Elena Hartwell's Blog, page 47
September 24, 2022
The Counterfeit Wife: Historical Mystery
The Counterfeit Wife: A Revolutionary War Mystery by Mally Becker
Spotlight + Book & Author Info + Excerpt + Giveaway!Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.The Counterfeit Wife
Philadelphia, June 1780. George Washington’s two least likely spies return, masquerading as husband and wife as they search for traitors in Philadelphia.Months have passed since young widow Becca Parcell and former printer Daniel Alloway foiled a plot that threatened the new nation. But independence is still a distant dream, and General Washington can’t afford more unrest, not with food prices rising daily and the value of money falling just as fast.
At the General’s request, Becca and Daniel travel to Philadelphia to track down traitors who are flooding the city with counterfeit money. Searching for clues, Becca befriends the wealthiest women in town, the members of the Ladies Association of Philadelphia, while Daniel seeks information from the city’s printers.
But their straightforward mission quickly grows personal and deadly as a half-remembered woman from Becca’s childhood is arrested for murdering one of the suspected counterfeiters.
With time running out – and their faux marriage breaking apart – Becca and Daniel find themselves searching for a hate-driven villain who’s ready to kill again.
Genre: Historical Mystery
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: September 2022
Number of Pages: 300
ISBN: 9781685121587
Series: A Revolutionary War Mystery
Heat rose from Rebecca Parcell’s chest, climbed her neck, and stamped a flush on her cheeks. She knew what would happen next. It was time for the toasts.
“Steady now,” Daniel Alloway whispered. They stood alone in a corner of the crowded ballroom. His good hand brushed hers for reassurance. His other hand hung at his side, deadened by the injury he’d incurred escaping from a British prison ship a year ago.
Becca scanned the room to assure herself that no one watched them. Even his light touch was frowned upon by polite society, but it brought her warmth and comfort.
Their host rapped an ornate silver fork against his crystal goblet again and waited for the magpie chatter of gossip to quiet. He stood by the large fireplace, his feet planted wide as if he were standing on the deck of one of his ships. Mr. Thaddeus Barnes was the wealthiest merchant in Philadelphia, which meant, she knew, that he was one of the richest men in all of North America.
Becca had rarely seen luxury like this, not even last winter in New York City. The ceiling dripped curved garlands of flowers carved of plaster. Blue and white vases from China rested on the carved marble mantel. Cherry wood tables hailed from France, and the glass chandelier from Venice.
“I’d be much more comfortable with a bow in my hand,” Becca murmured. “Or a knife. A knife would do.”
“You’d rather hunt in Morristown than here?” Daniel smiled, his green eyes filled with amusement. The gaunt, haunted look he wore when she met him last winter was gone. But his features still seemed to be carved from stone, all hard angles and shadows. Except when he smiled at her like this.
Despite being tall, Becca had to tilt her chin up to see eye-to-eye with Daniel. “Hunting here will do.” she said, sounding more prim than she intended, and Daniel laughed. “Even this type of hunting.”
They were in Philadelphia, searching for the counterfeiters flooding the colony with fake money. They were the obvious, though unconventional, pair for the job, General Washington had said when he assigned them. Daniel because he was a former printer with the skills to evaluate ink and paper and Becca for her talent with numbers, accounts, and codes, which had already served the general well.
The clink-clink of metal on glass rang through the air again, and Mr. Barnes’s guests finally quieted. “A toast,” he called, beginning the first of the three he would raise to Becca and Daniel. It was the same at each of the parties held in their honor these past few weeks. Always three. Becca dreaded the third. “To independence.”
Becca lifted her goblet and sipped to a chorus of “huzzahs.” One, she counted to herself, because counting was soothing but not soothing enough for what was to come.
When the cheers faded, Mr. Barnes raised his glass again. The wine-filled cup glimmered red beneath the crystal candelabras. “To General Washington.”
“Huzzah!” The ballroom cheered again. Two, Becca counted.
She should be grateful to Mr. Barnes, not gritting her teeth over his toasts. He had opened his home to them at the Washingtons’s request, and he was introducing them to the finest families in Philadelphia, who were happy to welcome two friends of General and Lady Washington.
At least that much was true. Since last February, she and Daniel had become regular visitors to the Washingtons’ residence in Morristown after uncovering a plot that threatened the new nation.
Another round of cheers. Some guests made the mistake of lowering their glasses.
“And…” Mr. Barnes crowed.
A man with ginger-colored hair lounging by the doorway sighed loudly, catching her eye.
Becca couldn’t have agreed more.
The stranger gave her a slow, lazy smile. His expression was almost intimate, as if he were trying to draw her in. She turned away quickly.
“Finally…” Mr. Barnes added.
Becca took a deep breath, inhaling the warm scent of beeswax candles.
“…let us wish the newlyweds a joyous and productive marriage.” Mr. Barnes, a long-time widower, winked at Daniel. “May your hearts ever be at each other’s service.”
The cream of Philadelphia society turned in unison to Becca and Daniel.
She dropped her gaze to avoid the stares.
“A delicate flower, you are,” Daniel whispered without moving his lips.
She banged his ribs with her elbow and heard a satisfying oomph.
Anyone watching her redden and look away at the mention of their marriage might indeed take it that she was a shy, delicate flower. This was false.
She was not shy.
She was not delicate.
And, more to the point, she and Daniel were not married.
Mr. Barnes nodded to a double-chinned musician in the corner dressed in maroon breeches and a matching silk coat. At the signal, he tucked his violin into his neck, lifted a bow, and attacked his instrument. Two men laughed at something a third said. A few women formed a group and chatted, and the high-ceilinged room filled again with noise.
Barnes knew the reason they were in Philadelphia. General Washington had trusted him with that information. But their host believed that Becca and Daniel were wed. This way, Mr. Barnes could rightfully claim to be as outraged as everyone else if their deceit came to light.
Memory pulled Becca back to a dinner with the Washingtons in Morristown. “Perhaps this is unwise.” The general voiced a rare doubt after they agreed to come to Philadelphia. “You are unmarried and unchaperoned. It is scandalous. Society will close ranks against you. You’ll learn nothing.”
Lady Washington had taken a small sip of sherry. Her blue eyes lit with humor. “Then they must appear to be married while maintaining all the proprieties.”
The general made a choking sound that Becca and Daniel decided later was laughter. And so they’d agreed to play the part of a newly married couple, with Daniel looking for a new business opportunity in Philadelphia. It was a brazen plan but might just succeed.
Becca startled. The ginger-haired gentleman suddenly stood before her.
He extended a silk-clad leg and bowed, then rose, displaying the same secret smile that made her uncomfortable minutes ago. His nose was straight, his eyelashes pale against close-set blue eyes. Perhaps his chin was a bit heavy, his mouth a bit small. His features were not memorable, but something about him commanded attention.
It wasn’t just his shock of red hair combed back neatly and tied low along the back of his neck, nor the well-made clothes of ivory silk and gold embroidery. Everyone in the room bore similar signs of wealth. It was the confidence with which he moved, the sense that his regard flattered anyone upon whom it was bestowed.
“You’ve kept her from me, Alloway. I thought I knew all the beautiful women in Philadelphia.” His eyes locked on Becca’s.
She stiffened. It took discipline not to raise her hand and double check that the lace covering the top of her breasts was in place. He made her feel naked.
Daniel stiffened, too. “Mrs. Alloway, may I introduce Mr. Edmund Taylor, another merchant here in Philadelphia.”
Taylor’s light eyebrows shot up in mock distress. “Just another merchant? One of the most successful in the colonies, despite the war.” His gaze dropped to Daniel’s injured hand.
“And is your wife here, too?” Daniel bit down on the words, “your wife.”
Irritation crossed Taylor’s face so quickly Becca thought she imagined it. “My dear,” he called loudly.
A woman standing near the fireplace tensed, then moved toward them with the elegance of a swan. Her hair was honey blond, her skin unblemished, and her eyes a liquid blue. She stopped before them, wearing a tentative smile.
“I’m honored to present my wife, Charlotte Taylor.” He completed the introductions.
“It is a pleasure. I hope you enjoy our city.” Her voice was breathy and slow. There was a stillness about her, as if she had her own secrets to guard.
“I am enjoying it.” From downstairs, Becca heard the butler’s placating voice, then a woman’s shrill, demanding response.
Moments later, Mr. Barnes’s butler, Eli, slipped into the room.
Heads turned to the butler with a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise.
He whispered to Mr. Barnes, who nodded.
Then Eli strode toward them. He cupped his hand over his mouth and leaned toward Mr. Taylor.
“Begging your pardon, sir. There’s a woman at the front door. She says she’s yours, and that she must see you now.”
Becca couldn’t help but overhear. She says she’s yours. The woman at the door must be enslaved. Neither her dead husband nor father had owned slaves. But even she knew that enslaved people did not enter by the front door.
Color leeched from Taylor’s face.
“I will see her.” Mrs. Taylor swept from the room without waiting for her husband’s response.
“How do you find Philadelphia, Mrs. Alloway? Your husband says that this is your first visit,” another guest, who had turned to them at the servant’s approach, asked to mask the embarrassment of the moment.
When Becca didn’t answer, Daniel elbowed her gently. “Yes, Mrs. Alloway. How do you find Philadelphia?”
She really must do a better job responding to her married name. “People have been kind here. I hardly expected it.”
Mr. Barnes joined them, interrupting, “How goes your business, Taylor?”
“We don’t want to bore the ladies.” Taylor glanced at Becca.
“Please, don’t stop on my account. I comprehend so little, but hearing you speak of business never bores me.” Becca would have fluttered her eyelashes if she were the sort of woman who could manage it without appearing to have caught a speck of dirt in her eye.
She pasted a pleasant far-away expression on her face. Men spoke of business and politics as if she couldn’t understand a word, as if she didn’t listen and pass anything of interest back to General Washington. She took a small sip of the straw-colored dry sherry.
“Are you paying your investors in silver or paper these days?” Barnes asked.
Becca admired his playacting. Daniel and their host had rehearsed their lines. They asked the same questions at each party.
Taylor glared. “Sterling, of course. What are you accusing me of?”
Becca slowly lowered her glass. Taylor was the first to interpret the query as an accusation. An accusation of what? Having less silver than a man of his stature should? Or of passing along fake dollar notes?
Barnes nodded to Taylor. “No offense intended. I started seeing badly printed dollar notes again this spring. Merely asking whether you’re being cautious about paper dollars these days, given the situation.”
Taylor nodded curtly.
By now, five men had formed a tight ring as if warming themselves round a campfire. Becca stood just outside their circle.
Another of the merchants stepped up. “I thought I was the only one who noticed the forgeries.”
Daniel feigned surprise. “Has that been a problem here?”
“The British—damn them. They’re printing false money and spreading it as fast as they can,” one of the men said.
“There are worse problems, surely,” Daniel said.
“Ah, a young man who believes war is only about battles,” another guest drawled with feigned pity.
The others chuckled.
“If not winning battles, then what?” Daniel smiled, but the skin around his eyes tightened. He’s offended by the condescending tone, Becca thought.
“The counterfeits will set this country ablaze.” Barnes sputtered. “There have been food riots already. The poor are starving, and they can’t afford bread. How soon until people seek another king, another tyrant who swears that only he can save them?”
“When no one can tell whether money is real, the price of bread goes up, and everyone—everyone—turns against the government,” another man added. He looked to the group for support.
Becca studied them, shaken. She had thought of this trip as a lark, a way to spend more time with Daniel while unraveling a simple puzzle for General Washington.
Daniel bowed to Mr. Barnes. “It does sound terrible. My apologies.” He turned to Taylor. “And what do you think of all this, sir?”
Taylor shrugged. “Mr. Barnes is right. The economy is undone. I’d look to the traitors’ wives first. I wouldn’t put counterfeiting past them.”
“Who are the traitors’ wives?” Becca asked, catching Taylor’s attempt at redirection.
The men turned to her in surprise.
Oh bullocks. “Traitors? I don’t see any traitors at this party. Mr. Barnes wouldn’t allow it.” There. That sounded more like the simple, oblivious young woman they expected her to be.
Taylor and the others chuckled indulgently. “Nothing for you to worry about, Mrs. Alloway. Our apologies.”
“Do you know something specifically about these women, or are you trading in rumors?” Daniel’s voice was soft, but the challenge was clear. Neither he nor Becca cared for baseless rumors, not after gossip had almost ruined her life last winter.
“My husband’s passions sometimes lead him astray.” Charlotte Taylor had returned. “There are times that he causes harm when it is least intended.”
The husband and wife stared at each other from across the small circle of guests. He looked away first.
Mally Becker — Author of The Counterfeit WifeMally Becker combines her love of history and crime fiction in mysteries that feature strong, independent heroines. She is the Agatha Award-nominated author of The Turncoat’s Widow, which Kirkus Reviews called, “A compelling tale… with charming main characters.” Her first novel was also named a Silver Falchion finalist and a CIBA “Mystery & Mayhem” finalist.
A member of the board of MWA-NY, Mally was an attorney until becoming a full-time writer and an instructor at The Writers Circle Workshops. She is also a member of Sisters in Crime and the Historical Novel Society. Mally and her husband live in New Jersey, where they raised their wonderful son and spend as much time as they can hiking and kayaking.
To learn more about Mally, click on any of the following links: www.MallyBecker.com, Goodreads, BookBub – @mallybecker, Instagram – @mallybeckerwrites, Twitter – @mally_becker & Facebook – @mallybeckerauthorVisit all the Stops on the Tour!
09/19 Showcase @ BOOK REVIEWS by LINDA MOORE
09/20 Guest post @ The Mystery Section
09/21 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
09/26 Review @ Paws. Read. Repeat
09/27 Showcase @ Nesies Place
09/30 Guest post @ The Book Divas Reads
10/03 Showcase @ Im All About Books
10/04 Interview @ Cozy Up With Kathy
10/05 Showcase @ The Authors Harbor
10/06 Showcase @ Celticladys Reviews
10/07 Review @ Cozy Up With Kathy
10/08 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
10/11 Interview @ I Read What You Write
10/11 Showcase @ Brooke Blogs
10/12 Interview @ Urban Book Reviews
10/13 Review @ A Room Without Books is Empty
10/14 Review @ The Page Ladies
10/20 Review @ The Book Connection
10/25 Review @ Urban Book Reviews
10/26 Review @ Avonna Loves Genres
All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio.
Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020
Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020
The Foundation of Plot, a Wait, Wait, Don’t Query (Yet!) guidebook.
The post The Counterfeit Wife: Historical Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
September 22, 2022
Just a STILL LIFE: Mystery Debut
Just a STILL LIFE, debut novel by J. Ivanel Johnson
Author Interview + Author & Book Info + Author Pet Corner!Don’t miss any debut author interviews! Click the link here.Just a STILL LIFE
In the simpler times of 1971, Inspector Philip Steele, recently transferred to Fredericton, takes a well-deserved holiday visiting his beloved, elderly godmother in her quaint village nestled in the gently-rolling Appalachians of Atlantic Canada.
But when a bank robbery and the murder of a teenage boy initiate a string of even more shocking events which wreak panic in the quiet community, Phil must return to long days of investigation with his oft-misquoting, black sergeant Zareb Woodbridge, who struggles with questioning some of the more racist locals.
While Phil’s godmother, P.J., secretly prepares her annual Harvest Moon Ritual to be used as a trap for the murderer, he himself has fallen in love with the accused: watercolorist Beth Grimball, enjoying new-found ‘freedom’ albeit in a jail cell. Phil finds he is not only urgently compelled to solve the crimes because it’s his job, but to save the lives of those he has always loved. And those he has just begun to.
To purchase Just A STILL LIFE, click on the following link: Amazon Author Interview — Just a STILL LIFE Just a STILL LIFE is set in 1971. What drew you to that time period for your debut novel?
Julie and her grandmotherAs explained in my bio., my grandmother originally drafted this in 1947, set then. I told her I’d someday rewrite and ‘update’ it, but wanted to keep the simplicity (no high-tech stuff, most of which I don’t use and can’t abide, including cell phones!)
The sequels to this book, all part of the Just (e)State mysteries, are actually prequels going back two years each. Thus, the next book, Just A STALE MATE is set in 1969.
Tell us about the fictional village of Victoria, where Just a STILL LIFE is set:The original manuscript my grandmother whipped up was set in “Straffordville”, the village in Ontario where we both grew up. Well, I was actually two miles out of the village on a small rural ‘estate’, thus the title of the series, interestingly an anagram for Astute Jest, rather a running theme through the series. But I still understood very well how villages/small towns function – often with copious amounts of gossip salted with racism and bullying, all stemming from boredom and ignorance.
When we moved to New Brunswick six years ago I wanted to change the setting to this province, give it more exposure in the literary world because Ontario already has quite a bit of that. So I reinvented our original flat-lands village, plunked it in the rolling mountains and called it Victoria, my grandmother first name. But I also liked the name because we live in Victoria County and it suggests an old-fashioned, more genteel time, doesn’t it?
What should readers know about Philip Steele?Philip, in this book, is exhausted and tired of his job as a homicide consultant travelling to, and living in, remote areas of Canada.
I actually like the way the reviewer for BestThrillers.com described him: “Philip has been checked out emotionally for some time. He lost his fiancée years ago in a shooting, and is now grappling with his mother’s recent passing and the sale of the family farm that had been in existence for five generations. But his elderly godmother, Polly Jane (P.J.), who runs the quaint town post office out of the front of her house, is determined to help resuscitate him and put an end to Philip’s bachelor ways.”
However, I love some of my other characters more than Phil, I think. For instance, he has a young Black sergeant who is a former journalist/English major. Woody is always misquoting passages he thinks are relevant while he struggles with racism when questioning inhabitants of the small mountain village. And the town doctor – a bit of a grump with a sweet tooth that nearly kills him. And Carol Caribou, a quiet Wolastoqiyik First Nations girl who comes to help P.J. in the post office and ends up hearing clues to the murderer.
In addition to writing fiction, you also work as a playwright. Tell us about your work for the stage:Oh, thanks for asking, Elena – Theatre has always been important to me and I majored in English/Drama at Brock and then Queens Universities, then got my B.Ed. from Queens with a specialist: “Artist in Community Education”, allowing me extra exposure and knowledge to teach the performing arts in underprivileged schools in 4 different countries.
Prior to that, I was a struggling actress – just messing about on small stages from the western United States through to Stratford, ON and in Leeds/Bradford, UK. Mostly getting paid to be “Rainbow the Clown” and “Cherie the (Chubby) French Maid” at parties with distinctly different age groups and intentions!
But though I was always small-stuff, I’m now proud to have two students currently working in UK film/television, and one musical theatre actress working off-Broadway in NYC (as well as a former drama student who is now a successful poet/lyricist in his own right!)
Two of my co-written shows have been produced: Off The Wall, with Phil Chester, in Leeds and Fanta-Seas, with R. Hodgson in Montana.
Julie and her grandmotherIn 2018 two of my songs were performed at the 150 Voices for 150 Years concert in New Brunswick. The 2nd edition (hardcover) of my only non-fiction, “How To Teach Drama To Kids” came out in Feb. 2020 and my full-length historical stage musical “Rough Notes” is currently in development, winning a 2022 Canada Council for the Arts grant of $20,000. to be professionally workshopped in October.
So with the debut novel and this, it’s been an incredibly busy year! I’m so excited to have some great performers coming in to our rural area for this, including an old uni friend of mine, who was a regular on Schitt’s Creek.
Rough Notes is on the new Canadian Musical Theatre Database or you can find more details on the musical’s site (click here). Because I love writing and promoting culturally-diverse characters, often from marginalized communities, I’m sharing this article which just came out this week. It talks about the characters in Just A STILL LIFE as well as in Rough Notes:
We are both horse people. Tell readers about your long history with horses:
Harvest GoldI’ve always had 4 passions – writing/reading, horses, trying to protect wildlife, and theatre.
From the time I was 10 until my mid-40s when my disability (spondylolisthesis as well as crippled ankles and knees from too many falls) caught up with me, I’ve ridden and coached. I became an internationally certified instructor of both disabled and able-bodied students and took some of them (and some superb rescue horses!) to the Junior Olympic/Young Rider levels of eventing, or horse trials.
I loved the huge challenge of teaching and competing myself in all three disciplines – dressage, cross-country and show-jumping. You had to be good at all 3, and when competing it was just you and your partner, your horse, trying to better your scores from last time. That’s the only kind of competing I’ve ever liked.
My first husband and I ran a riding stable for a decade in the Ottawa Valley, called Goldcreek Farm, so named because many of our mounts – and then almost every animal we owned, even in the petting farm! – had either a gold colour, or gold names, or both. “Go for Gold!”, that was our motto, naturally. That’s why I noticed you had a palomino, Elena; I’ve been in love with them since I had Circle X Ranch as a kid!
Me too! I do love a beautiful palomino!
Oliver!I have written a full-length creative non-fiction about that time period at Goldcreek, called “Green Broke”.
One of the chapters in it, about having an argument with Princess Anne’s husband Mark Phillips, was turned into the short story “Iron Bone” which appears in the anthology Nothing Without Us.
I always felt ‘broken’/run-down/feeble… and that’s why I loved saving rescue animals and giving them a second chance as well. That buckskin in the photo, Harvest Gold, was bought cheap from a dealer. He was next to be put on the meat truck. And after some retraining, Harvey took me to the provincial championships and some of my students rode him in their exams to become certified riding instructors themselves!
It’s a good life message for all of us, I think. Very symbolic.
What are you working on now?I just finished the sequel/prequel to Just A STILL LIFE, called Just A STALE MATE. It’s been with a few Beta-readers and is currently in a stack on my publisher’s desk, but I’ve been told it’s more sophisticated than this first one – less murders, but harder to pick up on clues, or to figure out the motive/murderer. It also has some chapters that include therapeutic riding, or riding for the disabled, in this one. And my musical Rough Notes, which I’m constantly revising and working on in some way, is about the literary arts as well as protecting the environment. So you see – I’m always going back to those 4 passions I had even as a young kid!
Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers:Simple. Never, ever, ever give up. Do the suggested edits, cry over the rejections, try new tactics and ideas, put it all aside (for decades if you have to, like me!) But don’t give up. My grandmother only tried the one time to get published. I’ve done the opposite – tried 7 manuscripts and 54 short stories, poems and plays, in and out of circulation with agents and publishers, for over 40 years. And yeah, just this year – my debut novel.
Great advice! And congratulations on the debut (and all your other projects)!Author Pet Corner!
Dixie!Dixie: Julie’s rescue pup/she found her when she was 4 months old and she lived until age 12.
She was the best dog in the known universe.
J. Ivanel Johnson
Ivanel Johnson is the pen name for a disabled author who now lives in the Appalachians of New Brunswick, where she and her husband and mother try to manage self-sufficiently on their small farm overlooking inspirational views of nature. Striving always to write about marginalized and culturally-diverse characters, many based on people from the First Nation reservations or inner cities where she has taught, her imagination nonetheless has most soared whilst living “Out and Up” – previously in the highlands of Scotland, the moors of Yorkshire, and the Rockies of Montana and the Yukon.
Her nom de plume originates with her paternal grandmother, “Victoria Ivanel Johnson”, who wrote novels her entire life – mostly romantic mysteries — but only tried once to get published and when she was told to add more ‘boudoir scenes’, she vowed to write only for herself and her family from that point on.
She began drafting “Prison Is A Private Place” in 1947. As she lay dying in 1992, her granddaughter vowed to her that she would write and revise it until it was updated and publishable. That has taken another 30 years and thus — 75 years after it was first conceived, it is today published as Just A STILL LIFE. And, quite by coincidence, it is being released on the author’s grandmother’s birthday.
Elena Taylor/Elena HartwellAll We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio.
Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020
Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020
The Foundation of Plot, a Wait, Wait, Don’t Query (Yet!) guidebook.
Header image from Pexels on Pixabay
The post Just a STILL LIFE: Mystery Debut appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
The Counterfeit Wife: Historical Mystery
The Counterfeit Wife: A Revolutionary War Mystery by Mally Becker
Spotlight + Book & Author Info + Excerpt + Giveaway!Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.The Counterfeit WifePhiladelphia, June 1780. George Washington’s two least likely spies return, masquerading as husband and wife as they search for traitors in Philadelphia.Months have passed since young widow Becca Parcell and former printer Daniel Alloway foiled a plot that threatened the new nation. But independence is still a distant dream, and General Washington can’t afford more unrest, not with food prices rising daily and the value of money falling just as fast.
At the General’s request, Becca and Daniel travel to Philadelphia to track down traitors who are flooding the city with counterfeit money. Searching for clues, Becca befriends the wealthiest women in town, the members of the Ladies Association of Philadelphia, while Daniel seeks information from the city’s printers.
But their straightforward mission quickly grows personal and deadly as a half-remembered woman from Becca’s childhood is arrested for murdering one of the suspected counterfeiters.
With time running out – and their faux marriage breaking apart – Becca and Daniel find themselves searching for a hate-driven villain who’s ready to kill again.
Genre: Historical Mystery
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: September 2022
Number of Pages: 300
ISBN: 9781685121587
Series: A Revolutionary War Mystery
Heat rose from Rebecca Parcell’s chest, climbed her neck, and stamped a flush on her cheeks. She knew what would happen next. It was time for the toasts.
“Steady now,” Daniel Alloway whispered. They stood alone in a corner of the crowded ballroom. His good hand brushed hers for reassurance. His other hand hung at his side, deadened by the injury he’d incurred escaping from a British prison ship a year ago.
Becca scanned the room to assure herself that no one watched them. Even his light touch was frowned upon by polite society, but it brought her warmth and comfort.
Their host rapped an ornate silver fork against his crystal goblet again and waited for the magpie chatter of gossip to quiet. He stood by the large fireplace, his feet planted wide as if he were standing on the deck of one of his ships. Mr. Thaddeus Barnes was the wealthiest merchant in Philadelphia, which meant, she knew, that he was one of the richest men in all of North America.
Becca had rarely seen luxury like this, not even last winter in New York City. The ceiling dripped curved garlands of flowers carved of plaster. Blue and white vases from China rested on the carved marble mantel. Cherry wood tables hailed from France, and the glass chandelier from Venice.
“I’d be much more comfortable with a bow in my hand,” Becca murmured. “Or a knife. A knife would do.”
“You’d rather hunt in Morristown than here?” Daniel smiled, his green eyes filled with amusement. The gaunt, haunted look he wore when she met him last winter was gone. But his features still seemed to be carved from stone, all hard angles and shadows. Except when he smiled at her like this.
Despite being tall, Becca had to tilt her chin up to see eye-to-eye with Daniel. “Hunting here will do.” she said, sounding more prim than she intended, and Daniel laughed. “Even this type of hunting.”
They were in Philadelphia, searching for the counterfeiters flooding the colony with fake money. They were the obvious, though unconventional, pair for the job, General Washington had said when he assigned them. Daniel because he was a former printer with the skills to evaluate ink and paper and Becca for her talent with numbers, accounts, and codes, which had already served the general well.
The clink-clink of metal on glass rang through the air again, and Mr. Barnes’s guests finally quieted. “A toast,” he called, beginning the first of the three he would raise to Becca and Daniel. It was the same at each of the parties held in their honor these past few weeks. Always three. Becca dreaded the third. “To independence.”
Becca lifted her goblet and sipped to a chorus of “huzzahs.” One, she counted to herself, because counting was soothing but not soothing enough for what was to come.
When the cheers faded, Mr. Barnes raised his glass again. The wine-filled cup glimmered red beneath the crystal candelabras. “To General Washington.”
“Huzzah!” The ballroom cheered again. Two, Becca counted.
She should be grateful to Mr. Barnes, not gritting her teeth over his toasts. He had opened his home to them at the Washingtons’s request, and he was introducing them to the finest families in Philadelphia, who were happy to welcome two friends of General and Lady Washington.
At least that much was true. Since last February, she and Daniel had become regular visitors to the Washingtons’ residence in Morristown after uncovering a plot that threatened the new nation.
Another round of cheers. Some guests made the mistake of lowering their glasses.
“And…” Mr. Barnes crowed.
A man with ginger-colored hair lounging by the doorway sighed loudly, catching her eye.
Becca couldn’t have agreed more.
The stranger gave her a slow, lazy smile. His expression was almost intimate, as if he were trying to draw her in. She turned away quickly.
“Finally…” Mr. Barnes added.
Becca took a deep breath, inhaling the warm scent of beeswax candles.
“…let us wish the newlyweds a joyous and productive marriage.” Mr. Barnes, a long-time widower, winked at Daniel. “May your hearts ever be at each other’s service.”
The cream of Philadelphia society turned in unison to Becca and Daniel.
She dropped her gaze to avoid the stares.
“A delicate flower, you are,” Daniel whispered without moving his lips.
She banged his ribs with her elbow and heard a satisfying oomph.
Anyone watching her redden and look away at the mention of their marriage might indeed take it that she was a shy, delicate flower. This was false.
She was not shy.
She was not delicate.
And, more to the point, she and Daniel were not married.
Mr. Barnes nodded to a double-chinned musician in the corner dressed in maroon breeches and a matching silk coat. At the signal, he tucked his violin into his neck, lifted a bow, and attacked his instrument. Two men laughed at something a third said. A few women formed a group and chatted, and the high-ceilinged room filled again with noise.
Barnes knew the reason they were in Philadelphia. General Washington had trusted him with that information. But their host believed that Becca and Daniel were wed. This way, Mr. Barnes could rightfully claim to be as outraged as everyone else if their deceit came to light.
Memory pulled Becca back to a dinner with the Washingtons in Morristown. “Perhaps this is unwise.” The general voiced a rare doubt after they agreed to come to Philadelphia. “You are unmarried and unchaperoned. It is scandalous. Society will close ranks against you. You’ll learn nothing.”
Lady Washington had taken a small sip of sherry. Her blue eyes lit with humor. “Then they must appear to be married while maintaining all the proprieties.”
The general made a choking sound that Becca and Daniel decided later was laughter. And so they’d agreed to play the part of a newly married couple, with Daniel looking for a new business opportunity in Philadelphia. It was a brazen plan but might just succeed.
Becca startled. The ginger-haired gentleman suddenly stood before her.
He extended a silk-clad leg and bowed, then rose, displaying the same secret smile that made her uncomfortable minutes ago. His nose was straight, his eyelashes pale against close-set blue eyes. Perhaps his chin was a bit heavy, his mouth a bit small. His features were not memorable, but something about him commanded attention.
It wasn’t just his shock of red hair combed back neatly and tied low along the back of his neck, nor the well-made clothes of ivory silk and gold embroidery. Everyone in the room bore similar signs of wealth. It was the confidence with which he moved, the sense that his regard flattered anyone upon whom it was bestowed.
“You’ve kept her from me, Alloway. I thought I knew all the beautiful women in Philadelphia.” His eyes locked on Becca’s.
She stiffened. It took discipline not to raise her hand and double check that the lace covering the top of her breasts was in place. He made her feel naked.
Daniel stiffened, too. “Mrs. Alloway, may I introduce Mr. Edmund Taylor, another merchant here in Philadelphia.”
Taylor’s light eyebrows shot up in mock distress. “Just another merchant? One of the most successful in the colonies, despite the war.” His gaze dropped to Daniel’s injured hand.
“And is your wife here, too?” Daniel bit down on the words, “your wife.”
Irritation crossed Taylor’s face so quickly Becca thought she imagined it. “My dear,” he called loudly.
A woman standing near the fireplace tensed, then moved toward them with the elegance of a swan. Her hair was honey blond, her skin unblemished, and her eyes a liquid blue. She stopped before them, wearing a tentative smile.
“I’m honored to present my wife, Charlotte Taylor.” He completed the introductions.
“It is a pleasure. I hope you enjoy our city.” Her voice was breathy and slow. There was a stillness about her, as if she had her own secrets to guard.
“I am enjoying it.” From downstairs, Becca heard the butler’s placating voice, then a woman’s shrill, demanding response.
Moments later, Mr. Barnes’s butler, Eli, slipped into the room.
Heads turned to the butler with a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise.
He whispered to Mr. Barnes, who nodded.
Then Eli strode toward them. He cupped his hand over his mouth and leaned toward Mr. Taylor.
“Begging your pardon, sir. There’s a woman at the front door. She says she’s yours, and that she must see you now.”
Becca couldn’t help but overhear. She says she’s yours. The woman at the door must be enslaved. Neither her dead husband nor father had owned slaves. But even she knew that enslaved people did not enter by the front door.
Color leeched from Taylor’s face.
“I will see her.” Mrs. Taylor swept from the room without waiting for her husband’s response.
“How do you find Philadelphia, Mrs. Alloway? Your husband says that this is your first visit,” another guest, who had turned to them at the servant’s approach, asked to mask the embarrassment of the moment.
When Becca didn’t answer, Daniel elbowed her gently. “Yes, Mrs. Alloway. How do you find Philadelphia?”
She really must do a better job responding to her married name. “People have been kind here. I hardly expected it.”
Mr. Barnes joined them, interrupting, “How goes your business, Taylor?”
“We don’t want to bore the ladies.” Taylor glanced at Becca.
“Please, don’t stop on my account. I comprehend so little, but hearing you speak of business never bores me.” Becca would have fluttered her eyelashes if she were the sort of woman who could manage it without appearing to have caught a speck of dirt in her eye.
She pasted a pleasant far-away expression on her face. Men spoke of business and politics as if she couldn’t understand a word, as if she didn’t listen and pass anything of interest back to General Washington. She took a small sip of the straw-colored dry sherry.
“Are you paying your investors in silver or paper these days?” Barnes asked.
Becca admired his playacting. Daniel and their host had rehearsed their lines. They asked the same questions at each party.
Taylor glared. “Sterling, of course. What are you accusing me of?”
Becca slowly lowered her glass. Taylor was the first to interpret the query as an accusation. An accusation of what? Having less silver than a man of his stature should? Or of passing along fake dollar notes?
Barnes nodded to Taylor. “No offense intended. I started seeing badly printed dollar notes again this spring. Merely asking whether you’re being cautious about paper dollars these days, given the situation.”
Taylor nodded curtly.
By now, five men had formed a tight ring as if warming themselves round a campfire. Becca stood just outside their circle.
Another of the merchants stepped up. “I thought I was the only one who noticed the forgeries.”
Daniel feigned surprise. “Has that been a problem here?”
“The British—damn them. They’re printing false money and spreading it as fast as they can,” one of the men said.
“There are worse problems, surely,” Daniel said.
“Ah, a young man who believes war is only about battles,” another guest drawled with feigned pity.
The others chuckled.
“If not winning battles, then what?” Daniel smiled, but the skin around his eyes tightened. He’s offended by the condescending tone, Becca thought.
“The counterfeits will set this country ablaze.” Barnes sputtered. “There have been food riots already. The poor are starving, and they can’t afford bread. How soon until people seek another king, another tyrant who swears that only he can save them?”
“When no one can tell whether money is real, the price of bread goes up, and everyone—everyone—turns against the government,” another man added. He looked to the group for support.
Becca studied them, shaken. She had thought of this trip as a lark, a way to spend more time with Daniel while unraveling a simple puzzle for General Washington.
Daniel bowed to Mr. Barnes. “It does sound terrible. My apologies.” He turned to Taylor. “And what do you think of all this, sir?”
Taylor shrugged. “Mr. Barnes is right. The economy is undone. I’d look to the traitors’ wives first. I wouldn’t put counterfeiting past them.”
“Who are the traitors’ wives?” Becca asked, catching Taylor’s attempt at redirection.
The men turned to her in surprise.
Oh bullocks. “Traitors? I don’t see any traitors at this party. Mr. Barnes wouldn’t allow it.” There. That sounded more like the simple, oblivious young woman they expected her to be.
Taylor and the others chuckled indulgently. “Nothing for you to worry about, Mrs. Alloway. Our apologies.”
“Do you know something specifically about these women, or are you trading in rumors?” Daniel’s voice was soft, but the challenge was clear. Neither he nor Becca cared for baseless rumors, not after gossip had almost ruined her life last winter.
“My husband’s passions sometimes lead him astray.” Charlotte Taylor had returned. “There are times that he causes harm when it is least intended.”
The husband and wife stared at each other from across the small circle of guests. He looked away first.
Mally Becker — Author of The Counterfeit WifeMally Becker combines her love of history and crime fiction in mysteries that feature strong, independent heroines. She is the Agatha Award-nominated author of The Turncoat’s Widow, which Kirkus Reviews called, “A compelling tale… with charming main characters.” Her first novel was also named a Silver Falchion finalist and a CIBA “Mystery & Mayhem” finalist.
A member of the board of MWA-NY, Mally was an attorney until becoming a full-time writer and an instructor at The Writers Circle Workshops. She is also a member of Sisters in Crime and the Historical Novel Society. Mally and her husband live in New Jersey, where they raised their wonderful son and spend as much time as they can hiking and kayaking.
To learn more about Mally, click on any of the following links: www.MallyBecker.com, Goodreads, BookBub – @mallybecker, Instagram – @mallybeckerwrites, Twitter – @mally_becker & Facebook – @mallybeckerauthorVisit all the Stops on the Tour!
09/19 Showcase @ BOOK REVIEWS by LINDA MOORE
09/20 Guest post @ The Mystery Section
09/21 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
09/26 Review @ Paws. Read. Repeat
09/27 Showcase @ Nesies Place
09/30 Guest post @ The Book Divas Reads
10/03 Showcase @ Im All About Books
10/04 Interview @ Cozy Up With Kathy
10/05 Showcase @ The Authors Harbor
10/06 Showcase @ Celticladys Reviews
10/07 Review @ Cozy Up With Kathy
10/08 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
10/11 Interview @ I Read What You Write
10/11 Showcase @ Brooke Blogs
10/12 Interview @ Urban Book Reviews
10/13 Review @ A Room Without Books is Empty
10/14 Review @ The Page Ladies
10/20 Review @ The Book Connection
10/25 Review @ Urban Book Reviews
10/26 Review @ Avonna Loves Genres
All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio.
Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020
Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020
The Foundation of Plot, a Wait, Wait, Don’t Query (Yet!) guidebook.
The post The Counterfeit Wife: Historical Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
September 14, 2022
Buttercream Betrayal: New Cozy
Buttercream Betrayal the latest Cupcake Catering Mystery by Kim Davis[image error]
Spotlight + Book & Author Info + Rafflecopter Giveaway!Don’t miss any blog tour posts. Click the link here.Buttercream Betrayal
Intent on getting their two mischievous dogs under control, Emory Martinez and her half sister, Vannie, join a group dog training program led by Shawn Parker. With a graduation certificate just within grasp and a party to celebrate their hard-won achievements, what could go wrong?
For starters, their two dogs have decided to wreak havoc during the party and tempers flare. It turns out not everyone is pleased with the dog trainer and his mother, the condo association president. Whispers of the mother and son’s misbehavior, or worse, fly amongst the barks, whines, and growls of the canines.
Buttercream Betrayal (Cupcake Catering Mystery Series)
Cozy Mystery
5th in Series
Setting – California
Cinnamon & Sugar Press (September 13, 2022)
Number of Pages: approx. 300
Digital ASIN : B0B8BTDZ1H
Kim Davis lives in Southern California with her husband. When she’s not chasing her puppy or spending time with her granddaughters she can be found either writing stories or working on her blog, Cinnamon, Sugar, and a Little Bit of Murder or in the kitchen baking up yummy treats.
She has published the suspense novel, A GAME OF DECEIT, the Cupcake Catering Mystery series, and the Aromatherapy Mystery series. She also has had several children’s articles published in Cricket, Nature Friend, Skipping Stones, and the Seed of Truth magazines.
Kim Davis is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime.
To learn more about Kim, click on any of the following links: Website, Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads & PinterestVisit all the Stops on the Tour!
September 13 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW
September 13 – Lisa Ks Book Reviews – CHARACTER GUEST POST
September 13 – Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
September 14 – Maureen’s Musings – SPOTLIGHT
September 14 – The Mystery of Writing – SPOTLIGHT
September 14 – I’m All About Books – SPOTLIGHT
September 15 – Carstairs Considers – REVIEW
September 15 – #BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog – SPOTLIGHT
September 15 – Reading Is My SuperPower – REVIEW
September 16 – Christy’s Cozy Corners – AUTHOR GUEST POST
September 16 – Baroness Book Trove – SPOTLIGHT
September 16 – MJB Reviewers – REVIEW
September 16 – I Read What You Write – SPOTLIGHT
September 16 – Hearts & Scribbles – SPOTLIGHT
September 17 – Books a Plenty Book Reviews – REVIEW
September 17 – StoreyBook Reviews – REVIEW
September 17 – Brooke Blogs – SPOTLIGHT
September 18 – The Mystery Section – SPOTLIGHT
September 18 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT
September 18 – My Reading Journeys – SPOTLIGHT
September 19 – Celticlady’s Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
September 19 – Sneaky the Library Cat’s Blog – CHARACTER INTERVIEW
September 20 – Literary Gold – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
September 20 – BookishKelly2020 – SPOTLIGHT
Elena Taylor/Elena HartwellAll We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio.
Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020
Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020
The Foundation of Plot, a Wait, Wait, Don’t Query (Yet!) guidebook.
The post Buttercream Betrayal: New Cozy appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
September 11, 2022
To Catch the Setting Sun: Crime Fiction
To Catch the Setting Sun, the latest thriller by Richard I Levine
Spotlight + Excerpt + Book & Author InfoDon’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.To Catch the Setting Sun
There’s a killer loose on the island of Oahu. His targets? Young, native-Hawaiian women. But it also appears that he’s targeting and taunting Honolulu police detective Henry Benjamin who knew each victim and whose wife, Maya, had been the first name on that list.
In addition to battling his personal demons, this New York transplant’s aggressive style didn’t sit well with his laid-back colleagues who viewed Henry’s uncharacteristic lack of progress in the investigation as evidence that fueled ongoing rumors that he could be the killer. Was he, or could it have been someone within the municipal hierarchy with a vendetta?
As it was, after thirteen years on the job Henry had been disillusioned with paradise. His career choice long killed any fantasy of living in a grass hut on a wind-swept beach, being serenaded by the lazy sounds of the ocean and a slack key guitar. Instead, it had opened his eyes to a Hawaii that tourists will never see.
To purchase To Catch the Setting Sun, click on any of the following links: Amazon | GoodreadsGenre: Suspense, Thriller
Published by: The Wild Rose Press
Publication Date: August 22nd 2022
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 1509243305 (ISBN13: 9781509243303)
When the rock is lifted, the light pours in and
the vermin will scurry in panic.
They always do.
The ancestors still come to me in my dreams to caution that these parasites are as unrepentant and just as predictable
as they have always been.
Yet we must not become complacent. Vigilance is the key
or we fall victim to their treachery.
We are close, we are almost there.
Each new day peels away another layer of the façade. No different than me,
you too can feel the winds of change.
So, take my hand and walk this path with me. Open your eyes and see it as I do.
When we stand tall, strong, and together,
we will weather any storm.
I take comfort in knowing you also know
the day will be soon that the clouds will part,
and our hands will once again be free
to catch the setting sun.
The reflection from scattered tiki torches competed with the moonlight flickering off the rhythmic ripples rolling across the black velvet lagoon. Gentle trade winds, carrying the sweet peach-like scent of plumeria, teased the palm fronds as easily as they tickled the torch lights—clearly a welcomed reprieve from five straight days of stifling temperatures. A catamaran and a couple of small outrigger canoes, their artfully painted fiberglass hulls made to look like the wood of ancient Koa trees, were pulled up along the sandy shoreline. The heavy beat of drums reverberated off the tall palms and set the tempo for a half-dozen pair of grass-skirted hips dancing on the main stage while vacationers laughed, ogled, and stuffed their faces with shredded pork, scoops of lomi salmon, steaming flavored rice wrapped in Ti leaves, thick juicy slices of pineapple, papaya, mango, and freshly roasted macadamia nuts that were all artfully displayed on wide banana-leaf- covered centerpieces.
They sat cross-legged in the sand, sipping mai tais from plastic cups made to look like hollowed-out coconut shells, lost in a tropical fantasy that came complete with a souvenir snapshot taken with an authentic hula girl—the perfect paradise as portrayed on the website. The noise from the music, chanting, and laughter drowned out the frantic noise of the nearby kitchen, and it drowned out the desperate pleas and painful cries of Makani Palahia from the far side of the beach at Auntie Lily’s Luau Cove and Hawaiian Barbecue.
***
The hardened steel of the polished blade sparkled when slowly turned a mere few degrees from left to right, back and forth, as if part of an ancient ritual. Makani’s teeth clinched against the foul-tasting cloth that had been forced into her mouth and tied tight behind her head, each time the knife circled back toward her face, each time passing closer, each time pausing for effect. When rested alongside her cheek, she arched as far as her restraints would allow—the plastic zip ties cutting deeper into her wrists. She let out a muffled cry, begging for the whole ordeal to stop. A sadistic laugh from the shadows made her pray to Jesus for the long-lost comfort of her mother—a comfort stolen by the alcohol and drugs that flowed through West Oahu as easily as the tides that washed away the sandcastles from its beaches.
To watch her struggle not to gag as her eyes pleaded for freedom fueled an adrenaline rush that fed the flames of her assailant— strong and powerful now, like a sovereign over all that was to be ruled and judged. The blade was pulled from Makani’s golden-brown skin long enough for her back muscles and her bladder to relax, only to make her arch and plead again when it was returned to her tear-stained cheek.
“This is on you, Princess! Brought this on yourself, yeah? It’s a shame, too, because you’re so young and pretty. Of all the others, you’re the one who looks the most like royalty. The ancients would’ve been proud of you. But they’re not, are they? No, they’re not, and you know they’re not. You’ve disappointed all of us with so many of your sins. Are you ready to confess?”
She struggled to reply, but the rag pressed hard on her tongue.
“What’s that? You say something? You look like you got something to say.”
A faceless phantom-like figure stood tall above her, causing her to squint from the intermittent sparkle of what she thought was a pendant. Makani nodded while she strained to make out the image that seemed so familiar to her.
“I’ll loosen the bandana, but I warn you right now, if you scream…” She saw the knife dance again. “But let’s not think about that, okay? We calmly talk story a little, yeah?”
Again, she nodded, almost afraid to speak now that her lips could move freely. A rush of fresh air filled her mouth and intensified the pungent taste that covered her tongue. Her stomach muscles tightened as she gagged.
“P-please, let me go. I d-don’t know you. I don’t know what you want from me.”
“Let you go? I think, I think maybe after you confess. I think maybe I can let you go after we finish our business, yeah?”
“C-confess? What business? Who are you? What d-do you want from me? Why are you d-doing this to me?”
“Why am I doing? I didn’t pick you, Princess. You made that choice. You made that choice when you picked him and rejected our own.”
“P-picked who? Reject you? I d-don’t even know you. How did I…”
“You judged us!” A heavy hand landed across her mouth. “You judged me and our bruddahs and sistas when you chose an outsider. Judge not, lest ye be judged, and today is…today is your judgment day.”
***
Reece Valentine had a hard time keeping his eyes off the third girl from the left—diverting his attention long enough to down another piña colada or attempt to calm the concerns of his fiancée that he wasn’t going to run off into the bush with a native girl. But that didn’t stop him from enjoying the fantasy. With constricted pupils locked onto toned abdominal muscles gyrating within grabbing distance of his imagination, he laughed at the memory of frat house Polynesian-style parties that never came close to the evening’s entertainment.
“Reece, stop staring. It’s embarrassing.”
“Come on, Jules, I’m trying to enjoy the show. We’re on vakay. Where’s your island spirit?”
“I’m trying to enjoy the show, but that’s your fifth drink since the luau started, and you’re beginning to put on a little show of your own. At least stop howling at those girls. People are starting to look at you.”
“Jules, please. I’m just having some fun. It’s not every day we get to enjoy something like this, is it? Seriously, when was the last time we saw a show like this back in Portland?”
“Look, I’m not trying be all salty, but when you ran up on stage to do the hula, did you have to grab that dancer’s waist? And the way you started rubbing on her…geez!”
“Okay, now you’re exaggerating.” He grabbed her and nuzzled her neck.
“Really?”
“It was part of the dance.”
“Okay, so when the male dancers come out and I go running up there, are you going to get mad when I start rubbing myself all over those well-oiled muscular bodies?” She smiled.
“Now you’re the one being silly. Have another drink and chill.”
“Chill? You want me to chill? I think I’ll go for a swim…a naked swim.” She got up and raced down the beach toward the far end of the lagoon.
After a brief moment, as well as a few envious looks from other revelers, Reece went after her.
“Jules! Julie, wait up!” he called, but the alcohol had hindered his ability to maintain a steady balance over the soft uneven contours of the sand. When he fell, he scraped his knee on a piece of coral buried just below the surface. “Damn it! Jules, wait up. I just…damn, I just cut myself.”
Halfway between the luau and the end of the lagoon, about thirty yards from a thicket of Kiawe bushes, she turned to see him sitting on the beach, nursing his knee, and quite possibly his ego. Julie Chow started to head back when she heard some rustling and what she thought was a grunting sound coming from the direction of the bushes. She stopped to listen, only to hear Reece call out again. She tried to listen once more but heard nothing.
“Jules! Come back.”
“Why don’t you come over here,” she said and took several steps toward the bushes. “It’s dark and deserted down this way.”
“I hurt myself. Come help me.”
With a few glances over her shoulder, she slowly made her way back.
“Serves you right. I think the ancient Hawaiian gods were punishing you just now because of your disrespectful thoughts about one of their daughters.”
“Stop it, will you? My knee is killing me.”
“Such a baby!” she teased. “I’m surprised you can feel anything with all that native juice in you.”
“Stop scolding and come help me,” he begged. She came close enough for him to grab her arm and pull her down to join him on the sand.
“You’re not hurt that bad, you faker!”
“I know, but I had to do something. I couldn’t catch up to you.” He laughed.
“Because you’re drunk, and when you get drunk, you’re horny as hell.”
“You can say that again.”
“I’m being serious.”
“Listen, I got carried away, and I’m sorry. But you’re right, Jules, I’m horny as hell, and you know I’m not interested in anyone other than you.” He leaned in for a kiss, but she pulled away at the last moment. “Hey!”
“There’s a lot of bushes down there.” She pointed. “Wanna go fool around?”
“What? Get naked here on the beach in the middle of a luau? There’s tons of people here.”
“It’s dark. There’s bushes. No one will see us. No one will hear us. Come on, you afraid?”
“They won’t see us, but they’ll definitely hear us.”
“You mean they’ll hear you. I’ll have you screaming so loud they’ll think you’re being murdered.” She jumped on top of him, and they passionately kissed in a long embrace.
“I’ve got a better idea.” He pushed back to catch his breath. “Let’s go back to the hotel, and I’ll show you what going native is all about.”
“And give up a chance to get my hands on all those sweaty, muscular Hawaiian men? Race you.” She took off back to the festivities with Reece in hot pursuit.
***
Makani gagged at the smell of the dirty hand that covered her face—removed only when the couple from the luau got far enough away from the thicket.
“That wouldn’t have ended well for those tourists. Too bad. Would’ve made the night a little more interesting. So, where were we? Oh yes, about your choice, Princess.”
“I d-don’t know what you’re talking about. What ch-choice did I make?”
“You are one very pretty wahine, a very pretty woman, you know that? Yeah, you know you so nani, so beautiful, don’t you? I’ll bet you tease men to get things you want, yeah?”
“If you’re g-going, if you’re going to rape me, then j-just do it already. Just do it and g-get it over with. I won’t tell anyone. Just do it and, and let me go. Please? Please, just let me go.”
Save for the low sadistic laugh she had heard before, there was no immediate reply. Her breathing, fast and shallow now, seemed to make the few stars that had been visible through the branches spin wildly and caused her hands, legs, and feet to feel cold—making the hand that inched its way down the outer portion of her thigh feel uncomfortably warm.
For her tormentor, however, there was pleasure in feeling the gentle contours of muscles toned from many hours of hula as rough callused fingers crept over her thigh, past the knee, and down to her ankle. A brief pause to take in the tremble that was felt moving like a wave through her body, watching her lips press together, and her eyes squeeze tight, elicited a child-like giddiness that had long been forgotten.
Makani tightened again from the sandpaper texture of a tongue across her cheek and a heavy breath in her ear. She realized the warm antiseptic scent now lingering on her face was the smell of whiskey. The hand with jagged fingernails carved a return path up the inside of her leg to her knee, then slowed while continuing up the inner portion of her thigh—teasing, threatening. She cried a little harder.
“Did that hurt, Princess? Take it from me, a true warrior princess doesn’t cry. She’s strong, very strong, and she likes it rough.”
“Please, don’t…”
“What, make love to you? You make me laugh. I’d never soil myself on a sinner.”
She felt the grip tighten around her upper thigh, and in equal response her athletic body tightened just as much.
“I like this. I like how your legs feel. So smooth, so soft. I like how they feel in my hands. It’s so…comforting. I bet the boys like touching them too, yeah? I bet you’d really like me to do more, don’t you? I can tell the thought excites you. I bet you didn’t expect my hands to be this strong and powerful, yeah? Do you feel how strong my hands are? It makes me feel so powerful to hold you like this.”
A low-pitched hiss, then a crackled voice momentarily interrupted. “Central to Detective eight- one.”
“You almost tricked me, Princess!” The anger was as sudden and sharp as the sting she felt from the three- inch welt created when those hands were quickly withdrawn. “You almost tricked me. You were trying to confuse me. Deceitful women like you do that all the time, but I know better.” Again, the blade came into view. “You tried to tempt me with your makeup. I bet you do it to make yourself look young and innocent. But we both know better, don’t we? You tried to deceive me, but you’re not innocent, not innocent at all. You do it special for him, don’t you? Yes, I think you did it to please him. You make me angry. You make the ancestors angry.”
“I d-don’t know what you’re t-talking about. I don’t have a boyfr—”
“Liar!” The voice rose, triggering a shooting glance through the branches, down the beach toward the festivities, afraid they might have been heard. “Don’t make me gag you.”
Again, a radio transmission crackled. “Central to Detective eight-one, do you copy?”
“Who are you?” she asked, again getting a glimpse of the pendant, focusing on the letters H O N O L U L U across its face. She realized it wasn’t a piece of jewelry, but a badge. She tried to narrow her focus— her tears making it difficult to read the number. The radio crackled again.
“Lieutenant Kim to central dispatch, be advised eight-one’s radio hasn’t been working properly. You can reach him on his cell.”
She strained to see the face hidden in the darkness, the voice now mocking the radio call.
“Central to Detective eight-one. Where are you, eight-one? Come save the day, eight-one.”
“Dispatch to Kim, copy that, Lieutenant,” came the static-filled reply.
“I d-don’t know you. I don’t know you at all. I don’t kn-know what you’re talking about. Are you HPD? What do you want from me?”
“You know me,” came the whisper, this time placing the sharp edge of the blade across her costume, cutting just enough material on her shoulder to expose her breasts. “Very pretty.”
“You said you were g-going to let me go. I should be d-dancing at the show. I should be there. They’re going to m-miss me. They’re g-going to come looking for me.”
“Nobody’s going to come looking for you, Princess, nobody.”
The blade methodically moved across her flesh— circling, teasing, drawing blood from a shallow incision across her shoulder. At first Makani felt the sting before the warmth of liquid snaked into the creases of her underarm. Her tears flowed freely now. Adding one more indignity to her suffering, the grass skirt she had always worn with pride was ripped aside, and one more time the knife came to rest across her cheek.
“You know who I am, and you know exactly why we’re here. We all must face judgment for our sins.”
“I don’t know….” She stopped mid-sentence—a dirty index finger pressed to her mouth. She gagged at the vile taste—a cross between a lack of hygiene and her own urine. The finger was forced farther into her mouth and pressed against her tongue. She reflexively bit down, drawing blood and a painful slap to her face. “I don’t know you,” she cried out. “Why are you doing this? P-please let me go! I won’t say anything. I won’t t-tell anyone, I promise!”
“Let you go?” came the angered reply. A vise-like grip squeezed her cheeks, preventing her from speaking. “Not now, damn you! Not after you bit me! Not after you refuse to confess your sins. Do you see how you’ve forced my hand? Now you have to be purified.” Again, her face was slapped.
“I’m sorry, I am. I didn’t mean to bite you. Please? I won’t tell anyone, I promise.” Her eyes, blurred from tears, tried to follow the figure as it moved about— finally catching a glimpse of a face lit by the glow of a freshly lit cigarette. “Oh my God!” She was repulsed at the sight, gagging as the bandana was forced back into her mouth—arching, straining, and kicking against the nylon cable ties when the cigarette was moved closer to the side of her face.
“I know you don’t understand. Nobody does anymore, and that’s the problem. In the old days the people needed to make their peace with the gods so they could be blessed and have a harvest, take fish from the sea, and be protected from evil, from the night marchers, from Pele. Those gods and the ancestors are deeply saddened how our way of life, our history, our culture, and our future have all been dishonored. You, and others like you, have dishonored all of us by mixing pure blood, and there’s only one way for you to be forgiven. You will serve as a message, a warning to others. And with your purification, with your sacrifice, the gods and the ancestors will grant you redemption.”
Makani’s heartbeat pounded in her chest and in her head, making the drums, the laughter, and the applause for the fire-eaters disappear. And just as another cold stinging slice was surgically carved across her throat, she thought she heard her killer recite an ancient prayer while she watched the flickering lights of the luau fade away.
Richard I. LevineRichard I Levine is a native New Yorker raised in the shadows of Yankee Stadium. After dabbling in several occupations and a one-year coast to coast wanderlust trip, this one-time volunteer fireman, bartender, and store manager returned to school to become a chiropractor. A twenty-one year cancer survivor, he’s a strong advocate for the natural healing arts. Levine has four Indy-published novels and his fifth work, To Catch The Setting Sun, has just been completed and he’s anticipating a spring 2022 release.
In 2006 he wrote, produced and was on-air personality of the Dr. Rich Levine show on Seattle’s KKNW 1150AM and after a twenty-five year practice in Bellevue, Washington, he closed up shop in 2017 and moved to Oahu to pursue a dream of acting and being on Hawaii 5-O.
While briefly working as a ghostwriter/community liaison for a local Honolulu City Councilmember, he appeared as a background actor in over twenty-five 5-Os and Magnum P.Is. Richard can be seen in his first co-star role in the Magnum P.I. third season episode “Easy Money”. He presently resides in Hawaii.
To learn more about Richard, click on any of the following links: Richard I Levine on Amazon, Goodreads, BookBub – @rlevinedc, Instagram – @rlevinedc, Twitter – @Your_In8_Power & Facebook – @RichardLevineAuthorVisit all the Stops on the Tour!
09/05 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
09/06 Interview @ Urban Book Reviews
09/07 Interview @ I Read What You Write
09/08 Showcase @ Celticladys Reviews
09/10 Showcase @ nanasbookreviews
09/12 Review @ Urban Book Reviews
09/14 Showcase @ 411 ON BOOKS, AUTHORS, AND PUBLISHING NEWS
09/19 Showcase @ Silvers Reviews
09/20 Showcase @ Nesies Place
09/24 Review @ Paws. Read. Repeat
09/26 Guest post @ Novels Alive
09/27 Review @ Guatemala Paula Loves to Read
09/28 Showcase @ The Authors Harbor
09/30 Review @ Jersey Girl Book Reviews
All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio.
Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020
Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020
The Foundation of Plot, a Wait, Wait, Don’t Query (Yet!) guidebook.
The post To Catch the Setting Sun: Crime Fiction appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
September 10, 2022
Forget Me by Debut Author Lisa Sherman
Forget Me by debut author Lisa Sherman
Author Interview + Book & Author InfoLove finding debut authors? Click the link here for more ITW Debut Author posts.Forget Me
How can you know who you really are if you can’t remember your past?
Wanda Dellas is living someone else’s life: that’s the sense she’s had since a mysterious accident robbed her of her long-term memory. Lost and barely scraping by, Wanda cleans offices at night in order to support her young daughter.
Then Wanda sees a news report about a presumed dead businesswoman, Claire Stanbrick. Bad enough that Claire bears an uncanny resemblance to Wanda. But it turns out Claire went missing around the same time as Wanda’s accident, too. Plus, she can’t shake the sense that Claire’s husband Jack, who’s serving time in prison for Claire’s murder, is innocent. And she’s beginning to develop feelings for him. But which feelings are real and which are just figments of her fractured memory?
Answers to the past often come at a price.
As Wanda learns more about Claire, she realizes Claire didn’t have the picture-perfect life Wanda imagined . . . a fact someone following her is determined to keep a secret. And the more Wanda discovers, the more she faces new dangers that threaten her life . . . or is it Claire’s?
To purchase Forget Me, click on any of the following links: eBook Amazon US, Apple Books, Barnes & Noble, Google Play & Kobo Books and print at Amazon US & Barnes & NobleInterview with Forget Me Author Lisa Sherman Forget Me plays with memory. What intrigued you about that as a topic to explore for your debut novel?To me, the way memory works is a fascinating mystery in and of itself. Then when we look at the link between memory and identity, the importance of memory becomes even more complex.
Much of the way we view ourselves and the world around us is influenced by our life experiences. If a person loses their long-term memory, most of those influences will likely be lost along with it. This idea raises the questions of how would a person ground themselves, know who they are, or how to respond to situations without the memory of their past experiences?
These questions intrigued me so much, I decided to write a book with a character suffering from this very situation.
Tell us about Wanda Dellas:Ahh, who is Wanda Dellas? That is one of the central questions of the novel.
Wanda is a woman who loses her memory in a mysterious accident. As a result, she feels lost and void of an identity. That is, until she hears the news story about a presumed dead, missing businesswoman named Claire Stanbrick who looks strikingly similar to Wanda.
This leads Wanda on a journey to find out not only who she really is, but whether she and Claire have more in common than just their looks.
Where does Forget Me take place? How does the environment play a role in the story?Forget Me takes place in both Chicago and the fictional river town of Vintage, Wisconsin. I picked these locations in part because I wanted to contrast the fast pace, and in some instances, the glamor of city life with the serenity of life near a beautiful river.
The river’s role is also to highlight the deceptiveness of the river’s calmness and to underscore the dangerous currents often roiling beneath the surface. As a result, the river in some ways symbolizes the theme of hidden danger that is woven throughout the novel.
You like to understand human motivations, what role does that interest play in your decision to write psychological thrillers?As both a reader and a writer, I have always gravitated toward psychological thrillers. I think a big part of the reason for this interest is because of the genre’s emphasis on the psyches of the characters.
Human motivations inform a character’s actions in the same way they inform a person’s actions in real life. Puzzling through these character motives is one of the things I love most about writing in this genre.
When I craft a psychological thriller, not only do I get the opportunity to explore all of the characters’ whys, but I also get a peek at how these motivations affect the character themselves as well as other characters in the novel. I often find it is by looking at these human motivations that the answer to the mystery can be found.
As a resident of Chicago, you enjoy a wonderful theater scene. What appeals to you about that art form?For me, there is nothing quite like attending live theater. I have so much admiration for everyone who works so hard to bring that art form to life. I love the immersive nature of live theater and how it engages all the senses. From the beautiful artwork that comprises the sets, to the stunning sounds that emanate from the voices of the actors and the orchestra, all the way to the dramatic storytelling, it is just a wonderful experience.
As a theater artist for more than twenty years—I totally agree!What are you working on now?I am currently in the process of writing the sequel to Forget Me, titled You Belong to Me. In You Belong to Me, familiar characters from Forget Me will once again find themselves in dangerous situations along with a mystery needing to be solved.
Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers:Although it may sound like a cliché, I believe one of the best pieces of writing advice is…don’t quit.
So many aspects of the writing life require taking the long road. Writing a novel takes time. There are ups and downs, successes and what feels like failures. But if you keep going and don’t give up, you’ll get there. And I can’t wait to read your novels when you do!
Great advice!Lisa Sherman — Author of Forget Me
Lisa has always had a passion for stories and the fictional worlds created by her favorite authors. Her love of words led her to pursue a BA in English Literature as an undergraduate. Her interest in jurisprudence led her to law school, where she attained her Juris Doctor degree. Later, Lisa rounded out her love of writing by obtaining an MFA.
Lisa has always been fascinated with the “why” behind people’s actions. As a writer of psychological thrillers and women’s fiction, she hopes readers will enjoy getting a sneak peek into what makes her characters act the way they do, especially when faced with challenging or extraordinary situations.
To learn more about Lisa, click on her name, photo or any of the following links: Facebook & InstagramElena Taylor/Elena HartwellAll We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio.
Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020
Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020
The Foundation of Plot, a Wait, Wait, Don’t Query (Yet!) guidebook.
Header image by wilhei on Pixabay
The post Forget Me by Debut Author Lisa Sherman appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
September 9, 2022
Fall is Coming: Write Now
Fall is coming . . .
Radar and Jasper!Fall is coming . . .It’s hard to believe we have rolled through another summer. March of 2020 changed all our lives in immeasurable ways, and yet, we are still here, sliding into another season.
Many of us have started to travel again, visit shops without masks on, shake hands with strangers, and sit in bars. Colder weather looms here in the Northern Hemisphere, with close quarters and the potential for dreaded surges.
But I’m grateful for vaccines and relaxed rules. It’s still strange to be in crowded spaces and, at least for me, the mask still comes out.
I don’t fear getting sick and dying from COVID, but I would like it to vanish from our lives like polio . . . oh wait, that’s not really gone either is it?
We are all doing the best we can.
Fall is coming . . .
The elk are still mellow, but the rut is coming too. The males will fight and the females will award the victor, and in the spring, there will be babies in the herd.
My mother likes to say, “Life is change.” She’s right about that. Nothing remains the same, not the good or the bad. There’s comfort in that. Sorrow too, but still … comfort.
There is one constant in my life. My writing. Not always publishing, as that’s out of my control, but writing, writing remains.
I love fall because the cold weather is conducive to writing. I put on my favorite sweater and enjoy the sunshine streaming through the trees outside my window. Like it is right now.
Write now.
Fall is coming . . .So I will write on. And have faith. And enjoy the changes the passage of time will bring.
Don’t miss any posts on a Writer’s Life, click the link here.Elena Taylor/Elena HartwellAll We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio.
Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020
Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020
The Foundation of Plot, a Wait, Wait, Don’t Query (Yet!) guidebook.
The post Fall is Coming: Write Now appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
September 7, 2022
All the Broken Girls: Linda Hurtado Bond
All the Broken Girls by Linda Hurtado Bond
Spotlight + Excerpt + Book&Author Info + GiveawayDon’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.All the Broken Girls
Crime reporter Mari Alvarez was never able to solve her mother’s murder ten years ago. But when a woman is gunned down on the doorstep of her West Tampa neighborhood, Mari can’t shake the eerie sense of connection.
The others will breakNow there have been two murders in two days. Each crime scene awash with arcane clues―and without a trace of DNA from the killer. And for each victim, a doll. The first is missing an eye. The second is missing a heart. But are these clues leading to the killer…or messages for Mari?
Unless she plays the game…Caught up in a maelstrom of Old-World superstition, secrets, and ties to her own past, Mari has only one option. Put the puzzle together before someone else dies―even if it destroys her career. But there’s no escaping the hungry spider’s web when it’s been made just for you…
Genre: Thriller
Published by: Entangled Publishing, LLC
Publication Date: August 23rd 2022
Number of Pages: 368
ISBN: 1649372140 (ISBN13: 9781649372147)
I’m running fifteen minutes late after driving my Abuela Bonita to her doctor’s appointment. But that’s not bad, actually, for Cuban time. Of course my statement high heels click on the uncarpeted floor like my abuela’s disapproving tongue and all I can think of is that silly commercial with the tagline “Wanna get away?” Except I can’t escape. It’s my first day back at the TV station after two weeks at home with no work and no pay. I’m still on probation, and I need this job like I need water and air.
Speaking of which, the thought makes me notice how parched my throat is and I’m afraid my voice will crack when I talk. My lungs are so empty I’m not sure I can deliver any story pitches, even if my job depends on it.
Which, it does.
Reporting is in my blood.
But my paycheck—also a necessity.
I rub my right wrist. The red rope bracelet is there. The pea-sized, black gemstone dangles from it. I roll the azabache charm between my fingers, silently going through my routine: twist the stone three times to the right, three to the left. Six times in all. My lucky number. I swear I’ll never go to a crime scene again without the charm. I’ve learned my lesson. Asi es. Truth. That’s how it is.
I pull out the chair across from Mr. Payton and accidentally scrape the floor. It’s loud. Que escandalo!
More stares cut my way. The air conditioning kicks up a notch, but that means nothing to the sweat rolling down my back, sliding into the most inconvenient places. I ignore the wet tickle and stand even taller before taking a seat.
My boss drills me with that intense stare that says everything he’s not allowed to vocalize for fear Human Resources will reprimand him. “Thanks for joining us, Ms. Alvarez.”
“Had to drop off my grandmother at her doctor’s office. She doesn’t drive.” I sit and twist the water bottle on the table until the label faces me. I look at El Jefe and force the corners of my mouth up. Abuela Bonita always told me, no matter what’s going on inside, you can win over the world with a warm smile.
“Let’s continue.” Mr. Payton looks at Paul Johnson, our political reporter.
Paul clears his throat. “As I was saying, the governor is going to hold a press conference on the opioid crisis at a local…”
I cross my ankles to keep my leg from bouncing. It’s clear my boss doesn’t trust me anymore. Not since my serial killer story got the station sued.
I catch the ambitious, crime reporter wannabe eyeing me from the right corner of the room. Bet she’s dying to know what happened to warrant my suspension. She probably already knows. Secrets don’t stay secrets for long in a newsroom.
What the hell had gone wrong?
Abuela Bonita calls it mala suerte. She insisted I wear the azabache bracelet today to ward off the bad luck following me. I find the charm again and twist.
I will fix this. Don’t know how. But I will repair my damaged reputation.
“Alvarez?”
I flinch in my seat.
“You have anything to add to the meeting?” El Jefe taps his engraved pen on the table in a slow, rhythmic pattern.
“Well, Mr. Payton.” He likes it when we use his last name. “I thought I’d do a feature on a young girl in New Tampa Hospital who needs a kidney transplant.”
“That from the crime beat reporter?” I hear the words he isn’t speaking.
“I know.” I answer in my head. “Eleven Emmys, and I still messed up that last crime story, didn’t I?” Out loud I say, “She’s an artist—truly amazing gift— and she’s willing to auction off her paintings to raise money so people can get tested to see if they’re a match. We could save her life by sharing her story.”
My boss nods but says, “Busch Gardens is showing off a new baby sloth this evening.”
My cheeks burn. I sit back. The heat floods down into my chest. “A baby sloth?” I’m pretty sure this is what a public castration feels like.
“We have enough crime, corruption, death, and destruction today. We need something positive after Weather. Sloth baby it is. Can’t go wrong with baby animals,” he says.
Can’t get the station sued again, you mean.
“You’re on that, Alvarez.”
“Gracias.” I close my eyes and visualize a sloth picking at El Jefe’s bushy, needs-to-be-cut eyebrows with those two big claw-like toes. In slow motion, of course. “If our viewers see what I’m envisioning, they’re going to love it.” I smile. Warmly.
Whatever. It will keep me employed for at least one more day. My sister Izzy and Abuela are counting on me.
My phone goes off. I look down, fumbling it as I try to flip off the ringer. “Sorry. Sorry.” It’s not someone calling. It’s my home RING security camera alerting me. My pulse takes off like an F-16. Someone is at our front door. My heart stalls. And falls.
“An important source?” El Jefe asks.
A scoff from the right corner of the room. “Baby sloth police calling?” Crime reporter wannabe gets the room laughing.
Wannabe must have missed her café con leche this morning. I join the laughter and wink at her, despite the slow scalding heat I’m feeling. Abuela Bonita also taught me you get more with honey than vinegar. “No. No. Sorry.” Just my sister’s boyfriend of the week, who is not supposed to be at our house. I shake my head.
“Alvarez?”
My spine straightens. “Yes?”
“You can take the new photographer, Chris Jensen.”
That pulls me back to the moment. “But I always work with Orlando.” A big eyeball fills the RING camera at the front door, but it isn’t Izzy’s new boyfriend. His eyes are as blue as the Florida sky. Isabella’s are dark brown, so dark you can’t tell where the pupil ends, and the iris begins. Izzy pulls back and yells at the RING camera, “Stop spying on me! De conseguir una vida!”
My younger sister is telling me to get a life of my own.
Snickers flicker across the room.
Every hair on the back of my neck rises. The audio on my iPhone is still on. Wanna get away?
I glance at my friend Kiara. She smiles and shakes her head. I appreciate her support. Time to turn the sound off my iPhone.
“Everything okay?” El Jefe’s features remain constant. He doesn’t chastise me for my sister’s outburst, even though she interrupted his busy news meeting.
“Yes sir, I’m fine.” Wait till I get home, Isabella Alvarez! “I’m fine.”
He nods, but his eyes narrow.
I sit through one of his nerve-wracking, wish-I-knew-what-he’s thinking pauses.
He says, “You can take Orlando.”
I exhale.
El Jefe is throwing me a peace offering, I think. Or maybe he believes I can’t even handle an animal story with the newbie photog, so giving me Orlando is like tossing out a safety vest.
Wow.
Two weeks ago, I would have rolled my eyes at the insult of such an easy, nonrelevant assignment. I would have been deeply offended by the shade of making sure I had a veteran babysitter with me.
Tonight, I’m grateful for it.
Even though I know I can’t possibly screw up a baby sloth story, right?
Linda Hurtado Bond — Author of All the Broken Girls
By day, Linda Hurtado Bond is an Emmy and Edward R. Murrow award-winning journalist. By night, she’s an author of James Bond like adventures and heart-stopping thrillers. Linda met her husband Jorge on assignment in Cuba, twenty-some years later they’ve raised a doctor, a nurse, a pilot, a paramedic firefighter, and an aspiring psychologist.
A breast cancer survivor, she’s active in the Tampa community raising money and awareness. When not working she finds time for her passions, her husband Jorge, world travel, classic movies, and solving a good mystery.
To learn more about Linda, click on any of the following links: lindabond.com, Goodreads, BookBub – @lindahbond, Instagram – @authorlindahurtadobond, Twitter – @AuthorLindaBond & Facebook – @authorlindabondVisit all the Stops on the Tour!
08/22 Review @ The World As I See It
08/22 Showcase @ Fredas Voice
08/23 Showcase @ Silvers Reviews
08/24 Interview @ I Read What You Write
08/24 Showcase @ BOOK REVIEWS by LINDA MOORE
08/25 Review @ tea. and. titles bookstagram
08/26 Review @ Lynchburg Reads
08/27 Showcase @ Brooke Blogs
08/29 Review @ Jersey Girl Book Reviews
08/31 Review @ Novels Alive
09/01 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
09/01 Review @ The Page Ladies
09/02 Review @ Paws. Read. Repeat
09/02 Showcase @ Celticladys Reviews
09/05 Showcase @ The Mystery of Writing
09/06 Showcase @ Books, Ramblings, and Tea
09/07 Showcase @ 411 ON BOOKS, AUTHORS, AND PUBLISHING NEWS
09/08 Review @ Read_betweenthecovers
09/09 Showcase @ The Bookwyrm
09/11 Review @ From the TBR Pile
09/12 Review @ nanasbookreviews
09/14 Showcase @ The Authors Harbor
09/15 Review @ Totally Addicted to Reading
09/16 Review @ Urban Book Reviews
09/17 Review @ Melissa As Blog
10/24 Podcast interview @ Blog Talk Radio
10/24 Review @ Just Reviews
All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio.
Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020
Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020
The Foundation of Plot, a Wait, Wait, Don’t Query (Yet!) guidebook.
Header image by JohnsonGoh on Pixabay.
The post All the Broken Girls: Linda Hurtado Bond appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
September 6, 2022
A Nice Place to Die: Debut Mystery
A Nice Place to Die, by debut author Joyce Woollcott
Author Interview + Book&Author Info + Author Pet Corner!Read more author interviews, click the link here.A Nice Place to Die
The body of a young woman is found by a river outside Belfast and Detective Sergeant Ryan McBride makes a heart-wrenching discovery at the scene, a discovery he chooses to hide even though it could cost him the investigation — and his career.
The victim was a loner but well-liked. Why would someone want to harm her? And is her murder connected to a rapist who’s stalking the local pubs? As Ryan untangles a web of deception and lies, his suspects die one by one, leading him to a dangerous family secret and a murderer who will stop at nothing to keep it.
And still, he harbors his secret…
To purchase A Nice Place to Die, click on the following link: AmazonA Nice Place to Die — Author Interview with Joyce Woollcott A Nice Place to Die takes place in Belfast. What is that community like and how does the place interact with the mystery?I’ve tried to make Belfast and the surrounding countryside a character in the book. I like to think of setting as a big part of the enjoyment of reading, getting immersed in the story, the five senses almost. And Ulster folk are a funny mix of stoicism and humour. The city of Belfast is actually quite lovely and I do try to bring that forward in the book.
‘Belfast, usually a bundled-up, dowdy old lady, sprang to life in the good weather. The town buzzed with a joy that came with summer and warmth. Girls passed in bright frocks, chatting and swinging handbags, wearing sunglasses. Men, freed from heavy coats and sweaters, wore light shirts and khakis. Even the birds seemed happy, fluttering around like mad things. The city normally had a solid look to it. Older buildings, most of them built of Portland limestone or sandstone, gave it an austere, Presbyterian feeling – but not today. Today the sun shone through laneways and between shadowed side streets, creating shards of light and dark as they walked by. Kevin led the way, chatting easily, asking all about her, what she liked.
During that short walk to the restaurant, that brief slice of time, with its smells and sounds and brightness, she realised how lovely it was, having someone show an interest in her. And strange how the city felt different depending on her moods. Today it fairly sang.’
In the countryside, DS Ryan McBride’s personal interaction with the land speaks to who he is as a character.
‘Clouds broke to sporadic sunlight and a fresh breeze skittered through the leaves at his feet. He could feel rain in the air and he could smell it too. He saw large cumulonimbus thunderheads forming. Agitated, the crows that met him most mornings cawed and flew from treetop to treetop. He fancied they followed him as he walked along the road and cut into the fields behind his farm. He’d been heading back home when the sun briefly burst through the cloud cover again and illuminated the countryside. For a few moments Ryan saw splashes of bright green and ochre, a vivid combination of light and intensity of colour produced by the moisture-drenched air. His own forty shades of green. God, he loved this country.’
A Nice Place to Die is described as a combination of police procedural and domestic suspense. How did the book come about?The first book I ever wrote was a mystery/thriller. Abducted was about a kidnapped Mexican boy who was the illegitimate son of a rich New York gangster. I enjoyed writing it, and I have been to both Mexico and New York, but the characterizations were more difficult, and the settings took a lot of research. It came to me afterwards that I needed to get back to my roots. I longed to write about my home town. Such a rich, fertile place for setting and character.
I also felt that I needed to connect more with my protagonist and the other characters, and for me, living in Belfast for many years I have some small understanding of how my countrymen and women think. I was lucky also to have a friend who had been in the police, that was a definite plus. I won’t deny either, that several TV police series, especially The Fall, persuaded me that Belfast was a ripe location to explore.
Also Adrian McKinty’s locations. I heard him speak in the summer and he talked about how books set in Belfast were a hard sell a few years ago, but now it was full steam ahead. As for the domestic suspense, I didn’t intentionally add that in, but I needed to bring my hero, DS McBride, some conflict, some angst, so I added romantic entanglements, family conflicts, all that good stuff.
Besides, what good is a rugged, brooding Irishman if he doesn’t have a messy love life?
Tell us about Detective Sergeant Ryan McBride:Conflicted. A tough guy who is bad at relationships, afraid of commitment. His partner, DS Billy Lamont, is younger than him and happily married with three kids. Ryan is in turn glad he’s not in Billy’s position and jealous of his friend’s family life.
Happy in his job, he loves the police, has done well in his career because he enjoys the chase, the careful unravelling of a mystery—catching the bad guy. But he knows something is missing. He loves his sister Erin, she’s a bit of a hot mess, always getting into bad relationships, another reason why he tries to steer clear of them.
He has an on-again, off-again girlfriend and in some ways that suits him. Bridget is almost as relationship-phobic as he is. He loves his mum but has real problems with his father, a successful barrister who expected him to join the family law firm after Ryan graduated from Queen’s University Belfast School of Law. Did not expect his only son to apply to the police instead. Although tensions between them have been easing lately, mostly due to his mum and sister’s urging.
The second book in the series, Blood Relations, launches August 2023. Were there big differences between writing book one and two?Yes and no. I’m comfortable with my protagonist and his team. They are my core group. In book two I needed to wrap them around a new murder. This gave me the chance to develop a whole new cast of characters and build on the existing ones. Strangely, these characters are almost alive to me, and how they react to new situations and people can be as surprising to the me as it is to the reader.
It’s also fun to revisit and expand some of my favourites from A Nice Place to Die. Plus I have a little more confidence. Every time I manage to finish a book I think, wow, how did that happen? Blood Relations introduces a whole new set of antagonists including a new boss who has an old score to settle and a bad guy who takes an instant and deadly dislike to Ryan.
It also allows me to set up a few new people who may feature in book three. Two of them in particular I hope to bring back. Like Sheila Howells and Gracie Bell.
Chief Superintendent Sheila Howells extended her arm and motioned them to a sofa in the corner. A big, buxom woman in her fifties with badly dyed blond hair and a smoker’s cough, she had large, disorganised features in a round face and had applied her lipstick with a shaky hand. He liked her the better for it – liked that she had made an effort for them – he assumed she had anyway. Ironic that Whelan had to tone the sex appeal down, while Howells – well, no worries on that count.
And Mrs. Gracie Bell.
“That Gracie, she must be something. Eh? Had them trembling in their boots at the mention of her name, us hurting her. What you reckon then? She must be a little hottie.”
Rupert pulled out Harry’s wallet. “I think I saw a picture in here.” He flipped it open and Sweet shone the torch over. They found a photo of Harry with a short, plump, smiling blond. She had a sparkly mini dress on and her hair fizzed out around her bright orange face. She wore far too much makeup, had her eyes outlined rather alarmingly in black, and her lipstick pulsed bright neon pink to match her frock.
“Whoa …” Sweet actually jolted back from the photo. “Right then, say no more.”
Rupert grinned and replaced it in the wallet. Not that Sweet was an oil painting himself. Easy to be a critic.
What can we find you doing when you aren’t writing or reading?Honestly that seems to be all I do! I love to read. Luckily for my husband I also like to cook, I enjoy mysteries on TV. I paint too but that has taken second place to writing I’m afraid.
What are you working on now?I have two works in progress. One is a World War Two mystery/romance about a young translator who travels to Arisaig in Scotland to help British spies of the SOE with their language skills. That I’m calling, THE LINGUIST.
And I’m excited about another mystery I’ve started to write. It’s also set in Northern Ireland on an island off the Antrim coast and features an Inspector who retires from the police when his wife is shot. Six months later he meets another woman, a renter who has taken a house near his. They begin a relationship. Then she disappears. This one is MURDER ON KILLENNIS.
Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers:I’ll repeat what I think anyone who has been through this will say. Take classes on craft. Read books on craft. Read books in your genre and sometimes beyond. Join reading groups preferably in your chosen genre. Join a critique group and enter unpublished contests. Listen and use their feedback.
When you have rewritten—and feel happy with your manuscript, bearing in mind criticism from other writers, seek out a developmental editor if you can afford one.
Listen to the editor, don’t be offended. Make changes. Try to get it line-edited too. Send out for queries. Make sure you send only to agents and publishers who are interested in your genre. Address the queries personally. Pay attention to any feedback and resubmit. And very good luck to you.
Great advice!Author Pet Corner!
Molly is totally precious!This is Molly …
We inherited her from a very elderly gentleman who got her as a pup when he was eighty-nine.
He passed away when he was ninety-one and asked his son to contact us and see if we would take her.
My husband had been walking her for him when he had been poorly.
He had named her ‘Precious’ and she is, but is now named Molly. Hubby couldn’t see himself calling her that in public.
Joyce Woollcott — Author of A Nice Place to Die
Woollcott is a Canadian writer born in Northern Ireland. She is a graduate of the Humber School for Writers in Toronto. A Nice Place to Die won the RWA Unpublished Mystery/Suspense Daphne du Maurier Award in 2019 in New York, and was short-listed in the Crime Writers of Canada Awards of Excellence in 2021.
A Nice Place To Die is published by Level Best Books.
She is a member of Crime Writers of Canada, Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, and the Suncoast Writer’s Guild.
To learn more about Joyce, click on any of the following links: Website & TwitterElena Taylor/Elena HartwellAll We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio.
Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020
Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020
The Foundation of Plot, a Wait, Wait, Don’t Query (Yet!) guidebook.
Header image by FotoXCapture on Pixabay
The post A Nice Place to Die: Debut Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
September 3, 2022
Two Parts Sugar One Part Murder
Two Parts Sugar, One Part Murder the latest mystery by Valerie Burns[image error]
Author Interview + Book&Author info + Author Pet Corner + Rafflecopter Giveaway!Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here to read more. Two Parts Sugar, One Part Murder
In this delectable new cozy mystery series, social media maven Maddy Montgomery’s perfectly ’grammable life has come undone, and she’s #StartingOver in a tiny town with one giant problem—a killer on the loose . . .
When Maddy Montgomery’s groom is a no-show to their livestream wedding, it’s a disaster that no amount of filtering can fix. But a surprise inheritance offers a chance to regroup and rebrand—as long as Maddy is willing to live in her late, great-aunt Octavia’s house in New Bison, Michigan, for a year, running her bakery and caring for a 250-pound English mastiff named Baby.
Maddy doesn’t bake, and her Louboutins aren’t made for walking giant dogs around Lake Michigan, but the locals are friendly and the scenery is beautiful. With help from her aunt’s loyal friends, aka the Baker Street Irregulars, Maddy feels ready to tackle any challenge, including Octavia’s award-winning cake recipes. That is, until New Bison’s mayor is fatally stabbed, and Maddy’s fingerprints are found on the knife . . .
Something strange is going on in New Bison. It seems Aunt Octavia had her suspicions, too. But Maddy’s going to need a whole lot more than a trending hashtag to save her reputation—and her life.
Two Parts Sugar, One Part Murder (A Baker Street Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Setting – Michigan
Kensington Cozies (August 30, 2022)
Paperback : 272 pages
ISBN-10 : 1496738225
ISBN-13 : 978-1496738226
Digital ASIN : B09MZTN6YC
Social media provides a platform for people to express their views to the world. Maddy can upload pictures, post snarky comments, and through likes/follows build a following with people across the globe she’s never met.
Her followers fill a void that she is missing in her life.
Tell us about New Bison, Michigan:New Bison, Michigan is a small, sleepy resort town on the shores of Lake Michigan. It’s 70 miles from Chicago, but you wouldn’t know it to look at it.
Who are the Baker Street Irregulars?Octavia Baker owned Baby Cakes Bakery in New Bison, Michigan. She was also a huge fan of mysteries and especially of Sherlock Holmes. She and her friends used to meet on Sundays and puzzle out the tough mysteries that Sheriff April Johnson had to figure out.
English mastiffs are amazing dogs. What drew you to including that breed in your new series?English mastiffs are amazing dogs. They’re enormous, and in movies, they are often portrayed as vicious. However, I have two friends who owned English mastiffs, who told me a different story. Their dogs were goofballs who were misrepresented.
Personally, I own two small poodles, but I wondered what it would be like to own a dog that topped 200+ lbs. Including a mastiff in my book allows me to experience the joy of owning a big dog with none of the problems.
As an established author with multiple series, what do you love about mystery series? Any favorite series you love to follow?I’ve loved mysteries for a long, long time. I got hooked on Agatha Christie at a young age and then devoured everything I could find that was even remotely similar.
I love the puzzle. I love how mystery authors create an engaging tale while dropping clues and red herrings. I love pitting my brain against that of the author as I try to figure out which clues are important and which ones are meant to throw me off the scent. Solving puzzles is what I love about reading and writing mysteries.
I love a LOT of mystery series. A few of my favorites are The Gaslight Mystery series by Victoria Thompson, Mrs. Jeffries Mystery series by Emily Brightwell, Nero Wolfe Mystery series by Rex Stout, all books by Agatha Christie.
I also enjoy the Gethsemane Brown series by Alexia Gordon, Sarah Blair Mystery series by Debra H. Goldstein, and Kinsey Milhone series by Sue Grafton. My shelves are full of mysteries, but those are just a few of my favs.
What are you working on now?At the moment, I’m writing the 4th and final book in my RJ Franklin Mystery series.
It’s been hard since the first book in this series was the first book I ever finished. It wasn’t the first book I got published, but it was the first book I wrote. I struggled to find an agent, and a publisher. I also got a ton of rejections. Yet, I continued on. It’s the series that is closest to my heart because it is set in a fictionalized version of my hometown. It’s also the only book with a character based on a real person, Mama B, Mrs. Ella Bethany. She was my godmother and someone I wanted to honor in my books. I’ve struggled with lots of emotions as I bring this labor of love to a close.
Final words of wisdom for aspiring writers:Write. If you want to write, do it. Don’t wait until you hit the lottery, the planets line up, or your ship comes in. Make time in your life and put pen to paper or hands on the keyboard and write.
And, don’t give up.
Some of the most successful authors were rejected (a lot). Rejections don’t mean your work isn’t good. It might not be good, not every book that makes it to publication is Noble Prize-worthy. Writing. Yet, you never know what will resonate with readers.
Author Pet Corner!
Kensington (Kenzie)! and Cash!
Coco and Cash!
Chloe!Valerie Burns — Author of Two Parts Sugar, One Part Murder
Valerie (V. M.) Burns is the author of the Mystery Bookshop Mystery series. Her first book, The Plot is Murder, was nominated for an Agatha Award for Best Debut Novel. She is the author of the Dog Club Mystery Series, the RJ Franklin Mysteries, a three-time finalist in the Next Generation Indie Book Awards, and an Edgar Award-nominated short story.
Her newest series, Baker Street Mysteries, will release later this year, and her Pet Detective Mystery series will release in 2023. Valerie is on the board of Sisters in Crime and the Southeastern Chapter of Mystery Writers of America. She is also a member of Dog Writers of America, Crime Writers of Color, and International Thriller Writers.
She is a manager for a Fortune 100 company and a mentor in the Writing Popular Fiction Program at Seton Hill University in Greensburg, PA. Born and raised in northwestern Indiana, Valerie currently lives in the southeastern United States with her two poodles. Readers can visit her website at vmburns.com.
To learn more about Valerie, click on her name, photo, or any of the following links: Bookbub, Facebook, GoodReads, Instagram, Twitter a Rafflecopter giveawayVisit all the Stops on the Tour!
August 22 – Reading Is My SuperPower – REVIEW
August 22 – Elizabeth McKenna – Author – SPOTLIGHT
August 23 – The Mystery Section – GUEST POST
August 23 – Brooke Blogs – SPOTLIGHT
August 24 – Mochas, Mysteries and Meows – CHARACTER INTERVIEW
August 24 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW
August 25 – Read Your Writes Book Reviews – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
August 25 – Celticlady’s Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
August 26 – Literary Gold – SPOTLIGHT
August 26 – I Read What You Write – REVIEW, CHARACTER GUEST POST
August 27 – The Book Diva’s Reads – GUEST POST
August 27 – Maureen’s Musings – SPOTLIGHT
August 27 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT
August 28 – Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW, AUTHOR INTERVIEW
August 28 – Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
August 29 – Lady Hawkeye – SPOTLIGHT
August 29 – #BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog – SPOTLIGHT
August 30 – Hearts & Scribbles – SPOTLIGHT
August 30 – Ascroft, eh? – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
August 31 – Island Confidential – SPOTLIGHT
August 31 – Sneaky the Library Cat’s Blog – CHARACTER INTERVIEW
September 1 – Mysteries with Character – REVIEW
September 2 – Baroness Book Trove – REVIEW
September 2 – Readeropolis – SPOTLIGHT, RECIPE
September 3 – The Mystery of Writing – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
September 3 – StoreyBook Reviews – CHARACTER GUEST POST
September 4 – BookishKelly2020 – SPOTLIGHT
Elena Taylor/Elena HartwellAll We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio.
Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020
Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020
The Foundation of Plot, a Wait, Wait, Don’t Query (Yet!) guidebook.
The post Two Parts Sugar One Part Murder appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
