When Real Life Imitates A Scene From Your Thriller

 

In my new thriller, there’s a scene which is set at Horton Point Lighthouse, a well-known landmark on the North Fork of Long Island. (And, yes, final revisions and edits are done, and my manuscript is back in the hands of my agent, Paula. Thank you for asking.)

In that scene, Jenna, an investigative reporter and my female protagonist, has driven to the spot for a morning workout. Unexpectedly, Brad, the town’s deputy police chief shows up. Since, to this point in the novel, the cop’s motives and conduct have appeared highly questionable, his arrival startles Jenna.

Cop or Creep?

This is how I wrote the scene:

“Jenna was breathing heavily as she reached the top of the wooden stairs that rose from the beach to the street at Horton Point Lighthouse. The lighthouse was about a ten-minute drive from the inn; close enough for Jenna to make the round trip and take the steps — twice up and down– in less than an hour.

There were 116 steps at this scenic landmark which was a popular destination with tourists. At this early hour of the morning, however, when there was not another soul around, Jenna used them as her own, personal stair master. She was staring down at her feet, treading carefully so as not to trip, when suddenly she glanced up and saw Brad, leaning against his police SUV.

W-T-F! Her heart thudded against her ribs in fear. Brad was creeping her out, no doubt about it.”

Taking A Break From TV News & Home Cooking

Fast forward to the warmest day of last week, and with temperatures close to 80 degrees, hubby Joe and I decided to end our coronavirus lockdown with a takeout picnic.

After 76 days straight of eating every meal at home (yes, each and every one cooked by me!) the idea of a takeout picnic at some scenic spot was irresistible.

It was also a chance to get away, at least for a couple of hours, from the devastating scenes of protest and police brutality on TV news.

So, Joe and I headed for Horton Point Lighthouse after pre-ordering our takeout from the North Fork Table and Inn Food Truck in Southold.

It’s a 40 minute drive from our home. But I prefer the North Fork to the South Fork (better known as the Hamptons)  because it’s quieter, less crowded and more bucolic, and there are long stretches of nothing but vineyards, farm stands, marinas, coves and deserted beaches. Most of my novel (working title, Fool Her Once) is set on the North Fork of Long Island.

Scofflaws

After picking up our takeout ( two cold lobster rolls, one portion (to share) of french fries and two beverages (Diet Coke for Joe, Sauvignon Blanc (in a can) for me) we drove to the Lighthouse. We parked at the top of the steps leading down to the beach, ignored the notice that informed us parking was for Southold Town permit holders only, and walked over to the picnic tables on the Lighthouse grounds.

I wasn’t totally comfortable about being a scofflaw, but as Joe pointed out, there was no-one else around and plenty of parking along the street. “Cops aren’t going to come down here,” he said.

“You’re probably right,” I agreed. “They’re probably out teargassing and knocking protesters around with their batons.”

Are We In Trouble, Officer?

Famous last words. We were just finishing up our picnic when a Southold Town police car rolled into view and parked right behind our car.

WTF?? I thought  — in much the same way that the protagonist of my novel thinks when she sees the deputy police chief’s SUV parked behind her Jeep.

Only, in my case, I had a pretty good idea what was about to happen. Yep, I thought. We’re about to get a parking ticket on top of the $86 tab  (tax and tip included)  for our takeout lunch?

“Are we in trouble officer?” I asked, hurrying over from our picnic table.

“Why? What do you think you’ve done?”

“Parked here.”

“Don’t you have a permit?”

“Only one for Southampton, not for Southold,” I offered. “But, we’re about to leave.”

“I’ll wait here till you do.”

Disaster averted for one white, female (with a British accent) and her husband.

Needless to say, my encounter with one town cop turned out better than my protagonist’s encounter with the slimy (fictional) deputy police chief in my novel.

And, of course, turned out a million times better than the real life horrifying encounters last week between cops and protestors who took a stand for Black Lives in cities all over the country.

Eerie Imitations

In another coincidence this week: just as I was editing this blog, the June edition of The Big Thrill newsletter landed in my inbox with this feature highlighted on the cover, When Life Imitates Art.  In it, 12 bestselling  authors including Kate White, Joe Finder, Sandra Brown, Hallie Ephron and Hank Phillippi Ryan talk about creep, scary stories which they wrote — and which then came eerily close to real life. Check it out.