Elena Hartwell's Blog, page 8

Cold Query: A Blue Water Mystery

Cold Query: A Blue Water Mystery by Ivanka Fear

Author Guest Post + Book & Author Info + Author Pet Corner!Don’t miss any author posts!  Click the link here.Cold Query

It’s murder by the books. Belonging to a book club and being part of the literary community in Blue Water County can be deadly.

Port Ripley is a dreamy postcard town, a charming spot nestled along Blue Water’s beautiful shoreline. The perfect place to live.

Except-a killer lurks amongst the residents, blending in like a chameleon.

For the last eleven years, respected schoolteacher and mystery writer, Ivy Rose, who left behind her traumatic past, has enjoyed a quiet life in the pretty town with its picturesque sunsets over the lake. But when the body of a fellow book club member washes ashore, the first in a series of suspicious deaths, the town becomes immersed in murder, forcing Ivy to come to terms with the dark secrets that haunt her.

Detective Scott Evans, once Ivy’s best friend and sleuthing partner, joins the local police to investigate. He finds Ivy, the woman he has always secretly loved, living under an assumed identity. They become reacquainted, and Scott discovers each of the victims has a tie to Ivy and the literary community in which she is involved. As more people Ivy knows die, it looks like she’s either the prime suspect or the main target.

To purchase Cold Query, click any of the following links: Amazon, B&N & IndigoCold QueryingAuthor Guest Post by Ivanka Fear

 

I wrote a book. Believe it or not, that was the easy part. 

I loved my book. And I wanted to share it with others. That meant getting it published.

I did my research. Online searching led me to understand that there are several routes to publication. Going the traditional route with a publisher to handle the costs, production, distribution, and marketing of my book was the path I chose. In exchange for all their efforts, they would pay me an advance and royalties. Easy peasy decision.

Hmm. Turns out publishers have no shortage of authors and manuscripts. In fact, the bigger publishing houses don’t even accept submissions directly from authors. What I needed was a literary agent to represent me and my book and to submit it to publishers on my behalf. Not knowing any agents, I searched online to find one.

Huh. Not such a breeze, I discovered. Even if I could afford to hire an agent, that’s not the way it works. A literary agent gets a commission from their clients’ book sales. As a result, they are extremely selective in choosing their clients. Apparently, the odds of securing a literary agent are less than getting a publisher. 

But, I believed in my book. I believed in myself. Now, if only I could convince an agent to share that belief. Where, I wondered, would I even look for such an agent? How would I get them to represent me?

More online research led me to articles offering advice on how to succeed in this endeavour. Create an amazing query letter. Perfect my first few chapters. Write a succinct summary. Craft an elevator pitch to get their attention. Follow submission guidelines.

Okay. No problem. Little did I know that writing a query letter and summary (never mind the pitch) to get the attention of a literary agent would turn out to be tougher than writing the book. And I still had to find the means to meet said elusive agent.

I wasn’t likely to run into one in my social circle in my small town. There was no abundance of writing conventions and conferences in my local area where agents were waiting to make my acquaintance. That left me with websites, social media, and online directories. Query Tracker. Manuscript Wishlist. Pitchfest. The agents were out there somewhere.

I would need to cold query: reach out to agents with whom I had no prior connection in hopes of being offered representation. 

As a former teacher, I understood this entire process was a learning curve. Perhaps steep, maybe shallow, but most likely gradual. I read accounts of authors who bragged they had queried a book to a handful of agents and received several offers within weeks. I wasn’t to be one of those fortunate few.

I also read confessions of authors who queried as many as six hundred agents before finding their perfect fit. Sometimes it took years, even decades. Talk about resilience. I wasn’t among those who fought tooth and nail. But I was persistent.

There had to be a way to success. I had already published poetry and short stories in lit magazines. I knew I could write. Having completed my first novel (in the mystery/thriller genre I love), I did some online research and selected the lucky agent who I wanted to take my book to the big publishers. The chosen agent represented some of my favorite thriller authors. I knew that they would read my manuscript and love it. It was brilliant, if I do say so myself. They would sign me up, submit my work, and in no time, I would be a best-selling author. 

Wow. How green was I?

The querying process taught me so much. It also provided the premise for my fifth book. What if a community of writers became the targets of a serial killer? Not only do they have to deal with sending out cold queries ending in rejection, they need to survive. Literally.

Cold Query, book number five, beat the odds. 

Six manuscripts, thirteen months, and about two hundred queries later, I found my perfect agent. Then my perfect publisher. Not an easy peasy route to publication. But I got there. 

However, one success doesn’t guarantee continued success. And so, cold querying isn’t a once and done deal. Sometimes, authors part ways with their agents and need to dive back into the querying pool. Authors have to wait for their agent to put their book through a similar submission process with publishers. Then, there’s the next book project to submit. Some authors query publishers directly. Others write stories or articles for anthologies and literary magazines. We put our work out there and subject ourselves to the possibility of rejection. Time and time again.

It takes a thick skin to be a writer. We should pat ourselves on the back for having the courage to dive into a pool with so many other talented wordsmiths. But you can’t win if you don’t buy a ticket. Cold querying is a writer’s best chance of getting published. 

Just remember—it can be cold in the query trenches.

Author Pet Corner!T.C. & Scruffy!T. C. and Scruffy’s favorite activity is napping.Both our boys were strays hanging around our property, coaxed over time to come inside, where they have been very happy to remain. When we took T. C. in, we thought he was huge (compared to our little Kitty, also a stray).But Scruffy has surpassed him in size, transformed from a sickly, scrawny, scruffy cat to this beautiful, fluffy, loving, gentle giant who rushes to the door to greet our son (who rescued him) every day after work.Cold Query Author Ivanka Fear

Ivanka Fear is a Slovenian-born Canadian author. She lives in Ontario with her family and feline companions. Ivanka earned her B.A. and B.Ed. in English and French at Western University. After retiring from teaching, she wrote poetry and short stories for various literary journals.Ivanka is the author of the Blue Water Mystery series and the Jake and Mallory Thriller series.She is a member of International Thriller Writers, Sisters in Crime, Crime Writers of Canada, and Vocamus Writers Community. When not reading and writing, Ivanka enjoys watching mystery series and romance movies, gardening, going for walks, and watching the waves roll in at the lake.To learn more about Ivanka, click any of the following links: Website, Facebook, X, Instagram.Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

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The Favor: New Thriller

The Favor by Steve Badman

Author Interview + Book & Author Info + Author Pet Corner!Don’t miss any Author Interviews! Click the link here.The Favor

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Brian Turner is a family man, something he is proud of more than his carpentry skills, and he’s considered a great carpenter and general contractor. He is content in his life, the simple joy of dropping his daughter off at school on his way to his latest job site feels like life can’t get much better. That changes in an instant as he sits in the drop off lane in front of his daughter’s school, watching her walk inside.

The knock on his window is not disturbing until the out-of-place New York accent, confirming his identity, reaches his ears.

“I hear you’re pretty good at fixin’ old farmhouses,” the man attached to the accent replied as he pushed an unmarked cardboard box through the partially open window. “I got a job for you, but I can’t talk about it now. Everything’s inside the box. I’ll check back with you later today.”

Puzzled, Brian did not notice the man turn and leave, his attention immediately fixated on the box now in his lap and carefully opened it. Inside lay cash, two large envelopes, photographs, and a cell phone. He picked up the cell phone and stared at it, perplexed, before opening the first envelope finding photographs of a man, he did not know standing in a mansion he had never seen. However, it was the contents of the second envelope that made his blook run cold – photographs of his wife Lisa, his daughter Sadie, and their three dogs. He found more photos, this time of the interior of his home.

Realizing the phone was an open line, he was ready to release his outrage when a voice came through that turned everything upside down. “You owe us a favor. Did you forget?”

To save those he loves, Brian once again must become the man he had hoped would remain in his past, in order to fulfill… “The Favor.”

To purchase The Favor click any of the following links: Amazon, B&N, and Imzadi Publishing.Interview with Steve Badman, Author of The Favor

 

The Favor centers on Brian Turner, what would you like readers to know about him?

Brian Turner is above all, a loving father.  His marriage isn’t so hot but his two daughters are his pride and joy. 

He is hard-working, making ends meet barely, but he is a devoted father of two exceptional young ladies whom he would do anything to protect.

 

Tell us about the locations in The Favor. How do the places where events take place impact the characters?

I’ve heard “write what you know” enough times to take heed.  So I know the Lehigh Valley/Upper Bucks County, PA area.  It was a no-brainer to have the characters live there. 

As far as New Concord, KY goes, I needed a location that was far away from the Turners’ home to be a challenge, and I wanted it to be near a big lake.  I am not familiar with New Concord, which I felt was a benefit so I could write from the Turners’ perspective as they too would be unfamiliar with the town.

 

What was your inspiration for your debut thriller The Favor?

I read an interview with Stephen King (I wasn’t reading WITH him, I do not know the man.  The interview was with him ) and King suggested something along the lines of thinking about what would be the most horrible thing you can imagine occurring and toss it into everyday life. 

It took some deep reflection, but I finally decided the most horrible thing for me would be to have done something or neglected to do something that would adversely impact my kids.  Brian Turner did just that with his dealing weed in the 1980’s.  It came back 35 years later to bite him.

 

Tell us about your road to publication for The Favor:

I proudly state that I had about two dozen rejections which is about ten fewer than JK Rowling had before somebody thought that Harry Potter may have some commercial viability. 

I have been writing manuscripts for about 15 years, and I decided nobody was going to randomly knock on my door and publish me.  So, I figured I would contact 3-5 agents one week, then 3-5 publishers the next week and keep doing so until I either got published/representation or was the subject of a class action restraining order from the entire literary industry.  Fortunately, Imzadi offered me a contract.

I am excited that it won an Independent Press Award for suspense novel.  My wife and I will be attending a dinner in Newark in May.  

 

When you aren’t writing thrillers, you’re off doing obstacle course races. What are those like and what compels you to do them?

I have always loved sports and working out.  I was a gym rat before kids and I also raced bicycles more often than not in a Velodrome (banked curves, no brakes, 100% adrenaline).  The kids came along and I didn’t have time so I coached. 

When they got older, I slowly got back into the gym but I had an accident at work and damaged my shoulder.  After rotator cuff surgery and physical therapy, I felt that I needed a goal to work toward.  I was looking at the OCRs (Obstacle course races) and I guess I mentioned Spartan out loud.  My older daughter said, “Spartan Race?  I’ll do it with you!” 

I tried to say that I was just thinking about it but my younger daughter said, “What about a Spartan?”  Older says, “Dad wants to do a Spartan Race.”  I did not say that.  “Younger said, “Oh cool.  I’ll call Emma.  She and her dad will do one too.”  So before I knew it, there were 4 people wanting to do a Spartan Race that I wasn’t sure I wanted to do.  But at this point, I couldn’t say no. 

So I trained my butt off and we got there and there were storms forecasted so the race was cancelled.  My older daughter and I found a Tough Mudder in New York a few weeks later.  My younger daughter was entering her freshman year in college and had to leave early for soccer so it was just the older one and me.  We had a blast and I have loved doing them with my kids and mostly their friends ever since.  My friends, except for Emma’s dad, are too out of shape and don’t have any inclination of spending lots of money, traveling far away and beating the hell out of themselves.  I don’t get it.

So the OCRs range from 3-15 miles for the most part and have 20-30 obstacles.  Most of them are on ski slopes or other miserable terrain.  We did one in Garrestville Ohio that was about 12 miles of knee-deep mud.  It is a hard slog but the feeling of accomplishment at finishing one of those things is amazing.  The fact that normal people don’t really do these things is fun for me.  I don’t want to ever be average.

I have two scheduled with my daughters thus far this year and then I am scheduled by myself to try a Spartan ultra in Killington in September.  That is 31 miles and 60 obstacles.  I may chicken out on that and do the next race down from that, depends how my summer goes with working out.

My daughters and I also ran the Philly Marathon the past two years (I am done, not doing that s**t again) and we ski a few times in the winter.

My wife doesn’t understand why we do this stuff and she enjoys the quiet weekends with the dogs.

 

What are you working on now?

I am a self-employed carpenter and general contractor.  That takes up the majority of my time but I try to devote 30-60 minutes early each morning to write.  I am about 65K words into the sequel to The Favor and I have two other manuscripts I had started that I will focus on once I complete the sequel.  I have a complete manuscript that I am going to shop again.  It is intended to be humorous and the people who have read it, have liked it.  I stopped shopping it when The Favor was accepted by Imzadi Press.

 

Words of Wisdom for aspiring writers:

I don’t feel entirely qualified to offer much in the way of wisdom.  I’ve had one novel published.  I hope to have more but for now, I am still a rookie.  I will suggest, however, having people read your manuscript who are not afraid to hurt your feelings.  I’d rather hear that the manuscript is flawed than proceed on false praise.

Oh, and be very selective in the title.  It absolutely never dawned on me that The Favor might be the name of roughly two gazillion other novels and movies.  Duh.

 

Author Pet Corner!Spencer and Riley!

Riley is our 12 year old Husky.

Then we have our two year old Great Pyrenees Spencer.

 

 

 

 

 

 

Author of The Favor Steve Badman

Steve Badman lives with his wife, kids, and their adventurous dogs in the picturesque Lehigh Valley of Pennsylvania. When they’re not skiing, kayaking, or hiking, Steve and his daughters are tackling grueling obstacle course races—mud, sweat, and all—while Mrs. Badman lovingly questions their sanity.​

A graduate of East Stroudsburg University, Steve spent decades in residential construction as a self-employed carpenter and general contractor. Along the way, he encountered a colorful array of people whose quirks and passions inspired the vibrant characters in his writing.

Steve’s other passions include homebrewing beer and rooting for the Philadelphia Eagles, a family tradition bolstered by 27 years of season tickets. Whether he’s observing fan antics in the stands or swapping stories over a craft brew, he calls it “research” for his next book—though others might call it people-watching.​

Curious about his work? Check out the 2025 winner of The Independent Press Awards, The Favor, Steve’s debut action-packed novel and see how his life experiences shape his storytelling.

To learn more about Steve, click any of the following links: Amazon, Goodreads, and Bluesky.Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

The post The Favor: New Thriller appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

Scream of the Silent Sun: Debut Thriller

Scream of the Silent Sun by Dianna Sinovic

Author Interview + Book & Author Info + Author Pet Corner!Don’t miss any ITW Debut Author interviews! Click the link here.Scream of the Silent Sun

Quinn Thomas’ brother, Parker, has been missing for more than a decade when, as an empath, she’s mysteriously drawn to a cache of his letters, hidden away in her parents’ attic. His letters speak of her special power and his pride in who she is and what she can do.

It’s confirmation that he’s never forgotten her. But where is he? And why, given the empathic abilities that used to connect them, has she felt no spark from him after all these years?

Tucked inside one of Parker’s letters is a vibrant drawing of the sun. Parker is a skilled artist and the sun is his adopted symbol. Quinn is shocked when the emblem inks itself onto her arm, creating a guide that seems to be trying to tell her where her brother may be.

That’s validated when Quinn visits a local tattoo artist who tells her she is a conduit to her brother. The tattoo comes alive when Parker’s presence is near, but his appearances are the stuff of mirage and hologram: He’s real and not real.

Purchase your copy at: Amazon and Barnes and Noble.Scream of the Silent Sun Author Dianna Sinovic

 

Scream of the Silent Sun centers on Quinn Thomas and her search for her brother, Parker. What would you like readers to know about Quinn?

That while many of us long to be different or unique—to stand out in a crowd, for instance—when you really are different, life can be an endless challenge to navigate. Yet, that difference is also a strength to be embraced. 

 

Scream of the Silent Sun incorporates supernatural/paranormal elements, including empaths and living tattoos. What do you do to create elements like these? Pure imagination? Personal experience with the paranormal? 

I wish, personal experience! My mother, grandmother, and great-aunt all had empathic abilities, but it seems to have skipped a generation in my case. Maybe that’s why I’m fascinated by all things paranormal; I have three Tarot decks, for instance. I have a kind of split personality with writing topics. On the one hand, I spent a number of years working as a science writer/editor for my day job, so I’m deeply appreciative of science and scientific research. On the other, I have a strong sense of there being a spirit world alongside ours, even if I am unable to tap into it.

That approach also helps me in imagining those extrasensory elements that become part of a story.

 

Scream of the Silent Sun tells a story about family. What drew you to that as a central topic for your debut thriller?

Personal relationships are at the core of story, I think. While the external thriller plot can be driven by the threat of a bomb or a contagion or whatever, what makes the story matter for me is the deeper connection—why it matters to the protagonist on a personal level.

In Scream, the family dysfunction sets up the motivation for Quinn to find her brother and ultimately provides the fuel for her to want to make things right—whether she can or not.

 

In addition to Scream of the Silent Sun, you also write short stories. How has your process differed between those two mediums?

I enjoy the change-up between the two forms.

The long-form allows me to explore themes at length and grow a complex world, but of course that takes time—at least for me; I’m a methodical writer. Short stories allow me to try out different approaches to storytelling; I can come at an idea from different points of view or techniques.

For instance, I don’t think I could sustain a novel-length piece told in second person, but in a short story, that’s doable because of the more limited word count.

That change-up helps recharge my creative “batteries.” I’ve just finished revisions on a new novel, for instance, and I’m using the break to write several short stories for anthology calls. In the background, though, the plot wheels are turning for my next novel.

 

You play a number of different musical instruments. Which one do you find yourself playing the most often, and what style of music do you like to play the best, and why? 

Philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche once said, “Without music, life would be a mistake.” I might amend that to say ‘without writing and music…’

I have played a number of instruments, usually fairly badly, which has given me an appreciation for true musicians! At this point, I’d rather be listening to music while I write instead of practicing. I’m old school when it comes to listening—I stream a local college radio station, vs. queuing up a Spotify list. Punk, grunge, indie, are all genres I love.

 

What are you working on now?

I just finished revisions on a sci-fi thriller set off-world, and am currently doing research for a noir thriller.

 

Words of Wisdom for aspiring writers:

Write every day if you can. I know that’s advice you hear from many writers, but it’s absolutely true. Butt in the chair, fingers on the keyboard or pencil on the paper, day in and day out, will get it done. I’ll share a favorite quote, from poet Mary Oliver: “So it comes first: the world. Then, literature. And then, what one pencil moving over a thousand miles of paper can do.”  

 

Author Pet Corner!Fia

 

 

 

 

 

 

Scream of the Silent Sun Author Dianna Sinovic

 

Dianna Sinovic is an author of mystery, thriller, and horror, as well as a certified book coach and editor.

Her short stories have appeared in a number of anthologies, and her flash fiction runs monthly on the blog A Slice of Orange.

When she’s not in front of her keyboard, you’ll find her out on a hiking trail or paddling a canoe somewhere in Pennsylvania.

She’s a member of the International Thriller Writers, Horror Writers Association, and Sisters in Crime.

Find out more about Dianna by following her on her Website.Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

The post Scream of the Silent Sun: Debut Thriller appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

No Roast for the Weary: A Coffee House Mystery

No Roast for the Weary, A Coffee House Mystery by Cleo Coyle

 
Book and Author Info + A Giveaway + An Excerpt!
 
Don’t miss any blog tours! Click the link here.

No Roast for the Weary

When the Village Blend opens a Writer’s Block Lounge, a cold case crime turns up the heat on Clare and her crew in this gripping new entry in the beloved Coffeehouse Mystery series from New York Times bestselling author Cleo Coyle.

As much as master roaster Clare Cosi adores coffee, the landmark shop she manages won’t survive if she doesn’t sell enough of it. So when the Village Blend’s customer traffic grinds to a halt, she turns to her staff for creative ideas, and the Writer’s Block Lounge is born.

Madame, the eccentric octogenarian owner of the shop, is upset by this news. Years ago, a group of accomplished writers used the shop’s second-floor lounge to inspire each other, but the group disbanded when something dark occurred. Though that history is shrouded in mystery, Clare presses forward…

Soon the Village Blend tables are filled with aspiring novelists, playwrights, and poets, all happy to be coaxed, cajoled, and caffeinated by her coffeehouse crew. Clare admires the stamina of these scribes, many of them toiling at night jobs—driving taxis, tending bar, ushering for Broadway—while penning projects during the day.

Then one of their fictions turns fatal when a shocking secret leads to a deadly end. Unless Clare can untangle this mystery, uncover the truth, and stop a desperate killer, she fears more of these weary writers may be marked for eternal rest. ~ Includes a knockout menu of recipes.

No Roast for the Weary (A Coffeehouse Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
21st in Series
Setting – New York
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Berkley (April 1, 2025)
Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 368 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0593642287
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0593642283
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0D8KDMP6S

To purchase No Roast for the Weary, click any of the following links: Amazon Barnes & Noble Kobo Google Play Bookshop.org

 

Read an excerpt of No Roast for the Weary:

Prologue

The late autumn morning arrived with unpredictable clouds and a brisk wind off the Hudson River. Frosty gusts whipped through the Village streets, and the sidewalks were nearly deserted, but inside our cozy coffeehouse the buzz of happy customers promised a robust winter season.

To say I was pleased would be an understatement. I could hardly believe that only a few weeks ago, I feared all was lost.

Earlier this fall, the location filming of a hit television show in and around our Village Blend had disrupted our daily revenue stream and brought a distressing deficit to our bottom line. That calamity had no sooner ended when a devastating drop in foot traffic clobbered us anew, threatening our very existence.

As the manager and master roaster of this historic shop, I could not bear to see it suffer a sad, slow death. I owed my family of baristas and beloved octogenarian mentor more than that. So, instead of giving up, I decided to fight for its life.

A remedy came in the form of an idea from the Village Blend’s own bohemian past: an upstairs writers’ lounge. Resurrecting that simple, vintage concept jumpstarted our traffic faster than a triple-shot red eye with a Red Bull chaser.

Looking around me now, our financial problems appeared to be solved. Outside our wall of French doors, the chilly sidewalks were still far too barren. But inside, our coffeehouse was no longer empty.

Our marble-topped tables were packed with contented customers sipping our drinks and nibbling our pastries. The air was filled with the scent of freshly roasted coffee and the buzz of conversation. Our espresso machines hissed, our fireplace crackled, and our speakers resonated with smooth jazz.

With a fresh tray inmy hands, I climbed the spiral stairs to our second floor. All the spots in our lounge were occupied, and every person was a writer. They came here for a place to create and collaborate, and they had my admiration. Many of them balanced multiple part-time jobs, squeezing out extra time in their schedules to type out the music of their imaginations.

As I moved among them, most were lost in the process, fingers dancing across their laptop keyboards, pens twirling on notebook pages. In the corner, I noticed a slumped figure. The poor soul had fallen asleep across their work, head down on the table, cobalt blue hoodie pulled fully up, arms sprawled out beside them.

No rest for the weary, I thought, a phrase I’d heard often among the writers who gathered here—and sometimes napped between gig-economy shifts.

As I drew closer, I sensed something was off about this writer’s slumped form. Another few steps and I nearly dropped my tray.

“Hey, are you okay?”

No response.

I shook the writer’s shoulder, and one limp arm slipped off the table. I saw the waxy flesh and curled fingers.

Oh, no. No, no, no—

Praying I was wrong, I shook the figure again. This time, the whole body toppled off the chair and onto the floor. Seeing the collapsed corpse sent an icy shock through me. Realizing what it meant chilled me to the bone.

In the next few minutes, chaos descended—the call to 911, the uproar in the shop, the desperate attempts to revive a person who could not be saved. As the inevitable whirlwind struck, the gears of my mind worked, putting pieces of a puzzle together with sickening swiftness.

Over the past few weeks, I’d learned things that had spiked my suspicions. Now I feared this poor dead writer had not died of natural causes. And there was something else. Something worse—

There could be more deaths to come.

To stop the killings, I would have to reach back to a dark night from the Village Blend’s past and predict the future moves in a murderer’s mind. I’d need to recount a dozen micro dramas, sort out specifics, and consider all the suspects: from the eccentric old poet and the bestselling author to the crazy young professor and this shop’s chief competitor.

Everyone was involved in this story, practically from the start—and it allbegan when our financial woes were at their worst. When I feared the end was near. Not the end of any writer’s life, but the existential end of our Village Blend.

Chapter 1

Greenwich Village, New York
Two weeks ago

The bell above our front door jingled.

“Hey, I’m back! What’s with the snow?! It’s too early for snow!”

Looking up from behind the counter, I found my ex-husband and current business partner struggling with a bulky backpack. Snowflakes clung to Matteo Allegro’s dark beard and crimson windbreaker—a jacket far too light for such a frosty morning.

“Don’t blame me for the weather,” I called. “Tell it to the polar vortex.”

As I pulled Matt a speedy pick-me-up from our espresso machine, he made a shivering beeline for the blazing brick hearth and slipped the big pack off his strong shoulders. It hit our restored plank floor with a loud thud.

“I’ve been gone for ten days, Clare. Don’t I deserve a ‘Welcome back, partner, how was your trip?’”

“Sorry. I was up at five AM redecorating the upstairs lounge, so I’m all out of enthusiasm. How about a caffeine welcome instead?”

Stifling a yawn, I brought over Matt’s usual, one shot with a lemon twist. He drained his cup like a busy Roman, while still standing.

“Thanks, I needed that. I’m just off a red eye from Kigali. Fifteen hours without a decent drop.”

Stripping off his now-dripping windbreaker, he revealed a short-sleeved Brazilian soccer jersey (which explained why he was freezing). After shaking the snow out of his unruly dark hair, he moved one of our (far too many) empty café tables closer to the fireplace, plopped down in a chair, and rubbed his bare hands near the flames.

I took a seat across from him and waved two fingers at my youngest barista. With a toss of her yellow braids, Nancy Kelly gave me a grinning thumbs up. She knew what we needed.

“So how was your trip?” I asked. “I hope you found some promising cherries this year.”

“Wait till you taste the Burundi!” Matt flashed me a smile, a dazzler of white teeth against his black beard and deep tan. “First shipment arrives next week. The Rwandan’s already in our warehouse—and thank goodness you’re the one roasting it.”

“I appreciate that,” I said and truly did.

My ex-husband was one of the most respected coffee brokers in our trade, and he never flattered lightly. He knew how superb Rwandan coffees could be, but they were tricky. Experienced roasters knew how to fire those green beans long enough to develop a rich mouthfeel without letting the cherries turn to charcoal. Like a lot of things in life, getting results came down to the art of nuance—not only knowing when to push, but when to back off.

“Here you go!” With fresh-faced enthusiasm, Nancy served up a demitasse for me and a new one for Matt. “I felt your pain all the way across the room, Mr. Boss, so I made yours a double.”

Matt nodded his thanks, took a satisfying hit, and leaned his tanned forearms on the Italian-marble tabletop.

“I’m back early, Clare, yet you don’t seem surprised.”

“I would have been more surprised if you were a customer.”

Matt’s tired eyes scanned the coffeehouse floor. “What day is it?”

“Are you really that out of it?”

“My phone ran out of power, and my watch is still on Central African Time.”

“It’s Monday, nine-forty AM Eastern.”

Matt frowned. “Where’s your mid-morning rush? This place should be packed, but it’s deader than my phone battery.”

“The shop is dead every day after nine AM. Even our early morning business is nothing like the old days. Unless we turn things around soon, I’m afraid the Village Blend will be dead, too.”

My unhappy news hit my ex-husband with a force harder than his bulky backpack smacking our polished floorboards.

“You can’t be serious!” he cried.

“Lower your voice,” I whispered. “You’ll upset our baristas.”

Matt stared at me. The impact of the word “dead” (in relation to our century-old shop) had produced more than a booming response. A crimson color flushed the man’s olive skin.

“This couldn’t have come at a worse time,” he said. “I took out a million-dollar loan to build our Red Hook roasting facility. It’s almost ready to open—”

“Calm down. Our wholesale business is doing fine. We’re moving more freshly roasted beans than ever. Restaurants are ordering so much that I can hardly keep up with demand.”

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Foot traffic. It barely came back after the pandemic. And the disruptions we endured during the location filming in our shop sealed the deal. Mid-mornings and afternoons are the worst.”

“Why didn’t I see this coming?”

“Because your focus has been on your coffee importing business. With all your traveling, you’ve failed to notice that New York City has changed. People don’t pop in and buy a morning cup before they head to the office anymore or drop in during their office lunch break.”

“What did they do? Switch to bone broth?”

“They stopped going to the office. Remote work has emptied most of the commercial buildings around us.”

Just then, Esther Best, our resident raven-haired slam poet, emerged from our pantry. As she tied an apron around her ample hips, she spotted Matt, pushed up her black-framed glasses, and cried—

“Hey, Mr. Boss! Welcome back from the Mother Continent, birthplace of the magic bean. You look tired. How ’bout an espresso? Mine are supreme!”

Matt smirked at me. “Now that’s what I call a greeting.”

“Esther is just happy to have a customer. Like all of us, she’s worried. The whole staff is sweating. Nobody wants to be cut loose.”

“You know you can’t do that. These people are family.”

“It’s the last thing I want to do. But your mother put both of us in charge of her legacy, and I can’t pretend it’s not in financial jeopardy. Our place should be packed at this hour, but it’s completely empty. You can see for yourself. Not one customer has come through that door.”

Then the bell rang and made a liar out of me.

Chapter 2

A single soul stepped into our shop.

The older gentleman was slight of build with shaggy white hair. Wrapped in a dark green puffer coat that reached down to his knobby knees, he looked like a grandpa elf who’d lost his way to the North Pole.

An old red cap, too small to cover his prominent ears, sat on his head, and a cashmere scarf dangled from his neck. The expensive, camel-colored scarf looked out of place with the ragged cap, inexpensive puffer coat, and dogeared spiral notebook tucked under one arm.

Then the newcomer spotted Esther’s goth-girl bouffant behind the counter and his pale, blank features visibly brightened. He hailed my zaftig barista with a wave of his worn notebook and, though he was small of stature, his voice was loud and strong.

“Esther, it’s a cold autumn day, but seeing you makes me feel like my spring has sprung!”

Esther put her hands on her hips and exclaimed, “Give it to me!”

The man touched his heart with one hand as he replied, “Courtesy of Robert Burns.” After clearing his throat, he began to recite—

“O my Luve is like a red, red rose
That’s newly sprung in June.
O my Luve is like the melody
That’s sweetly played in tune.”

With a slight blow, he pointed at her in challenge.
Esther put a finger to her round cheek, taking a moment to think. Then her voice boomed—

“Yo! My love be like a new red tat
Inked in freshest fashion.
Yo, my love be like my slammin’ rap
Brash and full of passion!”

Matt leaned across our table. “What’s going on?” he whispered.
“It’s a game they play every time he comes in. He throws out a classic stanza of poetry, and—”
“Oh, I get it,” Matt said. “Esther translates it into urban rap.”
“He hasn’t stumped her yet. Maybe today’s the day…”
As Matt and I watched with interest, the elderly man pointed at Esther and recited again—

“So fair art thou, my bonnie lass,
So deep in luve am I;
And I will luve thee still, my dear,
Till a’ the seas gang dry.”

This time, Esther replied immediately—

“So hot you are, my freaky boy,
For work you made me late;
My twisted heart will beat for you,
Till all gangsta crews go straight.”

The man laughed. “Very good effort, though your meter was off on that last line. One syllable too many.”

“It was worth a little freestyle, wasn’t it?”

“All right, my dear. I yield. You win again.”

Esther grinned wide, her dark eyes sparkling for the old boy as he sidled up to the coffee bar and placed his order.

Matt turned back to me. “So who is this grandpa poet?”

“He’s become a regular. Lately he’s the only dependable morning customer we have. Esther calls him Mr. Scrib.”

“Scrib? That’s an odd name.”

“He told her to call him that. He said it was his nickname. The staff thinks it’s appropriate because he spends so much time scribbling things in that notebook of his.”

“He seems to love Esther.”

“Yes, there’s a special bond between them. I’ve seen him walk in and walk out again because Esther wasn’t on duty. She’s the only one he’ll trust with his order.”

“Have you tried to engage this oddball in conversation?”

“Don’t call him an oddball. He’s a sweet man, though I admit he is quirky. And maybe a little paranoid. Tucker thought so, too—”

Tucker Burton was my trusty assistant manager. A part-time actor and downtown director, he’d dealt with plenty of artists who (as he put it) danced to showtunes only they could hear.

“One day when Tucker was working with Esther, he noticed that Mr. Scrib hardly spoke except for that poetry game. Tuck tried to engage him in wordplay, opening with a Shakespearean sonnet.”

“How did that go?”

“Mr. Scrib just gave him a dead-eyed stare until poor Tuck slinked away. Nancy once said that if it wasn’t for Mr. Scrib’s little rituals, he wouldn’t have a personality at all.”

“What little rituals?”

“Just watch.”

As he did most days, Mr. Scrib ordered a large “Coffee of the Day.” Instead of simply grabbing a take-out cup, Esther turned to the stack, asking “What’s your special number today, Mr. Scrib?”
He closed one eye, as if calculating. “Let’s try number seventeen.”

Esther patiently counted down the stack, pulled cup number seventeen, and filled it. Scrib opened his mouth, but Esther was way ahead of him.

“I remember. No lid!”

Mr. Scrib pulled out a wallet and paid with cash. Then, as he did every morning, the old man slowly climbed the spiral staircase to the second-floor lounge.

“There’s no one else up there,” I whispered to Matt. “But he’ll sit, all alone, in our lounge and write in his notebook for hours.”

“A freeloader?”

“Oh, no. Mr. Scrib will pony up for a refill every thirty minutes or so, but he refuses a fresh paper cup and insists on using the one he selected. And if Mr. Scrib comes down and finds Esther is gone, he’ll leave, too.”

Matt raised an eyebrow. “Another Greenwich Village eccentric.”

“And this neighborhood was built on them,” I reminded him. “Anyway, Mr. Scrib never gave us any trouble. He’s respectful, polite, quiet—”


“AAAAAHHHH! NOOOOOO!”

The bloodcurdling howl barreled down from our upstairs lounge in a wall of shocking sound. The shriek of earsplitting terror was so unexpected that Matt and I froze, mouths gaping like sculptures in a haunted icehouse.

That’s your quiet customer? Matt’s eyes seemed to say.

Once again, the man upstairs made a liar out of me. –This text refers to the hardcover edition.

*** Excerpt from No Roast for the Weary by Cleo Coyle. Copyright 2025 by Cleo Coyle. Reproduced with permission from Cleo Coyle. All rights reserved.


No Roast for the Weary Author Cleo Coyle

CLEO COYLE is a pseudonym for Alice Alfonsi, writing in collaboration with her husband, Marc Cerasini.

Both are New York Times bestselling authors of the long-running Coffeehouse Mysteries and Haunted Bookshop Mysteries, now celebrating more than 20 years in print. With more than one million books sold, their works have been translated into Spanish, Japanese, and Czech; received multiple Best of Year selection honors from reviewers; and have been recommended by Booklist as among the best culinary mysteries for core library mystery collections.

Alice and Marc are also bestselling media tie-in writers who have penned properties for Lucasfilm, NBC, Fox, Disney, Imagine, Toho, and MGM. They live and work in New York City, where they write independently and together, wrangle their rescue cats, drink a lot of java, and cook like crazy. Connect with Cleo at CoffeehouseMystery.com

Follow Cleo Coyle on social media: Website, Facebook, Instagram. 

TOUR PARTICIPANTS

April 3 – Read Your Writes Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

April 3 – Elizabeth McKenna – Author – SPOTLIGHT

April 4 – Jody’s Bookish Haven – SPOTLIGHT

April 4 – View from the Birdhouse – REVIEW

April 5 – The Plain-Spoken Pen – REVIEW

April 5 – The Mystery of Writing – SPOTLIGHT

April 6 – The Editing Pen – AUTHOR GUEST POST

April 7 – Books, Ramblings, and Tea – SPOTLIGHT

April 8 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW

April 9 – Christy’s Cozy Corners – AUTHOR GUEST POST

April 9 – Novels Alive – REVIEW

April 10 – Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

April 11 – Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW

April 12 – Maureen’s Musings – SPOTLIGHT

April 12 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT

April 13 – Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

April 14 – Diane Reviews Books – REVIEW

April 15 – Boys’ Mom Reads! – SPOTLIGHT

April 16 – Frugal Freelancer – SPOTLIGHT

 

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Someone Had to Lie: A New Mystery

Someone Had to Lie by Jack Luellen

 
Guest Post + Book Excerpt + Book & Author Info + a Giveaway!

 

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Someone Had to Lie


THE JAMES BUTLER MYSTERIES
Some cases never let you go.

Reeling from the sudden death of a close friend, James Butler and Erica Walsh are pulled back into the shadow world of Mexican cartels and the CIA. Seeking to avenge the murder of their friend with only his haphazard notes to guide them, they puzzle through the possible connections searching for anything concrete. As they investigate his murder, and his notes, they find unsettling links between drug trafficking, American gangs, the CIA, and the opioid epidemic.

Determined to find the truth hidden among cases they thought were long closed, Butler and Walsh call on friends and colleagues to help them survive the crosshairs that got their friend killed. With the threat spreading across more of their contacts, they must uncover the truth before they are buried in lies.

The James Butler mysteries from Jack Luellen seamlessly weave fact with fiction, introducing nonfiction material in the midst of fast-paced murder mysteries.

Praise for Someone Had to Lie:

“Jack Luellen crafts an intriguing tale, interwoven with proven facts about the deadliest drug in our society, Fentanyl. Someone Had to Lie takes the reader on an educational journey into the biggest cartels and Narcos in the world and provides a behind the scenes glimpse of cartel operations through his lead character James Butler. Gripping storytelling! A must read!”
~ Leo Silva, Author of Reign of Terror, Former DEA Supervisory Special Agent

Book Details:

Genre: Crime; Mystery
Published by: Torchflame Books
Publication Date: March 11, 2025
Number of Pages: 294
ISBN: 9781611533705 (ISBN10: 1611533708)
Series: The James Butler Mysteries, Book 2
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Torchflame Books

Someone Had to Lie 
Guest Post by Jack Luellen

On February 7, 1985, DEA Special Agent Enrique “Kiki” Camarena left the American Consulate in Guadalajara, Mexico to go meet his wife for lunch. Before he could reach his truck parked across the street, Agent Camarena was abducted by assailants working for what later became known as the Guadalajara Cartel. Agent Camarena was then tortured, interrogated, and subsequently killed.

In 1990, I was a summer associate at a Los Angeles law firm and was assigned to work with a group of lawyers representing a defendant in a federal court criminal trial relating to Agent Camarena’s murder. Little did I know at the time, the case would consume a large part of the next decade and remain a part of my life for more than 30 years.

In around 2018, the Camarena case received renewed attention with the debut of the series Narcos: Mexico. As I watched the series, I started pulling out boxes of documents that I had moved with me for many years.

Ultimately, my research and some other publicity regarding the case led me to decide to write a non-fiction book on the case. As I began the process of writing the book, I realized the story was so compelling it warranted a larger audience than a nonfiction book might bring forth. At that point, I turned my nonfiction book into a creative nonfiction novel.

Starting the writing process with no experience or training, or really a good plan, I began to write Someone Had to Die and created the characters and scenes to tell the Camarena story and even more.

Unexpectedly, I fell in love with the creative process and found myself eager to write and consistently thinking about the characters and the plot. At the same time, I was committed to revealing facts and information I had gathered from years of research, investigation, and interviews. The scenes I write nearly always are rooted in real locations. By accident, I found a balance between factual accuracy and creative license. 

Once Someone Had to Die was finished and in the publication process, I assumed my time as a writer would end. Instead, I found the characters I had created were living within me and provided a voice to share more of the Camarena case and tell more related stories.

Those characters compelled me to write a sequel, Someone Had to Lie. Building on the established themes and characters, I set out to examine the fentanyl crisis in America with a foundation in well-researched facts and a desire to provide a face paced narrative. Follow James Butler, an accomplished litigator, and Erica Walsh, his paralegal and wife, as they seek justice for their murdered friend and try to stay safe from a vortex of threats, including Mexican cartels, U.S. gangs, and even the CIA. 

 
Read an excerpt from Someone Had to Lie:

“Is that music playing in your office? You never listen to music at work?”

“I do on rare occasions.”

“That’s Alice Merton. How are you even aware of her music?” Erica asks, gobsmacked.

“I’m not, but I met Detective Torres at a Starbucks this morning and it was playing, and I liked it. I asked a Gen Z barista who the artist was and played it when I got in,” James says.

“I’m in shock.”

“I’m evolving,” James says, his words interrupted by the playing of the Johnny Rivers hit “Secret Agent Man” from his cell phone. “Alexa, off. Tim, hi, thanks for calling back. Erica is here with some information to share.”

“Hi, Erica. What’s going on?” Tim says.

“After we left the jail today, I went back to the office to work, and a few minutes ago, Belmonte called me to tell me that the DEA had been quote, ‘Requested,’ end quote to refrain from investigating or prosecuting Javier and that Javier was being moved to a different facility. Belmonte said the directive apparently came from the DNI. He called me from a burner phone and suggested we keep the circle of information as small as possible,” Erica explains.

“Holy crap,” Tim says.

“Any idea who could have that kind of juice?” James asks.

“None in particular,” Tim says.

“You didn’t tell anyone about meeting Javier?” Erica asks.

“Of course not,” Tim replies.

“Then how did anyone—” Erica begins.

“I have no idea,” Tim interrupts.

“One thing seems certain,” James says. “Aguilar was spot on. It is bigger than we knew.”

***

Excerpt from Chapter 24 of Someone Had to Lie by Jack Luellen. Copyright 2025 by Jack Luellen. Reproduced with permission from Jack Luellen. All rights reserved.

Someone Had to Lie Author Jack Luellen

Jack Luellen is a Denver, Colorado, attorney with more than 30 years of experience. In practice, Jack has tried cases to courts and juries, and has written hundreds of briefs, motions, and memoranda, to state and federal courts, including federal courts of appeal and the United States Supreme Court.

In 1990, Jack first started working on cases related to the 1985 kidnapping and murder of DEA Agent Enrique Camarena and has investigated the case in the years since that time. Jack’s investigations have taken him to foreign countries and included interviews with witnesses both notorious and infamous. This work has been the background to Jack’s upcoming novel Someone Had to Die.

Jack is the proud parent of an amazing daughter and is a weekend warrior on the tennis courts.

To learn more about Jack, click any of the following links:

LuellenWriting.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub
Instagram – @luellen_writing
Threads – @luellen_writing
X – @jack_luellen
Facebook – @Luellen Writing

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The post Someone Had to Lie: A New Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

Michael Wendroff Launches a New Thriller

Michael Wendroff launches What Goes Around
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Guest Post + an Excerpt + Book & Author Info + a Giveaway!
 
Don’t miss my interview with Michael Wendroff! Click the link here.
Don’t miss any blog tour posts! Click the link here.

What Goes Around by Michael Wendroff


EVIL HAS MANY FACES

Chilling murders terrorize a town and bring together two detectives to face the hardest task of their lives.

Jack Ludlum, who relies on his brawn to get things done, is now paired with Jill Jarred,a brilliant investigator with keen intuition. As they delve into the secret world of incels and white supremacists, and conflict between local authorities and the FBI rages, a media frenzy further complicates the mission.

Is there a serial killer on the loose? Or something entirely different? Will their clashing personalities be their undoing, or can they unite to stop the killer before they kill each other?

What Goes Around is a dynamic thriller that examines the intricacies of love, loss, and the unbreakable bonds that transcend time. With its pulse-pounding pace, captivating characters, and a revelatory twist that challenges the boundaries of life and death, this novel will keep you hooked from the first page to the last, and thinking long afterwards.

Praise for What Goes Around:

“Relentless and gritty, Wendroff expertly weaves a narrative that begs, ‘just one more page…'”
~ J.D. Barker, NY Times bestselling author

“What Goes Around starts off at a breakneck pace and doesn’t let up until it reaches its unexpected conclusion.”
~ Lisa Black, NY Times bestselling author

“An adrenaline-fueled novel, the action breathlessly driven by two detectives-Jill Jarred and Jack Ludlum–relentlessly pursuing the bloody trails left by a serial killer with a dark sense of justice, deadly groups of white supremacists, and one lonely, alienated boy caught up in the violence.”
~ Kathleen Kent, NY Times bestselling Author

“What a twist! This book grabs you from the first chapter, and doesn’t ever let you go. A brilliant debut!”
~ L.M. Chilton, Author and Journalist

“Gripping and chilling…relentless…includes very up to date issues…with an original revelatory twist.”
~ Crime Fiction Magazine

What Goes Around Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Contemporary Psychological Thriller, Domestic Thrillers, Suspense Thrillers
Published by: Bloomsbury/Head of Zeus
Publication Date: October 10, 2024
Number of Pages: 414
ISBN: 9781035900084 (ISBN10: 1035900084)

To purchase What Goes Around click any of the following links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

Guest Post by Michael Wendroff

The mystery of writing–is it nature, or nurture or numinous?

I wonder if the ability to write my debut thriller, What Goes Around, and see it published was due to nature or nurture. Or perhaps something else.

Is the something else supernatural? After all, the real impetus for writing this was something my mother said to me the second I was born: “Oh! How nice to see you, AGAIN.”

I always seemed to have a natural ability to write, with words flowing relatively easily from my pen from an early age.

In the genes? My mother was an editor at major publishing firms in New York City back in the day. My favorite company she worked for was also the publisher of Archie comics, so getting a free supply was the highlight of my boyhood week. I think I still have a crush on Veronica. Or was it Betty?

I also remember she’d have stacks of new paperbacks around, and one day, unbeknownst to her, I took 20 of them and exchanged them for a new baseball at the corner store. Still have that baseball, while the books have long since been remaindered.

But the thing I most remember is seeing my mother on a weekend morning sitting cross-legged on a bed, manuscript pages strewn about, red pen in hand, marking them all up with her editorial comments. When it came time to get my own editor’s comments, while they weren’t in red ink, the edits in the margin of the word document were just as tough–but at least I’d known to expect that! So nature-my mother’s editorial talents, and nurture–learning from her, as well as from my own editor, are probably both at play.

My mother remarried a literary agent. He had bestselling thriller and mystery writers in his stable, including Robert Ludlum (The Bourne Identity), David Morrell (First Blood), Brian Garfield (Death Wish) and Dean Koontz (you know who I’m talking about). So I was nurtured by reading great commercial novels, all free of course. In fact, I remember once staying over at Ludlum’s winter home on St. Thomas. I woke up early one morning, crept into the living room where I saw Bob sitting on his couch, yellow legal pad in one hand and a #2 Dixon Ticonderoga pencil in the other. Yup, that’s how he wrote his 450 page novels–all by hand! I admired his plotting and prose, but did not want to do that! Thankfully, when it came time to write What Goes Around, I had a pc!

I learned more about publishing when I was at NYU and wrote my MBA thesis on “Marketing in the publishing industry.” For that, I’d contacted the trade journal, Publisher’s Weekly, and they helped me get interviews with the top industry leaders. They actually ended up excerpting my thesis in three editions of the journal, and paid me for it. That was the first time I got paid for writing. I liked that!

That experience certainly nurtured my interest in publishing. In fact, for that thesis I was once waiting to interview the editor-in-chief of Simon & Schuster at the time, Michael Korda. I remember it was way past the time of our scheduled interview and I was getting antsy in the waiting area.Then the door finally opened up, and I was called in to meet someone. That someone was Truman Capote! In Cold Blood. Talk about a thriller!

It was the Covid pandemic when I finally fulfilled my lifetime desire to write a book. There was that period where you couldn’t do anything–couldn’t go to the movies or restaurants, couldn’t even play tennis or go to the beach. So I had no more excuses. I wrote my book, and got an agent. When he went to sell it, my stepfather, Henry, was gravely ill. Now, I knew the process of selling to a publisher would not be quick or easy. In fact, when Henry sold Robert Ludlum’s first thriller, 14 publishers rejected it before the 15th took a shot and it became a bestseller. So I wasn’t discouraged at first when my agent hadn’t sold it immediately. However, sadly, Henry died. But the day after he passed on, my book was sold! So I think I had some spiritual help there. Thank you Henry.

So my mystery of writing is a combination of nature, nurture, and numinous. Naturally!

Oh, and I started off by telling you what my mother said to me the second I was born: “Nice to see you, again.” What does that have to do with this guest post? Read What Goes Around, and you’ll find out!

Read an excerpt of What Goes Around:

Prelude

I’ll remember the day I died for the rest of my life.

 

Prologue

The sign at the gate read, “Trespassers will be shot. Survivors will be shot again.”

It was before dawn, the night sky still dark and the compound silent as a cemetery. The cabin loomed in the distance: a den of crime, a place where the armed drug dealers spent much of their time. The police team approached as quietly as they could, the crunch of twigs beneath their boots the only sound to break the eerie silence. Fear tiptoed through their souls, its icy fingers tracing the contours of their restless thoughts. They took a collective inhalation of breath, not knowing if they were walking toward their death. They knew the property owner, the leader of the group, wasn’t kidding with his sign.

What they didn’t know was that a baby was crawling on the floor of the cabin they were about to storm.

***

Jon Eddie considered himself a champion. Now he understood he was in for the fight of his life.

Forty-two years old, with bulging eyes, a bushy beard and Fu Manchu mustache, he’d covered himself in self-righteousness, the way his tattoos covered almost every inch of his bulky body. He was proud of the group he’d brought together. Eddie liked to believe he was simply an entrepreneur, as his annual white power music festival, Nordic Fest, attracted skinheads from across the country. Full of music from “hatecore” bands such as Angry Aryans and No Alibi, supported by shouting speakers spewing their idiotic ideology, it provided a nice source of income—in addition to the dues Eddie charged, and the contributions he asked for. His major source of cash, however, was a raging drug-dealing business, his biggest sellers being meth, molly, and of course opioids.

His girlfriend, Krystal, was yelling at their baby to stop crying. Krystal, no mother of the year, picked the baby girl up and was about to shake her when Eddie noticed movement at the front of his property.

** *

Outside, the thundering silence was deafening. Two police officers accompanying the core team were selected to check the dense tree line that surrounded the compound’s fence. They knew there were often guards stationed behind the evergreens—if so, they needed to take them out as quietly and quickly as possible before the main assault could begin.

Everyone was on high alert. Though it was cool, sweat darkened their uniforms. Up ahead, closer to the cabin, they spied a truck with monster-size tires. Through binoculars, a sticker affixed to a large dent on the rear bumper was evident. It was a monstrosity, with a silhouette of crossed AR-15s next to the slogan, “Yours for White Victory.”

One cop, Jack—built like a sequoia tree—towered over the policewoman beside him, even though she was above average in height. He pointed his head toward the tree line and looked down with a smug expression. “You ready for this, Jill?” he asked, his voice full of confidence.

She rolled her eyes. Her uniform was pristine. “Shh. You know I can take care of myself,” she whispered.

He laughed silently. “Sure you can, Jill.” Then, under his breath, said, “Just don’t get in my way.”

Jill gritted her teeth and ignored his taunts. She’d always been competitive with him, ever since they were in the police academy together; they were like two racehorses heading neck and neck toward the finish line. Jill was determined to prove she was just as good as he was. No, better.

They looked at the team leader, who nodded. The two of them slowly moved forward, their breathing becoming more rapid. As they approached the fence, they heard rustling in the trees.

***

Krystal had never wanted to be a mother.

She’d really had no ambition to be anything at all. Stuck in a rut of life, like a sailboat without wind, she’d been tending bar when she met Jon Eddie. It wasn’t much of a bar; as you pushed open its dilapidated door, you were immediately hit with the pungent smells of bitter beer, cigarette smoke, and salty sweat. A long, sticky bar dominated the dimly lit

interior, lined with shaky stools and chipped coasters. The walls were covered in peeling, nicotine-stained wallpaper, and the floor was littered with discarded peanut shells and spilt spirits. Normally, the regulars, their lives littered as well, would sit hunched over their drinks, staring blankly into the distance. Unless Jon Eddie was around.

Eddie often drew a crowd, a mix of people in awe of him and people in fear of him. His mannerless mouth and domineering demeanor attracted Krystal. He clearly thought he was the shit, and just as clearly was a mean son of a bitch. But Krystal thought he was someone who could protect her. At first, she would shrivel from his drivel. Later, not knowing any better, she began believing him, impressed by his purported big ideas that the men around him enthusiastically nodded their heads up and down to. When the bar closed one night, he was in the parking lot, hovering, waiting for her, wanting her.

She went out the back door and saw him.

With an almost imperceptible shrug, she got into his truck. She stayed the night with him, which then became a month of muddling. Once she was pregnant, she was there for good. Or so she thought.

***

“Grab the guns!” Eddie yelled over the baby’s wails. Krystal looked at him, frozen, as she held the baby. “Leave the damn kid on the floor. Just grab the guns!”

** *

They could see two guards ahead.

The guards were behind a large oak tree, chatting quietly while looking at a cell phone. One laughed.

Jack motioned to Jill to wait a moment as he silently made his way to the larger of the two guards. Before anything even registered on the guard’s face, Jack started in on him.

Jack got him down, using a headlock and fireman’s carry maneuver that landed the guy on his head. He was knocked out and would have a concussion, but he’d live. Jack allowed himself a quick smile, then turned to the other man, who was backing away, suddenly preferring flight to fight. Jill had watched momentarily in admiration of Jack’s fighting skills but couldn’t admire for too long; the other guard was her job, and she had to be just as capable with him. He’d turned to run but had a gun in hand.

Jill moved catlike toward her prey. A tree root tripped her. The guard stopped. His gun hand was shaking.

Fast and agile, Jill quickly recovered, jumped, and landed a swift kick to his shaved head. Her steel-toed boot landed right in the center of his swastika tattoo; blood immediately gushed onto the soil. All those years of martial-arts training paid off. The gun fell out of the man’s hand, and Jill kicked it away before kicking him in the stomach to make sure he stayed down. The man’s eyes were wide, and it looked like he’d had enough, so she stopped, not wanting to overdo it. Jack watched her, ready to act, and looked similarly impressed, though he didn’t say a word to her after they’d cuffed and muzzled the guards.

Other cops quickly came over and dragged them away.

“Well, that was the easy part,” Jack said.

Jill, panting, just stared at him, knowing those words to be true. For a second, she thought of her dad, a former cop, and hoped his fate wouldn’t befall her.

The core team warily walked forward, heading into the unknown. Jack followed closely behind. Jill wiped the blood off her boot with some leaves and joined them. Her heart pounding, but with a lot of backbone, she put her best foot forward.

** *

The team leader, Nic, was as determined as a bulldog with a bone. He knew he had to stop the drug dealing, and he hated the group’s ideology. But even more, he was given this mission because an informant had told of a plan this group had to blow up a government building. Tomorrow.

As they came closer to the cabin, he scanned the area for any signs of activity. He saw movement within the cabin.

He could feel the sweat dripping down his face, the adrenaline pumping through his veins. While his officers were highly trained, he could see the fear in their eyes. It wasn’t a surprise. It was too easy for things to go bad.

He motioned for the team to spread out and be ready, with two officers heading around to the back. He knew they were dealing with very dangerous people but hoped to take them in without bloodshed. Especially their own.

***

The smoke bomb exploded on the floor.

Chaos. His vision clouded, an officer yelled, “Police, come out with your hands up!” There was more movement inside; Eddie was fuming. But no one emerged from the thick fog of smoke. The cops moved in, like a tidal wave crashing onto shore.

One of the team members was hit immediately; he was dead before his body hit the floor.

More gunshots rang out. As the men frantically searched the rooms, the team leader headed straight for the source of the gunfire, bullets whizzing by at a dizzying pace. Amidst the mist, Jill saw a woman on the floor, bloodied and unmoving. She then heard a cry, and looking down, saw a baby. Holy shit, she thought, and tried to yell to the others, but in the mayhem, she knew no one would hear or understand. A hail of bullets came their way, and Jill got down, covering the baby with her body, like an embryo in the womb.

Another gunshot rang out, and Jill saw blood.

***

Excerpt from What Goes Around by Michael Wendroff . Copyright 2024 by Michael Wendroff . Reproduced with permission from Michael Wendroff . All rights reserved.

 

Michael Wendroff

Michael Wendroff has an MBA in marketing from NYU, and was inducted into their Hall of Fame. His MBA thesis was on “Marketing in the publishing industry,” and it was excerpted in the industry trade journal, “Publisher’s Weekly,” so he actually got paid to write his thesis. While interviewing publishing executives for the thesis, he met Truman Capote.

He has spent many years since as a global marketing consultant. It was the Covid pandemic that finally got his to write his novel, as he was cooped up at home. The impetus for the novel was something his mother said the moment he was born: “Oh! So nice to see you, Again.”

He grew up in a publishing/author milieu, as his mother was an editor at NYC publishing houses (watching his mother scribbling in red ink on manuscript pages at home on weekends prepared him for his own editor’s comments!). Plus she remarried a literary agent, Henry Morrison, so Michael was friendly with many authors (Dean Koontz, Lawrence Block, Joseph Finder, Eric Van Lustbader, etc), and even spent a vacation with Robert Ludlum. Watching Ludlum hand-write his 450 page novels on yellow legal pads didn’t dissuade Michael from trying to write a novel (though he’s thankful for his PC).

Michael’s debut thriller novel, What Goes Around, was launched in the USA, UK, and Australia, and foreign language rights have thus far been sold in Italian, Japanese, and Hungarian.

Fun fact: Michael’s great-grandfather was brought over by Thomas Edison from the University of Copenhagen (Denmark) to work with him in his New Jersey labs. He holds a number of patents, including for plastic buttons (he became known, and rich, around town as “The Button King”). Michael proudly wears button-down shirts whenever he can.

To learn more about Michael, click on any of the following links: MichaelWendroff.com, Amazon Author Profile, Goodreads, BookBub, Instagram – @mwendroff, Threads – @mwendroff, X – @mwendroff, Facebook – @Michael Wendroff, Author, YouTube – @mwendroff &TikTok – @michaelwendroff

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Cops & Robbers: Police Procedural

Cops & Robbers by Justin M Kiska

 
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Cops & Robbers


PARKER CITY MYSTERIES
Spring, 1985 . . .

Just north of Parker City in the small town of Wakeville, a string of robberies have the residents of the quiet community on edge. Then, when two homes in one of Parker City’s wealthiest neighborhoods are broken into on the same night, PCPD Detectives Ben Winters and Tommy Mason wonder if the crime wave has spilled into their jurisdiction. There’s one chilling difference, though. This time, the intruders left a dead body behind in their wake.

As Ben and Tommy delve into the investigation, what initially appears to be a robbery gone wrong soon unravels into something far more sinister. Their pursuit of the truth leads them down a path, uncovering ties to a crime spree that shook Baltimore fifty years earlier. As past and present collide, the young detectives must race to find a killer driven by a motive buried deep in the past.

Book Details:

Genre: Traditional Mystery – Police Procedural with a dual timeline element
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: February 18, 2025
Series: PARKER CITY MYSTERIES; 5 [Amazon | Goodreads]

To purchase a copy of Cops & Robbers, click either link: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt of Cops & Robbers:

1985

Tommy Mason sat in his beat-up, but much-loved, Bronco on the side of the road. His hands rested on the steering wheel as his eyes focused on the rearview mirror. Behind him, an unmarked police car with a red bubble light on its roof pulled up and parked. This certainly wasn’t how Tommy was expecting to start the day, being pulled over on his way to work. What he’d been pulled over for, he had no idea. He drove this stretch of road every day. He knew the speed limit. There were no stop signs or red lights to run. The Bronco was just in the shop, so he knew there were no lights out or any sort of violations that a cop would think it necessary to pull him over for. And his license plate tags were up-to-date. He was going to have some questions for whoever this patrol officer was.

Keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror, he watched as the door to the police car swung open and a square, rather unkept looking officer stepped out. Tommy raised an eyebrow as he watched him approach the Bronco. The officer was wearing a pair of dark Aviator sunglasses and a blue windbreaker with a badge pinned to his chest. He looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and could use a comb to run through his hair. As he sauntered up to Tommy’s window, he placed a traditional eight-point police hat on his head to complete the official appearance.

“Huh…” Tommy grunted, watching the cop giving the Bronco a thorough, yet overly exaggerated examination. “This is going to be fun.”

When he reached the driver’s side of the truck, Tommy rolled down the window and gave the officer his trademark thousand-watt smile. The same smile that had gotten him out of so many jams in the past. Incidentally, it had also been the cause of a few problems as well. But he preferred to think of the good his smile had done. And might do for him again.

“Good morning, officer. What seems to be the problem?” He tried to sound as cheery as possible.

Tommy expected some sort of response, but instead found himself staring silently at his own reflection in the officer’s sunglasses while the man chewed on an enormous wad of gum.

When he finally spoke, he said, “I’m Officer Smith with the Parker City Police Department. Do you know why I pulled you over this morning?”

“Officer Smith? I can’t say that I do. I don’t think I was speeding. But I guess I could have been. You see, I’m just traveling through Parker, so I don’t know the area all that well,” Tommy lied.

“Well, you were speeding back there, sir. Sorry to say. It happens sometimes. But unfortunately, I had to pull you over. It’s all about safety. You understand.”

“Dang, Officer! I really didn’t mean to be speedin.’” Tommy had suddenly taken on an accentuated southern drawl. “I guess it’s just such a nice mornin’ I wasn’t paying much attention. Look how beautiful that sky is. So bright blue. I just love the spring. Don’t you?”

“Spring is very nice but–”

“And I was just thinkin’ about all the flowers. It’s been a bang-up season for the flowers this year. Have you noticed how vibrant the flowers have been? I think that’s the best word for them. Vibrant.”

“I really haven’t–”

“I mean, I’m not much of a flower guy, to be honest with you. But something about them this year just got to me. My girlfriend’s always bringing home fresh flowers. I guess I’ve started paying attention to them.”

Trying to take control of the conversation, the officer raised his voice slightly. Tommy could hear a hint of irritation, but Smith was trying to keep himself in check. Tommy admired that. “Sir. If I could please see your license and registration card.”

“Officer…Smith? Was it? I really am sorry about this. Was I really goin’ that fast that you need to give me a ticket? I didn’t feel like I was goin’ too fast. Not that this old bucket of bolts can even get its giddy-up on to start with. I mean, maybe you could just give me a warning. And I promise the next time I come through Parker City I’ll drive real slow.”

“I need to see your license and registration, sir.”

Tommy leaned over and opened the glove box, rifled around looking for the Bronco’s registration for a moment, then popped back up and said, “Really, I’m very sorry. I must have been daydreamin.’ You see, I’m plannin’ on askin’ my girlfriend to marry me. I’m on my way home. I was in Baltimore for a job last night. And tonight I’m taking Suzanne out…Suzanne’s my girlfriend…I’m taking Suzanne out to dinner to pop the question. She’s gonna be so surprised. She didn’t think I was ever gonna ask her. But I am. I asked her father’s blessing and everything. It’s gonna be perfect.”

“Uh huh. Well, it sounds like you’re a man in love.” The officer’s stone-cold demeanor began to melt. A smile slowly spread across his lips. “Maybe there is something we could do.”

“That would be so great. I would really appreciate it. Because I really have to be going. But not too fast!” Tommy forced a laugh. He knew he must sound completely ridiculous.

“Let me think here. If I write you up and turn in the speeding ticket as is, it could be a few hundred dollars in fines. Plus, you’ll have to show up in traffic court. Nobody likes that. The judge might even say you have to go back to driving school.”

“You’re kiddin’?” Tommy’s eyes went wide, dutifully playing his part.

“Let’s see. What can I do?” Smith made a show of scratching his head while he looked off at some point in the distance. “What say you just give me fifty dollars to take care of the warning notice fee right here and we’ll be square. I’ll be able to let you get on your way and I’ll fill out all the paperwork later.”

“A warning notice fee,” Tommy repeated. “Well, fifty sounds better then three hundred any day.”

“Hey, not all policemen are hardasses. And you’re right. It’s a nice day. You caught me in a good mood,” Smith said, a smirk curling the side of his lip. “So, fifty dollars and it’s all taken care of.”

“Okay. I just want to make sure I got this. I just have to pay you fifty dollars for the warning notice fee and we’ll be all good? No ticket? No traffic court?”

“That’s right.”

“But you still need my license and registration so you can get my name for the paperwork. Right?” Tommy asked, reaching into his back pocket.

“Um. Yeah. Right. I need your name and address for the warning.”

Tommy handed over a black leather wallet and smiled. He watched intently as Officer Smith opened it. He could only imagine what Smith’s eyes looked like behind the sunglasses.

“Wha…what’s this?” Smith asked.

“You see, that is a real Parker City Police Department badge,” Tommy said leveling his gaze. “And you can see by my ID card that my name is Detective Thomas Mason. I know everyone in the PCPD. Who the hell are you?”

Before Smith could answer, Tommy raised his service revolver from beneath the edge of the window. The color drained from the imposter’s face. Tommy knew exactly what was about to happen, so he was fully prepared. As the fake cop dropped the badge wallet, Tommy flung open the driver’s side door, hitting Smith square in the hip. Losing his balance, Smith stumbled and fell to his knees. Tommy swung the door again, this time hitting him full-on in his side, sending him sprawling across the pavement. Before he could even think about getting up, still dazed from the unexpected blows, Tommy was standing over him with his foot firmly in the middle of his back.

“You, dipshit, are under arrest for impersonating a police office and ruining my good mood.”

***

Excerpt from Cops & Robbers by Justin M Kiska. Copyright 2025 by Justin M Kiska. Reproduced with permission from Justin M Kiska. All rights reserved.

 

Cops & Robbers Author Justin M Kiska

When not sitting in his library devising new and clever ways to kill people (for his mysteries), Justin can usually be found at The Way Off Broadway Dinner Theatre, outside of Washington, DC, where he is one of the owners and producers.

In addition to writing the Parker City Mysteries Series, which includes Now & Then (Finalist for the 2022 Silver Falchion Award for Best Investigator), Vice & Virtue, Fact & Fiction (Killer Nashville Top Pick and Finalist for the Chanticleer CLUE Award), and Black & White, he is also the mastermind behind Marquee Mysteries, a series of interactive mystery events he has been writing and producing for nearly twenty years.

Justin and his wife, Jessica, live along Lake Linganore outside of Frederick, Maryland.

To learn more about Justin, click on any of the following links: JustinKiska.com, Amazon Author Profile, Goodreads – @JustinKiska, BookBub – @JMKiska, Instagram – @JMKiska & Facebook – @JMKiska

 

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Glitter in the Dark: A Historical Mystery

Glitter in the Dark by Olesya Lyuzna

Author Interview + Book & Author Info!Don’t miss any International Thriller Writer Debut Author Interviews! Click the link here.Glitter in the Dark

The search for a kidnapped singer in Prohibition-era New York leads an intrepid reporter from Harlem speakeasies to the dazzling world of the theater, all while grappling with her warring passions.

Ambitious advice columnist Ginny Dugan knows she’s capable of more than solving other people’s beauty problems, but her boss at Photoplay magazine thinks she’s only fit for fluff pieces. When she witnesses the kidnapping of a famous singer at Harlem’s hottest speakeasy, nobody takes her seriously, but Ginny knows what she saw—and what she saw haunts her.

Guilt-ridden over her failure to stop the kidnappers and hard-pressed for cash to finally move out of her uptight showgirl sister’s apartment, Ginny resolves to chase down the truth that will clear her conscience and maybe win her a promotion in the process. When private detective Jack Crawford starts interfering with her case, Ginny ropes him into a reluctant partnership but soon finds herself drawn to the kind heart she glimpses beneath his brooding exterior. Equally as alluring is Gloria Gardner, the star dancer of the Ziegfeld Follies who treats life like one unending party. Yet as Ginny delves deeper into the criminal underworld, the sinister plot she uncovers seems to lead right back to the theater.

Then a brutal murder strikes someone close to her, and Ginny realizes the stakes are higher than she ever imagined. This glamorous world has a deadly edge, and Ginny must shatter her every illusion to catch the shadowy killer before they strike again.

Purchase your copy of Glitter in the Dark by click the link Here.Interview with Olesya Lyuzna — Author of Glitter in the Dark Glitter in the Dark is set in Prohibition-era New York. What drew you to that era for your debut?

I’ve been drawn to the 1920s for as long as I can remember. Somewhere on the Internet, there’s a video of a teenage me doing the Charleston—but we don’t need to talk about that.

What fascinates me most about the era is the contrast: all that glitter and excess on the surface, masking a lot of darkness underneath. Speakeasies were glamorous but dangerous. Women were pushing boundaries—cutting their hair, going out alone, voting for the first time—but still constantly hemmed in by society. Harlem was bursting with art, culture, and talent—but behind the scenes, many clubs were controlled by white gangsters who imposed racist restrictions on Black performers. There was this constant friction between progress and control, which was incredibly compelling—and the perfect setting for a mystery.

During the pandemic, I found myself deep in a 1920s rabbit hole. I was flipping through old Photoplay magazines, reading vintage advice columns, where I saw an ad for a detective correspondence course squeezed between beauty tips. I started imagining the woman behind the column and what she might secretly want—and that’s where Ginny Dugan was born.

Even though there’s a full century between us and the 1920s, so much felt familiar. Celebrity culture. Impossible beauty standards. The way true crime stories were packaged and sold. The more I read, the more I saw reflections of our own time, just dressed up in sequins.

Old footage of showgirls moving in eerie unison reminded me of how much pressure there was to conform to impossible beauty standards—similar to the uniformity we see today in influencer culture, where faces, bodies, even personalities start to blur. Advice columns back then didn’t hold back either—one casually recommended plastic surgery to a woman insecure about her nose.

And then there’s Celia Cooney, the “Bobbed-Hair Bandit,” who robbed a few grocery stores and was instantly turned into a media obsession. She was glamorized, villainized, sexualized—sometimes all at once. We still do this. Only now, it happens faster.

 

Glitter in the Dark centers on Ginny Dugan. What would you like readers to know about her?

Ginny is 23, headstrong, and stuck writing an advice column she doesn’t believe in. Her dream is to become a serious reporter, but for now, she’s flipping a color wheel and answering letters to move beauty products for the magazine’s advertisers.

She only comes alive at night—dancing at speakeasies, chasing leads, and trying to track down the elusive Josephine Hurston, a Harlem torch singer who always performs veiled. When Ginny witnesses Josephine’s kidnapping during a police raid—and narrowly survives an attempt on her own life—the story becomes personal. She sets out to solve the case, both for Josephine and for herself.

Writing Ginny was cathartic. She’s chaotic, stubborn, occasionally reckless—but she speaks her mind and doesn’t back down from a fight. She’s constantly pushing against what’s expected of her. That felt honest to me—especially as a woman trying to carve space for herself in a world that often has other plans.

Though the book is a mystery, it’s also a coming-of-age story. Ginny’s figuring out who she is, what kind of life she wants, and how to take up space in the world—even if she has to kick down a few doors along the way.

 

Glitter in the Dark incorporates speakeasies and the theater and the underworld of NYC nightlife. What was your research process like for those aspects of the novel?

It started with cultural history—books like The Modern Temper and Terrible Honesty gave me a strong sense of the era’s contradictions: modern and archaic, glamorous and bleak, radical and conservative. Then I dove into Harlem Renaissance literature—Jessie Fauset, Nella Larsen, Claude McKay, Langston Hughes—trying to immerse myself in the textures of daily life, beyond the big historical headlines.

Because so much of the book takes place in nightclubs, I read a lot about Prohibition and speakeasies—how they worked, how they were raided, and what kinds of people passed through them. I visited The Back Room in New York, one of the few surviving speakeasies from that era. You have to find it through a hidden alley, and they still serve drinks in teacups. It was kind of magical. The vibe is obviously different now—less danger, more novelty—but the atmosphere still holds a flicker of that old thrill, like you’ve slipped sideways into another time.

I also got really interested in the darker side of the era’s drinking culture. Bootleg liquor wasn’t just illegal—it was dangerous. People went blind or died from dirty gin. And then there was Jamaica Ginger, a medicinal alcohol substitute that caused paralysis. I wanted to show that the danger wasn’t just coming from the gangsters—it was right there in your glass!

And because I love writing through all five senses, I tracked down a sampler of 1920s perfumes—Guerlain’s Shalimar, which launched in 1925, quickly became the unofficial scent of Glitter in the Dark. The modern formula isn’t quite the same, but one whiff and I was there: velvet curtains, cigarette smoke, champagne coupes…. It was like time travel in a bottle!

 

Tell us about the process for getting your first (two-book!) deal.

It all started in 2020, during the height of the pandemic. I had just finished writing Glitter in the Dark when I was selected for Pitch Wars, a now-retired mentorship program that paired established writers with beginners. I got to work with Layne Fargo and Halley Sutton, both brilliant writers who know how to write difficult women better than anyone. They helped me bring out the darker, sexier layers of the story—elements that were already there, just waiting to be dialed up.

We revised the book twice in a whirlwind three-month sprint. I signed with my agent shortly after, and then we went out on submission. What followed were three long, quiet years. Lots of waiting, revising, and resisting the urge to refresh my inbox every five minutes.

Eventually, the book landed at Mysterious Press, and I couldn’t have asked for a better home. My editor, Luisa Cruz Smith, immediately understood what I was trying to do with the story—her vision aligned with mine in a way that felt both rare and exciting. The process has been collaborative and creatively energizing from the start. Even better, the deal ended up being for two books, and I’m currently working on the sequel. I’m thrilled I get to spend more time in Ginny’s world!

If there’s a takeaway here, it’s this: publishing is slow, weird, and wildly unpredictable. But if you can stay focused on the work and surround yourself with people who get it, you’ll make it through. Maybe even with your sanity intact (but no promises!).

 

What can we find you doing when you aren’t writing?

Going to the movies. I’m a devoted cinephile and a big fan of Toronto’s heritage theatres—especially the Revue and the Paradise. There’s something almost spiritual about sitting in the dark with a bunch of strangers, all drawn there by the same story. It never gets old.

Right now I’m deep into the Silent Film Festival. One of my favorites so far has been Salomé (1922) with Alla Nazimova, which reportedly featured an entirely queer cast. It’s surreal, visually stunning, and totally ahead of its time.

I’m also a murder mystery party enthusiast. I started hosting them a few years ago, and I take them very seriously—costumes, character backstories, the works. It’s basically collaborative storytelling in real time, and one day I’d love to design my own mystery games.

When I’m not doing that, I’m probably outside. I try to spend as much time in nature as possible during the warmer months. And I’m a bit of a Pilates obsessive—it keeps me grounded (and also offsets all the movie popcorn).

 

What’s the best book you’ve read recently?

I’ve been doing a lot of cult research for my next novel, and Godshot by Chelsea Bieker completely blew me away. The prose is radiant and strange, and the way she writes about belief and mother-daughter dynamics is both tender and devastating. It’s one of those books where you can feel how much joy the author took in writing it—it just radiates off the page.

I also loved Cross My Heart by Megan Collins. It’s about a woman who becomes obsessed with the husband of her heart donor, and it’s kind of unhinged in the best way. The narrator’s voice is sharp, unreliable, and compelling, and the book plays with the “lover girl” trope in a way that feels fresh and nuanced. It’s smart, voicey, and delightfully uncomfortable.

 

What do you hope readers take away from Glitter in the Dark ?

First, I hope it sparks curiosity—about the 1920s, the hidden corners of history, and the people who don’t usually get center stage in the textbook version of the decade. Queer lives. Working-class artists. Women trying to get free in a world that kept narrowing the walls.

I also hope readers connect with Ginny’s refusal to sit down and shut up. She makes a mess of things, sure—but she doesn’t give up. She fights for what she believes in. And even when it feels hopeless, she keeps moving.

And maybe most of all, I hope it offers a kind of comfort. I’ve often turned to books during difficult times, and there’s something about noir that feels especially right for that. It doesn’t promise a happy ending—but it does promise survival. Noir understands that the world can be cruel and unfair, and still insists on pushing forward. That feels honest to me. Reassuring, even. Like: yes, everything’s on fire, but you’re still here. Still standing. Still lighting a cigarette with last night’s match. And that counts for something.

Olesya Lyuzna — Author of Glitter in the Dark

Olesya Lyuzna is a Toronto-based author with one fatal flaw: she can’t resist a good mystery.

Her debut novel, Glitter in the Dark, follows an advice columnist on the hunt for a missing torch singer, all while navigating forbidden feelings for a Ziegfeld showgirl in 1920s New York.

Selected for a Pitch Wars mentorship by Layne Fargo and Halley Sutton, Glitter in the Dark is the first in a planned series that reimagines classic noir in the glittering, smoky world of the 1920s through a queer, female-driven lens.

When she’s not writing, you’ll find Olesya hosting murder mystery parties, haunting Toronto’s historic movie theatres, and scouring the archives for unsolved crimes.

To find out more about Olesya, click on either of her social media links: Website, Instagram.Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

Header image from Pixabay

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Murder on the Steel Pier: Historical Mystery

Murder on the Steel Pier, The Tess Mancini Time Travel Series by Rosie Geneva [image error]

 
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Murder on the Steel Pier
 


THE TESS MANCINI TIME TRAVEL MYSTERY SERIES
Greetings from the Nifty Fifties…

The morning after a blowout birthday celebration in Atlantic City, crime reporter and party girl Tess Mancini wakes up in an unfamiliar place—1955. Bread is eighteen cents a loaf, Ike occupies the White House, and the Boardwalk is crawling with vintage cars and vintage wise guys. A bewildered Tess is sure of only two things: One, she’s not crazy, and two, the clothes are fabulous. Somehow, she’s living the life of her Great-Aunt Theresa, who disappeared decades before Tess’s birth.

In her 1950s existence, Tess is a reporter at the local newspaper, living at a boarding house owned by her Zia Antonetta, an Italian immigrant with a big secret. It turns out Theresa has a kid brother, teenaged troublemaker Val Mancini—aka Tess’s paternal grandfather. Though determined to return to her own time, Tess’s curiosity takes over. What happened to the first Theresa Mancini? And is Tess’s trip through time connected to her aunt’s fate?

But when young Val is accused of murdering a boarding house guest, a Nazi in hiding, Tess ends up with two investigations on her hands—and now stuck in time until she can prove Val’s innocence. As she searches for answers, she finds allies in a dishy police detective and a suspiciously charming fellow reporter. The clock is ticking for Tess to find a way home, but first, she has to keep her grandfather off Death Row.

Because before Tess can get back to the future … she needs to make sure she has one.

Praise for Murder on the Steel Pier:

“Murder on the Steel Pier is impossible to put down, offering an irresistible blend of mystery, history, and time travel. I felt like I was in 1950s Atlantic City along with heroine Tess. Unlike her, I didn’t want to leave! I absolutely loved this book and can’t wait for Tess’s next adventure.”
~ Ellen Byron, Agatha Award-Winning Author

“Awesome book! This stylish, creatively written and highly entertaining mystery will keep you turning pages long past bedtime.”
~ Terrie Farley Moran, award-winning author of the Murder, She Wrote series

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Mystery
Published by: Two Roses Books
Publication Date: March 31, 2025
Number of Pages: 340
ISBN: 979-8-9911241-1-9
Series: The Tess Mancini Time Travel Mysteries, Book 1

To purchase your copy of Murder on the Steel Pier, click any of the following links:  Amazon | Barnes & Noble | AppleBooks | Goodreads

Read an excerpt of Murder on the Steel Pier:

From Chapter 1

Someone was smoking a cigarette. I sniffed, and spikes of pain started at my chin and shot through the top of my head. Oh God, make it stop, and I promise I’ll never touch another drop of tequila. Being another year older was bad enough—did I have to be punished for it, too? My nose twitched as the smoke teased my nostrils and caressed my olfactory nerves. I’d quit a month ago, but the longing for a cig came roaring back.

With my eyes still closed, and my head nailed to the pillow, I had one coherent thought: This is supposed to be a smoke-free hotel. As far as I knew, it was also bird-free, but the chirps and twitters assailing my ears were clearly coming from feathered creatures. Then again, it’s Atlantic City. Maybe the birds were part of the hotel show. Ever so slowly, I slid my hands from under the covers and cupped them over my ears.

“Please, birdies,” I whispered. “Stop singing.” Geez, they sounded close enough to be in my room. I exhaled, yoga style. C’mon, Tess, time to open your eyes. You can do it. Actually, I couldn’t, as my lashes were glued together. (Had I slept in my make-up? Not a good sign.) Still covering my ears against the piercing bird song, I fluttered my left eyelid and squinted.

Big, fuchsia-colored roses seemed to scream at me from the wall. And sun—blinding, eyeball-searing sun—streamed in through an uncovered window. And not a hotel window bolted shut and draped to keep out that awful light, but a wooden one with glass panes. And across the top, a ruffly white curtain.

Okay, not my hotel. So where was I? My empty stomach grew queasy; I wouldn’t have gone home with a stranger. Though I did remember a cute blond guy playing the slots next to me, but it was all so … blurry. I eased open the other eye. Across the room was a vanity table draped in more white ruffles. Somehow, I doubted the blond guy lived here.

This place was obviously some kind of historic inn or something, but that still didn’t explain how I’d gotten here. I looked down at the sheets, also decorated with roses. Only these were little yellow ones. Somebody sure liked her florals.

“So weird,” I muttered. Hands shaking, eyes half closed, I felt around for my phone, but my fingers landed on a string of beads. I let go of the necklace and blinked hard, trying to ignore the little flashes of pain behind my eyes. Next to me was an old-fashioned nightstand; on it was a lamp with a frilly pink shade, an analog alarm clock ticking loudly, and the “necklace,” which had a cross hanging from it. A face stared at me from a black-and-white photo. I shifted closer, peering at a guy with slicked-back hair, thick brows, and dark-lashed eyes. Across the bottom of the picture was a name, signed in blue ink. I frowned at the image. Who the heck was Tyrone Power? Was he someone’s boyfriend? Or part of the décor?

Hangover and rubber legs be damned, I had to get moving and find my phone. But before I could get a big toe out from under the covers, a knock sounded at the door. I sat up in the strange bed, holding my throbbing head as though it were a soft-boiled egg.

“Tess? Are you awake yet?” The voice on the other side of the door had a slight Irish brogue. “Can I come in, then?”

“Yes,” I croaked. Whoever she was, she knew my name. Despite the sunlight, the room was chilly, and I huddled under the cotton blankets as the woman bustled in holding a small tray. I sniffed coffee and toast, and when she set it down on the nightstand, my stomach gurgled audibly.

“Now,” she said, wiping her hands on her apron, “we served breakfast some time ago, and when you didn’t come down, I knew you’d be oversleepin’ again. Your auntie will have my hide and your own if you don’t get down to that kitchen.” She crossed her ample arms and sent me a stern look. “You know we don’t serve anyone in their rooms, guests or otherwise, but Carolina insisted I bring you your coffee. Said you’re no good without it.”

I looked up at a broad-shouldered woman in a green housedress. Over that was an apron in a loud, orange-and-green pattern of forks and spoons. Her thick white hair, twisted into a bun, was bright against her weathered skin. Her small dark eyes gave the impression of two raisins set in a gingerbread face. I’d never seen her before in my life.

“Sorry, Mrs. Flaherty.” How did I know that? It surely must have been her name because she didn’t correct me. I sat up quickly, my mouth hanging open in shock, and the blankets slipped to my waist.

Mrs. Flaherty took a step closer to the bed and narrowed her eyes at me. “Just what are you wearing, missy?” What was I wearing? I glanced down at the cursive “T” stitched on the pocket of my favorite monogrammed PJs. Expensive ones. And why did she care? I opened my mouth to answer, but Mrs. F got there ahead of me. “They’re silk,” she hissed. “And black, for the Lord’s sake.”

“Uh huh,” I said slowly, wondering if she commented on the nightwear of all her guests. Still, I pulled the blankets up to my chin.

“Best not let your auntie see them. Don’t know how in the world you afford such things,” she grumbled. “Eat up quick now, and bring down that tray when you’re through.”

“Okay,” I whispered, staring at the door she closed behind her…

***

Excerpt from Murder on the Steel Pier by Rosie Genova. Copyright 2025 by Rosie Genova. Reproduced with permission from Rosie Genova. All rights reserved.

 

Rosie Genova — Author of Murder on the Steel Pier

Proud Jersey girl Rosie Genova is a multi-genre author. Her work includes a Jersey shore cozy series, The Italian Kitchen Mysteries, and The Tess Mancini Time Travel Mysteries, set in 1955 Atlantic City.

She is also the author of standalone suspense and a couple of rom-coms that presently live in her computer files (but are longing to be released into the wild).

A former teacher and journalist, Rosie’s non-fiction has appeared in a variety of publications, including Entrepreneur magazine and The New York Times. The mother of three sons, Rosie still lives in her favorite state with her husband, too many dusty antiques, and a charming mutt named Lucy.

To learn more about Rosie, click any of the following links:
www.RosieGenova.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @RosieGenova
Facebook – @RosieGenova

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Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

The post Murder on the Steel Pier: Historical Mystery appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.

The Business Trip: A New Thriller

The Business Trip by Jessie Garcia

Author Interview + Book & Author Info + Author Pet Corner!Don’t miss any Author Interviews! Click the link here.The Business Trip

IT WAS THEIR CHANCE TO GET AWAY, NOT GO AWAY . . . FOREVER.

Stephanie and Jasmine have nothing and everything in common. The two women don’t know each other but have boarded the same plane. Stephanie is on a business trip and Jasmine is fleeing an abusive relationship.

After a few days, they text their friends the same exact messages about the same man—soon, the messages become stranger and more erratic. And then the two women vanish. The texts go silent, red flags go up, and panic sets in.

When Stephanie and Jasmine are each declared missing and in danger, it begs the question: Who is Trent McCarthy? What did he do to these women—or what did they do to him?

Twist upon twist, layer upon layer, nothing is as it seems. The Business Trip takes you on a descent into the depths of a mastermind manipulator. But who is playing whom?

“A stunning and accomplished debut, with hugely relatable characters and an addictive storyline that kept me turning the pages well into the night. Bravo!” –BA Paris, New York Times bestselling author

“Wow, The Business Trip was nonstop twists and turns. I loved the unusual way that the story was told, and I kept reading all day long because I couldn’t wait to see how it ended!” — Freida McFadden, New York Times bestselling author

To purchase The Business Trip, click on any of the following links: Amazon & MacMillion Publishers.Interview with The Business Trip Author Jessie Garcia The Business Trip is about Stephanie and Jasmine. What would you like readers to know about these two women?

Stephanie is a traveling businesswoman who is divorced and feeling like her relationship with her grown son is slipping; Jasmine is a waitress at a bar running from an abusive relationship. Total strangers on the same flight but they actually have more in common than they realize.

I had fun crafting two strong female protagonists with very different lives. I drew on my own life and experiences. I worked in a bar and struggled for money earlier in my life but I have also been the traveling executive. It was a challenge to chameleon into both characters and I hope I did them both justice.

 The Business Trip integrates technology, with texts becoming an important aspect of the book. What drew you to including that aspect of our society into your thriller?

I think texting and technology have become so ubiquitous. It’s the way we communicate and I wanted to explore that in fiction and also dive into how tech can both help and hurt us.

I thought it would quicken the pace to have texts set apart from the rest of the dialogue and action for ease of reading too.

 The Business Trip moves between four different point of view characters. How did you arrive at such a complex structure for your novel?

I am a “pantser” meaning I have the germ of an idea and then write by the seat of my pants. I am simply incapable of fully plotting a book!

I just started writing and the characters pulled me to their viewpoints. It seemed a fun way to show how the whole thing was unfolding from so many viewpoints. In the end we had 10 POVS which is a lot, I know, but readers have told me it’s easy to keep track of who is who.

Tell us about the road to publication with The Business Trip:

I was a nonfiction author for many years. When I turned to fiction I wrote two other thrillers and a coming-of-age novel that never sold but I came close with one agent, Meg Ruley of Jane Rotrosen Agency. When I penned this one I went straight back to her with an email that said something like, “Do you remember me? We were in touch years ago. I have been too busy at my full time job to write anything new until now, but I have a manuscript that I think has promise and I would love for you to be the first to look at it.”

She liked it right away and it took off from there. It never went to auction. She had an editor in mind: Jen Enderlin from St. Martin’s Press. We sold it to her and then went into many months of edits to get it polished up. I feel very fortunate but do know that it was my fourth novel that finally sold. Very few people get lucky with their first. I needed time to progress as a writer and I can look back and see that each novel got progressively more polished.

You were Wisconsin’s first female sports anchor. That’s awesome. Tell us about that experience:

Thanks! I loved how sports brought a community together.

I didn’t grow up playing or watching sports but I was drawn to writing and reporting and gravitated to being a sports reporter rather than a news reporter. I graduated college in 1992 and was fortunate to land a job in my hometown of Madison, WI as a sports anchor/reporter.

There had never been a female sports anchor in Wisconsin. I wound up covering sports for 25 years and actually my first nonfiction book was a memoir about my experiences which included many positive moments but also moments of sexism or doubt.

What are you working on now?

I have a second thriller coming out from St. Martin’s Press in January of 2026. It’s another multi-POV story with a heavy dose of TV news. Not a sequel though—totally new characters. And I’m working on thriller #3 right now—still in the idea stage.

Words of Wisdom for Aspiring Writers:

Write what you know so you can write it authentically (or do so much research that you can sound like an expert!); keep at it (I am a debut novelist at age 54), and find some way of standing out in the market, whether that be topic, characters, story construction, etc. It’s a crowded field and you need to carve a niche.

Great advice!Author Pet Corner!

 

We adore our cat, Cocoa and dog, Bella. Both are rescues, Bella from the Humane Society and Cocoa wandered into our bushes as a stray.I include animals in nearly all of my stories in some fashion.Author of The Business Trip Jessie Garcia

Jessie grew up in Madison, WI making up stories in her head and interviewing everyone around her, including the cat! She gravitated towards television journalism and became Wisconsin’s first female sports anchor and the Green Bay Packers sideline reporter as well as a hostess of NFL coach’s shows.

Jessie then got into TV news management and oversees a newsroom of journalists. She has also taught journalism at four universities, made a documentary about a little known piece of track and field history and written multiple non-fiction books.

This is her debut thriller. She has two adult sons and lives with her husband, an amazing cat who just appeared in the front bushes one day and a dog who won their hearts at the Humane Society.

 

Learn more about Jessie: Facebook. Instagram. Goodreads.Elena Hartwell/Elena Taylor

Header image from Pixabay

The post The Business Trip: A New Thriller appeared first on The Mystery of Writing.