Elena Hartwell's Blog, page 27
February 8, 2024
Mirror Image, a Horror Story
Mirror Image, a horror story by Fran Lewis
Spotlight + Book & Author Info!Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.Mirror Image
The mystical mirror has seen many faces, some innocent and some deserving of punishment. This is the mirror of truth, and it punishes evildoers severely.
As the book unfolds, each person you meet has is given a chance to repent or suffer the mirror’s unique form of hideous justice. Be careful doing wrong, because the mirror waits for you…
Praise for Mirror Image:“Riveting, pulse-pounding, and thoroughly readable, Mirror Image would make a great Netflix series!”
~ Vincent Zandri New York Times and USA Today bestselling ITW Thriller and PWA Shamus winning author
“Mirror Image, by author Fran Lewis is a page-turner.”
~ Irma Fritz
“The stories in Mirror Image are chilling and every one has a lesson behind it. Beware and be scared!”
~ Karen Vaughn, author of Dead on Arrival
“Once again Fran Lewis has written a collection of scary stories! Mirror Image will keep you up till all hours of the night praying you won’t be looking into any mirror where the face looking back isn’t yours.”
~ Marsha Casper Cook, Michigan Avenue Media
“Mirror Image, a collection of linked short stories by Fran Lewis, delves into our darker side.
It’s not for the faint of heart!”
~ John DeDakis, author of the Lark Chadwick series
Genre: Horror
Published by: Fideli Publishing
Publication Date: December 13, 2023
Number of Pages: 154
ISBN: 9781962402873 (ISBN10: 1962402878)
Fran is the author of more than 14 titles including three children’s books.
She has written several books on Alzheimer’s disease in order to honor her mom and help create more awareness for a cure. These include Memories are Precious: Alzheimer’s Journey; Ruth’s Story and Sharp as a Tack and Scrambled Eggs Which Describes Your Brain?.
She also wrote A Daughter’s Promise about her walk through the disease with her mother. Fran is the author of the Faces Behind the Stones series, a middle school series featuring stories growing up in the Bronx with her sister and MJ magazine. Mirror Image is her latest book which was preceded by What If?, Population Zero, and Accusations.
To learn more about Fran, click on any of the following links: Tillie49.wordpress.com, Goodreads, BookBub, Instagram – @berthatillie49, Twitter/X – @franellena, Facebook & Book Talk with Fran Lewis Radio ShowElena Taylor/Elena Hartwell
The post Mirror Image, a Horror Story appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
February 7, 2024
Reap the Wind: New Thriller
Reap the Wind, a thriller by Joel Burcat
Spotlight + Book & Author InfoFind more new books! Click the link here.Reap the Wind
Josh Goldberg is a young lawyer from a prestigious Philadelphia law firm. His girlfriend Kiesha is unconscious and in the hospital. She’s eight months pregnant and may be giving birth to their baby. He’s in Houston and she’s in Cincinnati, one-thousand miles away. The worst climate change-induced hurricane of the century separates them and there are no flights for days.
He manages to rent an old Lincoln Continental limo from his friend, the limo driver. His travel companions are his alcohol and drug-addicted best friend and his boss who connives to derail his arrangements so she can get to Philadelphia for a business meeting. Also, she has lascivious plans for Josh.
Josh is torn between taking a perilous road-trip to be with the woman he loves or riding out the hurricane in his five-star hotel room. Then he finds out the former love of Kiesha’s life is her new doctor. Finally, all of his doubts are cast aside and he decides to make the insane drive to be with her. The problem is the odyssey may be a suicide trip.
You can purchase Reap the Wind at the following retailers: Amazon, Sunbury Books.Praise for Reap the Wind“Dangerous climate change, by some measure, is already here, and it’s a matter of how bad we’re willing to let it get. “Reap The Wind” by Joel Burcat is a great story. Burcat provides us with a compelling fictional account of what climate dangers may lurk in our future if we fail to act on climate. Reap the Wind is a gripping tale that engages both the head and the heart.”— Michael E. Mann, Pres. Distinguished Professor of Earth & Environmental Science at the Univ. of Pennsylvania
Author Pet Corner!
Ruby!Joel Burcat — Author of Reap the Wind
Joel Burcat is an author and environmental lawyer. REAP THE WIND (Sunbury Press, Inc.) will be released in February 2024. It is an action/adventure thriller about three lawyers fleeing from Houston to Cincinnati in a Lincoln Town Car though a climate change-induced hurricane.
DRINK TO EVERY BEAST (2019) was his debut novel. It is an environmental legal thriller about illegal dumping of toxic waste. AMID RAGE (2021) was his second novel. It is an thriller about coal strip mining. His third book was STRANGE FIRE (2022), and is about fracking in north-central Pa. He has won awards from PennWriters, Next Gen. Indie Book Awards, New York Festival of Books, Readers’ Favorite, ScreenCraft, and others. STRANGE FIRE won the Gold Medal for environmental fiction from Readers’ Favorite books and was a Kirkus Reviews Best Book of the Week. He has written dozens of short stories (from the best beer he ever had, to horror, to murder for hire) and six have been published.
John Lescroart (THE 13TH JUROR) has called his writing “complex and intelligent, deftly plotted and character rich.”
William Landay (DEFENDING JACOB) has said of STRANGE FIRE, “It is a dark suspenseful read…handled with gritty style. A treat for thriller fans.”
“I want my readers to feel they are with my characters in the courtroom, a canoe on a polluted river, a strip mine, or in a hurricane. I write so my readers see, feel, and smell what my characters are seeing, feeling, and smelling. If my characters are scared, my readers will be scared too. That is the ultimate goal of a writer.”
He was selected as the 2019 Lawyer of the Year in Environmental Litigation (for Central PA) by Best Lawyers in America. He has been designated by both “Super Lawyers” and “Best Lawyers” for environmental and oil and gas law. In addition to his law practice, he edited two non-fiction books on environmental and energy law and has written numerous professional articles on environmental law.
Burcat lives in Harrisburg, Pa. with his wife, Gail.
You can learn more about Joel at the following sites: Website, Facebook, X & Instagram.Elena Taylor/Elena Hartwell
Footer background image from Pixabay
Header image from Pixabay
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February 6, 2024
Hollywood Hustle, a Debut Thriller
Hollywood Hustle, the debut thriller by Jon Lindstrom
Author Interview + Book & Author Info + Author Pet Corner!Don’t miss any debut author interviews, click the link here for more.Hollywood Hustle by Jon Lindstrom
From 4-time Emmy-nominated actor Jon Lindstrom of
General Hospital, Bosch, and True Detective fame, comes a gripping debut thriller.
Set in the dark underbelly of the LA film industry, Hollywood Hustle is the perfect read for fans of Alex Finlay and Jeffrey Deaver.
Winston Greene, a has-been film star, wakes one morning to find his six-year-old granddaughter at his bedside—traumatized, unattended, and gripping onto a thumb drive. She comes bearing video proof that her mother, Win’s troubled adult daughter, has been kidnapped by a murderous gang demanding all his “movie money” for her safe return. But what they don’t know is…his movie money is long gone.
Unable to go to the police for fear the kidnappers will make good on their promise to kill his daughter, Winston turns to two close friends—a legendary Hollywood stuntman and a disgraced former LAPD detective.
There’s no easy way out for Winston or his daughter—the gang is violent and willing to do anything to get the money they’re after, and Winston begins to realize that to get his daughter back, he’ll have to beat the kidnappers at their own game.
This propulsive and tense thriller will transport readers to the seedier side of LA, depicted in bold prose by a Hollywood insider.
To purchase Hollywood Hustle click either link: Amazon and Barnes and Noble.Interview with the Author of Hollywood Hustle: Jon LindstromHollywood Hustle is set in “the dark underbelly of the LA film industry” an industry you know intimately. Is your dark version of Hollywood pure fiction? Or are you incorporating the gritty side of Hollywood that people outside the industry never see?Some fiction, some fact.
I don’t have enough fingers and toes to count the artists I’ve known who have blown up their lives and careers because of substance abuse. Many of them you’ve never heard of, but I can say now that one inspiration for Winston Greene is Tom Sizemore. A hugely talented guy who just couldn’t stay clean long enough to keep his career arc on track, and man, he was as gifted as they come.
For my criminals, I suppose they could be seen as a bit extreme, but given the research I did on kidnappings, and what we know people will do for money, I don’t think they’re much of a stretch. I think my point was “Hollywood” represents such a brass ring to so many, it’s no wonder people will try just about anything to get the rewards.
Hollywood Hustle centers on Winston Greene, what would you like readers to know about him?
That Winston has as many failings, frailties, strengths and dreams as anyone. And that even after all his ups and downs, he’d still like to leave a good legacy for himself and his family.
With Hollywood Hustle, you went from Emmy-nominated actor to novelist, how did that transition come about?
Boy, that’s a looooong story, but if I were to really unpack it, I can say that every endeavor I’ve undertaken has been a direct result of, and even been somewhat prepared for, something that came before it.
I loved movies, especially Film Noir, so I learned to act. As I started to work, I’d spend a lot of time in dressing rooms being bored, basically watching myself grow older. So, since I’d always been interested in filmmaking, I started making short films and writing screenplays.
My first script was really just about writing a movie I would want to watch. That one got made (The Hard Easy) which ultimately led me to direct an indie feature (How We Got Away with It).
All of that gave me a deeper understanding of things like motivation and intention, and that led (I hope) to an even deeper understanding of plot, story, and structure.
Finally, I fell into audiobook narration, and it was reading authors that really inspired me (Alex Finlay, Don Winslow, Blake Crouch) that I finally worked up the gumption to try my hand at a novel. In fact, it was Alex who pointed me in the right direction and told me what to do. He’s become a good friend, and I owe him a lot.
You have worked on some terrific shows, including General Hospital, Bosch, and True Detective. Do you have a favorite character, episode, or scene (or backstage moment) that you can share with us?
I will say playing Ryan Chamberlain on GH has always been one of my favorite characters, but there’s so many wonderful memories to list here. I’ve been blessed to work with some amazing talents, Colin Farrell, Vince Vaughn, Wendie Malick, Alec Baldwin, Diane Lane.
I do remember one time shooting True Detective in the Lloyd Wright-designed John Sowden house in Los Feliz. The scene took all day to be shot only to be cut from the series (which isn’t that unusual), but during a break between setups, I was hanging around on set. Colin and I didn’t know each other, at all, but you’re there so you may as well talk. He’s really a lovely, generous guy.
One of the crew mentioned that the house is where The Black Dahlia was presumably murdered in the basement. Colin and I looked at each other and I said, “You want to go?” He said, “Yeah!” in his Irish brogue, and off we went to explore the rumored murder scene.
I’ve always felt that’s indicative of why I write what I write, that interest in the dark side. And I can safely say we both got a chill down there.
What’s something about you that people find surprising to learn?
That I was a drummer for several years in a band made up of unemployed actors called The High Lonesome, and that we had two singles on the Billboard Hot 100, back when that was a thing.
What are you working on now—both in TV/Film and literature?
I still do General Hospital, which I have a ball doing. And I’m always writing (working on my second novel now and planning my third) and I’m attached to act in a couple feature films. (All they need is money. Ha!)
So much of showbiz is waiting, waiting, and waiting some more, then in a flash it’s, “Okay … GO!” I’m very lucky to be in a place now where every day I get to do something that I love.
Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers:
Give yourself permission to be the writer you dream to be. You may be the next genius that raises everyone’s bar. Fall in love with that feeling of inspired creativity. It’s there for a reason. And be true to yourself. If you don’t think what you write fits any trend, so what? It’s honest, and someone will get it, eventually.
Great advice!Author Pet Corner!
Noodle
Schmidt (helping with an audiobook)I have two pets, and they’re both rescues. Noodle is a Maltese/Poodle mix and totally addicted to people.
Schmidt the cat is a gray Tabby, less snuggly than Noodle, but still gets as
much as he wants, when he wants it. And, amazingly, they get along great.
I think one reason is when Schmidt was rescued (right off the street at only 4 weeks old) he was so tiny that Noodle didn’t know what he was.
Jon Lindstrom — Author of Hollywood Hustle
Jon Lindstrom is a 4-time Emmy-nominated actor, a published author, an award-winning filmmaker, and occasionally a drummer.
By most accounts, he is also a pretty nice guy. He lives mostly in Los Angeles, which is what he mostly writes about: The good people, the bad people, the business of show and the experience of living in sunny, seductive, corrupt LA.
Feel free to investigate his endeavors and/or subscribe to his newsletter at www.jonlindstrom.com.
To learn more about Jon click on any of the following links: website, Instagram, Twitter/X, Facebook.Or you can find all of his links on LinkTree.Elena Taylor/Elena Hartwell
The post Hollywood Hustle, a Debut Thriller appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
February 3, 2024
The Committee Will Kill You Now by JL Lycette Copy
The Committee Will Kill You Now, medical suspense by JL Lycette
Excerpt + Book & Author Info + A Giveaway!
Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.
The Committee Will Kill You Now
The gripping new book from the author of The Algorithm Will See You Now. Based on the true-life rationing of kidney dialysis in 1960s America, a medical intern in 1992 Seattle tries to leave his painful past behind, only to uncover a shocking truth of thirty years prior and the lasting, generational harm of hidden secrets…
After a co-intern dies by suicide, a grieving Noah Meier commits an accidental error. In a desperate move to save his patient’s life, he covertly seeks help from audacious surgical resident Marah Maddox, igniting a bond between them.
When the hospital is suspiciously quick to sweep everything under the rug, Noah turns to his late father’s journal for guidance and makes a chilling discovery, all while trying to stay out of the crosshairs of abusive Dr. Rankel, keen to make an example of Noah. Worse, Rankel clearly has it out for Marah as the only woman in her program.
As the hospital’s patriarchal power structures, and the truth about his father’s past, threaten Noah and Marah’s burgeoning relationship, Noah will have to choose: shoulder his father’s devastating legacy or create his own daring future.
The latest sensational page-turner from physician-author JL Lycette, The Committee Will Kill You Now is a riveting historical suspense about the inner workings of the medical world and the personal struggles of those within it.
A thrilling near-historical drama that exposes the dark side of the medical establishment and a must-read for anyone interested in medicine, ethics, and the human struggle for justice.
Book Details:
Genre: Medical Fiction, Medical Suspense
Published by: Black Rose Writing Press
Publication Date: November 2023
Number of Pages: 300
ISBN: 9781685133122 (ISBN10: 1685133126)
To purchase The Committee Will Kill You Now click on any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Black Rose Writing Press
Read an excerpt of The Committee Will Kill You Now:
The greatest mistake in the treatment of diseases is that there are physicians for the body and physicians for the soul, although the two cannot be separated.
― Plato
The central problem of such a Life or Death Committee is, of course, that nobody can be sure of anything.
― Shana Alexander “They Decide Who Lives, Who Dies: Medical Miracle Puts a Moral Burden on a Small Committee.” Life, November 9, 1962
CHAPTER ONE
April 27, 1992
Seattle, WA
The hospital had a saying—you came to work unless you were dead.
Apparently, being dead on the inside didn’t count.
The latter, which Noah had quipped months ago at intern orientation, hadn’t earned him any points with Dr. Artie Andrews, the Program Director. Although his peers had laughed, and he supposed that mattered most.
Humor, his stalwart companion, was nowhere to be found these days. His pre-med-school self, who’d studied literature and philosophy and naively believed medicine a noble art, had become a distant memory. For interns, the drudgery of bodies had become their entire existence—how much their patients pissed, shit, vomited, or bled. Plato could wax all he liked about the separation of body and soul, but most days, Noah had to struggle to even remember his patients had souls, let alone find time to doctor them. Hell, most days, he was pretty sure his own soul had shriveled up and died a few months ago. It had been somewhere around the halfway point of his internship year, when a patient had died and he’d felt nothing when he’d crossed their name off his list. Only another body.
But he had no time for such thoughts this morning. Noah mentally shoved the memory back into its compartment, physically shoved his notes into the pocket of his short white coat, and headed off the Gen Med ward to make his way to Monday morning Resident Report. It didn’t matter he’d been up all night, mandatory was mandatory.
Before he got two steps from the nurses’ station, the sharp voice of Kathy, the ward secretary, rang out from behind her desk. “Dr. Meier, wait. Sign this before you go.”
Noah suppressed the urge to glance over his shoulder, where he instinctively expected to see Dr. Thomas Meier, gifted surgeon, renowned academic—and his late father. Accepting the chart Kathy shoved under his nose, he signed off on the orders he’d missed on his 6:00 A.M. admission. That’s what sleep deprivation did to you.
Behind him, the never-ending rain of the Seattle winter clattered on the windows, fraying his already heightened nerves. He scribbled his name and the time and date—7:50 A.M., 4/27/92.
He handed the chart back, his body already angling away, but Kathy’s voice stopped him in his tracks. “Any update on when Dr. Doherty will be back?”
Noah’s sleep-fogged brain was slow to process her words. “Jasmine Doherty?”
Kathy bobbed her head, the chain attached to her reading glasses glinting as it looped around her neck beneath her permed hair.
Noah squinted at her. A part of his overtaxed brain urged him to catch up with his team or risk being late, something heavily frowned upon, but his curiosity won. “Jasmine’s out?”
Interns didn’t take sick days.
Kathy finished transcribing Noah’s signed orders from the chart and deftly shelved the heavy plastic binder back on the rack before answering with a shrug.
Did this have something to do with the free HIV testing for the homeless project that Noah, Jasmine, and a few of the other interns had been trying to start? The project Dr. Andrews had warned would risk distracting them from their required hospital duties? Had Jasmine gone down to the homeless camp and been delayed? Noah dismissed the uneasy feeling in his gut and said something to appease Kathy. “Maybe she had a family emergency.”
The ward secretary gave him a skeptical glance.
Noah countered with a conspiratorial grin, wielding his familiar shield, humor. “If you don’t already know what’s going on, Kathy, I’m sure you will by noon.”
She rolled her eyes and made a shooing motion with her hands, but he didn’t miss the pleased expression that flashed across her face.
His grin, a shallow thing that didn’t penetrate his hollow core, lingered as he grabbed his coffee and jogged off toward the elevators to catch up with his team, comprising his senior resident, Harper Li, and his co-intern, Colleen Peterson.
Noah found them both outside the University hospital’s east-wing elevators. The early morning light filtered through the stained-glass windows beneath the lobby atrium’s vaulted ceiling, bestowing a halo around them. The sight of his colleagues buoyed his spirits. All he had to do was get through these last few months of internship. Then he’d be able to start practicing more of the medicine he wanted to practice, like bringing free HIV testing to the homeless population. Once they got through internship, they’d become people again instead of indentured servants of the hospital.
From her rumpled scrubs and frizzier-than-usual red hair, Colleen’s call night had been no better than his. They’d been so swamped with admissions he’d hardly seen his co-intern all night. She mumbled to herself, shuffling her index cards. Her freckles stood out on her paler-than-usual face, making her appear even younger than her age, which was somewhere in her mid-twenties. Internship had given the opposite gift to Noah—premature aging. At twenty-eight, gray hairs already sprouted at his temples. Perhaps the only thing he’d inherited from his father, according to his mom, at least.
He closed his eyes and pressed his fingers to them. His father had been too much on his mind of late. The staff calling him “doctor” only spiked his lifelong anxiety about not measuring up. After all, Noah hadn’t yet earned the long white coat of a second-year resident.
It was those damn boxes his mom had asked him to help move last weekend out of the attic of her historic, steep-gabled home on Queen Anne hill. The boxes where he’d discovered his father’s old journal. The journal he’d never known existed and had spontaneously grabbed, tossing it in his car even though he told himself he’d never read it. It would be a waste of time —
“You ready?”
Noah dropped his hand from his eyes.
Harper didn’t wait for an answer before pressing the elevator button. By unspoken agreement, they only allowed themselves the luxury of passive motion in the depths of post-call morning exhaustion—when they’d been on duty over twenty-four hours straight and still had twelve hours to go.
While they waited, Noah had to stop himself from attempting to smooth down some of Colleen’s wild hair. Instead, he held up his coffee, and they touched their paper cups together in a silent toast that acknowledged their mutual suffering. The last time he’d tried to touch Colleen’s hair had earned him the outrage of both the women on his team. He’d meant nothing by it, only he’d come to think of Colleen as the younger sister he’d never had and always wanted. He imagined the close bonds he and his co-interns had formed in the pressure-cooker of residency to be similar to siblings.
This past month on Harper’s service had been one of Noah’s most rewarding of the year. He’d found a mentor, instructor, big sister, and friend in her, all wrapped up in one. He didn’t want the month to end, as it would mean moving on to be assigned to a different R3.
Harper leaned close to speak in his ear in a low voice. “The announcements should come any day.”
Noah shot a glance toward Colleen, but she was fretting over her notes and didn’t appear to have heard. His heart rate sped up. Did everyone know how much he wanted an invitation to the prestigious Osler Society? Or only Harper, the first female member and arguably the most brilliant. Did her words mean he had a shot?
There was the national medical honor society, Alpha Omega Alpha, and then there was Dr. Artie Andrews’ Osler Society, or as it was known around the hospital, “the Society.”
Andrews had started it two decades ago, and it had attained near-mythical status at their university teaching hospital. Any intern or junior resident inducted into the Society would get their top fellowship or faculty placement choice. It had been no surprise to anyone when they’d inducted Harper as an intern.
But no one on the outside knew what actually transpired at their meetings. Noah had asked Harper once, but she’d only muttered, “Primum non nocere.”
“First do no harm?” Noah had asked. “But isn’t that what all of Medicine is about?”
“Yeah, but with Artie, it’s… different,” she had said and shrugged. “It’s hard to explain.”
Noah envisioned them all sitting around Andrews’ office, pontificating about the art of medicine and quoting Latin to each other. Pretentious academics. He’d rather let an E.R. nurse shove a 14-gauge I.V. in the back of his hand. But he wasn’t fooling himself. He wanted to be a part of it, more than anything. To belong. To prove it to the one person he never could. His father.
*** Excerpt from The Committee Will Kill You Now by JL Lycette. Copyright 2023 by JL Lycette. Reproduced with permission from JL Lycette. All rights reserved.
JL Lycette — Author of The Committee Will Kill You Now
Jennifer / JL Lycette is a novelist, award-winning essayist, rural physician, wife, and mom. Mid-career, she discovered narrative medicine on her path back from physician burnout and has been writing ever since.
She is an alumna of the 2019 Pitch Wars Novel Mentoring program.
Her first novel, The Algorithm Will See You Now, was a 2023 SCREENCRAFT CINEMATIC BOOK COMPETITION FINALIST, 2023 READER’S FAVORITE BRONZE MEDAL WINNER in the Medical Thriller category, 2023 MAXY AWARD’S FINALIST – Thriller category, and 2023 PAGE TURNER AWARD’S FINALIST – Best Debut Novel category. The Committee Will Kill You Now is her second novel.
To learn more about Jennifer, click on any of the following links: JenniferLycette.com, Goodreads, BookBub – @JL_Lycette, Instagram – @jl_lycette & facebook.com/Author.JL.Lycette
Visit all the Stops on the Tour!
01/23 Review @ Country Mamas With Kids
01/23 Showcase @ Mystery, Thrillers, and Suspense
01/24 Interview @ darciahelle
01/25 Showcase @ Books, Ramblings, and Tea
01/26 Showcase @ Silvers Reviews
01/29 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
01/29 Showcase @ The Book Divas Reads
01/30 Showcase @ 411 ON BOOKS, AUTHORS, AND PUBLISHING NEWS
01/30 Showcase @ Archaeolibrarian – I Dig Good Books!
01/31 Review @ Novels Alive
02/05 Review @ Nesies Place
02/06 Review @ ashmanda. k
02/07 Review @ Wall-to-wall Books
02/09 Review @ Catreader18
02/12 Review @ The AR Critique
02/15 Review @ aratecla_the_bookrat
02/15 Review @ Celticladys Reviews
02/16 Review @ bookwormbecky1969
Elena Taylor/Elena Hartwell
The post The Committee Will Kill You Now by JL Lycette Copy appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
February 2, 2024
Clocked Out: A Josie Posey Mystery
Clocked Out, a cozy mystery by Anna St John
Author Guest Post + Book & Author Info + a Giveaway!Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.Clocked Out
Josie Posey and her posse of Mahjong Mavens are at it again, in this cozy mystery where the retired big city crime reporter turned small town crime solver uncovers another murder in picturesque English Village.
When the clockmaker’s daughter returns home for a visit, reporter Josie Posey is assigned the task of interviewing the talented watch designer. That very afternoon the young woman falls from a ladder while inventorying antique clocks.
At first, Josie is certain the fall was an accident. Everyone loved Ella McGregor Benjamin. But Ella’s deathbed statement is a mysterious riddle that can’t be ignored. With her Old English Sheepdog Moe by her side, and an ever-growing list of suspects, Josie scrambles to identify the killer before anyone else gets hurt.
The local police chief wants Josie to help solve the puzzle, but stay out of his murder case. The editor of The Village Gazette wants an in-depth story for the next edition. And somebody wants Josie to stop asking questions. Deadlines loom.
In this fast-paced rollercoaster ride of a mystery, the clock is ticking as Josie vows to find the killer before time runs out.
Clocked Out – A Josie Posey Mystery
Cozy Mystery
2nd in Series
Setting: A small town in Sunflower County, Kansas, named English Village
Level Best Books (February 6, 2024)
ASIN : B0CRFY4R6P
You’ve probably seen a few posts about the personalities and habits of mystery writers. A couple of my favorites include:
One of the most common jokes about mystery authors focuses on the topics we research online, thus inspiring t-shirts that say “Don’t use my Internet history against me … I’m a mystery writer!”
While it’s true that writers spend hours searching for information about murder weapons and other gruesome details, we also dig into tons of other subjects in an effort to bring authenticity to the story. For example, in Clocked Out, book two of my Josie Posey Mystery Series, I went down plenty of rabbit holes chasing information to flush out tiny details. I thought I’d share some of those searches with you.
The entire book is about watch designs and the people who make them — and I had never heard the term “horology” before I began my research. Obviously, this was an important topic. I studied reports of the most exclusive watch manufacturers in the world, dug into their training processes, and explored the history of the craft.Tools of the Trade. I always like to figure out an unusual murder weapon to kill my victims. For Clocked Out, I wanted an item that could be used by a man or a woman. It had to be commonly available so any of my suspects could access it. And I preferred the weapon to have a unique name. Believe me when I tell you this one took some thinking. When you read the book, I hope you’ll agree the one I chose was far better than a convenient heavy vase or a nearby hammer.The Ordinary. Sometimes the little things require the most research. For this book, I found myself searching out the correct spelling of CROCS shoes (the word is a brand name and is always plural, even if you’re talking about a single shoe). I also searched for information on the opossum which some refer to simply as the The interesting thing to me was that opossum could be pronounced with its first syllable either voiced or silent. The shorter version has become more common, but the longer version is still preferred – particularly in technical contexts. I flipped a coin and decided to use opossum.Sometimes my research is primary (first-hand_ information directly from the source) instead of via GOOGLE. If I don’t ask the right questions, mistakes happen. In my first book, Doomed by Blooms, I made a serious error when I referred to one of the Mahjong Mavens as an ex-Marine. After the book was published, my real-life, mahjong-playing friend pointed out the error. She kindly explained that U.S. Marines are always Marines. They might become retired Marines, but they are never ex-Marines. You’ll see the way I corrected myself in book two.The Murder. Since I’m not an experienced killer, I always have to research how to accomplish the death of my victims. On any given day, I may search for information on common poisonous flowers, methods of freeze-drying ingredients for a powerful potion, or the best placement for a deadly blow to the head. Whatever I learn always leads to additional questions. Inevitably, I want to know: Does the flower bloom in May or August? What are the symptoms my victim would exhibit? Can a forensics investigator determine whether a left-handed suspect caused a head wound?Even though I try to incorporate plenty of facts into each mystery, it’s important to remember that I’m writing fiction. This gives me the latitude to stretch the truth when it enhances the story. So, maybe my floral poison is stronger than a botanist would predict. Or my fictional law enforcement officer allows the amateur sleuth to interview a suspect before he is booked, when a real police chief would never allow that to happen. Fortunately, readers expect to see a few unexpected twists and turns. They welcome the surprises, and they forgive me when I fudge a little on the details.
Ultimately, research is essential to the foundation of the tale, but it is only one part of the equation. As an author, my goal is to draw you into the book with enough truth to make the story believable, and enough fantasy to make it fun. I hope you’ll enjoy reading the Josie Posey books as much as I’ve enjoyed writing them.
Anna St. John, author of Clocked OutAnna St. John writes cozy mysteries featuring a mature, yet feisty, former crime reporter, Josie Posey, as the amateur sleuth.
Her debut novel, DOOMED BY BLOOMS, was released by Level Best Books in February 2023. CLOCKED OUT is the second book in her Josie Posey Mystery Series. It is scheduled to release Feb. 6, 2024.
A former journalist, award-winning advertising copywriter, and ad agency owner, Anna is married to her high school sweetheart. She writes from her home office in Kansas, with her Old English Sheepdog by her side.
Anna is represented by Cindy Bullard, of Birch Literary Agency. She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and the Kansas Authors Club.
To learn more about Anna, click on either of the following links: Website & FacebookVisit all the Stops on the Tour!
January 31 – Mystery, Thrillers & Suspense – SPOTLIGHT
January 31 – CelticLady Reviews – SPOTLIGHT WITH EXCERPT
February 1 – Literary Gold – SPOTLIGHT WITH EXCERPT
February 1 – Reading Is My SuperPower – REVIEW
February 2 – The Mystery of Writing – AUTHOR GUEST POST
February 2 – Read Your Writes Book Reviews – RECIPE
February 3 – Brooke Blogs – SPOTLIGHT
February 4 – #BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee – SPOTLIGHT
February 4 – Maureen’s Musings – SPOTLIGHT
February 5 – Sarah Can’t Stop Reading Books – REVIEW, AUTHOR GUEST POST
February 5 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT WITH EXCERPT
February 6 – Sneaky the Library Cat’s blog – CHARACTER INTERVIEW
February 6 – Christy’s Cozy Corners – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
February 7 – Novels Alive – REVIEW
February 8 – Hearts & Scribbles – SPOTLIGHT
February 9 – Ascroft, eh? – CHARACTER GUEST POST
February 9 – Books to the Ceiling – SPOTLIGHT WITH EXCERPT/PODCAST
February 10 – Reading Authors Network – AUTHOR GUEST POST
February 11 – Guatemala Paula Loves to Read – REVIEW
February 12 – The Book Diva’s Reads – CHARACTER GUEST POST
February 13 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW, AUTHOR INTERVIEW
Elena Taylor/Elena Hartwell
The post Clocked Out: A Josie Posey Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
January 30, 2024
Quoz: a Debut Financial Thriller
Quoz, the debut financial thriller by Mel Mattison
Author Interview + Book & Author Info + Author Pet Corner!Don’t miss any debut author interview. Click the link here for more.Quoz by Mel Mattison
Quantum AI, corrupt central bankers, and the blockchain collide in a stock market supernova. The annihilation of the global economic order is just the beginning.
“As governments around the world seek to exert tyrannical control over currency, Quoz serves as a cautionary tale for what lies ahead. You’ve been warned.” —Trey Radel, Former Member of United States Congress
It’s 2027. The AI revolution has merged with quantum computing to take control of global financial markets. Operated by the mysterious Bank for International Settlements based in Basel, Switzerland, the quantum supercomputer known as ICARUS has promised the world a more stable economy, devoid of bank failures and volatile share prices. And it has delivered…until now.
Rory O’Connor is the financial genius who helped create ICARUS, but after the tragic death of his best friend, he’s checked out of high finance and into a luxury Caribbean condo, trading cryptocurrencies on the shores of San Juan.
When the stock market starts manifesting erratic behavior, what begins as a favor drags Rory into a dangerous labyrinth of deceit and international intrigue. Leaders at some of the world’s most powerful central banks are planning to take down the US dollar as global reserve currency, replacing it with a gold- and silver-backed digital currency of their own.
Now, Rory must travel to Switzerland, overcome his demons, and save the world from financial chaos. Everything is on the line. If he fails, humanity descends into an economic Armageddon controlled by madmen and psychopathic bankers.
“Thriller readers with any interest in finance need to read Quoz!…Perfect for fans of Michael Lewis and Jack Carr. Mattison…brings fiction and finance together in a way few writers can. You won’t be able to put Quoz down!” —Massimo Paone, Former Chief Investment Officer, Populist Capital
To purchase Quoz, click any of the following links: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, BooksAMillion.Interview with Mel Mattison — Author of QuozQuoz is a financial thriller. What does that subgenre mean to you?As a financial thriller, Quoz tries to go beyond the superficial and sometimes unrealistic financial elements often incorporated into thrillers without a financial focus.
In some sense, I think about that along these lines: Jack Carr, author of the popular Terminal List series, writes as only a former Navy SEAL can. He’s able to create a sniper scene that rings true in a way tough to duplicate without his background.
With Quoz, I wanted to do the same thing but from a financial rather than from a military perspective: write something plausible enough to pass the scrutiny of a finance industry insider, while still being thrilling, exciting, and understandable to someone with little background in the business.
Quoz features Rory O’Connor. Like you, he works in high finance. How much of your debut novel is fact and how much is fiction? Are there threads of truth in your techno-thriller?
The author Alan Moore once wrote, “Artists use lies to tell the truth.” I think there’s a lot of that going on with Quoz.
My number one mission was to create a thrilling novel, but a close second was to explore what I call the deep economic state. By that, I’m referring to central bankers, officials at the IMF and World Bank, and other financial elites who affect all our lives while working behind closed doors. I try to bring some of what these financial powerbrokers do out from the shadows and into the light of fiction.
So, yes, I think there’s quite a bit of truth running through Quoz.
Quoz takes place in the Caribbean, Chicago, and Switzerland. How familiar are you with those places? Did you research? Travel? Spend time there? What made them great places to set a thriller?
My wife and I have visited the Caribbean a number of times, and so there was definitely some familiarity there. There is also a good reason for setting some chapters in Puerto Rico beyond it being an exciting locale.
To attract financial activity, the island has certain tax exemptions that make it a very attractive place for stock and cryptocurrency traders like Rory O’Connor to live and work.
Chicago is more or less my hometown. So, while I haven’t lived there for years, I still felt very comfortable setting a number of scenes in the Windy City.
As for Switzerland, I had never been there before I started writing Quoz, but as I got more into the process, I realized a trip there would help immensely.
Everyone knows about Switzerland’s famed banking industry, but I didn’t really have a feel for the streets of Basel or Zürich. It wasn’t hard to convince my wife that a trip was in order.
We went for about ten days and had a wonderful time. I was able to pick up the color of the place and did my best to incorporate it into Quoz.
With degrees/studies in business and creative writing, both areas are clearly of interest to you. Have you always known you wanted to write a novel? How did your debut come about?
I had fleeting dreams of being a writer while an undergrad at Loyola University Chicago. I minored in English and took every creative writing course I could find, mostly focusing on poetry. But somewhere along the way, my interest in business and finance overtook any artistic leanings that I possess. However, I never really let the idea die. Somewhere in the back of mind, I always thought that one day I’m going to give an honest go at writing a novel.
So, a couple years ago, I made up my mind to take a hiatus from the business world and focus 100% on writing. I left my most recent finance position in July of 2022, and by September of that year I had a 300+ page manuscript. Of course, it was a very rough draft that still needed a lot of work, but the process had begun. I was fortunate to find a publisher in early 2023 who saw potential, and with help from an incredible developmental editor named Jon Ford, Quoz really started to come to life.
About one year after that first rough draft was written, the final version of Quoz was completed.
What’s the one thing about high finance that everyone should know?
If you’ve never heard of the Bank for International Settlements, you’re not alone.
It is the central bank for central banks and headquartered in Basel, Switzerland. It’s a bit like a secretive United Nations for economic and monetary policy.
Every two months, the unelected leaders of the world’s central banks—including the Federal Reserve—meet in Basel to chart a course for the global economy. No press conferences are given. No meeting minutes are released or even kept. What’s more, the BIS, as it’s called, enjoys quasi-sovereign status much like an embassy.
Its managers travel with diplomatic pouches free from search, and both the bank and its employees pay no taxes. If you’re into conspiracies, the Bank for International Settlements is a real-life one that operates in plain sight, yet hardly anyone pays attention to it.
With Quoz, I wanted to change all that and put the BIS at the center of the story.
What are you working on now?
Thus far, the reception of Quoz has been strong and favorable. Fingers crossed, there will be an appetite for a second Rory O’Connor Financial Thriller.
Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers:
I saw an interview once with The Gray Man author, Mark Greaney. I’m paraphrasing a bit here, but basically he said that if you want to be a writer, and more specifically a novelist, produce a complete product, the best you can do; then get it out there and see what happens.
I believe there’s a lot in that advice. I think it means more than just completing a full manuscript. It means putting everything you’ve got into honestly producing the best book you can, then opening it up to others, getting help where you need it, editing and rewriting your heart out, and doing it all with no excuses, holding nothing back. If you do that, you’ve moved from an aspiring writer to being a writer, regardless of publishing success.
Author Pet Corner!
Oscar, Mario, and Gray!
Oscar, Mario, and Gray are three cats in my life, all of them somewhat accidental amigos.
Oscar is actually our neighbor’s cat, but for the past five years, he has come over every day to spend some time and get some treats.
Mario and Gray are two “community cats” that just ventured into our yard over the last few years.
Over time, my wife and I have adopted Mario as our own, and our neighbor has taken responsibility for Gray, though he also loves lounging at our house, especially on the hot tub cover in our back yard.
Mel Mattison — Author of Quoz
Mel Mattison is a writer and financial services veteran.
Leveraging over twenty years’ experience in the realm of high finance, he brings real-world authenticity to his fictional narratives. Having served as the CEO of three separate FINRA and SEC regulated broker-dealers, Mel combines insider knowledge with a critical eye toward the economic forces that shape all our lives.
With a knack for action, excitement, and thrills, he sheds light on the sometimes dark and confusing corners of finance. Mel holds an MBA from Duke University and studied creative writing at Loyola University Chicago.
To learn more about Mel, click on any of the following links: Facebook, X, TikTok, Instagram.Elena Taylor/Elena Hartwell
Header image from Pixabay
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January 26, 2024
Old Bones and New Ghosts
Old Bones and New Ghosts (The Marti Mickkleson Mysteries) by Kay Charles
Character Guest Post + Book & Author Info + Rafflecopter Giveaway!Don’t miss any blog tours!Old Bones and New Ghosts
Marti Mickkleson and her ghostly Grandma Bertie are back!
With only one month to go until Marti meets the conditions of her late father’s will and gains control of her trust fund, she’s determined to be on her best behavior. No admitting that she can see ghosts and certainly no talking to the dead.
But her mother’s roped her into a new family project, her new office has a mysterious haunt, Grandma Bertie’s digging up mysteries from the past, her friend Dmitri’s barely speaking to her, and her sister’s life is falling apart. It’s enough to make a girl miss her days of flipping sort-of-beef patties on a Burger Buster grill.
Then things get really bad.
With both a cold case and a new murder on her hands, her “best behavior” won’t cut it. Protecting her family may cost her more than a trust fund. It may cost Marti her life—or the life of someone she loves.
Join Marti and Grandma Bertie in the follow-up to Ghosts in Glass Houses!
Old Bones and New Ghosts (The Marti Mickkleson Mysteries)
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Cozy Mystery
2nd in Series
One Ghost Another Ghost (January 25, 2024)
Print length : 252 pages
Digital ASIN : B0CPCF4S3Z
CHARACTER: Marti Mickkleson
When most people say the ghosts of their past come back to haunt them, they mean it figuratively. Not me. My name is Marti Mickkleson, and I see ghosts. Ghosts from my past, your past, the guy down the street’s past, your Great-great Aunt Gertrude’s past, or maybe even your Great-great Aunt Gertrude herself. If they are among post-living, haven’t crossed over the great divide, and are anywhere near me, we likely know each other.
As you can imagine, this has caused more than a few problems in my life. The living, including my oh-so-respectable parents, might enjoy a good ghost story now and then, but they generally don’t believe the post-living are still with us. Since my first words were spoken to and about a ghost—and it took me years to learn to shut up about the haunts in my life—my family and pretty much everybody else thought there was, shall we say, “something wrong” with me. Some still do.
You know that movie where the kid says, “I see dead people?” My first reaction was Join the club. My second was Don’t let them medicate you—it only makes it worse. I may have my issues, but communicating with ghosts isn’t one of them. At least not in that sense.
Eventually, things got so tense that I left home and didn’t speak to my family for ten years. My father, the Honorable Thaddeus A. Mickkleson II, found me and convinced me to go home. By the way, he’d been gone (such a nice euphemism) for a month at that point. Did he bother to apologize once he had proof of my ability to see, hear, and talk to the dead? Ha. You obviously never met The Judge. Anyway, moving on.
My return to Bicklesburg was…eventful. There was a bit of a brouhaha involving my mother, my late father’s mistress, and a concrete garden gnome named Mr. Stumpy. That’s all been straightened out. Mom prefers not to talk about it. It’s the Mickkleson way.
Now that Grandma Bertie and I have been back for five months, things have calmed down. Wait. I haven’t told you about Grandma Bertie, have I?
Alberta Marcile Ferguson is—was—my maternal great-grandmother. She’s both my biggest cheerleader and my biggest pain in the posterior. She left the world of the living at the age of ninety-two in a freak canoeing accident. Her last words reputedly were “Who needs a stinkin’ life jacket?” She denies it. The accident was exactly twenty-four hours before I was born, and we’ve been stuck with each other for the past thirty-two years. Where I go, she goes. Which was loads of fun during my teenage years. Yes, there’s a little sarcasm in that sentence.
The truth is I don’t know what I would do without her. If you tell her I said that, I will deny it.
As for my living family, my mother, Margaret Alberta Dibble Mickkleson, gives Emily Gilmore a run for her money. And it turns out that’s a lot of money. More than I ever imagined. My baby sister, the ever-perfect RachelAnne—one word please and a capital A and don’t forget the e at the end—has become a lawyer and is the mother of the Best Niece and Nephew in the Entire World. (Fight me on that. I dare you.) Thaddeus, the third in the line of Thaddeuses (Thaddei?), goes by his superhero name, T3. His sister Margaret goes by Maggie. T3 says Maggie doesn’t have a superhero name yet because no one knows what her superpower is. I know. It’s the same as mine. She’s going to need a friend. A living friend. She’s one of the reasons I’m still in Bicklesburg.
Yes, I have a brother-in-law, but I’d rather not discuss him. We don’t exactly have a mutual admiration society.
As a side note, auto-correct wants to turn “my living family” into “my loving family.” Sorry, auto-carrot. We aren’t quite there yet, but we are working on it and getting closer every day.
In the past five months, I’ve gone from living in a shabby one-room apartment and flipping not-quite-beef patties on a Burger Buster grill to sharing the family fortress with my mother and being Interim Director of the Mickkleson Family Charitable Foundation. Still not sure how my mother talked me into that last one. RachelAnne and I are sort-of-kind-of becoming friends, thanks to a lot of bonding over Oreos. As for her husband Peter, yeah, we’re never going to be friends, not in this lifetime or after.
Despite my mother and sister’s efforts to turn me into a Respectable Mickkleson Woman, things are going really well here in Bicklesburg. I’ve got my fingers crossed that it lasts.
What are the chances?
Kay Charles — Author of Old Bones and New Ghosts
Kay Charles is the much nicer, mystery-writing alter ego of dark fiction writer Patricia Lillie (author of The Cuckoo Girls, a 2020 Bram Stoker Award® finalist.)
Like her evil twin, Kay grew up in a haunted house in a small town in Northeast Ohio, earned her MFA from Seton Hill University’s Writing Popular Fiction program, teaches in Southern New Hampshire University’s MFA in Creative Writing program, and is addicted to coffee, chocolate, and cake.
She also knits and sometimes purls. Both their lives would be much easier if one of them enjoyed housework.
To learn more about Kay, click on any of the following links: Website, Goodreads, Facebook.Visit all the Stops on the Tour!
January 23 – Mystery, Thrillers, and Suspense – AUTHOR GUEST POST
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February 1 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
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Elena Taylor/Elena Hartwell
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January 23, 2024
Murder at a Scottish Castle, a Scottish Shire Mystery
Murder at a Scottish Castle, a Scottish Shire Mystery by Traci Hall 
Character Guest Post+ Book + Author Spotlight + An Excerpt!
Don’t miss any blog tours!
Murder at a Scottish Castle
USA Today bestselling author returns with the latest novel in a Scottish seaside cozy knitting mystery series featuring busy single mom Paislee Shaw, owner of a specialty sweater shop, knitting enthusiast, and reluctant sleuth who must untangle another murderous yarn!
With the summer days getting shorter in the seaside village of Nairn, the annual bagpiping competition at Ramsey Castle promises to be quite the end-of-season blowout. Paisley has snagged a special invitation from the Dowager Countess, who wants to showcase her cashmere goods in the castle gift shop, and she’s brought her son Brody, Grandpa, and their black Scottish terrier Wallace.
There’s a fierce rivalry between Robert Grant, the Earl of Lyon, and last year’s winner Jory Baxter, with Grant loudly vowing to show up the blowhard Baxter and claim clan bragging rights. But the reigning champion has barely put the reed to his lips when he turns red and collapses, soon to take his dying breath. DI Zeffer confirms foul play, suspecting the reed may have been poisoned.
With a murderer in their midst, the rest of Nairn won’t breathe easy until Paisley applies her sleuthing skills to make sure justice is served and the killer pays the piper . . .
Cozy Mystery
5th in Series
Setting – Nairn, Scotland
Kensington Cozies (January 23, 2024)
Paperback : 304 pages
ISBN-10 : 1496744373
ISBN-13 : 978-1496744371
Digital ASIN : B0C3WTZYGT
To purchase Murder at a Scottish Castle, click on any of the following links: Amazon , Barnes and Noble, Apple & Kobo
Guest Post — Murder at a Scottish Castle
Five quick questions for Detective Inspector Mack Zeffer
Q: Married or single?
Rubs his chin. Single—never married. Not interested.
Q: Kids or no?
God no. Dinnae want them either.
Q: Greatest accomplishment?
Catching criminals and making them pay for their wrongs to society.
Q: If you weren’t a DI, what would you be? You’ve got a braw sense of style.
Brushes lapels of blue suit. Hmm … can’t imagine being anything else.
Q: Hobby?
I got no time for hobbies. Expels breath. I certainly dinnae knit.
Read an excerpt:
Excerpt from Murder at a Scottish Castle:
Paislee was mildly surprised to see DI Zeffer’s blue SUV come through the open castle gates, beyond the field of parked cars, to the barn and the outdoor area. He parked before the barn next to the police cars.
Tall lights had been placed around the open-air seating area. Paislee and Wallace quickly returned to Grandpa, who was seated at the table with a fresh tumbler of whisky, and Nettie. About half of Clan MacTavish had gotten up to chat with other band members. A member dying during a competition was an awful first.
DI Zeffer shielded his eyes and narrowed them to the table where she sat. She braced her body as if she’d been caught misbehaving.
He strode toward her and stopped abruptly. “Paislee.”
“DI Zeffer!” She wasn’t sure that he’d be taking the cases around Nairn as his reason for being in Nairn was now drinking margaritas in the Keys. Wallace chuffed to see the DI. A hello?
His blue suit fit him to perfection. His eyes were the color of seafoam green, his hair russet and shiny, kept trimmed. “I heard that you’d called in the emergency for Jory Baxter.”
“I did.”
“I decided tae pick up the case.”
“It’s a homicide then?” Grandpa asked.
Clan MacTavish, those who’d heard Grandpa, gasped.
“No,” the DI assured them, smiling his white shark-tooth smile at them all. “It’s an unusual death, which means we have protocol tae follow. Questions tae ask. Dinnae fash, now, I doobt you’re in danger.”
Nettie blushed becomingly.
Grandpa swirled the liquid in his cup.
Paislee refrained from rolling her eyes.
“What happened tae poor Jory, then?” Nettie asked.
“We dinnae know. It’s under investigation.” Zeffer smoothed the lapels of his suit. The man had style no matter the emergency.
“Oh.” Nettie leaned forward to smile at him, batting her lashes. The sweet lass was a bit of a flirt.
“What can you tell me aboot what happened?” Zeffer tilted his head invitingly.
“Not much,” Nettie said. “We were all excited aboot performing at the castle. Everyone is always so nice. And it was thrilling tae see who would win of the top three. We arenae as experienced as the others. Just a Grade V. Amateur. The best is Grade I.”
Yep, Nettie was flirting with Zeffer all right. And Zeffer was encouraging it!
“Did you have a favorite?” Zeffer asked. “I hear the side bets are where people can make money.”
“I was hoping Jory would win, actually,” Nettie said.
“Is he a better piper than the others?” Zeffer asked.
“Who cares, right? He’s lovely tae look at.” Nettie grew serious. “Or, he was. Did he pass oot? Faint? I heard some of the others wonder if he was on drugs.”
“Drugs?” Zeffer alerted like Wallace tracking the red squirrel earlier that day. So much had happened since. “Do you know what kind, if he did them?”
“No! It’s just a rumor. Everyone’s curious how he died, that’s all,” Nettie said.
Zeffer pursed his lips. “There’s nothing I can tell you aboot that. Is there anything unusual you remember aboot Jory’s performance today?”
“No,” Clan MacTavish chorused.
“Was it as guid as last year?” Zeffer asked.
“I think so, though he didnae get a chance tae finish,” Nettie said.
Another member of Clan MacTavish spoke up. “I think Clan Grant might have won. Robert went all oot.”
This statement got many nods from the group.
“Thank you. If you think of something else, here is my card.” Zeffer placed it on the table and Nettie snatched it up.
Zeffer moved his gaze to Paislee. “Can I talk with you a second?”
“Sure.” She stood, not wanting to converse in front of his new gushing fans.
When they stepped away from the table, Wallace with Grandpa, Zeffer winked. “Miss me?”
“No,” Paislee said.
“I dinnae believe you.” Zeffer tucked his mobile into his slack’s pocket.
“You should.” Paislee sniffed. “What can I help you with?”
Zeffer slowed as they reached the end of the open-air room where the instruments had been stacked. The lattice partition acted as a wall and gave them a decent view of the crowd. “I’d like your take on what happened, since you called the emergency in. Who was there, and what they did.”
Paislee nodded. “Jerry McFadden was a hero and acted right away. Jory collapsed and Jerry was prepared tae do CPR if needed.”
Zeffer lost all teasing. “Who else?”
“Meri McVie, the competition judge. She asked everyone tae stay back and give Jory some air. Jerry moved Jory’s bagpipes tae keep them from being trampled.”
“Where are they now?” Zeffer asked.
“I don’t know,” Paislee said. “Jerry would make sure the instrument was safe. He told me before the competition started that Clyde Cunningham, the Clan Cunningham pipe major, had argued with Jory.” She raised her hand. “I have no clue about what.”
Zeffer scanned the room of musicians. “Where is he?”
“Jerry or the director? One of the other constables already talked with Clyde, anyway,” Paislee said.
Zeffer crossed his arms to study her in the dim light. “Let’s start with Jerry. Do you play?”
“God, no.” Paislee shuddered. “You?”
“Not a note.” Zeffer half-smiled. “Lead the way tae Jerry!”
Paislee maneuvered around the tables. The crowd was drinking but not eating as much, which meant that folks were loud and boisterous.
Jerry wasn’t happy when Paislee arrived at the table that he shared with the nine other Clan Campbell members and raked a hand through his hair. They were unique among the kilts as their tartan was predominantly green, blue, and black.
She noticed that the bands had stuck together during the meal with no crossover of mates sitting with a competing band.
“Hiya, Jerry,” Paislee said. “Remember Detective Inspector Zeffer?”
Jerry cupped his tumbler of whisky. “Hey, DI Zeffer. How are ye?”
Zeffer nodded to those at the table, then returned his gaze to Jerry. “I was wondering if you could tell me what happened today?”
Jerry clenched his jaw and then mumbled, “Aye.”
“Should we stay?” Mattias Campbell asked. His copper hair was in all directions as if he’d been tugging at it.
“I dinnae mind if ye do,” Jerry said. Clan Campbell murmured their agreement. He turned to the DI.
“You gave CPR tae Jory Baxter?” Zeffer asked.
“No. I was closest tae Jory when he fell,” Jerry admitted with a shaky breath. “He never stopped breathing, but he wasnae with it, ye ken?”
“He was conscious the whole time?” Zeffer asked.
“I guess.” Jerry’s jaw clenched.
Zeffer pursed his lip. “Did he say anything?”
“No.”
“So, Jory was just playing the bagpipes and then he passed oot,” Zeffer said. “What happened tae the instrument?”
“I moved it oot of the way.” Jerry scowled. “Folks were jostling around the field withoot a care. I tried tae give it tae his director, but Clyde was oblivious—on the phone.” Jerry looked over his shoulder to Clyde, at the Cunningham table. “I thought he was calling for an ambulance, but Paislee did that. Why would Clyde take a call instead of check on Jory, his star piper?”
Paislee thought Jerry had an excellent point. They’d all been asked to silence their cellphones for the performances.
“Where are the bagpipes now?” Zeffer asked.
“I tucked them oot of the way.” Jerry hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “Clyde hasnae asked aboot them once. Not a top leader in my opinion. Mibbe I’m being petty, with Jory dead now.”
Paislee felt sorry for her friend.
“It does seem strange,” Zeffer said. “Why dinnae you show me?”
“Aye.” Jerry got up and frowned at Paislee as if she’d ratted him out for something. She’d have to explain that it hadn’t been like that.
They walked to the corner of the area away from the fires and food where many other instruments in a variety of cases were stacked.
Jerry searched the array, then shook his head, befuddled. “It’s a soft backpack style with his initials, JB, on the handle. It isnae here anymore!”
*** Excerpt from Murder at a Scottish Castle by Traci Hall. Copyright 2024 by Traci Hall. Reproduced with permission from Neil Albert. All rights reserved.
Traci Hall — Author of Murder at a Scottish Castle
From cozy mysteries to seaside romance, USA Today bestselling author Traci Hall writes stories that captivate her readers. As a hybrid author with over sixty published works, Ms. Hall has a favorite tale for everyone.
Mystery lovers, check out her Scottish Shire series, set in the seaside town of Nairn, or the Salem B&B Mystery series, co-written as Traci Wilton.
Her latest project is an Irish Castle cozy as Ellie Brannigan. Whether it’s her ever-popular By the Sea romances, an Appletree Cove sweet romance, or a fun who-done-it, Traci finds her inspiration in sunny South Florida, living right near the ocean.
Learn more about Traci by clicking on any of the following links: Facebook, Goodreads, Twitter/X, BookBub, Instagram, Website.
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January 20, 2024
Hunted by Proxy: Legal Thriller
Hunted by Proxy a legal thriller by Manning Wolfe
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Hunted By Proxy
In this lawyer on the run action suspense, can attorney Quinton Bell hang on to his new life as he hides in plain sight?
Hunted By Proxy takes you on a heart-pounding journey through the life of a criminal defense attorney, whose world, as he knew it, was wiped out by the very client he tried to save. Quinton establishes a new life and law practice in Houston and thinks he’s outrun the dangerous adversaries who chased him there.
Just as he begins to relax, he receives a mysterious note that proves to him that he’s still in danger and running from a powerful and relentless adversary. But who? With each passing moment, the noose tightens, and he must draw on every ounce of wit to outsmart those who still want him exposed, or worse, dead. Will Quinton Bell find a way out, or will he forever be a target in a deadly game of cat and mouse?
Book Details:
Genre: Legal Thriller
Published by: Starpath Books, LLC
Publication Date: January 2024
Number of Pages: 300
ISBN: B0CFWWCX7F
Series: Proxy Legal Thriller Series, Book 2
To purchase Hunted by Proxy click on either link: Amazon | Goodreads
Read an excerpt:
Quinton heaved a box of thick books onto the conference room table in the new Law Office of Quinton Lamar Bell in Houston, Texas. He’d recently moved to The Galleria area around Westheimer and Post Oak and opened a solo practice. Quinton was now what they called a loop lawyer, one who offices around and outside the 610 Loop. It circled the city from Interstate 10 to Highway 45 to Highway 59 surrounding the downtown high-rises poking out of the ground in the middle of the ring. He had been working downtown for the last year but, seeking distance and maybe a little safety from the legal community, found his perfect new office and began to make it his own.
Clients were not hard to come by as Quinton had created a reputation on his last big case, a murder involving the defense of his friend and lover, Joanne Wyatt. That seemed a lifetime ago, and he had become a loop lawyer in part to get a fresh start, but also to protect his former firm, Jamail, Powers & Kent, from his past life in New York City. That’s another story, for another day, but it involved Quinton’s pseudocide off the Staten Island Ferry.
Quinton Lamar Bell was not his real name, it was Byron Douglas, but only he knew that and one other person. A potentially dangerous person. When Quinton had opened his new office, he thought he was the only one on earth who knew he had faked his own death in New York and come to Houston to hide in plain sight. He looked different with a little plastic surgery, and had assumed not only the face, name, and demeanor, but the entire life of a childhood friend. He did so, not because he hated his prior life but because it was too dangerous to live it anymore. Besides, Q, as he’d dubbed his friend and benefactor, no longer needed his name or his face as he had been cremated and sprinkled in the Gulf of Mexico. So, in essence, Quinton had been killed twice, and he wasn’t even dead.
The new Quinton had worked for a downtown Houston firm at the insistence of his faux father, Judge Sirus Bell, who was also now deceased, in order to establish himself as Quinton. When he’d left the downtown firm, on good terms, he’d agreed to split any profits fifty-fifty on the files that were open prior to his departure. Any new cases were all his, even if they were referred by the old firm. It was generous to Quinton. He’d been supported a great deal by the three women partners in his prior office and would not forget their kindness. It was one of the reasons for the separation and move, to protect them, and to get out of their hair.
The women’s firm didn’t really want criminal cases running through their office and Quinton didn’t want the firm to get caught in the crossfire, in the event that his past came back to haunt him. And his past did haunt him. He could never go back. He’d broken the law, lied, cheated, stole, and taken Quinton’s legacy as his own. Now, he went through each day hiding in plain sight and living the life of a dead man.
After Judge Bell’s death, he’d found that he, as Quinton, was the sole heir of the Bell estate. He’d put most of the inheritance into a charitable trust, but had kept one asset, and only one asset. He loved the Bell house in Galveston, a beautiful Victorian home near the beach, that he could not bear to part with. It was the source of many childhood memories with both his friend, Q, and mentor, Judge Bell.
Giving the bulk of the estate to charity was the right thing to do, but if the authorities found out about his true identity, his altruism would not stop them from charging him with crimes from fraud to murder. Yes, murder. That’s the aforementioned part of the long story for another day.
With the help of Judge Bell, Byron had stolen Quinton Bell’s persona, deliberately adapted to his new life in Houston, and felt that he had truly escaped the danger he’d left behind. After a while, it felt to the new Quinton like he’d learned another language and was now immersed in it. He actually became the new Quinton Bell, a fusion of his former self and new persona speaking the acquired language as if he’d been born to it. Still, he’d walked on proverbial eggshells every day for months, finally settling in, to what he thought was a fairly safe place.
That is, until a strange card arrived in the mail at his new office. It revealed his former name, Byron Douglas, shook him to the core, and left him wondering who knew about his past and what they wanted from him. It had been several weeks since the card had been delivered. One side was adorned with a photo of the New York skyline and the Staten Island Ferry. The other side had a cryptic note: “Hello, Byron. I know who you are, and I know what you’ve done. Be seeing you.”
No demands, no further contact, and no requests of any nature. It was like waiting for the proverbial ‘other shoe’ to drop. Was he going to be blackmailed? If so, why send the card? The sender wanted something, but what? Would Quinton one day be arrested without further notice? Law enforcement wouldn’t send a warning. Who was the sender, and what did they have planned for him?
“Be seeing you.” It gave him a chill. Waiting to find out was worse than the many scenarios he imagined would flow from his discovery.
END
*** Excerpt from Hunted By Proxy by Manning Wolfe. Copyright 2024 by Manning Wolfe. Reproduced with permission from Manning Wolfe. All rights reserved.
Manning Wolfe
MANNING WOLFE, an award-winning author and attorney residing in Austin, Texas, writes cinematic-style, smart, fast-paced thrillers and crime fiction. Manning was recently featured on Oxygen TV’s: Accident, Suicide, or Murder.
* Manning’s legal thriller series features Austin attorney Merit Bridges, including Dollar Signs, Music Notes, Green Fees, and Chinese Wall.
* Manning’s new Proxy Legal Thriller Series features Houston attorney Quinton Bell and includes: Dead By Proxy, Hunted By Proxy, and Alive By Proxy.
* Manning is co-author of Killer Set: Drop the Mic, and twelve additional Bullet Book Speed Reads.
As a graduate of Rice University and the University of Texas School of Law, Manning’s experience has given her a voyeur’s peek into some shady characters’ lives and a front-row seat to watch the good people who stand against them.
You can find more about Manning by clicking any of the following links: Website, Goodreads, BookBub, Instagram, Twitter/X, Facebook.
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January 16, 2024
The January Corpse: Private Eye
The January Corpse by Neil Albert
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The January Corpse
Dave Garrett is a disbarred lawyer eking out a living in Philadelphia as a private eye. At noon on Friday, a law school classmate offers him what looks like a hopeless investigation. Seven years before, a man named Daniel Wilson disappeared.
His car was found abandoned with bullet holes and blood, but no body. A hearing is scheduled for Monday on whether Wilson should be declared legally dead. The police have been stumped for seven years. Organized crime warned off the first investigator to look into the case.
Over the course of the weekend, the case takes Dave from center city to the coal regions and back, where the story comes to what the critics called “a startling and satisfying conclusion.”
Nominated as a Best First Novel by the Private Eye Writers of America when it first appeared in 1990 and the first of a series of twelve.
Genre: Mystery, Private Eye
Published by: Onyx
Publication Date: First published January 1990
Number of Pages: 207
ISBN: 9798663201599
Series: Dave Garrett Mystery, #1
To purchase The January Corpse click either of the following links: Amazon | Goodreads
Read an excerpt from The January Corpse:
CHAPTER ONE
FRIDAY, 11:00A.M.
I couldn’t stand the sight of him but I took his case anyway.
I’d been sitting in the spectator’s section of a courtroom in the basement of the Court of Common Pleas of Philadelphia County. At night the room was used for criminal arraignments, and it showed. Everything in the room was dirty, even the air. I breathed in a mixture of grit, poverty and despair. The bare wooden benches were carved in complex, overlapping swirls of graffiti, initials, gang emblems, and phone numbers. Some people called it street art. I didn’t.
To my left, fifteen feet off the ground, a clock was built into the wall. It was missing its hands and most of the brass numerals, and the few that were left were muddy brown. Not that I cared what time it was; as long as I sat there, waiting to testify, my meter was running.
Today the room was being used by the Family Court for a custody case. This was the second day of trial, and the wife’s attorney was hoping to get me on the stand today. There’s no such thing as a custody case with class. The couple were both doctors, both well respected. Married ten years, two children, both girls, ages four and seven. They had separated two years ago. Each had a condo; his was just south of Society Hill in a newly gentrified neighborhood; hers was on Rittenhouse Square. They both had memberships at the usual country clubs, plus time-shares in Aspen and Jamaica. She drove a BMW and he drove a Benz. It had been amicable at first. Neither one was leaving for someone else; they just didn’t like being married to each other anymore. There was no one stirring it up. Most spouses need encouragement from a third party to get really nasty–a new girlfriend, a mother, a friend, or a lawyer. In the absence of someone to stir the pot, it was very civilized. For a while. Then, while working out a property settlement, her lawyer found that her husband had forgotten to disclose his half-interest in a fast-food franchise–a small matter of half a million dollars. In response, she dropped the blockbuster; she moved to terminate his visitation rights because she claimed he was sexually abusing the seven-year-old. He denied it and countered with a suit for attorney’s fees and punitive damages. The case had started yesterday, was being tried again today, and would probably go on for a good chunk of the next two weeks.
I had very little to say, but the wife’s lawyer wanted me to testify anyway. In a close case, almost anything might make a difference. I’d followed the husband for a week, and the most interesting thing I’d found was that he read Penthouse. Plus, as I was sure his lawyer would point out on cross, Time, Sports Illustrated, Business Week, and The New England Journal of Medicine.
The wife’s attorney, sitting at counsel table, turned to me, pointed to his watch, and shook his head. The cross examination of the wife’s child psychologist was hopelessly bogged down on the question of her credentials, and they weren’t going to reach me that day. The case wasn’t on again until the following Wednesday; I was free till then. I nodded, pointed to my own watch to indicate that my meter was off and headed for the door. My overcoat was already over my arm; no one familiar with the Court of Common Pleas of Philadelphia County leaves their property unattended. There used to be a sign outside the Public Defender’s office: Watch your hat, ass, and overcoat, till somebody stole it.
The corridor was as filthy as the courtroom, but at least there was light. And people–lots of them. The young and shabbily dressed ones were there for misdemeanor criminal or for family law cases. The felony defendants were usually older and better dressed; they’d learned the hard way that making a good impression just might help. The best dressed of all–except for the big-time drug defendants, who put everyone to shame–were the civil trial attorneys. There was big money in personal injury work and large commercial claims, and a lot of it was worn on their backs. My own suit, when it was new, had looked like theirs; now it was dated and worn, and my tie had a small stain. I was dressed well enough for what I did now.
I was nearly to the exit, feeling blasts of cold air as people went in and out, when I heard him call my name. The voice was raspy and nasal. I turned; it was Mark Louchs, a classmate from law school. He practiced with a small firm out in the suburbs. His hairline had receded since I’d last seen him, and he was wearing new, thicker glasses. His skin was red, probably from a recent Caribbean vacation. He smiled, shook my hand, and said he was so glad to see me. It was all too fast and too hearty, and I wondered what he wanted from me.
“Hello, Mark. Going well for you?”
“God, hearings coming out my ears. Clients calling all hours. Can’t get away from it. My accountant–I’m busy as hell–” He stopped himself. “Yeah. Fine. Look, you know how bad I feel about what happened to you. “ His voice trailed off. He’d been a jerk when I needed his help and we both knew it. I said nothing, letting the awkward silence go on. Making him uncomfortable was petty, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying it. When he was nervous, I noticed, his smile was a little lopsided.
When he was certain that I was going to leave him hanging, he went on. “Look, I hear you’re doing investigations now.”
“It’s the closest thing I can do to keep my hand in. And I sure wasn’t going to hang around as somebody’s research assistant.”
“I tried to reach you first thing this morning. They said you were out. “ I hadn’t had time to check my messages, but I just stayed quiet. I liked leaving him under the impression that I was in no hurry to talk to him. Partly because it might give me an advantage in whatever he wanted with me, and partly because it was true.
“Listen, Dave, I’d like you to do me a favor. Are you set up to handle a rush job?”
I do plenty of favors, but not in business. And not for someone who didn’t respond to my request for a letter of support when I’d gone before the Disciplinary Board with my license on the line. I kept my voice disinterested and cautious. “How much a favor, and how much a rush?”
“I need you to do an investigation for a case to be heard this coming Monday at one thirty.”
I carefully gave a low whistle, watching for his reaction. “That gives me just the rest of today and the weekend. Pretty short notice.”
“If you can do it, the fee should be no problem. I’m sure we can agree on an acceptable rate. “
I looked at his suit and at my own. I knew the money would never wind up in a suit. I had too many other bills. But it gave me something to focus on. “Let’s go somewhere and hear about it.”
We put on our overcoats, cut through the perpetual construction around City Hall and wound up at a small bar near Sansom. He found a quiet corner booth and ordered two coffees. Whatever serious lawyers do after five, they don’t drink during the day.
“Ever do a presumption of death hearing!” he asked.
“Fifteen years ago, fresh out of law school, I did a memo for a partner.”
“Familiar with the law?”
”Unless it’s changed. If all you have is a disappearance, no body or other direct proof of death, the passage of seven years without word gives rise to a presumption of death. If the person were alive, the law assumes that someone would have heard from them.”
“I represent the survivors of a man who disappeared under circumstances strongly suggestive of his death. His name is—was–Daniel Wilson. We filed an action to have him declared dead. The hearing is Monday afternoon at one-thirty in Norristown. The insurance company is fighting tooth and nail.”
“What carrier? I do some work for USF&G and for Travelers. I’d hate to get on their bad side. “
“Neither of them. Some one-lung life insurance outfit out of Iowa. Reliant Fidelity Mutual, or something like that.”
“Let’s hear some more. “
“He lived in Philly and had offices in the city and in Norristown. I figured that his office in Norristown gave me enough to get venue in Montgomery County. I don’t come into Philadelphia for trials if I can avoid it. The insurance company won’t offer a nickel, but they don’t care if it’s in Philadelphia or Montgomery County. “
“What kind of office?”
“A law office. Never heard of the guy before this case, though. I made a couple calls to friends from law school, but neither of them knew him. “
“Lawyers aren’t disappearing kinds of people. We’re more like barnacles.”
“Wait till you hear about the disappearance. Just after New Year’s, seven years ago. His sister was in town from LA; they planned to get together. They’re in separate cars, out in the country. Powell Township, Berks County. She finds his car off the road full of bullet holes. Plenty of blood, but no body. Police can’t turn up shit. He was never heard from again.”
It was short notice, but I had no plans for the weekend. It sounded like a break from skip traces and catching thieving employees. And it paid. “The case has been kicking around for months. You didn’t decide to hire an investigator this morning.”
Even in the dimness I could tell he was flustered. “Yeah, you’re right; you’re getting sloppy seconds. The Shreiner Agency was handling it till yesterday. “ I just sat there until he decided to continue. “They were doing all the usual interviews, credit checks, asset checks. They hand-delivered back the file and refunded our retainer. And a letter saying they wouldn’t be able to help any further. “
“Someone warned them off. “
“There could be other reasons.”
“This thing smells to me like organized crime. That’s out of my league. “
“Look, nobody’s asking you to find who killed him, even if he’s dead. We just need to say that there’s no evidence he’s alive. That ought to be easy enough. “ He didn’t say the words ‘even for you’, but I heard them.
“Tell that to the Shreiner Agency. “
He finished his coffee. He was anxious to get help, but I was clearly hitting a nerve. “Yes or no?”
I normally worked for a flat fifty dollars an hour. Right then, considering who I’d be working for and whatever had happened to the Shreiner Agency, I wasn’t so sure if I wanted it. “I charge my attorney’s rate–one hundred fifty per hour; two hundred for work outside of business hours, half rate for travel time, plus all expenses. “
“Think you can come up with something for that kind of money?”
“Haven’t the slightest idea. You know how it is. I work by time, not results.”
“That’s a lot of money.”
“And it’s quarter to twelve on Friday. “
He gave me the kind of look I didn’t normally associate with being hired–it was closer to the expression you get when you steal somebody’s parking place. But he grunted something that sounded like “okay” and gave me his business card with his home number on it. And the Shreiner file, too–there was so little of it, he was carrying it in his breast pocket.
“I’ll look this over and do what I can this afternoon. When can I talk to the sister?” I asked.
“Give me your card. She’s in the area. I’ll have her at your office at nine tomorrow morning. “
“Make it seven; I don’t want to lose any time on Saturday. It’s tougher to reach people on Sunday.”
“Okay, but keep me posted, will you? Remember that you’re working under the supervision of an attorney. “
“Right. “ I wanted to tell him that I was working under the supervision of an asshole, but I let it pass.
Philadelphia has mild winters, but early January is no time to linger outside. I needed a quiet place to read. I went to Suburban Station and found an empty bench.
The Shreiner Agency was like the Army: bloated, bureaucratic, and sluggish, and most of its best people moved along after a few years. Yet they were careful and scrupulously honest. That counted for a lot in my business.
The file was only about twenty pages, and most of it was negative information. Daniel Wilson hadn’t voted in his home district since the time of his disappearance. Neither had he started any lawsuits, mortgaged any real estate, filed for bankruptcy, used his credit cards, joined the armed forces, opened any bank accounts, or taken out a marriage license. His driver’s license had expired a year after he disappeared and had never been renewed. At the time of his disappearance he had no points on his license and no criminal record. Since then, there had been no activity in his checking or savings accounts; the balances in each were a few hundred dollars. No income taxes or property taxes had been paid in seven years. None of this distinguished Daniel Wilson from somewhere between ten and fifteen percent of the population. I would need a lot more than this to convince a judge he was dead.
Toward the bottom of the pile I found an interim report by “JBF,” who I knew to be Jonathan Franklin, an investigator I’d worked with before. According to the report, at the time of his disappearance Wilson was thirty years old, short to medium height, wiry build, brown hair and eyes. Paper-clipped to the corner of the first page was a black-and-white wallet-size formal photo of Wilson in a suit and tie. From the date on the back, it was probably his law school graduation portrait. Assuming he graduated at twenty-five, the picture was twelve years old. I had visions of showing it and asking people if they’d ever seen an average-looking guy with glasses and brown hair before. It was a pleasant-looking face; maybe a little bland, but presentable. His cheeks were smooth and pink, and he looked closer to twenty than twenty-five. His glasses weren’t the wire-rimmed ones that were fashionable when I was in college, or the high-tech rimless models the yuppies wore now, but good old-fashioned ones, horn rimmed, with a heavy frame. He had the kind of face clients would trust.
The family background was minimal. Wilson’s father had died when he was a child; his mother was still living and worked cleaning offices in Center City. She lived in the Overbrook section of west Philadelphia. There was one sibling, a sister, Lisa, two years older; a former nurse who now lived in a small town upstate. She’d been living in LA, if I remembered Louchs correctly. I figured her for a loyal daughter who’d moved back east to be close to their mother after Daniel’s death, or disappearance, or whatever it was. Neither Lisa nor Daniel had any children. Neither had ever been married.
Franklin had come up with some more about Wilson’s grade and high school education. Wilson was consistently a superior student; not brilliant, but always near the top of the class. He was seldom absent, hardly ever late with work assignments, and never a discipline problem. Several of his high school classmates had been contacted; they remembered him as serious and hardworking. He played no sports but was active with the school literary magazine and the newspaper: He had a few dates, but no one remembered a steady girlfriend.
Except to tell me that he’d attended Gettysburg College, was secretary of the Photography Club, and obtained a degree in history, the college section was a blank. I wasn’t surprised; in high school everybody knows everybody. But people are too busy in college to know more than a couple of people well. Investigating backgrounds at the college level is usually helpful only if the subject was very well known or if the school was very small. I was reading with only half my attention by then; I was trying to imagine what kind of man was behind that picture. And what was the judge going to make of him. I hoped he wouldn’t decide that Wilson was the kind of loner who would pull up stakes and disappear without a word to anybody.
The next section was hardly more help. After college, three years at Temple Law School, graduating about one-third of the way from the top. He passed the bar on the first try and set up practice in Center City with a classmate, Leo Strasnick. When Wilson disappeared five years later, the partnership already had three associates, with offices in Philadelphia and Norristown. Nice growth.
I rubbed my eyes and looked at my watch. It was nearly one, and this was the only business day before the day of the hearing. The rest of the file would have to wait.
One of the advantages of Suburban Station was plenty of phone booths. My investigation got off on the right foot. Not only was Leo Strasnick available, he agreed to see me at four that afternoon. His office was only a few blocks from the station.
I tried Shreiner’s next.
“Shreiner Security Agency. How may we help you?” She sounded like a recording of herself.
“Mr. Franklin, please.”
“And whom may I say is calling?
“She was good. If my gross ever broke into seven figures, I promised myself I would get a receptionist who talked that well. And to take lessons from her.
“Just say I’m calling regarding the Wilson case. “ I was curious to see if that would be enough to get me through.
“Yeah, this is Jon Franklin,” was all he said, but it was enough. Something was bothering him. His words were unnaturally clipped, and his voice was too loud and too fast.
“Hello, Jon, this is Dave Garrett–”
“You said you were calling about Wilson?”
“Yeah, right,” I said as casually as I could “Remember me, Jon? We worked together on those tools disappearing out of Sun Shipbuilding? I was–”
“I remember. “ Then his voice got softer. “Dave, what do you have to do with this? We’re not in the Wilson case.”
“I’ve just taken it over. “ There was silence on the other end. “I’ve read your report and I assume there’s more than you had time to put in writing. “ More silence. “Look, Jon, the case is coming up Monday, for Christ’s sake. Cut me some slack.”
“You want some advice? Don’t take the case.”
“The lawyer guaranteed payment,” I said, being deliberately stupid. I had a lot of practice at that.
“No amount of money is worth it. “ I’d been expecting him to say that, but he was at the biggest agency in the state a fifteen-year veteran of the Philadelphia police.
“Can we get together somewhere?”
“I’ve told you all you need to know already,” he said, and hung up.
*** Excerpt from The January Corpse by Neil Albert. Copyright 2023 by Neil Albert. Reproduced with permission from Neil Albert. All rights reserved.
Neil Albert — Author of The January Corpse
Neil Albert is a trial lawyer in Lancaster, Pennsylvania and this book is based on a real presumption of death hearing.
He has completed nine of the projected twelve books in the series and hopes to finish with December within the next two years.
His interest in writing mysteries was kindled by reading Ross Macdonald and Neil operates a blog with an in-depth analysis of each of Macdonald’s books,
In his younger years he was an avid fox hunter. His best memory is that he hunted for fifteen years and was the only member not be to seriously injured at least once.
Find out more about Neil on either of the following sites: Website & Goodreads.
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