Elena Hartwell's Blog, page 16
October 24, 2024
Unnatural Intent: A Medical Thriller
Unnatural Intent by Brooke L. French [image error]
Book & Author Info + an Excerpt and a Giveaway!
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Unnatural Intent
A Letty Duquesne Thriller
The last one they sent didn’t come back.
Disease ecologist Letty Duquesne is barely settled in to her new job when a colleague goes missing in the field. Letty arrives in Alaska’s Katmai National Park to take over the investigation, only to find a violent welcome and the case in shambles. No record of the last scientist’s work exists. His footsteps at the incident site disappear into nothing. And the polar bears Letty has been sent to find are hunting for human prey a thousand miles from the pack ice where they belong.
If Letty can’t figure out why, more people will die. An unimaginable threat lurks under the icy waters of the Arctic, animals stalk the people of a tiny seaside village, and the greatest danger waits where Letty least expects it.
Praise for Unnatural Intent:
“Field research has never been so riveting—and potentially deadly. Unnatural Intent is a tense combination of scientific detective work and corporate intrigue, set within the brutal but starkly beautiful landscape of the Arctic, where man is no longer an apex predator.”
~ Regina Buttner, author of The Revenge Paradox
“Unnatural Intent is like Michael Crichton’s State of Fear meets Michael Connelly’s The Rapture of the Deep…”
~ Cam Torrens, award-winning author of Stable and False Summit
“French weaves a complex tale of corporate greed, ecological disaster, and survival in this thriller, inserting you deep into the minds of her characters. The science is as accurate as it is terrifying, and the plot twists will keep you engaged until the final chapters.”
~ Gary Gerlacher, author of the AJ Docker thriller series
Book Details:
Genre: Action and Adventure, Medical Thriller
Published by: Black Rose Writing
Publication Date: October 24, 2024
Number of Pages: 319
ISBN: 9781685134976 (ISBN10: 1685134971)
Series: A Letty Duquesne Thriller, Book 2 | Each is a Stand-Alone
To purchase Unnatural Intent, click any of the following links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Black Rose Writing
Read an excerpt of Unnatural Intent:
Chapter 1
October 16, 2018
San Diego, California
Letty Duquesne wound her way through the ornate Spanish architecture of Balboa Park, dodging tourists and scanning the crowd. Even on a weekday, the place was packed. Families taking photos, school kids on their way to one of the twenty-plus museums spread throughout the park, and an assortment of street musicians playing everything from Mozart to Bon Jovi.
She dropped a few dollars in an upturned hat and aimed for the shade of an archway. As much as she wanted to pretend otherwise, her shift from the familiar comfort of working in academia to her current situation — a new job, in a new company, in a new city — hadn’t been exactly smooth. No matter how committed she was to making the Jessa Duquesne Foundation a success, the past month she’d spent “starting over” was harder than she’d expected.
Lonelier.
Which was how she’d wound up on the friendship equivalent of a “first date.”
Letty scanned the crowd again and, this time, spotted Gemma on the opposite side of the lily pond, waving to her from the foot of the Botanical Building.
The JDF’s office manager and general jack-of-all-trades looked like Debbie Harry. She had a shock of what had to be home-dyed platinum-white hair, Doc Martens, and jeans that had been hacked off mid-calf.
Gemma pointed to a short stone bench, her eyebrows raised in a question — this good?
Letty gave her a thumbs-up and made her way through the crowd to where Gemma now sat cross-legged on the bench. “This is perfect.” Letty smiled as she sat beside her. “Thanks for meeting me.”
“Thanks for the invite.” Gemma slid a silver packet from the pocket of her oversized blazer, her voice kissed with a South London accent. “I usually eat at my desk. But with everything that’s been going on, I’m glad for the break. I’m knackered.”
“I bet.” Letty pulled a takeout salad from her bag and balanced the plastic clamshell on her lap. “Seems like getting Mark ready for tomorrow’s presentation took a full-court press.” The handful of people that made up the foundation’s on-site staff had been in and out of his office all day, every day for the past week. Mark would be at his desk when she arrived in the morning and still there when she left each night, poring over binder after binder of data. Reviewing everything the foundation had been able to find about the rise in animal attacks, the increase in zoonotic diseases crossing over to the human population, and the myriad governmental responses… or failures to respond.
In a reasonable world, the volume of the data alone would’ve been enough to establish the need for greater action. The need for some centralized agency, like Jessa’s foundation, to manage a response. But, of course, things didn’t work that way. Not when half the congressional committee formed to look into the public’s concerns were the same folks who claimed climate change was a hoax.
The thready notes of “Livin’ on a Prayer” slipped through the courtyard, the street musician’s violin shrill but on beat.
“You have no idea how mad it’s been.” Gemma ripped open the silver packet and pulled out a rainbow-sprinkled Pop-Tart. “Usually Mark’s only in after hours. He’s got to be at Stafford Oil during business hours, but lately he’s at the foundation all the time. And he’s stressed as hell.” She picked a sprinkle from the top of the pastry and popped it in her mouth. “At least Kathryn came to the rescue. I can’t imagine how we would’ve gotten Mark ready without her helping to manage his Stafford Oil work load this week.” Gemma chewed another bite and swallowed. “Even if having her here does set my teeth on edge.”
“Really?” Letty forked through her salad, building the perfect bite of chicken, feta, and cucumber. “She seems nice enough.” And the day Kathryn had arrived had been the only time Letty had seen Mark smile since she’d come to California.
“She’s alright, I guess. Does so much for the JDF, she should be on payroll.” Gemma shrugged, brushing crumbs from her jeans. “I just don’t trust anyone that doesn’t age.”
Letty laugh-choked on a piece of lettuce. Kathryn’s Upper East Side vibe was sort of intimidating. “Well, Botox or not, I’m glad she’s gonna be there tomorrow to back him up.” They had too much riding on what happened at that meeting for Mark to go it alone. There was only so much the foundation could do to identify what might be causing the changes they were seeing in the animal world without having access to real-time information about what was happening globally. As much good as they were doing handling any individual case, it wouldn’t be enough to make a real difference unless they could see the trends and follow them back to the source.
Poor Mark had to know how much was riding on tomorrow’s presentation, had to feel the weight of what failure would mean. Especially when the foundation’s future would be decided by a bunch of political cronies. “I can’t imagine how stressed he must be. I mean, who gets called to speak before a congressional committee?”
“He didn’t exactly get a summons. He volunteered, so that’s a little less scary. And he’s there for the greater good. Maybe he’ll get a nicer reception than they give their usual lot.”
“True.” The other CEOs who spoke before congressional committees were usually there to get a public reprimand. A slap on the wrist after they’d used the corporate structure to get away with one form of mass destruction or another. And those people were nothing like Mark. She felt an odd sense of pride in her once almost brother-in-law, now boss, even though she couldn’t claim responsibility for all the work he’d done in Jessa’s memory. For all the things he was still trying to do.
Letty picked her way through the salad. Where would he be now? On a plane? Probably halfway to DC, with his dark head bent over another binder. Wearing the glasses that made him look so much more serious than he did in her memories.
The ones she shouldn’t be thinking about.
Gemma popped open an energy drink. “All we can do at this point is keep our fingers crossed and hope for the best.”
“Yeah, for sure.” Letty cleared her throat, forcing herself back to the present. To reality. “I’m glad we did this.” She looked up at the palm trees swaying above them, then to the giant lath structure of the Botanical Building reflected in the pond. Built for a world’s fair more than a hundred years before, it still stood proud and beautiful, giving them shade on a day too warm for October. “It’s nice to be outside for a bit.”
“Careful what you ask for.” Gemma broke off another piece of pastry. “I’m surprised they didn’t just skip orientation and send you out into the field already. We’ve been swamped all summer and now into the fall, every scientist on the team out on assignment since the doors opened. Seems like every other day we get a request from somewhere. Mountain lions turning the hiking trails in Oakland into a buffet. Or some crazy hyper-virulent bird flu popping up in the middle of Copenhagen. God knows what’s next.”
Letty shoved a bite of salad in her mouth, chewing it along with the guilt she’d been trying to ignore since she’d realized how understaffed the foundation was. A situation that was in some part — maybe a large part — her fault.
She’d been meant to start working with the foundation in August. But it had taken longer than she’d expected to end her lease, to close up her life at the university, to say goodbye to Bill and Priya. And, then, she hadn’t wanted to miss Andrew’s wedding. A smile flickered over her face. Renee had been beautiful at the ceremony, she and Andrew both glowing over Renee’s baby bump.
Of course, she hadn’t realized her delay would leave the foundation short a scientist. She cringed. It was not an ideal situation for them to be in as Mark prepared to offer up their services to the world.
Literally.
Gemma finished her Pop-Tart and took another deep swig from an eye-poppingly chartreuse can of caffeine. “You know, if Mark convinces the committee to let the foundation manage the country’s national response, you may never see the inside of an office again.”
Letty couldn’t imagine anything better. She stabbed a cucumber with her fork. “I’d almost always rather be in the field.” And a little space from Mark wouldn’t be a bad thing either. He’d be back in a few days, and so would the awkward silences that cropped up anytime the two of them were alone together.
It wasn’t that he was rude. He’d taken her to lunch when she first started, said all the right things — he was so glad she was there, she should let him know if she needed anything, maybe they could grab a coffee or he could help her get settled. But it was stilted, and no matter how nice he was when they ran into each other in the halls or at the office coffee pot, she could never think of what to say. She put her fork down with the cucumber still stuck to the tines. It was like the past clogged up her throat, wrapped her brain in cotton, and nothing but basic banalities would come out. If that.
He had eventually stopped trying.
Which was almost worse.
Gemma’s phone rang from her purse. As she went digging for it, a huge brown bird with white markings swooped through the promenade. It narrowly missed a camera-laden tour group, the crowd ducking and screeching as it swept past.
A red-shouldered hawk.
Letty tracked the bird’s ascent back into the sky as it rounded over the Botanical Building and came back for a second pass. What was it after? She scanned the ground for a mouse or chipmunk. Maybe a smaller bird? Hawks would eat most anything their size or smaller. Although it was odd for it to be hunting here, in a place so crowded with people.
“This is Gemma.” Her new friend finally answered the call, her tone now formal and pure Queen’s English, which meant the call must be important. Something for the foundation. “I’m sorry. I didn’t quite hear that. Could you start again from the beginning?”
The hawk swept back across the pond, its trajectory lower as it headed toward the entrance to the Timken Museum. It landed on the handle of a baby carriage. The mother stood with her back turned to the stroller as she searched for something in a diaper bag.
Gemma lowered her voice. “What do you mean missing?”
Letty glanced back to Gemma. Whatever that was, it didn’t sound good. She kept half her attention on Gemma, the rest on the bird.
The hawk leaned forward, as if trying to see past the cloth draped over the carriage to find what soft morsel might wait inside.
Letty’s mouth went dry, and she clapped her hands, hoping to startle the bird into flight.
It ignored her.
The animal would have no reason to hurt a child. But if the past year had taught her anything, it was that she couldn’t assume it would act predictably. Things were different now. Very different.
Letty shifted to the edge of her seat.
The bird turned, meeting Letty’s gaze. Its eyes reflected a flat, predatory black.
“Shoo.” She stood, clapping her hands again in its direction and moving closer. “Excuse me?” She called out to the mother, who was still busy digging through the baby’s bag.
The hawk kneaded its claws against the stroller’s handle.
“You’re not going to believe this.” Gemma turned her way.
Letty didn’t break eye contact with the bird. “Hang on.” She strode toward the carriage, the bird not moving an inch. A few other tourists turned to look, but no one moved to help.
The mother plucked a pacifier from the bag and turned. A shriek tore out of her, and she threw herself toward the carriage.The bird took off in a flutter of indignant feathers, and a wail came from inside the stroller as the mother hurried to wheel the child away.
Letty finally let go of a breath and turned back to Gemma, who seemed only now to have realized what had been happening with the hawk. They both watched as the bird disappeared over the roof of the museum.
Gemma refocused on Letty, and lines creased around her eyes. “Cody Crawford’s gone missing.”
“Crawford?” Letty tried to place the name. “That’s the large mammal guy, right?”
“Yeah. That’s him. He’s been up in Alaska working on our polar bear case. Seems he went out to the incident site and got lost in the woods.” She cringed, whether from worry or as an acknowledgment of how bad that sounded, Letty couldn’t tell.
Gemma dropped the phone back into her purse. “Search and Rescue’s out looking now, but they say it doesn’t look good. No sign of him.”
Letty sat on the bench, watching the sky for any sign of the hawk.
The idea that Crawford might just “get lost” in the woods didn’t sound right. She’d spent an hour after work one night browsing the bios for the foundation’s other scientists, mostly out of a perverse desire to know how she stacked up. From what she remembered, Crawford was an experienced field researcher like her, mostly working with large carnivores. He would have known not to go out to the site alone. And, even if he had, he wouldn’t just wander off and not be able to find his way back. When you spent your life working in one unknown wilderness after another, navigation was part of the basic skill package.
Letty closed the lid on her salad, her appetite gone.
If Crawford was missing, chances were good he wasn’t coming back.
***
Excerpt from Unnatural Intent by Brooke L French. Copyright 2024 by Brooke L French. Reproduced with permission from Brooke L French. All rights reserved.
Author of Unnatural Intent — Brooke L. French
Brooke L. French is a recovering lawyer, author, and boy mom.
Her debut thriller, Inhuman Acts, hit number one on Amazon’s kindle charts in both medical thrillers and suspense in 2023, and her second novel, The Carolina Variant continues climbing the charts.
Brooke got her undergraduate degree in English from Emory University, followed by a law degree, which, after many long and sometimes fulfilling years of practice, she mainly uses now as a coaster for the cup of coffee she puts down only to type.
Brooke lives with her husband and sons between Atlanta and Carmel-by-the-Sea, California.
To learn more about Brooke, click any of the following links: www.BrookeLFrench.com | Goodreads | BookBub – @brookelfrench | Instagram – @brookelewisfrench | Threads – @brookelewisfrench |Facebook – @brooke.l.french
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Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor
The post Unnatural Intent: A Medical Thriller appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
October 22, 2024
Crescent City Carnage: An Alex Boyd Thriller
Crescent City Carnage by Mel Harrison
Book and Author Info + An Excerpt!
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Crescent City Carnage
“Crescent City Carnage” (October 22, 2024) by Mel Harrison, takes special agent Alex Boyd and his wife Rachel Smith on another thrilling hunt after only a day into their long-awaited vacation to New Orleans. When the couple goes to join their good friend and colleague, Simone Ardoin, they discover she was brutally murdered. Simone’s well-connected parents, longtime residents of New Orleans, are devastated by the tragedy and implore both Alex and Rachel to work with the New Orleans police to find her killer.
The city is infamous for its laissez-faire attitude, as well as its corruption. Nevertheless, Alex must work with the city’s cops to break the case. He draws immense support from the U.S. State Department’s Diplomatic Security Office in New Orleans. Identifying the killer is one thing, but locating him proves more complicated than anticipated. Is the killer just lucky? Or does he have an inside source who is helping him stay one step ahead of the cops?
The more Alex and Rachel delve deeply into the case, the more they discover that New Orleans is a unique city full of its own traditions, family ties, and way of life. But the clock is ticking. They need to capture the killer before he disappears forever.
To purchase Crescent City Carnage, click on the following link: Amazon.
Read an excerpt of Crescent City Carnage:
Crescent City Carnage
Death arrives in many ways. Sometimes, it’s slow and agonizing. Other times, it’s violent and without warning, a shock to the senses, inflicting painful sorrow upon family . . . and friends.
All too familiar with the latter, Alex Boyd and Rachel Smith hadn’t expected it to happen again, so soon. Certain losses were sad. Other losses called for revenge. This was one of those times. Rachel bent over to tie her shoe, showing an impressive length of leg from behind; her tiny shorts topped an extension of shapely thighs that ran down to curved, well-muscled calves sharply honed from years of running.
Alex was muscular, tall, ruggedly handsome, a compliment to Rachel. He rocked back and forth slightly, warming his muscles while waiting for her. Well-matched, they made a striking pair.
The warm August sun crept above the city skyline a little before 6:30 a.m. and cast a pale glow over the French Quarter, slow to waken; it brought the possibility of a new day of excitement and exploration. Street-cleaning vehicles scattered sprays of soapy water from swirling brushes toward the concrete, wiping accumulated detritus from the previous evening. Shopkeepers began coming out using garden hoses to wash away debris from sidewalks in front of their establishments.
More than a decade after Hurricane Katrina, New Orleans was still a city on the mend, a city where lifelong residents and business owners still took pride living there. Most were determined to maintain the culture, hospitality, and vitality of their beloved city.
Yet, a dark, criminal element also inhabited the city, one that didn’t give a damn about anyone’s welfare, including tourists. Such easy targets to rob, perhaps even kill.
**Excerpt from Crescent City Carnage by Mel Harrison. Copyright 2024 by Mel Harrison. Reproduced with permission from Mel Harrison. All rights reserved.
Mel Harrison — Author of Crescent City Carnage
After graduating from the University of Maryland with a degree in Economics, Mel Harrison joined the US Department of State Foreign Service, spending the majority of his career in the Diplomatic Security Service.
Over the next 28 years, he served in American embassies as either a Special Agent/Regional Security officer or Economic Officer in Saigon, Quito, Rome, London (twice), Islamabad, and Seoul. While in Islamabad, as the Senior Regional Security Officer, he won both the State Department Award for Valor, and its worldwide Regional Security Officer of the Year Award.
Following government retirement, Mel spent ten years in corporate security and consulting work with assignments often taking him throughout Latin America and the Middle East. Mel met his wife, Irene, while both served in Quito. Irene, a Foreign Service Management Specialist, and Mel married in Rome, beginning their lifelong love of travel and all things Italian. They now reside in Florida.
To learn more about Mel, click on either of the following links: Facebook & Goodreads.
Elena Taylor/Elena Hartwell
Header image from Pixabay
The post Crescent City Carnage: An Alex Boyd Thriller appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
October 19, 2024
Frozen Lives: The Latest Coroner’s Daughter Mystery
Frozen Lives
by Jennifer Graeser Dornbush
Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here for more.Frozen Lives
Dr. Emily Hartford is back in Frozen Lives, the next thrilling mystery from Jennifer Graeser Dornbush.
Chicago surgeon Emily Hartford has never quite shaken off the dust of her hometown in Michigan. She may be a professional success and have a princely boyfriend in the Windy City, but she can’t seem to let go of being “the coroner’s daughter” from Freeport.
Once again, she finds herself pulled back upstate during a wintery late March when Jeremiah, the eleven year-old son of her best friend, Jo, goes missing on the frigid shores of Lake Michigan. Emily immediately joins the search for the boy.
To everyone’s relief, Jeremiah turns up days later, alive and unharmed. But tensions remain high, and suspicions of every sort continue to grow. Jeremiah’s account of his abduction doesn’t add up and Emily worries about Jo’s unraveling marriage. Jeremiah’s recovery, it turns out, is not the end of their terrifying tale. It’s only the beginning …
For moving among them is a devious, malevolent force. Sowing panic while seeking to fulfill his own twisted needs, this wolf in sheep’s clothing leaves a trail of rack and ruin, negligent to the damages in his wake … and the bodies he leaves behind.
Emily solidifies her role as coroner’s daughter when she puzzles out this madman’s chilling machinations. Risking everything dear to her, Emily goes the icy distance to end his killing spree.
Genre: thriller, suspense, female detective
Published by: Blackstone Publishing
Publication Date: October 29, 2024
Number of Pages: 350
ISBN: 9798212638364
Series: The Coroner’s Daughter Mysteries, 4
The television or movie screen is the closest most people will ever come to witnessing the forensic world. But Jennifer Dornbush was raised in it. As the daughter of a small-town medical examiner whose office was in their home. There were body parts in the fridge. She investigated her first fatality, an airplane crash, when she was 8 years old. Picking up pieces of skull with her father who simply saw it as an anatomy lesson. The first of many coroner lessons she experienced over two decades.
After exploring journalism and high school teaching, Jennifer turned seriously to screenwriting where she began to connect her coroner world to her writing. She sought out a degree at the Forensic Science Academy in Los Angeles to gain more forensic training and earned a unique kinship with LA’s top CSIs, fingerprint specialists, DNA scientists, and detectives.
To share her love of forensics with the writing world, she authored the top selling non-fiction authoritative book, Forensic Speak, used by not only by show-runners and writers, but also crime investigators and law enforcement.
She created an Amazon top selling mystery novel series, The Coroner’s Daughter, which she is currently developing as a series for TV. Her crime thriller, Hole in the Woods, is currently optioned for screen. She is a contributor to mystery anthologies, Hotel California and Thriller. She has also penned two true crime books.
As a screenwriter Jennifer wrote the theatrically released film and novel, God Bless the Broken Road (2018), adapted a popular YA novel to script, and sold a children’s show. She is currently developing TV drama series and feature films with various productions companies.
As a forensic consultant, she is frequently asked to consult with TV writers on shows such as: Bull, Conviction, Hawaii Five-O, Leverage, Suits, and Rectify. She teaches screenwriting and mentors aspiring writers.
Jennifer is a member of the Writers’ Guild of America, Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, Crime Writers Association, & the FBI Citizen’s Academy Alumni.
To learn more about Jennifer, click any of the following links: www.JenniferDornbush.com | Goodreads | BookBub – @jgdornbush1 | Instagram – @jgdornbush | YouTube – @ForensicSpeakJenniferDornbush | Facebook – @JGDornbushVisit All the Stops on the Tour!
10/07 Interview @ Mystery, Thrillers, and Suspense
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10/10 Interview @ darciahelle
10/11 Review @ Country Mamas With Kids
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10/14 showcase @ Silvers Reviews
10/15 Print @ bookwormbecky1969
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10/19 Review @ The Mystery of Writing
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10/23 Review @ Reading is my Superpower
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The post Frozen Lives: The Latest Coroner’s Daughter Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
October 18, 2024
Laura Wetsel: Debut Mystery Author
Laura Wetsel launches her debut mystery, Burnt Ends
Murder is juicier with a side of barbecue sauce.Private Investigator Tori Swenson gets a strange accidental death case that looks like murder at one of her uncle’s drive-ins and decides it’s time to get revenge on her estranged family. Pretending to want a reunion, she appears at her uncle’s party to secretly investigate them. When her uncle suddenly dies, Tori’s case takes a sinister turn that makes her a suspect in her uncle’s death and the killer’s next target. To uncover who dethroned the barbecue king, Tori will have to face her own fiery demons while pursuing a killer who wants to make dead meat out of her.
For fans of Knives Out and the Stephanie Plum series by Janet Evanovich.
Genre: Mystery (private investigator)
Published by: CamCat Books
Publication Date: September 24, 2024
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 9780744311211 (ISBN10: 0744311217)
If a book is food for the mind, then Burnt Ends is just what it claims to be—deadly, delicious, and with tongue firmly planted in cheek.
At first, the reader, like the story’s heroine, Private Investigator Tori Swenson, will doubt that Luis’s accidental death at Uncle Charlie’s BBQ Drive-In was just an accident, especially when Tori suspects her uncle of killing her father all those years ago to steal his barbecue drive-in empire. Like our PI, the reader will approach the charred meat chunks steaming beneath the blanket of thick, blood-red sauce with curiosity and caution. Each looks like something to inhale in one bite, but there are many burnt ends and a danger of going too fast.
What if the reader chokes on Tori’s decision to seek revenge? Gets indigestion from her feverish confrontation with her estranged uncle and cousins? Scalds their tongue on Uncle Charlie’s sudden and unexpected death? Then again, it is the growing danger itself that speaks to the reader’s carnivorous cravings. For what fun is there in reading without the risk of getting burned?
At the start of the story, the ravenous reader might resist temptation and maintain their manners by reaching for a napkin, fork, and knife. This last instrument will be useful not only to guard against the story’s unexpected twists, but also to cut through the many walls—some seen and others illusory—that must be breached to get to the tender truth of what really happened to Luis Mendoza.
But as the reader consumes morsel after morsel and tumbles deeper and darker into Tori’s troubled past while pursuing a killer who wants to make dead meat out of her, they will find their initial cravings have not diminished but only intensified. It will be impossible to be civil, and throwing their utensils aside, the reader will grab the platter of burnt ends and devour them with their hands, unconcerned with the sticky mess on their faces or the tendons caught in their teeth, until they at last reach the story’s end and find satisfaction in an empty bowl of barbecue sauce.
Laura Wetsel – Author of Burnt Ends
Laura Wetsel holds bachelor’s degrees in Russian and English literature from the University of Wisconsin-Madison, and a master’s degree in Russian literature from Northwestern University.
She lives in Washington, D.C., with her two cats, Sasha and Ginny Wolf.
While this story is fictional, Burnt Ends was inspired by Laura’s uncle, who ran a successful burger drive-in chain in Ohio, as well as her experience living in Kansas City, Missouri.
To learn more about Laura, click on any of the following links:www.LauraWetselBooks.com
Goodreads
Twitter/X – @LauraWetselVisit all the Stops on the Tour!
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October 17, 2024
The Bluff: A New Thriller
The Bluff, a thriller by Bonnie Traymore
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Spotlight! Book & Author Info + a Giveaway!Don’t miss any blog tour post! Click the link here.The Bluff
When I first moved from Manhattan to this small town six years ago, I worried about many things. I worried about finding a job. I worried that I’d be bored. I worried that my relationship with charming photographer Ryan Breslow was moving too fast. But I never worried about whether the ground beneath my feet would crumble—both literally and figuratively.
My marriage didn’t go as I’d imagined. A year ago, Ryan met his untimely death in a car accident that’s still under investigation. Isolated and alone, all I wanted was to sell my home and leave Crest Lake and its painful memories behind.
But with my home inching ever closer to the edge of the crumbling bluff, the property has become unmarketable. All of us on the lakefront have lost chunks of property, and tempers are at a boiling point about what to do next.
And now, on the evening of a contentious vote about how to fix this pressing issue, my nemesis on the shoreline committee has been murdered. I know how it looks, but it’s not what it seems. But I have to get my plan passed and cash out.
Because I do have secrets.
And they won’t stay buried forever.
Praise for the book“With its high-stakes plot and complex characters, the novel is a masterclass in building tension and intrigue.”
~ NetGalley
“Gripping and full of surprises, The Bluff is a clever psychological suspense with layered characters and an atmospheric setting. Traymore masterfully ratchets up the tension little-by-little until the shocking, explosive end.”
~ Tracey Devlyn, USA Today bestselling author
“The Bluff is a captivating thriller that skillfully intertwines suspense, mystery, and personal drama against the backdrop of a perilous natural setting. With its high-stakes plot and complex characters, the novel is a masterclass in building tension and intrigue.”
~ NetGalley
“The Bluff by Bonnie Traymore is a gripping tale packed with action. The psychological suspense will keep you reading right through as the story unfolds and secrets are uncovered. Your attention is grabbed from the first page, and the tension rises slowly, reeling you in and keeping you hooked until the exciting ending that you won’t see coming. This is an excellent thriller, recommended to anyone who wants a good suspense story to get stuck into.”
~ Readers Favorite 5 Stars
“Kate shines as a character trying to control situations while hiding many secrets. Travis Whittaker, co-narrator with Kate, is another strong character, questioning his life choices as investigates Kate.”
~ NetGalley
“Ending was definitely a great twist that I wasn’t expecting. Would definitely recommend.”
~ NetGalley
“The slowly disintegrating bluff controls this mystery/thriller and the residents’ actions. Those actions, and all the secrets revealed, lead to a totally surprising, unexpected conclusion. 5 star.”
~ NetGalley
“This was a slow burn psychological suspense that heated up to a twisty, thrilling finale. A domestic thriller with a timely topic in the background. Great setting. Highly recommended.”
~ NetGalley
Genre: Domestic Thriller, Psychological Thriller
Published by: Self/ Pathways Publishing imprint
Publication Date: September 1, 2024
Number of Pages: 277
PRINT ISBN: 979-8218417543
Bonnie Traymore is the Amazon International Bestselling author of six domestic/psychological thrillers.
Her “popcorn thrillers” feature strong but relatable female protagonists who peel back the layers of suburban American life and give readers a peek inside.
The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time. She’s an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.
To learn more about Bonnie, click on any of the following links: www.BonnieTraymore.com, Goodreads, BookBub – @btraymore, Instagram – @bonnietraymore, Threads – @bonnietraymore, Twitter/X – @btraymore & Facebook – @bonnietraymoreVisit all the Stops on the Tour!
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October 16, 2024
What Goes Around: A Debut Thriller
What Goes Around, the debut thriller by Michael Wendroff
Author Interview + Book & Author Info + Author Pet Corner!Don’t miss any International Thriller Writers Debut Author interviews! Click the link here.What Goes Around
EVIL HAS MANY FACES
Chilling killings terrorize a town and bring together two detectives to face the hardest tasks of their lives. Jack Ludlum, who relies on his brawn to get things done, is now paired with his arch-enemy, Jill Jarred, a brilliant investigator with keen intuition. As they delve into the secret world of incels and white supremacists, and conflict between local authorities and the FBI rages, a media frenzy further complicates the mission.
Is there a serial killer on the loose? Or something entirely different? Will their clashing personalities be their undoing, or can they unite to stop the killer before they kill each other?
What Goes Around is a captivating thriller that examines the intricacies of love, loss, and the unbreakable bonds that transcend time. With its pulse-pounding pace, captivating characters, and a revelatory twist that challenges the boundaries of life and death, this novel will keep you captivated from the first page to the last, and thinking long afterwards.
To purchase What Goes Around, click the following link: AmazonInterview with Michael Wendroff — Author of What Goes AroundWhat Goes Around combines White supremacists, conflicts between factions of law enforcement, and a media frenzy. That feels very timely! Where did the idea for this story spring from?One of the things I believe readers get excited about is conflict. Well, when you have white supremacists in a story, you are sure to get conflict!
A key inciting incident for me was the march that took place in Charlottesville, Va. which totally disgusted me. But it made me want to learn more about how someone could become something like that. So I researched it in many ways, and tried to recreate how a person can become a monster. Unfortunately this behavior continues to be in the news.
What Goes Around pairs up Jack Ludlum with Jill Jarred. What would you like readers to know about your central characters?
Jack Ludlum was patterned a bit after Jack Reacher, though Jill certainly tried to get him to make some changes.
Jill was influenced highly by the death of her father, who was a cop. Even after death, she tries to make him proud. The two of them are bitter enemies, forced to work together.
Does the relationship change? Tune in!
Tell us about your journey writing and finding a home for What Goes Around:
My writing journey began the second I was born.
My mother said to me (so I’m told), “Nice to see you again.”
I’ve never forgotten that, and always wanted to do something with that real life scene, and it became a key impetus for writing my novel (spoiler alert! It plays into the twist ending).
My writing journey was helped by my mother’s prior profession–an editor at Dell publishing, as well as other publishing houses. While she is deceased, I’ll always remember the red pencil marks she’d put all over manuscripts while reading through them sitting cross-legged on her bed on weekends. Those red marks did prepare me for the editorial comments I got! At least though on the computer margins the editorial comments I got weren’t in red.
My writing journey was also helped by my stepfather, literary agent Henry Morrison. I lived in a world of authors, as he agented Robert Ludlum, David Morrell, Joseph Finder, Dean Koontz, Lawrence Block, and many others. I actually worked in his agency summers during college, selling foreign rights to his clients’ books. I think my favorite part of this was getting all of these new novels to read for free!
My writing journey was interrupted by a career in marketing. While my MBA thesis from NYU was titled “Marketing in the Publishing Industry,” and it was actually excerpted in Publishers Weekly, that was as close as I got to publishing for quite a while (though for the thesis it was thrilling waiting outside Michael Korda’s office (he was editor in chief at Simon&Schuster at the time), and being introduced to Truman Capote on his way out!
While I always wanted to write a novel, it was Covid that finally got me going on what became What Goes Around. It was the point where I couldn’t do anything-couldn’t go to a restaurant, or the beach, or play tennis. So I had no more excuses. I wrote it, and the rest is history.
Well, not quite history. And that sounds way easier than it was. The key was having a great agent myself, who found me a great publisher. Interesting though–obviously it’s very hard to get your book published. Robert Ludlum had his first novel rejected by the first 14 publishers that Henry Morrison sent it to. The 15th bought it, and the rest truly was history–that and all his books became bestsellers. But when my agent was shopping around What Goes Around, Henry was very ill. The book had some rejections. Henry eventually passed on. The day after he died, the book was sold! So definitely some help from above.
You have worked for several years in marketing, how did that career impact your writing, and how you have thought about the launch of your first novel?
I think my career in marketing definitely helped. One of the key aspects of marketing, of course, is advertising. The vital thing there is getting and keeping the consumer’s attention. For me, that translates to topical events in your novel, and to short chapters (the consumer attention span is way less than it used to be!). It also translates into ending most chapters on a cliffhanger. I think that’s why I’ve gotten such nice pre-publication quotes from NY Times bestselling authors. For instance, Kathleen Kent called it “Adrenaline-fueled.” Lisa Black said it “grabs you from the first page and doesn’t stop until it reaches its unexpected conclusion.” And J.D. Barker said “Relentless and gritty, Wendroff expertly weaves a narrative that t begs, ‘just one more page…’”
See, I just gave myself an ad due to my marketing background!
There’s also one other aspect of my business background that helped. That was doing a lot of research. I learned how to do research that’s valid, and I learned to enjoy it. So doing all the research I needed to do for What Goes Around was actually fun! Plus one other thing–my business background taught me the importance of preparation and thinking things through before you write out a proposal. This translates to my novel writing in terms of plotting out the book.
While I know there are plenty of writers that just write by the seats of their pants (and I admire that, and many are bestsellers), that’s not me. My writing process is to come up with the key idea, plot it out in a lot of detail, research, and then start writing. When I write I refer to my plot outline, sit at my desk and get the words out to advance the story, and the next day I go back and refine what I wrote the day before. Then more words get scribbled, and the process repeats itself.
You love to travel, especially Italy. What do you love best about traveling, and that country in particular?
Michael’s “Writing Room” overlooking Lake GardaI find traveling to be a bit mind broadening. Watching how foreigners react to situations and interact with me and their own friends helps sharpen how I describe my characters and situations, as the contrast illuminates what I otherwise might miss in the USA alone.
Italy is amazing. The beauty, the history, the people, and of course, the food. We live in Florida, which we really enjoy, but to escape the heat and humidity of the Florida summers we bought an apartment in Italy. It has a wonderful view of Lake Garda, and it definitely inspires my writing. I’ve been very lucky
What are you working on now?
Well a sequel of course! It’s actually a prequel, and has the two main characters, Jack and Jill (yes, Jack and Jill) on another thrilling adventure. It has some parallels to What Goes Around, but of course plenty of differences and twists as well.
Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers:
Don’t ever give up. Write every day. Always be learning. Be kind–because What Goes Around comes around.
Author Pet Corner!
Lola!
I do have Lola in my life. She is a Jack Russell terrier, and her problem is she’s very smart and very cute.
Tough combination for me–she gets away with way too much! But she’s protective, so any bad reviewers, watch out for Bad Lola!
Michael Wendroff — Author of What Goes Around
Michael Wendroff is a global marketing consultant, and now, an author. Michael comes from a publishing background. His mother was an editor at Dell Publishing and President of Belmont Books—one of the first female senior executives in the publishing industry. His stepfather, Henry Morrison was a literary agent to many best-selling authors, and a true force of nature.
Michael received his MBA degree from New York University. He also received his undergraduate degree from NYU, where he was inducted into their Hall of Fame. Besides writing, he enjoys tennis, boating, and traveling. He is married with three children.
To learn more about Michael, click on any of the following links: Website, Facebook, Instagram & X
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October 15, 2024
Cracks Beneath the Surface: A New Mystery
Cracks Beneath the Surface, the latest Jhonnie Laurant Mystery by Mary Ann Miller
Author Interview + Book & Author InformationDon’t miss any author interviews! Click the link here to read more.Cracks Beneath the Surface
The ice is melting—but what will it reveal?
Spring has sprung, and Easter festivities are underway in Field’s Crossing, Indiana. The annual egg hunt is a huge success, thanks in no small part to Lisa DuVal, the owner of Big Al’s Diner who dyed all of the eggs. But when Sheriff Jhonni Laurent discovers Lisa’s body in her catering van later that day, the happy holiday quickly sours, and Laurent begins a murder investigation.
All are shocked at the reading of the will when it’s revealed that the diner will be inherited by Lisa’s best friend—not by her daughter, which raises Laurent’s suspicions. While working to find the killer, Laurent uncovers some unsightly secrets that Lisa’s family had been concealing. Could they be involved in something shady?
As the investigation begins to take shape, it seems that the melting ice will reveal more than the first buds of spring. And when another body is discovered, Laurent must work quickly to determine how the two crimes connect—and who could be behind it all.
Perfect for fans of J. A. Jance and C. J. Box
To purchase Cracks Beneath the Surface, click either of the following links: Amazon & Barnes and NobleCracks Beneath the Surface — Author InterviewCracks Beneath the Surface is the second Jhonni Laurant Mystery. What would you like readers to know about book one?On my website, the logline is “Murder is Rare in Farm Country.” And it is.
A murder has a huge effect on the entire community. The farming community is tight-knit, much like family. The death of one affects everyone, especially if the deceased is young, as in Bones Under the Ice.
In Cracks Beneath the Surface, a middle-aged woman is stabbed to death and found in her catering van. The diner she owned and ran was enormously popular in Field’s Crossing and so her death, again, affects the community as does the discovery of the killer.
Cracks Beneath the Surface is set in Field’s Crossing, Indiana. Tell us about that community, and how that location plays a role in the novel?
The fictional town of Field’s Crossing, Indiana is made up of many small towns I either visited or grew up in.
Both of my parents came from farming families. My mother hated to collect the chicken eggs because more than the egg came out of the chicken. I don’t think they wore gloves back then. My father tells stories about how they had to move every March 1st because they were tenant farmers, and his dad would farm a new farm every year. He attended four different high schools before he got his diploma.
My uncle Richie told me he was the only one left in his high school graduation class. Of course, they only had seventeen people to begin with.
These stories need to be captured in one form or another because farming today is so vastly different than when my parents were milking cows by hand and getting pecked by angry hens.
Cracks Beneath the Surface continues the arc of your central character. Did you find it easier or harder or just different to work with characters that you already knew?
I think it’s easier to work with characters I’ve already created. There’s a familiarity about it.
I’m comfortable being in the shoes of my protagonist. I know how she’ll think, how she’ll react, and what she’ll say in any given situation. I’m always looking for ways for the reader to get to know my characters better. A small detail that hints at an untold back story, an opinion about something that’s rooted in a funny childhood story. Back stories, opinions, and beliefs round out the character and strike a chord with the reader.
In addition to reading and writing crime fiction, you’re an avid gardener. What do you enjoy about working with plants? What is growing well in Florida that you couldn’t grow in Illinois? Or not growing in Florida you grew in Illinois?
The ecosystem of Florida is vastly different than the Midwest. The soil in Florida has a great deal of sand in it while in Illinois, the soil is clay. If you stick a shovel into the soil in Illinois, you think you hit a rock. Here in Florida, the shovel glides through until you hit a tree root.
Almost everything I grew in Illinois will grow in Florida. The trick is to recognize the plant at ten times it’s size and realize what is an annual in Illinois might be a perennial in Florida. Cut it back and it will grow again. And again. And again.
The main staple of my garden in the Midwest was a hosta. They will not grow in Florida. I can’t even buy them here. The hosta is a shade plant and Florida is not known for shade. Also, hydrangea don’t do well either. I’ve moved my pink hydrangea twice and they still look anemic.
On the other hand, elephant ears are an annual in Illinois and in Florida, my elephant ears resemble a jungle. I planted three eighteen-inch elephant ears in March and in October the plants are over six feet tall and covering up half of the front of the house. Not sure where I’m going to move them.
I can’t read mysteries, thrillers, or any sort of crime fiction while I’m writing a rough draft. I find myself adopting the other writer’s style or tone of voice or cadence, so I read historical fiction and usually a book on the craft of writing.
I’m reading Mrs. Roosevelt’s Confidant by Susan Macneal and How to get Great Book Reviews by Carolyn Howard-Johnson and my copy of the eighteen edition of The Chicago Manual of Style just arrived.
What are you working on now?
Books three and four in the Sheriff Jhonni Laurent series. Both are half-done and I’m letting them percolate for a few months. We’ll see what other ideas pop up.
In the meantime, I’m starting a new series set in central Wisconsin. Briefly, Riley Anderson is on medical leave from the Milwaukee Police Department due to an injury she sustained when her partner was shot and killed by a gang member. She has escaped the city and its suburbs and is spending the time at her family’s summer cabin in St. Paddy, Wisconsin. Returning from an early morning swim, she discovers a body under the family’s pier. The medical examiner rules the death an accidental drowning. A few days later, the deceased’s father offers Riley one million dollars to find out who killed his son.
The Riley Anderson series is in its infancy. The rough draft has only twenty thousand words, so we’ll see where it goes.
Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers.
You can’t edit a blank page. I come back to this time and time again. Somedays the blank page is daunting, other days I can’t wait to sit at my desk and write. On the daunting days, I’ll work on research, naming characters or places, anything that moves my writing forward, anything to give myself a sense of accomplishment or, at the very least, the feeling that the day wasn’t a complete waste. Something got done that needed to get done. Some days that’s all I can achieve.
I also find I have more energy early in the week. I can crank out a couple of thousand words on Monday and have to struggle to get five hundred on Friday.
Mary Ann Miller
Mary Ann Miller currently lives in Florida with her husband, where she is working on the third novel in the Sheriff Jhonni Laurent series.
She received a Bachelor of Arts degree from Northern Illinois University and earned a paralegal certificate with Roosevelt University.
Miller is a member of MWA, ITW, and Sisters in Crime and when not writing, can be found reading poolside or hosting family and friends fleeing the cold winters of the north.
To learn more about Mary Ann, click any of the following links: Website, Facebook, Instagram & TwitterElena Hartwell / Elena Taylor
The post Cracks Beneath the Surface: A New Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
October 12, 2024
The Chemical Detective: Thriller Series
The Chemical Detective by Fiona Erskine
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Excerpt + Guest Post + Book & Author Info + A Giveaway!
Don’t miss any blog tour post! Click the link here.
The Chemical Detective
Dr Jaq Silver blows things up to keep people safe. An engineer and explosives expert, she’s also an excellent skier.
Working on avalanche control in Slovenia, Jaq stumbles across a problem with a consignment of explosives. After raising a complaint with the supplier, a multinational chemical company, her evidence disappears. Jaq is warned, threatened, accused of professional incompetence and suspended. Taking her complaint further, she narrowly escapes death only to be framed for murder. Absconding from police custody, she sets out to find the key to the mystery.
Racing between the snowy slopes of Slovenia and the ghostly ruins of Chernobyl, can she uncover the truth before her time runs out?
Praise for THE CHEMICAL DETECTIVE:
“Just the right blend of suspense and tension… I recommend this original and compelling debut novel for fans of mysteries and thrillers, as well as for those looking for a credible female protagonist in a genre dominated by male superheroes. Already, I am looking forward to reading the next instalment in this series.” ~ Forbes, Editors’ Pick
“Explosive science, strong women, and snowy landscapes, all within a gripping, smart, fast-paced read.” ~ Helen Sedgwick, author of When the Dead Come Calling
“Imagine the love child of Jack Reacher and Nancy Drew…a delicious cocktail of dating and detonations. Call it Mills and Boom.” ~ Evening Standard
“An audacious, female-led thriller which took the disposable women of the James Bond franchise and flipped the concept entirely on its head.” ~ Chemistry World
“Fiona Erskine is an engineer, and in Jaq Silver, who shares her profession, she has created a wonderful antidote to all the resentful, floppy victims of much domestic noir… Her adventures are eye-popping and exciting.” ~ Literary Review
Book Details:
Genre: Sexy Engineering Thriller
Published by: Snickered Mole
Publication Date: August 2024, US
Number of Pages: 400
ISBN: 978-1-7385120-5-8
Series: Jaq Silver Thriller series, 1
EBook On sale throughout October, just $0.99!
To purchase The Chemical Detective click on any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookBub | Goodreads | Kobo
The Chemical Detective Guest Post
My writing misadventure by Fiona Erskine
While researching her debut thriller, The Chemical Detective, author Fiona Erskine visited the Chernobyl Nuclear Power Plant, site of the world’s worst peacetime nuclear accident.
I didn’t set out to be a writer. I’m a professional engineer and I still love my day job. But just after my 50th birthday, two things happened. A reorganisation at work led to a change of boss and a family skiing holiday led to a nasty leg injury on the first day. Until my insurance company could find us all a flight home with broken leg room, my husband and sons headed out to the slopes every day while I hobbled to the hotel bar on crutches to gaze forlornly at the sparkling mountains. The bar soon filled up with Russian men who started drinking before breakfast and their shady conversations proved more fascinating than the snow.
School Russian and French painkillers stimulated my imagination; I started writing and found I couldn’t stop. Back home, I learned that enthusiasm is not enough; you also have to learn some craft. I joined online writing courses, read a lot of books, met other writers and joined writing groups. I started again with a minor character from my first story – Jaq Silver – a tenacious individual who wouldn’t let go. Jaq doesn’t walk away from trouble. She stands up to injustice, using her brains instead of brawn to whop the bad guys. But I am not Jaq. For one thing, she’s a lot better at skiing. So, rather than continue fighting the new boss from hell, I changed jobs to give myself less angst and more time to research, travel and write. One of the places I visited – before the Russian invasion – was the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone in Ukraine. Here are three of the things I discovered.
Chernobyl
Safety can be dangerous
Did you know that the 1986 Chernobyl accident, the world’s worst peacetime nuclear accident, was initiated by a safety test? While testing the emergency back-up systems, plant engineers stopped the water pumps. Without cooling, the nuclear core overheated and exploded. The Chernobyl explosion put 400 times more radioactive material into the Earth’s atmosphere than the atomic bomb dropped on Hiroshima. Thanks to the bravery of the first responders and liquidators, most of the 180 tonnes of nuclear fuel remains buried inside the damaged reactor. In order to keep the radioactive material contained, the Chernobyl Shelter Project was completed in 2016. A huge mobile arch, constructed at a safe distance from the damaged reactor, slid on rails to cover the crumbling sarcophagus, sealing the smouldering core from the outside world.
Life finds a way
Did you know that new species of fungi have been discovered in the darkness of the smothered nuclear core. In the absence of light, the melanin-containing fungi—Cladosporium sphaerospermum, Wangiella dermatitidis, and Cryptococcus neoformans—use gamma radiation to grow: not photosynthesis but radiosynthesis. The exclusion zone is strangely beautiful . Plants and animals flourish thanks to the absence of human activity. Cars and farming pose a much greater threat to wildlife than low-level radiation. Nature finds a way.
The Ferris Wheel finally turned in 2017
In the amusement park built for the Chernobyl workers, a brand-new Ferris Wheel stood ready for a grand opening on 1st May 1986. Three days before the May Day celebrations the citizens of Pripyat and surrounding villages were evacuated, never to return. The abandoned amusement park of Pripyat is now one of the most heavily contaminated surfaces in the exclusion zone. In the desperate days after the explosion in Reactor No4, helicopters landed in the wide-open space in front of the Ferris wheel. As the nuclear core continued to spew out radioactive particles, the pilot’s mission was to collect bags of sand, lead and boron and drop them onto the stricken reactor. For more than 30 years, the Ferris wheel remained motionless, a silent observer as plant and animals rewilded the exclusion zone: lynx, moose, deer, brown bears, wolves and miniature horses. And then, in 2017, a group of enterprising Polish tourists decided to get the Ferris wheel working and turned it for the first time, making a video of their escapade. The guerrilla fairground engineers disappeared before the Ukrainian authorities could catch them.
My writing recovery
After many rejections and extensive rewrites, dream UK agent Juliet Mushens offered representation. Publication deals followed for my Jaq Silver thrillers with four books in the series published in the UK so far and more to come. In the first book of the series – The Chemical Detective – Jaq Silver is working on avalanche control in Slovenia, when she stumbles across a problem with a consignment of explosives.
After raising a complaint, Jaq is warned, threatened, accused of professional incompetence and suspended. Taking her complaint further, she narrowly escapes death only to be framed for murder. Escaping from police custody, she follows a trail of clues from the Julian Alps in Slovenia to the Chernobyl Exclusion Zone in Ukraine. And that’s where thing start to get interesting… I’m so excited to bring The Chemical Detective to the USA and Canada, and I hope you enjoy it!
Read an excerpt of The Chemical Detective:
The Chemical Detective
PRELUDE
Thursday 24 February, Teesside, England
The trouble with Semtex is the smell. Dogs can sense it. Most humans can’t. Boris could. Not the plastic explosive itself, you understand; neither RDX nor PETN – the main components – have much of an odor. The scent comes from the tracers added, to make sure it doesn’t fall into the wrong hands. Hands like his. Chemist’s hands. Wide hands with long fingers, calloused from handling hot glassware, thickets of black hair curling over the knuckles and between the joints. Hands now gripping the steering wheel of a five-axled truck hurtling toward the Zagrovyl factory in Teesside.
Boris only carried a small amount of Semtex these days, just enough for his personal use. He kept it in a Tupperware container, wrapped in Clingfilm, under his sandwiches. Sentimental value, really. He’d moved on. To some, it might look like a backward step, from laboratory shift work to long-distance truck driving. But only to those who didn’t know the tedium of analytical testing. The same samples, the same tests, the same results, hour after hour after hour. Not like the old days, when you had thorny problems to solve and real fires to fight. Nothing more boring than a well-run factory. He was glad when they sacked him. Glad to be free of the monotony. Glad to be out on the road. These days, his insight into tracers was a key skill for the job.
Boris yanked the wheel to the left and hauled the truck into a lay-by with a view. The chemical plant skulked on the far side of a chain-link fence. One factory was much like another. Plumes of steam billowed into the sky, glowing orange in the sodium lights, bright against a dark, winter day. He traced the familiar shapes in the condensation of his side window: an hourglass – the cooling tower curving to a waist and then flaring out again; two, thin vertical lines – the nitric acid absorption columns lit up like Christmas trees; three circles – the ammonia storage spheres, massive, metal balls trapped by sturdy legs to stop them rolling away; a rectangle – the ammonium nitrate prilling tower looming over the A19, the main road out of Teesside.
The wind whistled up the river, screaming through the gap between the warehouses, bringing with it a faint whiff of sulfur, reminding him of home: Pardubice in the Czech Republic. The Semtex factory where he trained.
He watched the car park from the lay-by, waiting until the last company car roared away, before driving up to the gatehouse and presenting his papers. At the collection bay he plugged a small black box into the vehicle’s lighter socket. It beeped, and flashed, a red light showing it had located the Zagrovyl computer network. He tucked the jamming device under the passenger seat before turning off the ignition and stepping down from the cab.
“Snow Science, right? Two metric tons?” The bald warehouseman tapped his keyboard. “Bloody system down again.”
Boris slid his papers through a hatch. “Twenty metric tons.”
“Fertilizer grade?”
“Explosives grade.” Boris jabbed his finger at the product code on the order.
“You sure?” Baldy frowned and inspected the order line by line. He picked up a phone, running a hand over his eggshell-smooth head as he waited. When there was no response, he shook his head and cursed, “Lazy tossers, all buggered off early.” He slammed the receiver back into its cradle. “I’ll get you loaded up in a jiffy, mate.”
The metal ramp screeched against the concrete floor as a forklift truck drove into the back of the truck, delivering the first pallet. Two forklifts worked in tandem, an intricate dance, weaving and turning on a dime as they loaded the cargo. Within fifteen minutes it was finished. Fast and skillful, these old men of the north.
Boris secured the load, signed the paperwork and drove out of the factory gate.
Click. Location 54.597255, -1.201133. Intensity 800X
Instead of taking the A19 south, he headed east to Haverton Hill and a decrepit warehouse lying in the shadow of a blue bridge. A damp chill rose from the misty river. Boris shivered as he opened the cab door and scanned the quayside.
A tall, thin man materialized out of the fog, moving slowly with labored, jerky movements. He emerged into the sidelights: dark coat, spiky black hair, gaunt white face. The Spider. Christ, this run must be important.
“So?” The question came out as a hiss.
“All good.” Boris pointed to the trailer. “No problems, boss.”
The Spider pressed a button and battered doors began to open, groaning and squealing with neglect.
Boris backed the truck into the warehouse and hopped down from the cab. “How long will it take?” he asked, as he unlocked the back doors and dropped the ramp.
“Assist,” The Spider ordered. “Time is of the essence.”
Two hours later, Boris’s arms ached as he maneuvered the truck onto the southbound motorway. Bloody amateurs. Leaving him to do all the heavy work.
Boris made good time to the south coast, skirting London after the rush hour. Transport of explosives was not permitted in the Channel Tunnel, so Boris and his truck boarded the ferry to France.
Click: Location 51.12646, 1.327162. Intensity 152X, 648C
He stood on deck, sipping a watery, English coffee, as the white cliffs of Dover receded into the mist. Plain sailing from here. He shivered as the towers of the titanium dioxide factory beside the Port de Calais hove into view, and returned to his truck.
Click. Location 50.96622, 1.86201. Intensity 152X, 648C
The drive through France was uneventful as far as Strasbourg, but a young border guard flagged him down at the crossing into Germany for extra checks. So much for a borderless Europe. Boris remained calm. It had happened before. Nothing to worry about.
The ginger-haired guard puzzled over the papers, wrinkling his brow. “You do know what you’ve got in there?”
“Yes.” Boris lied easily now. After the first few runs, he knew how unlikely it was that anyone would check. And even if they did, what would they see?
Ginger picked up a phone and moved out of earshot. After a few minutes, he marched back. “Drive carefully.” He waved him on his way.
Click. Location 48.5857412, 7.7583997. Intensity 152X, 648C
Boris drove on past Baden-Baden. After lunch, near Munich, he took a nap in the back of the cab. When he woke, the stars guided his way to Salzburg and the crossing into Austria.
Click. Location 47.7994, 13.0439. Intensity 152X, 648C
As he approached the mountains, snow started falling, wet flakes that melted on impact. A weather report on the radio warned of treacherous conditions and several inches of snow up ahead. Great for the skiers, bad for lorries full of explosives and worse. Best to cross in the morning. He slid into a lay-by. A police car drove toward him, slowing as it passed on the opposite side of the road. Boris stared into the snowstorm, craning his neck to make sure it didn’t turn back.
Not that he need worry too much. The dispatch papers matched the Dangerous Goods Note. The bags had the correct hazard warnings. All the papers were faultless. None of the inspections, on any of the runs, had ever uncovered a thing. After all, who wanted to poke around inside bags of explosives? You could hide anything in there.
OVERTURE
Slovenia
Saturday 26 February, Kranjskabel, Slovenia
A strange bed. A naked man. And a few hours to kill before the explosives arrived. The day was looking up.
Jaq stretched, savoring the smooth cotton sheets against her skin. Snowflakes danced through a web of ice on the sloping, attic window. In the dawn glow, she could just discern the layout of the unfamiliar room. Two doors: one of solid oak with tongue-and-groove paneling, brass hinges and a sturdy lock; the other a flat, sliding panel leading to a modern shower room carved from a corner of the attic. A pine bed, wardrobe and chest of drawers, a leather sofa and a couple of metal stools tucked under a bench that divided the bedroom and kitchenette. From outside came the faint swishing and rumbling of a distant snowplow. Inside, the gurgle of a fridge, creaks and sighs of an old house waking up and the steady, slow breathing of the man beside her.
Jaq breathed in. Musk and licorice. And a faint whiff of nitroglycerine. Her scent on his body.
She slid backward across tangled sheets and ran her eyes over the golden curls decorating the pillow, down the ridge of his spine to the curve of his buttocks, sturdy thighs and powerful calves. Definitely a skier. One foot hung over the edge of the bed while the other was tucked under a leg forested in fine, bronze hairs. A tall, blond skier. Athletic. And much too young for her.
She grinned as she reached for the quilt – curved, appliqué ridges between her fingers, uneven stitching, not machine-made – and gently covered him. He stirred but did not wake.
The room smelled of pine resin with a hint of lemon. Clean and tidy. Well, at least it had been before last night. Her eyes followed the trail of clothes across the oak floorboards. Her coat and hat hung on a wooden peg near the entrance door, but her long boots had toppled over and lay at angles to the pashmina snaking across the floor, coiled around a scarlet bra and matching thong. There was no sign of her dress, but on the chest of drawers in the corner she could see his clothes, neatly folded on top. When had he folded his clothes? While she was asleep? Certainly not as she was undressing him.
The guy from the karaoke bar. Nossa. What had he done to her brains last night? She’d known he was trouble the moment she heard him sing.
What had she been thinking of? She loathed office parties, but her boss at Snow Science had insisted on it. Team building, Laurent said, a bit of fun. Laurent was a fool.
She slid down the bed, covering her head at the memory of Laurent’s excruciating impersonation of Charles Aznavour. Carapau de corrida. He’d insisted on the drinking games afterward. Sheila and Rita had the sense to refuse but Jaq could never resist a challenge.
And then the man with the golden curls took to the floor.
The moment he opened his mouth, Jaq was hooked. His voice emerged an octave deeper than she expected. He sang with authority and passion, the pitch and cadence perfectly controlled. His voice rumbled right down the small stage, across the wooden floor, up through the soles of her feet, tugging at the tight knots that held her together, unraveling all the cords of restraint with the song. An old Russian lullaby. One she knew so well.
Had she stared too hard? Clapped too loudly? Was that why the singer with the deep voice and lopsided smile singled her out afterward? She wouldn’t have danced at all if Laurent hadn’t made such an arse of himself. Sitting too close. Breathing too hard. Whispering in her ear. Escaping to the dance floor was intended to put some distance between them; Jaq always danced alone. Laurent followed her, his manbag on one shoulder, lurching and gyrating, arms outstretched in invitation to an inappropriate waltz.
The stranger interposed himself, moving between Jaq and Laurent, a subtle, sinuous barrier, increasing the separation until the drunken Frenchman found another target for his amorous attentions. Jaq danced on for a few tracks, just for the joy of the music, and then made her escape.
And there he was, outside the bar ahead of her. Waiting. Something in his eyes gave her pause, drew her in. She could have walked straight past. What was it that held her? Made her stop? The gentleness of his touch as he helped her with her coat? The deep voice bidding her lahko noč, goodnight? Had she imagined an inflection, an upturn, a question? There was no mistaking the smoldering fire she glimpsed before he hooded his eyes and turned away. It had been a long time since a man had looked at her with such honest desire. A very long time. And, oh, amor de Deus, how she had missed it.
“Wait!” Her lips found his, and there was no mistaking the interest with which he returned her kiss. Gentle, searching, increasingly confident. Hot lips and strong arms. She remembered him asking but had no memory of her reply, or how they ended up at his place.
Time to face the morning after the night before. Careful not to touch him, her detailed inspection must have registered. He brushed the curls from his face and wrinkled his nose. His eyelashes fluttered, and his breath became shorter, shallower.
She slipped out of bed and wrapped the pashmina around her. Where was her bag? Dropping to her hands and knees, she spotted it under the bed frame and took it to the bathroom. The scent of lemon behind the sliding door hit her like a wave. She sat on the toilet and grasped the edge of the sink. How much had she drunk last night? When the dizziness passed, she took stock. Clean towels neatly folded on a rail, a shower, sink and toilet spotlessly clean. Had he expected company? She opened the glass cabinet above the sink. Soap, straight razor, shaving mirror, shampoo, cotton buds, toothpaste, one toothbrush, and dental floss. A large box of condoms, somewhat depleted after last night, but no sign of a permanent, female presence. Just one tidy man.
Jaq reached for her bag. Despite her love-hate relationship with handbags, her party clothes lacked sensible pockets, and this was the least-bad option. Black with silver buckles, the fabric was lighter and thinner than leather but textured, tough and waterproof. It could be carried by the arched handle like a briefcase or, releasing three ingenious hooks, clipped onto a bike as a pannier. When carrying a laptop or other heavy items, two, wide adjustable backpack straps unfurled so that she could take advantage of the padded, contoured panel for extra comfort against the spine. The pleated sides, held in shape by concealed Velcro strips, made it capacious enough for most outings. It even had two, parallel zippers, designed to slot over the handle of a rolling suitcase, but also perfect for carrying a snowboard.
She rummaged inside the bag for her phone, encountering ticket stubs, café receipts, coins, a set of Allen keys, a socket wrench, Maglite torch, penknife, comb, and packets of hot chocolate. Ouch! She caught her finger between the jaws of a Vernier caliper. No blood, just a scratch, but she continued her search more cautiously: hydrogel plaster, crepe bandage, latex gloves, paracetamol, ibuprofen, neodymium magnet hook, PTFE tape, thermos flask, duct tape, ball of hairy string, condoms, fuse wire, superglue, paper clip, Blu Tack, ball of rubber bands, sandpaper, a fold-up kite, Slovenian–English dictionary, an unposted letter, multiplug, catapult, USB stick, fluorescent highlighter pens, snow goggles, earplugs, spare socks, tissues, tampons, a silver propelling pencil, a tube of mints, a packet of dried apricots, a tuning fork and a green marble.
Like the Tardis, the bag was bigger on the inside.
A bunch of keys fell out, clinking against the tiled floor. Odd. She unzipped the secure inside pocket where she normally kept them and, at last! There was the phone. One missed call she had no intention of returning. Amid the dross of email, a single pearl from Emma with a long, chatty message about Johan and the kids. Not now, save for later, only one bar of battery left. No message from Snow Science. She put the phone back and zipped up the keys before dragging a comb through her hair.
As she emerged from the bathroom, the naked man sat up in bed, blue eyes fixed on her face.
“Dobro jutro!” He switched to English. “Good morning.”
Now that he viewed her in the daylight, was there a shadow of surprise? If so, he hid it well. What did he see? An athletic woman, naked except for a brightly colored pashmina and a large shoulder bag. Tall – five feet nine inches in bare feet, with a Mediterranean complexion – brown eyes, olive skin and shoulder-length hair, dark brown, almost black, except for the hints of russet fire. Well proportioned, curvy even. His smile appeared uncomplicated, no hint of embarrassment or regret, only pleasure at finding her still there.
“I don’t think we were properly introduced last night.” He held out a hand. “Karel.”
She took his hand, smiling at the absurd formality. There was hardly an inch of each other’s bodies that hadn’t been stroked or kissed or explored last night, and yet the contact with his hand felt deeply intimate, sending a tingle straight to her core. Careful.
“Jaq,” she said. No second names. Polite but no promises. Civilized without commitment. “Pleased to meet you.”
“The pleasure was all mine.” He raised the quilt in invitation.
So tempting. She hesitated and was gratified by the flicker of disappointment that rippled across his brow when she shook her head.
“Breakfast, then.” He sprang out of bed, bringing the sheet with him, wrapping it around his hips. He handed her a robe. The faint hint of musk was his. She let it envelop her and perched on a stool as he got to work in the kitchen.
“A quick cup of tea, or whatever you are making,” she said.
“Scrambled eggs and smoked salmon.”
She started to protest, but the smell of butter melting in a pan made her stomach rumble. He heard it and laughed, breaking eggs into a bowl, many more than he could possibly eat alone. When had she last eaten? She’d gone straight from work to the karaoke bar, changing from coveralls to party dress in the lab toilets. There was no reason not to eat breakfast. No reason a one-night stand couldn’t be civilized.
“Nice flat,” she said.
“Belongs to a friend. He’s working abroad.” He grinned. “I keep an eye on things when he’s away.”
He served the scrambled eggs on toasted crumpets, a thin sliver of pink salmon sandwiched above the little craters of butter, turning opaque where it touched the hot egg piled in a pyramid and topped with a sprinkle of freshly ground black pepper and a sprig of parsley from a plant by the sink. A small glass of orange juice and a bowl of tea served black, fragrant with bergamot and dark tannin. The speed and ease with which he presented two perfect covers made her curious. A singer, a skier, a chef. What else could this man do? Her eyes traveled around the room and paused at the bed. Amid the otherwise orderly space it stood out, an explosion of disarray. A surge of warmth rose through her body, and she turned her attention back to the food.
“Mmmm.” Jaq wiped her lips with a napkin. “Very good.”
Karel bowed his head to acknowledge the compliment. “More tea?”
Jaq shook her head. Time to leave. He was a young man with impeccable manners, but some awkwardness was only to be expected now. She would spare him the brush-off. He would have things to do, people to see, places to go. “My clothes?”
“I hung your dress up,” he pointed to the wardrobe. “But—”
“I should go.”
“Should you?” He moved toward her.
The glass rattled in the window above. A flurry of hail blasted the ice clear enough to reveal a storm-dark sky. No skiing today. No message from Snow Science about the delivery. Time to kill.
Karel laid a hand on her shoulder. Warm, gentle, no hint of coercion. Only invitation. Promise. He ran a finger up the side of her neck and whispered, “Come back to bed first.”
Her skin tingled under his warm breath. When his lips nibbled her earlobe, she had to fight the urge to grin inanely. The good food, the cozy little attic, the storm outside, the gorgeous man, the firm bed. She might regret this, but . . .
Last night she’d taken a risk, let herself go with the flow, to see where it led her. What did she have to lose? Things could hardly get any worse. Forget about the past. Forget about the future. Focus on the moment.
Focus on the pleasure.
*** Excerpt from THE CHEMICAL DETECTIVE by Fiona Erskine. Copyright 2024 by Fiona Erskine. Reproduced with permission from Fiona Erskine. All rights reserved.
Fiona Erskine — Author of The Chemical Detective
Engineer by day, writer by night.
Fiona Erskine is a professional engineer, born in Scotland and now based in the North-East of England. As a female engineer, she is often the lone representative of her gender in board meetings, cargo ships and night-time factories, and her fiction offers a fascinating insight into the traditionally male world of heavy industry.
Fiona’s stand-alone portrait of a factory Phosphate Rocks: A Death In Ten Objects, made the UK Literary Review’s top ten crime novels of 2021.
Her international thriller series is published (outside USA, Canada and The Philippines) by Point Blank, the literary crime imprint of Oneworld, and follows engineer protagonist Jaq Silver blowing things up to keep people safe. The Chemical Detective (2019) was shortlisted for the SPECSAVERS DEBUT CRIME NOVEL AWARD at Crimefest, The Chemical Reaction (2020) was shortlisted for the STAUNCH Prize, The Chemical Cocktail (2022) was an FT Best Summer Book of 2022. Her latest novel is The Chemical Code (2023).
Fiona is passionate about music and outdoor swimming, though not generally at the same time.
To learn more about Fiona, click on any of the following links: FionaErskine.com, Substack, Goodreads, BookBub – @thechemicaldetective, Instagram – @thechemicaldetective, Threads – @thechemicaldetective, Twitter/X – @erskine_fiona & Facebook – @fionaerskineauthor
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October 10, 2024
Too Many Bridges: Debut Crime Fiction
Too Many Bridges, debut crime novel by Bill Gormley
Debut Author Interview + Book & Author InfoDon’t miss any Debut Author Interviews! Click the link here for more.Too Many Bridges
An eyewitness to a murder calls the Pittsburgh police from one of the city’s 446 bridges, then disappears. To solve the case, the police must find the bridge. But where to start?
Detective Branko Radic and Officer Kathleen Mulroy seek help from a nun, a professor, a mechanic, and a tattoo artist. They learn of a family feud, a business in trouble, some sketchy Harry Potter merchandise, and a missing young woman. If only they can find the right bridge, they might be able to put it all together.
But sometimes, a case is like a funhouse mirror at an amusement park. You have to adjust to the distortions in order to perceive the truth.
To purchase Too Many Bridges, click on any of the following links: Amazon, Barnes and Noble & Riverstone BooksToo Many Bridges — Author InterviewToo Many Bridges is set in Pittsburgh, where police must identify which bridge is connected to an anonymous eyewitness reporting a murder. With 446 bridges, that’s a big task! What prompted that concept to launch your story?
In cooking up my plot, I was inspired by a real-life situation—a bridge that sang, though only for a while.
The bridge, surprisingly, was San Francisco’s beloved Golden Gate Bridge. After some much-needed repair work on the railing, the bridge started producing scary music on windy nights. It unnerved the residents, who demanded a do-over and got it.
This got me thinking: Do bridges have distinctive audio signatures? And what if police got a call from someone reporting a murder but all they had to go on was the “sound” of the bridge? To locate the anonymous eyewitness, they must first find the bridge. Not easy in a city like Pittsburgh with 446 bridges! I thought that would be a fun premise to work with.
Too Many Bridges centers on the police team of Detective Branko Radic and Officer Kathleen Mulroy. Tell us about those characters and how they work together.
Radic, 36, is a Croatian-American police detective, who has a reputation for solving difficult murder cases.
Although he doesn’t advertise it widely, his older sister was murdered while serving in the Peace Corps. This motivated him to become a police officer and continues to motivate him today. Mulroy, 30, is an Irish-American police patrol officer, who is on track to become a detective.
Radic likes her and respects her and is happy to team up with her. They work well together, partly because they think differently. Radic is evidence-focused, while Mulroy is more intuitive. It’s a winning combination.
Too Many Bridges has been compared to Ed McBain, which is pretty heady stuff. What writers have been inspirational to you? Are there any that you feel impacted your writing, in terms of style, content, or characters?
I’m no Ed McBain, but it’s an honor to be linked to him, even in an aspirational way.
I love the ensemble cast of characters in his 87th precinct novels: Steve Carella, Meyer Meyer, Bert Kling, “Fat Ollie” Weeks. Very different personalities, but absolutely determined to solve difficult cases. In conjuring up a man/woman detective team, I owe a debt to Elizabeth George, whose pairing of Thomas Lynley and Barbara Havers shows us that police officers with different temperaments, from different social classes, sometimes make great partners.
Beyond that, I love quirky, funny characters. Like ones you find in books by Elmore Leonard, Ellie Griffiths, Janet Evanovich, Richard Osman. If I can smuggle two or three of them into my book, I’m happy to do so.
In a past career, you were a Professor of Public Policy and Government at Georgetown University and have written a lot of nonfiction. How does that experience impact your fiction? Did it help, hinder, or something in between to be experienced in another category of writing?
The big advantage of having written social science books and articles is that it anchors you to the truth.
When writing mysteries, I have the same urge to be truthful and accurate that I did when I was discussing early childhood education policy, bureaucratic politics, federalism and intergovernmental relations, and other subjects.
To put it a different way, I’m accustomed to doing research. So, I’ve turned to experts, including cops, former cops, emergency services personnel, transportation engineers, intellectual property lawyers, and others to get the facts straight. I hope that makes my mysteries more authentic.
In addition to your debut mystery, which appeared in 2024, you started up a podcast this year. Tell us more about the podcast and why people might want to tune in.
Many mystery writers will tell you that they’re constantly trying to learn more about policing and police practices. Profs on Cops is aimed at those writers, including myself.
Every month or so, I interview a criminologist who has done empirical research on policing. How widespread are body-worn cameras and how do BWCs affect police and citizen behavior? What goes through a police officer’s head when thrust into a dangerous situation where lethal force may be required?
Next up: Can we do a better job of training police officers? Every episode is just under 30 minutes. The guests speak in digestible sound bites. I prod them a bit when they say something fuzzy or provocative. It’s fun. People should check us out! (Apple or Spotify).
When you’re not reading and writing mysteries, we can find you playing jazz piano. Tell us why that musical style speaks to you. Are you a solo player? Or do you like to play with other musicians?
To me, jazz is the quintessential American music. We invented it, and we should enjoy it.
I play at least once a week with a group of amateur jazz musicians in the DC metro area. It’s exhilarating! After we run through a jazz standard once in a traditional way, each of us improvises, kind of like a trapeze artist performing without a net. What’s exciting about this is that you don’t know where you are going until you actually start playing and something new emerges.
The fear of failure is quite real. But when it works, it’s magical. The relevance of this to my fiction writing is that it makes me more of a “pantser” and less of a “plotter” when I write a mystery. Instead of forcing reluctant characters to go in a particular direction, I often put them into a difficult situation and see what happens. I’m less the master puppeteer than an eavesdropper or an eyewitness.
What are you working on now?
My next book, The Silent Trumpet, is pretty far along.
Radic and Mulroy are back and Mulroy is now a full-fledged detective. The book begins when a talented Black jazz trumpeter, Larry Mabry, is roughed up by a narcotics cop just outside the jazz club where he is performing. Larry’s brother Gary tries to secure his release. Gary has been Pittsburgh’s leading drug dealer for several years but is trying to turn over a new leaf.
Things get very messy very fast. Race, drugs, and politics are a volatile mixture. There’s more conflict in this book than in my debut mystery, both within the police department and between the police and the community. So far, I’m enjoying the change of pace. As always, I am eager to see what Radic and Mulroy do next!
Words of Wisdom for aspiring writers:
Take criticism well. It’s better to be criticized before your book appears than afterwards!
Great advice! Congrats again on your debut.
Bill Gormley — Author of Too Many BridgesBill Gormley is a recently retired Georgetown University Professor of Public Policy. For 33 years, he taught courses on public policy and bureaucratic politics. His first mystery, Too Many Bridges, a police procedural set in Pittsburgh, was published by Level Best Books in August 2024.
His podcast, PROFS ON COPS, featuring interviews with criminologists about research on policing, is available through Apple and Spotify.
For more information, please see: www.billgormley.com.
To learn more about Bill, click on any of the following links: Website, Twitter & FacebookElena Hartwell/Elena Taylor
Header image from Pixabay
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October 9, 2024
Murder, She Wrote: A Killer Christmas
Murder, She Wrote: A Killer Christmas by Jessica Fletcher and Terrie Farley Moran
Book and Author Info + A Rafflecopter Giveaway!Don’t miss any blog tours! Click the link here.
Murder, She Wrote: A Killer Christmas
It’s Christmastime in Cabot Cove, but there’s more homicide than ho-ho-ho in the newest entry in the USA Today bestselling Murder, She Wrote series.
Christmas is not an easy time to sell a house, but in Boston tycoon John Bragdon, Cabot Cove Realtor Eve Simpson has found a buyer for the old Jarvis homestead. Unfortunately, Eve gets a lump of coal in her stocking in the form of Kenny Jarvis, who has been missing for years and presumed dead but has now come back to stop his sister from selling their childhood home.
Eve presses on, organizing a welcome dinner for Bragdon and his wife, Marlene, to meet the leading citizens of the town, including Jessica Fletcher. Dinner is interrupted by an uninvited guest—not Santa but Kenny, who threateningly promises Marlene she will never live in his house.
When Marlene is found dead a few days later, Kenny is the natural suspect. But Jessica isn′t so sure he′s on the naughty list . . .
Murder, She Wrote: A Killer Christmas
Cozy Mystery
59th in Series
Setting – Maine
Publisher : Berkley (October 8, 2024)
Hardcover : 272 pages
ISBN-10 : 0593640721
ISBN-13 : 978-0593640722
Digital ASIN : B0CRTW3Z9N
Along with Jessica Fletcher, Terrie Farley Moran co-writes the Murder She Wrote mystery series including: Murder, She Wrote: Killer on the Court.
She is the author of the Read ‘Em and Eat cozy mystery series and also co-writes the Scrapbooking Mysteries with Laura Childs.
Recipient of both the Agatha and the Derringer Awards, Moran has published numerous mystery short stories. The only thing Terrie enjoys more than wrangling mystery plots into submission is hanging out with any or all of her seven grandchildren.
To learn more about Terrie, click either of the following links: Webpage & Facebook
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