Friday, April 18, 2025

πŸ°πŸ“˜πŸŽ₯Friday's Film AdaptationπŸŽ₯πŸ“˜πŸ°: The 101 Dalmatians by Dodie Smith



Summary:

The book that inspired the animated movie classic!

When Dearly's Dalmatians have their first litter of pups—fifteen in all—everyone is delighted. But their joy is shortlived, for the pups are kidnapped! Scotland Yard is baffled, but the keenest canine minds are on the case—and on the trail of Cruella de Vil, the most fiendish person to ever covet a fur coat.

Pongo and Missis would give everything they have to bring their puppies safely home... but will they succeed in rescuing them from the cluthes of the evil Cruella de Vil?

"A tale full to overflowing with those prime requisites of a good story—warmth and humor, imagination and suspense."—Chicago Sunday Tribune

"Superb reading. The puzzle of the hundred and one is delightful.... Highly recommended."—SLJ



‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ she said, dramatically, ‘puppies are arriving earlier than expected. Mr and Mrs Dearly ask you to remember that Missis has never before been a mother. She needs absolute quiet.’

There was an instant silence, broken only by a stifled sneeze. Then the guests rose, drank a whispered toast to the young mother, and tiptoed from the house.

All except Cruella de Vil. When she reached the hall she went straight to Nanny Butler, who was seeing the guests out, and demanded:

‘Where are those puppies?’

Nanny Butler had no intention of telling, but Cruella heard the Dearly voices’ and ran upstairs. This time she was wearing a black satin dress with ropes of pearls, but the same absolutely simple white mink cloak. She had kept it round her all through dinner, although the room was very warm (and the pepper very hot).

‘I must, I must see the darling puppies,’ she cried.

The cupboard door was a little open. The Dearlys were inside, soothing Missus. Three puppies had been born before Nanny Butler, on bringing Missus a nourishing chicken dinner, had discovered what was happening.

Cruella flung open the door and stared down at the three puppies.

‘But they’re mongrels – all white, no spots at all!’ she cried. ‘You must drown them at once.’

‘Dalmatians are always born white,’ said Mrs Dearly, glaring at Cruella. ‘The spots come later.’

‘And we wouldn’t drown them even if they were mongrels,’ said Mrs Dearly, indignantly.

‘It’d be quite easy,’ said Cruella. ‘I’ve drowned dozens of my cat’s kittens. She always chooses some wretched alley-cat for their father so they’re never worth keeping.

‘Surely you leave her one kitten?’ said Mrs Dearly.

‘If I’d done that, I’d be overrun with cats,’ said Cruella.

‘Are you sure those horrid little white rats are pure Dalmatian puppies?’

‘Quite sure,’ snapped Mrs Dearly. ‘Now please go away, you’re upsetting Missus.’

And indeed Missus was upset. Even with the Dearlys there to protect her and her puppies, she was a little afraid of this tall woman with black-and-white hair who stared so hard. And that poor cat who had lost all her kittens! Never, Never, would Missus forget that! (And one day she was to be glad she remembered it.)

‘How long will it be before the puppies are old enough to leave their mother?’ asked Cruella. ‘In case I want to buy some.’

‘Seven or eight weeks,’ said Mr Dearly. ‘But there won’t be any for sale.’ Then he shut the cupboard door in Cruella’s face and Nanny Butler firmly showed her out of the house.



An evil high-fashion designer plots to steal dalmatian puppies in order to make an extravagant fur coat but creates an extravagant mess instead.

Release Date: November 27, 1996
Release Time: 103 minutes

Director: Stephen Herek

Cast:
Glenn Close as Cruella de Vil
Jeff Daniels as Roger Dearly
Joely Richardson as Anita Campbell-Green-Dearly
Joan Plowright as Nanny
Hugh Laurie as Jasper
Mark Williams as Horace
John Shrapnel as Mr. Skinner
Tim McInnerny as Alonzo
Hugh Fraser as Frederick
Zohren Weiss as Herbert
Brian Capron as television news reporter
Frank Welker as the voice of Pongo and Perdita

Awards:
50th BAFTAs - April 29, 1997
Best Makeup and Hair - Lynda Armstrong, Martial Corneville, Colin Jamison and Jean-Luc Russier - Nominated

54th Golden Globes - January 19, 1997 . . . 
Best Performance by an Actress in a Motion Picture-Musical or Comedy - Glenn Close - Nominated








1961  /  1996



Dodie Smith
Born Dorothy Gladys Smith in Lancashire, England, Dodie Smith was raised in Manchester (her memoir is titled A Childhood in Manchester). She was just an infant when her father died, and she grew up fatherless until age 14, when her mother remarried and the family moved to London. There she studied at the Royal Academy of Dramatic Arts and tried for a career as an actress, but with little success. She finally wound up taking a job as a toy buyer for a furniture store to make ends meet. Giving up dreams of an acting career, she turned to writing plays, and in 1931 her first play, Autumn Crocus, was published (under the pseudonym “C.L. Anthony”). It was a success, and her story — from failed actress to furniture store employee to successful writer — captured the imagination of the public and she was featured in papers all over the country. Although she could now afford to move to a London townhouse, she didn't get caught up in the “literary” scene — she married a man who was a fellow employee at the furniture store.

During World War II she and her husband moved to the United States, mostly because of his stand as a conscientious objector and the social and legal difficulties that entailed. She was still homesick for England, though, as reflected in her first novel, I Capture the Castle (1948). During her stay she formed close friendships with such authors as Christopher Isherwood and John Van Druten, and was aided in her literary endeavors by writer A.J. Cronin.

She is perhaps best known for her novel The Hundred and One Dalmatians, a hugely popular childrens book that has been made into a string of very successful animated films by Walt Disney. She died in 1990.


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Thursday, April 17, 2025

🐰⏳Throwback Thursday's Time Machine⏳🐰: Bunny Hop Beau by Lacey Daize



Summary:
Holiday Surprise #5
Saint Patrick's Day was the best day of Avery's life, the day after was the worst.

Avery left home for Valle Granja at the insistence of his instincts, and the urging of his mama, who'd always supported him. When he meets his fated mate, Cam, at the Saint Patrick's Day Dance he understands why. But joy is soon replaced with grief when only hours later he learns that his parents were killed in a car accident—having never heard that he met his mate and leaving Avery's five-year-old brother behind.

Finding his fated mate was like a dream come true for Cam, but their bond is immediately put to the test.

Cam knew that Avery was his fated mate as soon as he saw him, and he was excited to begin their lives together. However an early-morning phone call shatters the peace of their new bond. Suddenly he finds himself as the surrport for his grieving mate and orphaned brother, a position which brings up memories of his own.

Can new love survive grief and loss, and can they come together as a family?

Bunny Hop Beau is a 23K word , non-shifter, M/M, mpreg, omegaverse romance

Content note: Loss and grief play prominent roles in this book.


Original Review March 2024:
First off I'm going to say I found Bunny Hop to be a companion piece to Lucky Dance Date(Holiday Surprise #3) as the first chapters are a recap of Lucky but from Cam and Avery's POV.  If you haven't read Lucky, I highly recommend doing so, not because you'll be lost in regards to what is going on but to some degree I would say it has spoilers for Lucky, not word-for-word but enough that I would not enjoy Lucky as much knowing what we see here first. For those who think the first chapters are wasted as "rehashing" they aren't, I was excited to see those events from Cam and Avery's POV as the friends of the MCs, not something you often get to see.

As for Bunny Hop, it goes from unbelievably happy happy to devastatingly saddy saddy in a heartbeat, which life tends to do once in a while.  As heartbreaking as the death of Avery's parents is, the flip of a coin change in emotional fortune for the pair was in a way refreshing because of the reality of it.  Hard to think in terms of reality when dealing with mpreg and omegaverse genres & tropes but the heartache leaves you even more emotionally attached to the characters than one often finds themselves.  Let's face it, Cam has been handed the perfect get-out-of-jail-free card(for lack of better phrasing) but he doesn't bite and he shows Avery just how all in he truly is, yet another reason Bunny Hop is a heart grabber.

Once again Lacey Daize has once again proven mpreg can be both realistic and fantasy all at the same time.  Can't wait to read more of her awesome stories.

RATING:




Chapter 1 - Avery 
 ~January~ 
I side-eyed the fax machine as it picked up a piece of paper and started printing. The thing was a constant thorn in my side, but no matter how often I tried to convince my bosses that it was obsolete, they insisted that we keep it. 

Apparently some people still preferred to fax documents, no matter how secure and convenient the web portals we offered. 

I blinked as it picked up a second sheet. The spam adverts that it usually printed always fit on a single page, which meant that it was one of the rare real faxes. I snagged the cover sheet and noted the number of expected pages, and whom in the office I needed to hand it over to. 

I smiled when I saw that JosΓ©—a handsome alpha mortgage broker—was the intended recipient. It gave me an excuse to talk to him.  

I’d met JosΓ© six months earlier, when I first arrived in Valle Granja, and my instincts had immediately insisted that I get close to him. The urge was almost as strong as the one that had made me move there. 

I didn’t question it at first. My mama had always stressed that the universe knew what it was doing, and that it guided us through our instincts. But after months of flirting, and him seemingly oblivious, I was starting to wonder if that inner voice had been wrong. 

Once the fax finished printing I checked to make sure that it had all arrived properly, then took it to JosΓ©’s office. 

Unfortunately, several minutes—and even an invitation to lunch—later, he still seemed as immune to my flirting as ever. 

I forced a smile as one of the other mortgage brokers, Morgan, headed towards me, and passed him as I walked to the break room.

I was almost there when I realized that I’d left my cell phone at the front desk. I turned around to grab it, but stopped when I heard something that stopped me in my tracks. 

“...I ran into my old highschool boyfriend, and… I’ve still got it bad for him,” Jose said 

“From high school?” Morgan asked. “Man, you’ve gotta move on. It’s been more than a decade, right? Why not give Avery a chance? He’s obviously interested.” 

I plastered myself against the wall. Listening was wrong, but I needed to know. 

“No omega should ever be an alpha’s second choice,” JosΓ© replied. “They deserve a mate who looks at them, and knows that there could never be another. We owe them that much since all the consequences of a failed mating falls on them.” 

“I didn’t say mate him, just date him.” 

“That would be leading him on, and I’m not down for that.” 

“Whatever man. Your loss, but maybe you should let him know so he can move on too.”

Jose sighed. “You’re probably right.” There was a pause, then he continued. “So what did you need?” 

I stepped away and decided to return to the break room without my cell phone rather than walk past the open office door and give away that I might have heard the conversation. 

I needed to think. How had my instincts been so wrong to lead me to a man who was in love with somebody else?

 ∞∞∞ 

I flopped on the couch and removed my glasses. I rubbed at a spot with the hem of my shirt until I was satisfied that whatever it was was gone, then I started to put them back on. It was then that a lock of blond hair decided to fall in front of my eyes. I huffed and smoothed it back into place, making a mental note to get a haircut, then put my glasses back on. Finally I picked up my phone. It was time for my weekly call with my parents, and I really wanted to talk to my mama. 

JosΓ©’s words had echoed in my head for days. “No omega should ever be an alpha’s second choice…”

There was a finality in the statement. He would always love his high-school boyfriend, and it would never change. Anybody else would be the backup option. 

I knew in my core that the universe wouldn’t pair me with an alpha who would forever carry a torch for somebody else. But I still had a strong urge to be near him. 

I blew out a breath and tapped my parents’ number from my contact list. 

“Avery! Sweetheart!” my mama said as she answered. “How are you doing?” 

I smiled. Somehow just hearing Mama’s voice always lifted my spirits. “I’m good, Mama. How about you?” 

She laughed. “Busy as always. You know how it is.” 

“I know. But you’ll have to slow down at some point.” 

“Ridiculous!” she replied. “Only death itself can slow down your dad and I.” “Somehow I’m not surprised,” I laughed. “How’s Eric?” 

Mama sighed happily. “He’s good. He’s at a birthday party for one of his classmates right now.” 

I chuckled. “And you were worried that he wouldn’t make friends.” 

“All the other parents are your age or younger!” Mama protested. “Your dad and I are in our fifties.”

“I don’t think anybody cares about that,” I argued. “What they care about is Eric, and what they see is a happy and healthy five-year-old.” 

Mama sighed happily. “He reminds me so much of you at that age. Full of energy, and so kind to everybody. I bet he’ll even look like you when you grow up. He’s got the same blond hair and slight frame. Just missing the glasses, though the pediatrician’s keeping an eye on his vision.  I just wish you’d have been born closer together.” 

“Life does funny things. It just decided that I needed a baby brother to keep you busy until I have kids of my own.” 

“That it does, and we’re happy to have him around.” Mama paused. “Did you want me to call in your dad?” 

I licked my lips, trying to decide. 

“Ave? Honey?” 

“Mama?” 

“Yes dear? 

“Do you remember when I moved out here, that I felt that my instincts were pulling me?” 

“Of course.”

“Did I tell you about the alpha at my work?” 

Mama hummed as she thought about the question. “You mentioned that there was a handsome alpha there, but that was all. Are things going ok?” 

I sighed. “I don’t know. My gut says to stay close to him, and I thought that meant that I was going to end up with him at some point. But I don’t know what to think anymore.” 

“Oh honey, what happened?” 

I took a deep breath. “I overheard him talking to another mortgage broker at the firm. Apparently he’s still in love with an omega he dated in high school.” 

Mama hummed. “Ok…” 

I paused. “Mama… he said something that I can’t get out of my head.” 

“What was it?” 

“He said that no omega should ever be an alpha’s second choice.” 

Mama sighed softly. “He’s right.” 

I blinked. “Mama?” 

“He’s right. But it goes both ways. Nobody should ever be the second choice, alphas or omegas. You want a partner who looks at you and can’t imagine anybody better.”

“What’s it mean though? Why are my instincts insisting that I get close to him if I would only be second best?” 

“Just because the universe says to get close, doesn’t mean they’re supposed to be your mate. I don’t think it’s ever really discussed, but if we can have fated mates, then surely we can have fated friends.” 

“Fated friends?” 

Mama laughed. “Why not? If the universe wants people to be close, it doesn’t have to limit it to romantic partners.” 

I was silent as I thought about it. Was I meant to have JosΓ© as a friend, not as a mate? Somehow it felt right. 

“Did that answer your question honey?” 

I smiled. “It did. I feel better now. Thanks Mama.” 

“I think you already knew the answer, but sometimes it helps to talk things out.” 

“You’re probably right.” 

Mama laughed. “Only on good days. Let me call in your dad so he can talk too.” 

“Ok.”

She set down the phone and I closed my eyes, running over our conversation while I waited for my dad to join her. 

Mama always knew just what to say to make me feel better about myself, and I couldn’t imagine life without her.



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Lacey Daize
Lacey lives in New Mexico with her four critters. She’s a Jill-of-all-trades by day, but loves writing in her spare time. She dabbles in a variety of pairings, but jumped feet-first into the deep end of omegaverse the first time she read it. She loves the play on social expectations and the different ways to express romance.


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Bunny Hop Beau #5



Monday, April 14, 2025

🐰Monday's Memorial Moment🐰: Easter, 1929 by Frank W Butterfield



Summary:

Nick & Carter Holiday #8
Sunday, March 31, 1929

Mrs. Wilson Jones (Louise) of Albany, Georgia, wakes up on yet another Sunday morning to discover her husband didn't come home after carousing down at Louray's by the river.

But she doesn't have time to worry. Easter dinner will be at her sister's house and Mrs. Jones has biscuits to bake. So, she turns on the radio, begins to sing with The Chambers Family Quintet, broadcasting over WSJ in Atlanta, and gets the buttermilk out of the icebox. There's work to be done and Mrs. Jones is a good cook, keeps a clean house, and always delivers on her promises.


Original Review April 2022:
Although this is an entry in the Nick & Carter Holiday series, Easter 1929 is a snapshot in the life of 8 year old Carter, long before meeting Nick.  Having yet to read the Nick Williams Mystery series, I have only seen snippets of the characters both as a pair and individuals through these short stories so I imagine, like the other 3 I've read, we see reasons why Carter, in part at least, feels the way he does in regard to family and childhood.

As for Easter, 1929 I can't help but be reminded of my own grandfather who would also have been 8 that year(though only 7 at Easter) and a year later his mother died from breast cancer and his aunt moved in to help his dad raise him and his 2 sisters.  From the stories I've heard, I can see similarities between Carter's family members and my grandfathers'(although my grandfather utterly adored his mother and took her death very hard and his dad was an uber Dutch Reformed Church member not a drunk) and I couldn't help but picture a young Berdean Vande Vrede in Carter's place.  So not only is this short a very intriguing and I imagine telling peak into events that helped shape Carter into the man who falls for Nick Williams but it also helped me play out that moment in time in my grandpa's life in my mind's eye.  I find stories that help the reader connect on a personal level and absolute treasure and that's what Easter, 1929 is for me.

I don't know just when I'll get to read the original Nick Williams Mystery series(I will though and I already have the first 2 on my kindle) but believe me with each new holiday short, it moves up a few notches on my TBR list.

RATING:



Chapter 1 
736 West 2nd Avenue
Albany, Ga.
Sunday, March 31, 1929
Half past 6 in the morning 

Mrs. Wilson Jones (Louise) opened her eyes just as the sun began to flood the windows of her modest bedroom. Without looking, she tentatively reached out with her left hand and discovered that her husband was, once again, not in bed beside her on a Sunday morning. This was no surprise to Mrs. Jones, but she was disappointed that he hadn't bothered to show up before dawn on Easter Morning. 

With a sigh, she threw back the covers, which consisted of a thin cotton sheet, a thin summer blanket, and her grandmother's handmade quilt. Granny Carter had made a quilt for each of her three granddaughters. Mrs. Jones happened to possess the one that was mostly green and blue, and she was always grateful it was that one and not the one that her sister Maria had insisted on which was an awful red and black pattern. 

As she stood, she pulled on her cotton nightgown and cinched it tightly around her waist. She loved the feeling of security that the extra hard tug on the belt would bring her. Walking into the small bathroom that was included with the bedroom, she took care of her morning business. Once she was done, she picked up the new cake of Ivory soap and vigorously washed her hands. She'd read in The Atlanta Journal about how important washing one's hands was as a morning ritual, particularly upon rising. It helped get rid of deadly germs and Mrs. Jones was a firm believer that her attention to household cleanliness was the primary reason her two sons, Robert, age 9, and Carter, age 8, had both grown up free of the usual early childhood ailments, except for the chickenpox which, as Mrs. Jones well knew, every boy and girl needed to get as a child in order to avoid problems when they were young adults. 

Once she had thoroughly rinsed her hands, Mrs. Jones left the bathroom, ensuring her hands were dry before depressing the electric light switch. She quietly made her way through the bedroom and out onto the landing. She saw that the doors to her sons' bedrooms and the bathroom at the end were all hygienically closed with the dormers open above them. 

She made her way cautiously down the stairs, keeping a sharp eye out for toys that one or both of her sons might have inadvertently brought out during the night (something they had never done but it didn't hurt to check) and then confidently put her foot on the floor at the bottom of the stairs and made a right, walking through the living room and dining room and towards the kitchen at the rear of the house. 

As she walked past the new sofa (all of Mrs. Jones's furniture was new, having been purchased in February when they took possession of the new house her husband had bought, all cash), she glanced to see if the sleeping body of her husband might be visible. It was not. 

Mrs. Jones pinched herself on the inside skin of her left wrist in order to banish the passing hope that she might find his dead body strewn about somewhere out front or, preferably, in the backyard where the neighbors would be less likely to see it. Of course, Mrs. Jones considered, as she opened the radio cabinet door to switch on station WSB broadcasting from Atlanta, that, when the police arrived to take her statement as the grieving widow (Mrs. Jones liked that phrase—it gave her immense satisfaction), the neighbors would then have to know what happened. News would, as it always did in both white and colored Albany, spread like wildfire. The neighboring housewives, like Mrs. John Colbert (Roberta) who lived next door, would pick up their telephones (if they had one) and call their closest friends, making sure to speak loud enough for their colored maids to hear, like Ninny, Mrs. Colbert's maid who had also worked for Mrs. Colbert's mother until the poor dear passed in 1921. The colored maids would then tell the milkman or the butcher or the little colored boy who delivered the early-evening Atlanta Constitution all about it and the news would be off to the races. 

As the radio began to warm up and she could hear the familiar voices of The Chambers Family Quintet singing "Bringing in the Sheaves," Mrs. Jones pinched herself one more time. She asked herself, "What sort of woman entertains such morbid thoughts?" Although, in her heart of hearts, Mrs. Jones well knew the answer, she was unwilling to look there. Instead, as she pulled out the pitcher of buttermilk from the icebox, she began to sing along with Hannah Chambers, the group's youngest member who was sweetly performing a solo on the second verse: 

Sowing in the sunshine, sowing in the shadows, 
Fearing neither clouds nor winter’s chilling breeze; 
By and by the harvest, and the labor ended, 
We shall come rejoicing, bringing in the sheaves. 

That song always cheered her up. Mrs. Jones remembered seeing a photograph of the entire Chambers family in the Albany paper. The oldest had been the father, Adolphus, then his wife, Mary. In the paper, Mrs. Chambers had looked very strict but, being a Methodist, she would be. The oldest boy was Jeremiah, age 17, followed by Ezekiel, age 14, and then little Hannah, age 9. That was the same age as her Robert, and she was just as cute as you please. She had black hair pulled tightly into pigtails. Mrs. Jones had, on occasion, dreamed of having a daughter of her own. She could see her own little girl, blonde perhaps, sitting at a perfect little dressing table and allowing her perfectly shiny hair to be brushed a hundred times each night by her adoring mother. If she were only allowed to have two children, and Mrs. Jones had thought about this at length, she would have preferred to keep Robert and send Carter over to live with her sister Velma, who was childless, so she, Mrs. Jones, could welcome a little girl into the family home. Mrs. Jones was convinced that, if she ever had a girl baby, her husband would probably not drink as much as he did or be as rough with the children or with her as he was. 

The phone in the living room suddenly burst through her reverie with the familiar two long rings followed by one short ring that meant the operator was calling their house. Mrs. Jones carefully covered the buttermilk pitcher with a towel to keep any flying or crawling bugs from getting in and immersing themselves into the liquid and become undetectable until someone accidentally found one in a biscuit. As the phone rang a second time, Mrs. Jones turned down the volume knob on the radio and then picked up the black candlestick phone, removed the receiver, placed it firmly against her ear to make sure she could clearly hear the far side of the conversation, and then conscientiously said directly into the device, "This is J-73." 

"Louise?" 

"Good morning, Velma. Happy Easter." 

"Happy Easter to you, Louise. Did Wilson make it home yet?" 

"No," was Mrs. Jones's crisp and curt reply.

"Well, I thought I'd call and let you know he should be on his way. Roscoe just crawled through the front door and he smells like the inside of distillery. I don't know yet whether he'll make it to church or not." 

"Velma! It's Easter Sunday! What will the preacher think if you're there without him?" 

Velma chuckled. "Brother Wilkins was down by the river with the rest of the sinners, Louise." 

Mrs. Jones simply couldn't believe that was possible. "There must have been some sort of mistake, Velma. Brother Wilkins is a teetotaler. Everyone in town knows that." 

Velma chuckled at the other end of the line again. Mrs. Jones hated when her sister laughed at her. She knew that Velma didn't keep to the same standards as herself. Mrs. Jones always felt as if she had to hold up the Carter family pride, even if Velma didn't. And Maria, their third sister, had a stubborn streak a mile wide so there was no reasoning with her. But Velma could be reasonable when she decided to. However, there were some things her sister did that Mrs. Jones simply could not abide. 

One example that always got on her nerves was how Velma was so familiar with Mattie, her colored maid. It was all fine and well to talk about how those people were members of the family, but it really didn't do to be going over and having tea in dark town. It just wasn't right. Mrs. Jones, of course, didn't have a maid. Wilson didn't like having colored in the house, even if they only worked in the kitchen and came in through the back door. Mrs. Jones thought it was all for the best, in any event. She was sure Wilson would have been rude to anyone who came in to help. Besides, she could do her own housework, thank you very much. She never understood why Velma kept Mattie on. She didn't have any children. Of course, she and Leroy did live in that big old house just outside of downtown. But still— 

"Louise? Are you there?"

"Yes, Velma." 

"You didn't answer my question." 

"What question was that?" 

Velma sighed. "Are you still planning on bringing your biscuits over for Easter dinner today? If not, I need to let Mattie know right this minute. Otherwise, I'll be in trouble again and she might not cook dinner." 

"Really, Velma. The way you let that woman boss you around is just shameful." 

"Is that a yes or a no?" 

"Of course I'll bring my biscuits," replied Mrs. Jones with a sharp tone of irritation in her voice. "But how can I cook if I'm spending the whole blessed morning on the phone?" 

With that, her sister hung up.



Nick Williams Mystery Series
In 1953, the richest homosexual in San Francisco is a private investigator.

Nick Williams lives in a modest bungalow with his fireman husband, a sweet fellow from Georgia by the name of Carter Jones.

Nick's gem of a secretary, Marnie Wilson, is worried that Nick isn't working enough. She knits a lot.

Jeffrey Klein, Esquire, is Nick's friend and lawyer. He represents the guys and gals who get caught in police raids in the Tenderloin.

Lt. Mike Robertson is Nick's first love and best friend. He's a good guy who's one hell of a cop.

The Unexpected Heiress is where their stories begin. Read along and fall in love with the City where cable cars climb halfway to the stars.

Long before the Summer of Love, pride parades down Market Street, and the fight for marriage equality, San Francisco was all about the Red Scare, F.B.I. investigations, yellow journalism run amok, and the ladies who play mahjong over tea.

Saturday Series Spotlights
Part 1  /  Part 2  /  Part 3

Nick & Carter Holiday Series
Welcome to a year of holidays with Nick Williams and Carter Jones!

This is a series of short stories with each centered around a specific holiday.

From New Year's Day to Boxing Day, each story stands on its own and might occur in any year from the early 1920s to the first decade of the 21st Century.





Frank W Butterfield
Frank W. Butterfield is the Amazon best-selling author of 89 (and counting) self-published novels, novellas, and short stories. Born and raised in Lubbock, Texas, he has traveled all over the US and Canada and now makes his home in Daytona Beach, Florida. His first attempt at writing at the age of nine with a ball-point pen and a notepad was a failure. Forty years later, he tried again and hasn't stopped since.


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Easter, 1929 #8

Nick Williams Mystery Series
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