Title: Till Death Do Us Part
Author: Dieter Moitzi
Series: Poireaut & Di Angeli #1
Genre: M/M Romance, Mystery
Release Date: June 24, 2020
When Auntie Agathe invites Raphaël Poireaut, a young Parisian bartender, on a Nile cruise, he isn’t really thrilled. To stare at old stones together with a bunch of old codgers—why, thanks for the gift. Unsurprisingly the trip starts off badly enough. Not only does Raphaël have an unnerving confrontation with a handsome but standoffish and haughty Italian guy, but he has barely stepped on board the cruise ship when he stumbles upon a tourist… who has been stabbed to death.
The young Venetian Stefano di Angeli agrees to spend his vacation in Egypt with his best friend Grazia. He hasn’t had holidays for six years. But his first encounter with a young, angel-faced, curly-haired Frenchie brings back painful memories. Besides, what could be worse to start a Nile cruise than to discover a murder has been committed on board? Cazzo—fate seems to bear him a grudge!
While the Egyptian police led by Colonel Al-Qaïb are investigating the murder, Raphaël and Stefano find themselves swept away by the events… and by the blooming feelings that inexorably draw them closer. Will they manage to sort out the truth from the lies and find the murderer? Will they be able to resist this mutual attraction that seems to overwhelm them against their wills?
A new, funny and light adventure by the author of “The Stuffed Coffin”, the French version of which has won the French Gay Murder Mystery Award 2019.
The young guy hears my quiet steps, or he senses my gaze. He turns around.
Oh, hel-lo, man! My heart does a backwards flip. In my job I meet handsome guys aplenty. But this one is a class of his own. His face could be that of a male model, I kid you not. As if one of those unreal guys had stepped out of the glossy pages of Vogue Homme or GQ. Manly features, sensual mouth. Square chin, Roman nose, neatly trimmed designer stubble. His forehead is bare, his dense hair styled backwards and falling behind his left ear in a natural, lazy wave as if doing it spontaneously.
Alas, my immediate interest isn’t shared. On the contrary, he reacts as if suddenly facing a monster. He should be thankful the rail in his back prevents him from moving too far back and falling into the Nile.
Quite a boost for my self-esteem.
The handsome cretin pulls himself together at the last moment and scans me from head to toe. His cold gaze hovers over my naked chest, and he frowns, his eyebrows bushy but perfectly drawn. I notice that his whole body-language exudes barely concealed distance and aversion.
Despite his hostility, I murmur, “Hi”. Somewhat coolly perhaps, but still. I was raised like that. All right, I add “Asshole!” in my head, because, hello?
The young man answers with a nod. A black lock falls over his eyes, he puts it back in place. He seems to hesitate, then turns his back on me again.
Okay, asshole. Go ahead, continue your moody brooding, I don’t care. I don’t need no mens, even if they’re handsome as fuck.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, THE sun has started its race across the pristine sky for good; the heat has risen as well. The hipster slash asshole is still sulking in his corner when I sit on a shady deckchair. Our meeting was unpleasant, but he and the guy in pink belie my initial prognosis, and that’s a good start. We’re at least three on this boat to contemplate our sixties from below.
With the back of my hand, I wipe off the sweat trickling down my chest and soaking my chest hair. I realize I’m thirsty. There’s a bottle of water in the fridge in my cabin. Let’s go get it. You always need to stay hydrated, as Auntie would say. Granted, she means drinks, as in alcoholic beverages, but that doesn’t make it wrong.
The man in the pink tracksuit has apparently seen enough, too. When I get to the top of the stairs, he’s on the last step.
He’s waiting downstairs, holding the door for me.
“Thank you,” I say.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he remarks in an affable tone.
I look up in surprise. His beautifully low voice doesn’t match his puny physique and the mousey face. He makes an affected hand movement. “The landscape, I mean. The light.”
Automatically, I think, Oh. Family. “Very beautiful indeed,” I reply. “And ‘splendid things gleam in the dust’…”
Recognizing the Flaubert-quote, he laughs good-heartedly.
The swinging door closes behind us. Another door slams softly somewhere down the corridor. In the first cabin, I hear a woman say heatedly, “... I think he got it. He won’t bother you anymore, tweety.”
Tweety! Smirk. I really wouldn’t want to be pet-named tweety.
We pass other cabins; the vague noises of conversations, no more than murmurs, drifting out. I can hear showers running as well. The ship is waking up. A nice smell wafts through the corridor, a woody, leathery perfume for men that strikes me as familiar. The pink, mousey guy in front of me must have sprinkled himself with it.
A few doors before mine, the young man stops. “See you later,” he says.
“See you later,” I reply. When I pass behind him, I get a whiff a his pronounced citrus perfume, very fresh, very pungent. Oh. He’s not the source of the leathery perfume smell…
He turns the key and opens the door. “Mon chéri—are you awake?” he asks. The door closes behind him.
I was right. Mon chéri, not ma chérie. He is family. I’m not the only gay guy on this ship.
I walk to my door while rummaging in my shorts pockets. Let’s see… mobile… pencil… notepad… h-m. Where have I put my keys? Did I take them? Damn—don’t tell me I locked myself out…!
And then—
Suddenly—
A YELL. “AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”
I JUMP, turn around, gaze down the empty corridor. What was it? Who was it? Where was it? What am I supposed to do?
“MY GOD! MICHEL!”
Michel?
A bad feeling bubbles up in my guts.
Oh, hel-lo, man! My heart does a backwards flip. In my job I meet handsome guys aplenty. But this one is a class of his own. His face could be that of a male model, I kid you not. As if one of those unreal guys had stepped out of the glossy pages of Vogue Homme or GQ. Manly features, sensual mouth. Square chin, Roman nose, neatly trimmed designer stubble. His forehead is bare, his dense hair styled backwards and falling behind his left ear in a natural, lazy wave as if doing it spontaneously.
Alas, my immediate interest isn’t shared. On the contrary, he reacts as if suddenly facing a monster. He should be thankful the rail in his back prevents him from moving too far back and falling into the Nile.
Quite a boost for my self-esteem.
The handsome cretin pulls himself together at the last moment and scans me from head to toe. His cold gaze hovers over my naked chest, and he frowns, his eyebrows bushy but perfectly drawn. I notice that his whole body-language exudes barely concealed distance and aversion.
Despite his hostility, I murmur, “Hi”. Somewhat coolly perhaps, but still. I was raised like that. All right, I add “Asshole!” in my head, because, hello?
The young man answers with a nod. A black lock falls over his eyes, he puts it back in place. He seems to hesitate, then turns his back on me again.
Okay, asshole. Go ahead, continue your moody brooding, I don’t care. I don’t need no mens, even if they’re handsome as fuck.
HALF AN HOUR LATER, THE sun has started its race across the pristine sky for good; the heat has risen as well. The hipster slash asshole is still sulking in his corner when I sit on a shady deckchair. Our meeting was unpleasant, but he and the guy in pink belie my initial prognosis, and that’s a good start. We’re at least three on this boat to contemplate our sixties from below.
With the back of my hand, I wipe off the sweat trickling down my chest and soaking my chest hair. I realize I’m thirsty. There’s a bottle of water in the fridge in my cabin. Let’s go get it. You always need to stay hydrated, as Auntie would say. Granted, she means drinks, as in alcoholic beverages, but that doesn’t make it wrong.
The man in the pink tracksuit has apparently seen enough, too. When I get to the top of the stairs, he’s on the last step.
“Thank you,” I say.
“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” he remarks in an affable tone.
I look up in surprise. His beautifully low voice doesn’t match his puny physique and the mousey face. He makes an affected hand movement. “The landscape, I mean. The light.”
Automatically, I think, Oh. Family. “Very beautiful indeed,” I reply. “And ‘splendid things gleam in the dust’…”
Recognizing the Flaubert-quote, he laughs good-heartedly.
The swinging door closes behind us. Another door slams softly somewhere down the corridor. In the first cabin, I hear a woman say heatedly, “... I think he got it. He won’t bother you anymore, tweety.”
Tweety! Smirk. I really wouldn’t want to be pet-named tweety.
We pass other cabins; the vague noises of conversations, no more than murmurs, drifting out. I can hear showers running as well. The ship is waking up. A nice smell wafts through the corridor, a woody, leathery perfume for men that strikes me as familiar. The pink, mousey guy in front of me must have sprinkled himself with it.
A few doors before mine, the young man stops. “See you later,” he says.
“See you later,” I reply. When I pass behind him, I get a whiff a his pronounced citrus perfume, very fresh, very pungent. Oh. He’s not the source of the leathery perfume smell…
He turns the key and opens the door. “Mon chéri—are you awake?” he asks. The door closes behind him.
I was right. Mon chéri, not ma chérie. He is family. I’m not the only gay guy on this ship.
I walk to my door while rummaging in my shorts pockets. Let’s see… mobile… pencil… notepad… h-m. Where have I put my keys? Did I take them? Damn—don’t tell me I locked myself out…!
And then—
Suddenly—
A YELL. “AAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHH!”
I JUMP, turn around, gaze down the empty corridor. What was it? Who was it? Where was it? What am I supposed to do?
“MY GOD! MICHEL!”
Michel?
A bad feeling bubbles up in my guts.
What is the biggest influence/interest that brought you to this genre?
I guess most people find their biggest influences date back to their childhood days. One of the first crime fiction authors I’ve ever read must have been Enid Blyton and her “Famous Five”-series, which I simply adored. Other names that come to mind are Edgar Wallace and, of course, Agatha Christie, whose books I started reading at the age of ten or eleven. I admit I didn’t read much crime fiction when I got older and only found my way back to that genre with the hilarious books of the Austrian writer Wolf Haas and the German writer Rita Falk. My decision to try my hand at M/M crime fiction has been undoubtedly triggered off by my discovering Josh Lanyon’s “Adrien English”-series.
When writing a book, what is your favorite part of the creative process (outline, plot, character names, editing, etc)?
In my case, plot and outline are never clearly defined when I start writing a book. I know where to kick off the first chapter and where I want to go, but the rest is work in progress until I’ve finished the last sentence. The same is true for my characters, who often turn out to be slightly different from what I imagined at the beginning. I do love editing because it helps me focus on the whole instead of the small bits and pieces I tackle day after day. More often than not, I start editing when I’m halfway through the book because I know I’ll have to cut at least one third of my work—I tend to get carried away and need to remind myself my goal is not to write a new “Lord of the Rings”, but a nice little murder mystery. What I love most, however, is that exhilarating moment when I type the first chapter.
When reading a book, what genre do you find most interesting/intriguing?
I’ll take a good crime novel anytime, but the genre I really love reading is dystopian or end-of-the-world novels. Octavia E. Butler, Margaret Atwood, Suzanne Collins, James Dashner are amongst my favourite writers. I’m also a sucker, pardon my French, for fantasy novels (particularly when magic is involved); I guess books like the “Harry Potter”-series make my inner child vibrate.
If you could co-author with any author, past or present, who would you choose?
Difficult to co-write a novel, I think. But I’d love to try one day, why not with Josh Lanyon, who’s an adorable woman (I had the chance to interview her) and an awesome writer.
Have you always wanted to write or did it come to you “later in life”?
I guess I always wanted to write, but I never thought I’d be a writer. I started working on my first novel at the age of ten or eleven. A doomed project if ever there was one because I didn’t have the technical skills. But I did write little snippets until I got my first job at the age of twenty-two, after I had finished university. Then a long, long hiatus until I finally wrote my first novel, “The Stuffed Coffin”. Ever since, I know what I want to be when I (finally) grow up: a full-time writer.
I guess most people find their biggest influences date back to their childhood days. One of the first crime fiction authors I’ve ever read must have been Enid Blyton and her “Famous Five”-series, which I simply adored. Other names that come to mind are Edgar Wallace and, of course, Agatha Christie, whose books I started reading at the age of ten or eleven. I admit I didn’t read much crime fiction when I got older and only found my way back to that genre with the hilarious books of the Austrian writer Wolf Haas and the German writer Rita Falk. My decision to try my hand at M/M crime fiction has been undoubtedly triggered off by my discovering Josh Lanyon’s “Adrien English”-series.
When writing a book, what is your favorite part of the creative process (outline, plot, character names, editing, etc)?
In my case, plot and outline are never clearly defined when I start writing a book. I know where to kick off the first chapter and where I want to go, but the rest is work in progress until I’ve finished the last sentence. The same is true for my characters, who often turn out to be slightly different from what I imagined at the beginning. I do love editing because it helps me focus on the whole instead of the small bits and pieces I tackle day after day. More often than not, I start editing when I’m halfway through the book because I know I’ll have to cut at least one third of my work—I tend to get carried away and need to remind myself my goal is not to write a new “Lord of the Rings”, but a nice little murder mystery. What I love most, however, is that exhilarating moment when I type the first chapter.
When reading a book, what genre do you find most interesting/intriguing?
I’ll take a good crime novel anytime, but the genre I really love reading is dystopian or end-of-the-world novels. Octavia E. Butler, Margaret Atwood, Suzanne Collins, James Dashner are amongst my favourite writers. I’m also a sucker, pardon my French, for fantasy novels (particularly when magic is involved); I guess books like the “Harry Potter”-series make my inner child vibrate.
If you could co-author with any author, past or present, who would you choose?
Difficult to co-write a novel, I think. But I’d love to try one day, why not with Josh Lanyon, who’s an adorable woman (I had the chance to interview her) and an awesome writer.
Have you always wanted to write or did it come to you “later in life”?
I guess I always wanted to write, but I never thought I’d be a writer. I started working on my first novel at the age of ten or eleven. A doomed project if ever there was one because I didn’t have the technical skills. But I did write little snippets until I got my first job at the age of twenty-two, after I had finished university. Then a long, long hiatus until I finally wrote my first novel, “The Stuffed Coffin”. Ever since, I know what I want to be when I (finally) grow up: a full-time writer.
Born in the early 70s, I grew up in a little village in Austria. At the age of 18, I moved to Vienna to get my master’s degree in Political Sciences, French, and Spanish. Today, I’m living in Paris, France, with my boyfriend and work as a graphic designer.
In my spare time, I write, read, cook fancy recipes, take photos, and as often as I can, I travel (Italy, Portugal, Morocco, Egypt, the UK, and many more places). My literary tastes are eclectic, ranging from fantasy, murder mysteries, gay romances to dystopian novels, but I won’t say no to poetry or a history book either. I’m more a hoodie/jeans/sneakers kind of guy than a suit-and-tie chap.
So far, I’ve published two short-story collections as well as four poetry collections. My first murder mystery novel “The Stuffed Coffin” featuring Damien Drechsler and the dashing Greek student Nikos has been released on January 6, 2019 and is also available in German and French. The French version has won the prestigious French Gay Murder Mystery Award 2019 (Prix du roman policier – Prix du roman gay 2019). You can also find me on Rainbow Book Reviews, where I write book reviews under the pseudonym of ParisDude (for French reviews, have a look at my review site livresgay.fr).
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