Elena Hartwell's Blog, page 10
March 15, 2025
Splinter Effect: Debut Thriller
Splinter Effect by Andrew Ludington
Author Interview + Book & Author Info!Don’t miss any ITW Debut Author interviews! Click the link here.Splinter Effect
In Splinter Effect, an action-packed debut by Andrew Ludington, time traveling archaeologist Rabbit Ward maneuvers through the past to recover a long-lost, precious menorah hidden in ancient Rome.
Smithsonian archaeologist Rabbit Ward travels through time on sponsored expeditions to the past to secure precious artifacts moments before they are lost to history. Although exceptional at his job, Rabbit is not without faults. In a spectacular failure twenty years ago, he lost both the menorah of the second temple and his hot-headed mentee, Aaron. So, when new evidence reveals the menorah’s reappearance in 6th century Constantinople, Rabbit seizes the chance for redemption.
But from the moment he arrives in the past, things start to go wrong. Rabbit quickly finds out that his prime competition, an unlicensed and annoyingly appealing “stringer” named Helen, is also in Constantinople hunting the menorah. And that’s only the beginning. The oppressed Jewish population of the city is primed for revolution, Constantinople’s leading gang seems to have it out for Rabbit personally, and someone local is interested enough in the menorah to kill for it.
As the past closes in on him and his previous failures compound, will Rabbit be able to recover the menorah before it’s once again lost in time? With new and old dangers alike hiding behind every corner, time might just be up for Rabbit’s redemption―and possibly his life.
To Purchase Splinter Effect, click the link here.Splinter Effect: Interview with Debut Author Andrew LudingtonSplinter Effect centers on a time traveling archaeologist named Rabbit Ward. Tell us about that character and how you came to create the world he lives in:
It’s funny how these things come in layers. The first thing that came to me for this series was the hook – a world in which time travel is possible, it’s known to everyone, and it is primarily used for tracking down precious artifacts from the remote past. I worked in sponsored research administration for many years. I know that world. I know that research funding for basic, foundational science has always been thin. Applied research (e.g. cancer research) has always been better funded. So, I rolled with that principle and applied it to my world.
In Rabbit’s America, no one is willing to fund time travel (which is, in the story, expensive) if they don’t get something to show for it. That led me to Rabbit, who loves his work, but deeply resents the economics that make it possible. He’s a classic, “bite the hand that feeds you” kind of guy. And, if he’s that kind of guy, it’s going to naturally bite him back, right? So that layered on the problems he has at the beginning of the story – his career is endangered, and his lack of ingratiating behavior means no one will bail him out. Layer upon layer.
The other thing I had to think about early on was how to deal with time travel anomalies. You know, the “I go back in history and accidentally hit my grandfather with a car” sort of problem. I won’t go into that too much here, but the Splinter Effect is a core principle of time travel in my world that tackles that problem. And, happily, it opened up so many questions in my head that it fueled an entire series.
Splinter Effect sends Rabbit back to 6th Century Constantinople. What kind of research did you do for that time and place?
Curiously, 6th Century Constantinople is less well documented than, say, 1st Century Rome. So, it was time consuming but not impossible to read all the primary sources I could find. From there, I read secondary research as it applied to things I wanted to do in the story. My intention was always, “I won’t include anything that directly contradicts primary or secondary research.” But as long as it cleared that bar and didn’t seem too implausible, I allowed myself to invent.
In my research, I frequently discovered things about the time period that seemed to fit right into the story I wanted to tell. For example, learning that the Jewish population in the Roman Empire of the time was already experiencing increasing restrictions upon their religious freedoms. That expanded and enriched the story I was telling.
Tell us about your road to publication with Splinter Effect:
Like most unpublished authors, I had no idea how to break in at first. I sent my query letter to some carefully selected agents, most of whom replied with cordial form letters of disinterest. One who did take the time to write a custom reply said (and I’m paraphrasing) “this is just the sort of book I should like, but I didn’t like yours.” Ouch!
In retrospect, however, that was just fine. I don’t want to be represented by someone who doesn’t connect with my writing. It’s like the saying goes, “if it doesn’t open, it’s not your door.”
Eventually, I had the opportunity to meet David Hale-Smith from Inkwell at the mystery writer’s conference, Bouchercon, and pitch him my book in person. He liked the idea and asked me to send him pages. A few months later, he signed me. It’s a great match. David and Naomi Eisenbeis got my work, liked my work, and gave me good suggestions for some light touches to make it more marketable. We went on submission and, in what seemed like no time at all, Minotaur expressed interest and eventually bought the first two books in the series!
Splinter Effect is the first book in a series. Will it be an ongoing series, or does it have a known ending?
I’m building the series to conclude in 4 books. I know, most closed series are 2, 3 or sometimes 5 books. But I knew from the outset how the overall arc of the story would play out. By the time I finished book 2, I knew it would take me 4 books to tell the story the way I want to.
When you aren’t writing, you’re a technologist for Northwestern University. Tell us about that part of your career:
You did your homework! (I did!)
My work with Northwestern is in the business applications side of technology. I direct the teams that implement, configure, customize and integrate applications that support University business (HR, Finance, Student Records, Research Administration, Facilities Management etc., etc.) It’s a fun job, and a demanding one.
What are you working on now?
Well, as you know, the writing cycle is always far ahead of the publication schedule. So, while Splinter Effect is out this March, Double Shadow is in the final stages of design for release next March. Meanwhile, I’m nearly done with book 3!
I also have a few manuscripts queued up for polishing for my agent. Never a dull moment.
Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers:
I wish I had enough experience to have gleaned wisdom. But I will share one thing that I believe made a big difference in my journey. Before you write “chapter 1,” think about how you would want a fan of your book to pitch it to another person on an elevator ride. If the description you come up with requires too many words for an elevator ride, your fans won’t be able to pass the word. Help them help you!
The other thing that worked for me was consistency. I reserve an hour a day, every day, for writing. Some days I get a little more, very rarely a little less. But being “in” your story every day works a special kind of magic.
Author Pet Corner
Alas, my old pal Roy Batty, a big orange tomcat who was with me for 20 years, died several years ago and I haven’t recovered enough to move on. He greeted me at the door every day after work and sometimes I swear I can still feel him draped over my shoulder, which was his favorite place to be. I miss him.
I’m so sorry for your loss.
ANDREW LUDINGTON writes transportive adventure stories intended to make you forget your commute.
He graduated from Kenyon College with a BA in English Literature and lives in Evanston, IL where he moonlights as a technologist for Northwestern University. Splinter Effect is his first novel.
Follow Andrew on his debut journey: Website, Facebook, Instagram & XElena Hartwell/Elena Taylor
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March 14, 2025
Double-Crossed: A Ronan McCullough Thriller
Double-Crossed by Eliot Parker
Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.
Recovering from the emotional and physical damage of his last case, Ronan McCullough is trying to put his life back together. But when a federal agent’s charred remains surface, linked to a professor’s encrypted money laundering scheme, Ronan becomes embroiled in a high-stakes game of life and death with someone who is willing to kill everyone that knows anything about the encryption codes.
Ronan soon uncovers several dark secrets and learns that nobody is being honest with him, including the people he trusts the most. When the
encryption codes are stolen and Ronan learns their real purpose, he finds himself in a race to stop a plan that will make it nearly impossible to stop the funding of dangerous crimes.
As the body count rises and secrets are unearthed, Ronan must navigate a web of deceit to uncover the truth. How will Ronan succeed when the main suspect is a set of numbers?
Purchase Links Amazon & B&NThriller
Date Published: September 10, 2024
About the Author
Eliot Parker is the author of five thriller novels and two collections of short stories. His latest thriller, DOUBLE-CROSSED, won the American Writing
Awards award for best mystery/thriller in 2024. His thriller A FINAL CALL was named a “Best Book to Discover of 2022” by Kirkus Magazine and
a finalist for the Hawthorne Prize in Fiction. Eliot has won the West Virginia Literary Merit Award as well as the PenCraft and Feathered Quill
Book Awards for his works and been a finalist for the SIBA Book Prize in 2016. He hosts the podcast program “Now, Appalachia,” on the
Authors on the Air Global radio network that profiles authors and publishers from the Appalachian region. He teaches writing at the University of
Mississippi.
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March 13, 2025
The Business of Medicine Cover Reveal
The Business of Medicine Tung Giep M.D.
Cover Reveal + Book & Author Info
Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.
The Definitive Guide to Help New Physicians Start Their Career on the Right
Path and Avoid Costly Mistakes
Non-Fiction (Medical, Memoir)
Date Published: March 18, 2025
Publisher: Elite Online Publishing
What every new physician needs to know now . . . and every practicing
doctor wishes they had known.
The truth behind The Business of Medicine.
You’re at the end of a long journey that has brought you from a fledgling medical student with nothing but dreams and desire, through one of the most arduous courses of study known to mankind, to a place of relief, and . . . well, fear. As you begin this new chapter in your life, you will soon discover that your studies have made you book-smart. But sadly, you haven’t been exposed to the real world or the business side of medicine . . . until now.
In The Business of Medicine, Dr. Tung Giep lifts the veil of the healthcare industry to expose the underbelly that every new doctor needs to know to join a new practice and begin your career.
• Are you clear on your career goals and career path?
• What are the different malpractice insurances?
• What are your employment options?
• What questions should you ask during a job interview?
• How do you assess the best compensation package?
• What red flags should you look for before signing a contract?
• How do you get in and out of a contract if needed . . . or can you?
• How do you negotiate your contract?
Packed with wisdom, guidance, and a healthy dose of humor, this book is the definitive guide to help new physicians navigate the complex landscape of the medical profession and emerge with far fewer bumps and bruises than they would otherwise.
Dr. Tung Giep is a practicing neonatologist who has excelled in his specialty for more than thirty years. His background includes board certification in pediatrics and neonatal-perinatal medicine and over twenty-five years as a medical director in community hospitals. Dr. Giep founded and served as president of Newborn Intensive Care Specialists (NICS)
for seventeen years, where he and his staff provided hospitals with 24/7 neonatology, pediatric hospitalists, and Maternal Fetal Medicine programs. In 2017, the company was sold to a national company.
His backstory as a refugee from Vietnam and eldest of four sons—all of whom followed in the footsteps of their physician father—is the story of a kid who, by no effort of his own, found himself in a family of physicians and a country of opportunity. He took that foundation and made his way in a profession that exposed him to the best and the worst of
humanity. Here, he shares what he learned in hopes that his experiences will help others avoid some of the same mistakes and build a career—and possibly a business—to be proud of.
About the Author
The son of a physician and the eldest of four boys who all grew up to become doctors, Dr. Tung Giep knew early on what his career path would look like. He always wanted to make a difference in the lives of patients and to help shape the future of the healthcare system. The experience of emigrating
from Vietnam to the US after the Vietnam War strengthened his resolve and built a resilience that he has carried throughout his life and career.
Dr. Giep is a graduate of Wofford College in Spartanburg, SC. He received his medical degree and completed residency at The Medical University of
South Carolina (MUSC), then went on to complete his fellowship at Children’s Mercy Hospital in Kansas City, MO. His background includes
board certification in pediatrics and neonatal-perinatal medicine, a fellow with the American Academy of Pediatrics, and over twenty-five years serving
as a medical director within community hospitals. He founded and served as the president of NICS, providing hospitals with 24/7 Level-2 and Level-3
NICU and pediatric hospitalist programs for seventeen years before the company was sold to a national company in 2017.
Throughout his career, he successfully developed and scaled neonatal programs from the ground up, providing innovative and quality-focused
patient care and resulting in profitability and streamlined processes. Under his leadership, several underperforming nurseries have been transformed into high-performing and top producing units within a short turnaround time. Additionally, he has led the initiative to implement an innovative telemedicine program via Teledoc that provides clinicians 24/7 access to neonatologists, helping to avoid unnecessary transfers and provide more comprehensive care.
He is the Medical Director of Community Hospital Level-2 Nurseries for a Children’s Hospital-affiliated hospital, where he manages the development of the Neonatal Telemedicine Program. He credits much of his success to a diverse background that includes clinical, business, and financial expertise, along with his innate ability to cultivate meaningful
relationships with both internal and external stakeholders. His focus on a collaborative and integrated approach to creating a seamless and best-in-class healthcare experience for all—with the patient and the families at the forefront—has been at the core of his entire career as a healthcare provider.
Dr. Giep lives in Houston, TX with his wife, Michelle and sons Sebastian and Benjamin, and enjoys travel, cooking, and keeping up with the latest technology developments in the medical field. He insists that writing this book has been one of the hardest things he has ever done in life.
Follow Dr. Tun Giep
Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor
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March 11, 2025
The Seer: Paranormal Historical Story
The Seer by Raquel Y. Levitt
Book + Author Info + a Giveaway!
Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.The Seer
In 1890s Missouri, secrets are a matter of survival.
Clairvoyant Sarah Richardson screams as her older sister Katherine is forced into a straightjacket and thrust into a carriage bound for the St.
Louis City Lunatic Asylum. She is devastated to learn Katherine has been blamed for her inadvertent role in an abused woman’s murder. Now, too
frightened to speak up, she hides the truth that it should have been her in that carriage.
Sarah’s mounting guilt becomes too much, and she heads to St. Louis, determined to regain her sister’s confidence and prove herself worthy
of forgiveness.
While working to heal their relationship, Sarah meets a timid housewife who tries to hide her bruises. When troubling psychic visions of the woman begin to affect her, she sees an opportunity to atone for her past mistakes.
Desperate to do whatever it takes to make things right, Sarah embarks on a perilous journey that may cost her everything—including her own
life.
Award-winning author Raquel Y. Levitt holds an MFA in creative writing and a master’s degree in English. Her short stories have been published in various anthologies and literary journals and reflect her passion for writing about strong women finding their voice and their power. She is a world traveler, an amateur nature photographer, and a collector of cool
rocks. Raquel and her husband live, work, and play in the Texas Hill Country and Montana’s Bitterroot Valley. The Seer is her debut novel.
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March 9, 2025
High Tea and Misdemeanors: A Tea Shop Mystery
High Tea and Misdemeanors: A Tea Shop Mystery by Laura Childs
When a wedding is tragically averted by the death of the bridesmaid, Theodosia is determined to prove that it was murder in the latest entry in this New York Times bestselling series.
Theodosia Browning and her tea sommelier, Drayton Conneley, are tapped to cater the elegant wedding of Bettina and Jamie. Theodosia and Drayton are setting up when they hear a crash from the greenhouse. Shockingly, they discover that part of the roof has collapsed trapping a bridesmaid and the groom. He will pull through but the bridesmaid is no more. Theodosia is convinced it was murder.
INCLUDES DELICIOUS RECIPES AND TEA TIME TIPS!
High Tea and Misdemeanors (A Tea Shop Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
29th in Series
Setting – South Carolina
Publisher : Berkley (March 4, 2025)
Hardcover : 320 pages
ISBN-10 : 0593815440
ISBN-13 : 978-0593815441
Digital ASIN : B0D66RG6JG
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Tea and a Mystery to chase away these final shreds of winter.
By Laura Childs, New York Times bestselling author of High Tea and Misdemeanors, her newest Tea Shop Mystery.
As winter lingers, a nice hot cup of tea makes for a fragrant, warming treat. Keemun black tea, known as the “Burgundy” of teas, is full-bodied, slightly sweet, and goes beautifully with scones and date bread. Lapsang Souchong, another Chinese tea with a slightly smoky flavor, pairs elegantly with apples and Cheddar cheese. And Yunnan teas from China are known for their smooth, deep, and complex flavors.
Teas from India are also a delight. Darjeelings are known as the Champagne of teas and are highly prized for their fresh taste and delicate nuances. Nilgiri teas are from the Blue Mountains in southwestern India and are renowned for being mellow, smooth, and slightly sweet. Of course there’s the perennial favorite, spiced chai,
Dimbulla tea from Ceylon has a bright flavor and red-amber color. Add a little milk to this one and enjoy a cup with your favorite bars or cookies. There are scores of other delightful Ceylon teas, too, many flavored with orange peel, cinnamon, cloves, mangoes, and cherries.
Japanese green teas include Sencha, Gyokuro, Genmaicha, and Bancha varieties. These teas tend to have nice vegetal flavors while some taste pleasantly toasted.
There are also flavored and floral teas that include bits of rosebuds, lemon peel, jasmine flowers, cranberries, vanilla, mango, passion fruit and peaches.
Be sure to visit your favorite tea shop, gift shop, or grocery where you’re in the mood to discover some great new teas. And if grandmother didn’t bequeath you her antique teapot, check out your local antique store!
Now . . . if murder happens to be your cup of tea, let me tell you about High Tea and Misdemeanors, my latest Tea Shop Mystery. In this cozy-thriller set at a glorious autumn wedding at a country flower farm, a mysterious greenhouse collapse claims the life of an innocent bridesmaid and injures the groom. As the heartsick bride sobs over these tragic events, tea maven Theodosia Browning wonders if it really was an accident. Even as police and paramedics arrive, Theodosia hunts for clues. And when the groom is targeted again, she launches a full-on shadow investigation. At Theodosia hosts an Under the Tuscan Sun Tea and a Victorian Halloween Tea, she remains on the prowl for this mysterious murderer and saboteur. And eventually finds herself deep in a low-country swamp where she stumbles upon a deserted sawmill and a merciless killer desperate for revenge.
Because I write cozies with a thriller pace, my savvy amateur sleuth’s investigation leads her from high tea to high drama with lots of pulse-pounding shocks along the way. So cozy up for a fun read and enjoy the tea time tips and recipes I include as well. Really, once you’ve read about Pumpkin Muffins, English Crumpets, and Cinnamon Scones, you’re going to want to make them for yourself!
Blessings,
Laura Childs
High Tea and Misdemeanors Author Laura Childs
Gerry Schmitt, who writes under the pen name Laura Childs is now adding two more series that are harder-edged Wednesday February 26, 2014 in Plymouth. (Pioneer Press: Jean Pieri)Laura Childs is the New York Times bestselling author of the Tea Shop Mysteries, Scrapbook Mysteries, and Cackleberry Club Mysteries. In her previous life she was CEO/Creative Director of her own marketing firm and authored several screenplays. She is married to a professor of Chinese art history, loves to travel, rides horses, enjoys fundraising for various non-profits, and has two Chinese Shar-Pei dogs.
Laura specializes in cozy mysteries that have the pace of a thriller (a thrillzy!) Her three series are:
The Tea Shop Mysteries – set in the historic district of Charleston and featuring Theodosia Browning, owner of the Indigo Tea Shop. Theodosia is a savvy entrepreneur, and pet mom to service dog Earl Grey. She’s also an intelligent, focused amateur sleuth who doesn’t rely on coincidences or inept police work to solve crimes. This charming series is highly atmospheric and rife with the history and mystery that is Charleston.
The Scrapbooking Mysteries – a slightly edgier series that takes place in New Orleans. The main character, Carmela, owns Memory Mine scrapbooking shop in the French Quarter and is forever getting into trouble with her friend, Ava, who owns the Juju Voodoo shop. New Orleans’ spooky above-ground cemeteries, jazz clubs, bayous, and Mardi Gras madness make their presence known here!
The Cackleberry Club Mysteries – set in Kindred, a fictional town in the Midwest. In a rehabbed Spur station, Suzanne, Toni, and Petra, three semi-desperate, forty-plus women have launched the Cackleberry Club. Eggs are the morning specialty here and this cozy cafe even offers a book nook and yarn shop. Business is good but murder could lead to the cafe’s undoing! This series offers recipes, knitting, cake decorating, and a dash of spirituality.
See what other mysteries Laura has in store: Website – FacebookVisit all the Stops on the Tour!
March 4 – Jody’s Bookish Haven – SPOTLIGHT
March 4 – Christy’s Cozy Corners – AUTHOR GUEST POST
March 5 – Angel’s Book Nook – SPOTLIGHT
March 5 – The Avid Reader – REVIEW
March 6 – Books, Ramblings, and Tea – SPOTLIGHT
March 6 – Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
March 7 – View from the Birdhouse – REVIEW
March 7 – Wine Cellar Library – SPOTLIGHT
March 8 – Maureen’s Musings – SPOTLIGHT
March 8 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT
March 9 – The Mystery of Writing – AUTHOR GUEST POST
March 10 – Baroness Book Trove – REVIEW
March 10 – Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
March 11 – Ruff Drafts – SPOTLIGHT
March 11 – Deal Sharing Aunt – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
March 12 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW
March 12 – Celticlady’s Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
March 13 – Novels Alive – REVIEW
March 13 – Wine Cellar Library – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
March 14 – MJB Reviewers – SPOTLIGHT
March 15 – The Plain-Spoken Pen – REVIEW
March 15 – StoreyBook Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
March 16 – Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW
March 17 – Boys’ Mom Reads! – SPOTLIGHT
Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor
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Devious Web: A New Thriller
Devious Web by Shelley Grandy 
Spotlight + Excerpt + Book & Author Info + A Giveaway!
Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.
Devious Web
Gone Girl‘s twists, The Social Network’s scheming, and Agatha Christie’s detective sleuthing coalesce in this suspenseful mystery fiction novel set in Toronto in a mid-pandemic business environment.
When Tom Oliver, a successful Canadian entrepreneur, is offered millions from a Silicon Valley company for his data analytics business, he believes his only challenges as he considers the offer will be deciding on next steps for his company and reconciling with his aloof wife. What could possibly go wrong?
Things escalate quickly when Tom is targeted by an unknown perpetrator and his inner circle of family and colleagues comes under scrutiny. Tom’s friend, homicide detective Jason Liu, strives to keep Tom safe while he investigates to find the truth. Who would want to murder a well-liked tech CEO at the top of his game, and why? A progression of intriguing plot twists takes this bingeworthy thriller through business, politics, social media, interpersonal relationships, and even equestrian scenarios. When the dust has settled literally motivations become clear, and Tom discovers that while some relationships are worthy of long-term investment, others have expiration dates.
Praise for Devious Web:
“Writing with aplomb about a corporate world she clearly knows, Shelley Grandy has come up with a pulse-pounding psychological thriller and whodunit, with political overtones, that fully captivates. She keeps you guessing until the very end, making this an impossible book to put down.”
~ Jude Berman, author of The Die
“A truly captivating read! Shelley Grandy weaves together a web of suspense and intrigue in Devious Web, leaving readers spellbound until the final page. With its engaging plot and well-drawn characters, this book is a thrilling must-read for any lover of suspense fiction.”
~ Kelley Keehn, best-selling author of Talk Money to Me and Rich Girl, Broke Girl
“A thrilling and well-crafted read that will captivate fans of tech-driven mysteries.”
~ Publishers Weekly BookLife Reviews
“Shelley Grandy builds a complex story packed with twists and turns. Tension, characters, and connections are so well-constructed that even savvy murder mystery readers won’t see many of these developments coming.”
~ Midwest Book Review
Book Details:Genre: Thriller
Published by: SparkPress
Publication Date: October 15, 2024
Number of Pages: 272
ISBN: 9781684632749 (ISBN10: 1684632749
To purchase Devious Web, click on any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Simon & Schuster
Read an excerpt of Devious Web:
Chapter 1
TOM AND LAWRENCE—JULY 29, 2021
The pandemic had not been kind to Lawrence Cameron, at least not to his waistline. As The Big Guy strode across the restaurant to join him for dinner, Tom could easily see that Lawrence had packed on a few more pounds while working from home. Toronto’s legendary finance guru and media commentator had earned his nickname for his investing prowess, but now the term was even more suitable for the six-foot-two-inch, 250-pound influencer.
When Tom stood to greet him at their table, Lawrence gave him his usual whack on the back and the now customary COVID-19 elbow bump. Even though Tom had played football in high school and was himself six feet tall, he always felt dwarfed by his main investor and personal mentor. Maybe it was also because of the gap in experience between them, as Lawrence was twenty years older.
“Tom, how’s my favorite entrepreneur doing?” Lawrence asked while settling into the comfortable leather banquette reserved especially for him by the manager of ONE, the see-and-be-seen restaurant adjacent to the Hazelton Hotel in Toronto’s upscale Yorkville enclave.
“Good, thanks, Lawrence, but crazy busy with all that’s going on with the business, as you can imagine,” Tom responded.
“No doubt. And I bet you never thought that seven years in, you would have brought Pellucid so far!” Lawrence said.
Tom agreed as he reflected on how truly surreal it was that the data analytics software company he had founded— Pellucid—was valued at over US $200 million, and a Silicon Valley company was now proposing an acquisition.
To have hit that milestone at the age of thirty-eight is honestly mind-blowing, Tom thought.
“I’m looking forward to hearing your updates today, Tom, but given that Grace just put me on a no-frills diet, I’m definitely ready to dive into this menu before we get started,” Lawrence joked.
Tom smiled, knowing that Lawrence’s second wife, Grace, did her best to keep her husband’s life—and his weight—balanced. He knew Lawrence would be eyeing the restaurant’s signature lobster spoons as an appetizer and something carb-heavy and definitely not on Grace’s diet plan for the main course.
While Lawrence ordered for them, Tom admired the contemporary styling of the chic restaurant.
It’s the little things everyone missed during the restrictions of the pandemic, like being able to get together with friends or enjoying this kind of ambience, Tom thought.
Yorkville, with its high-end boutiques and elegant hotels and restaurants, was where Toronto’s elite dined and shopped. It wasn’t part of Tom’s typical day-to-day, but he and his wife, Miriam, sometimes had drinks at ONE’s expansive bar because the art gallery she curated was just around the corner.
After the waiter had filled their glasses with a Chianti Classico wine, Lawrence leaned forward and spoke quietly so other diners wouldn’t overhear.
“So, what about the acquisition? What’s the latest from Crystal Clere?” he asked.
Tom confided that the California artificial intelligence company’s CEO had confirmed he would be offering US $250 million in cash and stock to acquire Pellucid. The next step would be for Tom to receive a letter of intent formalizing the offer, and then Pellucid’s board would have until September 15—about six weeks—to decide whether to approve the sale.
“I’m open to the offer, which is certainly substantial, but I still feel a bit reluctant, Lawrence. I always envisioned taking Pellucid to an IPO on the TSX and Nasdaq myself. On the other hand, it’s hard to turn down a huge payout from a well-established company like Crystal Clere that’s a great fit for our software,” Tom said.
“Not only that, Tom, but as they say, timing is everything. The pandemic has shown you never know what kind of economic climate you might encounter just when you’re ready to take the company public. Sometimes it’s good to take a profit and focus on the next opportunity,” Lawrence said, as he nodded to acknowledge a couple of people passing by their table who obviously recognized the Big Guy from media interviews.
“That’s a great point, especially after everything we’ve seen over the last year, from market volatility to the January 6 insurrection,” Tom agreed. “It definitely creates a more opportunistic mindset.”
“And of course, I wouldn’t object if my investment in Pellucid netted out to a nice-sized return,” Lawrence quipped.
“Ha, I’m sure!” Tom replied. “Well, for now, Winston is earning his CFO pay and then some, working through the due diligence to address all the financials, and Crystal Clere’s CEO and I are in discussions ensuring we’re well aligned. But so far, I can say that I like what I see. And that’s important because if we sell, they’ll probably want me and possibly a couple of my senior team to commit to working for a year or so as part of Crystal Clere.”
“Yes, it’s pretty standard for the acquiring company to want at least the CEO to stay on for continuity,” Lawrence agreed. “Overall, you’ve got this, Tom. Working through the process, making sure you have all the information up front, and doing the due diligence is the right approach. Then when you have all the facts and feel comfortable, I’m sure it will be easier to make your final decision. And, of course, whatever direction you decide to take, the board of directors must be onside with it as well.”
Tom nodded agreement as Lawrence twirled some of his impressively presented main-course seafood linguini onto his fork.
“Okay, so fill me in on Patrick,” Lawrence said. “I know you were having some issues with him last time we talked. How did that net out?”
Tom sighed. It had been a tough situation to manage. Five years before, Tom had met Patrick McGowan at the stable where they both boarded horses and had soon hired Patrick to be his business development manager. The two men were close in age but had vastly different personalities. While Patrick’s Irish flair and direct manner with prospects had proven helpful in building the business, his proclivity for partying had created problems.
Tom shared with Lawrence that he’d had no choice but to fire Patrick and, after a contentious final meeting with him, he suspected their friendship had been permanently shattered.
“That’s unfortunate, Tom,” Lawrence said. “But eventually Patrick’s shenanigans would have attracted attention and reflected badly on Pellucid. I know you hate being tough on people, but didn’t he lose an investor for you when he missed a key meeting?”
Tom indicated that had indeed been the last straw and agreed he had run out of options when it came to keeping Patrick on his payroll.
The two men lingered over coffee and liqueurs while reviewing Pellucid’s latest quarterly results, upcoming sales pipeline, and the company’s case study currently in development at Tom’s father-in-law’s business in North Carolina, one of Tom’s biggest early-stage clients.
“Are you staying here in Yorkville tonight or at your place?” Tom asked as he and Lawrence concluded their business.
“Next door at the Hazelton,” Lawrence replied. “Grace and I have been living up north at the cottage during the pandemic, and I’m more comfortable playing tourist here in Yorkville rather than rattling around our big house in Rosedale without Grace.”
Tom chuckled at Lawrence’s candor and, as always, admired the close relationship Lawrence had with his wife. The two men parted ways, with Lawrence going to the bar for a final nightcap before turning in and Tom heading for home.
***
Excerpt from Devious Web by Shelley Grandy. Copyright 2024 by Shelley Grandy. Reproduced with permission from Shelley Grandy. All rights reserved.
Devious Web Author Shelley Grandy
Shelley Grandy is a Canadian communications professional whose journalism degree from Ottawa’s Carleton University fueled a career that started in newspapers and progressed to a high-tech company, Nortel. She subsequently founded Grandy Public Relations Inc. and has supported tech sector clients in Ontario and Quebec for the past fifteen years.
You can find her at the boarding stable with her horses, Chancey and Briosa. Shelley lives in Trenton, Ontario, Canada, with husband Roy, Husky dog Luka, and cat Otto, and within spoiling distance of her granddaughters, Emilia and Olivia Oulds.
To learn more about Shelley, click either of the following links:
www.ShelleyGrandy.com
Goodreads
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March 8, 2025
Beyond the Cemetery Gate: A Young Adult Mystery
Beyond the Cemetery Gate by Valerie Biel
A Guest Post + An Excerpt + Book & Author Info!
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Beyond the Cemetery Gate
When the police rule her dad’s death an accidental overdose, 16-year-old Chloe refuses to believe it and vows to find his killer. Alone against a potentially corrupt, small-town police force, a persistent social worker seeking proof that she has adult supervision, and precariously low funds, Chloe learns that her dad’s life as a cemetery caretaker masked a web of family secrets that quite possibly led to his death—and are now putting her in mortal danger.
Needing freedom to investigate, Chloe pretends that her only surviving relative, a famous war correspondent, has returned from an overseas assignment to be her guardian. But living alone in the caretaker’s house in the middle of the cemetery, mere feet from the crime scene, puts Chloe’s nerves on edge even before she unearths clues about the shadowy side of her small town. Help comes from unlikely and surprising allies: the colorful owner of the local retro diner, the quiet new classmate with his near-perfect memory, and a spirit who visits in her moments of greatest need.
But as Chloe gets closer to the truth, someone else is getting closer to Chloe, watching her every move. And when her aunt turns up on international news reporting from a war zone, Chloe’s cover is blown. Now the race is on to reveal her dad’s killer—but perhaps—Chloe isn’t as alone as she thought.
Genre: Young Adult Mystery Suspense
Published by: Lost Lake Press
Publication Date: October 31, 2024
Number of Pages: 342
ISBN: 9780998173641 (ISBN10: 0998173649)
Praise for Beyond the Cemetery Gate: The Secret Keeper’s Daughter:
Recently voted Notable 100 Best Indie Book of 2024 (from Shelf Unbound) and a Semi-Finalist for the CIBA YA Fiction Book Award (Chanticleer International Book Awards)
“A stand-out mystery…offering readers an unforgettable journey.” ★★★★★ 5-Stars
~ Readers’ Favorite
“This taut, suspenseful mystery goes beyond the cemetery gate and settles, creaking, into our very bones.”
~ Silvia Acevedo, author of the award-winning God Awful series
“A gripping mystery that succeeds due to a headstrong protagonist who’s unwilling to fail.”
~ Kirkus Reviews
“… a must-read and recommended for fans of mysteries looking for a gripping and compelling story.”
~ 5-Stars – Reader Views Kids
“A haunting YA mystery. Touching on everything from police ineptitude and community solidarity to the endless frustration of being patronized as a young person, this paranormal thriller confidently combines timely and relatable themes within a page-turning storyline.”
~ Self-Publishing Review
“Not all secrets are buried in the grave. Beyond the Cemetery Gate is a nonstop read through a dark, twisting plot and the dangerous world of shadows and sinister people that 16-year-old Chloe must outrun and outsmart.”
~ Patricia Skalka, Author of the Dave Cubiak Door County Mysteries
To purchase Beyond the Cemetery Gate, click on any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads
Guest Post — Beyond the Cemetery Gate
Strange but True Stories from the Writing World: Getting the Details Right by Valerie Biel
I have a sticker on my computer that says, “I’m a writer. Don’t judge my search history.” And there’s a running joke in my writing groups that if any of our partners were to die under suspicious circumstances that our browser history could make each of us a very likely suspect.
I write in a number of genres—mystery writing is the ‘thing’ that usually has me researching info on weapons and evidence. Things like blood spatter patterns, what materials make it nearly impossible to lift fingerprints, and what sort of wound does a certain caliber gun make (entrance and exit.) Eeeew. I know, gross! But you have to get these pesky details right. It’s the job of a writer to make sure stories are as accurate as possible.
Even for my fantasy Circle of Nine series, there’s important (and yet sometimes very strange) research . . how much foxglove would one need to fell a grown man? What was the price of a jar of rowan berry jelly in 1450’s Europe? Were women allowed to inherit / own land in Ireland. In what Irish county was the first witch trial held? What did pagan communities historically do to celebrate May Day?
Sometimes, there are things you must guess at, but the less of that you do, the better reading experience!
For Beyond the Cemetery Gate, I didn’t need to research odd historical details or gruesome murder scene forensics, but there were days when I spent more time looking things up than I expected. Things like: (And don’t worry none of these are spoilers.)
When are the leaves in Wisconsin at their peak fall colors?
How can you search court case records in Florida?
What kind of information is included in the kind of police report released to the public?
Can you dial directly to a hotel room anymore without going through the front desk?
What does a person look like when they’re overdosing on narcotics?
How does a social worker confirm that a minor is in the custody of an adult?
What might burn scars look like on a teenager who was severely burned as a toddler.
What’s the flight time from Istanbul, Turkey to New York City.
What are the typical dates for the high school cross country regional, sectional, and state meets?
And, so many, many more ….
You might think that an author would hate that part of the writing process, because – well – it’s NOT writing. And while I can’t speak for all authors, for me that is partially true. Coming up against a bit of missing information can really slow down the writing process. When the info I need is not essential to whether I can keep writing the scene or not, I typically type in RESEARCH [topic]. Then I can easily find the word ‘research’ later and fill the missing information in. This is a particularly good chore for the days when my writing mojo is on low. At least then, I can get some work done and not feel like the day was a complete waste.
And sometimes the research is not just done from my computer, the best times are when real world experiences make it into my stories . . . I’ve incorporated details from a trip to the Amazon in one upcoming novel. My many visits to Ireland’s stone circles and portal and passage tombs have given me insight that would have been nearly impossible to glean from the internet.
Speaking to experts has also helped me write accurately. I’ve consulted psychologists, police officers, private detectives and even archaeologists . . . I was at first surprised at the kind response to my requests when I asked these professionals to provide some insight and advice. These interactions have been fun and informative. Plus, I’m so dang nosy—I’m genuinely interested in learning how “everything” works, and especially so if it’s something I’m including in a story!
This is all done with the goal of writing the most authentic and entertaining stories possible! Enjoy!!
Read an excerpt of Beyond the Cemetery Gate:
Chapter 1
CHLOE
In the space between sleep and wakefulness, a sound seeped into my consciousness. The sense that something wasn’t quite right pulled me fully awake. I listened beyond my own breathing for it to come again.
A wail pierced the silence. An animal in pain? Only it wasn’t. I knew it was human. I slipped from bed to stare out into the cemetery. The tombstones always made for fascinating or eerie shadows, depending on how you felt about graveyards. I never minded, which was a good thing, considering my house was smack dab in the middle of one.
The sound came again, more of a moan this time, followed by a murmur of voices. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but people were definitely in the cemetery. One of them was scared or maybe hurt. Dad wasn’t going to like this. He locked the gate tight every night. The only way in was to scale the tall, spiked iron fence or pick the lock. Either one was going to piss him off.
In the distance, a pinpoint of light moved away from where I perched. It was too small to be a flashlight . . . maybe a cell phone?
I padded down the hall to Dad’s bedroom, calling for him. His door was ajar, and the hall light was enough to show his empty bed, the covers rumpled and thrown back as though he’d gotten up quickly. He must have heard the same thing.
His boots weren’t in their usual spot by the back door, so I knew for sure he’d gone to investigate. I had to help because Dad and I were a team, small and mighty, he said. We always made it through everything together.
In my hurry I forgot to stop the screen door from slamming behind me when I stepped out onto the porch, cringing when the sound echoed through the night.
I waited a moment and then whispered, “Dad,” as loudly as I dared.
No answer.
I angled toward the part of the cemetery where the small light had been, thinking I’d find him corralling some kids from high school pulling a prank. It happened once in a while but usually in a few weeks—closer to Halloween. I knew more than a handful of idiots my age who would think this was funny.
I hadn’t heard the wailing or voices since I left the house. Maybe whoever it was had left? That hopeful thought disappeared as a weird combination of worry and fear crawled up the base of my spine. Just in case it was something more menacing than kids, I hid my approach behind the cemetery’s largest and oldest tombstones. Maxwell, Bell, Ludington . . . I touched their cold granite and the mossy green lichen growing up their sides as I slid between them. I expected to find Dad by now. Where was he?
A terrible thought pushed me into full fear mode. What if the person making that horrible scream was Dad? It hadn’t sounded like him, but … what if he was out here somewhere and hurt? I had to find him!
My breath quickened and a damp sheen of sweat prickled my skin.
I sped up, more concerned with finding him than being seen. The cemetery was big, but I had to be close to where I’d spotted the light. I calmed myself long enough to pivot in a slow circle, my bare feet sliding on the dewy grass. The main gate was open, obviously where the trespassers came in—and hopefully where they’d gone out.
It was quiet and dark.
The cemetery had no lights of its own, and the glow of streetlights reached only to the second row of graves. Here and there, solar decorations shimmered for dead loved ones as cheerfully as possible but didn’t shine far enough to be helpful. The darkness didn’t hinder me. The cemetery had been my playground since preschool, so even in the dark I was able to avoid every tree root, odd stone, or divot that might trip me up.
I decided to be systematic and jogged a grid pattern, snaking through the rows. I stopped short and gasped at the next turn. A body was slumped against the base of my favorite statue, a white marble angel holding a sword and shield.
“Dad!”
He didn’t move. In two quick strides, I was at his side. “Dad!”
I gave his shoulder a gentle shake, and his head tipped sideways.
“Oh my god! Wake up!”
I needed a better look and found the light on my phone. What I saw scared me even more. Dad’s face was pale, his eyes unfocused. I needed help—fast!
Dialing 911 seemed impossibly slow for three simple numbers.
“911. What’s your emergency?”
“It’s – it’s my dad. He won’t wake up.”
“What’s your location?”
“I’m in the city cemetery. My dad is the caretaker here.”
“What’s your name?”
“C-Chloe Cowyn.”
“Okay, Chloe, can you check whether your dad’s breathing?”
I bent low and placed my face close to Dad’s mouth. “I don’t think so. Please hurry!”
This didn’t make sense. Had someone hit him? I didn’t see any blood. I swept my eyes over his legs and arms—stopping abruptly at what I saw.
“Nooooo.”
At first, I thought the wailing had returned, until I realized that I was the one making the sound eerily like what woke me.
“Chloe, are you okay? I have help on the way. Stay on the line with me until they arrive.”
“No. No. No.” My cell phone dropped from my hand as I backed away.
Tears blurred my view until I could no longer see the needle stuck in my dad’s arm.
***
Excerpt from BEYOND THE CEMETERY GATE: The Secret Keeper’s Daughter by Valerie Biel. Copyright 2024 by Valerie Biel. Reproduced with permission from Valerie Biel. All rights reserved.
Author of Beyond the Cemetery Gate — Valerie Biel
Valerie Biel writes books for middle grade to adult audiences–stories inspired by her travels and her insatiable curiosity.
Her award-winning, young adult fantasy series, Circle of Nine, was inspired by the myth and magic of Ireland’s ancient stone circles. She’s also the author of Haven, a contemporary middle grade novel, and Beyond the Cemetery Gate, a YA mystery suspense story.
She helps other authors with their book promotion and marketing and frequently teaches writing workshops to students of all ages.
When Valerie’s away from the computer, you might find her wrangling her overgrown garden, traveling the world, and reading everything she can get her hands on. Once upon a time, she graduated from the University of Wisconsin with degrees in journalism and political science. She lives with her husband on a (tiny) portion of her family’s century-old farm in rural Wisconsin, but regularly dreams of finding a cozy cottage on the Irish coast where she can write and write.
To learn more about Valerie, click on any of the following links: ValerieBiel.com, Amazon Author Profile, Goodreads – @valerie_biel, BookBub – @ValerieBiel, Instagram – @ValerieBielAuthor, Threads – @ValerieBielAuthor, X – @ValerieBiel, Facebook – @ValerieBielBooks & YouTube – @ValerieBielAuthor
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The post Beyond the Cemetery Gate: A Young Adult Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
March 4, 2025
Bye Bye BlackBird: A Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery
Bye Bye BlackBird by Elizabeth Crowens [image error]
Guest Post + an Excerpt + Book & Author Info!
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Bye Bye BlackBird
A BABS NORMAN HOLLYWOOD MYSTERY
In the summer of 1941, Hollywood heats up again when Humphrey Bogart arrives right after a female corpse with a dead bird stuffed inside her overcoat topples into the office of B. Norman Investigations. While filming The Maltese Falcon, Bogie found a mysterious ancient Egyptian hawk artifact on his doorstep containing a mummified black bird. Someone with dark intentions threatens the main cast, one by one, leaving dead birds, from crows to falcons, as their calling cards.
While more murders pile up, jeopardizing the film from being finished, Bogie hires private eyes Babs Norman and Guy Brandt, infuriating his volatile third wife, Mayo Methot, or Sluggy, as she’s known in some circles. Unraveling the personal lives of Mary Astor, John Huston, Sydney Greenstreet, Elisha Cook, Jr., Peter Lorre, and Jack L. Warner in their quirky, humorous way, the PIs turn the underbelly of Tinseltown upside down to stop the crazed killer from claiming another victim.
Praise for Bye Bye Blackbird:
“No author can seamlessly blend Hollywood history with and engaging mystery yarn better than Elizabeth Crowens. It’s a jaunty tale that could have been lifted from a Warner Bros. screenplay with all the principals from the studio’s famed stock company: The Maltese Falcon, Bogie, Mary Astor, Greenstreet, John Huston, and Jack L. Warner. Fasten your seatbelts for a wild ride through 1940s Hollywood!”
~ Alan K. Rode, film historian and author, Michael Curtiz: A Life in Film
“Crowens does it again with Bye Bye Blackbird. Babs, Brandt, and Bogart make this rocking novel the stuff dreams are made of.”
~ Reed Farrel Coleman. New York Times bestselling author of Blind to Midnight
“It’s like someone shook a movie projector and out tumbled Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre, and a duo from a struggling PI agency bringing all the lighthearted fun of a 1940’s Hollywood mystery. That someone is Elizabeth Crowens.”
~ Tom Straw, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
“A creative twist on The Maltese Falcon: Dead birds show up on doorsteps. Humphrey Bogart assumes the role of a real-life Sam Spade, and two young PIs rescue every oddball animal as they investigate. Even the mogul of a major movie studio is no match for a wisecracking myna bird who sounds like a Warner Brothers cartoon. If you’re a fan of Turner Classic Movies and the Golden Age of Hollywood, Bye Bye Blackbird will be sure to entertain.”
~ Robert Dugoni, New York Times bestselling author of The Tracy Crosswhite Mystery Series
“An office full of lost pets, a strange dame drops dead in the doorway, and Bogie appears with a knock-off Egyptian hawk … while shooting The Maltese Falcon. Thus begins the wild ride of Elizabeth Crowens’ Bye Bye Blackbird. Babs and Guy, the heroes of Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles, continue in this welcome, hilarious and worthy sequel that I can only describe as The Thin Man meets ‘hardboiled’ with both tongues firmly in cheek. Famous names, Hollywood haunts, and a crime I dare you to solve, make this well worth your time. As a lover of Old Hollywood, I loved this book!”
~ Jon Lindstrom, USA Today bestselling author of Hollywood Hustle, 4-time Emmy© nominee, award-winning filmmaker, and veteran actor known for True Detective, Bosch, and General Hospital.
“Elizabeth Crowens’ Bye Bye Blackbird is a welcome addition to the Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery series. Set during the Golden Age of Hollywood and brimming with depictions of its personalities, Crowens succeeds in bringing Old Hollywood to life and offering readers another thoroughly entertaining installment to this series.”
~ Annette Bochenek, Ph.D., author of the Hometowns to Hollywood series
“A delectable mystery set in the Golden Age of Hollywood, Elizabeth Crowens Bye Bye Blackbird is a fantastic addition to her Babs Norman series with a treat of a cast featuring Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre and other screen legends from the era brought to stunning life.”
~ Lee Matthew Goldberg, award-nominated author of The Great Gimmelmans and The Mentor
Bye Bye Blackbird Trailer
Book Details:
Genre: Golden Age of Hollywood Private Investigator novel with satire
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: January 28, 2025
Number of Pages: 340
Series: Babs Norman Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery, Book 2 | Each is a Stand-Alone Mystery
To purchase Bye Bye Blackbird, click either of the following links: Amazon | Goodreads
Read an excerpt of Bye Bye Blackbird:
Chapter 1
Look at the Birdie!
Hollywood 1941
On Friday, July 4th, only the most essential, dedicated, or insane Los Angelenos punched the clock. Established businesses that usually stayed open closed early that afternoon. For the fledgling ones, like the young private detectives at B. Norman Investigations, there would be no weenie roasts, barbeques, or national holiday celebrations. Death would soon follow. Every electric fan they owned hummed its own tune. Between the fan blades whirring and the cats purring, panting dogs, who could qualify as hotdogs, an injured pelican with its wing in a sling, and their janitor’s wisecracking myna bird, the whole kit and caboodle at Hollywood Boulevard and N. Sycamore resembled a cross between the Humane Society and the Griffith Park Zoo.
Guy Brandt, more detective-partner than secretary, manned the desk upfront. On top of it: a shoebox of magazine clippings, scissors, and a stack of The Times and Herald-Examiner. He undid one more button on his clammy, sweat-stained shirt, flung his tie onto their hat rack, and took a swig of his warm Nehi orange soda, already flat. He hoped to find new clients from newspaper leads but wasn’t getting anywhere. Babs Norman, who always had every pin curl in place, patted off her sticky forehead with a handkerchief. Way beyond a simple touch-up with powder and fresh lipstick, only a masterful makeup wizard, like Perc Westmore, could bring new life to this wilted flower.
“Wouldn’t it be fine and dandy if we could afford to run an ad at least once a week saying that we’re private detectives, specializing in discreet celebrity cases?” she asked.
An adventurous kitten, who strayed from the pack, latched on to Guy’s sock and started to climb his leg. “Maybe we should ask if we can put a note in the downstairs lobby that we’re also a pet adoption service.” He unhooked its claws, returning him to his mama.
“You think that would pay off our debts?”
“Do you always have to sound like a broken record?” An Irish Wolfhound, in need of a bath, sauntered in from the doorway between the two offices. He went up to Guy and plopped his oversized, hairy head into his lap. “Dog days not agreeing with you, Sir Henry?” After rubbing the furry beast’s head, he went to their icebox and plopped chunks of ice in the various water bowls scattered around both rooms. Several prostrated cats laid on their backs, trying to find coolness on the linoleum floor.
From under his pile of clippings, he fished out a copy of Black Mask. Babs, with a wooden clothespin clamping her nostrils shut and carrying an odiferous box of shredded newspapers, walked into his office and stopped short when she caught him reading the pulp. “You think we’re going to find our next client from detective fiction? We need another high-profile case like when we rescued Asta, so MGM could go into production on their next Thin Man film. They paid us an unheard-of amount of money…until you lost it all.”
“Stop being such a sourpuss.” He refused to give her eye contact.
“Do you think I’m enjoying spending time in our stifling office? I’d rather be at the beach with the man of my dreams.” Her inflection had a hint of sarcasm.
“Who’s the lucky fella?”
She went over to their monstrous dog and kissed him on the nose. “Looks like it’s you, Sir Henry of the Baskervilles. Instead of my frog prince, you’re my dog prince. Ah, you’re such a good boy.” She stared at the bulldog in the corner. “But we really need to paper-train Bruno.”
Their adopted bulldog whined. “You hurt his feelings,” Guy said. “Give him a good scratch behind his ears and apologize.”
She scowled. “I’ll give him two more weeks, and it’ll be your job to train him. Otherwise, he can go back to Wiggins, and I don’t care if one of his kids breaks out in hives.” She headed out the door to dump the litter.
* * *
“Our phone rang twice while you were out,” Guy said. “But Wiggins’ stupid bird answered before I could.”
“Hello, sucker!” the myna bird cackled. “Down for the count…1…2…3. Knocked him in the kisser, didn’t ya?”
“By the time I picked up the receiver, whoever it was hung up,” he explained.
“It’s hard to believe a bird can be so smart,” Babs muttered.
“Smart-mouthed is more like it,” he said. “Sounds like Jimmy Cagney, who he’s named after. Maybe we should let him earn his keep. The bird can impersonate him at parties.”
Babs stared at the troublemaker. “The person on the other end probably thought it was a prank.” She looked around the room. “Keep it up and…I got a lot of hungry cats and canines who wouldn’t mind a bowlful of myna bird stew.”
Wiggins, the building janitor, propped their front door open, causing their ginger tomcat to disappear into the hallway faster than gunfire. “My wife said the same. What are the two of ya doing here on Independence Day? With the tenants gone, I heard yer bickering all the way in the basement. Sounded like a married couple in divorce court. How did ya get in?”
“We had an extra set of keys,” Guy said.
Wiggins planted his hands on his hips. “More like makin’ a copy of my set while my back was turned. There’s no foolin’ me. Come on now. Who’ll be the first to confess?”
Both detectives buried their noses in their newspapers.
“All right, if none of ya willin’ to come clean, why aren’t you out having fun?”
“Paying our overdue office rent is my idea of fun,” Babs replied.
Wiggins looked confused. Guy explained, “We’re hurting. Nothing but small potatoes since retrieving our dognapped canine stars.”
“We might be forced to move out, if we don’t land a decent case,” said Babs. “I’m not looking forward to setting up shop at my house.”
Wiggins inhaled but choked. “You make sure you keep this place spic-and-span. If your neighbors start belly achin’…”
From inside his desk, Guy took out a sardine from its wax paper wrapping and tossed it to their pelican.
“Sniff…sniff… If you don’t get rid of this stench,” Wiggins continued, “my boss’ll make sure he throws you out on your arse.”
She plucked a bottle of cheap toilet water from her purse and spritzed the room. “Better now?”
Wiggins pointed toward the exit. “Goin’ after that mouser. Left the back door open to the alley downstairs. He’s liable to slip out and get lost forever.”
Babs handed her partner a feather duster. “Do something.” Then she returned to her lair with a stack of discarded tabloids to make fresh litter and to do her own skewed interpretation of housekeeping.
Guy reset their wall clock, which was a few hours behind the last time they had a power outage, and gave the reception area the minimal once-over by removing accumulated grime from the top of file cabinets. He was just about to straighten the frame displaying his private investigator’s license, when out of the side of his eye, he noticed a shadow. A large, irregular object leaned against the pebbled glass window of their front door. At first he paid it no mind and continued his cleanup crusade.
When minutes passed and it hadn’t budged, he called out just above a whisper, “Do you mind coming over? Make it quick, but be quiet.”
A startled canary flew out their open transom as Babs breezed toward the front. Guy pointed to the silhouetted figure. “I tidied up, like you asked, but don’t recall hearing anyone approach. This thing…it appeared out of nowhere and hasn’t moved since.”
Babs called out to see if it was Wiggins, but whomever it was didn’t respond. She inquired again. “The door is open. Come on in. We’re too hot and tired for practical jokes.”
With a nod, she gave Guy the go-ahead to open the door, but when he did, a young woman they’d never seen before, wearing a hat and an oversized coat despite the heatwave, fell face-forward onto the floor.
“The casting office is on the fourth floor,” Babs said, until she realized the lady hadn’t moved or said a word. Horrified, she squealed and froze in place.
Guy, also shaking, reached for the phone and called Wiggins’ downstairs office. His voice broke up. “Come up—pronto!”
As soon as he put down the receiver, she demanded he call the cops. Without thinking, she leapt up on a wooden chair as if she’d seen a mouse. Her legs wobbled, and she continued to holler.
Wiggins returned, heaving as if he had skipped waiting for the elevator and sprinted up the stairs. He had the missing tomcat draped over his shoulders. “Heard screams echoing down the hallway. You better keep better tabs on your tabbies. What the blarney did ya think was so important—Holy moly! Mary, Mother of God!”
Guy poked the stranger with his feather duster. Not having any luck, Wiggins, who was bigger than the two detectives combined, got a firm toehold with his work boots and rolled her onto her back. All three stared at the stiff.
“Oh, she’s dead alright,” Wiggins assured them. “Ever seen her before?”
Both PIs shook their heads. Guy tiptoed around the corpse and closed the front door. Wiggins fended off their curious menagerie.
“Something dark and…fea-ther-y is protruding from her coat. Like she was trying to conceal whatever she was carrying.” Babs wrinkled her nose. “Smells like she or someone else doused her with…men’s cologne. Not flowery enough to be one a lady would wear. Wiggins, how do you think she got in?”
“Through the back-alley door, I suppose, ’cause I locked the front. Could’ve snuck in and been here a while. Maybe passed out in a stairwell while my back was turned and crawled up to your floor before she expired.”
Guy paced the room and checked the clock. “The cops seem to be taking their time.” He pulled a flask from his file cabinet and took a swig. He offered some to Babs, but she declined.
Wiggins wrested the flask out of Guy’s hand and finished it to the last drop. “Sure as hell, this would have to happen on a holiday when the police are short-staffed.” He took a swatter from off the wall and clobbered a pesky fly that landed on the stranger’s ear. Babs trembled.
“She can feel it no more than if you were all doped up at the dentist,” Wiggins said.
Babs commented that the police could examine the body. She wasn’t touching it.
Guy suggested to Wiggins to wait for the cops downstairs. “They’ll need you to unlock the building.”
Keeping his distance, Guy asked, “Babs, how do you think she died?”
“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” She made it clear she wasn’t even interested in slipping on gloves to search for an ID.
He suggested that this could be the lead they’ve been looking for. She didn’t see it that way. “This is no way to spend a holiday. Let the police and the medical examiner do their jobs. They’ve expressed they don’t want us meddling in their homicide cases, anyway. I just want her out of here.”
Soon, they heard footsteps and the sound of crunching paper. She took for granted the cops had arrived. “Come in. It’s unlocked.”
She and her partner didn’t make a move until the front door creaked open.
Instead of the police, Humphrey Bogart stood there holding a parcel haphazardly wrapped in brown paper and twine. “I called twice. Assumed you had an answering service to leave a message. Dialed the right number, but someone with a peculiar voice like a Warner Brothers cartoon picked up. When I tried to explain my predicament, he mocked me and cracked a few jokes. Figured I better stop over.”
“How did you get into our building?” Guy asked.
“Your janitor recognized me. When I asked to see you, he figured I was harmless. He said he was waiting for—” Babs interrupted his train of thought. Still standing on the chair, she covered her eyes with one hand and pointed to the floor without making a sound. Bogie backed up. The blood drained from his face. “Whoa! Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he was expecting the cops.”
A black cat jumped on top of the victim and started making biscuits. “Oh, no, you don’t.” Guy bent down to throw him off.
“Wh-a-a-t happened?” Bogie’s words came out choppy.
Babs regained her voice, which, at first, came out in squeaks. “Not sure. What brings you here?”
“I’m looking for a private investigator. You came highly recommended as some of the best private dicks in town.”
Babs flushed. She preferred a more ladylike elucidation. With no further introductions needed, she ushered Bogart into her office, and Guy followed, grabbing a notepad off his desk. Even though she hated staring at the corpse, she kept her door open to keep an eye out for the police. She kept reminding herself to take deep breaths and not to panic.
“Do you mind clearing your desk?” Bogie held out his parcel. “I’d like to show you what I found on my doorstep this morning.”
With one fell swoop of her arm, the papers went into a spare box, which Babs said she’d sort through later. Bogart put his parcel down on her desk and fanned out his jacket.
“I guess we can skip formalities when the weather beats us into submission. Mind if I take this off?” His shirt was soaked. “This has been one of those days where I’ve felt like an omelet slapped on the Devil’s griddle.”
Babs identified his mysterious object as a museum replica of an ancient Egyptian canopic jar of Horus, the Hawk, the offspring of Isis and Osiris.
“This is much smaller and lighter than the falcon prop in our movie. Ours is about forty-seven pounds of lead. If you dropped it, you could break someone’s toe.” Bogie lifted its lid and revealed a mummified object. Taking special care, he unwrapped its gauze, stained but far from looking ancient, to reveal a sizable dead crow.
“I have no idea what this is supposed to symbolize, but now it looks like I’ve got competition from what’s in your front room as to which gives me the worst case of the heebie-jeebies,” Bogie remarked.
Guy pulled the privacy shades down on the pebbled glass windows on the walls and door separating the front office from her inner sanctum. “One would presume to find a dead falcon, not a raven, considering you’re in the middle of production for The Maltese Falcon.”
* * *
Excerpt from Bye Bye Blackbird by Elizabeth Crowens. Copyright 2025 by Elizabeth Crowens. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Crowens. All rights reserved.
Guest Post From Bye Bye Blackbird Author Elizabeth Crowens
You’re probably wondering where I came up with the inspiration for the protagonist of my Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery series, Babs Norman. Believe it or not, Babs was my best friend. I say that in the past tense, because she passed away almost nine years ago at the age of ninety-three.
One of the many hats I wore in the entertainment industry was as an independent consultant. I used to have a business providing vintage clothing and textiles to film, television, and theatrical wardrobe departments worldwide, and fashion designers in New York. We met around 2006 or thereabouts, when her husband had recently passed away, who was a major clothes horse, and it happened that I was one of the few experts in town who also specialized in vintage menswear. After meeting me at the Manhattan Vintage Show, she invited me to her co-op apartment to check out her husband’s collection. To make a long story short, I ended up selling over ten thousand dollars’ worth of his clothing and hers to the Costume Department of American Gangster, starring Denzel Washington and Russell Crowe, directed by Ridley Scott. When the film came to the theaters, I treated her as my guest and pointed out all the scenes where I spotted her clothing. Shortly thereafter, we became instant friends.
As I got to know Babs, I folded my business, which was losing more money than it was bringing in, because of the recession of 2008. Hollywood stopped doing period pieces, which were more expensive, because they had to provide not only the cars, but the locations, the cars, and the props to match. Instead, there were producing cheaper, present day comedies without $20 million-dollar actors, like The Hangover, or if they opted to go big budget, they’d go for a film like The Transformers with a huge aftermarket in toys and video games. A project like a Merchant-Ivory production (A Room With a View, Remains of the Day, or Howard’s End) was put on the shelf. A series like Downton Abbey would’ve never gotten the green light in that economy. It was too much risk to take.
During that time, when I was liquidating my inventory and seeking a day job, I helped “Babs” liquidate her estate. She was in her late eighties and wanted to sell her place and move into an independent living facility. It was too much and too expensive for her to handle her place on her own. Even before it became a craze in reality TV shows, she and her husband, I hate to say, were borderline hoarders, although they didn’t live in filth like some of the folk I’ve seen on that show. While I was helping her turn her belongings into cash, along with clearing out the junk, we became best friends. She’d tell me all these crazy stories about her past, including that she lived in Los Angeles during the forties as a frustrated and failed actress who turned to other ways of making a living.
Skip forward around eight years. I was in the process of launching my first novel in the science fiction genre. She read it and was impressed and asked me to write her memoirs. I insisted on putting it in writing and hired an attorney to make it official. The only problem, I told her, is that unless you are already famous or notorious, memoirs are the hardest to sell to an agent and publisher. My challenge: she was virtually unknown.
Then finally, one day, the proverbial lightbulb went off. I told her I’d fictionalize many of her stories and turn her into an animal-loving actress-turned-private eye in the 1940s solving celebrity crimes. She loved it and gave me her blessing. The rest is history. My only regret is that she passed away later that year and never lived to see her character in print. But that’s the story of Babs Norman.
Author of Bye Bye Blackbird, Elizabeth Crowens
Elizabeth Crowens is bi-coastal between Los Angeles and New York. For over thirty years, she has worn many hats in the entertainment industry, contributed stories to Black Belt, Black Gate, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazines, Hell’s Heart, and the Bram Stoker-nominated A New York State of Fright, and has a popular Caption Contest on Facebook.
Awards include: Leo B. Burstein Scholarship from the MWA-NY Chapter, New York Foundation of the Arts grant to publish the anthology New York: Give Me Your Best or Your Worst (no longer in print), Eric Hoffer Award, Glimmer Train Awards Honorable Mention, Killer Nashville Claymore Award Finalist, two Grand prize, six First prize, and multiple Finalist Chanticleer Awards. Crowens writes multi-genre alternate history and historical Hollywood mysteries.
To learn more about Elizabeth, click any of the following links: www.ElizabethCrowens.com, Amazon Author Profile, Goodreads, BookBub – @ecrowens, Instagram – @crowens_author, LinkedIn, X – @ECrowens, BlueSky – @elizabethcrowens.bsky.social & Facebook – @thereel.elizabeth.crowens
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March 3, 2025
The Karma Factor: A Metaphysical Thriller
Author Guest Post + Excerpt + Book & Author Info + A Giveaway
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The Karma Factor
NYPD Detective James Early wanted out. Taking his death wish into a tenement on the Lower east side, he stepped into a hail of machine-gun fire…and waited. But the bullets never arrived. Somehow they had been “diverted” and his life saved. Now he had to find out why.
Ricochetting between the mountains of Tibet, the streets of New York City and the haunted corridors of past lives, Early attempts to track down this mystery. A devastating truth from his previous lifetime awaits him. At its core lies a pure and innocent love that led to carnage and death.
In the process of discovery, however, Early mysteriously gains access to a database of past lives (the Akashic Records), and begins to understand the submerged element that underlies the human condition—the godfather of change. Karma.
Infused with this new awareness, Early hits the streets—this time “awakened” to the deeper layers. Immediately, he is flung into the frantic hunt for an unknown assassin who has declared a private war on America and has already killed seven times.
While the combined forces of the NYPD, FBI and Interpol comb the streets looking for clues, James Early follows the twisting light.
In the end, it will come down to a wild card: The Karma Factor
Praise for The Karma Factor:
“The Karma Factor not only delivers on all its IOUs—it provides ample food for thought as to how we live our lives and our connection to the cosmos.”
~ Joey Madia, Into the Outer Realms
“Demonstrating remarkable literary talent, Thomas Lane transcends the troubled police detective trope by incorporating elements of Eastern philosophy, predestination and reincarnation in this fast-paced thriller. In the tradition of The DaVinci Code and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Lane’s debut novel The Karma Factor is entertaining and thought-provoking; introducing readers to characters and concepts that are not often given center stage in Western culture…”
~ BOOKTRIB
“Tom Lane has written a powerful story of inner transformation and outer suspense and heroism that will have you turning pages, inspiring you to understand your own life within a new cosmic framework. I couldn’t put it down.”
~ Robert Thurman, Professor Emeritus of Tibetan Buddhism, Translator for the Dalai Lama and Author of Wisdom Is Bliss
Book Details:Genre: Mystery, Supernatural Thriller, Visionary Fiction, Metaphysical Thriller
Published by: Waterside Productions
Publication Date: November 1, 2022
Number of Pages: 352
ISBN: 1958848212 (ISBN-13: 978-1958848210)
To purchase your copy of The Karma Factor, click any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
Read an excerpt of The Karma Factor:
In times of crisis, James Early often found himself listening to the background noise of the city, the churning mantra of Manhattan that drifted up from the streets below. Somehow all those harsh single notes—the honking horns, the squealing brakes—could blend together and end up sounding restful, like the wash of the sea.
But tonight, watching her put her clothes back on, the air was charged and full of static. He had his reasons, but he hated himself for causing her this moment.
Lit only by the flickering light from the fireplace, Kelli Girard stood with her back to him, pulling on her skirt. Usually, after being together, getting dressed was a graceful act, a physical celebration of her womanhood. But on this evening, her motions were clipped and terse. Right then, the world was an ugly place. On top of everything else, she broke another nail fighting with the buttons on her blouse. She spoke without looking up.
“Come on, Early. This stinks. Throw me a bone here. Say something that makes sense.” Balancing on one foot, she leaned down and slipped on a high heel. “You won’t even give me the satisfaction of a cliché. There’s no ‘other woman.’ You’re not doing the ‘you deserve better’ bit. Nothing. Just—bang! It’s over. And you can’t even tell me why?”
She stood up and smoothed down her clothes. “But I’ll tell you how it feels. Like you’ve had your little fling with the secretary. And now it’s time to toss her back into the general pool where she belongs. Cold, Early. Really cold.”
He remained silent, compulsively rubbing his forehead, pushing back a clump of grey-tinged dark hair. In truth, there was too much to say, but words would trivialize it. And it had nothing to do with her, nothing to do with anything he understood. All he knew was that his mind was finally giving way. The hostile voices and images were crowding him out. And he couldn’t access the language to describe it…
Early finally stood up. At thirty-eight years old and driven, he was still lean and muscular. A hybrid of Irish and Jewish ancestry, his thin, sculpted face seemed overwhelmed by a collection of strong irregular features. Growing up in Brooklyn and living the daily warfare of the streets had deepened and darkened the effect, giving him an intense, somewhat brooding presence. As he turned toward her, his expression remained cloaked.
“You’re making it worse. This was never about the big love. We knew that from the start. We’re friends, remember? Let’s leave it there before we regret the whole thing.”
She turned away from him, almost fiercely, then checked herself and sighed. “What’s the use? You’ve got everyone else duped. I hear the talk. By day, the great legendary cop—intuitive, ballsy. Down at the station, a James Early hunch is considered gospel. And, on top of all that, he’s a regular good guy. Nothing but hard work and ‘go team, go.’”
She squinted at him in the semidarkness. “But after hours? Well, strange things come out to play. Guy’s got a flip side. He’s doing women, liquor, God knows what else. And here’s the sad part. He’s working hard at it, but the bad boy thing doesn’t fit him. Doesn’t fit him at all.”
She paused, retrieved her earrings from the bedside table, and jammed them into her purse. “So who’s James Early? The jury’s absolutely still out.”
Early grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen. I’m bone-tired, and I’m not right. I have nightmares, vicious ones. I wake up sweating, with no memories—just worn out. And the pressure never quits, never gives me a day off. Right now, all I want to do is go sit on a beach somewhere and forget. But I can’t. And there’s no room . . . no room for anything else until I sort it all out.”
He slackened his grip. “I can’t care if you don’t understand. I’m just asking you not to take it personally.”
His words slapped her quiet. For a moment, she stopped her barrage and actually studied him. It had only been five months ago, but no, this was not the same man she had flirted with in a Soho bar. The sharp features seemed worn down, the grey-green eyes colder, more distant. Even his skin looked paler, drawn more tightly across his cheekbones. With his guard down, her sometimes-lover did seem ten years older and running very rough.
“Hey Early, it’s the twentieth century. You feel messed up—you see somebody. There are medications that—”
“Zombies and junkies. No thanks. I’ll take my chances.” He mustered his best smile. “I just need to regroup. I’ll get through it. People do it every day.”
Kelli resumed her packing. Wadding up her negligee into a ball, she tossed it unceremoniously into her overnight bag. “I thought I got in there,” she said softly, “but I swear there’s an electric fence around you.”
He shrugged. It was true –– he avoided real intimacy. It was all about sex and liquor–– mind numbing sensation and quick routes to oblivion that had gotten hm through the nights. Now even that wasn’t working.
The flames in the fireplace had softened into embers—a steady orange sheen bathing the room. As Kelly zipped up her bag, Early slipped on his underwear and trousers, then got her coat from the closet. Taking her arm, he navigated her around the chaos on the cluttered floor. Her traditional comment about the maid’s night off went unspoken. At the door, he put his arm around her waist. His six feet towered above her diminutive frame.
“It’s better for both of us this way. I mean it.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Please take care of yourself.”
“Whatever.” She fixed her collar. “I’m not going to hold my breath, but if you need or want . . . hell, just a friend, call me.”
She leaned up against him and gave him a girlish kiss on the cheek. Turning quickly, she disappeared down the stairs into the darkness of the lower landing.
When he could no longer hear the click of her heels, he closed the door softly, then sagged against it, exhausted from his efforts. It was getting harder and harder to hold the surface together while the foundation was breaking into pieces…
He willed himself upright and into the living room, where he collapsed into the armchair in front of the fireplace. Alone now, the fire hissed and danced quietly before him.
His eyes scrutinized the small studio apartment. He was struck by its sadness, struck by the pervading sense of loneliness. The room was inhabited, yes, but not lived in. It hadn’t always been that way.
When, as a rookie cop, he had first moved in, he had commanded the space. Within months, he had turned it into a bastion of discipline and masculine aesthetics: dark wood and brick and things in their rightful places. As his condition worsened, however, things unraveled. Chaos was an easy mistress. Now, from the unmade bed to a floor strewn with empty bottles, pizza boxes, and newspapers, no sense of home was being articulated. Maybe it never would again.
Early leaned over and pulled his .38 revolver from the shoulder holster on the end table. It felt like a touchstone; the weight, the cold metal in his hand oddly soothing. The cylinder spun effortlessly beneath his fingertips. Round and round. He lifted it to his ear and smiled obliquely. Chamber music.
With the heel of his hand, he brought the spinning cylinder to an abrupt halt, then unloaded a single bullet. Turning it around between his thumb and index finger, Early examined it carefully. Sexy. A jewel of death.
Rotating the chamber slowly, he emptied the rest of the ammo into his hand until all six bullets lay nestled in his palm. They were asleep now. A family. At peace in their snug metal jackets. Then, as if feeding them to a wild animal, he began to toss the bullets, one by one, into the fireplace.
“Here’s one for the sickos. One for the cop killers.”
Then two more.
“For all the scumbag lawyers, corrupt politicos. You’re the worse. You keep it all going. You’re supposed to know better.”
Without warning, the first slug hit meltdown and exploded, sending a shower of shattered brick from inside the chimney down onto the flaming logs. The second and third followed quickly as ash and smoke belched into the room.
Early’s face remained impassive as he fingered the last two shells. He isolated one.
“For all of you. Your crap. Not mine anymore.”
The next eruption came moments later, kicking out a fireball onto his carpet. A chunk of metal whizzed past his ear and tore into the wallpaper on the opposite wall.
The hallway outside filled with the sudden cacophony of rattling deadbolts sliding and doors flinging open and people yelling. Early ignored the commotion. Unaware of the silent tears on his cheek, he leaned closer to the pit of swirling sparks and ashes, the last bullet resting in the middle of his open hand.
“And this one, James Early, is for you. You and all your ghosts. You’re broken. Don’t know how to fix yourself.”
A furious knocking at his door startled him back to reality.
“Hey! Hey in there! Early, you all right?”
Disoriented, the detective looked around. Caustic smoke swirled around the room. Live coals glowed on the carpet and from the side of the armchair. He stared down at the bullet still cupped in his palm. It seemed out of focus. Surreal.
The knocking came again, this time louder.
But now the sounds were far away, in someone else’s bad movie. Placing the final bullet back into his revolver, he adjusted the chamber. When he needed it, it would be there.
Slowly and deliberately, Early got up, went to his closet, and finished dressing. His plainclothes uniform never varied: white shirt, tie, black shoes. Beneath the grey sports jacket, his revolver and holster pressed against his ribs.
Trench coat under his arm, he crawled through the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. The sudden shift was abrasive. A sharp April wind lashed at his face. A massive city roared below.
Hands gripping the railing, he leaned out into the night. All around, the inky skyline peaked and plunged. Above, the stars shone like dull silver—cold, eternal nails hammered into the night sky.
As the wail of a siren grew closer, Early descended, zigzagging his way down to Seventy-Eighth Street.
One thing was obvious. Whatever forces were conspiring, whatever madness was overtaking him, it was about to hit critical mass.
***
Excerpt from The Karma Factor by Thomas Lane. Copyright 2022 by Thomas Lane. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Lane. All rights reserved.
Guest Post from Author Thomas Lane
On the dust jacket of my book, you will find a subtitle that names the novel’s three active ingredients: A Monk’s Timeless Vision… An Assassin’s Revenge… A NY Cop Caught in the Middle.
By themselves, all three statements seem fiercely independent and stand-alone pieces — with no easy path to common ground. But these were the elements I wanted in The Karma Factor.
After years of exploring possibilities, I finally found the connective tissues that gave me a unified manuscript. But then came the all-important question for agents and publishers. Where does this unlikely story fit into marketing genres and branding?
In the end, I decided to self-publish, calling it a Metaphysical Thriller … and letting it speak for itself.
They said Lol! I took that as a compliment.
The Karma Factor’s leading man (James Early) is a blue-collar NYPD detective haunted by nightmares, looking for a way out. But what was his arc? I had to create a journey that pushed him to evolve beyond his badge, beyond convention — from a Phillip Marlowe to a Siddhartha — and become a cop steeped in procedure, but open to the twists and turns of a soul in conflict.
Avoiding stereotypes, the novel’s hero had to have his own secret sauce. And he had to be good at his job, real good. His “assignment” was to stop an international assassin from killing again. By the time the madman reached America he had already struck seven times — but had never been seen, never left clues and always sent a death threat to his next victim on parchment paper written with a quill pen.
Outside the box? I certainly hope so! Over the years I have been given truly terrible advice about changing my storyline to be more acceptable to mass audiences. I wasn’t thinking about audiences, I was thinking about my characters — how strange and wonderful they are. How I would stand by my commitment to honor their integrity, no matter what the cost … and defend their right to be who they were when they first emerged upon the page.
To this day we remain BFFs!
The conflicts posed in The Karma Factor are interesting to me. Gritty vs Otherworldly? Love vs Hate? Right vs wrong? I have learned that life often does not divide so simply. Quite the contrary.
The truth is, I’m drawn to paradoxes, maybe because I find so many of them in myself, and in the world. I loved the challenge of a seemingly unstoppable, ruthless assassin playing cat and mouse with the spiritual jet set — breeding storylines that careened from the hardscrabble streets of NYC to an abandoned monastery in the Tibetan Himalayas.
Ultimately, I have enjoyed the task of making it all work … especially framing good vs evil in terms of Karma.
When I finally shopped the last draft of this book, publishers said forgetaboutit! Nice idea – but you’ll never pull it off.
Then I got a movie offer…
Fingers crossed.
The Karma Factor Author Thomas Lane
Born and raised in Connecticut, Thomas Lane is a multi-dimensional creative drawn to spaces where art, spirit, and social justice intersect. He is the author of The Artists’ Manifesto–– a tribute to the power of the Arts, its value to a society that has forgotten the precious nature of life.
In addition to a book of poetry, screenplays and paintings, he recently recorded a CD of his songs, entitled Hotel Earth under the stage name, Trakker.
Politically active since his teens, Thomas subsequently created The Helen Hudson Foundation, a charitable organization focused on social issues –– including homelessness, racism, and the environment. He currently lives with his wife in Rhode Island.
To learn more about Thomas, click any of the following links: www.ThomasLane.com, Amazon Author Profile, Instagram – @thomaslane494, YouTube – @thomaslane2402 & Facebook – @musicwordimage
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March 1, 2025
Bone Pendant Girls: A Paranormal Thriller
Bone Pendant Girls, The Andi Wyndham Series by Terry S. Friedman
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Bone Pendant Girls
THE ANDI WYNDHAM SERIES
Beware the Fisherman.
Andi Wyndham has communicated with spirits since she was a kid. When a bone pendant carved into the likeness of a girl’s face calls to her at a gem show in Pennsylvania, she can’t resist buying it and a sister piece. When she discovers the girls are missing runaways and the pendants are made of human bone, Andi is drawn into a mystery that will force her to confront her gifts, her guilt, and the ghosts haunting her.
Pendant Girls Mariah and Bennie urge Andi to find a man they call “Fisherman,” a master of disguise. Teaming up with a handsome private eye and a South Carolina sheriff, Andi must find the girls’ bodies and put their souls to rest, before the Fisherman casts his deadly net to trap Andi.
Praise for Bone Pendant Girls:
“Beautifully written, Friedman’s lyrical style will lure you in and scare you senseless.”
~ Annette Dashofy, USA Bestselling author of the Zoe Chambers Mysteries
“Friedman’s fast-paced thriller is both heart-pounding and heart-wrenching.”
~ Starred review Library Journal, March 1, 2024
“Full of paranormal twists, Bone Pendant Girls is a supernatural thriller about trust and acceptance.”
~ Foreword Reviews
“This supernatural thriller provides an enjoyable wrinkle in narration. The audiobook doesn’t feature a single narrator voicing all characters or a full cast with an individual narrator voicing each character. . . . Together, the three narrators provide enlightening perspectives on the hunt at the heart of this chilling production.”
~ D.E.M. © AudioFile 2024, Portland, Maine [Published: MAY 2024]
Book Details:Genre: Paranormal Thriller, Suspense, Mystery, Southern
Published by: CamCat Books
Publication Date: February 25, 2025
Number of Pages: 496
ISBN: 9780744307931 (ISBN10: 0744307937)
Series: Andi Wyndham, Book 1
To purchase your copy of Bone Pendant Girls, click any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | CamCat Books | Goodreads | Audible
Read an excerpt of Bone Pendant Girls:
Ginkgo leaves drifted down like butterfly wings outside the gem show. They made a yellow carpet on the walkway to the boarding school’s gymnasium. Within the swirling leaves, Andi heard a voice. Hollow metallic vowels rustled like leaves in gutters. Consonants scratched and thumped like animals trapped in heating ducts. When the frantic skittering of syllables merged into words, a ghostly plea slipped into her consciousness. Trapped . . . help.
“You’ll find your way to the Other Side,” Andi whispered.
Some days, the spirits refused to leave her in peace. Turning off spirits’ voices was like trying to keep a snake in a bird cage. The Shadows had been with her since she was four. Her mother had sent those spirits to watch over her. But the voice she heard today was not the Shadows. They rarely spoke.
Please . . . help.
Andi opened the door. “I’m not the one to help you,” she told the young voice. “I attract bad men.”
The ticket ladies took her money and stamped her hand. She scanned from one end of the gymnasium to the other. So many vendors. Where to start. Left past the fossils to a station called P&S Lapidary. They always had unique pieces.
Please . . . ma’am. The whisper had a faint Southern lilt.
“Aw come on. Hijack someone else’s head. Go see my ex-husband. Convince him to give me all his money.” Andi looked left and right to make sure no one had heard. No need to worry. Odds were good that at least one other person in the crowd talked to herself.
Andi made her way through thirty stations. Through bargain-bound women rummaging in bins of clearance beads, through vendors taking orders to set stones, through miles of bead strands, she searched for the perfect happy, shiny piece. Twice around the gym, and that whispering voice drilled its way into her conscience again.
Please . . . buy . . . me.
Cripes! The urgency of that sweet young voice. She heaved a sigh. “Hope you’re not expensive. Where are you?” Her feet ached and the place was stifling hot. “Where?”
Over here!
She couldn’t see a damn thing through the shoppers lined up two people deep at the stations. Up on her toes, down, from foot to foot, sideways. A tiring, annoying dance. Andi shivered despite the stuffy gymnasium.
Here!
Easing her way through the shoppers, she peered into a glass display case. Malachite beads, a red coral branch necklace, two strands of ringed freshwater pearls, and one pendant with a cameo-style face etched in bone.
The vendor with a bolo tie looked like her ninth grade geography teacher. “Let me open that for you. The face pendants are going fast. Only two left.” He lifted the hinged glass cover.
Me! A loud whisper from the carved pendant with a girl’s face.
Andi looked intently at it. Like most cameos, the face was a side profile. Tendrils of the girl’s curly hair escaped an upswept hairdo, framing her face. At first, she appeared to be asleep. Then the girl’s face turned and studied her too, eyes blinking as if she’d just awakened. Andi shivered. In the spirit world she’d inherited from her mother, voices whispered. Images in jewelry didn’t move.
What now? She spoke silently. Subconscious to subconscious.
Hurry, ma’am! Buy . . .
A woman who reeked of Chanel No. 5 snatched the face pendant from the case.
“Excuse me,” Andi said. “I came here to buy that piece. It called to me.” There now, she’d admitted she was crazy. She gave a lopsided grin and a shrug. “Please could I have it?”
“Sorry, hon. I got here first.” A condescending glance at Andi, and the lady wrapped her bratwurst fingers around the pendant.
“Not to worry, ladies,” the seller told them. “I have another like this.” He pushed the tablecloth aside, reached under the table, and pulled out a second pendant. “It’s stunning with Namibian Pietersite accents. I could let you have it for the same price.”
No . . . me. An adamant voice.
“I don’t want the other pendant,” Andi said. “I came here for the one in her hand.” At the next booth, a woman holding a jade jar stopped talking and stared at her. Andi blushed, knowing she sounded like a petulant child.
Suddenly, Chanel Lady gasped. “Ouch! Awful thing cut me. It has sharp edges.” A thin line of blood welled on her finger, and she dropped the pendant as if it had bitten her.
Andi caught it before it hit the floor. The silver bezel felt ice-cold. A young girl’s eyes gazed up at her and blinked. Thanks, ma’am.
She stared at the pendant. Her mother had warned about spirits attaching to people. If spirits attached, she’d said, terrible things could happen.
Chanel Lady cradled the darker pendant. Not a word was uttered from it. Maybe the tea-stained piece believed in being seen and not heard. Its bone face was younger. Pietersite in the top bezel had chatoyancy, a luminous quality. Thin wavy splotches of browns, blacks, reds, and yellows swirled through the dark stone like tiny ice crystals in frozen latte.
“Yes. I like this one better. Excellent quality Pietersite,” Chanel Lady said.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll take her payment first.” The seller probably wanted to send the woman to another station before she started a fight with his customers.
“No problem. Is this ivory?” Andi asked. Whether vendors called it mammoth bone or not, elephants didn’t deserve to be slaughtered for jewelry.
“Absolutely not. Wouldn’t sell it if it was. Cow bone,” he assured her.
A triumphant smirk aimed at Andi, and Chanel Lady made her way through the crowd. Subduing an impulse to give her the middle finger, Andi turned back to the pendant. She studied the heart-shaped face, turned it over and winced at the tiny price sticker. Was she insane? Andi couldn’t afford that; she’d lost her teaching job.
“I’ll need your address and email.” The seller handed her a clipboard.
She’d fought over it and won, no changing her mind now. While he charged her credit card, Andi filled out the information for his mailing list. Then she weaved through the shoppers to find a quiet corner by the concessions stand.
What the hell. The pendant was a dose of credit card therapy. Unzipping the plastic sleeve, she lifted the piece by the bail. Two bezels set in silver. One disk held labradorite, a luminous blue stone with black veins, and in the second bezel, a face carved in bone. She shifted it in her palm, studying the details. Had light played with the image, making it look like the girl moved? It would warm at the touch of her skin.
Once more around the gym, and she left the show, slogging through the field toward her car, wondering how a whispering girl had convinced her to buy a pricey pendant. Yet, she had a sense that something other than her credit card bill had changed.
***
Excerpt from Bone Pendant Girls by Terry S. Friedman. Copyright 2024 by Terry S. Friedman. Reproduced with permission from Terry S. Friedman. All rights reserved.
Guest Post from Terry S. Friedman
The What If factor
I am a jewelry-aholic and a rock hound. If opaque stones speak to me, I buy them. All people purchase jewelry because it speaks to them, right? A moon face pendant called to me and later a carved bone pendant with a beautiful girl’s face. They became focal points of necklaces I made. Then I thought, what if the pendants are not really cow bone. What if they’re made of human bone? When I wore the pendants, I floated that idea and the universal reaction was “Eewww.”
Bingo, a novel idea for a plot was born. What if your jewelry talks to you? What if a unique piece you found at a gem show has a mystery you must solve?
How did a cold case become the basis for your novel?
Too many connections. A student disappears for many months, a pretty blond, high school-age girl. I had taught that missing girl. Her suspected killer lived next door to her, but police had no physical evidence. He’d attended my school. Her family hired a retired FBI agent to find their daughter. I knew him too. Police searched everywhere. They even brought cadaver dogs to a pond in my neighborhood. In the end, police found her not far from the school where I taught. I cried when I wrote about Mariah’s discovery in my novel. I still cry when I read that scene. The resolution was something any mother would have nightmares about forever.
How did you put flesh on the bones of your novel?
Bone Pendant Girls was my MFA capstone. My favorite chapter is the first Mariah chapter which was an assignment to incorporate music in a scene. Bennie, the second pendant girl, entered the book as Mariah’s streetwise friend, and she’ll have some cameo appearances in the sequel. She can’t cross over because she insists on interfering in justice and helping mortals. Ghosts can’t interfere in the justice of mortals in my novels. The villain was another MFA piece for a nonfiction class. He’s based him on my childhood next door neighbor. When I turned that piece in, the prof said, “This can’t be a real person.” I assured him that Mr. O. had existed. He was the man who convinced my mother we had to move. Mr. O. was always nice to me, but Mom didn’t trust a man who kept a pet mouse in a milk carton and had a yard the health department routinely inspected and condemned. Other characters came easily to me when I was between awake and sleep. While I’m talking about characters, I’ll confess that I fall madly in love with the lovers in my novels. If Eli were real, I’d marry the guy.
Did any life experience inspire a scene in this book?
When I was a student at University of South Carolina, my dorm was off campus. It was an antebellum hotel on a corner across the street from the State Capitol Park, the state Supreme Court, and a small church graveyard. One night during my sophomore year, I walked those five blocks alone knowing there had been recent assaults on coeds. After the first two blocks, I heard footsteps behind me, so I slowed to let the person pass. He slowed too. I sped up. He sped up. My stomach had boulders growing in it as my mind spun into survivor mode. Predators get off on people’s fear, I decided. If you take away the victim’s fear, the crime is no longer fun. Probably only writers’ minds work this way. Two blocks from my dorm, I stopped at a corner and turned around. “Oh my gosh, it’s you! Thank God it’s you!” I said, although I had no idea who the man was. I explained how my boyfriend (later ex-husband) refused to drive me home, and the stranger said I should’ve carried a baseball bat with me. He walked me to my dorm, I thanked him, and to this day I’m not sure if he was the mugger. The scene with Mariah and Fisherman came from this incident.
How do you explain the unexplainable?
Nobody knows what happens after you die. My theory is that people linger to make sure
their loved ones are healing or maybe just to eavesdrop a little like in Tom Sawyer. If all goes well, they can cross to the Other Side and meet with loved ones. Before writing Bone Pendant Girls, I spoke with a medium who was conducting spirit releases in her home. I wanted the novel’s framework to be realistic in the spirit world. She said people can cross over and cross back or just stay in this world until they’re ready to move on. That made sense to me. Many people don’t believe in ghosts. That’s okay because my novels are not just ghost stories. They always have a theme. In Bone Pendant Girls, it’s acceptance and forgiveness and mother/daughter relationships. The sequel’s message is that broken families can repair themselves like starfish. Eleven Seconds especially honors veterans and their families.
For people afraid of things that go bump in the night or people scared because of the book cover, my ghosts are not demons or vampires. They’re just dead people lost between the worlds. The Shadows are a different kind of ghost. Andi’s mom sent them to console her when she was a child, and they always show when trouble has found Andi. The Shadows with their beady yellow eyes are ghosts of children killed in wars.
What is Terry Friedman’s connection to Bone Pendant Girls ?
First novels are like first babies. There’s pain in the birth process. Then you nurture them. You laugh. You cry. You pray that someone important will love it and offer you a contract. It took a long time to find that special publisher. Because of the cold case connection and because it’s my firstborn, this novel will always have a special place in my heart.
Bone Pendant Girls Author Terry S. Friedman
Terry Friedman is a writer and a rockhound. Her novel, BONE PENDANT GIRLS, a paranormal thriller, was published by CamCat January 30, 2024.
Terry began her writing career freelancing for a small newspaper outside Philadelphia. While raising her daughters Jessica and Chelie in West Chester, PA, she taught English for decades and traveled abroad with students. Terry earned an M.F.A. from Wilkes University and also graduated from the FBI Citizens Academy. Thirteen of her fiction and non-fiction pieces have been published, and she co-edited Delaware Valley Mystery Writers’ short stories anthology. DEATH KNELL V.
She is an award-winning author. In 2022 the Southeastern Writers Association awarded her first place in their writing contest for her humor piece, second place for BONE PENDANT GIRLS in a fiction category, and an honorable mention for THE BANSHEE’S WAIL, an unpublished Irish novel. She is a Killer Nashville Claymore Finalist in the Supernatural category.
A Pennwriters Board member and a member of Sisters in Crime, she currently writes thrillers from coastal South Carolina. Terry has traveled the world from Fiji to Delphi and brings to her writing a solid respect for things that go bump in the night.
To learn more about Terry, click any of the following links: www.TerryFriedmanAuthor.com, Amazon Author Profile, Goodreads – @tfried44, BookBub – @tfried44, Instagram – @wineandreeses, Threads – @wineandreeses, X – @tfried44, BlueSky – @tfried44 & Facebook – @TerrySFriedmanAuthor
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