Elena Hartwell's Blog, page 55
April 13, 2022
At Any Cost: New Suspense by Andrea Kane
Aimee Bregman had the perfect life. She had an enviable job as head of marketing for an up-and-coming CBD-infused beer that was taking the tri-state area by storm. She had cultivated a massive social media following that showcased the beer at college campus parties and alumni events―and had fun doing it. She had an attentive, steady boyfriend and friends who believed in her. Everything was going right.
But when her long-time mentor, Rita, sets up a business meeting with an important influencer―her life crashes all around her. The casual meeting over drinks suddenly devolves into a shouting match between all parties, and any chance of a new business relationship is over before it begins. Hours later, when the NYPD shows up at Aimee’s apartment, questioning her about Rita’s abrupt disappearance―foul play suspected―Aimee realizes she’s in way over her head.
Fearing that Rita has been murdered, and that she may be next, Aimee hires Forensic Instincts to keep her safe and figure out what’s really going on.
Forensic Instincts, a brilliant investigative firm who walks the fine line between legal and illegal, solves challenging and high-profile cases when the bureaucratic restrictions imposed on law enforcement get in the way of achieving results. But neither Aimee nor Forensic Instincts realize how ruthless, how connected, their adversaries are. As dangerous and powerful people are threatened with exposure, anyone is fair game for elimination. And when multiple victims die at the hands of a sociopathic serial killer, it gets harder and harder to tell where the battle lines are drawn… and who might die next.
To purchase At Any Cost, click on any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | GoodreadsGenre: Suspense Thriller
Published by: Bonnie Meadow Publishing LLC
Publication Date: March 22nd 2022
Number of Pages: 384
ISBN: 168232043X (ISBN13: 9781682320433)
Series: Forensic Instincts #9 | Each Can Be Read as a Stand Alone Novel
It’s time to put aside my discussions on writing and to talk about another major joy in life: junk food.
Junk food is both protagonist and antagonist. It tastes awesome, feels so good going down, and then bam! I’m sick all night and have to face the scale in the morning. (Or, in my case, to avoid the scale in the morning, hoping I can fix the problem by the next day.)
Ah, but it never happens that way. Let’s say I’ve spent the last half year or more sticking rigidly to a diet. (Weight Watchers is my chosen form of torture.) All of a sudden, I start to slip, eating a cookie here and my particular downfall, ice cream, there. Initially, it just chews up my bonus points. When it starts to exceed that, I start fudging—just a little—assigning my own numbers to food entries. (After all, how many points could half a pint of double chocolate ice cream be?)
Okay, yeah, that’s called cheating. But it gets worse. When the fictitious numbers I’ve assigned (such as five points for that ice cream) seem ridiculously impossible, even to me, I cave. I stop counting points and vanish from the Weight Watchers app.
And the dam bursts wide open.
I lose all sense of reason and tamp down my guilt until it’s squashed and inaccessible, relegated to a place where it can’t torment me. I then indulge myself in a deluge of my favorite junk foods—all the joys of life I’ve been depriving myself of for six months or more.
If I were a grounded junk food addict, I’d see the scale go up a few pounds and order myself back on track. That doesn’t happen. As logical and disciplined as I am about my writing process, that’s how illogical and undisciplined I am about my diet-breaking. The food just tastes too good, and the liberty of not accounting for my every bite feels just too liberating.
And so, the downward spiraling continues, until one day (one that comes out of nowhere) I creep into the bathroom and get on the scale again. I steel myself for what I’m about to see, yet I’m still devastated by the number that tells me the damage I’ve done, and how much I’ve unraveled since I jumped ship.
Then comes the self-chastising, the anger, the sense of unfairness, and FINALLY the realization that I’d better get back on track if I’m going to salvage some of my hard work.
I don’t do it cold turkey. I ease into it for a week or two, slowly eliminating my favorite junk foods little by little and harboring deep resentment the entire time I’m doing it. And then, at long last, resignation sets in and I’m back on the WW app, dutifully recording my points, drinking more water, and eating healthfully (but not happily).
I’m pleased with myself for the effort, but never, even as the pounds come off again, do I stop craving my junk food. Maybe someday I’ll be able to eat a few items on my most-loved list in modified amounts, broken up by long weeks of deprivation. Maybe. But I’m not holding my breath.
Excerpt of At Any CostONEBrightington UniversityBirchmont, Westchester County, New YorkEight years ago
A kill for a kill.
Weeks of watching and waiting. Plans devised. Soon to be meticulously executed. Mid-November. Football season nearing its peak. Thursday night. Nine p.m. Campus in early-weekend party mode. Undergrads drinking. Smoking up at the frat houses. Athletic building deserted.
Nearly deserted.
His target was there. Alone. Thursday night was his late night during football season. That’s when he reviewed his game strategy and player weaknesses. That’s when he targeted the next eager kid to torture until he broke.
The bastard wouldn’t be breaking anyone ever again. Not the way he’d broken Hank.
As the star quarterback in high school, Hank had gotten a full-ride Division 1 scholarship. Since he’d come from a dirt-poor family, this was the opportunity of a lifetime. A first-rate college education with a shot at the NFL. It was supposed to be a life-changing event.
Instead it turned out to be a death sentence.
His executioner had been Pete Rice. Football coach? Bullshit. Rice hadn’t coached Hank; he’d tortured him, driven him—until he’d blown out his knee on a rain-soaked football field junior year, ending his college career, his dreams. And in the end, his life.
It was first down and goal.
Rice was about to find out the true meaning of payback.
The campus grounds were soggy, leftover patches of wet leaves and an endless span of slick grass, made worse by the cold, steady rainfall. The bare trees swayed as rain pounded their branches. A wet mess. Treacherous, like a wet football field.
Slugging through the debris, he approached the athletic building, pausing yards away to don the black ski mask. He then tugged his hood back into place. No point in taking chances. Security cameras were everywhere. He didn’t need his face to be captured. Other than the mask, he could be any college student. A waterproof parka that swallowed up his body. Jeans and combat boots. Standard college garb.
He reached the building and slid Hank’s ID card into the entry slot. The card still worked. Too soon for it to be deactivated.
He was in. He wriggled into his latex gloves.
The office door was unlocked. Rice was at his desk, files spread across it. He was scribbling something on one of them, brows knit in concentration, totally focused on his work.
Clueless that he was about to die.
In one fluid motion, he was inside the office, the door closed behind him. Rice leapt to his feet, snatching the heavy football trophy on his desk as he rounded the front of it to defend himself against the intruder.
Without a word, the killer whipped out a pistol and fired two bullets, one into each of Rice’s kneecaps. Rice howled, collapsing to the floor in pain. The trophy hit the floor beside him with a thud.
The assailant moved quickly—four long strides until he was behind Rice, dragging him back to his chair and heaving him into it. He shoved a rag in the coach’s mouth to stifle his screams, then moved behind him, wrapping a strong arm in a choke hold around Rice’s throat. He pocketed his pistol, pulled out a zip tie, and leaned down to cinch the writhing man’s ankles together. That done, he slapped a digital voice recorder on the desk, with the record feature on. He yanked the rag out of Rice’s mouth, tossed it aside, and anchored his forearm against the left side of the coach’s neck, using his free hand to pull as tight against the carotid artery as he chose to—for now.
A rush of power surged through him. He could taste victory.
But there was work to be done before the final play.
“You killed Hank Bishop,” he growled. “I want details.”
When he got no answer, only a violent trembling of Rice’s body, he tightened the pressure around his neck. “Talk.”
“Car crash…” the coach gasped. “I didn’t…”
“Wrong answer.” His grip tightened still more, enough so Rice was on the verge of losing consciousness. The coach struggled in vain, his struggles weak and fading.
His soon-to-be executioner eased the pressure the tiniest fraction. He knew just what it would take. And he wasn’t ready. Not until he got what he wanted.
“Wanna die?” he asked in a flat tone that was chillingly devoid of emotion.
Terrified, blood oozing down his legs, Rice gave a feeble shake of his head.
“Good. Because this is what it will feel like.”
He increased the pressure until Rice passed out. Slowly, he eased the choke hold until the scumbag came to.
“Now I’ll ask my question again,” he said calmly. “Why is Hank dead? Why was he in that car crash? This is your last chance. I want to hear it all—what you did, how you did it, what you drove him to.”
Rice was drenched in sweat, his entire body shuddering, choking sounds coming from his throat.
No further coercion was necessary.
Between gasps for air, the coach spilled his guts, revealing everything he’d done, everything that had happened—plus a whole lot more that was happening still.
Interesting stuff. Some of which he knew about. Still more of which he didn’t. It was even bigger than what he’d come here to learn. But frankly, he didn’t give a shit. He’d originally planned to take the voice recorder with him to relive Rice’s agonized confession whenever he chose to. But it really didn’t matter. He’d committed the bastard’s words to memory. So instead, he’d leave the recorder here, let the cops hear the entire confession, including the big-picture part that had nothing to do with Hank but that would send their investigation in the entirely wrong direction—a direction his employer wouldn’t appreciate, but that was his problem.
His adrenaline pumping, he tightened his choke hold into a death grip, pressing against the carotid artery, closing it off and squeezing the life out of his victim.
A minute later, Rice was dead.
***
Excerpt from At Any Cost by Andrea Kane. Copyright 2022 by Andrea Kane. Reproduced with permission from Andrea Kane. All rights reserved.
Andrea Kane
Andrea Kane is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thirty-one novels, including seventeen psychological thrillers and fourteen historical romantic suspense titles. With her signature style, Kane creates unforgettable characters and confronts them with life-threatening danger. As a master of suspense, she weaves them into exciting, carefully-researched stories, pushing them to the edge—and keeping her readers up all night.
Kane’s first contemporary suspense thriller, Run for Your Life, became an instant New York Times bestseller.
She followed with a string of bestselling psychological thrillers including No Way Out, Twisted and Drawn in Blood.
Her latest in the highly successful Forensic Instincts series, At Any Cost, showcases the dynamic, eclectic team of investigators as they square off against a criminal organization with a serial killer as a hit man. The first showcase of Forensic Instincts’ talents came with the New York Times bestseller, The Girl Who Disappeared Twice, followed by The Line Between Here and Gone, The Stranger You Know, The Silence That Speaks, The Murder That Never Was, A Face To Die For, Dead In A Week, No Stone Unturned and At Any Cost.
Kane’s beloved historical romantic suspense novels include My Heart’s Desire, Samantha, Echoes in the Mist, and Wishes in the Wind.
With a worldwide following of passionate readers, her books have been published in more than twenty languages.
Kane lives in New Jersey with her family. She’s an avid crossword puzzle solver and a diehard Yankees fan.
To learn more about Andrea, click on any of the following links: AndreaKane.com, Goodreads, BookBub, Instagram – @authorandreakane, Twitter – @andrea_kane & Facebook – @AuthorAndreaKaneVisit all the stops on the tour!
03/10 Interview via podcast @ Blog Talk Radio
03/10 Review @ Just Reviews
03/21 Guest post @ Fredas Voice
03/22 Review @ Novels Alive
03/23 Review @ Wall-to-wall Books
03/24 Guest post @ The Book Divas Reads
03/25 Guest post @ Novels Alive
03/25 Review @ Cheryls Book Nook
03/28 Interview @ I Read What You Write
03/29 Review @ flightnurse70_book_reviews
03/30 Review @ Avonna Loves Genres
04/01 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
04/03 Showcase @ nanasbookreviews
04/05 Review @ mokwip8991
04/07 Review @ Nesies Place
04/08 Review @ Kritters Ramblings
04/09 Showcase @ Books Blog
04/11 Interview @ Quiet Fury Books
04/12 Review @ Cover To Cover Cafe
04/12 Review @ sunny island breezes
04/13 Guest post @ Author Elena Taylors Blog
04/13 Showcase @ 411 ON BOOKS, AUTHORS, AND PUBLISHING NEWS
04/13 Showcase @ The Authors Harbor
04/14 Review @ A Room Without Books is Empty
04/14 Review @ Pat Fayo Reviews
04/15 Review @ Celticladys Reviews
Elena Taylor is the author of All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio book format at all your favorite bookstores and on-line retailers.
For more information on All We Buried, click on the link here to visit the home page.
Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020
Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020
The post At Any Cost: New Suspense by Andrea Kane appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
April 11, 2022
Toxic Soup: A Contemporary Thriller
Toxic Soup — A contemporary thriller by debut author RR Rowley
Author Interview + Book & Author InfoToxic Soup
Toxic waste at the Hanford Nuclear Reservation has been poisoning the environment, human beings, and wildlife for more than six decades.
When her brother dies a horrible death at Hanford, Casey Long, a kayaker and windsurfer by day and bartender by night in the Columbia River Gorge, Oregon/Washington, swears to put an end to the upriver contamination.
But, how can she possibly take on the entrenched fortress of a facility?
After she confides in Little Bear, a bitter Native American fisherman, they contrive a dangerous plan. Joined by a peculiar mishmash of collaborators, they risk everything to save the environment and achieve justice for all injured parties, past and present.
To purchase Toxic Soup, click on any of the following links: Amazon, Barnes & Noble & IndieBoundDon’t Miss Any Debut Author Interviews, Click the Link Here
The Interview with RR Rowley, Author of Toxic SoupToxic Soup takes place in my neck of the woods. Tell us about the Hanford Nuclear Reservation, and the Columbia River Gorge out here on the Washington/Oregon border.The Hanford Nuclear Reservation is one of the original nuclear facilities in the USA. It is where the plutonium for the atomic bombs dropped in World War Two was produced. The plutonium for the thousands of nuclear warheads in the nation’s arsenal was also made there.
Situated on the banks of the Columbia River, the site displaced Native Americans and a small town. Afterward, the toxic waste from the production was first buried in ditches creating two hundred square miles of contaminated groundwater seeping into the river. It still seeps today. Then, the radioactive rods were dumped into the Colombia River. Airborne emissions affected humans, animals, and all of nature in the surrounding region. Fatal diseases and ailments created a class of people known as ‘downwinders.’
Google it. It is a long and terrible story.
Presently, fifty-three million gallons of ‘Toxic Soup’ are held in one hundred seventy-seven aged and leaking steel and concrete tanks.
The ‘Soup’ was sucked out of the burial ditches when people found out and raised a furor. Today, there is an additional steady influx of newly generated nuclear waste barrels stored on concrete slabs. Pray there isn’t a cataclysmic event. The Columbia Gorge is where the Columbia River cuts through the Cascade Mountain Range.
Casey Long is a kayaker and windsurfer by day and bartender by night, who turns into a reluctant hero. (If reluctant is the wrong word here, feel free to change or cut that word). What drew you to her as a lead character?I wanted to write a novel with a female protagonist set in the Columbia Gorge, where I currently live. Both of these elements are different from what I had been previously writing.
The Gorge has a vibrant and unique culture. Through my perceptions gathered from being part of the place, I developed character sketches of people who live and play here, including Casey, my protagonist.
She came alive on the page as the two of us engaged. I didn’t sketch her out; she responded to the plot, which I outlined. The scenes in the story evolved organically through Casey’s reactions to her brother’s death at Hanford, her moral dilemma, and her complicated relationships with the people of her community. Sharing this story with her, we became deeply involved.
Tell us about the road to publication with your debut:I came about my publisher by accident. An editor who worked on my book told me that she liked my writing and the story.
She offered to introduce me to her publisher, and along with her recommendation, I sent my query and synopsis. They offered a contract and here we are nine months later.
You’ve led an eclectic life, both in and out of the US. What has been your personal drive behind the choices you’ve made? If you were a character, what would your arc be?Yes, I have made significant shifts along my life path. In fact, my whole life has been a succession of changes.
Seeking fulfillment has been a driving force. Sometimes led by the power of love, sometimes for the adventure of attempting to make a dream a reality. But, as to the arc, all roads lead to home – where I am in the here and now.
It took a while, but here I sit in the writing chair.
Describe the perfect dive site:While sailing with a friend in the southern Caribbean, we made a diversion en route to the island of Margarita, Venezuela.
Our changed course led to a spot of an island we had heard of lying about one hundred miles out to sea in the middle of nowhere, north of Venezuela. The island was inhabited only by cactus and lizards, the surrounding seawater incredibly clear.
So far from any sources of pollution, the vibrant colors of the magnificent coral gardens beneath the surface were breathtaking. Shoals of shimmering little fishes shifted with our movements.
Beautiful, extraordinary, and abundant sea life intermingled with corals and lurked beneath ledges and in dark holes contrasted by adjacent brilliant white sands reflecting in watery sunlight. Many sharks also inhabited the area, so an edge prevailed from keeping an eye out for cruising hammerheads rising from the depths.
What are you working on now?I’m working on a suspenseful novel set in the Caribbean. Can’t you tell how easily my mind goes back there?
Troubles in paradise can be played out in many ways. Along with a mysterious death, a Callaloo mix-up, as locals say, of sub plots such as: enchantment and disenchantment, CIA heavy-handedness, political intrigue, perils that implode agrarian cultures that embrace material modernism, romance, rise of feminism, and drug pirates will be stirred into the mix.
Should be fun writing and interesting reading.
Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers:For aspiring writers, read, study craftsmanship, and write. But, most importantly, lose the fear of failure and venture forward with the best you can do.
Take query rejections as inspiration to work harder. Like all practicing of the arts, creating well is a learning experience. Your best today will be better tomorrow.
R R Rowley — Author of Toxic Soup
R R Rowley has lived coast to coast in the USA, in London, UK, and has spent many years on his farm in Grenada, West Indies.
He has owned and operated several companies and was involved in start-ups.
Currently, he resides in the Cascade Mountains of Washington State.
To learn more bout R R, click on his name, photo, or any of the following links: Twitter & FacebookBlogger & Author Elena TaylorElena Taylor is the author of All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio book format at all your favorite bookstores and on-line retailers.
For more information on All We Buried, click on the link here to visit the home page.
Silver Falchion Award Finalist, Best Investigator 2020
Foreword INDIE Award Finalist, Best Mystery 2020
The post Toxic Soup: A Contemporary Thriller appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.
December 14, 2020
Grounds For Murder: A Coffee Lover’s Mystery
Grounds for Murder: A Coffee Lover’s Mystery by Tara Lush launched December 8
Visit all the stops on her Great Escapes Virtual Book Tour!
Author Interview + Rafflecopter Giveaway!
Grounds for Murder
Grounds for Murder (A Coffee Lover’s Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Publisher: Crooked Lane Books (December 8, 2020)
Hardcover: 320 pages
ISBN-10: 1643856189
ISBN-13: 978-1643856186
Digital ASIN: B0871KTTMC
When Lana Lewis’ best — and most difficult — employee abruptly quits and goes to work for the competition just days before the Sunshine State Barista Championship, her café’s chances of winning the contest are creamed.
In front of a gossipy crowd in the small Florida town of Devil’s Beach, Lana’s normally calm demeanor heats to a boil when she runs into the arrogant java slinger. Of course, Fabrizio “Fab” Bellucci has a slick explanation for jumping ship. But when he’s found dead the next morning under a palm tree in the alley behind Lana’s café, she becomes the prime suspect.
Even the island’s handsome police chief isn’t quite certain of her innocence. But Lana isn’t the only one in town who was angry with Fabrizio. Jilted lovers, a shrimp boat captain, and a surfer with ties to the mob are all suspects as trouble brews on the beach.
With her stoned, hippie dad, a Shih Tzu named Stanley, and a new, curious barista sporting a punk rock aesthetic at her side, Lana’s prepared to turn up the heat to catch the real killer.
After all, she is a former award-winning reporter. As scandal hangs over her beachside café, can Lana clear her name and win the championship — or will she come to a bitter end?
To purchase the book, click on any of the following links: AMAZON – KOBO – BARNES AND NOBLE – ITUNES – INDIEBOUND
Author Interview—Tara Lush
You and your protagonist—Lana Lewis—share a history in journalism. What other characteristics do you share?
I think Lana and I both share a deep skepticism about everything. There’s a saying in journalism that goes, “if your mother says she loves you, check it out,” and nowhere is this more accurate than Florida. It’s a sunny place for shady people, and one always has to be suspicious that people aren’t telling the truth, especially during interviews.
Lana is a little younger than me, so she’s probably a bit more idealistic than I am.
Your latest cozy mystery, Grounds for Murder, combines a few of my favorite things: Coffee, beaches, and dogs. How did you come up with the idea for beachside, coffee-flavored murder?
I also write romance, and many of those stories are set in Florida. There’s something about setting books in my home state—it’s quirky and funny and not to mention easy! So when I began writing my cozy, I wanted to take a page from some well-known Florida fiction authors, like Carl Hiaasen and Tim Dorsey. But I didn’t want the sharp edges of those books, so I set my cozy in a beautiful coffee shop, on a gorgeous tropical island.
I’m also a coffee lover, and took a coffeehouse tour in my city. The details I learned during that tour were so fascinating, I knew I had to work them into a book somehow!
Also, I wanted readers to feel as though they’re dropped into a tropical paradise while reading.
Gigi
Tell us about Stanley:
Stanley is a six-month-old Shih Tzu puppy. He’s actually the pet of the victim in Grounds for Murder, but the heroine, Lana, becomes so attached to him that she adopts him after the victim is found dead.
Personality-wise, Stanley is a mash-up of my two dogs, Gigi and Dino. Gigi’s a Shih Tzu with a ton of energy. Dino is a Tibetan Spaniel who loves to cuddle and sleep in.
Are your own dogs excellent distractions to writing or are they supportive co-workers?
Dino
My dogs are extremely supportive co-workers. Dino especially enjoys stretching out next to me on the sofa while I write. They also love everything I read aloud to them, and never criticize my stories. I’d say they are my best readers!
What was it like to be an Amtrak fellow?
It was INCREDIBLE. In January of 2017, I traveled from Florida, to New York, to Chicago, then to San Francisco, Los Angeles and finally, New Orleans. I stopped and stayed overnight in many of those places, and visited friends and family.
The stretch from Chicago to San Francisco was the most stunning, because we went through snow-covered mountains and the scenery was so different than what I’m used to in Florida. I had a sleeper car with a big window, and I sat in my cabin and wrote for long stretches of time.
I highly recommend cross-country train tours for authors. It was incredibly inspiring, and the book I finished on that trip went on to final in RWA’s RITA awards.
Something about the rhythm of the train, combined with the fact that for large swaths of the country there’s no wifi, makes for a highly productive trip.
What are you working on now?
I am working on edits of the second book in my Coffee Lover’s cozy mystery series, and am about to begin plotting the third book in that series.
Words of Wisdom for aspiring writers:
Read. Read in your genre, and outside of your genre. Read widely and often. Read narrative non-fiction from magazines and newspapers. Just read.
Your dogs are adorable! So great to have all of you on my blog! Congratulations on the launch of your latest novel.
Tara Lush, author of Grounds for Murder
Tara Lush is a Rita Award finalist, an Amtrak writing fellow, and a George C. Polk Award-winning journalist.
For the past decade, she’s been a reporter with the Associated Press, covering crime, alligators, natural disasters, and politics.
She also writes contemporary romance set in tropical locations. A fan of vintage pulp-fiction book covers, Sinatra-era jazz, and 1980s fashion, she lives with her husband and two dogs on the Gulf coast.
To learn more about Tara, click on her name, photo or any of the following links: Facebook, Goodreads, and Instagram
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Visit all the stops on the Great Escapes Virtual Book Tour for Grounds for Murder!
December 8 – I’m Into Books – SPOTLIGHT
December 8 – Maureen’s Musings – RECIPE POST
December 9 – The Avid Reader – REVIEW
December 9 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW
December 10 – Ruff Drafts – GUEST POST
December 10 – Mysteries with Character – REVIEW
December 10 – Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
December 11 – Elizabeth McKenna – Author Blog – SPOTLIGHT
December 11 – My Reading Journeys – REVIEW
December 12 – Diane Reviews Books – REVIEW
December 12 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT
December 12 – MJB Reviewers – SPOTLIGHT
December 13 – Cozy Up With Kathy – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
December 13 – Christy’s Cozy Corners – GUEST POST
December 14 – Author Elena Taylor’s Blog – AUTHOR INTERVIEW
December 14 – Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
December 14 – Mystery Thrillers and Romantic Suspense Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
December 15 – Cinnamon, Sugar, and a Little Bit of Murder – REVIEW, RECIPE POST
December 15 – Literary Gold – SPOTLIGHT
December 16 – Reading, Writing & Stitch-Metic – SPOTLIGHT
December 16 – eBook Addicts – RECIPE POST
December 16 – Books a Plenty Book Reviews – REVIEW
December 17 – Melina’s Book Blog – REVIEW
December 17 – Celticlady’s Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
Elena Taylor is the author of All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio book format at all your favorite on-line retailers. And don’t forget many independent bookstores can order books for you and have them shipped to your home or for curbside pickup.
For more information on All We Buried, click on the link here to visit the home page.
The post Grounds For Murder: A Coffee Lover’s Mystery appeared first on Elena Taylor.
December 13, 2020
Eye For Eye: A Trilogy by J.K. Franko
Eye for Eye is both the title of the first book and the series by J.K. Franko. Read on for information on all three books and my thoughts on book one.
Review + Author & Book Info + Rafflecopter Giveaway
Don’t miss any of the stops on the Partners in Crime Book Tour!
Eye for Eye“NEW TWIST ON STRANGERS ON A TRAIN”
~ THE SUNDAY TIMES
Roy and Susie are on a skiing holiday, trying to take a break from the constant reminders of their daughter, tragically killed by a careless driver.
Out of the blue they meet Deb and Tom, another couple with a tragic past and a shocking proposal to put things right.
As the bodies accumulate, secrets are revealed and alliances crumble. Ultimate survival depends on following the rules for a perfect murder. And the first rule is… leave no singing bones.
To purchase the book, click on the following link: Amazon
The Series
Tooth for Tooth (Book 2)
What would YOU do?What would you do if you got away with murder? Would you stop there? Could you?
Susie and Roy thought that they committed the perfect crime.
Their planning was meticulous. Their execution flawless.
But, there is always a loose end, isn’t there? Always a singing bone.
Now, while enemies multiply and suspicions abound, their perfect world begins to crumble.
The hunters have become the hunted.
Life for Life (Book 3)
What would YOU do if someone threatened your family?
Roy Cruise and his pregnant wife Susie barely survived an assassination attempt in their own home. The police now have them under surveillance. Meanwhile, Kristy Wise is a loose cannon—she knows too much and is trying to “set things right.”
What goes around comes around. And in this case, Roy and Susie may have pushed things too far. There are too many dead bodies. Too many foes plotting against them.
Roy and Susie must outwit the police and neutralize their enemies once and for all. If not, their days of retribution may end behind bars… or six feet under.
My thoughts on Eye For Eye
How far would a parent go to seek revenge for the death of a child? J.K. Franko pulls no punches in his exploration of just that question.
Roy and Susie’s lives are upended when they lose their daughter to a senseless accident. Unable to enact revenge on the person responsible, their inability to act begins to worm into their marriage like rot in a fallen apple.
A chance meeting with another set of parents whose child also endured great trauma, starts the couple on a road of violence and murder.
Full of twists and turns as the reader discovers that nothing in the story is as it seems, Roy and Susie lie to each other and lie to themselves as they plot to commit the perfect crime.
Told from the point of view of an unseen narrator, the acts of violence and the threads that have woven their way into the fabrics of their marriage, become more and more entwined as the story unfolds.
Designed as a trilogy, Eye For Eye is guaranteed to keep you up all night and leave you guessing to the very end.
J.K. Franko, author of Eye For Eye
J.K. FRANKO was born and raised in Texas. His Cuban-American parents agreed there were only three acceptable options for a male child: doctor, lawyer, and architect. After a disastrous first year of college pre-Med, he ended up getting a BA in philosophy (not acceptable), then he went to law school (salvaging the family name) and spent many years climbing the big law firm ladder. After ten years, he decided that law and family life weren’t compatible. He went back to school where he got an MBA and pursued a Ph.D. He left law for corporate America, with long stints in Europe and Asia.
His passion was always to be a writer. After publishing a number of non-fiction works, thousands of hours writing, and seven or eight abandoned fictional works over the course of eighteen years, EYE FOR EYE became his first published novel.
J.K. Franko now lives with his wife and children in Florida.
To learn more about J.K. Franko, click on his name, photo, or any of the following links: Goodreads, Instagram, Bookbub, Twitter, & Facebook!
a Rafflecopter giveaway
Visit all the Stops on the Eye For Eye Tour
Elena Taylor is the author of All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio book format at all your favorite on-line retailers. And don’t forget many independent bookstores can order books for you and have them shipped to your home or for curbside pickup.
For more information on All We Buried, click on the link here to visit the home page.
The post Eye For Eye: A Trilogy by J.K. Franko appeared first on Elena Taylor.
December 12, 2020
Christmas Cozy: Murder in the Christmas Tree Lot
Christmas Cozy!
Looking for the perfect holiday cozy? Don’t miss Murder in the Christmas Tree Lot by Judith Gonda!
Review + Book & Author Info
My thoughts on the Christmas Cozy: Murder in the Christmas Tree Lot
Tory Benning expects another joyous day at the Christmas tree lot, which she runs as part of her landscaping company. Instead, a local food truck owner turns up dead in the middle of the trees. Not only was the victim a friend—and a fantastic baker—but the murder can’t be good for business.
As the police arrive, the suspects come out of the woodwork . . . and so much for the holiday spirit, the killer might have been dressed like Santa Claus!
The holidays are challenging enough as Tory struggles with the death of her husband the previous year and juggling the family business she now runs full-time after her father’s passing. With that much tragedy in her life already, Tory just wants to move forward. She might even be ready for a new romance, but the vicious crime gets in her way.
Not one to let a mystery remain unsolved, and with the help from her best friend, Tory sets out to see what she can uncover about the murder, only to find she might be next on the killer’s list.
With a great mix of plot twists and engaging characters, including two tiny dogs with big hearts, Gonda delivers the perfect cozy for the holidays. The second in her Tory Benning Mystery Series can be read as a standalone, but it will leave you hoping Santa also brings you book one.
To buy the book, click on the link: Amazon
Christmas Cozy Author Judith Gonda
Judith Gonda is a mystery writer and Ph.D. psychologist with a penchant for Pomeranians and puns, so it’s not surprising that psychology, Poms and puns pop up in her amateur sleuth mysteries featuring landscape architect Tory Benning.
To learn more about Judith, click on her name, photo or any of the following links: Twitter, Facebook, Blog, Instagram, and Pinterest
Elena Taylor is the author of All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio book format at all your favorite on-line retailers. And don’t forget many independent bookstores can order books for you and have them shipped to your home or for curbside pickup.
For more information on All We Buried, click on the link here to visit the home page.
The post Christmas Cozy: Murder in the Christmas Tree Lot appeared first on Elena Taylor.
December 11, 2020
Cynthia Freeman Gibbs: Multiple Genre Author
Cynthia Freeman Gibbs is the multiple genre author of Jack Dante LaBanks and the Beanstalk—a Twisted fairy tale—and the Dr. Olivia C. Maxwell Series. I’m thrilled to introduce readers to her work!
Author Interview + Author & Book Information
Cynthia Freeman Gibbs (C.F. Gibbs)
Cynthia Freeman Gibbs is a native of Lansing, Michigan. She earned her Bachelor of Science degree in Business Administration and her MBA from Florida A&M University in Tallahassee, FL.
Her writing career began in 2016 after spending twenty-two years in Corporate America working in various roles for a Fortune 500 pharmaceutical company.
Cynthia has written two books in her Dr. Olivia C. Maxwell Novel series which include Reasonable Insanity, and a new release, Insatiable Revenge. Under the pen name, C. F. Gibbs, she has written another new release which is a Twisted Fairy Tale Fantasy, Jack Dante LaBanks and The Beanstalk. She co-authored Writing Is Essential which was published by United Black Writers Association in 2019. Cynthia is working on a film script for an educational film.
Cynthia is a resident of San Antonio where she married the love of her life, J Maurice Gibbs. She has three daughters and two grandchildren. She serves in a variety of ministries at her church and is a Lifetime member of the San Antonio Alumnae Chapter of Delta Sigma Theta Sorority, Incorporated.
Cynthia is the President of United Black Writers Association. She is a member of the Tobin Library Writers Group, and volunteers her time with the Heal the Healer San Antonio Symposium, NAACP, DreamWeek Summit, and a host of organizations in the community. She enjoys spending time with family and friends. Cynthia is a Foodie who has determined she is no longer dibble dabbling with the Vegetarian/Pescatarian life but has adopted a Flexitarian diet so she can enjoy her husband’s culinary skills.
She is thrilled to write stories for the world to enjoy.
To learn more about Cynthia, click on her name, photo or any of the following links: Twitter, Linked In, and Facebook
Cynthia Freeman Gibbs’ Books
Jack Dante LaBanks and the Beanstalk
Twisted Series: Multi-Authored Fairy Tales with a Twist of Fantasy, Sci-Fy, Romance, or Horror. Readers may read each self-contained standalone book in or out of order.
The lure of hidden treasures in unusual places unleashes the potential to acquire a desired life of wealth, love, and security.
Jack, a poor twenty-year-old man from the country, and his mother are on the verge of losing the farm due to economic hardship. Jack trades the family cow to a strange man for five magical beans, which grow into an enormous beanstalk leading above the clouds. He climbs the beanstalk in search of a treasure to save him and his mother from doom.
He reaches the City of Zephys, located in the Yagenoc Heights District, and discovers a secluded mansion of man-eating giants, Darius and his beautiful wife, Naomi.
Naomi, a talented songstress, suffers from the abuse of her asthmatic, gargantuan husband and seeks to find freedom from physical and mental captivity. She has the power within her to be free but must release it.
A mutual fondness grows deeper between Jack and Naomi with each visit he makes to the Yagenoc Heights District home where Naomi feeds him home-cooked meals. In the giant’s house, he finds various treasures he steals from Darius and ends up escaping with the one real treasure that will change his life forever.
The giant, Darius, pursues Jack for stealing away into the night with his most prized possession. Will the giant reclaim his hold on Naomi, or will she and Jack find a happy ever after ending?
To buy the book, click on the following link: Amazon
Insatiable Revenge
In this dramatic sequel to her debut Reasonable Insanity—A Dr. Olivia C. Maxwell Novel, Cynthia Freeman Gibbs delivers another evocative account of the life-altering pathway of a psychologist on a mission to control her impulsive reactions to adversity.
Two months of freedom from prison have passed—but Dr. Olivia C. Maxwell is not free from the rage that landed her behind bars. Fury toward her soon-to-be ex-husband, Malcolm, is amplified by decisions he’s made about the lives of their two children, along with the announcement of his unexpected fiancée.
Olivia must reckon with the impact her reckless actions have on her kids while balancing moving forward to a life without the insatiable urge for revenge. Olivia’s best friend, Savannah Menefee, is open to exploring out-of-the-box relationships. No-nonsense Savvy lowers barriers around her heart for unusual encounters to find the right man for her life—and now she’s exposed herself to a dangerous rendezvous.
The redeeming power of friendship is evident in the midst of Olivia and Savvy both navigating through chaotic relationships that bring about twists, terror and possibly, destruction.
To buy the book, click on the following link: Amazon
Reasonable Insanity
On the outside, clinical psychologist, Dr. Olivia C. Maxwell appears to live a life others only dream about. She has a sexy husband, a big house, luxury cars, two gorgeous children and she attends all the see-and-be-seen events. To add to the mix, she is beautiful, tall, fit, and intelligent. But what people can’t see is that inside, Olivia is living a nightmare.
As the only dark-skinned member of her family, Olivia grew up hating the skin she’s in and she’s spent her life desperately searching for acceptance. It’s not long before those deep insecurities sabotage everything she loves.
Friends ‘til the end….
After being estranged best friends for ten years, Savvy Menefee is back in Olivia’s life. And her reappearance is right on time because Olivia is teetering on the edge. A whirlwind of crazy reactions is leading Olivia into a slow, out-of-control spiral. And Savvy must try to save her friend before destructive impulses leave Olivia in the midst of mayhem and murder.
To buy the book, click on the following link: Amazon
Cynthia Freeman Gibbs: The Interview
Tell us about Twisted and Jack Dante LaBanks and the Beanstalk . How does the series work, and how does your novella fit into that?
Jack Dante LaBanks and the Beanstalk was the first novella and fairy tale that I’ve written. I began writing it in February 2020 and the book was released on November 25, 2020. The entire process from concept to being published took nine months because I had time to write during the pandemic.
DLG Publishing Partners asked for submissions for their Twisted Imprint brand in which I took a classic fairy tale of my choice and twisted the storyline. I had to write in 3rd person POV in past or present tense, present day, earth or otherworldly, and with alternate POVs of the female and male characters. I chose fantasy as the genre but could have selected paranormal, time travel, Sci-Fi, horror, or supernatural as well.
The heat level I picked is sweet/sensual versus the options of sensual, steamy, or romantica.
The Twisted Series consists of Multi-Authored Fairy Tales which are each self-contained standalone books, which can be read in or out of order. There are more in development as we speak.
We all know the story of Jack and the Beanstalk in which Jack and his mother are poor. In order to survive, Jack trades their cow for magical beans that grow into a beanstalk where he finds and steals treasures of gold.
The twist on my story is that Jack and his mother live in Bexar County during the human Pmurt-45 virus pandemic and are suffering and poor. He climbs the beanstalk searching for a treasure to save them from doom. Jack ends up in the City of Zephys, located in the Yagenoc Heights District, and discovers a secluded mansion of man-eating giants, Darius and his beautiful wife, Naomi.
Naomi, a talented songstress, suffers from the abuse of her asthmatic, gargantuan husband and seeks to find freedom from physical and mental captivity. She has the power within her to be free but must release it. A mutual fondness grows deeper between Jack and Naomi with each visit he makes to the giant’s home.
In the giant’s house, he finds various treasures he steals from Darius and ends up escaping with the one real treasure that will change his life forever. The giant, Darius, pursues Jack for stealing away into the night with his most prized possession.
You are also the author of the recent release, Insatiable Revenge . Tell us about that novel.
Insatiable Revenge is the 2nd book in my Dr. Olivia C. Maxwell Novel series. It was released on October 6, 2020. The protagonist, Olivia, is a clinical psychologist who lives in San Antonio. She is out of prison for arson, but her anger rages on. Her soon-to-be-ex-husband plans to move their kids to another state with his new fiancée, and Olivia now runs on fury.
Olivia is living a reckless life and it is impacting her two children to the point her daughter engages in self-harming behavior. Her best friend Savvy lowers barriers around her heart to find love—and now she’s exposed herself to a dangerous rendezvous.
Savvy helps Olivia navigate chaotic relationships, mental illness, and unresolved anger in this evocative account of one woman’s personal journey.
Those are two very different genres. How do you go about approaching your writing for different kinds of stories? Does your process change? Is there a common thread?
Writing contemporary fiction is my comfort zone.
The Dr. Olivia series fit directly into what I see through my lens, the people I interact with, and the environment I exist in. The fairy tale was a stretch for me. I found it fun to escape and create a new world. The challenge was to describe the land of the giants in a descriptive way so my readers could picture the landscape.
There are magical things that happen, and I really had to bend to create something people could feel and experience with the characters. The main change of process was the request from the publisher to alternate the POV in each chapter.
In writing all three of my books, I am a Pantser more so than a Plotter. I jot down ideas but not in a structured way. I type whatever is in my head and edit later. The common thread is that they are all works of modern-day fiction.
You worked in the corporate world and the pharmaceutical industry for more than twenty years. How did those experiences inform your writing career?
My career included positions as a sales representative, trainer, manager, and account executive. I had to analyze data, develop and execute strategies, plan, manage people, promote products and services, research information, develop marketing plans, assess performance, engage customers, and speak to audiences.
I still have to do pretty much all of these things as an author and a new business owner. Customer engagement was as critical in the corporate world as it is in my life as an author. Writing a book is quite an accomplishment but it has to get into the hands of readers. Marketing and selling a book when you don’t have a Big 5/6 publisher is a whole business in itself.
Tell us about the United Black Writers Association.
United Black Writers Association, Inc. is a cooperative non-profit organization focused on raising awareness about African American literary talent as well as encourages writing and literacy through workshops and educational forums.
I connected with the Executive Director when she interviewed me about my first book, Reasonable Insanity in a segment called “By Any Ink Necessary”. She included my interview along with other author interviews in a book called Writing Is Essential: How to Use What You’ve Got to Get the Job Done.
This book is to inspire people to put pen to paper by reading about authors who share our stories about writing, publishing, or being an entrepreneur.
I am currently serving as President of UBWA.
What are you working on now?
I am writing a documentary film script which covers African American music genres from music during slavery times through Hip-Hop. In addition to writing the script, I will be acting in it.
I started writing what I hope will fall into the Thriller genre. I wrote five different beginnings to this book and I need to decide which direction to follow. There is a strong possibility that I will be diving into the children’s books arena soon which will have a historical time travel aspect to them.
Finally, I think I still have some Dr. Olivia C. Maxwell stories to write. I love the drama in her life and my readers do too.
Final words of wisdom for aspiring writers
Put your butt in a seat and write! The world is waiting to see what is in your mind. A book can only be read if you get it out of your head. I encourage writers to be a student and take workshops, classes, and/or join writers groups.
You can never learn too much when it comes to becoming a better writer. Have fun, dare to dream, and turn those dreams into books.
Thank you for hanging out with us! Great to learn more about you and your projects.
Elena Taylor is the author of All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio book format at all your favorite on-line retailers. And don’t forget many independent bookstores can order books for you and have them shipped to your home or for curbside pickup.
For more information on All We Buried, click on the link here to visit the home page.
The post Cynthia Freeman Gibbs: Multiple Genre Author appeared first on Elena Taylor.
December 10, 2020
Young Adult Cozy Mystery by Kelly Brady Channick
Young Adult Cozy Mystery, Asbury High and the MisTaken Identities on my blog today!
Visit all the stops on the Great Escapes Virtual Book Tour!
Author & Book Information + Rafflecopter Giveaway + Complete Tour Links
Asbury High and the Mistaken Identities: Young Adult Cozy Mystery
Asbury High and the MisTaken Identities: Asbury High Series
Young Adult Cozy Mystery
3rd in Series
Publisher: Purple Milk Publishing (September 12, 2020)
Paperback: 269 pages
ISBN-13: 978-1734307351
Digital ASIN: B08H2HYF9Z
With the official reopening of Brady’s and their sophomore year beginning, Maddie, Cornelious, Carly and Pilot are ready to shift their focus back to high school. Unfortunately, a month into the new school year many Asburyans find their bank accounts depleted, with no hint of foul play. Even the bank tellers insist that each withdrawal was done in person, with proper identification supplied and correct responses given to security questions.
Pilot, excited at the possibility of working with a cyber-crime, urges the gang to dive in—only to discover there are no traces of wrongdoing online either. Instantly intrigued, the gang decides to investigate the case before their own family’s accounts get hit.
However, with their successful sports teams, the continued growth and organization of the Pitbulls, possible new relationships blooming, dating and unrealized jealousies coming to the surface, the teenage sleuths find themselves more distracted than ever. After piecing together some clues, they wonder if someone in Asbury High is to blame for yet another crime.
Can Asbury’s favorite foursome figure out who is to blame before Asbury itself goes bankrupt?
Asbury High and the MisTaken Identities is the third book in an enticing young adult cozy mystery series that fans of Nancy Drew, The Hardy Boys and Scooby Doo will love.
To purchase the book, click the following link: Amazon
About the Author
For as long as she could remember, Kelly Brady Channick loved making up stories, and leaving her listeners/readers on the edge of their seats.
Perhaps that’s why she always managed to talk herself out of trouble…
After graduating from NJ’s own Ocean City High School, Kelly accepted a basketball scholarship to Holy Family University, in Philadelphia. As a lifelong athlete, Kelly understands the importance of teamwork and overcoming adversity, something she hopes translates into her books.
Before writing page-turners, she taught first, fifth, sixth, seventh and eighth grade — like a dessert menu, she simply had to test them all out. But her favorite job is the one she’s now doing full time: writing. Kelly loves to craft whodunit mysteries, leading readers through various twists and turns filled with red-herrings, hidden clues, and more peculiar characters than a reality show.
Kelly lives in South Jersey with her handsome husband, energetic baby boy, two cookie-stealing dogs, and an awfully smart cat.
To learn more about Kelly, click on her name, photo, or any of the following links: Goodreads, Facebook, and Instagram
Sign up for her email list and receive the first six chapters of book 2 for free! Click the link here.
ASBURY HIGH AND THE MISTAKEN IDENTITIES TOUR PARTICIPANTS
December 2 – Literary Gold – CHARACTER GUEST POST
December 3 – Maureen’s Musings – SPOTLIGHT
December 4 – I’m All About Books – SPOTLIGHT
December 5 – MJB Reviewers – SPOTLIGHT
December 6 – StoreyBook Reviews – GUEST POST
December 7 – Christy’s Cozy Corners – GUEST POST
December 8 – Reading, Writing & Stitch-Metic – SPOTLIGHT WITH RECIPE
December 9 – Carla Loves To Read – REVIEW, CHARACTER GUEST POST
December 10 – Author Elena Taylor’s Blog – SPOTLIGHT
December 11 – Celticlady’s Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
December 11 – Baroness’ Book Trove – REVIEW
December 12 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – GUEST POST
December 13 – Off
December 14 – eBook Addicts – SPOTLIGHT
December 15 – Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
Elena Taylor is the author of All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio book format at all your favorite on-line retailers. And don’t forget many independent bookstores can order books for you and have them shipped to your home or for curbside pickup.
For more information on All We Buried, click on the link here to visit the home page.
The post Young Adult Cozy Mystery by Kelly Brady Channick appeared first on Elena Taylor.
December 9, 2020
New Cozy Series: Open For Murder
New Cozy Series: Open For Murder, book 1 in the Happy Camper Series
Review +Author & Book Info
New Cozy Series: Open For Murder: A Happy Camper Mystery
Series: A Happy Camper Mystery
Published by: Lyrical Press
Release Date: November 24, 2020
Pages: 304
Deep in the heart of touristy small-town Spirit Canyon, South Dakota, former journalist Zo Jones runs the Happy Camper gift shop, where she sells everything from locally made souvenirs to memorabilia. She even rents out mountain bikes, and dabbles in the adventure industry—and sleuthing . . .
It’s Memorial Day weekend in Spirit Canyon, and for Zo that means the return of summer shoppers. It also means the return of her good friend Beth, who’s moved back to the area to reopen her family’s premier hotel, Spirit Canyon Lodge. Beth and Zo spent many childhood summers there and Zo can’t wait to reconnect and celebrate the Grand Opening. But the festivities go from bad to worse when a power outage knocks out the lights—and morning reveals a competitor’s dead body found on the premises . . .
Soon enough, Beth is the prime suspect in the suspicious death. Fortunately, Zo isn’t afraid to put her investigative skills to work and prove her friend’s innocence. To start digging for information, she appeals to Max Harrington, a local Forest Ranger and unlikely ally. Though they’ve argued about Happy Camper’s tours, in this case they agree on one thing: Beth isn’t a murderer. Stranger things have happened than their collaboration. After all, this is Spirit Canyon. But as the list of suspects grows, Zo will have to keep her guard up if she doesn’t want to be the next lodge guest to check out . . .
To buy the book, click on any of the following links: Amazon, Barnes & Noble, and Kobo
My Thoughts on Open For Murder
Zo Jones is the perfect amateur sleuth. She’s fearless and funny and loyal, which gets her into a series of scrapes as she tries to solve a murder before her childhood friend gets arrested for a crime she didn’t commit.
Owner of the Happy Camper gift shop, ex-journalist Zo Jones thinks she’s going to a celebration to support her friend Beth at the re-opening of her family’s premier resort. Instead she finds herself embroiled in the murder of a local woman with a lot of enemies—each one with a reason to want her dead.
The Spirit Canyon Lodge holds a special place in Zo’s heart, as she spent summers there with her friend as a child. Zo is invested in the success of the lodge as well as keeping Beth out of jail.
The deeper we get into the mystery, the deeper we get into Zo’s background as well. She’s a complex character with a history that makes her keep people at arm’s length, including the cute Forest Ranger Max Harrington.
But even Zo needs a little help from her friends, and finds herself reaching out. Could a little romance be in Zo’s future . . . anything is possible, but first she has to solve the crime.
Set in the beautiful Black Hills of South Dakota, Spirit Canyon makes a terrific backdrop for Zo’s investigations. Wild and dangerous, but mixed with a fun, touristy small town vibe, Open for Murder will make the reader crave a visit in person.
Angela effortlessly weaves real and fictional geography together to place the reader smack in the middle of stunning scenery and an engaging community—perfect for armchair traveling during a long year of staying home.
Filled with dynamic characters and plenty of plot twists to keep the reader guessing, Open For Murder is a fantastic start to a new series.
Mary Angela, Author of Open For Murder
© Julie Prairie Photography 2016
Mary Angela is the author of the Professor Prather and Happy Camper cozy mystery series.
When Mary isn’t penning heartwarming whodunits, she’s teaching, reading, traveling, or spending time with her family.
She lives in South Dakota with her husband, daughters, and spoiled pets. You can find out more about her loves, including her writing, at MaryAngelaBooks.com.
To learn more about Mary, click on her name, photo, or any of the following links: Facebook, Twitter, Goodreads, and Instagram
Elena Taylor is the author of All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio book format at all your favorite on-line retailers. And don’t forget many independent bookstores can order books for you and have them shipped to your home or for curbside pickup.
E-book on sale for $1.99 the entire month of November!
For more information on All We Buried, click on the link here to visit the home page.
The post New Cozy Series: Open For Murder appeared first on Elena Taylor.
December 8, 2020
The Venturi Effect: A Legal Thriller by Sage Web
The Venturi Effect by Sage Web
Visit all the stops along the Partners In Crime Virtual Blog Tour!
Review + Excerpt + Rafflecopter Giveaway
The Venturi Effect
Genre: Legal Thriller
Published by: Stoneman House Press, LLC
Publication Date: November 15th 2020
Number of Pages: 329
ISBN: 9781733737944 (Ebook: 9781733737951)
Goodreads
After fleeing the crush of a partnership at a large Chicago criminal-defense firm and the humiliation of a professional breakdown, Devlin Winters just wants to be left alone with a couple sundowners on the deck of her dilapidated mahogany trawler on Galveston Bay.
But when an old flame shows up on the boardwalk with a mysterious little boy in tow and an indictment on his heels, fate has other plans, and Devlin finds herself thrust onto a sailboat bound for St. Kitts and staring down her demons in the courtroom, as she squares off against an obsessed prosecutor with a secret of his own.
To purchase the book, click on the link: Amazon
My thoughts on The Venturi Effect
A fast-paced, enjoyable read, I highly recommend The Venturi Effect.
Sage Webb’s background in both the law and sailing helps her create dynamic characters, believable scenarios, and a thrilling ocean crossing.
Webb’s experience as a criminal defense attorney provides authentic descriptions to the court cases and thought processes of legal counsel, both of which drive the action.
But it’s events outside the courtroom that turn this into something more than a garden-variety legal thriller.
Unlike most legal thrillers, where much of the excitement comes from the people embroiled in legal troubles and a small geographical footprint, Webb expands the world of the novel and includes thrilling scenes on the high seas.
Protagonist Devlin Winters has a complex relationship with the law. Both as a disbarred attorney and someone living outside the pale, Devlin is an outsider in every community. She doesn’t fit perfectly into a box labeled attorney, sailor, or drunk, though she spends time trapped in each.
With a bold heart, an unorthodox moral compass, and a willingness to pick herself back up after defeat, Devlin is an unusual hero. Emotionally injured from her time in the courtroom, she’s fled to Texas to live a life of simplicity, working her boardwalk carny game and watching various seagoing vessels cruise by.
Then her past arrives in front of her in the shape of a re-kindled romance, personal danger, complicated deceptions, and someone else’s child.
Wading in at full speed, Devlin enlists the help of a fellow sailor and takes the reader along for an unusual thrill ride.
One of my favorite aspects of Webb’s novel is that I’ve never read a crime novel quite like this one. Though she plays with a variety of tropes: alcoholic failed attorney, past lover arriving on the scene, vindictive prosecuting attorney, and a precocious child, she does so without being cliché.
Since we’re not able to travel much this holiday season, let The Venturi Effect do the traveling on your behalf.
A fast-paced, enjoyable read, I highly recommend The Venturi Effect.
Excerpt from The Venturi Effect
Chapter 1
Carny
Red metal boxes lined the wood-railed tourist boardwalk, giving children access to fish food if the kids could finagle quarters from parents wilted and forlorn in the triple-digit Gulf Coast heat. With the food, kids could create great frenzies of red drum, snook, spotted sea trout, or whatever fish species gathered at the boardwalk’s pilings in agitated silver vortices. Devlin Winters lifted her ballcap and wiped a sleeve across her brow. She favored long-sleeved t-shirts for just this reason—their mopping properties . . . and to protect her from the Galveston Bay sun in its unrelenting effort to grill her and the other boardwalk barkers. In the two years she’d been on the boardwalk, she’d never fed the fish.
A kid stopped beside one of the boxes.
“Can I have a quarter, mommy?” the boy asked.
He looked about eight or nine, though Devlin had little interest in guessing accurately the ages of the pint-sized patrons fueling her income stream.
“I’m not sure I have one,” the mom replied.
She appeared a bit younger than Devlin, maybe late twenties.
Once upon a time, Devlin would have looked at a mother like that and made a snide remark about crib lizards and dead ends, but nine bucks an hour in the sun makes it awfully hard for a carny to judge others. Lacking a more interesting subject, Devlin watched the woman paw through a backpack-sized purse. The chick produced a quarter and handed it to the kid, who dropped it into the box’s payment slot and ground the dial, catching in his miniature palm a limited portion of the fish food that spilled out of the machine when he lifted the metal flap. The majority of the pellets rained down onto the wooden boardwalk planks, bounced, and disappeared through the cracks between the planks.
Devlin fancied she could hear the tiny fish-food BBs hitting brown water: plink, plink, plink. Once upon another time, when she was still at Sondheim Baker, but toward the end, she would go outside in the middle of the day. Instead of sitting at her desk, drafting appellate briefs for the Seventh Circuit, she would ride the elevator down to La Salle, down seven hundred feet of glass and stainless steel and terribly expensive architecture. She would drop down those elevator cables at random times, at times rich, successful attorneys should have been at their desks. And she would turn left out of that great glass building the color of the sky and walk over to the river, that nothing-like-the-Styx river that mankind had turned back on itself, contrary to nature.
She would stand and look down into the water, which was sometimes emerald, sometimes the color of jeans before they are ever washed. Once or twice, she had reached into her purse (expensive purses, Magnificent Mile purses from Burberry and Gucci and Hermès) and she had dug around until she’d found a penny. She’d dropped the penny into the river and, even now, on the sauna-hot boardwalk with the whistle of the kid-sized train behind her and the pulses of unimpressive pop music overhead, she was sure she could hear those pennies hit the Chicago River, hit and sink down, down, and farther down.
Plink. Plink. Pli—
“You want to try this one?”
The fish-feeding entertainment had run its course and the mother stood in front of the water-gun game Devlin guarded. She gestured toward Devlin and the row of stools in front of their narrow-barreled water guns.
“Is it hard?” The kid looked up at his mom, and the mom turned to Devlin.
“He can do it, right?” she asked. “I mean, he can figure it out, right?”
“Sure, it’s easy.” Devlin lifted her cap for another mop across her hairline, and then wiped perspiration away from her eyes under her sunglasses. “It’s fun, little dude,” she said to the kid in his obviously secondhand clothes.
She wanted to care, wanted to be “affable” or whatever it is a carny should be toward summer’s ice-cream-eating cash-crop flux of kids. But wanting alone, without effort, is never enough.
The mom held out a five-dollar bill.
“You both wanna do it? I gotta have more than one person to run it for a prize.” Devlin rubbed the top of her right flip flop and foot against her left calf.
“Oh,” the woman said, “I wasn’t planning to play. I’m no good at these things.”
“Um,” Devlin stepped out of the shade of the game’s nook and cast her eyes up and down the boardwalk, “we’ll find some more kids.” She took the woman’s money without looking away from the walkway and the beggarly seabirds.
A young couple, likely playing hooky from jobs in Houston, held the hands of a girl sporting jet-black pigtails and lopsided glasses.
“Step right up, princess. You wanna win a unicorn, right?” Devlin reached back into her game nook and snatched a pink toy from the wall of unicorns, butterflies, bees, and unlicensed lookalikes of characters from movies Devlin had never heard of. She dangled the thing in the girl’s direction.
“Would you like to play, habibti?” The mom jiggled the girl’s arm.
“Tell ya what.” Devlin turned to the mom. “The whole family can play for five bucks. We’re just trying to get some games going, give away some prizes to these cuties.” She turned back to the first mother. “And don’t worry, I’ll give him three games for the fiver.”
“Hear that, Vince? You’ll get to play a few times. Is that cool?”
Vince picked at his crotch. Devlin looked away.
“Yes, we’ll all play,” the second mother said. The dad pulled a twenty out of a pocket and Devlin started to make change while Vince’s mom hefted Vince onto a stool.
“Just a five back,” the father said. “We’ll play a few times.”
“Sure thing,” Devlin replied. Then she raised her voice to run through the rules of the game, to explain how the water guns spraying and hitting the targets would raise plastic boats in a boat race to buzzers at the top of the game contraption. She offered some tired words of encouragement, got nods from everyone, and counted down. “Three, two, one.”
She pushed the button and the game loosed a bell sound across the boardwalk.
A guy in waiter’s livery hurried past, hustling toward one of the boardwalk’s various restaurants, with their patios overlooking the channel and Galveston Bay. He’d be serving people margaritas and gimlets in just a few more steps and minutes. Devlin wanted a gimlet.
She drew a deep breath, turned back to her charges. “Close race here, friends.”
An ’80s-vintage Hunter sailboat slid past in the channel, leaving Galveston Bay and making its way back to one of the marinas up the waterway on Clear Lake.
When Devlin turned back to her marksmen, the girl’s mother’s boat had almost reached the buzzer.
“Looks like we’ve got a leader here. Come on, madam. You’re almost there.”
Devlin checked her watch. She’d be off in less than an hour. She’d be back on her own boat fifteen minutes after that, with an unopened bottle of Bombay Sapphire and a net full of limes rocking above the galley sink.
The buzzer blared.
“Looks like we have a winner. Congratulations, madam.” Devlin clapped three times. “Now would you like a unicorn, a butterfly, or,” Devlin pulled a four-inch-tall creature from the wall, not knowing how to describe it, “this little guy?” She held it out for the woman’s inspection.
“Habibti, you pick.” The mom patted her daughter’s back. The kid didn’t say anything, just pointed at the butterfly.
“Butterfly it is, beautiful.” Devlin unclipped the toy from the wall of plush junk and handed it to the girl. “Well, we’ve got some competition for this next one, folks, now that you’re all warmed up. Take a breather. We’ll start the next game when you’re ready.”
“Can I try?” A boy pulled at a broad-shouldered man’s hand, leading the guy toward the row of stools. It was hard to tell parentage with these kids and their mixed-up step- and half- and melded-in-other-ways families, and with this one, the kid’s dark curls and earnest eyes contrasted with the dude’s Nordic features and reminded Devlin of a roommate she’d had in undergrad, a girl from Haiti who’d taught Devlin about pikliz. Devlin hadn’t thought about Haitian food in ages. She decided she would google it later and see what she could find in Houston. A drive to discover somewhere new to eat would do her good.
Any chance at plantains and pikliz would have to wait, though. The kid and the dude now stood in front of Devlin. Ultra-dark sunglasses hid the guy’s eyes, and a ballcap with a local yacht brokerage’s logo embroidered on it cast a shadow over his face. Devlin cocked her head. She narrowed her eyes and hoped her own sunglasses were doing as good a job of being barriers. He reminded her of—
“Still time to add another player?” The dude pulled out a wallet and handed Devlin a ten.
“Sure,” she said. “Is this for both of you? You should give it a try, too. This’ll get you both in on the next two games.”
She didn’t wait for confirmation. She shoved the money in the box beside her control board of buzzer buttons and waved the guy and his kid toward stools on the far side of the now-veteran players already seated.
“Uh, sure,” the guy said, putting a hand on the kid’s back and guiding him to a seat.
Running through the rules again, Devlin envisioned those gimlets awaiting her. With Bombay Sapphire dancing before her, she counted down and then pushed the button to blast the bell and launch the game. The buzzer over the newcomer father’s boat’s track rang moments later. What kind of scummy guy just trounces a kid like that? Devlin rolled her eyes behind the obscuring lenses.
“Looks like our new guy is the winner, ladies and gentlemen. Now, would you like a unicorn, a butterfly, or this little dude?” Devlin again proffered the hard-to-describe creature, walking it over for the fellow to examine.
“What is it?” the guy asked.
Devlin shrugged. “What do you get when you cross an elephant and a rhino?”
The guy’s sunglasses gave away nothing. But something she couldn’t articulate made her feel like he was studying her.
“An ’el-if-I-know,” she said.
Still nothing . . . except that feeling of scrutiny.
“Dude, I’ve got no idea,” she replied to her reflection in the lenses.
“Grant, which one do you want?” The guy turned away and handed the unnamed creature to the kid, and then gestured at the identifiable unicorns and butterflies hanging on the wall over Devlin’s control station.
“Those are for girls,” Grant said, waving at the recognizable plushes on the wall.
“So is this one okay?” The guy patted the thing in the kid’s hand.
Grant wrinkled his nose. “Yeah, I guess so.”
“All right, folks. You’ve all got another game coming here. Competition is fierce. Who’s gonna take this last one?” Devlin strode back to her place at the control board.
“Deep inhale, everyone. Relax. All right, here we go. Three, two, one.” She pushed the starting button.
Up shot the new guy’s boat again. What a bastard. Poor Grant. This patriarchal showmanship would be worth about five or ten grand at the therapist’s in twenty-five years.
Out in the channel, two jetskis purred past, headed toward the bay. The day’s heat had cracked and the sky hinted at evening. Behind her, the victory whistle sounded. She turned. The dude with the sunglasses sat patting Grant’s shoulder, with Grant’s boat at the top of its track. So the guy wasn’t a complete fool.
“A new winner here, ladies and gentlemen.” She walked to Grant’s stool. “Now, little man, because you’ve won two prizes today, you can trade that one you’ve got and this one you’re going to get for one bigger one. You can pick from these if you want.”
She pointed at a row with only-slightly-bigger caterpillars, ambiguous characters, and a dog in a purple vest.
“That one,” Grant said, pointing at the dog.
“That one it is, good sir.” Devlin retrieved the dog, taking back the first creature and returning it to the wall in the process.
As she retraced her steps to Grant, the dog in her hand, fuzzy pictures coalesced in a fog and mist of bygone memories.
Devlin handed the dog to Grant. “There you go.”
She looked at the guy again, focusing on him for longer than she should have, feeling him perhaps doing the same to her. Yes, she had it right: it was him. She pushed a flyaway strand of bleached hair back into place beneath her cap and turned away.
“Thanks for playing this afternoon, folks,” she called. “Enjoy your evening on the boardwalk.”
The parents gathered their kids, and Devlin walked back toward her control board. Waiting for Grant and him to head off down the row of games and rides, she fussed with the cashbox and then lifted her water bottle to her lips. She could feel him and the kid lingering, feel them failing to move along, failing to leave her to forget what once was and to focus on thoughts of gimlets at sunset on the deck of a rotten old trawler.
“Um.” His voice sounded low and halting behind her. A vacuum, all heat and silence, followed and then a masculine inhale . . . and then the awkward pause.
He cleared his throat.
“Sorry to interrupt, but are you from Chicago?”
The author of The Venturi Effect: Sage Webb
Sage Webb practiced criminal defense for over a decade before turning to fiction.
She is the author of two novels and the recipient of numerous literary awards in the U.S. and U.K., including second place in the Hackney Literary Awards.
Her short stories have appeared in Texas anthologies and literary reviews. In 2020, Michigan’s Mackinac State Historic Parks named her an artist in residence.
She belongs to International Thriller Writers and PEN America, and lives with her husband, a ship’s cat, and a boat dog on a sailboat in Galveston Bay.
To learn more about Sage, click on her name, photo, or any of the following links: Goodreads, Twitter, & Facebook!
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11/02 Guest post @ The Book Divas Reads
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11/12 Guest post @ Novels Alive
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11/17 Interview @ A Blue Million Books
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Elena Taylor is the author of All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio book format at all your favorite on-line retailers. And don’t forget many independent bookstores can order books for you and have them shipped to your home or for curbside pickup.
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December 6, 2020
Holiday Historical Mystery: A Christmas Carol Murder
A brand new historical holiday mystery from Heather Redmond, A Christmas Carol Murder.
Don’t miss any of the stops along the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour!
Nothing says happy holidays like a little murder . . .
Book & Author info + Excerpt + Rafflecopter Giveaway
Holiday Historical Mystery!
A Christmas Carol Murder
The latest novel from Heather Redmond’s acclaimed mystery series finds young Charles Dickens suspecting a miser of pushing his partner out a window, but his fiancée Kate Hogarth takes a more charitable view of the old man’s innocence . . .
London, December 1835: Charles and Kate are out with friends and family for a chilly night of caroling and good cheer. But their blood truly runs cold when their singing is interrupted by a body plummeting from an upper window of a house. They soon learn the dead man at their feet, his neck strangely wrapped in chains, is Jacob Harley, the business partner of the resident of the house, an unpleasant codger who owns a counting house, one Emmanuel Screws.
Ever the journalist, Charles dedicates himself to discovering who’s behind the diabolical defenestration. But before he can investigate further, Harley’s corpse is stolen. Following that, Charles is visited in his quarters by what appears to be Harley’s ghost—or is it merely Charles’s overwrought imagination?
He continues to suspect Emmanuel, the same penurious penny pincher who denied his father a loan years ago, but Kate insists the old man is too weak to heave a body out a window. Their mutual affection and admiration can accommodate a difference of opinion, but matters are complicated by the unexpected arrival of an infant orphan. Charles must find the child a home while solving a murder, to ensure that the next one in chains is the guilty party.
Genre: Historical Mystery
Published by: Kensington Publishing
Publication Date: September 29th 2020
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 1496717171 (ISBN13: 9781496717177)
Series: A Dickens of a Crime #3 || A Stand Alone Mystery
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Excerpt From the holiday historical mystery: A Christmas Carol Murder
Chapter One
Hatfield, Hertfordshire, England, December 1, 1835
They hadn’t found the body yet. Old Sal was surely dead. Feathers had caught on candles, igniting the blaze. Maybe a yipping dog had some part in the fiery disaster. The marchioness’s advanced age had surely contributed to the fatal misadventure. The marquess, her son, had nearly killed himself in a futile attempt to rescue her.
Charles Dickens’s cough forced him to set down his pen. Ink dribbled from it, obscuring his last few words. He found it hard to stay seated, so he pushed his hands through his unruly dark hair, as if pressing on his sooty scalp would keep him on the pub bench. Only three hours of sleep before being dragged from his bed to make the twenty-three-mile journey from his rooms at Furnival’s Inn in London that morning. Nervous energy alone kept his pen moving.
He rubbed his eyes, gritty with grime and fumes from the fire, both the massive one that had destroyed the still-smoking ruins of Hatfield House’s west wing, and the much smaller one here in the taproom at Eight Bells Pub. Some light came in from out of doors, courtesy of a quarter-full moon, but the windows were small.
He called for a candle and kept working.
Putting the messy slip of paper aside, he dipped his pen in his inkwell. Starting again, he recalled the devastation of the scene, the remains of once noble apartments now reduced to rubble and ash. He filled one slip after another, describing the scene, the architecture, the theories.
When he ran out of words, he let his memories of massive oaken Tudor beams, half-burned; heaps of bricks; lumps of metal; buckets of water; black-faced people; and unending, catch-in- your-throat soot—all that remained of forty-five rooms of storied, aristocratic things—fade away.
The ringing of St. Ethelreda’s venerable church bells returned him to the moment. Had it gone eight p.m. already? Hooves and the wheels of a cart sounded in the narrow street outside. A couple of men passed by, discussing the fire. The door of the pub opened and closed,allowing the flash from a lantern to illuminate the dark room.
Charles noted the attempts to make the room festive. Greenery had been tacked to the blackened beams and draped around the mantelpiece. He thought he saw mistletoe mischievously strung up in that recess to the left of the great fireplace.
Next to it, a man slumped in a chair. He wore a tired, stained old surtout and plaid trousers with a mended tear in the knee. Next to him waited an empty stool, ready for an adoring wife or small child to sit there.
Charles stacked his completed slips of paper on the weathered table and took a fresh one from his pile, the pathos of that empty seat tugging at him. He began to write something new, imagining that last year at this time, a sweet little girl sat on the stool, looking up at the old, beaten man. How different his demeanor would have been then!
Charles drew a line between his musings and the lower blank part of the page. His pen flew again, as he made the note. Add a bit of melancholy to my Christmas festivities sketch.
Unbidden, the serving maid delivered another glass of hot rum and water. The maid, maybe fourteen, with wide, apple- colored cheeks and a weak chin, gave him a sideways glance full of suspicion.
He grinned at her and pointed to his face. “Soot from the fire. I’m sending a report back to London.” His hand brushed against his shoulder, puffing soot from his black tailcoat into his eyes.
She pressed her lips together and marched away, her little body taut with indignation. Well, she didn’t understand he had to send his report by the next mail coach. Not much time for sentiment or bathing just yet.
By the time he finished his notes, the drinks hadn’t done their job of settling his cough. He knew it would worsen if he lay down so he opened his writing desk to pull out a piece of notepaper.
Dearest Fanny, he wrote to his sister. Where to begin? I wrote to my betrothed this morning so I thought I should send my news to someone else. Was ever a man so busy? I am editing my upcoming book. Did I tell you it will be called Sketches by Boz? I have to turn in the revisions for volumes one and two by the end of the year, in advance of the first volume releasing February eighth. I am also working on an operetta, thanks to that conversation with your friend John Hullah, in my head, at least. I hope to actually commence writing it as soon as my revisions are done.
I remember all the happy Christmas memories of our earliest childhood, the games and songs and ghost stories when we lived in Portsmouth, and hope to re-create them in my own sweet home next year. How merry it will be to share Christmas with the Hogarths! To think that you, Leticia, and I will all be settled soon with our life’s companions. Soon we will know the sounds of happy children at our hearths and celebrate all the joys that the season should contain in our private chambers.
He set down his pen without signing the letter. It might be that he would have more to add before returning to London. He had no idea how long it would be before they recovered the Marchioness of Salisbury’s body, if indeed, anything was left. Restacking his papers, he considered the question of her jewels. Had they burned? At least the priceless volumes in the library all had survived, despite the walls being damaged.
His brain kept churning, so he pulled out his copy of Sketches by Boz. He would edit for a while before retiring to his room at the Salisbury Arms. No time for sleep when work had to be done.
Pounding on the chamber door woke him. Daylight scarcely streamed around the tattered edges of the inn’s curtain. Charles coughed. He still tasted acrid soot at the back of his throat. Indeed, it coated his tongue.
The pounding came again as he scratched his unshaven chin. Had the Morning Chronicle sent someone after him? He’d put his first dispatch from the fire on the mail coach. Pulling his frock coat over his stained shirt, he hopped across the floor while he tugged on his dirty trousers. Soot puffed into the air with each bounce.
“Coming, coming,” he called.
The hinges squeaked horribly when he opened the door. On the other side stood a white-capped maid. She wore a dark cloak over her dress. A bundle nestled between her joined arms. Had she been kicking the door?
“Can I help you?” Charles asked, politely enough for the hour. To his right, his boots were gone. He had left them to be polished.
The girl lifted her bundle. The lump of clothes moved.
He frowned, then leaned over the lump. A plump face topped by a thatch of black hair stared back. A baby. Was she hoping for alms? “What’s your name, girl?”
“Madge, sir. Madge Porter.”
“Well, Madge Porter, I can spare you a few coins for the babe if you’ll wait for a moment. Having hard times?”
She stared hard at him. He realized the cloaked figure was the tiny serving maid from the Eight Bells. “He’s my sister’s child.”
“I see. Is she at work?” He laugh-choked. “She’s not in here with me, if that’s what you’re thinking.”
Her mouth hung open for a moment. “No, sir, I don’t think that.”
“What, then?” He glanced around for his overcoat, which had a few coins in a pocket. “What is the babe’s name?”
“Timothy, sir.” She tightened her weak chin until her pale skin folded in on itself. “Timothy Dickens?” she warbled.
“Dickens?” He took another glance at the babe. Cherry red, pursed lips, and a squashed button of a nose. He didn’t see any resemblance to his relatives. His voice sharpened. “Goodness, Madge, what a coincidence.”
Her voice strengthened. “I don’t think so, sir.”
He frowned. The serving maid did not seem to understand his sarcasm. “I’ve never been to Hatfield before. My family is from Portsmouth. I don’t know if your Timothy Dickens is a distant relative of mine or not. Who is his father?”
“She died in the fire.”
He tilted his head at the non sequitur. “Who?”
“My sister. She died in the fire. She was in service to old Sarey.” Charles coughed, holding the doorjamb to keep himself upright. This was fresh news. “How tragic. I didn’t hear that a maid died.”
“They haven’t found the bodies.”
“That I know. I’m reporting on the fire, but then, I told you that. Thank you for the information. I’ll pay you for it if you wait a moment for me to find my purse.”
She thrust the bundle toward him. “Timothy is yer son, sir. You need to take him.”
Charles took a step back, waving his hands. “No he isn’t.”
“He’s four months old. It would have been last year, around All Hallow’s Eve. Do you remember the bonfire? She’s prettier than me, my Lizzie. Her hair is lighter, not like yers or mine.”
“Truly, I’ve never been in Hatfield before now,” he said gently. “I work mostly in London.”
She huffed out a little sob. He sensed she was coming to a crescendo, rather like a dramatic piece of music that seemed pastoral at first, then exploded. “I know yer his daddy, sir. I can’t take him. My parents are dead.”
He coughed again. Blasted soot. “I’m sorry. It’s a terrible tragedy. You’re young to be all alone with a baby.”
Her entire being seemed to shudder, then, like the strike of a cobra, she shoved the wriggling bundle into his arms and dashed down the passage.
His arms fluttered like jelly for a moment, as if his bones had fled with the horror of the orphaned child’s appearance, until the baby opened its tiny maw and Charles found his strength.
Then he realized the blankets were damp. Little fatherless, motherless Timothy whoever-he-was had soiled himself. The baby wailed indignantly but his aunt did not return.
Charles completed his reporting duties with one hand while cradling the infant, now dressed in Charles’s cleanest handkerchief and spare shirt, in the other arm. Infant swaddling dried in front of the fire. When Charles had had his body and soul together well enough to chase after little Madge Porter, the proprietor of the Eight Bells had told him she wasn’t due there until the evening.
He’d begged the man for names of any Porter relatives, but the proprietor had been unhelpful. Charles had tripped over to St. Ethelreda’s, still smelling smoke through a nose dripping from the cold. The canon had been of no use and in fact smelled of Hollands, rather than incense. He went to a barbershop, holding the baby while he was shaved, but the attendant refused to offer information.
When the babe began to cry again, he took him to a stable yard and inquired if they had a cow. A stoic stableman took pity on him and sent him to his quiet wife, a new mother herself. She agreed to nurse the child while Charles went to Hatfield House to see if the marchioness had been found yet.
He attempted to gain access to the marquess, still directing the recovery efforts. While waiting, he offered the opinion that they should pull down the remaining walls, which looked likely to kill the intended rescuers more assuredly than anything else in the vast acreage of destruction. Everyone coughed, exhausted, working by rote rather than by intelligence.
After a while, he gave up on the marquess. He interviewed those working in the ruins to get an update for the Chronicle, then went to the still-standing east wing of the house to see the housekeeper. She allowed him into her parlor for half a crown. The room’s walls were freshly painted, showing evidence of care taken even with the servant’s quarters. A large plain cross decorated the free space on the wall, in between storage cupboards.
The housekeeper had a tall tower of graying hair, stiffened by some sort of grease into a peak over her forehead. Her black gown and white apron looked untouched by the fire. When she spoke, however, he sensed the fatigue and the sadness.
“I have served this family for thirty-seven years,” she moaned. “Such a tragedy.”
He took some time with her recital of the many treasures of the house, storing up a collection of things he could report on, then let her share some of her favorite history of the house. But he knew he needed to return to gather the baby from the stableman’s wife soon.
“Do you have a Lizzie Porter employed here?”
“Yes, sir.” The housekeeper gave a little sob and covered her mouth. “In the west wing, sir. I haven’t seen her since the fire.”
His fingers tingled. “Do you think she died?”
“I don’t know, sir. Not a flighty girl. I doubt she’d have run off if she lived.”
“Not a flighty girl?” He frowned. “But she has a babe.” He was surprised to know she had kept her employment.
The housekeeper shook her head. “She’s an eater, sir, but there never was a babe in her belly.”
The story became steadily more curious. “Did she take any leave, about four months ago? In July or August?”
The housekeeper picked up her teacup and stared at the leaves remaining at the bottom. “An ague went around the staff in the summer. Some kind of sweating sickness. She had it like all the rest. Went to recuperate with her sister.”
“Madge?”
She nodded absently. “Yes, that Madge. Just a slip of a girl. Hasn’t come to work here but stayed in the village.”
“I’ve met her. How long was Lizzie with her?”
“Oh, for weeks. She came back pale and thin, but so did a couple of other girls. It killed one of the cook’s helpers. Terrible.” The housekeeper fingered a thin chain around her neck.
It didn’t sound like a group of girls made up the illness to help Lizzie hide her expectations, but the ague had been timed perfectly for her to hide wee Timothy’s birth. Who had been the babe’s wet nurse?
“Do you know where Madge lives?”
“Above the Eight Bells, sir. Servants’ quarters.” The housekeeper set down her cup and rose, indicating the interview had ended.
Charles checked around the pub again when he returned to town, just a short walk from the grand, if sadly diminished, house. The quarters for servants were empty. Madge seemed to have gone into hiding. How she could abandon her nephew so carelessly, he did not know, but perhaps she was too devastated by her sister’s death to think clearly.
* * *
A day later, Charles and the baby were both sunk into exhaustion by the long journey to London. Charles’s carriage, the final step of the trip, pulled up in front of a stone building. Across from Mary-le-Bow Church in Cheapside, it had shop space, three floors of apartments, and a half attic on top. He’d had to hire a carriage from the posting inn where the coach had left them on the outskirts of town. While he had no trouble walking many miles, carrying both a valise and an infant was more than he could manage. At least they’d kept each other warm.
He made his awkward way out of the vehicle, coughing as the smoky city air hit his tortured lungs. In his arms, the babe slept peacefully, though he had cried with hunger for part of the long coach journey.
Charles’s friends, William and Julie Aga, had taken rooms here, above a chophouse. The building exuded the scent of roasting meats. His stomach grumbled as he went up the stairs to his friends’ chambers. William was a reporter, like Charles, though more focused on crime than government.
Charles doubled over, coughing, as he reached the top of the steps. He suspected if he’d had a hand free to apply his handkerchief, it would come away black again.
The door to the Agas’ rooms opened before he had the chance to knock.
“Charles!” William exploded. “Good God, man, what a sound to torture my ears.”
Charles unbent himself and managed a nod at his friend. William had the air of a successful, fashionable man-about-town, even at his rooms on a Thursday evening. He wore a paisley waistcoat under an old black tailcoat, which fit him like it had been sewn directly on his broad-shouldered body. They both prided themselves on dressing well. His summer-golden hair had darkened due to the lack of sun. He had the look of a great horseman, though Charles knew that William, like he, spent most of his time hunched over a paper and quill.
“I like that fabric,” Charles said. “Did Julie make you that waistcoat?”
“Charles.” William waved his arms. “Whatever are you carrying in your arms?”
Charles dropped his valise to the ground. It grazed his foot. He let out a yelp and hopped. “Blast it! My toe.”
William leaned forward and snatched the bundle from Charles’s arm. The cloth over little Timothy’s face slid away, exposing the sleeping child. “No room in the inn?”
“Very funny,” Charles snarled. He rubbed his foot against the back of his calf. “That smarted.”
“Whose baby?”
“A dead serving maid’s. I remember you said that a woman across the hall from you had a screaming infant. Do you think she might be persuaded to feed this one? He’s about four months old.”
William rubbed his tongue over his gums as he glanced from Timothy to Charles, then back again.
“He needs to eat. I don’t want to starve him. Also, I think he’s a little too warm.” Charles gave Timothy an anxious glance.
“Let’s hope he isn’t coming down with something.” William stepped into the passage and gave a long-suffering sigh. Then, he crossed to the other side and used his elbow to bang on the door across from his. “Mrs. Herring?”
Charles heard a loud cry in the room beyond, a muttered imprecation, and a child’s piping voice, then the door opened. A girl about the age of his youngest brother, Boz, opened the door.
“Wot?” she said indistinctly, as she was missing several teeth.
“I need your mother,” William said, smiling at the girl.
The girl turned her head partway and shrieked for her mother. A couple of minutes later the lady of the house arrived, a fat babe burping on her shoulder. She appeared as well fed as the infant, with rounded wrists tapering into fat fingers peering out from her cotton dress sleeves.
“Mr. Aga!” she said with a smile.
Charles instantly trusted Mrs. Herring’s sweet smile. Her hand had gone to the top of her daughter’s head for a caress, the sort of woman who genuinely enjoyed her children.
“Good lady,” Charles began. “I’ve been given the custody of this orphaned child due to a rather dramatic situation. Might you be able to take him in to nurse?”
Mrs. Herring stepped toward William. She took one look at the sleeping Timothy and exclaimed, “Lor bless me!” She handed her larger infant over to her daughter, then reached out her hands to William. He promptly placed the bundle into the mother’s arms.
Charles saw Timothy stir. He began to root around. “Hungry. Hasn’t been nourished since this morning.”
“Poor mite,” Mrs. Herring cooed. “How could you have let this happen? They must be fed regularly.”
“I don’t know how to care for a baby,” Charles admitted.
“But I remembered my friends had you as a neighbor. Can you help him?”
“We’ve no room for the tiny lad,” Mrs. Herring said sternly. She coaxed her daughter back inside.
“I can pay for his board,” Charles responded.
Mrs. Herring didn’t speak but her eyebrows lifted.
“Just for tonight at first,” William suggested with an easy smile. “You can see the situation is desperate.”
Charles reached into his pocket and pulled out a shilling. “I’m good for it. Truly. This would pay for days of his care if I hire a wet nurse. He has an aunt but she disappeared. I couldn’t find her before I had to return to London.”
“We’ll talk to you again in the morning,” William said. “I won’t leave the building until we’ve spoken.”
“Where am I to put him?” she asked, staring rather fixedly at the shilling. “The bed is full and we don’t have a cradle.”
William nodded wisely, as if he’d thought of this already. “Mr. Dickens and I will consult with my wife and bring something suitable. If you can feed him while we wait?”
Mrs. Herring reached out her free hand. Charles noted she had clean nails. She seemed a good choice for wet nurse. He placed the shilling in her palm and prayed they could make longer-term arrangements for a reasonable price.
Timothy let out a thin wail.
“He sounds weak,” Charles said, guilt coloring his words.
“I’ll do what I can.” Mrs. Herring glanced at the babe in her arms, then shut the door.
Heather Redmond, Author of the holiday historical mystery, A Christmas Carol Murder
Heather Redmond is an author of commercial fiction and also writes as Heather Hiestand. First published in mystery, she took a long detour through romance before returning. Though her last British-born ancestor departed London in the 1920s, she is a committed anglophile, Dickens devotee, and lover of all things nineteenth century.
She has lived in Illinois, California, and Texas, and now resides in a small town in Washington State with her husband and son. The author of many novels, novellas, and short stories, she has achieved best-seller status at Amazon and Barnes and Noble. Her 2018 Heather Redmond debut, A Tale of Two Murders, was a multi-week Barnes & Noble Hardcover Mystery Bestseller.
Her two current mystery series are “A Dickens of a Crime” and “the Journaling mysteries.” She writes for Kensington and Severn House.
She is the 2020-21 President of the Columbia River Chapter of Sisters in Crime (SinC).
To learn more about Heather, click on her name, photo or any of the following links: Goodreads, BookBub, Instagram, Twitter, & Facebook!
Visit all the stops along the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour
11/01 Interview @ A Blue Million Books
11/02 Showcase @ Im Into Books
11/03 Review @ Sunny island breezes
11/04 Review @ Media From the Heart
11/04 Showcase @ Reading A Page Turner
11/05 Review @ Jackies Book Review Page
11/06 Showcase @ Sylv. net
11/08 Review @ Book Reviews From an Avid Reader
11/09 Showcase @ Tome Tender
11/10 Interview @ Books Chatter
11/12 Showcase @ nanasbookreviews
11/13 Review @ rozierreadsandwine
11/14 Showcase @ Cheryls Book Nook
11/15 Review @ Novels N Latte Review
11/16 Guest post @ Quiet Fury Books
11/18 Interview @ Blog Talk Radio
11/18 Review @ Just Reviews
11/22 Review @ It’s All About the Book
11/23 Review @ Bring on Lemons
11/27 Guest post @ Nesies Place
11/28 Review @ Jane Pettit Reviews
12/01 Interview @ Cozy Up With Kathy
12/02 Showcase @ bookalicious traveladdict
12/04 Review @ Cozy Up With Kathy
12/04 Showcase @ Books to the Ceiling
12/07 Review @ Ms. Cats Honest World
12/08 Review @ 5 minutes for books
12/09 Guest post @ 411 ON BOOKS, AUTHORS, AND PUBLISHING NEWS
12/09 Interview/showcase @ CMash Reads
12/12 Review @ @ all_books_great_and_small
12/15 Review @ The Book Connection
12/16 Showcase @ Celticladys Reviews
12/17 Showcase @ The Pulp and Mystery Shelf
12/21 Review @ Scrapping&Playing
12/23 Showcase @ Archaeolibrarian – I Dig Good Books!
12/24 Review @ Books with Bircky
12/25 Review @ EienCafe
12/30 Interview @ Novels Alive
12/31 Review @ Novels Alive
Elena Taylor is the author of All We Buried, available now in print, e-book, and audio book format at all your favorite on-line retailers. And don’t forget many independent bookstores can order books for you and have them shipped to your home or for curbside pickup.
E-book on sale for $1.99 the entire month of November!
For more information on All We Buried, click on the link here to visit the home page.
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