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    On Days Like These
    On Days Like These
    On Days Like These
    Ebook92 pages1 hour

    On Days Like These

    By Christiane France

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    About this ebook

    When burned-out mystery writer, Mark Salvatore asked to borrow the old family home in the hills near Genoa, Italy for some much needed R&R, he envisioned a blissful summer enjoying the warm Italian sun, hanging out with the villagers, eating good home made Italian food, and drinking the local wine.

    Following a frustrating trip via Paris and Nice, Mark finally arrives in Santa Fiori in the rain to find the house has been trashed. Chickens and ducks from a nearby farm have taken possession of the living room, and there’s a man asleep under a pile of blankets in the bedroom.

    Tony Wheeler is English and says he’s in Italy on business. He also tells Mark that his car has been stolen, and he’s waiting for his clothes to dry and the weather to clear before he can walk to the village to inform the police. He could be telling the truth, but what if he’s not? What if he was involved in that bank robbery Mark just heard about? The one in Milan where the thieves got away with the loot.

    Mark’s creative processes immediately go into high gear. Milan is less than a hundred miles north, and Santa Fiori is just off the main Milan-Genoa highway. What if Tony Wheeler is an alias, and he’s hiding out in the hills until the heat is off?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherChristiane France
    Release dateJan 17, 2017
    ISBN9781386687283
    On Days Like These

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      Book preview

      On Days Like These - Christiane France

      On Days Like These

      The day Mark Santore, aka Sam Stevens, quit telling himself his Muse was taking a short break and faced the fact his career as a writer had run its course was the absolute worst day of Mark’s life. After a dozen highly successful novels featuring the continuing adventures of Slash Primrose, P.I., he had no choice but to take down Slash’s framed license to operate, put the now famous crystal ball back in its purple velvet-lined box, and close the dingy downtown office where Slash conducted his fictional business.

      Contrary to what his agent seemed to think, Mark hadn’t just given up without a fight. He’d tried all the tricks that were supposed to jumpstart a writer’s creativity, but to no avail. And sitting, day after day, staring at a blank computer screen, praying for inspiration hadn’t worked either. Life as he’d known it was over, and he needed to move on.

      Except Mark had the feeling that moving on wouldn’t be anywhere near as easy as people made it sound. Slash had been his main man and his principal source of income. Writing was all he knew; all he was good at. Correction...had been good at. All he seemed capable of doing now was staring into space and wondering what in hell had happened.

      Where did a has-been go from here? Enroll in a retraining program of some kind? Find work where the job requirements didn’t amount to more than the basics, such as the ability to walk, talk, read and write?

      After checking out a few employment opportunities on the ’net and deciding the nine-to-five grind wasn’t for him, Mark had gone to see his sister, Gina—the one person he could depend on for good advice. Gina wasn’t one to hand out tea and sympathy, or to pull her punches. Gina always prided herself on telling anyone who had the courage to ask, exactly how it was, in her opinion. An honest opinion was exactly what Mark had needed and that’s what he got.

      ——

      Don’t be an idiot, Mark. You can’t lose a creative talent like yours the same way you’d lose your keys or a day job.

      You think?

      I know. For years, all you’ve done is to churn out one damn book after another. You never take vacations and you almost never take a day off. I’m no expert, but I’d say your creativity is taking a well-deserved rest. And you poking and picking at it is only making things worse. Forget about it for a bit. Find other stuff to occupy your mind and your time and, before you know it, you’ll be back to writing again.

      Do what for instance? Mark had asked. Stare at the walls? I’ve been doing that on and off for two whole weeks. It didn’t work.

      You need to find something interesting or productive to do. Something to take your mind off the problem. Volunteer at the mission or the hospital. Go out and find yourself a new lover. Start a hobby. If you don’t fancy any of those ideas, get busy and find yourself a real job. Won’t hurt you to learn firsthand what the rest of us have to put up with in order to survive.

      A real job? Ouch! That had hurt. Yeah, right. Who do you think would hire me? I’ve been out of the workforce for too many years. Any skills I might have are like Stone Age, and anyone who’d give me a reference is either retired or dead. Anyway, I don’t need the money. At least not right away.

      Then travel. See the world. Our cousin, Dom, is managing the Paris branch of that bank he works for. You could visit with him. Then there’s your old college buddy, Paul. I saw his sister a few weeks ago, and she said Paul’s working at a restaurant in Nice. I know he’d be glad to see you for sure. And, don’t forget, our grandparents still own the family home in Italy. It’s a lovely old place in the foothills north of Genoa.

      That’s right. You were there a couple of years ago. What’s it like? Does it have plumbing and electricity?

      Actually, it’s closer to five years since I was there. And of course it has plumbing and electric power. It’s a few miles from the village, so you’d need a car.

      The image of a dusty, broken down, old cabin in the woods full of rats, bats and whatever popped into Mark’s head. What’s the house like? Bearing in mind no one’s lived there in years.

      "Yes, they have, and it’s really nice. Grandma has an arrangement with one of those companies that do vacation rentals. They maintain the property and rent it out to tourists. It’s the perfect place for you to just rest, relax, and watch the world go by. You get tired of the peace and quiet of the mountains and want a little excitement, go down to Genoa and check out the sights. The scenery and the flowers are so beautiful.

      Drive along the coast and visit some of the hotspots, like Portofino and San Remo where the rich and famous go to play. You get hungry or thirsty, there are lovely little bars and cafes everywhere you look. Just go, Mark. A few weeks in the sunshine of Santa Fiori di Roma and a little celebrity watching along the Italian Riviera and, I promise, you won’t know yourself. You’ll be a new man with a clear head and more new ideas than you can handle. Guaranteed.

      ——

      Talking to Gina had worked out exactly the way Mark hoped. His sister had zeroed in on the real cause of his problem and given him good advice. After sweating blood finishing that last Slash story and barely managing to make the deadline, he should have realized he was pushing himself too hard. But, instead of taking a rest, he’d kept forcing the words, and, like trying to keep a car running on just the fumes alone, everything had eventually come to a complete halt.

      Gina was probably right about distance and downtime being the solution to getting his creativity back on track. Mark didn’t know if the cure would take one month or six, or even a year. Nothing else had worked, so it was now his only option, and he was eager to give it a try. Going somewhere new, as far away from his everyday life as possible and staying long enough to give his thought processes a complete rest, made perfect sense. Even if it didn’t work out quite the way he hoped, there was always a chance the break would open his mind to different ideas and other opportunities.

      Although his family came from the old country, Mark had had no interest in going there himself. But now, after listening to Gina rave about the place, his depression had lifted, and he could hardly wait to get there. If Gina was to be believed, and she wasn’t one to exaggerate, Santa Fiori was heaven on earth. The food, the wine, and the sunshine were just the greatest, and Mark would absolutely love the way life there moved at a much slower pace.

      The moment he got home, Mark called his grandmother to find out if the house was available. Early the following morning, she called him back. She’d talked to

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