Decisions, Decisions
by Betty Webb

    Today I woke up wanting to kill someone.

After all, I’ve written 20 mystery novels covering around 60 murders in total. And most of the victims deserved their grisly fates. One of them was a polygamist “prophet” in northern Arizona (Desert Wives). Another was a child molester who, through a glitch in the law, was released early from prison (Desert Vengeance). And then, of course, there was the slaughter of thousands in Desert Wind, and…

Heck, I’ve even killed people in friendly, squeaky-clean zoos, where the animals—although never harmed—keep witnessing multiple human deaths. Such as the shocked koala in The Koala of Death, and the grumpy llama in The Llama of Death.
I’ve committed murders all over the place, even during the Roaring Twenties in Paris, France, where an American ex-pat gets involved in a murder that makes her look rather homicidal herself (Lost in Paris).

So, you see, it’s not at all unusual for me to wake up thinking about murder.

The problem is that the book I’m working on now is a sweet story about two little aliens from another planet who are doing research work here on Earth, when a woman in a small Missouri farm town mistakes them for cats.

Nobody is getting killed in this as-yet-untitled book. Why, even the aliens are so harmless they don’t even stick probes up people’s butts.

But, oooooh, I really want to off at least one person! After all, murder is what I’m known for, isn’t it? And it is sooooo addictive.

Maybe I could kill Owen, the sculptor who’d jilted Dani, my protagonist, at the high school prom. I’d love to kill that rat. Then again, that snippy real estate agent deserves to die. After all, she’s planning to sell an entire peach orchard to a developer known for building ugly shopping malls.

But I’ve pledged not to kill anyone in this book, and I always keep my promises.

Well, usually.

11-14-2025

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