Authors Interviewing Characters: Penny Goetjen

Author Penny Goetjen interviews Victoria Sands from her new novel The Woman Underwater in which Victoria feels torn between hanging onto the hope her husband is still alive, after his disappearance seven years earlier, and the desire to move on with her life. She’s caught in an undertow of unanswered questions, submerged in a watery vortex—one that no one could have predicted how it would play out.

Penny Goetjen: Victoria, thank you for welcoming me into your home. It’s so charming with the stonework on the outside and turquoise shutters . . . the rounded top on the front door. It looks like a quaint English cottage. And it’s so pleasant out here with the gardens surrounding us. [As if on cue, some sort of wren launches into its lyrical song.] 

Victoria Sands: I appreciate you coming here instead of meeting me out somewhere for coffee. I can’t always predict what kind of day my mother will have, and I don’t know how long I can safely go off and leave her.

Penny: I understand. 

Victoria: [She lifts her delicate teacup wrapped in a vine of light pink roses and takes a thoughtful sip.] And thanks for your kind words. I actually do call my home a cottage. I’ve always thought of it that way. That’s why I fell in love with it. Of course, quaint can translate to tiny, but it works for us.

Penny: [Not wanting to offend] Oh, I didn’t mean that. I only—

Victoria: I know. I was just being self-deprecating. It’s our home and I’m very comfortable here.

Penny: [Scanning the backyard] The hydrangea bushes are stunning. You really have a green thumb.

Victoria: I wish I could take credit for it but it’s my mother who takes care of the plants. [She gestures toward a fragrant potted gardenia on the wrought iron table between us but leaves it at that.] 

Penny: So, I understand you’re coming up on the seven-year mark since your husband went missing.

Victoria: Well, we’re getting right to heart of the matter, aren’t we? Yes, that’s true.

Penny: I can’t imagine everything you’ve gone through in that time. Can you share with me what’s been the toughest?

Victoria: [She allows herself a soft chuckle, then falls silent.] It’s hard to know where to start. . . Getting the phone call late at night from the headmaster telling me Robert was missing. That was tough. A shock. Having to play phone tag for years with the detective assigned to the case because he had no news for me. That’s been hard. Having your friends and family tell you to snap out of it and just accept he isn’t coming back. That hurts. But I guess the worst was having to tell our sons that no one knew what happened to their father. The look on their faces. God, I’ll never forget that. 

Penny: No mother should have to go through that. I’m so sorry. How are they doing?

Victoria: [Her face brightens.] They’re doing remarkably well. Young men now. School keeps them busy. Their friends too. I know they miss their father terribly, but they seem to want me to move on like everyone else. 

Penny: [Her eyes wander and land somewhere over my shoulder, in the direction of the garden shed. I allow her time to find her way back.]

Victoria: But the roses. Those still come.

Penny: The roses? 

Victoria: Yeah. Every year for my birthday Robert would always send me the most beautiful coral-colored roses. It’s my favorite color. But even after he went missing, the roses still arrive. Without fail.

Penny: And you think he’s been sending them?

Victoria: [Her mouth turns up on one side, creating a dimple in her cheek.] Yeah, I do.

Penny: How is that possible?

Victoria: Even when we were first married and money was tight, he sent them. It’s him. He knows how much I love them. [Behind her, an elderly woman in a faded pink bathrobe appears at the French door off the kitchen. Her hair is a sight to behold; part bed hair, part fizzled-out teased hair, with a turquoise streak on one side.] 

Woman: Ha! There she goes again. [Striding onto the brick patio, she sidles up next to Victoria and smacks her hand on the back of her chair. Victoria leans to the side to put space between them.] Honey, I don’t know who you are, but you shouldn’t be listening to what my daughter is spewing. [Leaning across the table, she offers a hand.] I’m her mom, Millie. [We shake.] Listen, she’s not right in the head. Her husband is gone. He’s not sending her the roses.

Victoria: Mom, please. It could very well be him. It’s his way of letting me know he’s okay. And what have I told you about eavesdropping? [Refocusing on me.] I’m sorry. Turns out this is not a good time after all. [She darts from the table, disappearing through the door her mother had left open.]

Mille: See? [As if her daughter’s departure proved her point.] So where were we? [She flops onto the chair, snatches up the teacup in a pale hand, and takes a slurp.] Bleh! Cold. Yours must be too. Hey, can I interest you in a belt of bourbon?

Penny: Bourbon? Thanks, but I’ll pass.

I see myself out, vowing to track down Victoria’s best friend Aviva to get her take on the volatile situation at the Sands’ household. 

—

Award-winning novelist Penny Goetjen (pronounced goat-gen) writes murder mystery and suspense novels where the settings play as prominent a role as the engaging characters. A self-proclaimed eccentric known for writing late into the night, transfixed by the allure of flickering candlelight, Penny embraces the writing process, unaware what will confront her at the next turn. She rides the journey with her characters, often as surprised as her readers to see how the story unfolds.

Fascinated with the paranormal, she usually weaves a subtle, unexpected twist into her stories. When her husband is asked how he feels about his wife writing murder mysteries, he answers with a wink, “I sleep with one eye open.” She is a proud member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime. Penny splits her time between Charlston, SC and Connecticut.

 

THE WOMAN UNDERWATER

No one disappears without a trace….

Don’t try to tell Victoria Sands that time heals all wounds. It doesn’t work that way for a woman who’s lost her husband the way she did. She was never able to say goodbye. Never able to arrange a memorial. Receive friends at the service. Write thank-you notes for the flowers and donations sent in his name. Because it didn’t happen that way.

Victoria’s husband never returned home at the end of a work day. And no one seems to know what happened to him.

In the seven years since his disappearance, no witnesses have stepped forward and no credible evidence has been collected-not even his car. The few tenuous leads the police had are now ice cold. He simply vanished on a field trip with the private boarding school where he taught behind stone walls-the same school their son now attends.

But someone has to know what happened. And that someone may be closer to Victoria than she realizes.

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Category: On Writing