Bootleggers, Mentalists, and Murder with Carolyn Marie Wilkins

It's a Mystery Podcast

Trouble is in Carrie McFarland's future. Carrie McFarland, the protagonist of Carolyn Marie Wilkins' book, Death at a Séance, isn't looking for trouble, but she finds it at her new job in 1920 Indiana. Carolyn is a woman with a wide range of interests, passions, and professions. She has been a Jazz Ambassador for the United States (I had to ask her what that is and she answers in the interview portion of the show), a music professor, a Reiki healer, a writer, and a medium, among other things. The dialogue and character voices that Carolyn performs while she reads her excerpt are amazing and she pointed out that this is due to her musical background. She has an ear for voices. This week's mystery author Carolyn Marie Wilkins is an author, a musician and a psychic medium. She is the author of three mystery novels: Death at a Séance, Melody for Murder and Mojo for Murder. She has performed with the Pittsburgh Symphony and represented her country as a Jazz Ambassador for the U.S. State Department. In addition, Carolyn maintains an active private practice as a psychic medium and Reiki healer. To learn more about Carolyn and all her books visit CarolynWilkins.com Press play (above) to listen to the show, or read the excerpt below. Remember you can also listen on Apple Podcasts,Stitcher, Android, Google Podcasts, TuneIn, and Spotify. Excerpt from Death at a Séance The offices of Gaylord Wilson Entertainment were located on the third floor of a seedy walkup in the heart of Claxton’s red-light district. It was just before noon, and the streets were still quiet. No doubt the ladies of the evening were still recuperating from the previous night’s endeavors. This was my first time away from Aronsville since leaving Blockport. Claxton wasn’t much bigger, but it did feel more alive. The few people out on the streets at this early hour bustled with a sense of greater self-importance. The buildings were taller; the traffic more intense, the sense of danger somehow heightened. Maybe this impression was colored by the fact that I was about to meet the partner of the man who may have murdered Miss Parker. Whatever the reason, my heart was pounding a mile a minute as I knocked on the Gaylord Wilson’s office door. “Don’t just stand there,” a gruff voice of indeterminate sex barked in response. “Come in. It’s unlocked.” The small reception area had a large black desk facing the door. Once inside, I could see that the voice I’d heard belonged to a colossus of a woman wearing what appeared to be full stage makeup – enormous circles had been painted around her eyes, and her lips were smeared with a shade of crimson that reminded me of an animal having just ripped apart a bloody carcass. Completing the ensemble was a foot-high pile of platinum blonde hair that could only have come from a bottle. “Good morning,” I said. Slowly, the gigantic woman raised her head and studied me, her beady kohl-enhanced eyes inspecting me from top to bottom. “If you’re looking for work on the cleaning crew, we’re not hiring,” she said, and returned to the work on her desk. So much for my plan to find work with Wilson’s company as a maid. My only choice was to bluff my way into being hired as a performer. “How dare you,” I said in my most regal voice. “I am no mere cleaning woman. My name is Bright Feather. I am a psychic and I have come to perform in your show.” The woman’s face brightened. “An Injun? Why didn’t you say so in the first place. What did you say your name was?” “Bright Feather,” I said. “I can talk to the dead, tell the fortunes of the living and cross between the two worlds at will.” The look on the receptionist’s face told me she had heard this kind of show-business puffery many times before. “We’ve already got a mental act on this revue, honey. Name’s Miss Cora. Reads minds, sees the future – all that stuff. We don’t need another one.”