[Just Joshin] Snowball in Hell now available
A quick note to let you know that Snowball in Hell, my WW2 noirish
mystery romance is now available through Carina Press. Also through
Amazon's Kindle, B&N Nook, and over at All Romance Ebooks. (And, NOT that
I'm keeping track, it's doing mighty well on the charts so far -- so thank you for that!)
It's 1943 and the world is at war. Journalist Nathan Doyle has just
returned home from North Africa --still recovering from wounds received in the
Western Desert Campaign--when he's asked to cover the murder of a society blackmailer.
Lt. Matthew Spain of the LAPD homicide squad hates the holidays since
the death of his beloved wife a few months earlier, and this year isn’t
looking much cheerier what with the threat of attack by the Japanese
and a high-profile homicide investigation. Matt likes Nathan; maybe too
much.
If only he didn’t suspect that Nathan had every reason to commit murder.
Spain proffered a pack of Camels. Nathan took one, and Spain
leaned forward to light it for him. Spain’s hands were large and
well-shaped. His lashes made dark crescents against his cheekbones. As
though he felt Nathan’s stare, he raised his eyes -- and Nathan
couldn’t look away.
He stared into Mathew Spain’s long-lashed hazel eyes, and he realized
with sudden terrible clarity that Spain knew all about him. Knew
exactly what he was. Knew it as surely as though Nathan’s ugly history
were an open file on his Spain’s tidy desk. In fact…Nathan glanced at
Spain’s desktop as though somehow the explanation could be found there,
because how did Spain know? How? Had it become that obvious? Like a
scarlet letter branded into his skin -- or the mark of Cain?
Hot blood flushed Nathan’s face, and just as quickly drained away,
leaving him feeling light-headed. He drew back, drawing sharply on his
cigarette. He sat very straight.
Spain flicked his lighter closed, put it away. He seemed to be in no
hurry.
“Why am I here?” Nathan asked, blowing out a stream of blue smoke. His
voice was just about steady.Spain watched him, eyes very direct between
his straight, black eyebrows.
“Why didn’t you mention you were with the Arlen kid on Saturday night?”
“I wasn’t with him,” Nathan said. “I ran into him at the Las Palmas
Club. We had a drink together.” He shrugged.
Spain leaned back in his swivel chair and rubbed his chin. “Listen, Sir
Galahad, it might interest you to know that the lady in question didn’t
mind throwing you to the wolves. She said it looked to her like you
were pretty angry with Philip yourself. Like you were mad enough to
kill.”
“She doesn’t know me very well.” Nathan studied the ashes on his
cigarette.
“Did she threaten to kill her husband and Pearl Jarvis?”
“She might have.” Nathan smiled wryly. “I wasn’t listening that
carefully to tell you the truth.”
“Why’s that?”
Nathan said slowly, “I went there for a few drinks and some laughs, but
after I got there…I realized that really wasn’t what I needed.”
“What did you need?” Spain asked -- and Nathan, for the life of him,
couldn’t think of how to answer.Neither of them spoke. Neither of them
looked away.
mystery romance is now available through Carina Press. Also through
Amazon's Kindle, B&N Nook, and over at All Romance Ebooks. (And, NOT that
I'm keeping track, it's doing mighty well on the charts so far -- so thank you for that!)
It's 1943 and the world is at war. Journalist Nathan Doyle has just
returned home from North Africa --still recovering from wounds received in the
Western Desert Campaign--when he's asked to cover the murder of a society blackmailer.
Lt. Matthew Spain of the LAPD homicide squad hates the holidays since
the death of his beloved wife a few months earlier, and this year isn’t
looking much cheerier what with the threat of attack by the Japanese
and a high-profile homicide investigation. Matt likes Nathan; maybe too
much.
If only he didn’t suspect that Nathan had every reason to commit murder.
Spain proffered a pack of Camels. Nathan took one, and Spain
leaned forward to light it for him. Spain’s hands were large and
well-shaped. His lashes made dark crescents against his cheekbones. As
though he felt Nathan’s stare, he raised his eyes -- and Nathan
couldn’t look away.
He stared into Mathew Spain’s long-lashed hazel eyes, and he realized
with sudden terrible clarity that Spain knew all about him. Knew
exactly what he was. Knew it as surely as though Nathan’s ugly history
were an open file on his Spain’s tidy desk. In fact…Nathan glanced at
Spain’s desktop as though somehow the explanation could be found there,
because how did Spain know? How? Had it become that obvious? Like a
scarlet letter branded into his skin -- or the mark of Cain?
Hot blood flushed Nathan’s face, and just as quickly drained away,
leaving him feeling light-headed. He drew back, drawing sharply on his
cigarette. He sat very straight.
Spain flicked his lighter closed, put it away. He seemed to be in no
hurry.
“Why am I here?” Nathan asked, blowing out a stream of blue smoke. His
voice was just about steady.Spain watched him, eyes very direct between
his straight, black eyebrows.
“Why didn’t you mention you were with the Arlen kid on Saturday night?”
“I wasn’t with him,” Nathan said. “I ran into him at the Las Palmas
Club. We had a drink together.” He shrugged.
Spain leaned back in his swivel chair and rubbed his chin. “Listen, Sir
Galahad, it might interest you to know that the lady in question didn’t
mind throwing you to the wolves. She said it looked to her like you
were pretty angry with Philip yourself. Like you were mad enough to
kill.”
“She doesn’t know me very well.” Nathan studied the ashes on his
cigarette.
“Did she threaten to kill her husband and Pearl Jarvis?”
“She might have.” Nathan smiled wryly. “I wasn’t listening that
carefully to tell you the truth.”
“Why’s that?”
Nathan said slowly, “I went there for a few drinks and some laughs, but
after I got there…I realized that really wasn’t what I needed.”
“What did you need?” Spain asked -- and Nathan, for the life of him,
couldn’t think of how to answer.Neither of them spoke. Neither of them
looked away.
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