Hi, Friends. Are you for a vacation read that’s fun and no fuss? This summer, I’m taking a break from blog post programming and sharing chapters from MODEL WAVE, the second book in the Backyard Model Mysteries. It’s a comic cozy mystery of boats, romance, and a splash of Northwoods mischief—a perfect getaway for mystery and boat lovers!
The background: MODEL WAVE, a funny Northwoods mystery
Retired fashion model turned business owner Mel Tower is burned out after solving a holiday murder at her Wisconsin business, an arts and craft mall. Craving a reset, she heads to the Wisconsin Northwoods—and a first date with a silver-fox sheriff. Over turtle sundaes, sparks fly… until a man is found “pontooned”—dead in his boat. When the sheriff’s called to the scene, their sweet evening sours fast.
Let’s float into the First Chapter of MODEL WAVE by TK Sheffield
Pontoon boats aren’t monsters. They’re not Leviathans prowling Northwoods lakes disguised behind groovy fiberglass panels and putt-putt motors to harm vacationers.
Or are they?
I, Mel Tower, occupied a table on the outdoor deck at the Glass Bottom restaurant. I watched whitecaps roll across the lake and pontoons buck against their tethers. The boats were opposites—big, small, new, old—and tied tightly to the pier.
They seemed to have violent opinions about such restriction.
No wonder. The sun blazed now, but the forecast called for storms.
A sixty-ish fellow with smoke-colored eyes approached with a menu. “Good afternoon, ma’am. What’s made of cheese and haunts Lake Minocqua?”
I smiled. “The Loch Minoc Muenster.”
He laughed. “You read the cartoon over the bar. My name’s Curtis Grey.” He handed me the menu. “Try the fried cheese curds … on me. It’s a new recipe I developed.”
I ordered a small portion of the curds. Grey, who wore a T-shirt saying “Fry More, Worry Less,” delivered an overflowing platter. (Note: When dining in Wisconsin: a small is large, and a large is, well, Leviathan.)
Grey said he’d bought into the place and was improving the food. “I want to make this restaurant a destination stop.”
I nodded toward the pier. “You’re already popular with the pontoons.”
“Nah, they don’t eat unless you count gettin’ gas from the pump.” He pointed to a vessel tied to the pier. “See my boat? It’s the big shiny one on the end. No Bullship. Just got her.”
I sampled the curds while studying the boat. It was a mega, a tri-toon with dual motors and plush captain’s chairs. Impressive. Different from the others, which were mostly charming older models. Station wagons of the seas, as beloved in the Northwoods as stars, s’mores, and campfires.
As for the curds, they were delicious. Crispy, fragrant. Slightly salty. I only ate a few. I had a date later with a handsome sheriff and didn’t want to spoil my appetite.
It was spoiled, it turned out.
No Bullship, indeed.
The Loch Minoc Muenster joke was for sale. Twenty bucks bought a framed cartoon of a lake with a snake made of cheese that curled its head above water.
The purchase included a free drink, too.
Not a bad deal. I’m a fashion industry refugee, er, retiree, and current art mall owner. I encourage supporting local artists and businesses.
I’d been up north for a few days, pursuing R&R in Copper Falls, the Land of Pines, Lakes, and Historic Supper Clubs. My regular job was owning a craft mall in Cinnamon, about five hours south.
Just as I was exiting the restaurant to prepare for my date, my friend Susan Victory strode in.
No, stumbled in.
She and her friends sported cover ups over their swimsuits, their faces tanned from the June sun.
Susan wore a white caftan. Delicate fish-shaped earrings dangled from her ears, and a matching pendant circled her neck.
I knew she’d made ‘em. Susan was a silversmith, one of the first artists to open a booth in my mall. I adored her—when she wasn’t drinking.
I gestured to a table. “Susan, sit down. I’ll order coffee.”
“Mel, my bestie!” she cried. “Where’ve you been? I’ve barely seen you since I got to the N-Northwoods.” She waved toward the deck. “Ali and Ericka wanna sit on the patio and have a drink. Have you met?”
I nodded. “Ericka is the woman who found my rental. And you introduced me to Ali the first night here.”
“How come we haven’t spent time t-together?”
Susan towed me toward the deck.
“I’m enjoying my cottage on the quiet side of the lake,” I said. “You have your friends and condo on the busy side.”
“Hey, I have a joke.” She hiccuped gently. “You’ll love it as a former m-model. What did the photographer say after he’d spent all day taking pictures of lake birds?”
I thought for a moment. “He had no egrets?”
“Egrets … regret.” She laughed. “Get it?”
At the table, her friends had parked and were already pouring rum runners.
Regret?
I wasn’t the fun police. I loved a day on a lake with refreshments, but I felt Susan and her friends would regret their actions in the morning.
Curtis Grey brought cheese curds to our table, passing out the golden orbs like they were candy. If I didn’t know better, I’d say he was the captain of the Good Ship Pepper Jack instead of the Bullship.
“You gotta try these. It’s our new recipe,” he said. “Don’t worry about the bill. It’s on me.”
I smelled spices and cheese. If one has never enjoyed fresh curds robed in batter and served while seated by a Northwoods body of water, one should do it, posthaste.
Susan reached for a sample.
Too quick, I feared.
The curds were direct from the fryer. Steam rose from the plate, and oil still crackled.
“Susan, wait—”
She waved me off. “We came here for a vacation, remember? YOLO, you only live once.” She selected a crispy morsel and bit the bread coating.
She jerked—burning grease spattered her chin. “Ouch, help!”
Susan’s chair, shaky as a newborn foal, wobbled—CRACK! She went down as the chair broke, drinks and curds flying.
“Whoa!” I cried. “Are you okay?”
She groaned and touched her lip. “I need … water.”
Ericka jumped up. “I’ll get it.”
Ali flew to Curtis Grey a few tables away. The woman barely reached the man’s elbow but thumped his bicep with force. “Curt, stop serving things so hot!” She snarled. “You wanna get sued? Get me antibiotic ointment!”
I knelt by Susan, shocked to see her splayed on the deck, her dress torn, the necklace broken, the chair in pieces.
“Don’t move. Let’s make sure nothing is broken,” I said.
Susan waved me off again. “Get me a fresh drink, Mel. I need a stiff one.” She touched her lip where a blister already bubbled. “Ask the bartender to make a ‘Scotch Tape.’ Maybe that will patch this old girl back together again.”
She giggled.
I didn’t.
Susan and I had problems last winter. She suggested this vacation to mend our friendship.
Seeing her on the floor asking for a drink made me feel awful. It was the opposite of what I expected of our time in the Northwoods.
Little did I know the day would get worse.
I served Susan sparkling water.
Ali secured a new chair. “I told Curt to get rid of those old ones,” she complained. “Replace ‘em all with the Yaack Three Thousands. They’re my top of the line stool. Expensive, but worth it.”
Ali von Yaack is heir to the furniture von Yaack’s of Chicago. Upon meeting her, she’ll tell you all about it. After listening to her sales talk when I first met her, I asked if she gave out stool samples.
It was a joke. I think that’s why Ali doesn’t like me much.
Susan perched in the new chair, disheveled but otherwise unharmed.
I brushed hair from her face. “I’ll call you. Drink water.”
“Where’re you headed?” she asked.
“I have to let Max out.”
“Give my favorite rescue dog a hug from his Aunt Susan—”
“Gotta run.”
I made a quick exit. I hadn’t told Susan about my date with the sheriff. She’d tell her friends, and I didn’t want rumors to start.
I crossed the parking lot, thinking about Sheriff Cole Lawrence. He and I had met months ago. He’d visited Cinnamon when I was a suspect in a murder case. Awkward beginning, I know. I also had an on-again, off-again relationship with a pilot, but we’d diverted.
Cole and I kept in touch during the past six months. When I said I was coming north, he suggested going out for frozen custard as our first official date. Cole was picking me up at my rental at eight. I had time to take Max for a walk, boat-watch from my little pier, and then shower and get ready.
I hopped in my car, an ancient Saab convertible, and turned the key. At the same time, lightning cracked on the horizon, then thunder. Boom!
I jumped, shocked because skies were clear.
I immediately felt cursed, vulnerable. Like a squall was coming and there was nowhere to hide.
I don’t do curses. Well, except for boiling rival NFC-North football team jerseys in a cauldron under a full moon each autumn, but every Wisconsinite does that. The spell is taught in schools along with the art of throwing tailgating parties, for Vince Lombardi’s sake.
I stood on the dock of my rental, which hugged the channel between Glass Lake and Lake Minocqua. Max, my furry best friend, was near me. We’d taken a walk. And, since we’d arrived in Vacationland, the collie had discovered a new favorite pastime: reading boat names.
Yes, collies can read, and Max’s sense of humor is positively pawsome. The wind had picked up, but we still saw a parade of party barges cruising the water. National Pontoon’s Vacation was followed by Toon-Tastic. Those older boats were my favorites, slow-moving vintage gems with beach chairs for seats.
Max seemed to prefer larger vessels. He woofed at Big Nauti, a wakeboard boat with splashy paint and graphics.
Its captain waved at us. “Beautiful dog, ma’am,” he said.
“Thanks. Nice boat.”
He trimmed down the giant motor. It moved into position—CLUNK—and the driver throttled up. The Nauti’s engine rumbled like a Harley-Davidson. The pier vibrated, and I suspected the monster could fly across the lake.
Sure enough, it glided past cottages and docks, and then on open water, it conquered the choppy waves like a fiberglass warrior, its green LED lights giving off a spooky, spaceship aura.
I thought about Curtis Grey’s No Bullship. That boat had double the engines of this one, a twin pack. Dual 300 Mercs that could race the wind.
I’d never been on a pontoon like it. I wondered how fast No Bullship could go.
I’d find out, unfortunately.
Thanks for listening, friends. Hope you enjoyed it. The Backyard Model Mysteries are from my heart, books to laugh and escape with no sex, politics, foul language, or graphic violence. They’re available at the big place, the ‘Zon, but also at your favorite bookstore, just ask them to order it. Also, Bookshop carries them. To support your local indie, select it, then search for MODEL SUSPECT, MODEL WAVE, or MODEL GHOST. Even if you purchase from Bookshop, a portion of the money goes to indie bookstores. Also, if you’re in Wisconsin, Wisconsin Public Radio is on the road this summer and they’re searching for the favorite indie bookstores! See their Facebook post and add yours!
Other News:
The Wisconsin Writers Association: WWA hosts its annual conference in Stevens Point Oct. 3-4. Early bird pricing for members opens June 1, 2025. The conference sells out, and it features Christine Clancy, author of The Snowbirds, as its keynote speaker! Isn’t that fabulous? The conference has workshops, master classes, agent pitch sessions, and the Jade Ring awards dinner. Also, rumor has it that the Midwest Writers Room will be interviewing authors and guests in a remote podcast.
WisMissus Podcast: If you’re an indie author seeking insider info about publishing, check out the podcast where author and book marketing pro Valerie Biel and I discuss the joys of being an indie author … it’s fun … mostly. We laugh … mostly. It’s an informative show about books, indie publishing, and Midwest life.
See you next Friday with another chapter of MODEL WAVE, friends. Have a warm, safe, lovely weekend. ✨
Cheers!
~TK Sheffield, indie author, stories to laugh and escape
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