist and husband, stands at my side in a small corner bookstore in downtown New York. This is my first book signing, and the crowd appears meager, but a dozen or more people form a healthy line stretching back to the front door.

I have plans for a mystery series that my agent swoons over and my first advance has already paid out. Now, every copy sold is money in the bank. A broad spectrum of age groups have bought my book. I've signed copies today for elderly women, middle aged men, and even teenagers. At the table, I lean over my book and scribble my pen name and a 'best wishes' to a mother who clings to her little girl's hand. When I close the hardcover, I beam up at the woman and thank her for buying my book.

I snag another copy and ready my pen. The glossy jacket catches a glare from the light fixture above me—a black background and a knife dripping red droplets into a pool of blood. The title, Twisted Knife, stands out from the image in bold letters.

Okay. I admit, the trip to Aspen provided a little inspiration. But I set my novel in a tropical paradise to keep that suspicious county sheriff from making any connections or drawing any conclusions.

With that said, my husband is taking me on a dream vacation to an island in the South Pacific. I'm looking forward to it because I had envisioned just such a place for my novel.

But with all the good things going on in my life, there seems to be something missing. As I sign another copy of my book, I gnaw on the inside of my cheek, wondering what I can do to fill that void.

Write the next novel, book two in the series?

Yes.

But that's not enough.

While on vacation, I plan to brainstorm my future ventures, but I'm hoping for a major inspiration. This time it's not for a book, but for something much more rewarding... perhaps a game.

A game of murder.

It must involve mayhem too. I love trouble. The more the better.

Long after I sign the last copy of my novel, with the bookstore closed and us in bed at the Ritz Carlton, a stroke of genius strikes me. It confirms the fact that a novel won't do anymore. Yes, I'll write many of them, but I need more. Much, much more. Now, I know what I have in mind before we even leave for our vacation. We'll go anyway, of course, because more inspirations might come to light. The more murderous the better.

Yes. I'm thinking of a real life game where people die.

It'll be so much fun.

The End

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Epilogue - 569 words
Story Total - 23,803 words

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