By the time Patricia was reading Nancy Drew and Cherry Ames, she was incurably addicted to the written word. She jumps from frivolous amateur sleuth mysteries to classics to best-selling novels to non-fiction on most any topic. Three of Patricia’s favorite books are The Good Earth by Pearl Buck,  Kristin Lavransdatter by Sigrid Undset and A Circle of Quiet by Madeline L’Engle.

Squeezed into her busy working years were the joys of being wife and mom; lots of travel, including two years living in the south of France in the mid-80′s and a solo trek to Norway in 1998; and a constant struggle with the nagging inner writer who has insisted since high school that she keep putting words on paper.

When she and her husband, Bill, retired and moved to Colorado, Patricia finally got down to the serious business of writing. The Troubleshooter, an action-adventure novel she’d co-authored with her brother, Robert Swartz, was distributed on audiotape by Books in Motion and remained in circulation for over four years. Short pieces appeared in local publications: Mountain Scribe Anthology 2004 and Cacophony 2005.

Patricia’s first mystery, The Prairie Grass Murders, released by Five Star Publishing in 2007, is now available as an audiobook (including MP3 download) from Books in Motion. The second book in the Sylvia and Willie series, The Desert Hedge Murders, is scheduled for hardback release in August, 2009.

More about The Prairie Grass Murders, links to critics’ reviews, and Patricia’s schedule of appearances can be found at www.patriciastoltey.com
She also invites you to visit her blog at http://patriciastoltey.blogspot.com.

Read an excerpt from The Prairie Grass Murders:

Willie narrowed his eyes against the sun’s glare as he watched the huge bird circle overhead. From a distance, he’d thought it was a hawk. Now he was closer, and he could tell from the six-foot wingspan that it was a turkey vulture, the first he’d seen in this part of Illinois.
The species had once inhabited the central prairies in large numbers. Now the birds weren’t so common. Even so, there was hardly a soul alive who didn’t know what function these scavengers performed in the earth’s food chain.
Willie watched the buzzard float overhead, then turned to study the rundown farmhouse and neglected yard of his former home. After a moment he continued his trek toward the western edge of the property. He would stop by the house on his way back to Sangamon City.
A combine clanked along the narrow road behind him, raising a cloud of dust that slowly deposited a pale gray coating on the nettle and milkweed growing along the fence. As the farmer guided his massive machine past, he glanced at Willie, clean-shaven and neatly dressed. Willie raised his arm and waved, and the farmer nodded in return.
With a tug on the straps, Willie adjusted his new backpack and followed the combine toward the narrow bridge just ahead. A creeping film of perspiration on his forehead threatened to bead and form wet trails through the dust settling on his skin. He pushed his Marlins cap back and used his sleeve to wipe the sweat from his face and neck.
It had been over thirty years since he last visited this part of the country and even longer since living here. He’d forgotten how hot Illinois could be in September and wished he’d waited to take this nostalgic journey in October, when the air was crisp and the trees wore their flamboyant red and orange uniforms.
The trip provided a much-needed break from the unusually active hurricane season which had selected Florida as its primary target. After two back-to-back stints as a volunteer at one of the Red Cross storm shelters, Willie definitely needed this holiday.
As he approached the bridge he picked up his pace, eager to see one of his favorite old haunts. A few minutes later, he stood on the sun-bleached wooden planks and looked over the waist-high, rusted railing into the drainage ditch. Then he turned to survey the countryside. He whistled as he glanced around, observing the flat terrain, the straight rows, the order. Illinois was so different from the semi-tropical excesses of South Florida. He gazed at the wheat fields, soybeans, and a cornfield off in the distance. Some crops were already harvested but all had taken on the color of dried cornstalks.
Gripping the top of the railing as he leaned forward, Willie peered as far as he could see under the bridge. Clear as a mountain stream, he thought as he watched the water moving swiftly over sandy loam.
Higher along the banks, and meandering here and there down toward the water, were patches of prairie tallgrass. Butterprint and milkweed flourished on the untended slopes. A few yards away from the bridge, a dense stand of wild raspberry brambles threatened to spread into the field.
As Willie considered the satisfying memories triggered by the images and smells of the countryside, he also noticed the vulture tightening its circular patrol over the bridge. Keeping an eye on me, Willie thought.

©2007 Patricia Stoltey