Herein begins the four-day adventure of a mystery/suspense author in the World of Romance.

Before I left Raleigh on Thursday 2
October to head for Norcross, GA (metro-Atlanta) and the Moonlight &
Magnolias conference, I'd been forewarned that there was very little gas
to be found along the way in Charlotte, NC or metro-Atlanta. All this was
supposedly a legacy of Hurricane Ike — remember all the gobbledygook that
started when I was in Burnsville, NC a few weeks ago for the Carolina Mountains
Literary Festival? Nevertheless, I'm sure there was a heavy political element in the shortage. About halfway between Raleigh and
Charlotte, I began seeing gas stations with empty pumps. But I'd formulated a
plan. My '92 Honda didn't like the mountains, but it gets close to 40 mpg on
the highway. (I'm serious!) Although I could easily have driven to Norcross on
one tank of gas, my plan was to refuel off I-85 in Greenville, SC. Fortunately
I found gas in Greenville. Turns out that Norcross was almost devoid of gas.

In 2001, I moved from Duluth, GA (near Norcross) to Raleigh.
Traffic congestion and development in the northeast metro area of Atlanta had
gotten way out of control, along with crime, plus I was looking for a better
school system for my sons. This trip to Norcross confirmed that I'd made the
right decision by moving. The trees I remembered had been replaced with
concrete and asphalt. Despite the absence of gas in Atlanta, there were far
more vehicles on the road than when I'd lived there. It didn't look as though
all that extra asphalt had been installed quickly enough to keep up with
Atlanta's population growth — always the case during the fourteen years I
lived there. People complain about the traffic in Raleigh, but they must never
have driven in Atlanta.

The last time I'd attended Moonlight & Magnolias, one of
the largest regional conferences of the Romance Writers of America, it
was held near Perimeter Mall. This year the venue was the Hilton Atlanta NE.
When I arrived, my brother was waiting for me. He lives in metro-Atlanta and
had braved rush-hour traffic to take me out to dinner. What a wonderful guy! He
helped me carry my stuff to my room, and while I was unpacking, a hotel
employee brought me the box of Camp Follower copies my publisher had
sent to the hotel. This was my earliest opportunity to see and hold the finished
product of Camp Follower, so the moment when I opened the box was
special, made more magical because my brother shared it with me. He was the first
one to lift a copy from the box, and he insisted on thumbing through it so he
could sniff that "new book" smell.

 Back downstairs, I checked in at the
M&M registration room. A cheerful young lady named Rocky handed me all my
conference materials and a goody bag. Then she affected shyness and asked,
"Are you over twenty-one years old?" Across the table she handed me a
small bottle with blue liquid in it. At my puzzled expression, she happily
announced, "It's vodka!" So my goody bag contained vodka, chocolate,
lip gloss, and steamy novels. (Hello, Mystery Writers of America, take
some notes.) After I returned from dinner with my brother, I ate the chocolate,
tried the lip gloss, and skimmed through the steamy novels. But today, two
weeks later, I still haven't drunk the vodka. Maybe I'm leery of it because it
resembles what filled the glass of a Romulan ambassador on an episode of
"Star Trek: Deep Space Nine."