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Unexpected Interference
Her discovery of evidence tampering in a high-profile rape case leads Cricket on a vigilante mission, but her plan for justice is uprooted when a mysterious group surfaces.
Trigger warnings : References to sexual assault, murder, female-instigated violence, and, most triggering of all, making fun of men, piled high and tucked into a spicy cussword sandwich.
Cricket McCorkle is the new admin for Bill Williamson, a semi-retired criminal defense attorney with a freaky Sir Walter Raleigh obsession. Between three-hour lunches at the City Club, he’s usually in his office writing his hoity-toity historical novel. Cricket’s primary duty is operating the Keurig, but the boss can only drink so many decaf hazelnut numbers in a day and it’s literally pushing a damn button.
She’s bored out of her mind.
But things get more interesting when Williamson takes a case as a favor to the South Carolina governor, and Cricket discovers an injustice that her past won’t let her ignore.
Even if it means she can never come home.
Trigger warnings : References to sexual assault, murder, female-instigated violence, and, most triggering of all, making fun of men, piled high and tucked into a spicy cussword sandwich.
Cricket McCorkle is the new admin for Bill Williamson, a semi-retired criminal defense attorney with a freaky Sir Walter Raleigh obsession. Between three-hour lunches at the City Club, he’s usually in his office writing his hoity-toity historical novel. Cricket’s primary duty is operating the Keurig, but the boss can only drink so many decaf hazelnut numbers in a day and it’s literally pushing a damn button.
She’s bored out of her mind.
But things get more interesting when Williamson takes a case as a favor to the South Carolina governor, and Cricket discovers an injustice that her past won’t let her ignore.
Even if it means she can never come home.
77 pages, Kindle Edition
Published August 25, 2023
3 people are currently reading
732 people want to read
About the author
Pepper Winslow
2 books9 followersPepper Winslow was raised by boomers in an anti-intellectual backwater, which might explain why she’s so messed up. Her dream of being a writer was beaten out of her as a child, as so often happens in such cases of bad luck. It took her half a century - and a lot of really weird shit - to find it again. But she did, and her books are the result of all that deep thinking she was warned against. She’s also obviously writing this bio, and is starting to feel weird about the use of third person.
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Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews
September 14, 2023
i guess for me, i would have picked another book cover. not a fan. i will joke on a hot dude cover. so i gotta pick on this one ...i will say that it must be very tough to pick a book cover??! i don't know never done it but i can imagine from what i have seen it must be TOUGH. just saying. i found this from Bookbub they were saying it was free. not sure if that still the case or not? but always check them for FREE books. or cheaper books that is. will hope to read more from Pepper very soon. i enjoy the style. characters are fun. i tend to shy away from "feminist" reads or when they are said to be as such ... because i think STRONG women are a must ...but i don't like it when they get ...well you know what i mean ...right??! hope so.
out on August 25, 2023. new to this author. Two-Hour Mystery, Thriller, Suspense Short Reads. Suspense Action Fiction. Women's Adventure Fiction.
out on August 25, 2023. new to this author. Two-Hour Mystery, Thriller, Suspense Short Reads. Suspense Action Fiction. Women's Adventure Fiction.
August 7, 2023
A fun romp through NC’s Triangle region with familiar haunts mentioned. While our protagonist’s moral compass is correct, that compass comes into conflict with workplace safety repeatedly. If you enjoy Dorothy Gilman’s Mrs Pollifax or a more modern take on a vigilante or legal thriller, you will enjoy this book. I look forward to reading more from this author.
September 22, 2023
Sharp and snappy, this book was a single-sitting trip I was happy to take!
The plot touches on some dark themes, but instead of wallowing in trauma, it whips along as fast as Cricket McCorkle's smartass commentary can take you. It's got something for everyone: crime, intrigue, sarcasm, busts of Sir Walter Raleigh. I was left at the end wondering what McCorkle tackles next, and I hope that we get to find out.
The plot touches on some dark themes, but instead of wallowing in trauma, it whips along as fast as Cricket McCorkle's smartass commentary can take you. It's got something for everyone: crime, intrigue, sarcasm, busts of Sir Walter Raleigh. I was left at the end wondering what McCorkle tackles next, and I hope that we get to find out.
September 2, 2023
Enthralling read served up with a side of sarcasm. I loved the main character Cricket who snarkily does the right thing no matter what risk to herself. I can’t wait for the next installment!
August 24, 2023
Fun read, difficult to put down, and cannot wait for the sequel!
Currently reading
November 16, 2023EXCERPT: Chapter 2
Coming back from an errand after lunch, I notice the white van is still parked across the street. It’s definitely the same one. Same bright blue scrape on the bumper. They’d better keep money in that meter if they’re going to sit there because parking tickets in downtown Raleigh are stupid expensive.
I try to slip by the antique store without getting into a chitchat session, but Mrs. Ambrose pops out a second later. She’s grinning and seems to want something from me.
”Good afternoon, dear,” she says. ”I found that Royal Doulton figurine for Mr. Williamson.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about but it’s clearly made her day. Her usual cheerfulness is encroaching on giddy territory, and I have to admit it’s a little infectious.
”That’s wonderful.”
She leans toward me and peers over her glasses. I catch a whiff of vanilla candles and Ivory soap.
”They’re very rare.”
”I’m sure he’ll love it.”
”By the way, did you see what they’re doing to the Williford house? The adorable gingerbread at the end of the block, across from the church. It was in Ray’s family forever. Such a shame they sold it when Gertie finally passed, bless her heart.”
I shake my head no and start inching toward the stairs.
”The new owners are painting it purple. It’s going to be an eyesore.”
I give her a sympathetic shrug and scan the sideboard for mail.
”He says it’s lilac but I think it’s garish.”
”Hopefully it’ll turn out pretty anyway,” I say.
”We’ll see. But don’t let me keep you. Mr. Williamson’s client is waiting.”
Client? There was nothing on the schedule. I gather the mail and head upstairs.
There’s a guy on the landing wearing an NC State hoodie. I’m guessing he’s in college but he has a baby face so it’s hard to tell. He looks like the type to get busted for underage drinking or weed. Probably one of those cases the boss takes as a favor.
”Hello,” I say.
”Where is he?” he demands with a scowl.
Babyface is a rude little shit, I see.
”He’s not back from lunch yet. You don’t have an appointment today, do you?”
”I’ll wait.”
He puffs his chest out and doubles down on the scowl. Must be tough living with a man’s body and a sixth-grader’s face. Maybe there are support groups.
I unlock the door to the reception area and drop the mail on my desk. He follows and sits on the velvet sofa. I do my best to ignore him.
Another Amazon box has arrived, obviously books from the shape of it. I rip the tab open and dump out two. More history stuff.
The first is about the lost colony of Roanoke. No, thanks. They have a show at the beach about it, a huge outdoor production. We went once when I was little, before my brother was born. I had tomahawk nightmares until the eighth grade. Let me spare you the misery and give you the abridged version: they all disappear.
The other is a coffeetable book of old maps that’s actually pretty cool. I start flipping through it and immediately hope the boss leaves this one in the reception area. The weird misshapen coastlines are fascinating and I start imagining how hard it would be to survey all those nooks and crannies in a sailing ship with pre-industrial tools.
The sofa squeaks. I was so engrossed in this 1689 map of the outer banks that I’d forgotten Babyface was here.
”Are you sure you want to wait?” I ask. ”Mr. Williamson likes to go to the City Club for lunch and he usually stays half the afternoon. He might be a while.”
”I’m fine.”
His crumpled Cookout bag is on the velvet sofa beside him. Mrs. Ambrose would faint if she saw trash on the furniture but I can’t be bothered. This appendix on seventeenth century navigation is calling me. I have questions about the making of the wonky map.
One excellent article on the cross-staff later, I hear the bell jingle, then the boss talking to Mrs. Ambrose. They laugh about something, then the voices disappear. She’s probably ushered him into the shop for a juicy chitchat session. It could be a minute, so I go back to reading about astrolabes and quadrants.
I have newfound respect for the maker of the wonky map.
After a bit, the boss shows up cradling an ugly little man in his arms. It’s a Sir Walter Raleigh figurine, a foot tall, with puffy orange shorts and a sideways hat. He puts it on my desk, gingerly, like it’s on loan from the Smithsonian.
Little Walt and I are now at eye level, and I think even less of him. That jaunty stance makes him look like a doofus.
”Mr. Williamson.”
Babyface speaks up before I have a chance to say anything. I’m still trying to understand the appeal of the puffy shorts. They just seem like the wrong kind of drawing attention to yourself.
”Son, how can I help you?” the boss says.
”I need to talk to you, Mr. Williamson.” He stands up and looks nervous for the first time today.
The boss just looks at him, like he’s trying to figure out why this kid is bothering him right now. Or maybe he’s just having a senior moment. Hard to tell.
”Privately.”
Babyface fidgets with his jacket zipper and I see now that his distress is genuine. I hadn’t noticed it before, what with the gripping new reading material pulling me down a rabbit hole.
”Alright, son.” The boss unlocks his office and leads him in. I see the door is slightly ajar. That one doesn’t like to close all the way without a hard push. Old houses, I guess.
I turn my attention back to Little Walt, then catch the flaw in my naming scheme. If the boss gets another Walt, which seems likely given the barrage of historical junk that just keeps coming, what I am going to call him? Littlest Walt? What about the one after that? Littlest Littlest Walt? The problem, obviously, is that it doesn’t scale. Maybe the big marble one with the feather can be Walt Senior, this one can be Walt Junior, the next one will be Walt the Third, and so on. Yeah, that works.
So where is Walt Junior going to live? I look around the room for a corner that hasn’t been chintzed up to within an inch of its life. Hmm. Maybe there’s room in the boss’s office.
My reverie about the Walts is interrupted when I hear a loud noise, like a fist banging on a table.
”You brought that here?” the boss yells.
Then urgent footsteps, and the door closes with a slam.
Coming back from an errand after lunch, I notice the white van is still parked across the street. It’s definitely the same one. Same bright blue scrape on the bumper. They’d better keep money in that meter if they’re going to sit there because parking tickets in downtown Raleigh are stupid expensive.
I try to slip by the antique store without getting into a chitchat session, but Mrs. Ambrose pops out a second later. She’s grinning and seems to want something from me.
”Good afternoon, dear,” she says. ”I found that Royal Doulton figurine for Mr. Williamson.”
I have no idea what she’s talking about but it’s clearly made her day. Her usual cheerfulness is encroaching on giddy territory, and I have to admit it’s a little infectious.
”That’s wonderful.”
She leans toward me and peers over her glasses. I catch a whiff of vanilla candles and Ivory soap.
”They’re very rare.”
”I’m sure he’ll love it.”
”By the way, did you see what they’re doing to the Williford house? The adorable gingerbread at the end of the block, across from the church. It was in Ray’s family forever. Such a shame they sold it when Gertie finally passed, bless her heart.”
I shake my head no and start inching toward the stairs.
”The new owners are painting it purple. It’s going to be an eyesore.”
I give her a sympathetic shrug and scan the sideboard for mail.
”He says it’s lilac but I think it’s garish.”
”Hopefully it’ll turn out pretty anyway,” I say.
”We’ll see. But don’t let me keep you. Mr. Williamson’s client is waiting.”
Client? There was nothing on the schedule. I gather the mail and head upstairs.
There’s a guy on the landing wearing an NC State hoodie. I’m guessing he’s in college but he has a baby face so it’s hard to tell. He looks like the type to get busted for underage drinking or weed. Probably one of those cases the boss takes as a favor.
”Hello,” I say.
”Where is he?” he demands with a scowl.
Babyface is a rude little shit, I see.
”He’s not back from lunch yet. You don’t have an appointment today, do you?”
”I’ll wait.”
He puffs his chest out and doubles down on the scowl. Must be tough living with a man’s body and a sixth-grader’s face. Maybe there are support groups.
I unlock the door to the reception area and drop the mail on my desk. He follows and sits on the velvet sofa. I do my best to ignore him.
Another Amazon box has arrived, obviously books from the shape of it. I rip the tab open and dump out two. More history stuff.
The first is about the lost colony of Roanoke. No, thanks. They have a show at the beach about it, a huge outdoor production. We went once when I was little, before my brother was born. I had tomahawk nightmares until the eighth grade. Let me spare you the misery and give you the abridged version: they all disappear.
The other is a coffeetable book of old maps that’s actually pretty cool. I start flipping through it and immediately hope the boss leaves this one in the reception area. The weird misshapen coastlines are fascinating and I start imagining how hard it would be to survey all those nooks and crannies in a sailing ship with pre-industrial tools.
The sofa squeaks. I was so engrossed in this 1689 map of the outer banks that I’d forgotten Babyface was here.
”Are you sure you want to wait?” I ask. ”Mr. Williamson likes to go to the City Club for lunch and he usually stays half the afternoon. He might be a while.”
”I’m fine.”
His crumpled Cookout bag is on the velvet sofa beside him. Mrs. Ambrose would faint if she saw trash on the furniture but I can’t be bothered. This appendix on seventeenth century navigation is calling me. I have questions about the making of the wonky map.
One excellent article on the cross-staff later, I hear the bell jingle, then the boss talking to Mrs. Ambrose. They laugh about something, then the voices disappear. She’s probably ushered him into the shop for a juicy chitchat session. It could be a minute, so I go back to reading about astrolabes and quadrants.
I have newfound respect for the maker of the wonky map.
After a bit, the boss shows up cradling an ugly little man in his arms. It’s a Sir Walter Raleigh figurine, a foot tall, with puffy orange shorts and a sideways hat. He puts it on my desk, gingerly, like it’s on loan from the Smithsonian.
Little Walt and I are now at eye level, and I think even less of him. That jaunty stance makes him look like a doofus.
”Mr. Williamson.”
Babyface speaks up before I have a chance to say anything. I’m still trying to understand the appeal of the puffy shorts. They just seem like the wrong kind of drawing attention to yourself.
”Son, how can I help you?” the boss says.
”I need to talk to you, Mr. Williamson.” He stands up and looks nervous for the first time today.
The boss just looks at him, like he’s trying to figure out why this kid is bothering him right now. Or maybe he’s just having a senior moment. Hard to tell.
”Privately.”
Babyface fidgets with his jacket zipper and I see now that his distress is genuine. I hadn’t noticed it before, what with the gripping new reading material pulling me down a rabbit hole.
”Alright, son.” The boss unlocks his office and leads him in. I see the door is slightly ajar. That one doesn’t like to close all the way without a hard push. Old houses, I guess.
I turn my attention back to Little Walt, then catch the flaw in my naming scheme. If the boss gets another Walt, which seems likely given the barrage of historical junk that just keeps coming, what I am going to call him? Littlest Walt? What about the one after that? Littlest Littlest Walt? The problem, obviously, is that it doesn’t scale. Maybe the big marble one with the feather can be Walt Senior, this one can be Walt Junior, the next one will be Walt the Third, and so on. Yeah, that works.
So where is Walt Junior going to live? I look around the room for a corner that hasn’t been chintzed up to within an inch of its life. Hmm. Maybe there’s room in the boss’s office.
My reverie about the Walts is interrupted when I hear a loud noise, like a fist banging on a table.
”You brought that here?” the boss yells.
Then urgent footsteps, and the door closes with a slam.
September 6, 2023
This was a fun read! Cricket is a salty, sarcastic anti-hero(ine) with a great eye for quirky details and a straightforward take on justice. If she sees something wrong, she'll come up with a plan (and contingencies) to set things right. I'm excited to see what else Cricket gets into!!!
October 9, 2023
Awesome book! A quick read with a witty and interesting lead character. She happens upon a mystery, and wrestles with moral decisions while getting to the bottom or it. Can't wait for the next installment.
August 27, 2023
Goodreads giveaway winner_ I thought the story was interesting and had alot of potential but it was rushed. Also the dialogue, it just didn't...flow.
August 31, 2023
Smart and delightfully subversive. Cricket McCorkle has a wicked sense of humor!
February 1, 2024
Fantastic!
Clever and witty! The only negative is that it came to an end. I look forward to more of Cricket McCorkle's adventures.
Clever and witty! The only negative is that it came to an end. I look forward to more of Cricket McCorkle's adventures.
Displaying 1 - 11 of 11 reviews