Andrea Rogers Kramer

OPENING SCENE: Introduces setting, tone, protagonist background, and our unidentified (to the reader) antagonist, and sets up the primary conflict. First 4 pages of PRESS PLAY FOR MURDER: Darcy Davidson’s killer calmly plucked the Airpods from each ear, trading the sound of Alice Parker’s podcast for the deafening thuds of their own erratic heartbeat. I always knew this day might come, the killer reckoned, careful not to draw unwanted attention as pedestrians meandered innocuously along Main Street, content and chatty in their locked-arm, summer-evening bubbles. They had no clue the person parked at the wrought-iron table outside Flub’s ice-cream shop strangled a 16-year-old girl more than 20 years ago, and not a mile from where they stood gawking at vintage dresses through floor-to-ceiling windows as children whooped in and out of the arcade. But if Alice Parker has her way, they’ll all know soon… “Yoohoo! Ladies!” a stout, porky woman beckoned from a nearby table, waving a colorful handkerchief with one pale, flabby arm. The sunset sky resembled a watercolor painting of warm pinks and corals, twinges of shadowy purples dotting the underbellies of the clouds. The killer sipped a vanilla milkshake, plugging the Airpods back in while disconnecting the Bluetooth, covertly eavesdropping as a pair of shrill, middle-aged women joined their friend at the table. “Did y’all hear?” one woman asked excitedly, scraping a metal chair along the cement. “Who hasn’t!” another retorted, plopping down with a sigh. “Alice Parker coming back to Lunken Falls. Can you believe it?” Alice Parker, the Ohio village’s prodigal daughter, had parlayed a successful investigative-reporter stint at a Cincinnati newspaper into an even more lucrative career, creating, producing, and hosting the nation’s No. 1 true-crime podcast, Death & Axes. She was revered and respected across the country, twice-interviewed by Oprah, and worshipped in her hometown -- an artsy, liberal, three-square-mile enclave amid a sea of red-font billboards warning interstate heathens of their impending road-trip to HELL, lest they REPENT IMMEDIATELY at Exit 186, 0.2 miles past the Cracker Barrel. No one in Lunken missed an episode of Death & Axes. Even the hairy-eared old-timers, long set in their AM/FM-radio ways from years of listening to Reds games on 700 WLW, had adopted new technology just to hear the town’s most famous native dissect grisly cases each season. One season of Death & Axes even prompted an eventual conviction reversal, much to the Innocence Project’s delight, and another had put pressure on local authorities in Atlanta to reopen an unsolved murder, with advancements in forensics leading to a genetic DNA match. The murderer in that case was just sentenced to life in prison, all thanks to Alice. Alice Parker got shit done. And now, the tenacious reporter had set her sights on solving her hometown’s most notorious cold case: the strangling of one of Alice’s best friends, 16-year-old Darcy Davidson. The sleepy little village – Population: 3,479 – was electrified. Well, most of the village, anyway. “We should get the Junior League to make a ‘Welcome Home, Alice’ banner to drape over the bridge!” one of the ladies suggested to much fanfare. “I’ll call my Julia RIGHT now,” another vowed, digging into her garbage-bag-sized purse. “You both know she’s a shoo-in for Treasurer this year.” The rest of the table chirped their assents. Despite a cool, twilight breeze blowing in off the riverbank, a bead of sweat rolled down Darcy’s killer’s forehead. One minute into tonight’s season premiere of Death & Axes, when Alice’s intentions became clear, the killer’s first instinct was to pack their shit and drive -- leave everything and everyone behind and start fresh in a rainy, seaside hamlet in Nova Scotia or somewhere no one bothers you. But the murderer quickly thought better of it. Running away is just begging to be caught, they decided. I’ve gotta keep my cool and trust that all the precautions I took to cover my tracks back in 1999 will hold up… and that no one will ever find the trophy I snagged that night. “Didn’t answer,” Julia’s relative announced sadly. The table mourned in awkward silence. The friendly “beep-beep!” of a passing vehicle whooshing down Main Street made the killer’s heart skip a beat. Attempting to quell another jolt of adrenaline, they gazed into the distance at the snaking Shannon River that bisected the village, the last sparkles of sunlight dancing atop the ripples along the horizon. “Do you think Darcy’s killer is still alive?” wondered Jiggly Arms. “What if he… still lives here?” she whispered. “In Lunken!” The murderer at the nearby table couldn’t see the trio, but envisioned them clutching their pearls nonetheless. “Who said it was a ‘he’?” countered another with an air of cockiness. “Poor girl was found in her bathing suit, but the LFPD never found evidence of sexual assault, remember.” Someone at the table audibly gasped. “Never thought of that,” they admitted. “My neighbor swears it was an inside job. Her own family,” she clarified in a whisper. “Those Davidsons always were trouble.” “Frank and I always figured it was a hobo. Are you allowed to use that term these days? ‘Hobo?’ Or is that like saying ‘colored people’?” A breathy debate ensued. “Anyhoo, nothing like that ever happened here before ‘99 and hasn’t since. It was obviously some sicko serial killer passing through, or probably a briar-hopper from Kentucky.” The Ohio village of Lunken Falls sat a stone’s throw from both the Kentucky and West Virginia borders, while simultaneously serving as a bedroom community for a midsized university just fifteen miles away. Its geography and liberal politics created an eclectic cultural cocktail: equal parts Bleeding-Heart Academia and Blue-Collar Bluegrass, mixed with two cups Artsy Appalachia and a heaping tablespoon of Midwest Manners; shaken, not stirred. “Prolly saw a pretty girl in the woods -- scantily dressed, I might add -- and… well,” she went on. “Wrong place, wrong time.” “Hear about it in the news every other day.” “What is this world coming to?” “Where is Yolanda, anyway?” “Well, Alice Parker won’t stop until she uncovers the truth, that’s for sure,” one of the ladies proclaimed. “If anyone can solve it, she can.” Oh, who am I kidding? They’re right, Darcy’s executioner conceded, the hopelessness bubbling up beneath their sternum. All the cops need these days is a single molecule of snot to toss into the genealogy database, and presto! ‘The feds have located your fourth-cousin twice removed and now you’ve got a date with Old Sparky.’ Just ask the Golden State Killer. “I just hope Alice is careful. If the killer was a local, God forbid –” “God forbid,” the other two echoed. “Ain’t she bringing her family to town, too, since they gotta handle her poor mamaw’s estate?” “Mmhmm. A husband and two daughters.” “Wonder when they’ll have it ready to sell. My niece Julia is always going on about buying a home in The Trees, but you know those big, old houses hardly ever go on the market anymore. I wonder what it looks like in there.” The killer’s wheels started to spin. The magnetized building blocks of an idea began to form in sparkly, chaotic bursts, on the brink of gelling into a plan of action. A dangerous plan of action, but one that just might work... “Yolanda! Over here!” a lady screeched. The killer instinctively winced, despite the guise of Airpods, and hoped no one noticed. They remained still – frozen, as if attempting to fake out a bumblebee sniffing for nectar – listening intently as a wheezing Yolanda hovered over the table. “Sorry I’m late. George stopped for gas and you’ll never guess who we ran into,” Yolanda teased, plopping what sounded like a heavy, leather purse onto the table. “Who?” they demanded in unison. “Bea Harrow,” she stated smugly. The table oohed and ahhed appropriately. As the heiress and CEO of Harrow Mill, the village’s largest employer, Bea was the richest person in Lunken Falls, not to mention one of Alice Parker’s lifelong best friends. The two of them, along with local café owner and former star athlete Carmen King, had been extremely tight with Darcy in school. If anyone had scoop on Alice’s homecoming, it was those two. “Well?!” Jiggly Arms implored impatiently. “She’s driving in early tomorrow,” Yolanda finally confessed, savoring her star turn in the spotlight as the table squealed with delight. Tomorrow, the killer noted, the escape-plan pinwheels beginning to solidify. That means tonight is my only window. I’ll have to work quickly… “That won’t be nearly enough time to print a ‘Welcome Home’ banner,” bemoaned the relative that ol’ Junior League Julia left on ‘Read.’ “C’mon, girls. Let’s pop in the boutiques before the movie starts,” Yolanda ordered. “And I know we're getting popcorn, but it wouldn’t kill us to swing into Carmen’s Café for a piece of cheesecake after, right?” added Jiggly Arms with a twinkle in her voice. “I think she means a big slice of Alice Parker gossip,” another joked as Yolanda guffawed. “If Carmen’s not there to dish, her mom Nellie might be. We play BINGO together, you know,” she bragged, as the foursome waddled away.

Story Statement: Investigative journalist Alice Parker is the No. 1 true-crime podcast host in the nation, but when she attempts to crack her hometown’s most notorious cold case, it soon becomes apparent the killer is listening – and determined to shut Alice up… for good. Antagonist Bio: One sticky summer night in 1999, a lifelong resident of Lunken Falls, Ohio – boiling with feelings of deep betrayal – wrapped their hands around the throat of of sixteen-year-old Darcy Davidson and didn’t let up until the life faded from her eyes. In the two decades since, the killer was lulled into a false sense of security, confident the calculated steps they’d taken to cover their tracks that fateful night had paid off. That is, until true-crime podcaster Alice Parker returned to shine a light on her hometown’s most notorious cold case. Now, Darcy’s murderer must execute a delicate high-wire act: spook a bulldog investigative journalist off the scent, whatever – or whomever – it takes, without letting their carefully cultivated mask slip. Breakout Titles: Listening Press PLAY for Murder Lunken Falls Comps: PRESS PLAY FOR MURDER is a mystery that plays with format, flashbacks, and points of view, weaving the perspectives of a small Ohio village into a thrilling whodunit that culminates in a final, twisting crescendo. It will appeal to fans of Alice Feeney’s HIS & HERS (soon to be a Netflix series) and international bestseller THE APPEAL by Janice Hallett. **Bonus: While I don’t consider my novel YA, a case could be made for its appeal to readers of Edgar Award winner SADIE by Courtney Summers, which also centers around a true-crime podcast host and tinkers with format. Core Wound - Part 1: Logline: With her own teenage daughter testing boundaries, a grieving true-crime podcast host seeks to solve the cold-case murder of her hometown’s homecoming princess, but it soon becomes apparent the killer is listening… and determined to stop her at all costs. Core Wound - Part 2: Inner conflict: Returning to her childhood home for the first time since her grandma’s funeral, Alice Parker is gut-punched at the sight of dead flowers in Mamaw Sue’s normally lush window boxes. She instructs herself to think about baseball, like men reportedly do when trying not to finish early during sex. Secondary conflict: Alice Parker's sixteen-year-old daughter, already surly about spending summer break cleaning out a dead relative’s house, is caught snogging the boyfriend of a neighbor girl. Tensions between Alice and the girl’s parents -- both suspects in the cold-case murder she’s investigating -- come to a head when all three teenagers go missing. Setting: The fictional village of Lunken Falls, Ohio, is primarily based on two real places of sentimental importance in my life: my own hometown of Hamilton, Ohio, colloquially referred to as “Hamiltucky” by locals, due to the number of Kentucky transplants in the early 20th century who’d relocated to work in the steel and paper mills; and the tree-lined village in which I currently reside, Mariemont – a planned, single-square-mile suburb of Cincinnati, where everyone knows everyone else, for better or for worse. I also drew inspiration from Yellow Springs, Ohio (famously home to Dave Chapelle), in so much as being a charming oasis of tolerance that attracts its fair share of day-trippers. In my novel, Lunken Falls – Population: 3,479 (the real population of Mariemont) – is a picturesque, three-square-mile hamlet set against a backdrop of cornfields, wild honeysuckle, and rolling hills of mature trees. On a map (which I literally sketched and painted during bouts of writer’s block on my first draft), the village is bisected by the snaking Shannon River – a tributary of the mighty Ohio – separating the “right” and “wrong side of the tracks.” The town is a stone’s throw from both the Kentucky and West Virginia borders, while simultaneously serving as a bedroom community for a midsized university just fifteen miles away. (“You’re gonna wanna drive past the red-font billboards warning interstate HEATHENS of their road-trip to HELL, lest they REPENT IMMEDIATELY, but if you get to the Coughs & Coffee Café/Vape Shop, you’ve gone too far.”) Meanwhile, a quaint-yet-bustling Main Street attracts its fair share of foodies, college kids, and antique hunters, featuring a two-screen movie theater, ice-cream parlor (based on a real one in Hamilton), restaurants, arcade, and other small businesses. A dollar store, pub, used-car lot, churches, and single-family Cape Cods dot the blue-collar west side of Lunken, while a library, courthouse, and city park are among the facilities on the tonier east side, where the neighbors have more room to spread out. The juxtaposition of Lunken’s conservative geography and infusion of liberal politics creates an eclectic cultural cocktail rarely seen in other rural villages in that part of the country. While the county may lean red on Election Day, Lunken Falls itself is equal parts Bleeding-Heart Academia and Blue-Collar Bluegrass, mixed with two cups Artsy Appalachia and a heaping tablespoon of Midwest Manners; shaken, not stirred. The diversity is evident in its people – and, thus, the characters in my novel – as well. The town’s biggest employer, the paper mill, has been owned and run by a well-respected Black family since Reconstruction. A Wharton grad and the mill’s current CEO, Bea Harrow, is one of my protagonist’s two best friends. The other is Carmen King, a lesbian café owner and the Latina daughter of a working-class single mother. Of course, familiarity breeds contempt, as the saying goes, and a small town like Lunken is ripe for harboring lifelong grudges and rivalries, as many of my characters do throughout the book. One of the more passive-aggressive players, for instance, is rich girl-turned-PTA President Dolores Scott, who looks down her nose at anyone who’ll sit still long enough (and who has motive of her own to be a viable suspect in the novel’s cold case).