New Release: LAMENT AT LOON LANDING

 

I can't even tell you the week I've had. From personal to professional to physical every flipping thing has gone off the rails. 

But I did it. I SURVIVED. 

And the now LEGENDARY book is done. I haven't even had time to make teasers or--heck, I haven't had time to brush my hair. The little finger of my left hand hurts like a ((**^^%$##@! and the book may or may not be any good. I can't tell anymore. I don't even care anymore.

(Okay, yes, I do. I hope you enjoy it AND can now read DEATH AT THE DEEP DIVE.)

BLURB:

Fakes, folk music, and ghost fires

 

When legendary folk singer Lara Fairplay agrees to make hercomeback debut at Pirate’s Cove’s annual maritime music festival, everyone inthe quaint seaside village is delighted—including mystery bookstore owner andsometimes amateur sleuth, Ellery Page.

Better yet, Lara is scheduled to perform a recently discoveredpiece of music attributed to “The Father of American Music,” Stephen Foster,which will hopefully bring large crowds and a lot of business.

Several mysterious accidents later, Ellery is less delightedas his suspicion grows that someone plans to silence the celebrity songbirdforever.

SNIPPET

Watson, apparentlyunder the impression the drawbridge closed at midnight, came racing through theopen door behind Ellery, and skidded across the polished wood floor.

Despite hisweariness and mounting depression, Ellery chuckled. “Did you almost miss yourbus?”

Watson, looking alittle sheepish, picked himself up, and wagged his tail.

“I think we couldboth use a midnight snack.”

Unlike Ellery,Watson had had all his meals that day, but he still thought that was a terrificidea. He trotted into the kitchen after Ellery.

Ellery fixed Watsona small portion of his food and then opened a can of soup for himself.

Campbell’s clamchowder was probably enough to get him drummed off the island in disgrace, buthe was too tired to bother fixing himself anything more substantial.

He carried his bowlof chowder into the dining room, listened to the wind picking up, the scratchof branches against the windows. Forlorn sounds.

The knot in hisstomach felt the size of Buck Island.

He could not seem tothink past…

Well, he could notseem to think.

His brain feltcluttered with all the bits and pieces of information he had collected over thepast twenty-four hours, but the puzzle was not taking shape. He was exhausted.That was a lot of it. He’d had one hell of a day.

And, of course, hewas distracted, worried about the situation with Jack. Twice he picked up hiscell to phone. Twice he laid his phone down. Disturbing Jack at work in orderto discuss problems in their relationship was not going to win points.

Tired as he was, Ellery knew if he tried togo to bed, he’d spend the next few hours tossing and turning. Instead, heturned to his tried-and-true method of calming his nerves and focusinghis thoughts: Solitaire Scrabble.

Therewas something soothing, centering, about playing against himself. 

Itwasn’t just about relaxation though. Solitaire Scrabble was a way to analyzeand work through his problems without consciously trying to do that very thing.Time and time again, the words that popped up during this mental exercise wereilluminating, enlightening.

Ithad been weeks since he’d resorted to Scrabble. Unlike those first months afterhe’d moved to the island, Ellery no longer had endless time on his own. But ashe set up the board and tiles on the dining table, he found comfort in thefamiliar ritual.

Hepicked seven random tiles from the soft green bag and placed the first tile inthe middle square on the center of the board.

Hegot THEN (seven points) but THEN, to his bewilderment, was stuck. And remainedstuck. He struggled for time, certain that he was after AUTHENTIC, andeventually realized he was so out of practice—or perhaps so distracted—that hewas looking at the board the wrong way. In fact, he had the letters forAUTHORITY (15).

Itwas still a miserable showing and the board was a mess of half-heartedattempts.

Whatthe heck?

Somethingabout that stern vertical line of tiles struck home. He recalled Nora’s andKingston’s efforts to get him to see the situation at Dylan’s from Jack’s pointof view. What they had not said, what only occurred to Ellery now, wasthat he had directly, if inadvertently, challenged Jack’s authority thatmorning. Not Jack’s authority as Ellery’s boyfriend. Jack’s authority as theChief of Police.

Ellery’sstomach did an unhappy flop.

Justas he had been hurt and offended that Jack would pull rank on him, Jack had nodoubt been equally offended that Ellery would, well, take liberties. Ellery toohad pulled a kind of rank by expecting Jack to do his job the way his boyfriendwanted, rather than the way he thought best.

Ellery could not seem to tear his stricken gaze from thatsingle forbidding strip of letters.

Oh hey. And right next to it was IDIOT (six points).

You got this, genius!

Into these cheerless thoughts came the solemn chime of thedoorbell.

 

--------------------------------------------------------------------

hahahahahahahaha
I forgot to put buy links!!! 
Amazon
barnes and noble
Smashwords
GOOGLE