We spent the whole of today in Manhattan, reminding myself of the shape and the sound of the city and mentally comparing it against the opening chapters of next year's book. Did I get it right? Too soon to tell. New York still has the allure I remember, the arrow-straight six-lane roads that constitute a normal city street, the energy and the pride. Even the shabby areas somehow don't look as seedy as the underbelly of London.

We woke horribly early after yesterday's flight, caught up on email and the novelty of real TV, of which we require the occasional fix rather than a constant diet. Then we caught several trains across from NJ into the city and felt like we'd really begun.

Breakfast at Les Halles, character-assassinating the loudly pretentious couple at the next table, then a leisurely wander down to the iconic Flatiron building to see my publisher, St Martin's Press. Every time we've visited them, the building has been undergoing construction work. At least this time the scaffolding was down from most of the exterior and we could get an idea of the full majesty of an edifice built at the turn of the last century. It still takes your breath away. Back then, located on a busy intersection, it must have caused cricked necks and minor fender benders by the bucketload.

Out for lunch with my editor, Marcia Markland, discovering when we go inside that now the construction is all interior. Then down to TriBeCa to meet with Ian at the Mysterious Bookshop on Warren Street. I'd emailed to see if the store's owner, Otto Penzler, wanted me to drop by and sign some stock, but didn't hear anything. Then we discovered when we landed that he'd been in touch independently with St Martin's asking if there was any chance I could call in.

Joint Event with Lee Child at Partners & Crime

In the evening we arrived much too early at Partners & Crime to find Neil Plakcy there. I'll be doing an event on Sunday with Neil, but he was in NYC for his own reading, which was up the street and started an hour before mine. Our paths won't cross fully until Sunday.

The event itself, introduced with enormous generosity by Lee Child, was a lively affair. I learned to my amazement that Lee had actually been introduced to Charlie Fox right from the first book and had managed to wangle a typescript of the second, years before I plucked up my courage to approach him at Bouchercon in Chicago. If only I'd known!

Partners & Crime had plenty of copies of the hardcover, Second Shot, all of which I signed and quite a few of which went out of the door right away with people who'd come to the event. Apparently they'd sold out of the paperback of First Drop twice that week already, and although a reorder arrived only half an hour before the event, the few copies that came out of the box were promptly snapped up by people milling around the store waiting. I hope it's a good sign.

It was a delight to see not only Lee and his inimitable web maven, Maggie Griffin, one of the Partners in Crime, but also my editor and my publicist, Hector, who came to cheer me on, and fellow authors SJ Rozan and Rosemary Harris − the arc of her debut is sitting in my TBR pile right at this moment. I'm hoping that when we get back I might have the chance to pick it up! And, of course, the delightful Mary Reagan, who brought her camera and snapped away despite badly twisting her ankle recently and still sporting the bruises.

Afterwards, Lee, Maggie, Andy and I all went out for a late supper in the Village before trekking out to NJ to arrive at our hotel well after midnight. Good job Andy was navigating because I was asleep with my head on his shoulder for most of the trip. But then, as Lee pointed out, Andy is the most supportive spouse of just about any writer he knows.

All in all, a good start.

It's 5:30am in Newark, New Jersey and we're off! This morning we pick up the first of our numerous rental cars and head north for New England.

Avis sucks − big time. There we were, all set to make a quick getaway from Newark. All we had to do was take the hotel shuttle bus back to the airport and pick up our prepaid pre-booked rental car from Avis. An hour and forty minutes after we walked into the Avis facility, we finally threw in the towel and went next door to Hertz, who couldn't have been more helpful − not to mention cheaper. The annoying thing was the total lack of urgency on the part of the counter staff when Avis UK hadn't faxed through the voucher they needed to give us the vehicle we'd booked and paid for, despite the fact that we were firmly in their computer system. Never again.

So, we finally got on the road horribly late and furiously frustrated by spending a couple of hours staring at Avis promotional leaflets which declared that they provide 'Great Service includes No Waiting' and 'Avis. We try harder'. Argh!

The nasty repercussion of this delay was that we had to miss out on visiting the Norwich Bookstore in Vermont. That was one phone call I hated making and I shall be making my feelings about that somewhat clear to Avis when we get home.

Anyway, deep breaths. We finally got on the road and sped through the most gorgeous scenery to Toadstool Bookstore in Milford, New Hampshire, where we had a very warm welcome from Regina Barnes and from Brian, who thoughtfully supplied us with breakfast at lunchtime after I'd signed stock for them − including Regina's own first edition copy of Killer Instinct. A rare find these days. A lovely respite after the trials of the morning.

From there our trusty navigation system guided us up to North Conway for the evening event at White Birch Books with Laura and Karyl. We were delighted to see MaryEllen there, who gets special mention in Second Shot for the local knowledge she so helpfully provided after our research trip to North Conway in February last year. And I was especially pleased to meet with Carol and Gary from the White Mountain Hotel, where vital scenes from Second Shot are set. They took away several copies as gifts. Afterwards we stopped in at Jonathon's for seafood − another setting I used in the book − before trying to get a slightly earlier night than the 23-hour day we'd had on Thursday. So, the day began badly but ended on a real high.

Tomorrow we fly to Florida, although it can hardly be hotter than it's been in New England!

Today was a day of contrasts. We leave the White Mountains of New England behind us early in the morning, driving south past endless lakes that offer perfect glass-smooth images of the sky. The leaves are just beginning to turn and show a hint of future glory. Plaid is clearly the equivalent of New York black, especially chic if partnered by a magnificent beard.

We fly out of Manchester, New Hampshire − after our navigation stumbles for the first time. It tries desperately to direct us to the freight depot rather than the passenger entrance. Fortunately, we've left enough time to make the correction and ignore its constant attempts to turn us around at every available opportunity. Still, after the tortuous but efficient route we took up to North Conway, we can forgive it the occasional quirk.

We change planes in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, and then board for Fort Lauderdale in mountainless Florida, managing to snap up the emergency exit row on both flights. Don't you worry, if we should happen to land in the water, I'll have that door open before we've come to a full and complete stop and the captain has turned off the Fasten Seatbelts sign. Southwest Airlines live up to our previous experience of them − the embodiment of cheap and cheerful. Their cabin crew seem unfailingly good humoured, even when the woman directly behind us − who started the flight with a double vodka − tried to retrieve her luggage from the overhead bin almost as soon as the wheels hit the runway.

We're staying the next couple of nights with Florida mystery thriller writer, James O Born and his delightful wife, Donna. Sunday afternoon Jim and I are appearing together at the Florida Center for the Book, with Christine Kling and Neil Plakcy. Should be a lot of fun.

My body clock has no idea what time zone it's supposed to be on. We're staying up late, but I'm still waking up horribly early. This morning it was 4am. I resisted for a while, then just gave in and answered some email. I need to be writing, but my head is in too many different places at once to concentrate on it, I think.

Today we went to the Florida Center for the Book in Fort Lauderdale for a Literary Tea with Florida authors Jim Born, Christine Kling and Neil Plakcy. Tara Zimmermann has been our contact there, but it was Eileen McNally who did the wonderful introduction for the four of us and then let us talk. Apparently, this is the first time they've tried doing an event at this amazing library on a Sunday afternoon, and Tara was a little worried about the turnout. But in the end they had to bring out more chairs and were so pleased with the way it went that they will be doing something similar again. It was a warm welcome and I hope the audience found the event an interesting discussion by four very different writers. They certainly bought books afterwards, which is always good.

What I didn't realise until the day was that it was the start of the football season, so the sacrifice Jim was making was of heroic proportions. He even brought a tiny portable TV with him so he could catch the end of the game in the car on the way back to the house. I'm told it was not good news if you were a Dolphins fan . . .

Jim and Donna held a casual dinner at their place in the early evening, and we sat around by the pool and chatted, watching the rain. Yeah, it rained. In Florida. I feel a little cheated. At least it took a little heat out of the day, although the downside was ice-slick roads and the odd minor accident on I-95. We passed one guy in an SUV parked backwards into the central crash barrier, on his mobile phone. I wonder how he was explaining that one. 'You want the good news or the bad news, honey? Well, the good news is the airbags work!'

The frantic schedule finally caught up with me tonight and I think I was asleep standing up a couple of times. I know I was asleep sitting down, but fortunately Andy didn't let anyone paint silly faces on me. Jim and Donna are great hosts. I hope that tomorrow they let us help tear out their kitchen by way of a thank you.

We stayed at Jim Born's house again Sunday night and yes, on Monday we did get to help him tear out part of his kitchen − yeah! I know he and Donna rather felt that was not the way to treat guests, but having built our own house it was fun to be able to help. Made us realise that we really do want to self-build again.

Monday morning we had some time for Andy to catch up on his day-job article work while I tried to look through my latest typescript, but concentrating was hard for both of us. There's a pool and a lake right outside the window and the sun was shining. Somehow it's easier to write in the wilds of Cumbria during the winter when the light's almost gone by three in the afternoon and the temperature's plummeted down far enough to encourage you to stay inside in the warm. Still, by the time we get home that's more or less how things will be and I really will have to get my head down and get on with it.

I did a phone interview with Jay MacDonald, the Books Editor from the Fort Myers News Press in Texas, then we went to Joanne Sinchuk's place in Delray Beach − Murder On The Beach − for an evening event. That was fun. A nice crowd, including Becky, who also came to Fort Lauderdale, and Jim and Donna. Lovely of them to turn out, but I'm going to have to tell Jim that when he puts on his serious cop's face in the audience he's somewhat intimidating . . .

We left Delray Beach after an amazing one-dish breakfast concocted by Jim Born. The first time I've ever eaten bacon, eggs and toast with a spoon − but strangely delicious!

We drove up the coast via a quick chat with Willi Miller at WQCS radio in Fort Pierce. The interview aired around 1:15pm and was a lot of fun to do. Then we carried on up to Vero Beach to see the wonderful Fred Rea. We were hoping Fred might take us up in his light aircraft, but the rumbling thunderstorms that built all afternoon put paid to that. Instead, we went for Cuban food at Sunny Days on 14th Ave, and chilled out seeing the marina and the beautiful banyan and strangling fig trees.

Vero Beach is delightful. Off the beaten track, quiet, pretty as a movie set. Not one of the places most tourists make a beeline for when they visit Florida, but certainly a town we'll go back to if we have the chance.

In the evening we're at the Vero Beach Book Center, meeting with Ann Taylor to do an interview for her Boomer Beat Lifestyle column. Andy's always told me he finds it difficult to concentrate when I'm typing and not looking at what I'm doing and I found out how right he is when Ann was holding a conversation with me and inputting it into her computer without watching her hands. We talked so much she ended up with far more words than her limit and said she would have to edit down.

The event at the Vero Beach Book Center, organised by Cynthia Grabenbauer, was well-attended by an enthusiastic audience, who enjoyed cheese and wine while I did my best to keep them entertained. We drove north to Daytona Beach afterwards, through a dramatic lightning storm that lit the clouds for miles in the distance. I love wild weather.

Wednesday we got to stay with our very dear friends, Paul and Maryellen Papadeus in Daytona, who run the Spring Break Nationals at which part of First Drop is set. Lunchtime, amid more thunderstorms and a downpour, I did a quick signing at the local Barnes & Noble − made quicker still by the fact that only a fraction of the paperbacks they'd ordered had actually arrived, and they sold out fast − and then back to Paul and Maryellen's via a local Italian place for an early dinner.

On the way back to the house I left Andy in our rental Cobalt and jumped in with Maryellen in her gorgeous convertible Lexus. What a wonderful ride through the darkened streets of Daytona with the top down. A lovely end to the day.

This morning we left our friends Paul and Maryellen's house in Daytona Beach early, dodging Jack, who is their cat. He seemed to have a fascination with jumping out and grabbing at my bare feet. Fortunately, he had no front claws, which seems to be a peculiarly American thing with house cats. After years of being scratched to bits by my parents' cats when they were playing with me, it was strange to be able to get my own back at last!  Because of his markings, Jack also bore an uncanny resemblance to Manuel, the waiter from Fawlty Towers, but was very elusive when it came to having his photograph taken.

We hurtled down to Orlando to catch yet another Southwest flight − this time to Houston, TX, which is one of the locations I've used in next year's Charlie Fox book, Third Strike. Surrounded by a mass of traffic-clogged freeways, you crest a rise and are suddenly rewarded by that cluster of magnificent skyscrapers.

After a quick detour to the Top Gun Shooting Center to play with a Springfield 1911 and a SIG P230 − this is Texas, after all − we arrived at Murder by the Book to find the biggest stack of my novels I've seen so far on this tour, including a bunch owned by Eric, who works at the store while he's studying psychology at the nearby Rice University, and seems to have read all my books except the elusive first one. A delightful friendly crowd.

David Thompson at MBTB is also the man behind Busted Flush and I signed copies of Damn Near Dead, the last short story anthology he produced. I've another story coming out in his A Hell of a Woman anthology towards the end of the year and can't wait to see the finished book.

After the event Andy and I went out for a highly entertaining seafood meal with David and the wonderful McKenna, who was my first fan at MBTB. The two recently became engaged and plan to marry in September next year at an abbey in the Scottish border country. I hope they're prepared for the rain . . .

We drove back to our hotel near the airport late enough to be able to admire those skyscrapers again, lit up against the night sky. And yes, that sky does look bigger in Texas.

Today has been long, in more ways than one. We woke up this morning in Texas and go to bed in Arizona, having spent the day in Colorado. Colorado was a new state for us. The airport is an amazing structure in the middle of a grassy nowhere, the roof like a huddled collection of Bedouin tents that light up the night sky. It's the first time I've noticed signs in an airport saying 'tornado shelter'.

The light's different here, too. Paler than Texas, not quite so harsh, and the landscape is littered with rocky outcrops most of which seem to have some magnificent house built on top of them. There were so many they began to lose something of their splendour.

We drove south to Colorado Springs for a quick visit to Book Sleuth. I expected a small town and was confronted by a city, but the bookstore − and its owner, Lyman − was delightful. Met up with Chris, also, who was the one who first told me about the store. Had some bad news while we were there, though. Chris Acevedo at Clues Unlimited rang to tell us her book order had failed to arrive so it looks like we won't be heading down to Tucson first thing in the morning, which was the original plan. A disappointment as we were really looking forward to seeing Chris again, but we're trying to arrange getting some books shipped elsewhere so I can sign them for her.

Traffic getting back to Denver was heavy, but our navigation did us proud again and we found Murder By The Book's pretty little store with no problems − just love the chalk outline on the sidewalk outside. A sign above the door said that shoplifters would be hit over the head with a blunt instrument − looks like they mean it! Met with owner Lauri, as well as Helen and Nina. And they'd even baked me a cake with the cover of Second Shot on it, which was such a work of art that it seemed a shame to cut into it, but when you did you discovered how delicious it was.

Had so much fun there we cut it a little fine for our evening flight to Phoenix, but arrived to find it was delayed half an hour, so we had time for a bite at the airport.

Another brilliant Southwest flight. The cabin crew member who did the safety briefing, Libbi, could have made a fortune in stand-up. By the time she got to the part about the oxygen masks, everybody was listening:

It has to be the first time an entire planeload of weary travellers has offered a round of applause for a safety briefing. You've got to love it . . .

Friday night we left Denver in weather chilly enough even for Andy to put on the fleece jacket he's been carrying since we got here. Me − I put mine on every time we go indoors. When we landed in Phoenix, however, it was 104deg F even at midnight. You stagger under the weight of that kind of heat. It just doesn't compute to someone from a country where air-conditioning is still a rarity to be cold inside a building and hot outside.

Because our plans were changed and we didn't do down to see Clues Unlimited in Tucson first thing this morning, I have to admit that we finally had a lie-in before heading out for a lunchtime signing at Poisoned Pen, Barbara Peters' near-legendary store in Scottsdale. The Phoenix area is huge and sprawling and very much desert country, surrounded by jagged rocks that look as if they've been blasted into shape by the elements, rather than gently moulded. Not a good place to run out of water, we decide as we're driving through a particularly parched section of it . . . and then realise we don't actually have any with us.

The event at Poisoned Pen took the form of a Q&A session with store owner, Barbara Peters, which then segued into an interview by Barbara with Michael Harvey, talking about his debut novel, and Nancy Horan on her fictionalised account of part of Frank Lloyd Wright's life. An interesting and informative format.

We finished up late afternoon, so Andy and I went for an early Japanese meal, which sounds crazy eating sushi so far from the sea, but it was great. I love people-watching in these places. And an idea for a short story that would be just right to fit in the back of the mass market paperback edition of Second Shot arrived out of nowhere, almost complete. It slots perfectly between the events of that book and the beginning of the next one. Fortunately, I never travel without a notebook and I was able to jot down some main points. All I have to do now is write it. Then it was back to the hotel to take care of laundry. Oh, the rock star lifestyle!