Stephanie and I were sitting at the kitchen table this morning lingering over our coffee and talking about the trip we took to the bookstore yesterday.

“I was so upset they didn’t have that fourth book I wanted,” she said.

“Which one was it?” I asked.

“It’s called _Death in Little Italy_. It’s set in late 19th, early 20th century America.” She paused. “It’s a murder mystery, obviously.”

“Ha. Yeah, I figured that from the title. You know, _Death in Little Italy_. I mean, if it was called _Spaceship Number 9_ I wouldn’t guess it was a murder mystery.”

“Aha,” she said, “but what if it was called _DEATH ON SPACESHIP NUMBER 9_?”

“Cross-genre marketing,” I explained.

“Sneaky,” she said.

We sipped more coffee.

I burst into uncontrollable giggling.

“_DEATH ON SPACESHIP NUMBER 9_!!” I gasped. “I so have to write that book now.”

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