Elena Hartwell's Blog, page 17

A Broken Reflection: A New Mystery

A B[image error]roken Reflection by Shelly M. Patel

Guest Post + An Excerpt + Book & Author Info!
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A Broken Reflection
In the game of deception and betrayal, nothing is ever as it seems, not even murder.

Secrets would be revealed in the dead of night, and lives would be changed forever. With each body count rising, Claire and Stephen began to unveil the truth, exposing the dark side of their seemingly perfect lives.

In the shadows, Jessica watched from the sidelines with grave anticipation, ready to take hold of her moment. The game of cat and mouse had begun. Will Claire and Stephen be able to ride out the storm and rebuild their lives? Will Jessica seal her place next to Stephen no matter what the cost?

Will the killer ever be caught?

 
 
Book Details:

Genre: Mystery/Suspense
Published by: Self-Published
Publication Date: October 2024
Number of Pages: 256
ISBN: 9798350963038

To purchase a copy of A Broken Reflection, click any of the following links:  Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Guest Post From Shelly M. Patel — Author of A Broken Reflection

 

The most amazing thing about writing and storytelling is the boundless creativity it offers. As an author, I have the incredible ability to shape entire worlds and step into the shoes of any character which I have imagined. In one book, you can embody the life of a doctor, navigating the complexities of medicine and human care. In the next, you become a detective, unraveling mysteries and piecing together clues to solve intricate puzzles.

The possibilities are limitless—one moment, I am creating a character who faces their fears head-on, and the next, I am exploring a villain’s twisted motivations. Writing allows me to explore perspectives and experiences far beyond my own, immersing not only myself but also my readers in diverse and richly layered stories. It’s the ultimate form of creative freedom, where the only limits are the ones you choose to set for yourself and your readers.  This type of art allows the creative juice to just flow. 

This power to shape characters and worlds not only offers endless opportunities for storytelling but also gives me a chance to explore human nature from countless angles. Through my writing, I can delve into the depths of emotions, motivations, and choices, creating stories that resonate with readers and provoke thought. Whether it’s the quiet struggle of an ordinary person or the high-stakes life of a hero, storytelling is a canvas where creativity knows no limits. 

My current book, A Broken Reflection, navigates Claire’s insecurities with every twist, every revelation, the line between truth and lies blurred further. Claire’s once solid reality crumbled under the weight of deception, and even she began to wonder if there was something hidden deep within herself—a darkness she hadn’t yet confronted. Was she truly being framed, or had she somehow played a part in the nightmare unfolding around her?

Caught in this web of lies and manipulation, Claire knew she couldn’t trust anyone—not Stephen, not the police, not even the friends she had once confided in. The only way to survive, to reclaim her life, was to unravel the secrets that had been buried for so long. But as she dug deeper, she realized that the truth was more dangerous than she had ever imagined and uncovering it might just cost her everything—including her life.

 

Read an excerpt of A Broken Reflection:

Chapter 1
Claire

It’s probably going to sound crazy to you, but I felt as though someone was watching me all the time, night, and day. You know how it is—you sense these things. Well, I did, anyway.

That’s right; I could sense it. A hole the size of a crater slowly burned in the back of my head, created by their stares. By ‘they,’ it wasn’t clear who it was that watched me yet.

But they were there, for sure.

An eerie silence had seemed to follow me everywhere, and it was impossible to shake that feeling of someone observing from afar. Someone spying, tracking me.

Knowing everything…

I shook my head quickly as if it could banish the intrusiveness from my head.

Damn, these wretched thoughts! I said to myself. But every time, a chill would run down my spine like icy fingertips tracing their way up and down my back. Taunting me, Poking fun at me.

My eyes darted, nervously searching for any sign of movement in the crowd, but there wasn’t anyone out of place; everyone seemed totally normal. Well, except for me, of course.

Okay, I’m just exaggerating, but you know how it is when you feel pursued like that.

I almost dared not glance back, afraid to ask who it could be, feeling as if they were observing me again, peering in on everything like a pervert.

The idea sent shivers up my spine, making the hair on my arms and back stand on end. And my gut clenched as if it would make me vomit, just that sensation of someone there, knowing everything I did, every tiny move. Initially, a tingling came to my scalp, which gradually traveled down my head and neck before settling into the back of my skull.

It was the same nervousness that had pervaded me when taking my dental admission test; it was that cold bite gnawing at my gut, a feeling unwilling to go away. This was a warning, and that was clear; a terrible thing was about to occur.

It was an omen, a premonition if you like. Something very bad would be coming my way.

Soon.

To try and regain my composure, I closed my eyes.

There was little doubt that if Stephen had overheard me saying all this, he’d have me committed to a mental institution.

I needed to zero down on the task at hand.

So, I took a half-day off work, using it to come here.

I’m all by myself now. See. Look around! Who can wish me harm?

Choosing the proper dress for the charity ball hadn’t been easy either; after all, who liked wasting time wandering from store to store? I supposed some girls didn’t mind it. Some even claimed to like shopping. As for me, it was loathsome, a chore, and irritating.

However, the attire had to be suitable for the occasion. The planning committee had chosen to preserve the masquerade ball theme for this year’s event.

Phyllis was in charge this year, so Stephen and I wanted to show our support.

I had little interest in the woman, but as Stephen often reminded me, I should “be nice, Claire.” He played golf with her husband, Bob, you see, and Bob happened to be Stephen’s long-time friend and business partner. Both were decent guys; they wanted me to back Phyllis up and ensure the event went well. It was something I had to do—according to Stephen.

And Stephen was never wrong about this kind of thing, was he?

But Phyllis was the kind of person who always seemed to try too hard. She needed to be liked to extremes, so she was a bit of a people pleaser, always fussing about something.

It all had to be just so, just perfect. So annoying. Everyone had to love everything about her, big or small as if she would implode if you missed a moment’s flattery.

Phyllis had an oblong face framed by a short blonde bob hairstyle that she thought made her look stylish and sophisticated, but to me, it smacked of desperation and made her look maternal.

But despite this, people seemed to love her enthusiastic and friendly demeanor. Phyllis would pop up no matter where she went or what group she joined.

“Everything all right for you, dear?”

Or “Oh, your hair is lovely, dear,” she would say.

Or “Wherever did you buy such a divine dress?”

“Look at you,” she enthused. “Your makeup is so on point today! Very pretty, sweetie.”

Ugh. Her words were creepy, all this excessive enthusiasm about every topic imaginable. I’d look around me when it happened, and the weird thing was that everyone around Phyllis looked as if they felt charmed by her efforts. But weren’t they ultimately exhausted from all the energy being thrown their way, like I was?

And then there was that other thing—the other side of her.

***

Excerpt from A Broken Reflection by Shelly M. Patel. Copyright 2024 by Shelly M. Patel. Reproduced with permission from Shelly M. Patel. All rights reserved.

 

Shelly M. Patel — Author of A Broken Reflection

Shelly M. Patel enjoys writing mystery books. Her first Children’s book, Jake has Dyslexia, entered the Reader’s Choice award in 2021. In 2023, she won second place in CloutBooks for the Reader’s Choice Award for her novel When Secrets Kill.

She lives in Virginia Beach with her husband, three beautiful children, and their dog, Teddy.

 
To learn more about Shelly, click on any of the following links: BooksByShelly.com, Goodreads, BookBub – @shellymauthor, Instagram – @shellympatel & Facebook – @ShellyPatelauthor

Visit all the Stops on the Tour!

10/07 Guest post @ The Mystery of Writing
10/08 Review @ Because I said so
10/09 Guest post @ Because I said so
10/10 Review @ Novels Alive
10/10 Showcase @ Books, Ramblings, and Tea
10/14 Review @ dianas_books_cars_coffee
10/15 Review @ FullyBookedInKentucky
10/16 Interview @ Literary Gold
10/17 Review @ Country Mamas With Kids
10/18 Review @ bookwormbecky1969
10/19 Showcase @ Silvers Reviews
10/21 Review @ Mystery, Thrillers, and Suspense
10/22 Review @ ashmanda. k
10/23 Guest post @ Cozy Home Delight Book Reviews
10/28 Review @ Guatemala Paula Loves to Read
10/29 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
10/30 Review @ fuonlyknew
10/30 Showcase @ Celticladys Reviews
10/31 Review @ A Room without Books is Empty
10/31 Review @ The Page Ladies

Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

The post A Broken Reflection: A New Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

Running On Empty: A New Mystery

Running on Empty by Karin Fitz Sanford [image error]

An Excerpt + Book & Author Info + a Giveaway!

 

Don’t miss any blog tour post! Click the link here.

Running on Empty

An unsolved murder. A Ponzi scheme. And a heist that has ex-FBI agent Anne McCormack racing throughout the wine country.

It’s been sixteen years since beautiful socialite Dinah Pardini’s body was found dumped in the backroads of Northern California’s wine country. But is her murder linked to the diabolical Ponzi scheme that now engulfs Santa Rosa, nearly bankrupting many citizens Anne knows and loves?

The ex-FBI agent-turned-estate liquidator certainly believes so and starts putting the clues together: a client’s diary with a treasure map, a puzzling letter, a menacing white truck-all of which drives her into dangerous territory, both of the body and spirit. Anne will have to keep her wits about her if she plans on outracing thieves and solving Dinah’s murder without becoming a victim herself, for dark forces are working against her at every turn and she’s running out of people to trust.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery/Adventure/Detective
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: May 7, 2024
Number of Pages: 294
ISBN: 9781685126155 (ISBN10: 1685126154)
Series: A Wine Country Cold Case, 2

To purchase Running on Empty, click any of the following links:  Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Level Best Books

Writer’s Block? Sleep it off
Guest post by Karin Fitz Sanford

 

In my former life, before writing mysteries, I worked as an advertising copywriter for over 25 years. During that time, whenever I’d hear the words “writer’s block,” I would scoff and think, “Who has time for that?” Not me. I was disciplined. I had deadlines to meet; clients to keep happy. Writer’s block was a luxury for amateurs, was my feeling. Plow on.

But I soon learned that writing mysteries is a whole different creative process. There’s no plowing on when a character doesn’t ring true and refuses to talk, or when a plot point simply doesn’t add up.

Of course, I could plow on, but when I did, the results were usually bland and predictable. The best thing to do, I’ve learned, is to relax and clear my mind of the problem. Get up and walk around the room. Put in another load of laundry. Talk to the cat. Let my subconscious do the work and solve the problem when I’m not hyper-focused on it. And often it does, coming through with a fresh idea or a line of dialogue.

Listening to writers, artists, and musicians, it seems there are very few of us who don’t trust the wisdom of our inner voice. One of my writing heroes, Sue Grafton, author of the Alphabet series, credited some of her best ideas to her subconscious mind, which she referred to as Shadow. “Shadow writes these books,” she said. “I’m only here to take dictation.” Her Shadow would pull her up short when her characters took a wrong turn or a suspect’s motivation didn’t work.

And if my waking Shadow self has nothing helpful to say? I let my subconscious mind in the sleep state take over. Many times I’ve woken up with a thought or question that alerts me to an important loophole that needs fixing. For example, “How can Diana be Pinn’s alibi when she’s five miles away?” Another time, I posed a question to myself right before sleep: “How can I gather all the suspects together?” In the morning, these words were in my head: “Don’t you remember the party scene? You’ve already written it.” Well, I hadn’t, of course, but I dove right in, and the scene went easily.

And if that doesn’t work? Hire a pro.

Halfway through my first book, THE LAST THING CLAIRE WANTED, I suddenly hit a roadblock in my writing. For two agonizing weeks, I was stopped cold and couldn’t write a word. I knew that something was foundationally wrong with the book, but I didn’t have the foggiest idea what it was—and no amount of walking around or programming my sleeping state worked. Throwing up my hands, I contacted a psychic medium with whom I’d had several readings throughout the years. I figured that if my own Shadow wasn’t coming through, maybe hers would.

I told her the problem, and without knowing anything about the book, she said, “It’s about character development. Even the worst villain is human. Where is the child part, the vulnerable part, in this character?” Even the insane Hannibal Lecter in SILENCE OF THE LAMBS, she said, isn’t entirely black and white. I knew she was right the instant she said it. Once I deepened the character, the book began flowing again.

But that was an exception, and I’ve since gone back to relying on myself—particularly in the sleep state. These days, I keep a notepad by my bed. Paul McCartney woke up one morning with the tune of “Yesterday” in his head. So, you never know.

 
Read an excerpt of Running on Empty:

Chapter One

Santa Rosa, California

Anne McCormack surveyed the living room, casting her eyes from one gilt-framed oil painting to another, taking in the antique red tasseled lampshades, red flocked wallpaper, red floral overstuffed sofa, and the oriental rug woven with every imaginable shade of red. All that exuberant red reminded her of a magazine layout she’d seen featuring the late Vogue editor Diana Vreeland’s famous New York apartment. Tastefully garish.

The house was one of many Victorian homes lining McDonald Avenue, Santa Rosa’s historic “Victorian row.” The tree-lined boulevard was the filming location of several Hollywood classics, including the 1943 Shadow of a Doubt by Alfred Hitchcock, Disney’s 1960 Pollyanna, and the nineties camp horror film Scream. The Victorian in which Anne was standing was owned by her newest clients, the family of the recently deceased, very wealthy Lily Danielson, who had left behind more treasures and personal effects than her heirs could handle.

Those belongings were why Anne, owner of McCormack Estate Services, was here after eight o’clock on a Sunday night with her teenage assistant, Chloe Grindel. Anne’s job was to dispose of everything in the house, one way or another: to assess, catalog, toss out, put up for auction, sell, save for the family, or donate to charities. The executor, the family’s lawyer, wanted it all handled ASAP before any more troublesome family fights could break out. Fine, Anne thought, the sooner the job was done, the sooner she’d deposit a commission check on the proceeds of any sales.

They were still at the sorting and boxing up stage.

Seven banker’s boxes were stacked precariously in the middle of the room, the top ones on the verge of toppling over onto Chloe, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Next to her on the rug was an old diary she’d found in the bookcase. Chloe was packing up books—except for the first editions, which would be offered to dealers—and sighing theatrically.

“How are you doing over there?” Anne asked.

“Slow, very slow. I’m not fast like you are,” Chloe said, standing up to stretch, raising her arms to the heavens. “But then, you’ve been doing this for decades…” 

“A slight exaggeration,” Anne said. In fact, she was fairly new to family estate services. She’d spent most of her twenties as an FBI agent in Sacramento’s Violent Crimes division. After six years, she left the Bureau voluntarily, under no cloud (You did not get fired, her Uncle Jack, a retired cop would insist). Under no cloud, that is, except the one she conjured up and obsessed over (But it did get ugly after they discovered I was using their high-security database software to track my ex-husband, she’d counter).

On the same day she was confronted by her supervisor, she dropped her resignation letter on his desk and walked out the door, vowing that her next career would be a complete 180 from law enforcement. She would follow her passions—researching art and its provenance—and someday be her own boss, health benefits or not. Turns out, those passions were the exact skills required for family estate sales services. And since it was a far cry from crime-fighting, she figured why not do it professionally? For two years she worked as an assistant to estate services guru Marty Holmes, who became her mentor in the business. His mantra: “Estate sales are not garage sales!” The estate sales business, he’d insist, is about helping families dispose of the treasures left behind after a loved one’s death, and then getting a big fat commission from the sales of said treasures. Period. 

After learning the trade, Anne struck out on her own three years ago. If she’d ever imagined that being a business owner meant naming her own hours and taking long vacations, she was quickly proven wrong. The reality was that when business was good—and it finally was—she ended up working relentlessly long hours. Like tonight. 

“After finishing that box, let’s call it a night,” she said. Chloe had school in the morning. 

“Not yet,” Chloe pleaded. The girl was always angling for longer hours, arguing, “You won’t find cheaper or better child labor than me.” And Anne almost always relented. She knew that nearly every dollar Chloe earned was being squirreled away into her college fund. Besides, she liked Chloe’s company. Chloe was the favorite grandchild of one of Anne’s first clients, Claire Murray, whose death two years before had hit the teenager hard. Anne had grown fond of Claire and missed her too, and while she and Chloe worked, they would often swap Claire stories.

But recently, all Chloe wanted to talk about—when not complaining about her mother’s strict hours or the unfair soccer coach—was the “Battalion Chief” competition at her high school. Not much had changed about the yearly contest since Anne had participated: The student who searched private homes and collected the most “fire hazard” violation tickets was the winner. Back then, the winning prize was simply being named “Honorary Battalion Chief.” But this year, the stakes were high—a $25,000 college scholarship to the winner in each class, donated by a group of wealthy vintners who wanted to encourage fire safety in the wildfire-ravaged Sonoma County. 

“I can put it toward any college I want. When I add that to what I’m making working for you, and what my parents can chip in, I might get to go to UC Berkeley, Harvard, or California College of the Arts, who knows!”  

One of their phones pinged. 

“Sky’s the limit,” Anne agreed, looking down at her phone. Nothing. She hadn’t heard from Scott, her boyfriend of three months, since their fight two days before. Nodding toward Chloe’s phone on the coffee table, she said, “Bet your mom wants you to come home.” 

Chloe sauntered over to pick up her phone. Leaning against a wall, she stared intently at the screen—reading the text message, answering it, and reading the response.

“Oh, no,” Chloe blurted out. She slowly slid down the wall, crumbling to the hardwood floor. “There goes everything,” she said in a low, ominous tone. “Everything I’ve ever worked for.” She set her phone down beside her and hugged her knees to her chest. 

Anne bit her lip to keep from smiling. How much work could Chloe have done in her short life? How much did she have to lose? Chloe was a month shy of being sixteen years old, not some frail senior citizen whose life savings were ruthlessly embezzled or whose house was destroyed in a fire without any insurance to cover rebuilding it. But as Anne watched tears well in Chloe’s eyes, she knew there was nothing even slightly amusing about whatever was going on. Chloe was heartbroken.

Anne crouched down in front of her. “What do you mean by ‘lost everything?’ What happened?” she asked in a gentle voice. 

Chloe uncovered her eyes, let out a sigh, and pointed to her phone. “That girl. Pam O’Brien. Tomorrow is the last day to hand in our tickets to see who wins the scholarship. She asked me how many I had….”

“And?” Anne prompted.

“I told her I had forty-five, which is way more than anyone else in the class. The nearest kid to me is Justin Frey, and he only has thirty-two. Then Pam texted back, ‘Too bad, cause I have fifty.’ That’s five more than me,” Chloe’s voice broke. “I never even knew she was close!” 

Fire hazard violations were hard to come by, as Anne well knew. She remembered having to screw up the courage to knock on the door of a neighbor or acquaintance, then taking a deep breath and asking permission to go poking through their house looking for fire hazards like loose wiring, stacks of newspapers, overloaded electrical outlets, aging space heaters. Most people were good-humored about it, accepted their copies of the tickets, and promised to do better. But others tried to talk her out of the tickets, thinking the violations would be reported to city officials and they’d be fined. That never happened, of course; the fallout would have ended the contest years ago.

“And she tells you this at 8:30 at night…”

“Too late…”

Anne stood up abruptly. “Where’s your book of tickets? In your backpack?”

“Yeah. For all the good it does me,” Chloe said, giving the bag a shove as if it were to blame for her crushed dreams, the late hour, Pam O’Brien’s taunts. Everything.

Anne reached out her hands to the sobbing girl and pulled her to her feet. She grabbed their jackets off the couch and tossed Chloe’s to her.

“Get in the car,” Anne said.

*** Excerpt from Running on Empty by Karin Fitz Sanford. Copyright 2024 by Karin Fitz Sanford. Reproduced with permission from Karin Fitz Sanford. All rights reserved.

 

Karin Fitz Sanford — Author of Running on Empty

Karin Fitz Sanford, a former advertising copywriter, was born in New York but grew up in Northern California’s wine country, the setting for her Wine Country Cold Case series.

Having run her own award-winning ad agency for over twenty-five years, she is a member of Sisters in Crime and lives in Northern California with her husband.

Catch Up With Karin Fitz Sanford:
www.FitzSanford.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @karin140
Instagram – @karinfitz8
Facebook – @karin.f.sanford

 

Visit All the Stops on the Tour!

09/16 Guest post @ Catreader18
09/16 Showcase @ Mystery, Thrillers, and Suspense
09/18 Showcase @ Literary Gold
09/20 Review @ Novels Alive
09/23 Guest post @ Because I said so
09/23 Showcase @ Books, Ramblings, and Tea
09/24 Review @ Because I said so
09/27 Review @ Country Mamas With Kids
09/28 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
09/29 Review @ Guatemala Paula Loves to Read
09/30 Showcase @ Silvers Reviews
10/03 Showcase @ Celticladys Reviews
10/04 Guest post @ The Mystery of Writing
10/08 Interview @ Cozy Up With Kathy
10/11 Review @ Cozy Up With Kathy

Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

The post Running On Empty: A New Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

Insensible Loss: A New Thriller

Insensible Loss, by Linda L. Richards [image error]

Guest Post + Excerpt + Book & Author Info + A Giveaway!
Don’t miss any blog tour post! Click the link here.

Insensible Loss


The Endings Series
Her life is over . . . yet somehow she carries on

After attempting to sever all ties to her life as a hired assassin, a woman struggles to understand who she has become. She knows she doesn’t want to kill again–but it proves to be a difficult habit to break, particularly in a world where people are after her and those she loves most. Adrift and disconnected, she meets an old woman: Imogen O’Brien, a world-famous artist who has spent the last three decades living a hermit-like existence on a rustic desert estate in a national forest.

Imogen invites her to stay and work for her, offering mentorship in return as the woman deepens her own interest in art. What quickly becomes apparent is that elements of Imogen’s past are shrouded in danger, sorrow, and darkness. Rather than growing as an artist, the former hitwoman soon finds herself enmeshed in a dangerous mystery with strands that stretch decades into the past.

Praise for Insensible Loss:

“Deception, loss, and the past all collide in this propulsive thriller. A skillfully crafted plot combined with memorable characters makes Insensible Loss a must read.” ~ James L’Etoile, award-winning author of Face of Greed and the Detective Nathan Parker series

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller/Suspense
Published by: Oceanview Publishing
Publication Date: September 17, 2024
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 978-1608095148
Series: The Endings Series, Book 4 | Each is a Stand-Alone

To purchase Insensible Loss, click on any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

Guest Post from the Author of Insensible Loss Linda L. Richards

What do you do when you’ve lost all hope, and then things get worse?

That has been, more or less, the guiding principle behind The Endings series that began with Endings in 2021. And I guess I’ve been pretty skilled with establishing that end-of-days feel because reviewers keep assuming each new book is the last one and sharing that information with readers. “In the final book in the Endings series…” and so on. Only it’s not been true: another one is always coming down the pike, with still more endings. And, I guess, still more reviewers to announce gloomily that it’s curtains for the characters.

            But it’s a fine line and a careful dance to go from edge-of-your-seat suspense to relentless action. The former is exciting and enjoyable, the latter can be tedious and tiring. So you do your best to make it more one than the other.

Here’s what I’ve found: in order to appreciate the darkness, we have to see glimpses of light. By the same token, in order to truly feel breathlessness, we have to be encouraged to breathe joyfully. As a writer, how do you bring readers there? It’s as much about pacing as anything.

            Insensible Loss is the fourth book in the Endings series. The main character lost everything in book one, Endings: the one that has now been optioned by a major studio for series production. She has lost everything and, in that process, has become a contract killer. Killing for money has been her way to cope, and also her way to survive. You see how that could become relentless if one weren’t careful?

But even though the contract killing becomes an ending, in way, it’s also a beginning. The books have never been about her being an assassin. Rather, they are about her struggle for redemption. Her sometimes inept but always earnest stumbling towards the light.

            At the end of Dead West (2023) it seems she is truly done. Everything is as resolved as it can be for her and she essentially drives off into the sunset. In Insensible Loss, we rejoin her in a metaphorical sunrise, lost, in a way, in the desert we last saw her in, trying to make sense of the nonsense she feels her life has become.

            When she meets Imogen O’Brien, the reclusive artist a lot of the action in Insensible Loss revolves around, the reader can sense both darkness and potential light. Imogen has been an icon who is now trying to resolve her legacy and our heroine contract killer becomes one of the tools that Imogen uses.

            As a character, Imogen O’Brien works on several levels, providing some of the mothering our character has missed out on, as well as some comedic relief, and even some of the steep suspense.

            And does it all work in Insensible Loss? Well, you’ll be the judge. For my part I think it fits in with this series perfectly: where, as I said starting out, everything is lost. And then it gets worse. When you read it, let me know what you think!

Read an excerpt of Insensible Loss:

 

CHAPTER ONE 

I am gazing into an abyss. When I plant my feet on the edge of the cliff, all I see is a canyon yawing below me. I see the canyon, and my feet, tightly laced into trail runners. Below and beyond my tidy feet, red rock can be seen everywhere, edges softened by millennia, but deadly still. And steep. 

Arcadia Bluff. It has a gentle sound, this location. But the reality is anything but gentle. A rough rawness that would seem to be able to accommodate anything one pitched in that direction. Wild west. There’s that, but also more. The secrets of an earth so raw and new, it doesn’t know what it wants to be when it grows up. 

It happens that the physical landscape matches what is going on in my heart, but this is mere coincidence. And anyway, everything is connected. 

I am in a remote part of one of the largest national parks in the United States, and I am all alone, but for my dog. 

Again, aside from that dog, I feel as if I have been alone for my whole life, but that isn’t true. What is true: everyone I’ve ever loved is dead. Some of them by my hand. 

But all of that was before. Here is now. 

I stand on Arcadia Bluff and the canyon below my feet seems to careen out endlessly. The aforementioned abyss. The red rock, dotted by trees and even the occasional cactus, seeming to sprout from the rock at odd angles, because the perpendicular drop doesn’t support normal growth. 

In the distance, far below me, I see a sliver of silvery blue. Maybe it’s a river or the edge of a lake, but when I look straight down, between my feet, I see nothing but rock and cactus and peril. It gives me a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach to look down, so I try to avoid doing that. 

We drove in my old Volvo to get here, the dog and I. The car is dear to me. I’ve had it a long time and it performs elegantly. Like a tank. An elegant tank. It is a premium car, or it was, but now it is ancient. In good condition, but unremarkable, one of the things about it that I’ve always cherished: it has never drawn comment. And no one would suspect that under the trunk’s false bottom they would find two Bersa Thunder 380 handguns and a whole lot of cash. The car is now my home, my armory, and my bank. Who needs anything more? 

Well, maybe I do. But never mind. The journey, that’s the thing. 

To get here, the path we traveled in that old Volvo is a forestry road. The road is marked on maps as little more than a trail. It is unpaved and unremarked. And putting it that way—the path we traveled—makes it sound like a destination. It wasn’t that. It is just the place where, for the moment, we have ended up. When this moment is complete, we’ll travel some more. Maybe come to something else. It’s what we have now, this life made of almost nothing. As you will have guessed, this state of near nothing didn’t happen overnight. 

A while ago I left behind the hollowed-out shell of the life I had created. The sham. The farce. The life in which I lived while I processed all of my grief. 

Tried to process all of my grief. 

Do you know what I discovered? You don’t process grief. It lives inside you, waiting for you to trot through the minefield that is life. Waiting for you to make just that one step and the grief explodes back into your face. If you were to process it—like cheese, like peanut butter—at a certain point it would be smooth and glossy and perfectly digestible. Consume it and forget it. But grief isn’t like that. It waits around because all it actually wants is to bite you in the ass. 

I sound bitter. The tonic in a vodka drink. I don’t mean to, but there you are. Sometimes what you feel overrides everything you know. 

After I left said reconstructed and hollowed-out life, I didn’t know what to do with myself. I was basically—entirely?—homeless. My dog. And me. Homeless and aimless. I had my car. Several handguns. A few small things that I had come to treasure. And a whole whack of cash. The cash was necessary, because this is what I no longer possessed: any form of identification or credit cards. Or anything that said I was a person at all. I had simply disappeared. You mostly can’t do that forever. 

A myriad of small things will trip you up. You can’t travel by air. You can’t book a motel. You can’t call an Uber. Or bank. When you start to think about it, there are more things you can’t do than what you can. After a while you need a landing spot. And you need a plan. 

But I’m getting ahead of myself. Here goes another run. 

Once upon a time—like a fairy story—I was a mom. A wife. A cornerstone of my community. I had a house. A pebble-tech pool. 

A minivan with leather seats and televised communication. I had all of the accoutrements of suburbia, right down to the suburb. Tree-lined streets that I traveled to get to my job and take my kid to his school. I had attractive but not fiendishly manicured lawns. A home. That’s what it was. My husband, my son. Me. We were a family. We had a home. 

One day there was an accident. People were killed. My child. Ultimately my husband, too. I was unexpectedly alone. All I had was a whole bunch of mortgaged crap I hadn’t even dreamed of wanting in the first place. After a while of being alone and having no money, I needed a new job and I started taking contracts to kill people. 

You see how my narrative breaks down right there? I mean, everything was going along well, from a storytelling standpoint. I’d engaged your sympathy. Maybe even your interest. And then— boom!—I blow all that goodwill with a simple revelation. Yes. Killing people. For money. What kind of nice lady does that? No kind, that’s what. But it let’s you know at least part of why I run. 

And so here we are. Standing on the edge of a cliff. And I’m not expecting to jump. 

 

CHAPTER TWO 

Lately I’ve noticed that I have become afraid of the dark.

It doesn’t make sense to me. I am aware of no new trauma that might have led to this condition. Nyctophobia. I have read about it. I have googled, as they say. 

I’ve “done some research.” So I know a little about the condition that currently plagues me. I’ve read that it is fairly normal or, at least, not uncommon. I’ve read, also, that fear is healthy. In our natural state, I guess, fear is what keeps us alive and safe. 

For months, I have found myself waking from peaceful slumber and moving to instant terror when the dark is encountered. The dog smells the fear, or at least that is what I guess. When I wake in this way, I can hear him rustling about as he comes to me. He lays his muzzle on whatever part of me he can reach: my hand or my arm or even a bit of toe. And he’ll stay there like that, breathing quietly, until my demons have passed, or I turn on a light. 

Usually, I turn on a light. 

There are things you can do, that’s what I’ve read, as well. And there is evolved language around it. You can deal with your triggers or work at desensitizing yourself to darkness. This sort of healthy self-examination has never been my forte, and so after a while, I come up with my own solution: I begin to sleep with the light on. It keeps the demons at bay. 

All of this would probably be of more concern if we had a home anymore, the dog and I. But we don’t. As I said, we are traveling, no destination in mind other than a vague and distant future that at present has no shape. 

Every day, we cover many miles in the Volvo. The forestry roads in Arizona’s Cathedral National Park seem endless. The park itself seems endless, as well. We keep traveling, only occasionally surfacing for fuel or other supplies. We do that at small gas stations either within the park or just on the outskirts. Places that take cash and don’t ask questions. Then we delve right back into the depths of the park. We just drive and drive and drive, stopping only for calls of the body, as well as those infrequent times when I run out of steam. At those times, since we are out—literally and actually—in the middle of nowhere, I just stop the car, then pitch the small tent that lives over top of the false bottom of the trunk. And then I try to rest. 

The closest I ever get to actual rest is when the dog settles down somewhere near me, then gets to snoring peacefully. Something about that sound is hypnotic to me. I’ll surf behind it until, sometimes, falling under the spell of the simple, primal cadence, I fall asleep. In and out, in and out. I float away on a column of dog snores that lead to core sleep, when my subconscious scrambles to make up for time lost. 

In the morning we pack up and head out again. Where are we going? Why? I don’t have answers. I don’t even have questions. All I know is that everything is behind me. I’m not hopeful about what is in front of me, but it’s better than going back. 

Everyone knows that you can’t go back.   

 

Linda L. Richards — Author of Insensible Loss

Linda L. Richards is the award-winning author of over a dozen books. The founder and publisher of January Magazine and a contributing editor to the crime fiction blog The Rap Sheet, she is best known for her strong female protagonists in the thriller genre.

Richards is from Vancouver, Canada, and currently makes her home in Phoenix, Arizona. New for 2024: INSENSIBLE LOSS, the fourth book in the Endings series featuring a reluctant hit woman struggling towards the light.

Linda’s 2021 novel, the first in this series, ENDINGS, was recently optioned by a major studio for series production. Richards is an accomplished horsewoman and an avid tennis player, and is on the National Board of Sisters in Crime.

To learn more about Linda, click on any of the following links: LindaLRichards.com Goodreads – @lindalrichards BookBub – @linda1841 Instagram – @lindalrichards Threads – @lindalrichards Twitter/X – @lindalrichards Facebook – @lindalrichardsauthor

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The post Insensible Loss: A New Thriller appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

The Courtesan’s Pirate: Historical Suspense

The Courtesan’s Pirate by Nina Wachsman [image error]

Guest Post + an Excerpt + Book & Author Info!
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The Courtesan’s Pirate

Venice Beauties Mysteries

 1614.

At long last, Belladonna has been reunited with Isaak, a pirate captain, on the island of Jamaica. Amidst the chaos of hurricanes and Spanish marauders, they are separated. When she discovers her beloved Isaak is captured and bound for execution in Spain, Belladonna goes back to Venice, planning to leverage her allies to save him, only to learn her influence has diminished.

Now facing cunning adversaries and shifting alliances, she must navigate perilous intrigues in a high-stakes bid to rescue Isaak from a tragic fate. Belladonna risks everything, including her own safety, in a daring gambit to save the man she loves.  

Praise for The Courtesan’s Pirate:

“Join Belladonna and Isaak on a Caribbean quest filled with rich history, dangerous risks, and suspenseful intrigue. Will the couple be reunited? Can Belladonna save her love and her soul? If you like an atmospheric adventure story, you’ll love The Courtesan’s Pirate. Witty and engaging!” ~ Kelly Oliver, author of The Fiona Figg & Kitty Lane Mysteries “From the pirate-infested waters of the Caribbean to the silken-clad intrigues of Venice, Nina Wachsman vividly recreates life, and particularly the dangers faced by Jews, in the turbulent 17th century. Exciting and richly textured, with strong, admirable female characters.” ~ Alyssa Maxwell, author of The Gilded Newport Mysteries  

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Suspense Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 1, 2024 Number of Pages: 350 Series: Venice Beauties Mysteries, Book 3

To purchase a copy of The Courtesan’s Pirate, click on either link:  Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:


PART 1 – THE NEW WORLD
CHAPTER 1 – BELLADONNA
THE ISLAND OF JAMAICA, The fifth of NOVEMBER, 1614

“Just a short trip to Curacao,” Isaak said, as he stood beside her on the dock, “I will return shortly, I promise.”

Belladonna wondered how many women had heard the very same words from their fathers, sons, and lovers, and how many had returned to their families, as promised.

“Why must you go?” Belladonna had waited so long and given up so much to be with Isaak. She secretly believed their union was at risk every time they were away from each other.

“Despite our efforts to attract the English to Jamaica, the Spanish have moved faster, and the heirs of Christopher Columbus have been bought off. We need to find somewhere else to settle,” Isaak said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

She raised her eyes skyward, to keep the tears from rising. “Then my brother died for naught.”

“We cannot change the past, but we must try to find the way to our future, for you and I and for your brother Roderigo’s family. Curacao has been abandoned by the Spanish and will soon become part of the dominion of the Dutch West India Company.”

Belladonna wanted to believe his promise, but after a life tossed about at the whim of Fate, it seemed like random interventions could foil any plan they made for the future.

Isaak caressed her cheek. “It is also a port of call of the Jewish Brethren. Under the Dutch we have little to fear. The Dutch are the only nation who does not force its Jews to live separately in a Ghetto. We will soon formalize our union. There lies our potential future.”

Belladonna sighed. “In Curacao do you believe no one will care about our origins ̶ if we are Jew or Christian?”

Like her sister-in-law Mariella, she had begun life as the daughter of a New Christian landowner who had sought freedom in the New World. In a terrible twist of Fate, on a visit to Recife, Brazil, the Inquisition had murdered her parents because of their Jewish heritage, turning her into a refugee. Luck had found her, and she had been rescued by Isaak from Barbary pirates. Thanks to Isaak she had been taken to Venice, but he had soon set sail once more, leaving her to save others from captivity.

When Isaak returned to Venice to reunite her with her brother Roderigo, feelings between the courtesan and the corsair were rekindled, and Belladonna made her decision to sail with Isaak. Giving up her palazzo, her wealth and servants had gone against her usual cynicism but for once, she had chosen love over security.

“It is worth the chance,” said Isaak, and then he pulled her close, “You must stop nourishing your guilt over the death of Roderigo. You have come here to take care of his family as you promised. And we have accomplished the impossible: we are together at last.”

Belladonna acknowledged her satisfaction with her decision. “Over the past year in Jamaica and with you, I have discovered the comfort of family, which had been missing from my life for so long. Why dare Fate to disrupt our happiness once more?”

Isaak looked beyond her towards the sea. “There is a storm coming, which will provide us with a distraction to sail by Spanish war ships gathering along the coast.” He lifted her chin and brushed her lips with a last kiss. “Both the storm and the Spanish ships represent a bad omen. But do not fear, I am a seasoned captain and have sailed through worse brews than this. But my senses tell me our idyll in Jamaica is bound to come to an end. I must go to Curacao.”

Belladonna did not want to let him go, but he kissed her, and gently disengaged from her. She ran to the edge of the wooden dock, and leaned as far forward as she dared. He waved one last time as he boarded his ship. She reasoned that the fierce winds should be good for sailing and would speed Isaak’s journey. Squinting, she tried to see his figure on the bridge, imagining him making his farewell to Jamaica and to her.

Isaak’s fears about Jamaica were not unfounded. The Spanish were becoming bolder in establishing their dominion over the island, even though it officially remained under the sovereignty of the heirs to Christopher Columbus. The end of Jamaica’s independence was near, and once the Spanish took over, both she and Isaak, as well as her newfound family would be in danger because of their Jewish blood.

“Senora, we must go. Big storm is coming, and we must prepare. The sky do not look good. Horses do not like it.” The coachman peered up at the amassing dark clouds, and then gave her a pleading look.

Reluctantly, Belladonna turned away from the sea towards the mountains. “Let us go.”

Adjusting his hat so it was firmly placed on his head, the driver flicked his whip and the horses responded by taking off at a gallop, as if they were as eager as the driver to find shelter. Belladonna craned her neck, still looking towards the dock as they drove away.

The coachman kept the horses going at a fast gallop, so she had to hold tight to both sides of the carriage to avoid toppling forward. The wind kicked up the dust of the roadway, flinging it through the bushes and trees, shaking loose leaves and petals, swirling through the air and into their faces.

“Hiyah!” the coachman shouted again at the horses, flicking his whip so they galloped even faster. Used to traveling by boat in Venice, she knew little of carriages and put her faith in the coachman to get them home safely.

Lurching from side to side in the speeding carriage, she closed her eyes to shut out the frightening views of a careening landscape. She dared open them only when the carriage slowed, and the wails of the wind were softer. They had entered the sheltering thickness of the mangrove forest adjoining her brother’s land. The trees here were very thick and though their upper boughs still rustled in the wind, she felt more protected. The respite from the wind did not last long, and soon the carriage emerged from the mangrove trees into a slashing rain. The downpour swamped the open carriage, soaking her completely and making it even more difficult to move forward. Though it seemed like an eternity in the wind and rain, the coach soon drew to a sharp halt. Safe.

Her brother’s plantation house stood two stories tall, surrounded by trees, which the wind lashed against the closed shutters. Assailed by wind and rain, it did not seem to be the safe haven it had seemed several months ago when she first arrived on the island. After over a year at sea, when she first stepped onto the grand veranda, it had conjured long-ago memories of home. Though not as grand as the palazzo she possessed in Venice, it did have many rooms, furnished comfortably with bright island fabrics on sofas and chairs. There were flowers in abundance, and island paintings and pottery similar to her childhood home on the island.

That home and her family had been torn from her when the Inquisition came to Recife, Brazil where they had been visiting relatives. Her parents were New Christians, having been born Jews but then baptized, like many others who had come to the New World, and easy targets for accusations of heresy and the fires of an auto de fé. Both she and Roderigo had escaped capture, but each did not know the other survived until very recently, when they had found each other in Venice. Their reunion was short-lived; and Roderigo’s dying request was for Belladonna to find his family in Jamaica and make sure they were cared for.

After securing the door behind her, Belladonna stood in the entry hall, water dripping from her gown and pooling at her feet.

“Mariella!” she shouted, hoping her sister-in-law was in the house, and could hear her above the howling wind.

Mariella and Moises, her son, bounded down the stairway from the upper floor, each carrying armfuls of clothing and possessions.

“We do not have much time,” Mariella shouted back to her above the rattling of the shutters and the wind, “We must go. Take what you need.”

“We cannot stay here?”

Moises answered for his mother. “When the wind is this strong, the house is not safe. We must go to the Cave.”

Cave? Belladonna shivered in her wet clothes at the thought of it. Mentally, she checked off what she needed to take, including the small leather sack of jewels which had been with her since Venice. Hurrying up the stairs with her water-heavy skirts, she raced to her room. She quickly shed her wet clothing for dry ones, then pulled up a few select floorboards and retrieved the leather sack. She stuffed it into a bundle of clothing she had grabbed, and was heading for the stairs just as the shutters of her room banged wide open. Rain and wind invaded as Belladonna ran, skirting the flying debris of a large tree that had crashed through.

Her wet feet slid on the polished wood floors where she landed from her flight down the stairway, but neither Mariella nor Moises were in sight. She called out both their names, and let out a breath of relief when Moises emerged from behind the door to the servant’s area and beckoned to her.

She followed Moises below the stairs to the servants’ dining area and the kitchen. The servants’ quarters were protected by bushes and were on a lower level, so Belladonna assumed they could take refuge there. The few servants huddled together on plain wooden benches.

“Ready to go?” asked Mariella, Belladonna’s sister-in-law, who had taken full charge. “We have taken some food and supplies. The storm is growing more severe, and it is best we go now, or we will not be able to make it to the Cave.”

“What is this Cave?”

“The Cave of Christopher Columbus. It is on the highest point on the island, safe from flooding, and deep enough to avoid the damage of the wind.”

“That is not the same cave from the map that Roderigo—”

Mariella held up a hand and did not allow her to continue. “Yes, it is. But there is no time for talking or explaining. It is imperative we leave this house now, before another tree crashes down.”

A whimper from a maid was the only other comment as the servants were instantly on their feet, each clutching a bundle of belongings.

Mariella wrapped a shawl around her head and handed another to Belladonna to do the same. As soon as the outer door opened, the wind swept them into its maelstrom. Clustered together, they braced themselves as best as they could, and faced the storm.

***

Excerpt from The Courtesan’s Pirate by Nina Wachsman. Copyright 2024 by Nina Wachsman. Reproduced with permission from Nina Wachsman. All rights reserved.

 

 

Guest Post from Nina Wachsman — Author of The Courtesan’s Pirate

 

Four things to know about writing historical fiction

1- Know your history, but don’t argue with critics who think they know it better.

I had one reviewer of my first novel challenge me about the Earl of Arundel, Thomas Howard, who arrives in Venice to commissioned a ‘gallery of beauties’. He claimed a Howard could not have collected art or commissioned portraits because the Howards had been impoverished.

Thomas Howard, the Earl of Arundel in the 17th century, was known as ‘The Collector” for all the treasures and art he collected on his Grand Tour, including the Arundel Marbles in the museum at Oxford. His portraits, by Rubens, hangs both in the National Portrait Gallery in London and in the Isabel Gardner museum in Boston. 

I did not challenge my reviewer publicly. I had been warned by other writers that it was a losing situation, and readers who would be curious would probably google it on their own and learn the truth.

 

2-  Always have an Author’s Note, especially to admit where you’ve taken liberties with history. 

Although I do a great deal of research and try to stick to real events, I sometimes have changed the timing to work within the era of my novel.

I am careful to note that the hurricane which hits the island of Jamaica and propels the action of the story in “The Courtesan’s Pirate” did not occur in Jamaica until a century later. I also confess that though the pirate Isaak finds allies among the Jewish settlers of Curacao in the story, the official records of settlement of Dutch Jews in Curacao was not until 1640. 

 

3- Stay true to the era when depicting the lives of women.

Women of the 17th century were unlikely to be as independent-minded and intrepid as the modern woman.  I always do enough research to understand what women in the era would be like, and try to pick characters who would be most relevant to a modern reader.

Luckily, there were women in Venice who were much more independent-minded than their French or English contemporaries. The first woman to receive a PhD from a University lived in 17th Century Venice. There were women glassmakers, artists, and even Jewish scribes.

Courtesans had the independence and life experience more relatable to a modern reader, so Belladonna, the elite courtesan, would be a relatable main character.  

 

4- Don’t let reality take over the story.

Sometimes I get so carried away with the research and what really happened, especially when researching pirates and their exploits in the Caribbean.  If I spent too much time on Isaak’s adventures on the various islands of the Caribbean, I’d never get back to Venice, which is the heart of Belladonna’s story. 

Belladonna is completely fictional, but Rabbi Leone di Modena, the father of Diana and Isaak, was one of the most famous figures of the Ghetto of Venice. My characters came right from the pages of his autobiography—Isaak, who goes off to sea as a corsair (pirate), Marino (who I renamed Zebulun) who tries to follow his brother but gets into trouble when he does, and Diana, the widowed daughter who stays with her father and mother.

However, in my novels, Diana’s deceased husband was a scholar, which worked better for the story than making her husband a dance instructor, which he was in real life.

From the first draft to the last one, so many lovely tidbits of research end up red-lined, but I always promise myself I’ll use it somewhere, sometime.

Great information for readers and writers of historical fiction!

Nina Wachsman — Author of The Courtesan’s Pirate

Nina Wachsman is a graduate of the Parsons School of Design, where she studied under Maurice Sendak. She is currently lives and runs a digital agency in New York City. She is also a descendant of a chief rabbi of the Ghetto, a contemporary of her characters in the Venice Beauties Mysteries. 

The Gallery of Beauties, her debut novel set in 17th Century Venice, was an Agatha nominee for Best First Novel and a Silver Falchion finalist for Best Historical mystery. The second book in the Venice Beauties Mysteries, The Courtesan’s Secret received a 5 star recommendation from the Historical Fiction Company and is a Silver Falchion Top Pick and a finalist for the Silver Falchion for Best Historical.

Nina has published stories, many with an art theme, in mystery and horror magazines and anthologies. She is one of the four authors who write stories and novels about art and crime as Curators of Crime.

To learn more about Nina, click any of the following links: VeniceBeauties.com Goodreads BookBub – @ninawachsman Instagram – @thegalleryofbeauties Threads – @thegalleryofbeauties Facebook – @nina.wachsman
You can also find Nina on the www.CuratorsOfCrime.com website and Facebook – @curatorsofcrime page or at Facebook – @GalleryBeauties

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The post The Courtesan’s Pirate: Historical Suspense appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

First Line of Defense: A Thriller

First Line of Defense by Peter Berk [image error]

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First Line of Defense

Will the President risk it all to save his son?

When college student Ben Porter is murdered in his apartment near the University of Maryland, all evidence points straight to his best friend and roommate, Brian Blaine—the son of Jackson Blaine, the President of the United States. Despite Brian’s estranged relationship with his father, Brian has no choice but to await trial in the house that was never a home—1600 Pennsylvania Avenue. These staggering events exacerbate the young man’s rocky relationship with his demanding father and might very well end his budding romance with a beautiful pre-med student. To the shock of the entire nation, President Jackson Blaine, a former defense lawyer, does the unthinkable—he decides to represent his son in court.

Will Brian and his father discover the truth about Ben’s murder before it’s too late?

Praise for award-winning author Peter Berk’s TimeLock series:

“A deftly crafted dystopian style science fiction suspense thriller of a novel, ‘TimeLock’ by the team of Howard and Peter Berk is a compulsive page turner of a read from cover to cover and unreservedly recommended . . .”
~ Midwest Book Review

“Rating 8 out of 10! TimeLock is a high-octane action thriller with a classic feel, reminiscent of Michael Crichton or Tom Clancy. It’s familiar, but in all the right ways.”
~ FanFiAddict

“5-Stars. Whoa!! Okay so this was awesome and I have to say first off- I hope like hell someone picks this up to make a movie or a show out of it!! This was a super interesting premise so I was hooked. It moved at a great pace and I was on the edge of my seat the whole time.”
~ Book Blogger @gryffindorbookishnerd

“5-Stars. I vastly enjoyed this quick read . . . The writing was keenly honed and smartly detailed . . . In sum, was a well-plotted and shrewdly paced action-packed thriller featuring slightly frayed characters and storylines that were cleverly laced together with wry humor and witty snark.”
~ Empress DJ/Honolulubelle, Books and Binding Book Reviews

Genre: Political Thriller
Published by: IngramElliott Publishing
Publication Date: October 1, 2024
Number of Pages: 242
ISBN: 9781952961281 (ISBN10: 1952961289)
To purchase First Line of Defense, click any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | BookShop.org | Goodreads | IngramElliott Publishing

Read an excerpt of First Line of Defense:

Prologue

The early evening light in the sparse room was growing dim as the weathered photo was gently placed on top of a desk near the window. The left half of the image had been cut out of a newspaper and was then ripped in two down the middle; the shot depicted an angelic fourteen-year-old girl in a snowy setting, a pink wool cap on her head. The torn caption read: Teenaged Skiing Champ…

A few seconds later, a different image of the same girl was also set down on the desk and then another. In less than a minute, more than a dozen photos were methodically laid out—some in color, some in black and white—all of the same sweet girl, smiling, innocent, happy.

After several more minutes, the photos were organized in a symmetrical order that only had meaning to the person placing them there. The occupant of the room stared at the photos, lost in memory, consumed by anguish, anticipating the retribution about to be delivered. Though trying to subdue the rage inside, the fury soon grew too intense, and the owner of the photographs suddenly smashed both hands down on the desk and began tearing up each of the images over and over until every precious photo was sent flying to the ground in pieces, lost forever.

Just like her.

Chapter One

What I wouldn’t give to be having one of my usual nightmares instead of the real-life nightmare I’m living through now. Maybe the one where I’m only eight years old, waiting in front of my elementary school for my father to pick me up but he just keeps driving past me over and over. Or maybe the one when it’s three years ago, I’ve just graduated high school, and I pose for a cell phone photograph with my famous father and then see I’m somehow not in the image at all.

Detecting a recurring theme here? Unfortunately, for reasons too horrific for me to even begin wrapping my head around, my daddy issues are utterly unimportant now because all that matters is finding out what happened last night and why I’ve lost my best friend forever.

Not that I care what they must be saying about me, but I can only imagine the joy my family’s detractors must be feeling at this very moment. To everyone across America, my name is infamous at worst and privileged at best. Brian Blaine, the twenty-one-year-old junior at the University of Maryland who—despite his so-called genius-level IQ—has yet to choose a major, minors in ditching class, and seems mainly interested in serving as some kind of spoiler in his own family’s legacy.

And that was before last night.

Truth is I can’t blame them because I am rather a mass of contradictions. Confident one minute, deeply uncertain the next. Yearning for intimacy yet brimming with cynicism about the human animal. Pensive to the point of withdrawal at times yet surprisingly sociable when the mood strikes me at other times. Desperately wanting to love and be loved yet forever unsure whom to trust with that love.

Then there’s the little matter of my longstanding impatience with people who practice the infuriating art of “political speak”—talking in paper-thin little sound bites instead of actually saying what’s on their mind. Which makes me a card-carrying hypocrite, I suppose. Because for someone who extols straight talk, I realize at this worst moment in all of our lives that I’ve avoided just that my entire adult life.

After all, I’ve spent all this time in the public eye but rarely let anyone really see me. I’ve recited “heartfelt” speeches but never truly spoken from the heart. I’ve told my father what I’m doing, where I’m going, and who I’m seeing, but I’ve never told him who I really am. And, unfortunately, I don’t remember the last time he asked.

And now I wonder if I’ll ever have the chance.

Well, I think I’ve covered “me” as much as I can at this point. College. Drifting. Straight talk. Loneliness. Or didn’t I mention that last one?

Anyway, I guess that’s about it for now. Oh, yeah. Two other minor points.

My father is President of the United States, and I’ve just been arrested for murder.

Chapter Two

My new residence—jail—makes my just-off-campus apartment seem like Versailles by comparison. How I miss that crappy, wonderful, little place with its peeling paint, ugly carpet, and useless heater. How I miss my roommate and best friend, Ben Porter.

In deference to my father and security concerns, I’m mercifully being held in a cell by myself, thereby happily denying some tattooed bunkie named Moose lifelong bragging rights about boinking the president’s son. Nevertheless, my relief over being alone in this miserable place is more than overshadowed by my boundless grief and my ever-growing fear.

How could this have happened? How could someone—me?—have shot Ben in the head? How could I have been found apparently drunk or drugged and unconscious on Ben’s bedroom floor with my hand beside the gun that killed him? How could I not remember Ben’s murder when I was, according to everyone who saw me that night—Secret Service included—alone in the apartment with him at the time?

Yet all these unanswered questions take a distant backseat to the one question that’s dominated my every thought since this nightmare began: How am I going to ever come to grips with the loss of my closest friend? The one person I could trust and confide in completely. The one person who could see the real me and not the character I play for the press and the public. No wonder that despite my desperate attempt to maintain a veneer of stoic resolve as I wait here in this cold, dark cell, I can’t help but curl up in the corner and silently cry as I realize for the millionth time that Ben is really and truly gone forever.

Forcing myself to take my mind off my late friend for a moment, I pace the small cell and consider the reality that the court of public opinion has almost certainly already pronounced me guilty. I can almost hear them now: “Such a mercurial young man…so quiet and aloof…so impulsive…Not at all his father’s son…”

My father. Good God. I can only imagine how this is going to affect his job approval ratings, not to mention his re-election chances in November. He and I may have drifted apart the last few years, but whatever I think of him as a father, I’ve never doubted for a second how lucky I am—we all are—to have him as a president.

***

Excerpt from First Line of Defense by Peter Berk. Copyright 2024 by Peter Berk. Reproduced with permission from Peter Berk. All rights reserved.

 

Peter Berk — Author of First Line of Defense

Peter Berk has written six novels, three TV pilots and a dozen screenplays, including several with his father which became the basis for the TimeLock series of novels.

The original TimeLock novel is a Finalist in the 2023 Chanticleer International Book Awards for Science Fiction, Mystery, and Global Thrillers. 

TimeLock was also named as a Distinguished Favorite in the TechnoThriller category of the 2024 Independent Press Award. 

TimeLock 2: The Kyoto Conspiracy was published in 2023 and the third book in the series will be published by IngramElliott. Peter and his family live in Southern California.

To learn more about Peter, click any of the following links: IngramElliott Publishing Author Page, Goodreads, BookBub – @peter560, Instagram – @peterberk_author & Facebook – @Peter Berk Author
Connect with IngramElliott Publishing: Pinterest – @ingram_elliott, Instagram – @ingram_elliott, Twitter/X – @ingram_elliott, Facebook – @ingramelliott & TikTok – @ingramelliott


Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

 

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Essentials of Murder

Essentials of Murder, An Aromatherapy Apothecary Mystery by Kim Davis

Spotlight! Book and Author Info + a Giveaway!Don’t miss any blog tours! Click the link here.Essentials of Murder

After a scandalous arrest in San Francisco, Carissa Carmichael has moved back to her small Southern California hometown to start over as she opens her Aromatherapy Apothecary shop and reflexology services. A tourist destination, Oak Creek Valley, seems the perfect place to put the past behind her, but it seems no one will let her forget. When she finds the man who threatened to drive her out of business murdered in her shop, Carissa becomes the primary suspect, especially when her fingerprints are found on the murder weapon. Despite her father’s position as Oak Creek Valley’s chief of police, most townspeople assume she’s guilty.

Refusing to run again, Carissa knows she must prove her innocence to save her shop and save her father’s career when the investigating detective turns his focus on her. With suspects acting as slippery as the essential oils she distills, it’s up to Carissa to apply pressure and sniff out the truth before it’s too late.

Includes essential oil and reflexology tips.

Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Setting – California
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Harbor Lane Books, LLC. (September 24, 2024)
Print length ‏ : ‎ 283 pages
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0DD3W1XPJ
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To purchase Essentials of Murder, click any of the following links: Amazon      Barnes & Noble     Apple     Other Online Book RetailersKim Davis — Author of Essentials of Murder

Kim Davis writes the Aromatherapy Apothecary cozy mystery series, the award-winning Cupcake Catering cozy mystery series, and the middle-grade fantasy adventure The Board Game Chronicles series. She has also written several children’s nature articles published in a variety of magazines.

Kim Davis is a member of Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, and the Society of Children’s Book Writers and Illustrators.

She lives in Southern California with her husband and rambunctious mini Goldendoodle, Missy, who has become an inspiration for several plotlines. When she’s not spending time with her granddaughters or chasing Missy around, she can be found either writing on her next book, working on her blog, Cinnamon, Sugar, and a Little Bit of Murder, or in the kitchen baking up yummy treats to share.

To learn more about Kim, click any of the following links: Website , Facebook , Twitter , Goodreads  &
Pinterest

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 Elena Taylor/Elena Hartwell

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Burnt Ends: Debut Mystery

Burnt Ends, the debut mystery by Laura Wetsel

Author Interview + Book & Author Info + Author Pet corner!Don’t miss any debut author interviews. Click the link here for more.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.

 

Get your copy of Burnt Ends at Amazon, Barnes & Noble, Bookshop, Camcat.Interview with Burnt Ends Author, Laura  WetselBurnt Ends focuses on murder and barbecue. What inspired you to include delicious smoked meat (which your heroine doesn’t eat!) into your debut?

I lived in Kansas City for several years and got acquainted with its barbecue scene. Murder and barbecue always seemed like such a deliciously fun pairing.

 

Burnt Ends is a private eye novel, a subgenre to crime fiction that I love. What drew you to writing that type of character?

A PI can bend the rules a lot more than someone in law enforcement … and I like bending rules.

 

Burnt Ends pits your private eye against her own family. How do family dynamics play out in the novel?

In my book, Tori is driven by a desire for revenge against her uncle, who she believes killed her father to steal his barbecue empire — a nod to Hamlet.

Yet while Tori is determined to punish her uncle, she’s also torn up about her relationships with her estranged cousins as well as with the barbecue drive-in itself. Are her cousins just as guilty as her uncle? And does she really want to destroy her father’s legacy to satisfy her thirst for revenge?

 

Burnt Ends is set in Kansas City. Tell us about that city and how it adds to the plot of the book:

After leaving Moscow circa 2015, I took a job with the federal government in Kansas City.

I knew nothing about the place before moving there (like that it was actually in Missouri and not in Kansas), but I quickly discovered the barbecue scene. It’s integral to the plot, of course, but so are so many other details — Walt Disney is from there, Hallmark headquarters are there, Tori plays in the jazz scene.

Burnt Ends is certainly a book that couldn’t be set anywhere but Kansas City.

 

You have been an English teacher in Russia and have a background in Russian literature. Tell us about your time in Russia and a few of your favorite Russian authors:

Love at first sight is real.

It happened to me in 2009 when I first moved to Moscow. Back then, I had a host in the House on the Embankment (named after Trifonov’s novel) — the most notorious house in Russia as it was built for government officials moving from Petersburg during the revolution. Not only did I have a panoramic view of the Kremlin, I also lived with an older woman who soon became my adopted Russian babushka and the most enchanted storyteller I’ve ever met.

This was before the war in Ukraine, so it was fun to be an expat there, with every day an adventure. It was a little like leaving Neverland when I moved back to the U.S., and I’m admittedly still nostalgic for those carefree days.

As to my favorite authors, there are the usual suspects: Chekhov, Gogol, Pushkin, Tolstoy. But no one has played a greater role in my life than Nabokov. He is the reason I studied Russian, the reason I embarked on a Ph.D. in Russian literature, and the reason I quit academia.

After writing my Master’s thesis on Lolita, I realized I didn’t want to write academic papers on fiction — I wanted to write fiction myself. 

 

What’s your favorite barbecue meal? 

It’s hard to choose a favorite, especially in KC where there are so many great places to choose from with their own distinct dishes.

There’s Arthur Bryant’s, Jack Stack, and Q39, but I’m partial to Joe’s Bar-B-Que (formerly Oklahoma Joe’s) — not only because I based the setting for Burnt Ends on the legendary gas station restaurant, but because I love that Z-Man Sandwich. I even based the UltraCharBurger in my book on that burger.

 

Words of wisdom for aspiring writers:

Take everyone’s advice with a great deal of barbecue salt. Find your own way to grill.

 

Author Pet Corner!Sasha and Ginny!

 

I’ve got a pair of Kansas City kitties to help me write — Sasha is the muse, and Ginny is the critic.

 

 

 

 

Laura Wetsel — Author of Burnt Ends

As a kid, Laura wanted to be Nancy Drew—now she writes mysteries and thrillers.

Besides being a writing sleuth, her other life chapters have included being a Russian literature academic, an English teacher in Russia, and an editor of government reports.

She currently lives in Washington, D.C., with her two cats, Sasha and Ginny Wolf.

Active member of International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America, and Sisters in Crime.

 

Learn more about Laura by clicking on any of the following links: Website, X/Twitter, Instagram.

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Run: A Debut Thriller

Run by Matthew Becker

Author Interview + Book & Author Info + Author Pet Corner!Don’t miss any debut author interviews, click the link here for more.Run by Matthew Becker

What do you do when the past catches up to you?

‘I LOVE YOU. I JUST NEED YOU TO KNOW THAT.’

When Congressional staffer Ben Walsh receives this cryptic text from his wife he initially doesn’t think much of it.

But while waiting to hear from her again, Ben discovers that the text came an hour before a shooting that occured along her daily running route. Veronica won’t pick up her phone, and when she doesn’t return home, he knows she is somehow involved.

If she isn’t one of the victims, then where is she, and what did she know?

While Ben searches for his wife, he stumbles upon another violent death, with clear connections to the shooting. The police name Veronica as their main suspect, and when more evidence suggesting his wife’s involvement appears, even Ben has to reconsider what he knows about her.

Unbeknownst to Ben, a killer from Veronica’s past stalks his family, with his own reasons for wanting to find her. What Ben does know is his best chance at saving Veronica, and keeping her out of prison, is finding her and the truth before the police-or this killer-do. But what if the truth is even more deadly than he could imagine?

RUN is a psychological thriller full of twists and turns that questions if you ever outrun your past. From the mind of debut author Matthew Becker, find the truth behind a string of murders in a novel perfect for fans of David Baldacci, Alex Finlay, and Isabella Maldonad.

To purchase Run, click on the following link: AmazonRun Author Interview with Matthew BeckerRun centers on a Congressional staffer whose wife is involved in a shooting. What would you like readers to know about Ben Walsh:

Ben is your classic everyday hero thrown into a bad situation. A good guy who thought the most exciting part of his life would be enacting policies. But when his wife goes missing and the police turn on her…

 

Where do you see your book in terms of genre? Are there any books or authors that fill the same niche in the crime fiction world?

We’ve marketed it as a psychological thriller, and it does have aspects of that whereby the protagonist is unsure what is true or not, but this novel straddles the intersection of several thriller subgenres. It has political, action, and domestic elements as well. I think of it as political-adjacent, since while there are plenty of politics happening, the main plot is about a husband and his missing wife. 

In my mind the story lives in between Harlan Coben and David Baldacci’s niches. The domestic setting and emotional gravitas of Coben coupled with the macro-level DC reverberations of a Baldacci thriller. Obviously, those are two of the brightest luminaries in the thriller world, but why not try to compare yourself to the best?

 

Tell us about your road to publication for Run:

I took the long-trodden road of sending queries to sit in slush piles, hoping for that one break.

After over 100 passes from agents, I had put this book back on my proverbial shelf and started querying a separate stand-alone. Last December I saw a note in an Authors Publish email saying that Aethon Books had recently created a thriller imprint (Aethon Thrills) and were willing to read unagented submissions. I sent them the manuscript, they told me they liked it, and in the time between that and a contract being sent over, I finally did manage to get an agent as well.

Like so many author stories, everything went from 0 to 100 very fast and within the space of a couple weeks I went from querying a separate novel to having my agent, Gina Panettieri at Talcott Notch, negotiate a 3-book deal for me with Aethon based on Run. 

 

You are a mathematician, that’s a very different discipline than creative writing. What led you to writing your first novel?

I have been an avid reader as long as I can remember, and it has been predominantly mysteries and thrillers ever since I found a Robert Parker novel in my grandparents’ house in Michigan in the early 00’s.

I have no formal writing training, but eventually in my late 20s I thought I’d read enough thrillers that I could come up with a decent enough plot of my own. Flash forward about five years and here we are! I like sprinkling little bits of math into my books here and there, which is why Ben’s wife Veronica is a mathematician, but nothing so crazy as to scare away the layperson. 

 

You and your family live in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. What’s it like living overseas in such an exotic (to most US readers) location? Hiking in Ala Archa Park just outside Bishkek, Kyrgyzstan

It’s an incredible adventure. By the time readers see this, we’ll actually have moved back to Washington, DC, temporarily, before we move on to Nicaragua next summer. Being married to a diplomat means every 2-3 years we’re moving to another embassy or consulate

A quick selfie outside the Hagia Sophia in Istanbul

somewhere in the world, and as the Foreign Service tagline goes, we are worldwide available, so nothing is off limits. It’s the epitome of leaving your comfort zone.

The Registan in Samarkand, the most iconic structure in Uzbekistan

 

I enjoy being in places where there’s no assumption the locals will speak English, and you have to sink or swim on the basis of your language proficiency. We learned Russian to go to Uzbekistan and we’ll be in the States learning Spanish before flying off to Nicaragua. It’s not an easy life, but the perks are extraordinary. In the two years we’ve lived in Tashkent we’ve spent time in incredible Silk Road cities, and also traveled to Kyrgyzstan, Kazakhstan, Türkiye, Moldova, Switzerland, Italy, Austria, Slovakia, Hungary, Serbia, and the UAE. 

Strolling through the old city of Bratislava, SlovakiaWhat can we find you doing when you aren’t reading and writing thrillers?

I am a massive sports fan, especially Liverpool Football Club. The amount of my happiness that depends on 11 men in England who have never heard of me is concerning!

Besides that, I have two girls, a three-year-old and a six-month-old, and they keep me very busy. 

 

Final words of wisdom for aspiring writers:

Every author you love was once exactly where you are now.

 

Author Pet Corner!Trajan!

We have an 11-year-old tabby, Trajan.

I got him as a 6-week-old while I was in graduate school, and we have had lots of adventures together as we drag him around the world.

Matthew Becker — Author of Run

Matthew Becker is a mathematician, and formerly worked as part of the national Covid-19 response. He has a doctorate in applied mathematics from the University of Maryland, College Park, and is published in the Bulletin of Mathematical Biology.

Matthew currently lives with his wife, a U.S. diplomat, and their two children in Tashkent, Uzbekistan. An avid thriller reader, he loves stories with dense, twisted plots and emotional gravitas.

Catch up with Matthew by visiting his website.

 

 

Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

Header image from Pixabay

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Murder Under a Redwood Moon: Debut Novel

Murder Under a Redwood Moon a paranormal murder mystery by debut author Sherri L. Dodd

Author Interview + Book & Author Info + Awesome Horse Photos!Don’t miss any debut author interviews. Click the link here for more.Murder Under a Redwood Moon

At the age of eight, Arista Kelly was frantically swept up by her parents and whisked off to an isolated town in the California redwoods. Two days later, her parents were gone.

Now at the age of twenty-three, she has settled quite nicely into an eclectic lifestyle, much like her great aunt, and guardian since childhood, Bethie. She enjoys the use of herbs and crystals to help her commune with the energy and nature around her and finds pleasure in the company of her beloved pet, Royal. Usually quite satisfied with her mundane life high in the Santa Cruz Mountains, life becomes unsettling when a new recurring vision of an ominous tattoo as well as increased activity from the ghostly presence within her own cottage invade her once-harmonious existence.

But life in this mountain sanctuary takes an even darker turn when the body of Arista’s former classmate is found in the nearby river. As other young women fall prey to a suspected serial killer, Arista realizes that the terror is coming to her.

To purchase a copy of Murder Under a Redwood Moon, click any of the following links: Amazon, Amazon (Canada), Barnes and Noble & IndieBoundInterview with Murder Under a Redwood Moon Author, Sherri L. DoddMurder Under a Redwood Moon is set in the Santa Cruz Mountains. Tell us about that environment and why you chose that for your debut.

I have lived in Santa Cruz County for a combined thirty years (including teen years), with seven of them being spent in Ben Lomond, which is about eight minutes down Highway 9 from Boulder Creek.

My kids went to preschool and elementary in the mountains and I loved taking them for nature hikes and splashing in the river. Loved the wildlife and the disengagement from city life. The redwoods truly have an ethereal spirit … mostly grand and stoic, while other times, spooky.

We had a redwood grove at the far end of our property that our kids called Scooby Doo forest. The only reason we moved from the area was because the mountain terrain was too steep to accommodate the sudden spur of energy and resulting free-range run of thundering hooves.

 

Murder Under a Redwood Moon revolves around Arista Kelly. What would you like readers to know about her?

The trilogy begins with Arista as a twenty-three-year-old eternal optimist, to the point of blindness. Her upbeat nature puts her in peril because she only wants to see the good in the world. She wants to do what’s right and be the inspiration for her friends. It is the best defense mechanism to resolve the loss brought on by the traumatic events that led her to the mountains in the first place.

The Murder, Tea & Crystals trilogy is her coerced journey out of blind optimism.  But the trilogy is also about her great-aunt, Bethie. Bethie has raised Arista from the age of eight. She has always had to protect her, and this is also her journey of letting go and allowing Arista to grow into adulthood, and subsequently, into her powers as an intuitive modern-day witch.

 

Murder Under a Redwood Moon is a paranormal murder mystery. What draws you to read and write about paranormal events?

 I think I will always ride that line of believing in ghosts and magick and heavily debate them with my knowledge on the power of mind and science. However, how much fun is it to put happenstance in a scientific box and say, ‘that’s why”?

Life is so much more exciting when you question it in a dimensional way and look at it in a mysterious light. This especially came true when my father passed. When we truly love someone and feel that void, it is nice to imagine that they could still be watching us, guiding us, and even protecting us and our generations to come.

 

In addition to writing, you teach Yoga, Kickboxing, and Dance Aerobics. How does your physical life and your imagination work together? Do you figure out plots while you’re practicing? Or are you 100% into your practices, and able to leave the plotting behind?

Fitness has saved me from a lifetime of anxiety. I began playing racquetball at age fourteen and have been on an exercise tear ever since. Kickboxing helped me regain my strength and form after delivering both my children. Yoga brought me peace and breath during erratic life happenings and UJAM greatly improved my low back functionality.

Each time I have assumed a new form of exercise, I’ve made sure to certify in it, so that I could effectively do it on my own and teach it. Therefore, I truly focus on the exercise at hand, and all thought, including creative, flows away into the studio fans.

HOWEVER, I do find most of my plot ideas come when I am in nature on a trail. My husband and I are talking and all the sudden I go dead silent and work out this whole scenario or come up with a fantastic hook. He’s gotten used to it by now!

 

We are both horse lovers. Tell us about your herd of Arabians.

The love of my life earns this credit. My husband had an Arabian mare that kept him out of trouble in high school. So, once we had a little property, we bought him an Arabian stallion, his long-time dream.

This eventually branched into an entire breeding business. My equine love, Summer, who is ½ Quarter Horse, and ½ Arabian, was created because I wanted a Palomino (damn those stereotypes of women and color choice).

We contracted a Cremelo named Vanilla Zip and bred with our largest and prettiest mare. Summer was born in our stables and is everything I could have wanted, sweet as pie with humans and b*tchy enough in the meadow to merit no trouble.

We also raised our children with horse chores, such as shoveling manure and throwing flakes before and after school.

Aur Mystic Illusion (with trainer Amy)

Aur Mystic Illusion made it to Prix Saint George, but we retired him before he competed at that level.

Major Precision, Canadian National Champion. Questionably, my favorite stallion on our ranch and sire to many of our breedings.

Major Precision

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Summer’s DreamSummer’s Dream (Elena loves the saddle!)

Summer’s Dream, my baby in her Sunday-best – ha!

 

 

 

 

 

Love the joy of foals on their first turnout!

Foals first turnout!Aur Vanity – Elena says, that’s an amazing photo!

 

 

Hubby Ed playing with Aur Vanity, stallion.

For Christmas last year, I had this made into an oil painting for him.

 

What are you working on now?

I am currently working on the third, and final, installment of the Murder, Tea & Crystals Trilogy. This book has a completely different pace than the first two, and I truly hope the readers enjoy it!

Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers:

 The process of getting published, whether through an agent, small publisher, or self, weeds out a lot of hobbyists.

The next step of actually selling and getting the next deal slims down the pool even more so. If you are serious about authorship, definitely give it a go, reality will sort out the rest. This, of course, the perspective of a novice writer.

It may be advice from a novice, but it’s excellent advice for any writer!Sherri L. Dodd — Author of Murder Under a Redwood Moon

Sherri was raised in southeast Texas. Walking barefoot most days and catching crawdads as they swam the creek beds, she had a love for all things free and natural.

Her childhood ran rampant with talk of ghosts, demons, and backcountry folklore. This inspired her first story for sale, about a poisonous flower that shot toxins onto children as they smelled it. Her classmate bought it for all the change in his pocket.

Shortly thereafter, her mother packed the two of them up and headed to the central coast of California. Since that time, she has worked corporate, married, raised two sons, and now writes full-time creating atmospheric paranormal fiction. Her debut novel, Murder Under Redwood Moon, shot straight to #1 New Release on Amazon.

To learn more about Sherri, click the following links: Website & Instagram

The post Murder Under a Redwood Moon: Debut Novel appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

Lethal Standoff: Romantic Suspense

Lethal Standoff by DiAnnMills [image error]

Guest Post + An Excerpt + Book & Author Info!

 

Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.

Lethal Standoff

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Justice can be elusive.
Family secrets can be deadly.

The stakes are high, and the clock is ticking in a volatile criminal case filled with unanswered questions. And Carrington Reed is running short on time to piece together clues that will solve the puzzle.

Hostage negotiator Carrington Reed is called to the scene when reports come in that fifteen hostages are being held by the Kendrix brothers in an abandoned house in south Texas. When she arrives on site, Carrington quickly learns that the brothers are armed and refuse to release their victims, a group of undocumented immigrants, until the local police identify their father’s murderer.

Working closely with Levi Ehrlich, a handsome investigative reporter who has covered some of Carrington’s negotiations in the past, she finds herself being undeniably drawn to him. Carrington digs deeper into the death of the Kendrixes’ father and begins to notice that some details surrounding his death aren’t adding up.

As Carrington investigates the brothers’ claims and tries to piece together their motive for taking innocent people captive, it soon becomes clear that they are trying to hide something and that revenge for their father’s death may not be what they’re really bargaining for after all. To protect the hostages and ensure the brothers don’t carry out the rest of their sinister plot, Carrington must get to the bottom of one family’s secret and the truth they’re trying so hard to hide before time runs out.

Award winning author DiAnn Mills delivers pulse-pounding romantic suspense about secrets, betrayal, and finding a path to forgiveness.

Praise for Lethal Standoff:

“DiAnn Mills delivers another pulse-pounding thriller you’re going to love. Lethal Standoff combines gripping tension with a captivating mystery, skillfully woven by DiAnn’s signature storytelling. She navigates the high-stakes world of hostage rescue, proving once again why she’s a master of the genre.”
~ Jerry B. Jenkins, author of the Left Behind series and The Chosen novels

“In Lethal Standoff, DiAnn Mills works magic―weaving suspense and intrigue into a heart-pounding hostage thriller. Hostage negotiator Carrington Reed is a hero with heart who refuses to quit even when it means risking her own life for strangers. Don’t miss this high-stakes gambit set in south Texas that will keep you flipping pages to the very end.”
~ Andrews & Wilson, bestselling authors of Dark Intercept

“Warning: do not start this book if you intend to put it down any time soon. This is a roller-coaster ride. A bullet-biter. A heart-thumper. This is DiAnn Mills at her best.”
~ Eva Marie Everson, bestselling author and CEO of Word Weavers International

“Lethal Standoff has everything I look for in a great novel! Alongside a heartwarming romance, the plot and themes of this page-turner are pulled from current events and offer a hopeful, triumphant message for readers. Highly recommended.”
~ Deborah Raney, author of Breath of Heaven in the Camfield Legacy series

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Tyndale House Publishers
Publication Date: September 3, 2024
Number of Pages: 368
ISBN: 9781496485106 (ISBN10: 1496485106)

To purchase Lethal Standoff, click any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Tyndale House Publishers
  Watch the Trailer! Click the link here.

Guest post from DiAnn Mills, author of Lethal Standoff
Don’t Place a Protective Shield Around Your Character

 

Writers who place a protective shield around their heroes and heroines set themselves up for publishing doom. Their stories fail reader appeal because the character has no vulnerability. All our characters must have fears and weaknesses to be real and keep the reader engaged.

Writing fiction focuses on entertaining readers with a story about a character who has a goal to reach or a problem to solve. The story journeys the character and the reader through scene after scene of rising action with incredible stakes. The process forces the character to endure challenges, making the goal or problem solved super worth the struggle. But there’s a bonus: the character changes and grows into a better person. 

All the above is impossible to achieve if the character isn’t submerged in a cauldron of physical, mental, and spiritual difficulties. I’m not talking about a tepid dip, but a boiling bath of disaster. The genre doesn’t matter. All stories must contain rising tension with characters who face a high likelihood of failure. 

If a true hero or heroine is the character with the most to lose and the most to gain by obtaining the goal, then why place them in a suit of armor? They need a quick mind, courage, determination, and pitted against an antagonist who is stronger, smarter, and has more weapons.

Sometimes a writer fashions a character after a real person. All our character development comes from those whom we’ve met. Their behaviors are quirky, funny, sobering, filled with wisdom, and sometimes evil. But our characters aren’t real. That bears repeating: the characters in our minds are not real. They must endure the worst abyss in unpredictable, unexpected, and believable ways.

Even our beloved superheroes have protective shields with a few imperfections:

Superman feared kryptonite.
Spiderman feared running out of web fluid.
The Invisible Woman feared dust.
Wolverine feared magnets.
Hulk feared too much anger.
The Human Torch feared overheating.
Iron Man feared running out of batteries for his suit.

But none of those fears stopped the superhero from saving the world. Neither should a dose of reality stop the hero or heroine. They are motivated by something beyond themselves, a need to better the world and the people living there.

Including a protective shield isn’t a character builder, so delete it from your character’s portfolio . . . unless the character lived in a protective bubble before chapter one line one of your story, and that character learned the hard way that shields, suits of armor, or another person cannot protect them from surviving the world’s challenges.

Writers love to read about thrilling characters, and characters turn pages to find out what is happening to a thrilling character.

I’d love to hear from you. Contact me through my website at any of the social media platforms listed there.

Read an excerpt of Lethal Standoff:

Chapter One
SEPTEMBER – CARRINGTON

My role as a hostage negotiator often plunged me into the evil designs of the human mind. I embraced the responsibility and possible danger because it’s my identity— a one-woman battlefront determined to free others from victimization.

The challenge excited me, but fear of failure stalked me, and respect for human life was my constant companion. Too often innocent lives depended on my ability to negotiate their safe release without anyone getting hurt. The demands, rewards, and sometimes the defeats with tragic outcomes kept me awake at night. How could I have done things differently? My apprenticeship began when I was eight years old, but thinking about those days didn’t change the past. Right now, lives were in jeopardy. . . .

I’d driven ten minutes out from a critical situation on a Wednesday afternoon when my cell phone rang. My contact, a detective from the Houston Police Department, had spent several hours talking to an angry man who held his wife and son hostage.

“Carrington, we have the information you requested,” Detective Aaron Peters said. “The man inside the home is the owner, Nick Henderson. Age thirty-five. Married to Christine. He’s holding his wife and eight- year- old son at gunpoint. Yesterday, he was served divorce papers, and we believe this is in retaliation.”

Hurt. Rejected. Probably a lit stick of dynamite. “You talked to him from the outside?”

“We’ve routed his calls through our mobile command center. I tried talking to him. Got nowhere. He hung up on me.” Aaron blew out his frustration.

Domestic calls were the most dangerous, often violent, causing me to appreciate my Kevlar vest. I had a handgun in my purse, but I could count on one hand the times I’d pulled it. Never used it. “All right. I’m nearly there. SWAT in place?”

“Yes, two have clear shots. Not an action I want to take unless necessary.”

“Me either. What are Henderson’s demands?”

“Just to leave him alone or he’ll pull the trigger on his family.”

Cool, calm focus settled on me. My ability to mediate critical discussions depended on my wearing emotional blinders to the outside world. “When did the problem start?”

“The wife phoned 911 at 8:00 a.m. today. I don’t know how long he was there before she reached out to us. We’ve been called here twice in the past month for domestic abuse.”

I glanced at my watch, and it neared 4:00 p.m. “Have HPD negotiators been talking to him?”

“Yes. Henderson hung up on them too. He’s drinking. Slurring his words. Seems to have trouble concentrating.”

Alcohol could make him more volatile. Flashing lights appeared on the residential street ahead. “I’m parking now. Give me five minutes.”

“I’m standing beside my car in front of the house.”

“Aaron, do you have Henderson’s work history?”

“Fired three months ago from Home Depot, where he held a management role. They walked him out of the store in front of his employees.”

The man definitely had nothing to lose.

Phone in hand, I hurried from my parked truck and raced to where police cars barricaded the entrance to the street where Henderson held his family. A reporter blocked my way between vehicles. She rammed a mic in front of my face.

“Carrington Reed, do you think this standoff will have a peaceful resolution?”

My blood boiled. The last time I had verbally unleashed on her aggressive means to get the best story, she lied in her article about my concern for those in danger. I paused long enough to give her eye contact. “My goal is always a peaceful solution. Excuse me, I need to talk to HPD.”

“Are the police advocating a violent takedown?”

“No.” I sidestepped around her and ignored her shouts.

Aaron stood in front of the home and waved. He had the appearance of average—average height, weight, gray eyes, brown hair, and shoulder span— but nothing about his physical appearance showed his intense scrutiny of a crime scene. His rating as one of HPD’s finest hit my respect button.

“Good to see you. I’d like the man’s cell number,” I said. “I assume my cell phone is routed through the command center too?”

“Sure thing.” He gave me the information. “The wife’s name is Christine, and the son’s name is Rand.”

I nodded my thanks and pressed in the digits. A man answered on the second ring.

“Nick, this is Carrington. I’m standing beside a police car outside your house, and I’d like to help you.”

“I . . . leave me alone.” He spoke fast and loudly. “I’m busy.”

“What do you need?”

“You can get rid of all those cops. I can’t breathe.”

I expected a more belligerent response. “Nick, I can’t do that. These officers are here to protect you in case someone tries to break into your home and hurt you.”

“I’d kill my wife and kid first.”

“Tell me why you feel that way.”

“They deserve it for the way they’ve treated me.” He stumbled over his words. “I’m a good husband and dad.”

“I’m sure you’re great at both. Tell me what’s hurting you.”

***

Excerpt from LETHAL STANDOFF by DiAnn Mills. Copyright 2024 by DiAnn Mills. Reproduced with permission from DiAnn Mills. All rights reserved.

DiAnn Mills — Author of Lethal Standoff

DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who believes her readers should expect an adventure. She weaves memorable characters with unpredictable plots to create action-packed, suspense-filled novels with threads of romance. DiAnn believes every breath of life is someone’s story, so why not capture those moments and create a thrilling adventure?

Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists; won two Christy Awards, Selah, Golden Scroll, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol award contests.

DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, an active member of the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers, Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, the Jerry Jenkins Writers Guild, and International Thriller Writers. DiAnn continues her passion of helping other writers be successful. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country.

DiAnn has been termed a coffee snob and roasts her own coffee beans. She’s an avid reader, loves to cook, and believes her grandchildren are the smartest kids in the universe. She and her husband live in sunny Houston, Texas.

To learn more about DiAnn, click any of the following links: diannmills.com, Goodreads – @diannmills, BookBub – @diannmills, Instagram -@diannmillsauthor, YouTube – @diannmills, Twitter/X – @diannmills, Facebook – @diannmills, Pinterest – @diannmills &LinkedIn – @diannmills
 

Visit all the Stops on the Tour!

09/02 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
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09/04 Interview @ Literary Gold
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Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

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