Darcia Helle's Blog, page 19
March 4, 2022
New Release Spotlight — GAMBLING WITH MURDER: A Southern California Mystery by Lida Sideris
A late-night call is all it takes for rookie lawyer Corrie Locke to kiss her day job at the movie studio goodbye, and do what she does best: flex her sweet P.I. skills and go undercover to find a senior who’s missing from a posh retirement community. One small stumbling block: skirting past security to gain inside access to the exclusive Villa Sunset. Time to call in the heavy artillery. Besides former security guard turned legal assistant—now wannabe P.I. –Veera, Corrie relies on a secret weapon: her mother, a surprisingly eager addition to Corrie’s team. Armed with enough attitude and pepper spray to take down a band of Navy Seals, Mom impersonates a senior to infiltrate the Villa, Corrie and Veera in tow. Turns out the job’s not as easy as they’d thought. These seniors have tricks tucked up their sleeves and aren’t afraid of using them.
The action gets dicey as the missing senior case turns into attempted murder by a criminal mind who’s always one step ahead. Corrie’s hot on the trail, but finds more than she bargained for…especially when her mother becomes a target.
Book Details:Read an excerpt:Chapter OneLuck be a LadyGenre: Mystery (soft-boiled)
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: March 29, 2022
Number of Pages: 280
ISBN: 978-1-68512-086-3
Series: The Southern California Mystery series, #5 || Each is a stand alone work
Purchase Links: Amazon | Goodreads
I maneuvered around shattered glass, splintered picture frames, and fragments of bubble wrap strewn along the cracked cement floor. Something crunched or crackled beneath my every step. Empty spaces joined hands to form a footpath meandering through the old warehouse. The beam of my flashlight circled around stacks of crates, blankets, old tires—
“Ninja One, see anything yet?” Veera Bankhead’s voice sputtered through the walkie-talkie cinched onto my belt.
Dressing up like ninjas had been Veera’s idea. To help us blend into the night. We wore matching black tunics over black slacks. The hood hid my long hair. A facemask rendered me incognito. Only the slit across my eyes kept me from tripping. Veera was posted in the parking lot outside to discourage unwelcome visitors.
“Looks like a hoarder’s paradise.” I stepped over a pile of well-used sneakers.
“Any idea of what we’re looking for?” she asked.
“Oh, the usual hidden-in-a-warehouse items. A barrel labeled ‘TNT’. A nondescript briefcase filled with rolls of cash. Dorothy’s ruby slippers would be nice.”
By day, Veera and I worked in the legal department of Ameripictures Film Studios. Tonight’s side gig was connected to our day job…by a nearly invisible thread. Props had gone missing from a high-budget movie currently in production. A police investigation was underway, but Veera suspected an inside job. She’d convinced studio security into letting us take a look. An anonymous tip led to a Los Angeles warehouse hidden beneath the 405- freeway. I stepped gingerly over dented soda cans to stay on the path.
“We gotta find something,” Veera said. “Our reputation’s at stake.”
She didn’t mean our reputation in the legal department. She meant our reputation as quasi-professional, unlicensed private investigators. I had my father to thank for showing me the P.I. ropes. Investigating suspicious deaths was what I did best, with help from Veera. It had earned us a level of respect from the studio security crew. That’s how we got the nosing around for missing props gig.
“I still say that new intern is behind the thefts,” Veera said. “He’s been hangin’ out at the prop house every day.”
“Isn’t he inventorying the props?” I asked.
“So he says,” Veera replied.
I had low hopes of finding anything tonight but I had to admit, this was the perfect location to hide stolen goods. A baby elephant could get lost in here. “Did you find out who owns this place?” I asked.
“Working on it,” she replied.
It didn’t hurt matters that Veera had handled parking lot security before becoming my legal assistant. She had connections far and wide in the Southern California security guard world.
I pinned the beam of my light into a dark corner. “That’s strange.” Four large pieces of luggage lay side-by-side, atop a long folding table. Everything surrounding me was in stacks and piles. I quick-stepped closer. The luggage exteriors, aluminum handles, and zippers looked new. Why store unused luggage in a place with worn-out, broken-down stuff?
“Oh-oh,” Veera said.
“Hold on.” I grabbed a suitcase and slid it closer to me. I shone my light on a combination lock. Next to it sat a small keyhole. Pulling out a paperclip from my pants pocket, I shoved it into the keyhole and jiggled it around.
“Two unmarked vehicles drove up,” Veera whispered.
We’d parked my car behind the warehouse. I’d left Veera hiding behind a bottle brush shrub near the entry.
I popped open the lid of the suitcase. Folded bedsheets lay on top. Easing them aside, I gaped at the blood-red cape with a stylized golden “S” on the back. “It’s Superman.”
“The cars parked next to each other,” Veera said.
To the side of the cape lay a pillowcase. I ran my fingers over something odd-shaped and bulky inside. I unwrapped it to find a one-of-a-kind, golden gun.
“No way.” A cigarette case formed the handle. The trigger was a cufflink and a fountain pen served as the barrel. It was a prop gun from a James Bond film.
“Two muscular guys came out of a van,” Veera said. “There’s a third-person taking his sweet time exiting a Prius. Looks to be someone smaller, older by the way he moves. And he’s wearing a dress, which means he could be a female. Headed your way. If there’s a backdoor, I’d use it.”
“Can’t. I hit the jackpot.” I spun around. Where to hide?
#
***
Excerpt from Gambling With Murder by Lida Sideris. Copyright 2022 by Lida Sideris. Reproduced with permission from Lida Sideris. All rights reserved.
My ThoughtsGambling with Murder is a fun mystery with a cozy vibe.
The characters are all likable, with vibrant personalities that make them memorable.
As with many cozies, the antics get a little over-the-top, with a plot that requires a leap in plausibility. The wild cast of characters is the focus, as we go along with Corrie to solve the mystery.
This is the fifth book in the Southern California Mystery Series. I haven’t read the others, and I had no issues jumping right in.
Lida Sideris’ first stint after law school was a newbie lawyer’s dream: working as an entertainment attorney for a movie studio…kind of like her heroine, Corrie Locke, except without the homicides. Lida was one of two national winners of the Helen McCloy Mystery Writers of America Scholarship Award and a Silver Falchion Award Finalist. She lives in the northern tip of Southern California with her family, rescue dogs and a flock of uppity chickens.
To learn more about Lida, please visit:www.LidaSideris.com
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Instagram – @lida_sideris
Twitter – @LidaSideris
Facebook – @lidasideris
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March 3, 2022
New Release Spotlight — ONE WILL TOO MANY: A Julia Fairchild Mystery by PJ Peterson
A wealthy banker with a long list of secrets dies.
The bizarre crime scene stumps the local police…
… but a young doctor could be the key to solving the case.
Internist Julia Fairchild encounters banker Jay moments too late – the poor man is near death in his own dining room. At first no one can figure out what killed him, but the coroner soon confirms that it was homicide: Jay died of methanol poisoning, and now a murderer is on the loose. Julia knows how to catch a killer and she can cut through the noise like a scalpel through skin. She agrees to help the understaffed police force solve the case, but each clue only complicates her investigation further.
Can Julia dissect the deadly riddle and nail the perp, or will this be the first time a monster succeeds in giving her the slip?
If you love Louise Penny, Kelly Oliver, and PC James, you need this medical mystery! Find out why fans say, “I love the character Julia Fairchild!”
Don’t wait – Click the BUY button now!
Book Details:Read an excerpt:Genre: Cozy Mystery
Published by: Finngirl, LLC
Publication Date: December 2021
Number of Pages: 206
ISBN: 978-1-7335675-7-2
Series: A Julia Fairchild Mystery, #4 || Each is a stand Alone Novel
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
Julia arrived at the Hotel Montpelier just as Drake drove up. She took advantage of his simultaneous presence to make a proper entrance to the celebration in the Hotel’s Grand Ballroom. It had recently been refurbished to its original grandeur from the early 1920’s. She admired the beauty of the ceilings with their Art Deco design, recently uncovered by the removal of a false ceiling from a previous “upgrade.” The beautiful wood floor with exquisite inlaid mosaics shone from a recent floor polishing. The cherry and mahogany woodwork glistened in the light from the elegant crystal chandeliers which had also been hidden until now.
Julia and Drake were greeted by some of the other members of the restoration committee. Drake was the designated master of ceremonies while Julia’s primary duty was to personally welcome as many of the potential donors as possible and say a few words in support of the project. He certainly looked the part tonight in a well-cut black velvet tuxedo. His dark hair was touched with silver—just enough to give him a classy look. He stood tall and proud as he walked through the crowd, nodding to some and saying a word or two to other attendees.
Julia searched the assembled festival attendees for familiar faces as Drake gently guided her to an older man and woman. He placed his hand at the small of her back as he addressed the wealthy couple. “Julia, I’d like to introduce Mr. And Mrs. George Oglethorpe. They have been long-time supporters of the theatre.”
Julia stepped forward a half-step and extended her hand. “I’m Julia Fairchild. I’m honored to meet you. I love our theatre, too.”
The woman’s face brightened as she recognized the name. “Of course! Dr. Fairchild. Call me Anna. I’ve heard a lot of good things about you.” She took Julia’s hand in both of hers. “You’re so young and pretty for a doctor.”
Julia reddened. She actually felt a little mousey most days, but conceded to herself that she did ‘clean up’ nicely for such events. “Thank you. I was blessed with good genes. How long have you and your husband lived in Parkview?”
“My goodness. Forever. Right out of college anyway. George heard about the paper mill here looking for mechanical engineers and applied right away.” She smiled proudly at him. “We love the town and were never inclined to leave once we settled in. Isn’t that right, dear?” Her husband nodded between sips of his drink. “Are you from here?”
“Not from Parkview. I grew up down the highway on a small farm. My grandma persuaded me to come home and here I am.” Julia felt her eyes well up as she recalled warm memories of time spent with her grandparents. “Thank you for your support of our lovely theatre. The restoration committee will be sharing the plans for the renovation during the program.”
Julia felt Drake’s arm around her waist as he interceded. “Thank you for coming this evening. Please excuse us. I see someone who is clamoring to talk with Dr. Fairchild before the dinner starts.”
Drake took Julia’s arm and as they turned around, they found Gregory Lantz and his wife Sandy who had been standing right behind them. “Greg! So good to see you here tonight. Thanks for coming.” They exchanged nods and handshakes. “Julia is standing in for Karen tonight. She’s also supporting the project.” Julia smiled and nodded. Aside from the perfunctory smiles, Julia sensed a tension between the men, and she moved a step away from Drake to better observe them both.
Greg stirred his gin and tonic vigorously. “I’ve talked with some of the members of the board at the bank, but I don’t have a definite commitment yet for a donation. I think we can come through for $50,000. But nothing close to the million dollars that everyone seems to think the bank can donate.”
“Greg, any amount would be great. I understand it’s been a little tough with the new bank still getting started.” Drake Ashford was the president of the older, long-established Parkview National Bank. He was aware that despite heavy advertising and promotions, the new River City Community Bank was not yet meeting expectations. He was also acutely sensitive to the loss of some of his own banking clients to the new bank, where Greg was Vice President.
Greg bristled. “Actually, we’re meeting our numbers and seeing new business every day. I would think you would have noticed already.” He smirked.
“We’ve noticed a little change, but we’re prepared to handle it.” Drake took a large swallow of his scotch. “Please excuse us. I have some other people to greet. Talk to you later, Greg.” Drake and Julia moved away.
“That man really annoys me,” Drake said under his breath. “He’s so naive. He doesn’t see how Jay is using him. He’s just a ‘yes’ man. But I guess it makes him feel important.”
“What do you mean?” Julia asked, nodding and smiling at some of the faces she recognized. She knew he referred to Jay Morrison, recently divorced and head of the new bank. She felt Drake’s hand shaking as he maneuvered her through the crowd.
“I’ll tell you later. Too many ears here.” He surveyed the guests nearby. “Let’s see…there’s Warren Pontell and his lovely wife Sarah. He’s talked about making a major contribution. His wife was a theatre actress in her younger days. And they have money to burn.” He turned to Julia and wiggled his eyebrows, à la Groucho Marx.
Drake and Julia chatted with the Pontells for a few minutes, using the time to emphasize the benefits of the smaller venue of the “little theatre.” It was designed to be an intimate stage setting with seating for about one hundred fifty people. Until recently, the area had been used for storage and was marginally functional for stage events in its current state.
Julia had found herself daydreaming but tuned back in when she heard Mr. Pontell say, “We’d like to donate $50,000 for the little theatre. Perhaps you can find a way to let us have something to say about naming it.” He grinned broadly as his wife beamed.
“Warren, that’s wonderful!” said Drake. “I’ll talk with the board of directors about naming opportunities. Let me get back to you on details for your donation. Thank you.”
Now grinning, Drake gently guided Julia toward Adam Johns, an influential man in the local union hierarchy, and his wife. He had started working at ESCO Paper Company right out of high school and had worked his way up from the labor pool to an electrician apprenticeship and then to a journeyman electrician. His constituents considered him to be fair and honest. He had an unofficial status in the union as a leader, although he didn’t have an elected or paid position as such.
Adam tugged at the neck of his dress shirt and pulled at the bottom of his dark blue waistcoat. The jacket gaped over his generous girth. He looked uncomfortable in his tuxedo. Julia was sure her mother would have said something like “putting perfume on a goat,” but most likely his wife had insisted he dress up for this occasion. He certainly looked impressive at his height of six foot three inches.
“Mr. and Mrs. Johns, good evening,” said Drake as he offered his hand. “Do you know Dr. Julia Fairchild? She’s helping to support the Theatre Restoration project as we all are.”
“We sure do,” said Adam, returning the handshake. “Dr. Fairchild, you took care of my mom several years back. She was real sick but you got her well and she’s fine now. Thanks to you. In fact, she’s going on a cruise through the Panama Canal with her church group this coming week. She’s always wanted to go on that trip.”
“You’re welcome, Mr. Johns. I do remember your mom—Violette, I believe? She’s a lovely lady with a lot of spunk.” Julia shook his hand before turning to his wife. “Pleased to meet you, Mrs. Johns.”
Mr. Johns turned back to Drake. “Mr. Ashford, some of the guys at the mill want to know if you had talked with our union officials yet about the stock trading going on with our pension funds. And if you know anything, they hope you can tell them. And call me Adam. My wife is Linda.”
“Yes, Adam. I talked with a Scott Sowders in Portland. He’s looking into whether those trading fees can be traced back to any individuals. May I call you when I know something more?”
“Sure. You can call me at ESCO. The operator knows how to reach me. Thanks a lot, Mr. Ashford.”
“You can call me Drake, please. I’ll call you soon and we’ll go from there. Thanks again for being here tonight.”
“Hey. It’s an alright party. My wife is always trying to get me to gussy up. It’s more fun than I thought it would be.” He grinned and saluted with his cocktail.
Julia saw the auctioneer heading their way and alerted Drake. “I’ll check my lipstick while you talk with him. Where are we sitting?”
“Main table,” he said, pointing to the center of the long side of the room. He scowled. “Unfortunately, it appears we’re seated next to Jay Morrison, of all people.”
***
Excerpt from One Will Too Many by PJ Peterson. Copyright 2022 by PJ Peterson. Reproduced with permission from PJ Peterson. All rights reserved.
Guest Post by Author PJ PetersonWhat inspired the story for this book?
I started this story about fifteen years ago when two banks coincidentally began business within a short time of each other in my hometown (which is not really named Parkview, by the way). I recall wondering at the time how they would both survive, considering that this city of less than 50,000 seemed to have enough banks and credit unions already.
I wrote five or six chapters at the time, then put it aside for reasons that I don’t recall. After launching Pickled Pink in Paris, I was ready to write something a little less exotic. And with the pandemic still raging, it seemed like an opportune time for Julia to stay home and solve the mystery that I’d established in the first few chapters of this potential book that I found in my files when I was decluttering my desk. And I really wanted to find out who my murderer was!
I tend to write with a skimpy outline, a slim plot, and very few details at the outset. All I had to go on was the handful of chapters. I hadn’t written an outline, and had no master plot, but I found a few notes in the margins so I knew on whom I’d based my initial characters. I let my mind wander as I read through my original handwritten pages and imagined what might have been going on with each of them and why they might be considered a suspect.
So, back to what inspired the story. These two banks were backed by money from various sources and would obviously compete with one another for business from new clients or those who were willing to transfer their account from one of the other banks or credit unions in town. Because this area hadn’t significantly grown population-wise forever, I figured there could be some nastiness around their attempts to attract business from private citizens and other businesses in town.
Thus, I murdered someone. Well, not me, but someone in the community and not for the reasons the average reader might think.
Fortunately, I know very well how the world of medicine and hospitals function. I had Julia work at her usual day job and incorportated the solving of the homicide around her normal hours. Because I live “here,” it was easy to incorporate favorite places, landmarks, and even people into the story. Of course, I changed names of all the human characters and most businesses, but asked for, and was given, permission of the owners of a few, such as Grant’s Restaurant, to use the actual name of their business.
I don’t think my friends would be able to recognize any of the characters specifically other than my real sister “Carly.” I was careful to use generic descriptions, occupations, and that sort of thing to avoid any embarrassment when I gad about the city.
It was fun to include details of the local area. Several of my friends who’ve read the book have reported that they tried to identify the homes that I described (I didn’t use any specific addresses. I created fictional homes!) and wondered about the distillery. I reminded them that this is a book of fiction and nothing exists except in my mind and on the pages. Like Mayberry RFD.
PJ is a retired internist who enjoyed the diagnostic part of practicing medicine as well as creating long-lasting relationships with her patients. As a child she wanted to be a doctor so she could “help people.” She now volunteers at the local Free Medical Clinic to satisfy that need to help. She loved to read from a young age and read all the Trixie Belden and Nancy Drew books she could find. It wasn’t until she was an adult that she wrote anything longer than short stories for English classes and term papers in others. Writing mysteries only makes sense given her early exposure to that genre. Sprinkling in a little medical mystique makes it all the more fun.
www.PJPetersonAuthor.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @mizdrpj1
Facebook – PJ Peterson
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March 2, 2022
Book Review: THE SIMPLE WILD: The Simple Wild Series, Book 1 by K.A. Tucker
Calla Fletcher was two when her mother took her and fled the Alaskan wild, unable to handle the isolation of the extreme, rural lifestyle, leaving behind Calla’s father, Wren Fletcher, in the process. Calla never looked back, and at twenty-six, a busy life in Toronto is all she knows. But when her father reaches out to inform her that his days are numbered, Calla knows that it’s time to make the long trip back to the remote frontier town where she was born.
She braves the roaming wildlife, the odd daylight hours, the exorbitant prices, and even the occasional—dear God—outhouse, all for the chance to connect with her father: a man who, despite his many faults, she can’t help but care for. While she struggles to adjust to this new subarctic environment, Jonah—the quiet, brooding, and proud Alaskan pilot who keeps her father’s charter plane company operational—can’t imagine calling anywhere else home. And he’s clearly waiting with one hand on the throttle to fly this city girl back to where she belongs, convinced that she’s too pampered to handle the wild.
Jonah is probably right, but Calla is determined to prove him wrong. As time passes, she unexpectedly finds herself forming a bond with the burly pilot. As his undercurrent of disapproval dwindles, it’s replaced by friendship—or perhaps something deeper? But Calla is not in Alaska to stay and Jonah will never leave. It would be foolish of her to kindle a romance, to take the same path her parents tried—and failed at—years ago.
It’s a simple truth that turns out to be not so simple after all.
I know this is the first book in a much-loved series, so please don’t poke needles in my voodoo doll. Here goes: The Simple Wild was just okay for me.
I disliked all the characters, particularly Calla, our pampered-princess star. Ugh. Her character arc did sorta redeem her in the end, which I appreciated.
Most of this story is more family drama than the expected romance, which is neither a positive nor a negative, but simply an observation.
I was bored with the slow pace and irritated with Calla through the first half, and I might’ve given up had this not been a buddy read. The second half picked up, and the final quarter saved the book for me.
Though it takes a while to get there, this story takes on some heavy topics. Full disclosure: Because my own life experiences mirror Calla’s in substantial ways, I came into this story with biases that made empathy a challenge.
I listened to this on audio, via Scribd, and the narration is excellent.
The post Book Review: THE SIMPLE WILD: The Simple Wild Series, Book 1 by K.A. Tucker appeared first on Quiet Fury Books.
March 1, 2022
Book Review — ONE STEP TOO FAR: A Frankie Elkin Novel by Lisa Gardner
Timothy O’Day knew the woods. Yet when he disappeared on the first night of a bachelor party camping trip with his best friends in the world, he didn’t leave a trace. What he did leave behind were two heartbroken parents, a crew of guilt-ridden groomsmen, and a pile of clues that don’t add up.
Frankie Elkin doesn’t know the woods, but she knows how to find people. So when she reads that Timothy’s father is organizing one last search, she heads to Wyoming. Despite the rescue team’s reluctance, she joins them. But as they hike into the mountains, it becomes clear that there’s something dangerous at work in the woods…or someone who is willing to do anything to stop them from going any further.
Running out of time and up against the worst man and nature have to offer, Frankie and the search party will discover what evil awaits those who go one step too far…
Published: January 18, 2022
Amazon | Goodreads
Rather than a review, can I just shout “read this book” with lots of exclamation points?
Frankie Elkin is one of my favorite female characters ever. She’s the kind of broken that turned her into an empathetic badass.
Lisa Gardner’s writing is wholly, unrelentingly immersive. I was in the moment, experiencing all of it, right alongside the characters.
The only thing I’m going to tell you about the setting, atmosphere, and plot is to bring a flashlight, because it gets a little dark, and watch out for the twists. Oh, and when you get to the last hundred or so pages, don’t plan on moving. Or blinking.
One Step Too Far is the second Frankie Elkin novel. While it can be read as a stand-alone, I highly recommend starting with the first book, Before She Disappeared, because you’ll get to know Frankie better. And it’s freaking fantastic.
The post Book Review — ONE STEP TOO FAR: A Frankie Elkin Novel by Lisa Gardner appeared first on Quiet Fury Books.
New Thriller — THE WAYWARD ASSASSIN: The Wayward Series, Book 2 by Susan Ouellette
Revenge knows no deadline.
Although told to stand down now that the Chechen rebel who killed her fiancé is dead, CIA analyst Maggie Jenkins believes otherwise and goes rogue to track down the assassin. Soon it becomes clear that failure to find Zara will have repercussions far beyond the personal, as Maggie uncovers plans for a horrific attack on innocent Americans. Zara is the new face of terrorism–someone who doesn’t fit the profile, who can slip undetected from attack to attack, and who’s intent on pursuing a personal vendetta at any cost.
Chasing Zara from Russia to the war-torn streets of Chechnya, to London, and finally, to the suburbs of Washington, D. C., Maggie risks her life to stop a deadly plot.
“Ouellette, herself a former intelligence analyst for the CIA, imbues the exciting action with authenticity. Readers will want to see more of the wily Maggie . . .”
—Publishers Weekly
“Every once in a decade you read a book like The Wayward Spy, which is thrilling, addictive, and sends you reading more thrillers, but you’ll go back to this stunning book by Susan Ouellette and reread this tour de force.”
—The Strand Magazine, a Top 12 Book of the Year
Book Details:Read an excerpt:CHAPTER ONE CIA Headquarters, August 16, 2004Genre: Thriller
Published by: CamCat Books
Publication Date: March 15, 2022
Number of Pages: 416
ISBN: 0744304784 (ISBN13: 9780744304787)
Series: The Wayward Series, Book 2 || Each is a Stand Alone Book
Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | IndieBound.Org | CamCat Books
Maggie Jenkins strode across the parking lot to the sidewalk that led her past the “Bubble,” the CIA’s white, dome-shaped auditorium. Just ahead, she paused at the bronze statue of Nathan Hale, the first American to be executed for spying for his country. A half dozen quarters lay scattered at his feet, left there by superstitious CIA employees hoping to garner good luck before deploying overseas. She fished around in her purse for a quarter, which she placed carefully atop Hale’s left shoe.
In just a few minutes, Maggie would learn whether her six-month deployment to the US embassy in Moscow had been approved. Even though Warner Thompson, the CIA’s deputy director for operations, had advocated on her behalf, there were several others, including an Agency psychiatrist and a team of polygraphers who were not convinced that she should be stationed overseas. She’s not ready yet, the shrink had opined, as if she were a piece of fruit not quite ripe enough for picking.
“Wish me luck,” she said to the statue as she turned for the entrance ahead. The CIA’s headquarters comprised two main buildings, both seven stories high, which were linked together by bright hallways with large windows overlooking a grassy courtyard. Maggie worked in the original headquarters building (OHB), which had been built some forty years earlier during the height of the Cold War. From the outside, OHB was a concrete monstrosity with no aesthetically redeeming value, at least in Maggie’s opinion. It reminded her of Soviet architecture—heavy on the concrete, light on the beauty.
And other than the expansive marbled foyer and the posh seventh-floor executive offices, OHB’s interior also was nothing to write home about. Every floor between the first and the seventh looked exactly the same—drab, hushed, windowless hallways lined with vault doors. Behind those heavily fortified doors sat rows of cubicles, a few conference rooms, and cramped offices here and there for mid-level managers.
Maggie pulled open the heavy glass entry door and ducked into a pristine lobby gleaming with white marble-clad walls. Ahead, the Agency’s bright blue logo covered a massive swath of the gray-and-white checked granite floor. To the right stood the Memorial Wall, which was emblazoned with black stars honoring dozens of Agency officers who’d perished in the line of duty. Maggie stopped and bit down on her lip.
The wall was an awesome, solemn reminder of lives given in the defense of freedom. Every time she walked past it, the sharp points of the eighty-fourth star—Steve’s star—ripped another gash in her heart. He’d been working under cover, so no outside friends or relatives had been invited to the ceremony. Warner had sat with her, stoic, as she clutched his hand and stared at the parade of speakers, not hearing a word they said.
She turned her gaze from the wall, slid her badge through the security turnstile, and offered a polite hello to the officer manning the front desk. She bypassed the elevator that she took every day to the fourth floor and made a beeline for the spacious employee cafeteria. In the far corner sat Warner Thompson, nose buried in the Washington Post.
“Morning,” she offered.
Warner rattled the paper and folded it lengthwise. “Coffee?” He pushed a Styrofoam cup across the quartz tabletop and smiled at her. His full head of hair had grayed considerably since last year, but it worked on him, enhancing his gray-flecked eyes and tanned complexion.
“Thanks.” Maggie sat.
“You ready?”
“I guess.” She sipped the coffee, still piping hot and perfectly sweetened. Warner knew her well. “What do you think they’ll say?”
“There’s no reason they should deny you the posting.”
“The psychiatrist thinks I’m obsessed with Zara.”
“He has a point.” Warner leaned forward, elbows on the table. “I told you not to bring her up in your evaluation sessions. If she’s still alive, we’ll find her, Maggie. I promise.”
“There’s no ‘if’ about it.” She waited until a man with a breakfast tray settled at a nearby table, then lowered her voice. “I saw her fleeing the farmhouse in Georgia. Who do they think set fire to the place after I escaped with Peter?”
Warner winced, obviously uncomfortable with the reminder of Peter, his former case officer, the one who’d been intimately involved in the murder of Steve, another case officer, and his protégé, nine short months ago. That Steve also had been Maggie’s fiancé made saying what he had to say all the more difficult. “The point is, the Agency needs to think that you’ve moved on from what happened in Georgia before they send you to such a sensitive overseas posting.”
“Moved on? Warner—”
He raised a hand to stop her. They’d had this discussion dozens of times since the previous November. Maggie had made it perfectly clear that there was no moving on, no closure, as people said these days, until she found Zara. “You know what I mean. You have to toe the party line and say you believe that everyone involved in Steve’s murder is dead. Period.”
“I still don’t understand why they won’t at least consider the possibility that Zara got away.”
Warner rubbed his forehead. “Because the Agency wants this to go away. A star operations officer was murdered by a terrorist and the terrorist is dead. It’s a simple, straightforward narrative. They don’t want the press finding out that another Agency employee and a senior US congressman were involved in Steve’s death. Everything is about the war on terror, Maggie. If the media found out that CIA and elected officials were mixed up with terrorists, there would be hell to pay.”
Maggie quoted the Biblical phrase inscribed on a wall in the CIA’s lobby. “The truth shall make you free.” She snorted. “The truth, unless it’s too embarrassing?”
Warner exhaled and shifted in his seat. “Both of us are lucky that the FBI investigation didn’t uncover . . . everything.”
He was right, of course. Last year, Maggie had destroyed classified documents and withheld other evidence from the FBI to protect them both. And Warner had been entangled, albeit unwittingly, with a Russian who had ties to both Zara and the congressman. Had the FBI known any of this, neither of them would be CIA employees today.
Maggie waved to a coworker who stared from the nearby coffee station. Warner didn’t frequent the employee cafeteria, so his appearance was sure to raise eyebrows. She’d grown accustomed to sidelong glances inside the Agency’s walls. Everyone recognized her. The media had splashed her face all over television and the internet after Congressman Carvelli’s death. There were some who whispered about her using her fiancé’s death to advance her career. Fortunately, they were in the minority. Most who knew about her role in uncovering the terrorist plot considered her a hero, a designation she refused to embrace. Her actions may have saved thousands of lives, but her motivation had been personal—to clear Steve’s name.
He was no traitor, and she’d proven it.
Maggie glanced at her watch. “We’d better go.”
Warner nodded. They grabbed their coffees and headed for the elevator bank. “Remember, you believe Zara died in the fire at the farmhouse,” Warner reminded her on the way up to the fourth floor.
“That’s what I told the shrink last session, but then he talked to the polygraph people.” Since leaving the House Intelligence Committee to return to the CIA earlier this year, she’d endured three marathon polygraph sessions. Every time, the stupid machine registered deception in her response to questions about whether she intended to violate government policies for her own benefit. “Now he thinks I’m up to something.”
Warner shrugged. “Aren’t you?”
Maggie laughed despite herself. “Always.”
***
Excerpt from The Wayward Assassin by Susan Ouellette. Copyright 2022 by Susan Ouellette. Reproduced with permission from CamCat Books. All rights reserved.
Interview with Author Susan OuelletteWhat was the inspiration behind this story?
Two things inspired THE WAYWARD ASSASSIN. The first was my career. I worked as an intelligence analyst for the CIA and a Capitol Hill staffer on the House Intelligence Committee (just like Maggie, my main character). The second inspiration stemmed from a real-world event–a 2004 terrorist attack against a school in Beslan, Russia. As a mother of school-aged children, I was shocked and horrified by this attack on innocent kids. Writing THE WAYWARD ASSASSIN helped me process such a senseless act.
Tell us about your main character.
Maggie Jenkins is the girl next door. She follows the rules and expects her life to unfold according to plan. Then tragedy strikes and her world is turned upside down. When facing overwhelming odds, Maggie digs deep, armed only with her wits, to claw her way out of danger and protect the innocent.
Which is your favorite minor character and why?
My favorite minor character is Roger, a troubled CIA operations officer with a wicked sense of humor and a dark past. He is charged with tracking down Maggie and bringing her home safely. An easy task, he thinks, until he meets her. They have great chemistry and conflict.
Were you surprised by the behavior of any of your characters or the direction of your plot at any point while writing?
I was surprised by a few moments of tenderness displayed by Zara, the story’s antagonist. Most of the time, Zara is evil personified, but every now and then, she’d show a side that gave me pause.
Of all the books out there, why should readers choose this one?
Many spy thrillers feature protagonists with almost superhuman powers. While they can be entertaining stories, I enjoy books with relatable characters who rely on their wits rather than extreme martial arts and gunslinging skills to get through dangerous circumstances.
How much research goes into your fiction writing? What is your approach?
Since both THE WAYWARD SPY and THE WAYWARD ASSASSIN feature real-world events, I did a significant amount of research, particularly for the scenes that take place overseas. I research everything that goes into the story, from photos of streets, to specific restaurant menus and the architectural styles of buildings in foreign cities. I also do a lot of online research to make sure the technology and cultural references are accurate for the story setting.
Describe your writing environment.
I need silence. If I can’t have it, I put on headphones and blast white noise which tells my brain that it’s time to focus and write. Sometimes I write at a desk, sometimes on a couch. I love to have a candle burning nearby and plenty of water or coffee to drink, depending on the time of day.
Do your characters sometimes surprise you with their behavior? Or do you always have complete control?
My characters often surprise me. Sometimes I even ask them, “What on earth are you doing now?” They can be very unpredictable, but I trust that when they wander off the designated path they are leading the story exactly where it needs to go.
If you were to place yourself as a character in a novel, would the story be Mystery/Suspense, Fantasy, or Romance?
Without a doubt – suspense. Preferably a spy thriller.
If you won a paid vacation anywhere in the world, where would you go?
About the AuthorRussia. I’ve always been fascinated by Russia (where many scenes in my book take place). In college, I studied Russian history, language, literature, and culture. I’d prefer to go in summer, in case anyone was planning to send me on an all expenses paid vacation!
Susan Ouellette is the author of The Wayward Spy, a thriller that Publishers Weekly calls a “gripping debut and series launch.” She was born and raised in the suburbs of Boston, where she studied international relations and Russian as both an undergraduate and graduate student. As the Soviet Union teetered on the edge of collapse, she worked as a CIA intelligence analyst. Subsequently, Susan worked on Capitol Hill as a professional staff member for the House Permanent Select Committee on Intelligence (HPSCI). Since her stint on Capitol Hill, she has worked for several federal consulting firms. Susan lives on a farm outside of Washington, D.C. with her family.
www.SusanOuellette.com
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February 26, 2022
Book Review — THE MATCH: Wilde, Book 2 by Harlan Coben
After months away, Wilde has returned to the Ramapo Mountains in the wake of a failed bid at domesticity that confirms what he’s known all along: He belongs on his own, free from the comforts and constraints of modern life.
Suddenly, a DNA match on an online ancestry database brings Wilde closer to his past than he’s ever dreamed, and finally gives Wilde the opening he needs to track down his father. But meeting the man brings up more questions than answers. So Wilde reaches out to his last, most desperate lead, a second cousin who disappears as quickly as he resurfaces, having experienced an epic fall from grace that can only be described as a waking nightmare.
Was his cousin’s downfall a long time coming? Or was he the victim of a conspiracy as cunning as it is complex? And how does it all connect to the man once known as The Stranger, a treacherous fugitive with a growing following whose mission and methods have only turned more dangerous with time?
Release Date: March 15, 2022
My ThoughtsSometimes DNA has all the answers, and other times it only leads to more questions.
The Match gives us an intricate plot with lots of puzzle pieces and action to keep us on edge.
A DNA ancestry site leads Wilde to relatives who might be able to solve the mystery of his origins and, perhaps more importantly, tell him how he wound up abandoned in the woods. But people lie, disappear, and turn up dead because a serial killer has an entirely different agenda.
This one requires attention because we have a lot of characters and the story moves in a few different directions. The plot stretches plausibility a bit at times, which is often true of thrillers. Even so, Coben’s writing is undeniably entertaining.
The Match is the second Wilde novel, following The Boy from the Woods. While it can be read as a stand-alone, starting at the beginning definitely gives more insight into Wilde’s character.
*I received an ARC from Novel Suspects and Grand Central Publishing.*
The post Book Review — THE MATCH: Wilde, Book 2 by Harlan Coben appeared first on Quiet Fury Books.
February 25, 2022
New Release Spotlight — KNIGHT IN RETROGRADE: The Dynamicist Trilogy, Book 3 by Lee Hunt
Would you trade uncertainty for stagnation, chance for god, invention for inertia, thought for dogma?
Four years have passed since the events of Dynamicist and war is on the horizon.
Robert, Koria, Eloise and Gregory went to the New School, hoping to change the world. They thought that mathematically based dynamics, the enlightened age’s answer to wizardry, would give them the power to make everything better. Their hopes were naïve.
Protestors are condemning the creation of a new vaccine. The city is seeing a series of hangings; is it murder or sacrament? The cloaked man is back stalking students. The long-absent demons Skoll and Hati reappear and begin slaughtering whoever they meet. But the real question is, will Nimrheal return? If he does, who will die first?
Uncertainty is inspiring fear, and inventions are not making the world better, only more complicated. The terrified civilians don’t want dynamics and reason. They want the word of Elysium and the return of the Methueyn Knights.
Koria fears the world faces an awful conundrum: that if the Knights return, Nimrheal will stay.
Will Robert, Koria, Eloise and Gregory choose to transform into angelic knights or, at the cost of such heavenly communion, instead banish Nimrheal? What price will be paid? If a new Methueyn Knight rises, will the age of invention disappear forever?
KNIGHT IN RETROGRADE
by Lee Hunt
Series Title: The Dynamicist Trilogy
Publishing Company: Lee Hunt
Release Date: Tuesday, March 1 2022
ISBN: 9781999093594
Cover Artist: Jeff Brown
Amazon
Universal Buy Link
As their eyes met, Heylor found himself abruptly pulled away from the handshake and whirled around by the strong hands of his mother on his shoulder. “What in Leylah’s long night happened to your face, Heylor?”
This again.
“It looks like he got trampled across the gizzard by a team of oxen,” said Herevor in a deadpan voice, rubbing his long narrow jaw with his right hand. His fingernails were black with dirt.
“He wouldn’t tell me what happened!” Shelley yelled from the kitchen table.
I don’t want to talk about it.
“Who’s there?” came a new voice from the couch. It was grandma’s broken, warbly twitter. Heylor peered into the den again and saw her slouched low on the half-collapsed couch. Beside her, perched primly with a straight back, sat Constable Lynwen, hands on lap. Heylor had not seen the young woman cross the room and sit down. He had forgotten about her completely, and now there she was beside his grandma.
“It’s me, Grandma. Heylor.”
The old lady squinted at him. She seemed little more than a bundle of thin, wrinkled skin, looking as if she had lost another two inches of height in the months since Heylor last saw her. Looking at her, spine hunched like a question mark and eyes rheumy and clouded with cataracts, felt like a stab in the gut.
“I thought you were out there across the line.”
“I was.” Heylor looked at Lynwen again, sitting beside his grandma. What is she thinking? “I’m back. Where are Heyden, Scrandeyn, and Helloise?”
Jesteyn crossed her arms. “They’re out farm-handing, Heylor. We told you that at the beginning of the season.”
“Sorry, I forgot about the farm work,” Heylor mumbled. “It’s probably a good thing they’re not here.”
“Why’s that?” Jesteyn asked, eyes narrowing. “They’d love to see you. You know that.”
“Why would they?” Heylor spread his arms wide in a surge of frustration. “They must be glad to be away from here. I can’t believe all the junk you have here.”
Herevor flinched for a microsecond before breaking into a mad grin that exposed every one of his missing teeth. “One knight’s junk is another knight’s armor.”
“Oh, for knights’ sake,” Heylor exclaimed, “why is there a wheelbarrow full of cats in the fireplace? What knight is going to make plate out of that? The cat would be better armor! And isn’t that Shelley’s sextant on the bookshelf? She lives in the orchid now. I do remember that. And isn’t that my old cooper’s kit spread out on the shelf yonder? And why do we have three busted telescopes? I’m sure I threw away the bronze one after second year. What is all this stuff doing here?”
“I needed a place to store my spare things,” Shelley replied evenly. “My room in the Orchid isn’t big enough.”
“Those rooms are huge!”
“Nope.” Shelley was not flustered in the least.
Heylor clenched both fists so hard his face hurt where Skoll had gripped it. “What about the cooper’s kit?”
“Heygard thought we should hold on to it for him until harvest is done,” his father answered nonchalantly
“Oh, of course,” Heylor whispered. “What about the telescope I know I threw away?”
“I think I can fix that,” Grandma piped up.
You? You can barely stand up!
“Well, that accounts for one telescope. How about the other two?”
“That’s me,” jumped in Herevor. “I thought I would see if I could make a small version of an Eindarch Eye.”
Heylor blinked. “Did you succeed?”
“Nope.”
Heylor shook his head. Of course you didn’t. “How about the old wheelbarrow?”
Herevor rubbed his jaw again. “Scrandeyn didn’t want it anymore. I figured it could come in handy. Someday.”
“Of course! Of course it could. Someday,” Heylor almost shouted, angrier than ever. Everything about his family reminded him of himself, of his own failings, of killing his friends. In that moment, he despised them like he despised himself. “It’s come in handy for the cat at least. Whose cat is that anyway? No, don’t answer, I know it came from a cousin or was thrown away by someone somewhere. Everything is useful, everything comes back. From everyone. Nothing is trash. It’s all worth something. My hand-me-down clothes probably got handed back and used for another cat’s nest.” He whirled around. “You know what this family is? Sick, crazy hoarders. It’s an illness. You’re so bad that, even when one of you finally throws something out, it gets thrown back by some other member of the family. When they throw something out, you take it. It’s a circle, a circle of junk, a knights-damned hoarding circle! We should study it in the New School. It’s a mathematical singularity for trash. Nothing ever leaves that doesn’t re-enter. There’s no escape from the entropic pull of the Style family’s hoarding circle vortex! No junk is abandoned, no mistakes are left behind, nothing is forgotten or moved on from.” Heylor held his hands up and whirled slowly around. “This might be a big new house, but we’re still just the same old peasants.”
Smack!
Heylor’s jaw rung for the second time that day, this time from the big hand of his own mother.
“My face already hurts, Mom! Don’t hit me.”
“I love you, boy, but I know that hurts less than what you’re carrying.” Jesteyn had hit him, but she did not look angry. Her liquid eyes betrayed adifferent emotion. “What mistakes aren’t you leaving behind? What pain are you hoarding? What happened to your face? It’s your family here. The only way yer gonna get rid of whatever it is, is to share it.”
Heylor started laughing. “That’s so clever, Mom.” He kept laughing and didn’t stop until his nose started running because he was actually crying. Through blurry eyes, he looked over at Lynwen, sitting silently, watching. “I’m sure you want to leave now, Constable.”
“Nope.” Lynwen smiled.
About the Author
Ever try to do things you were really not well suited to? Lee Hunt understands. He was born with only one working lung, but has gone on to be an Ironman triathlete, a sport rock climber, and a professional geophysicist. The poor lung function has been an excellent excuse for his unimpressive triathlon performance—he is among the worst of those able to complete the Ironman under his own power—and is of some service in eliciting a modicum of sympathy for his average at-best skills as a climber. Actually no one on a rock wall really cares about excuses. It’s a climb-or-fall kind of thing.
His marginal ability to breathe is of no use whatsoever in explaining his career as a geophysicist. He was good at that. Lee published close to fifty journal papers, articles or expanded abstracts, has been awarded numerous best paper awards, and was even sent on a national speaking tour to Canadian universities by the Canadian Society of Exploration Geophysicists. He was born on a farm but grew up near the giant oil sand mines of Fort McMurray and is interested in discussing the environment and the amorality of science. He is also useful at parties in explaining the physics around why, or why not, fracture stimulation might be a risk to manmade structures and the fuzzy cuddly things of nature. Lee’s career helped him appreciate the difficulty in predicting outcomes, the dangers of arrogance—such as thinking you can predict even the smallest thing—and the exigent need to try anyway. He was comfortable and happy being a geophysicist, so after twenty-eight years, he quit to go do the things he was less well suited to.
If you want to hang out with Lee, look for him hiking, cycling, floundering in a lake, clinging desperately to a wall, or at his desk trying to write an entertaining story.
SOCIAL LINKS:
Website
Facebook (Personal)
Facebook (Author Page)
Amazon Author Page
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February 24, 2022
New Release Spotlight — DEAD WIND: A Shana Merchant Novel by Tessa Wegert
DARIEN, CT – In Tessa Wegert’s chilling third offering in the Shana Merchant series, Dead Wind (April 5, 2022, Severn House), readers follow Shana back to the Thousand Islands where a recent murder disrupts the peace the residents have come to expect from their small town. But it’s not just the secrets of this small town that Shana unveils. Still rattled by the truth behind her kidnapper’s true identity, Shana pulls all her resources to find the killer and track Blake Bram.
The body is discovered on Wolfe Island, under the shadow of an enormous wind turbine. Shana, arriving on the scene with fellow investigator Tim Wellington, can’t shake the feeling that she knows the victim – and the subsequent identification sends shockwaves through their community in the Thousand Islands of Upstate New York.
Politics, power, passion . . . there are dark undercurrents in Shana’s new home, and finding the killer means dredging up her new friends and neighbors’ old grudges and long-kept secrets.
That is, if the killer is from the community at all. For Shana’s keeping a terrible secret from almost everyone around her: eighteen months ago she escaped from serial killer Blake Bram’s clutches. But has he followed her, to kill again?
DEAD WIND
Tessa Wegert
Severn House
Amazon | Goodreads | Bookshop.org
“Wegert melds the police investigation so deftly with Shana’s endless family drama.” – Kirkus review
“An atmospheric, sophisticated thriller with layers upon layers of secrets lurking amidst the beauty of New York State’s Thousand Islands, Dead Wind shows Shana Merchant and Wegert at the top of their game.” — Sarah Stewart Taylor, author of The Mountains Wild and A Distant Grave
ExcerptEXCERPT: DEAD WIND by Tessa Wegert
PROLOGUE
Alexandria Bay, New York
“Have you ever played Never Have I Ever?”
The game had been a favorite of mine as a kid, from grade school all the way until junior high. I wasn’t sure if it was still in fashion, if Trey would even have a clue what I was talking about, but he did something with his head that I took as affirmation, so I folded my hands on the sticky table and leaned toward him with a smile.
“So, it’s a really fun game, and it goes like this: I say ‘never have I ever’ about something I haven’t done, and you tell me if you have done it. If you’ve done it, then you win. It’s easy. Should we try?”
A nod.
“Here we go,” I said. “Never have I ever eaten worms.”
Trey’s eyes widened, and a smile tugged at his lips. He looked up at his mother, whose expression was already softening. “Do gummy worms count?” Trey asked, his voice barely audible even in the quiet room.
“Yes!” I beamed at him, making sure he knew how pleased I was that he was playing along. “That means you win the round. And then you get to ask the question. Sound good?”
Trey nodded again. He was in.
“Okay.” I took a breath and tried to keep my eyes on the kid. Behind him, Tim reached for his notebook. “The first question I want to ask isn’t actually about you. It’s about that man.”
Trey stiffened, and his dark eyes grew wary. But he didn’t shrink away from me.
“When you answer,” I told him, “say what he would say if he was playing. Get it?”
Virginia shifted in her seat. This wasn’t why she brought her son here, not part of the plan, and her trepidation was plain to see. Where Trey’s recovery was concerned, the questions I was about to ask would do no good. If anything, they might cause Trey to regress, and that prospect made my stomach clench and a wave of acid swell in my throat. If I was going to succeed at finding his captor, though, and eliminate the possibility of more victims, more damaged psyches, more death, I had to get Trey to talk on my terms. I tried to convey this to his mother without words, a silent exchange that played out over Trey’s head. Her lips were pinched tight when she pulled the nine-year-old onto her lap as if he were a toddler, but she didn’t argue. She knew as well as I did the black presence that loomed over her child would never be fully vanquished until the man who’d taken Trey was found.
From DEAD WIND, published by Severn House in April 2022. This excerpt may not be reproduced without permission of the publisher.
Interview with Author Tessa WegertWhat was the inspiration behind this story?
The third book in the Shana Merchant series was inspired by a trip I took to Wolfe Island in Ontario, Canada. The island’s towering wind turbines are quite imposing, and the controversial wind farm got me thinking about what happens when a small community is divided by politics and gossip – and what that might mean in the context of murder.
Tell us about your main character.
Shana Merchant, a senior investigator with the Bureau of Criminal Investigation (BCI) in Upstate New York, is a clever, motivated individual, but she struggles with anxiety and PTSD following a traumatic abduction experience. She tries to convince herself she can manage her emotions just fine on her own, when in fact she would be much better served by opening up to those she trusts.
Which is your favorite minor character and why?
I’m quite attached to Natalie Oberon. Shana meets Natalie when she’s in mourning; she has pulled out all of her eyelashes as a way to cope with the immense stress of her mother’s murder. On the surface, she appears to be a grief-stricken young woman. But Natalie refuses to take the injustice of her mother’s death lying down.
Please share a few favorite lines or one paragraph.
The walls were thin at the barracks, though, and every now and then, over the song of the radiator, I could hear Natalie crying. There wasn’t much of a difference between sorrow and dread, at least not physiologically. Both hurt in equal measure, tightening around our guts like a noose on a neck.
If your book were made into a movie, who would you like to play the lead characters?
One of my favorite questions! I think Emma Stone would make an excellent Shana, and Adam Driver would be perfect as Tim Wellington. Gillian Anderson and Jane Lynch would both be fabulous as Mac.
How did you come up with the title?
Dead wind is a nautical term used to describe a wind that opposes a ship’s course, which seemed like the perfect metaphor for Shana’s face-off with serial killer Blake Bram. There’s an excellent Finnish crime series called Deadwind that I really enjoy, so the title was a nod to that as well.
Is there an underlying theme in your book? If so, tell us about it and why/if it’s important to you.
In many ways, this book is about forgiveness. Small towns are sometimes insular – but its people can be very compassionate, too. I hope that comes across in the story.
Do you edit as your write? Or do you write an entire rough draft before doing any edits?
I’ve tried to write a rough first draft many times, but the journalist in me can’t stand to leave a page when it feels unfinished and is riddled with mistakes. I’ve found what works best for me is to edit as I go (and then revise several more times after that).
Tell us something about yourself that we won’t find in your bio.
In my free time, I study martial arts and recently earned my green belt in Shaolin Kempo Karate. I incorporate some of the defense techniques I’ve learned into my books (spoiler: Shana takes karate, too).
Are you a morning or night person?
About the AuthorDefinitely a night person – but with two kids, a dog, and a husband at home, I often get an early wakeup call. Whenever I have the chance, I stay up reading late into the night and binge crime shows with a massive bowl of popcorn until morning.
Tessa Wegert is the author of the Shana Merchant series of mysteries, which includes DEATH IN THE FAMILY, THE DEAD SEASON, and DEAD WIND (2022). A former freelance journalist, Tessa’s work has appeared in Forbes, The Huffington Post, Adweek, and The Economist. She grew up in Quebec and now lives with her husband and children in Coastal Connecticut. Find out more about Tessa at www.tessawegert.com.
Follow Tessa on social media:
Facebook: @tessawegertbooks
Twitter: @tessawegert
Instagram: @tessawegert
The post New Release Spotlight — DEAD WIND: A Shana Merchant Novel by Tessa Wegert appeared first on Quiet Fury Books.
February 23, 2022
Book Review — Unmasked: My Life Solving America’s Cold Cases by Paul Holes
I order another bourbon, neat. This is the drink that will flip the switch. I don’t even know how I got here, to this place, to this point. Something is happening to me lately. I’m drinking too much. My sheets are soaking wet when I wake up from nightmares of decaying corpses. I order another drink and swig it, trying to forget about the latest case I can’t shake.
Crime-solving for me is more complex than the challenge of the hunt, or the process of piecing together a scientific puzzle. The thought of good people suffering drives me, for better or worse, to the point of obsession.
People always ask how I am able to detach from the horrors of my work. Part of it is an innate capacity to compartmentalize; the rest is experience and exposure, and I’ve had plenty of both. But I had always taken pride in the fact that I can keep my feelings locked up to get the job done. It’s only been recently that it feels like all that suppressed darkness is beginning to seep out.
When I look back at my long career, there is a lot I am proud of. I have caught some of the most notorious killers of the twenty-first century and brought justice and closure for their victims and families. I want to tell you about a lifetime solving these cold cases, from Laci Peterson to Jaycee Dugard to the Pittsburg homicides to, yes, my twenty-year-long hunt for the Golden State Killer.
But a deeper question eats at me as I ask myself, at what cost? I have sacrificed relationships, joy—even fatherhood—because the pursuit of evil always came first. Did I make the right choice? It’s something I grapple with every day. Yet as I stand in the spot where a young girl took her last breath, as I look into the eyes of her family, I know that, for me, there has never been a choice. “I don’t know if I can solve your case,” I whisper. “But I promise I will do my best.”
It is a promise I know I can keep.
Release Date: April 26, 2022
My ThoughtsUnmasked is a fascinating blend of memoir and true crime, from the man who solved some of the most well known cold cases, including the decades-long hunt for The Golden State Killer.
The writing is conversational, like we’re sitting down with Paul Holes as he tells us his story. While most of the crimes are brutal, the content isn’t especially graphic. The focus is mostly on the victims, their families, and the toll murder takes on everyone involved—including the cops.
Reading this made me think about the fine line between diligence and obsession. Holes chased cold cases at the expense of his family, neglecting two wives and all four of his children throughout his career. If you’re familiar with Michelle McNamara’s story, the true crime writer who died while obsessively chasing down leads regarding The Golden State Killer, then you’ll have insight into Paul Holes’ personality type. He and Michelle were friends of sorts, sharing information and an obsession.
This book left me feeling melancholy. While I have immense respect for Paul Holes’ determination to solve cold cases and stop killers, I can’t help but feel that these killers all claimed Holes as yet another of their victims, using emotional destruction instead of murder.
*I received an ARC from Celadon Books.*
The post Book Review — Unmasked: My Life Solving America’s Cold Cases by Paul Holes appeared first on Quiet Fury Books.
New Release Spotlight — THE PINE BARRENS STRATAGEM: From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish by Ken Harris
Rockfish’s luck changes when a Hollywood producer reaches out, but the job is two states away and involves digging up information on a child trafficking ring from the 1940s. What he uncovers will be used to support the launch of a true crime docuseries. He grabs a mask, hand sanitizer and heads for South Jersey.
On-site, Rockfish meets Jawnie McGee, the great granddaughter of a local policeman gone missing while investigating the original crimes. As the duo uncover more clues, they learn the same criminal alliance has reformed to use the pandemic as a conduit to defraud the Federal Government of that sweet, sweet, stimulus money.
It’s not long before the investigation turns up some key intel on a myriad of illicit activity over the last eighty years and Rockfish rockets toward a showdown with the mafia, local archdiocese and dirty cops. COVID-19 isn’t the only threat to his health.
Book Details:Read an excerpt:Genre: Crime Thriller
Published by: Black Rose Writing
Publication Date: January 27th 2022
Number of Pages: 250
ISBN: 1684338719 (ISBN13: 9781684338719)
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Rockfish sat in the Scion’s passenger seat while Jawnie drove. He wasn’t thrilled with the decision, but she was adamant that some of the dirt roads, deep within the Pine Barrens, were no place for a Dodge Challenger. Plus, she didn’t feel like playing navigator. In the end, Rockfish decided not to put up much of a fight, considering Jawnie was more than a little familiar with where they were headed, although he had second thoughts with the four cases of whiplash he had suffered before even reaching the highway.
“Do you drive with two feet,” he asked. “Because my head can’t keep jerking forward and slamming back much more. Unless you’re running an insurance scam, and if so, what would be my take?”
“Enough with the backseat driving, and can you put your visor back up? That late afternoon glare off the mirror is killing me.”
“Make a deal with you. You drive how you want. I’ll keep an eye on our surroundings the way I want. Speaking of which, can you move this right-side passenger mirror a little more to the right, all I’m seeing is the rear fender.”
“You got it,” Jawnie said, and she played with the mirror control until Rockfish let her know it was right where he needed it. He could monitor anyone approaching from behind without having to turn around.
“I do want to fill you in on something I learned before we left,” Rockfish said. “When you went into the house to fix those sandwiches, I reached out to a guy I know in the Baltimore PD, Dan Decker. He’s an old friend and helps me out when he can. He’s going to have one of their academy cadets do some research for us and see if there is anything more than a current history between the Marini and Provolone families. The Marini’s have run Baltimore as long as the Provolone’s have this area. If Edward’s notation of the two factions working together has anything to it, Decker will let us know. He said currently both families have worked together when it was profitable to do so. Sound familiar?”
“Yeah, same M.O. as our knuckle draggers and kid touchers,” Jawnie replied.
Rockfish was happy to learn Jawnie’s disdain for organized religion matched his own. “Well put. But if there is a history there, what are the odds that some wealthy, non-fertile Baltimore Catholics would be willing to pony up some cash to right the situation. And Edward was witness to it all?”
They drove in silence over the next twenty minutes, Rockfish trying to figure out exactly what he expected to find in a fifty-four-year-old decrepit building in the middle of the woods. He hadn’t arrived at a conclusion yet when something very familiar came into focus.
“Remember when you asked me about knowing when you’re being followed?” Rockfish said.
“Yeah, I just chalked it up to anxiety and paranoia. It comes standard on the Millennial base model.”
“Guess what? We are,” Rockfish deadpanned. “Don’t do a damn thing different and let me think for a second. There’s a Jeep Grand Cherokee, right now, two cars back that’s been with us since we pulled off the highway when I was telling you what Decker said.”
Rockfish pulled out a scrap of paper and jotted down the license plate.
“I’ll ask Decker to run this, if they end up sticking on our ass the whole way. I could be a tad paranoid, but I’d rather err on the side of caution. Just keep doing what you’re doing, and I’ll tell you if evasive actions become necessary. We’ll start you slow and work our way up to the infamous private eye J-turn.”
Ten minutes later, the Scion crossed the Hammonton City line and Rockfish lost sight of the Jeep. He had Jawnie drive a couple of concentric circles around the downtown area, before heading out on County Route 542 which, according to her, would point them towards the southern part of Wharton State Forest and the abandoned orphanage.
Rockfish spotted the Jeep, only a second or two after it turned on Route 542 from a side street.
“Company’s back,” Rockfish said. “I guess when we hit these dirt roads you mentioned, we’ll see how serious they are.”
When the Scion’s tires soon left the asphalt, and began rolling down the slightly larger than single lane dirt road, the Jeep’s true intentions came to light. No longer concerned about being spotted, the Jeep’s speed increased until it was only a few feet from Jawnie’s bumper. Rockfish’s head swiveled from the Jeep and back to his pilot. He needed to stay calm, but Jawnie looked petrified, and while her hands had a death grip on the wheel, they were also visibly shaking.
“Jawnie, listen to me and we’ll be alright.”
She didn’t say a word, but Rockfish could feel the car slowing down. Screw her feelings, he thought and began giving orders.
“Put your foot back on the gas. You need to keep a constant speed.” And then a minute later. “Stay in the center, don’t give them space to get alongside of us.” Lastly, he shouted. “The center I said!” His voice gave out with that last outburst and he knew she heard the fear in it.
Rockfish swore as the Jeep slammed into their back bumper. “That a girl, keep her straight! Gas, give it some—”
The rear windshield exploded, shards of safety glass like small pellets peppered the interior of the car. Jawnie screamed and instinctively yanked the wheel to the left. Likewise, Rockfish now yelled in order to be heard.
“Foot off the gas! Steer into it!”
Rockfish wasn’t sure how he got through to Jawnie, but she listened, and the Scion straightened back up and they were rocketing straight down the dirt road once again. But before he could congratulate his pupil, the Jeep was now angling to get alongside; the Scion drifting dangerously close to the right shoulder, or lack thereof. Rockfish turned and looked out the driver’s side rear window. He could clearly see the Jeep’s front end.
In the next instant, they were sliding again, Jawnie’s foot slammed on the brake and the Jeep’s right fender nudged the Scion’s left rear. Brakes squealed, and tires howled as dirt, dust and burnt rubber filled their lungs.
“Hold on, hold on, hold on!” It was all he managed to say, but her eyes told him she was a million miles away. Rockfish closed his and braced for impact.
The car spun violently to the left, a hundred and eighty degrees, and his head whipped left and then right, slamming against the window. The seatbelt dug into his chest and he had trouble breathing. A second later, the earth beneath the car’s right side began to give way and the Scion slid into a ditch before coming to a stop.
By the time Rockfish opened his eyes and turned around, the taillights from the Jeep had disappeared into the distance.
* * * * * * * * * *
“That settles it, I’m going to the police now! They, someone, fuck I don’t know who just tried to kill us!” Jawnie said. “Look at my car! Who’s going to pay for this? Not like we’re exchanging fucking information with them!” Her mask was around her neck and Rockfish could see the tears.
Rockfish took a second before he replied. His partner was still in shock, borderline hysterical, and he didn’t want to push her over the edge, unlike the car they pulled themselves from. The Jeep had performed a textbook pit maneuver and Rockfish bet Jawnie wasn’t a big fan of Cops or Live PD. Hence, her jumping straight to attempted murder.
“Now hold on Jawnie,” Rockfish said. “You’re not hurt, right? That seatbelt and airbag did their jobs?”
“Of course, but—”
“No buts about it. Your chest might be a little sore tomorrow from that belt, your eyes swollen from the air bag, and more importantly, you’ll never forget your first chase. But seriously, no one tried to kill us. If they had wanted us dead, we’d be bleeding out from gunshot wounds. Your rear window was the victim of a warning shot. When we were in that ditch, no one walked up from behind and pumped a few slugs into the back of our heads.”
Rockfish stopped and looked at Jawnie, he needed to make sure he was getting through. Her breathing had slowed down quite a bit and that was a start.
“This was a warning, pure and simple. All this tells us is that someone thinks you might be sticking your nose somewhere it doesn’t belong. Obviously, it pertains to those boxes. I haven’t been in town long enough to piss someone off yet, at least, I hope. But if they were staking out your place, they’d have my license plate number and know who I am.”
“But I’ve only dealt with Hasty on this,” Jawnie said.
“Look. You might have worked out a deal with Hasty, but odds are he wasn’t the one that went into the very back of the evidence room and pulled those boxes for you. He’s probably recounted your conversation to a few of his ‘trusted’ senior men, and God knows who else might have been in the room when those conversations took place. Was there anything else you mentioned either to him or anyone else at the station that might cause a reaction like what just happened?”
“I d-d-did tell him I had hoped to t-t-take what I found in these boxes, scan what I could, and create a website. One that would ask the public for tips. Anonymously, of course. It would be a way to get the word out and maybe get someone’s attention who might remember something. Hasty asked his secretary to check and see if he had the authority to put the PD’s logo and tip line on this site. He was only trying to help.”
“So, he’s got a secretary. Old bird, I bet?”
“Yeah, Betty Lou Sommers. I’m guessing she’s logged more than a few years there.”
“There’s your problem. Old Betty Lou sees all Hasty’s business that comes and goes out of his office. I’d lay odds her loyalties lie with others she’s worked with or for through the years and not the guy who knocked the latest Ringle out of office.”
“I’d never thought of it that way.”
“If you’re trying to be a junior special agent, I’d advise you to think that way. Someone in that department is crooked and an off-duty cop or on-duty mafioso ran us off the road. Doesn’t matter who, I’m betting they can be one and the same. Now if you feel alright, we need to call for a tow.”
“And an Uber.”
“Do you have any bars?” Rockfish said.
“Nope.”
“We were lucky this was only a warning. We’ve got some walking ahead of us. They shouldn’t be coming back.”
I gotta reach out to Davenport, he thought. The stakes have significantly increased.
***
Excerpt from The Pine Barrens Stratagem by Ken Harris. Copyright 2022 by Ken Harris. Reproduced with permission from Ken Harris. All rights reserved.
About the Author
Ken Harris retired from the FBI, after thirty-two years, as a cybersecurity executive. With over three decades writing intelligence products for senior Government officials, Ken provides unique perspectives on the conventional fast-paced crime thriller. While this is his first traditionally published novel, he previously self-published two novellas and two novels. He spends days with his wife Nicolita, and two Labradors, Shady and Chalupa Batman. Evenings are spent cheering on Philadelphia sports. Ken firmly believes Pink Floyd, Irish whiskey and a Montecristo cigar are the only muses necessary. He is a native of New Jersey and currently resides in Northern Virginia.
Catch Up With Ken Harris:www.KenHarrisFiction.com
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