Hello. Allow me to introduce myself. I’m Hannah White, a sophomore journalism student at Encino High School in Encino, California. I worked my way up from a freshman cub reporter to chief investigative reporter on our school newspaper, The Coyote Weekly Clarion, by breaking open a huge college entrance exam cheating scandal. I live with my family in Encino, a fairly affluent suburban small town in the San Fernando Valley, around thirty miles north of downtown Los Angeles.
What is your greatest fear?
HANNAH: Right now: Disappointing my parents.
What is the trait you most deplore in yourself?
HANNAH: Impatience. I am the child who always repeats “Are we there yet?” so many times I drive my parents and grandparents crazy. My grandmother always cautions me not to rush my life away. I try, but so far, it’s been a losing battle.
What is the trait you most deplore in others?
HANNAH: Dishonesty. There is no room in my life for someone who is not truthful…even when…no, ESPECIALLY when it hurts to be honest. I never lie to my parents. Even if I want to, because my mother says she always knows when I fib because I have a lying expression on my face. But by not telling my parents about the murder investigation I was conducting, I was lying and thanks to my nana’s advice, I got the courage to fill my parents in…with help from my Uncle B and his PI.
Which living person do you most admire?
HANNAH: Michelle Obama. In my opinion, Mrs. Obama is brilliant, not afraid to speak her mind, and demonstrates the courage, grace, and style I hope to have.
What is your current state of mind?
HANNAH: With this murder investigation I am conducting, my current state of mind is an odd mixture of impatience and caution.
What do you consider the most overrated virtue?
HANNAH: Righteousness. Nothing bugs me more than a know-it-all who has never said these three words in their entire life: I. Don’t. Know.
On what occasion do you lie?
HANNAH: Only to prevent hurting someone unnecessarily. For example, my BFF and cousin Toby hasn’t developed too much on top yet, so she stuffs her bra with tissues hoping to look like she has boobs. She says she doesn’t use bra pads because they make her look too big and people would realize she is using something fake. The problem with the tissues is they don’t stay in place and it looks like her boobs have a mind of their own. When she asks me how her bustline looks, I don’t tell her the truth—that her boobs like two small fluffy pillows that flop around. I lie so as not to hurt her feelings and say she looks great. I know I should tell her the truth, but she’s already so self-conscious about her boobs, I don’t want to hurt her more.
What do you most dislike about your appearance?
HANNAH: My height…or lack of. I am only 4’9” in height. I get tired of the short jokes and hate having to ask somebody to reach something for me—and both happen all the time. And, to make matters worse, my nana says when you get old you shrink. Good gravy! As it is, I need the seat all the way forward and a pillow for my back or I can’t see over the steering wheel in Nana’s big car. If I shrink, I’ll never see over the wheel and will need someone to chauffeur me around.
Which living person do you most despise?
HANNAH: Donald Trump. He is an ignorant, dangerous bigot and a traitor who sold out our country to Putin to save his skin. His actions are going to make it impossible for my generation to ever realize the American Dream.
What is the quality you most like in a man?
HANNAH: To have a great sense of humor, and be able to laugh at himself.
What is the quality you most like in a woman?
HANNAH: Compassion.
Which words or phrases do you most overuse?
HANNAH: Good grief and good gravy.
If you could change one thing about yourself, what would it be?
HANNAH: Obviously, to be taller.
If you were to die and come back as a person or a thing, what would it be?
HANNAH: No question about it…a standard French Poodle. Trust me, NOTHING is more pampered, spoiled, or adored.
Where would you most like to live?
HANNAH: I love the sound of pounding waves as they crash on the beach. I would love to live in a house on the beach so I could hear that sound and breathe in the salty air all the time.
What do you regard as the lowest depth of misery?
HANNAH: Regret. Nana says it is the worst human emotion because it is the one we can usually do nothing about.
What is your favorite occupation?
HANNAH: An investigative reporter. If not that, then a stand-up comedienne.
What is your most marked characteristic?
HANNAH: Irreverence.
What do you most value in your friends?
HANNAH: Respect, loyalty, and most of all, honesty…no matter what, true friends tell you what they really think, not what they think I want to hear…unless, of course, it is about boobs. In that case, lie if your BFF is either flat as a board or too top-heavy.
Who are your favorite writers?
HANNAH: As a younger reader, Carolyn Keene and Franklin W. Dixon. Now that I am older, I read Kimberly Baer, Avis M. Adams, JL Sullivan, Dan Rice, and Ellen Y. Mueller.
Who is your hero of fiction?
HANNAH: My all-time hero of fiction is Nancy Drew. I’m pretty sure I got my curiosity, nosiness, and desire to investigate from reading about her adventures.
Which historical figure do you most identify with?
HANNAH: Anne Frank. She was a regular teenager like me who was suddenly thrown into a terrifying life-threatening situation…and yet, she was somehow still optimistic about life and had the same hopes and dreams that my friends and I have.
Who are your heroes in real life?
HANNAH: Personal Heroes: My nana, my dad, my Uncle B, and Mr. Kaufman, my journalism teacher. Historical Heroes: Amelia Earhart, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Golda Meir.
What is it that you most dislike?
HANNAH: Cruelty of any kind… and oh, yeah…anchovies. NEVER put them on my pizza or for that matter, in the same room with me…never. Just a warning-proceed at your own risk…but understand: if you do, it won’t be pretty.
What is your motto?
HANNAH: I have two that I learned from my nana: Never stop believing in yourself. And when the going gets tough, the tough get going.
Thank you, Hannah, for the great interview. I loved learning more about you. Readers, if you enjoy reading Nancy Drew, Hannah is this generation’s Nancy Drew but way funnier. Scroll down to read more about her adventures.
Title: The Case of the Croaked Coach
Author: Susie Black
Genre: Cozy Mystery
Publisher: Next Chapter
Book Blurb:
There wasn’t an honest bone in Buzz Bixby’s body. The Encino High School’s head football coach was an equal-opportunity scoundrel. Bixby cheated and lied his way to the top and screwed anyone and everyone in his wake. So, the question wasn’t who wanted the bastard dead. The question was, who didn’t? Student reporter Hannah White’s interview with the coach is a nonstarter when she discovers varsity football hero Dean Snyder standing over Bixby’s battered corpse holding a bloody trophy. Despite how guilty Dean looks, Hannah is convinced he’s innocent. When Snyder is arrested for Bixby’s murder, the wise-cracking, irreverent amateur sleuth jumps into action to flesh out the real killer. But the trail has more twists and turns than a slinky, and nothing turns out how Hannah thinks it will as she tangles with a clever killer hellbent on revenge. Tagline: Fourth down…you’re dead.
Excerpt:
The ledgers looked familiar, but where had I seen them? Of course! The day I conducted my interview with Coach Bixby. I opened the most recent one and my heart skipped a beat. If I was reading the contents of this one correctly, this ledger was to keep track of illegal gambling. The column on the far left held customer names in alphabetical order. I glanced down at the names and found Coach Bixby’s. The column next to it listed the sport. The next one listed the game details—team names, the date of the event, and the event location. The next column detailed the betting odds and the last one the dollar amount of the bet by the customer. Holy guacamole. Coach Bixby was not only a regular customer, but he was also a high roller who, unfortunately, was not too good at betting on the winning teams. Coach Bixby was into Mr. Beaumont for an eye-popping fifteen thousand dollars.
Maybe Beaumont tried to collect and Bixby couldn’t come up with the money. There was a motive for murder if I ever saw one. Of course, if Beaumont killed Bixby he’d never collect. But what if Beaumont wasn’t the big cheese? How about if he was only the middleman between the bettor and the bookie? I heard a bookie is the name referring to an illegal bookmaker. If that was the case, maybe Beaumont’s bookie is a guy in an organized crime gang. Maybe he ordered Beaumont to either collect from Bixby or kill him and use him as an example of how a bettor who doesn’t pay his gambling debts is punished. I photographed every page of the ledger on my phone app and put the book back in the drawer the same way I found it.
I locked the drawer, wrapped the key inside the hundred-dollar bill, and put it back into the tampon holder. I tried to close the middle drawer but it stuck. I reached back in the right corner to see what was gumming up the works. Something pliable and soft. Maybe a rag or a piece of clothing. Huh? I wrapped my fingers around it and pulled it out. Oh. My. Goddess. A pair of blood-stained mechanic’s gloves. I took a dozen photos of the gloves from every possible angle and with no thought of getting caught, I yelled, “Julie, get in here!”
Julie’s eyes grew as large as coasters as she spied the blood-stained gloves. She examined them from top to bottom. She shook her head. “I hate to burst your bubble, but these don’t belong to Mr. Beaumont.”
Good gravy. She must have breathed in too much of the gasoline fumes and it has affected her brain. I waved a hand over the desk. “I found them in a drawer in Beaumont’s desk in Beaumont’s office. Who else but Beaumont could they belong to?”
Julie shrugged. “I dunno, but they aren’t his. They are at least one size too small, maybe two sizes.” She held up her hands and splayed her fingers out. “My hands are big for a girl. Mr. Beaumont’s hands are almost double the size of mine. His hands are so big, sometimes he has trouble gripping some of the smaller tools. I’m telling you, Hannah, Mr. Beaumont couldn’t get his hands inside these gloves. I’ll go back out into the main complex and find his locker. If it’s not locked, I’ll show you how large his work gloves are.” She clucked her tongue. “Besides, even if they were his, only a moron stashes them in a drawer anyone could open.” She pointed to the drawer holding the ledgers. “Mr. Beaumont is no moron. He’d hide them in the locked drawer. The gloves were planted. Sorry, Hannah. Cross Mr. Beaumont off your suspect list. The gloves don’t prove him guilty. They exonerate him.”
Just as I opened my mouth to argue the point, a scratching noise from the front of the complex got my full attention. I put a shushing finger over my lips and whispered, “Did you hear something out there?”
Julie gulped, “No, and I sure hope you’re wrong. But to be on the safe side, let’s check it out.”
I nodded and put the gloves back in the drawer and closed it. We tiptoed halfway out and this time we both heard the noise. The night security guard knocked on the door and yelled, “Anyone in there?”
Julie and I looked at one another. I whispered, “The guy must have the ears of a bat. We weren’t talking loudly.”
Julie shook her head and pointed to the front of the complex. “No. It’s my fault. The flashlight wasn’t giving me enough light to see the high shelves. I turned on a light and forgot to turn it off when you called my name.”
“Okay. It happened. Think he’ll go away if nobody answers?”
The click of a key in the door answered the question.
Julie grabbed me by the arm and whisper-shouted. “Come on! We’ve got maybe three Mississippi’s to get into the trunk of the car.”
Just as we squeezed ourselves into the trunk, unwound my messenger bag twisted around her purse, and pulled the inner handle down, the door to the auto shop complex opened. “Hey. Anyone here?” Heavy-sounding work boots stomped and clomped around the complex, Stomp. Clomp. Stomp. Clomp. Stomp. “Looky there,” The voice growled, “Damned kids left a light on all night. No wonder our taxes keep going up. None of them kids got a lick of sense of how much things cost.” He tsked. “Wait until it’s their turn to pay for things. Then you’ll see them pay attention.”
The lights went dark and the door opened and closed. The click of the key said the door was locked and the guard was on his way to the rest of his rounds. But we stayed in the trunk for a good five extra minutes…it only seemed like an eternity.
Buy Links:
All retailers: https://books2read.com/u/m20yWk
Author Biography:
Named Best US Author of the Year by N. N. Lights Book Heaven, multi-award-winning cozy mystery author Susie Black was born in the Big Apple but now calls sunny Southern California home. She has published seven books in four years and book number eight is slated for release in May 2025.
She reads, writes, and speaks Spanish, albeit with an accent that sounds like Mildred from Michigan went on a Mexican vacation and is trying to fit in with the locals. Since life without pizza and ice cream as her core food groups wouldn’t be worth living, she’s a dedicated walker to keep her girlish figure. A voracious reader, she’s also an avid stamp collector. Susie lives with a highly intelligent man and is the mother of one incredibly brainy but smart-aleck adult son who inexplicably blames his sarcasm on an inherited genetic defect.
Looking for more? Contact Susie at:
Website: www.authorsusieblack.com
E-mail: mysteries_@authorsusieblack.com
Social Media Links:
Blue Sky: @hollysusiewrites.bsky.social
Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/hollysusie1/
Twitter: http://twitter.com/@hollyswimsuit