Posts Tagged ‘mystery’

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A Swedish Crime Novel

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Acquittal?

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Stockholm Sleuth Series Book 5

by Christer Tholin

Genre: Mystery, Crime

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A Swedish Crime Novel

Umeå, Northern Sweden: Willmar Björkman has been incarcerated for five years after being found guilty on a murder charge; albeit unjustly convicted according to his claims. From the very start, he has adamantly maintained that he is innocent of the crime. Detectives Lars and Elin are hired to find new evidence that casts doubt upon the validity of the guilty verdict so that a retrial of his case can be requested. Is that even possible now that so much time has passed? The two detectives start asking around to dig up some new information, but find themselves facing a wall of silence – nobody seems interested in reopening the case. In fact, they themselves are uncertain if Willmar is even innocent at all. But then the coincidences begin to pile up and ultimately the investigation spins completely out of control…

ACQUITTAL? is the fifth, standalone book from Christer Tholin’s Stockholm Sleuth Series.

If you like fast-paced action and surprising twists and turns, then you will love Christer Tholin’s sleuth series.

Buy ACQUITTAL? to see how this suspenseful case is solved!

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Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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It had grown late; it was completely dark on the country road, there were no street lights out here. Tall trees stood to the right and left. The snow that lay under the trees did nothing to brighten it. The asphalt was glistening from the wetness, at least Elin hoped that it was water and not ice, because the temperature was around freezing. Once the sun set, the thermometer could quickly drop a few degrees, and then there could be black ice on the ground after the rain. She slowed down – forty-five miles per hour were allowed here. She preferred to go slower than that, especially around the curves.

The lights from oncoming vehicles were blinding. Every time a car came along, she had to concentrate to stay in her lane. She slowed down even further and now was only driving thirty-five miles per hour. That didn’t suit the man behind, he flashed his lights at her several times. Now she was also blinded by the light from the side mirrors. Finally, he overtook after a curve. Well, at least he couldn’t bother her anymore.

For a while everything went fine, she slowly began to relax, but she still maintained a reduced speed. After the idiot from before, there had been no more cars behind her, but now she noticed a car slowly getting closer. Judging from the lighting, it had to be a bigger vehicle. Why did he have to drive like that on this road? She fully understood that the locals knew this road well and could probably judge the weather conditions better than she could, but nevertheless, you should probably still be a little more careful when driving a truck. Well, she had to concede, if he was carrying a heavy load, he probably had little to worry about, even if it was a little slippery. In Stockholm, until recently, the buses didn’t even have winter tires; they all had all-season tires to save costs. Only last year did they start to gradually change over the tires, because there had been a few accidents. After each bend, the lights disappeared behind Elin, only to reappear on the next straight stretch, and a little faster each time – the distance between them was rapidly shrinking. Elin kept glancing nervously in the rearview mirror, she hated it when people tailgated. It was indeed a truck, one of those giant ones, and now he was driving close behind her, flashing his lights. Just what she had been afraid of. She felt compelled to drive a little faster, but she didn’t go beyond forty. Unfortunately, it didn’t help, the truck was still sticking like glue to her. If she had to brake for any reason now, he’d probably run her off the road. Elin hoped that after the next curve there was a clear stretch again so that the guy could pass her. She was uncomfortable with this brightly lit monster clinging to her tail. Trees on either side, blinding lights from the front, and that idiot with all the horsepower tailgating. Carefully she went around the bend – yes, there was a longer clear stretch coming up here, and at the moment there was no oncoming traffic. Furthermore, there was now a small slope on the right side, which increased the distance to the forest and made the road look a little brighter. Elin could only hope that the driver of the truck would take this chance. She looked in the rearview mirror – yeah, he flashed his lights and pulled his vehicle into the left lane. Elin took her foot off the gas and the truck pulled alongside her. It was one of those trucks that transported lumber, fully loaded and with a trailer. They all sped through here like jackasses, the speed limits didn’t seem to apply to them. Water splashed onto her car from the side, her vision was blurred for a brief moment, then the windshield wiper swept over it and she could see the road in front of her again. The truck was halfway past her now but seemed to be slowing down. Elin checked her speedometer, it was thirty-five, which made her wonder if the truck was running out of steam? Irritated, she looked ahead, luckily no oncoming traffic. She reduced her speed even more, which allowed the truck to move past her a bit more. But what was he doing now? What the hell, he was braking! The red brake lights shone brightly. And now he pulled over towards her side. Why? The tree trunks were coming menacingly closer, Elin honked the horn and slammed down on her brake. She felt the rear of her car swerve, while all that was visible in front of her were wheels and wood. The truck cut her off! In a panic, she turned to the right. At that moment her Volvo got a bump in the front and was pushed even further towards the roadside. She pressed on the brakes with all her might, but despite this, she was still getting closer and closer to the downhill slope. She would bring the car to a stop in a moment, just in time. But then the Volvo got a bump from behind and slid down the slope. Snow, trees – Elin screamed. The Volvo spun, the wheels hitting some obstacle. Then the car overturned – the last thing Elin saw was her airbag deploying.

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**Don’t miss the rest of the series!**

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Find them on Amazon

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Christer was raised in the North of Germany, Schleswig-Holstein. After having spent years in Berlin / Germany, Brighton /UK and Budapest / Hungary, he has now been living in Stockholm / Sweden for almost two decades.

As a crime-story aficionado of long standing, Christer always wanted to write detective stories of his own that would not only be exciting, but that would also be set against the backdrop of the natural beauty of Sweden – and that would afford him the opportunity to portray Swedish society as seen through the eyes of a foreigner. The result: his “Stockholm Sleuth Series.”

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Playing Dead
by TG Wolff

 

 

February 19 – 23, 2024 Virtual Book Tour
Synopsis:

The nightmare is over. Alexander “Rotten” Carter is dead. But when his body is dumped in Cleveland Homicide Detective Jesus De La Cruz’s neighborhood, there are more questions than answers. Rotten was dressed up like the king of hearts, right down to the dagger in the suicide king’s temple. The elaborate staging is perplexing at the same time seems to be sending a message. As Cruz investigates, he discovers Rotten Carter was more complex than the simple villain he had painted him to be. So is his murder, which is related to the deaths of his two lieutenants months prior. Both were strangled and found, with playing cards in their mouths. Jacks. As the body count climbs, connection tie back to a dead CI and an accident that made a cop a widower. A web becomes apparent with one man in the middle: Narcotics Detective Matt Yablonski. But is he the spider or another fly?

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery

Published by: Down & Out Books Publication Date: February 2024 Number of Pages: 398

Series: The De La Cruz Case Files, Book 4

Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Enjoy this peek inside:

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The crime scene was around the corner, no more than ten houses from Cruz’s own. Two streets came together at a sharp angle, creating oddly shaped yards. An island was formed at one of the peaks, surrounded by roadway. It was the length of one of the yards facing it. Geometric colors showed brightly in the morning sun, giving the landscape a third dimension it didn’t naturally have. Cruz approached, his mind transforming the lines and shapes into the macabre corpse. “I called 9-1-1 and, thankfully, no one else has come out,” Binnie, the girls’ father, said. He stood guard over the island in worn sweatpants and a sweatshirt. He was barefoot. “Aurora kept the girls. She’ll settle them down.” “Good. I didn’t want them to see this, not any more than they had.” Binnie turned until he and Cruz were side by side. “The island was part of the city’s Color the Corners Chalk Festival. It took the artist two days to do it.” That explained the background, a mosaic reminiscent of a stained-glass window, but not the character on it. Cruz thought Francie’s description of a costume was accurate. The victim, male, White, was in his twenties. The torso was covered by a tunic, the kind a knight might wear. Instead of regal, the tunic was decorated with hearts in groups of twos and threes, some facing up, others down. The costume was thin fabric. Details were printed on, not embroidered. The legs were dressed in a pair of tights, the red color coordinated with the tunic. The feet were bare. The arms were bare as well. One was bent at the elbow with the hand resting on the lower abdomen. The other was positioned upward. The hand curled around the hilt of a long dagger, the blade buried in the head. It was an unnatural position that forced the wrist, elbow, and shoulder out of a flat alignment. Cruz rounded to the base of the figure. He recognized it. “Someone made him into the king of hearts. Better get shoes on, Binnie,” he advised as vehicles began arriving at the scene. “This isn’t going to be quick.” “I’ll put some coffee on,” he said and headed to the house directly behind them. There was no estimate on when the man had died. His body temperature was lower than was naturally possible given the weather. The nighttime low bottomed out around fifty degrees. The body was low forties. The Cuyahoga County Medical Examiner would use methods more sophisticated than temperature to estimate time of death. A cursory review of the body found no cuts, wounds, or contusions aside from the knife in the head. The blade had been driven in above the left ear. The handle was wrapped in leather, the complicated over-under weave spoke of skill and craftsmanship. Cruz examined the round, silver ball at the end and found it to be slightly flattened and marred with scratches. Something about the position of the mouth drew Cruz’s attention. He applied pressure on the chin, opening the jaw. Inside was the white edge of folded paper. Widening the opening, he gently pulled. The folded item came easily. It wasn’t paper exactly. It was thicker. Coated. He turned it over, both sides printed in a blue elaborate pattern reminiscent of…a playing card. He unfolded it, revealing the king of hearts. Rising, he compared the body position to the card. It was a match. He pictured the man resting his head on a table. His killer standing over him, holding the dagger in position with one hand and using a hammer in the other to drive the point deep. There were no defensive signs. It was as if the man simply lay down and allowed the knife to be driven into his head. The ME would tell him if the man was incapacitated via drugs or other means. Wherever happened, it didn’t happen here. Beneath the body was the chalk of the drawing. The lines separating the colors were disturbed directly beneath but even that was minor. There was minimal transfer to the back of the clothing. The man was set in place, not dragged, which meant either multiple people were involved or one person strong enough to handle a body. The man was average to short with sinewy arms and legs. Cruz put him in the 160-pound camp. Ready to tackle the timetable, Cruz went up the short walk to where Binnie waited with a cup of coffee. “It’s nice and hot,” he said, holding out the insulated Cleveland Browns cup. Cruz went up one step to accept. “I appreciate it. Tell me what happened this morning.” “You know, Cruz, I can’t tell you much. I was dead asleep when Sunny screamed. You know how it is, one second out cold, then wide awake. I went to the front door. I could tell there was something on the island but not what it was.” He pointed to the screen now hiding the crime scene. “It didn’t make sense until I was nearly to the sidewalk. I told the girls to go get you and ran back in the house to get my phone. I didn’t even think about shoes. I called 9-1-1 and waited for you or them to arrive.” “What time was this?” Binnie pulled out his phone and searched for outgoing calls. “Eight minutes after seven. The sky was light but the street still dark. You know. You arrived just a few minutes later.” Cruz did know but wanted details to supplement his own observations. “What about cars on the street? Anyone leaving the area? Any vehicles that didn’t belong?” His witness thought for a moment, then shook his head. “Everything was quiet. I didn’t even see anyone walking their dog yet.” “I had someone go house-to-house. Anyone who was awake was in their kitchen or backyard. There was no answer next door. Any idea where your neighbor is?” “Metro General Hospital. He works first shift in the maintenance department. He left at twenty to seven. When he started his car, I woke enough to read the clock and decide it was too early to get up.” Binnie pointed to a pair of patrol officers waving their way. “I think they want you.” “We’re close to wrapping up here. Let me see what they need, then we’ll go to my house. I need to ask your daughters a few questions.” Cruz left the porch, turning his attention to the officers. “What do you have?” “The victim has been identified as Alexander Carter, age twenty-seven,” the leading officer answered. “His listed address is his parents’, but he’s spent a lot of time as a guest of the county. In and out for possession, assault, petty theft. He’s—Detective?” Cruz stalked to the protective tent. “Detective? Cruz?” The officer hurried to keep up. Cruz took a knee next to the dead man’s shoulder and studied the face. He’d seen it in pictures a dozen times, only twice in person. In every case, the eyes had been narrowed with hate, the chin tipped up in challenge. “Do you know this guy?” the officer asked. “Not just me. We’ve been after Rotten Carter since July. Send me the information on his next of kin. I’ll make the trip after we wrap here, and I follow up with the girls. Go back through the neighborhood, see if anyone here knows our vic.” The officers left the tent to execute orders while Cruz studied the man he daydreamed about killing. Without the attitude he wore like skin, Rotten Carter had a clean-cut look. He didn’t have ink tatted across his body or battle-earned scars saying the man fought his way through life. He could have been a family man with a white-collar job. He could have been an ordinary guy earning an honest living. But he wasn’t. Rotten Carter was a mid-level dealer who had been on Cleveland police’s radar for years. His sister, Natasha “Sasha” Carter was a confidential informant to Cruz’s best friend, Narcotics Detective Matt Yablonski. Sasha snitched with her brother’s permission or at least knowledge. She fed information on Rotten’s competition, keeping her brother’s territory solid. One day last January, Sasha got in touch with Yablonski and asked for a meetup. She didn’t follow their normal protocols, wanting Yablonski to come to her place. He arrived at the agreed upon time and found Sasha overdosing. Yablonski called for backup and began CPR. Rotten walked in and misread the situation. While Rotten and Yablonski fought, Sasha died. Rotten blamed Yablonski. He focused his energy and resources on finding the man who killed his sister. Bad luck or bad timing put Rotten in the same place at the same time as Yablonski, and Yablonski’s wife, Erin. Rotten saw his opportunity for revenge and took it. That night, Erin and Aurora were driving to a restaurant for a celebratory night out. Rain poured down, making the street dark and the road slick. There was no evidence Rotten Carter tracked Erin’s car through downtown Cleveland. There was no proof Rotten drove the car and instigated the crash. There were no witnesses to point to Rotten as the reason Erin Yablonski was dead and Aurora’s legs might never be the same. And yet there was no doubt. Alone in the tent with the corpse of the man he hated, Cruz felt empty. This didn’t fix a damn thing. And now, it would be his job to find the killer who had done him and the rest of the city a favor. Cruz didn’t want the job, but he wasn’t going to pass it on. He was going to use it to his advantage and prove Rotten Carter was behind the crash. Closure. That’s what he could give Aurora and Yablonski. *** Excerpt from Playing Dead by TG Wolff. Copyright 2024 by TG Wolff. Reproduced with permission from TG Wolff. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author TG Wolff:

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TG Wolff writes mysteries that play within the gray area between good and bad, right and wrong. She specializes in puzzles, giving you everything you need to solve the mystery. Diverse characters mirror the complexities of real life and real people, balanced with a healthy dose of entertainment. TG Wolff is the co-creator and co-host of Mysteries to Die For podcast. She holds a Master’s Degree in Civil Engineering and is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime.

Catch Up With TG Wolff: TGWolff.com Goodreads BookBub – @TG_Wolff Instagram – @tg_wolff Twitter/X – @tg_wolff Facebook – @Mysteries2Die4

 

 

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Welcome to the world of Allie Nighthawk, corpse whisperer and bad ass zombie hunter.

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The Corpse Whisperer

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An Allie Nighthawk Mystery Book 1

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by H.R. Boldwood

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Genre: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Mystery

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Zombie hunting just got wicked fun!

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Welcome to the world of Allie Nighthawk, corpse whisperer and bad ass zombie hunter.

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“If you raise deadheads, you’d better be able to put ‘em down. Nobody said it was pretty. But in this day, when vampires aren’t just for breakfast anymore, and the dead are disposable pawns for necromancers, someone has to ante up. Looks like I won the lotto. Imagine my delight. You should thank me, really, because the world is batshit crazy.”

When the zombie population spikes and no one knows why, it’s up to Allie to solve the mystery. But there’s a hitch. She’s stuck babysitting Leo Abruzzi, a zombie-bitten gangster who’s turning state’s evidence. But the mob and a powerful necromancer will stop at nothing to take Leo and Allie down.

Allie Nighthawk is Anita Blake on steroids, with a fondness for leather and Jack on the rocks. She has a healthy dose of Stephanie Plum and Rachel Morgan in her, too, though she’d never admit it. The battle between good and evil just got wicked fun.

Amazon * Apple * B&N * Google * Kobo * Bookbub * Goodreads

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What advice would you give new authors? What are common traps for aspiring authors?

 

From a technical perspective, I encourage new authors to tighten their writing, tighten it again, and then tighten more. Readers want a page-turning pace, but be careful to not edit the voice out of your characters or your narrator.

 

It’s common for new writers to “info dump,” which means plopping too much exposition or backstory upfront. Use a deft hand when splicing those all-important facts into your story. Too much exposition slows the pace of the narrative.

 

Find an online or in-person writing group where the participants have at least your level of experience (preferably more experience than you.) Check your ego at the door. Listen and learn. If one reader has an issue with a specific area of your story, it may or may not be a matter of personal preference. If multiple people give you similar feedback, they are probably on to something. Keep in mind that the story you wrote belongs to you. You can choose which feedback suits you and which doesn’t.

 

Don’t get attached to your words. Sometimes, I have a passage I love, but it doesn’t work where I’ve placed it. Rather than discard the passage, I move it to a “keep file” where I can access it again at another point in time.

 

There is a world of online writing information at your fingertips. Educate yourself, whether it’s learning how to format a manuscript, create compelling three-dimensional characters, pace your story, or outline a novel. There are also excellent online and in-person seminars on every writing-related topic imaginable. The more you know and the more professional your manuscript appears, the better your chances of seeing your work professionally published.

 

Find an experienced mentor to help guide you through the writing process if you can. Let them read your work and provide feedback. Soak up their words of wisdom!

 

Use an editor. There are millions of authors out there, all seeking publication. Don’t let punctuation errors, wonky sentence structure, or plot holes kick you to the curb before an agent or publisher gets to the meat of your story.

 

Once you think your manuscript is polished, forward it to experienced beta readers, not just your mom or Aunt Sally. Good beta readers help you spot logic errors, inadvertent name/time frame changes, and typos that have magically survived your own editing process.

 

Once you send your manuscript out into the world, be aware that the publishing industry moves at the speed of molasses. Have patience when it comes to expecting responses. Expect a ton of rejections before you receive an acceptance. And when you do get an acceptance, read the publisher’s contract very carefully. Have a professional look it over before you sign. You don’t want to be locked into an agreement that isn’t mutually satisfying.

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Corpse Whisperer Sworn

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An Allie Nighthawk Mystery Book 2

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Zombies, Voodoo, and Hoodoo-what would you do?

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Follow Allie Nighthawk to exciting New Orleans where she raises the dead, puts down rotters, and dabbles in the mystical world of hoodoo. She’s on the trail of an evil necromancer who will stop at nothing to rule the world with his army of deadheads. Is her magick strong enough to save the day? Or will this necromancer from her past kill her before she gets the chance? She figures she’s got a fifty-fifty shot. Make that forty-sixty.

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Life Among the Tombstones

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An Allie Nighthawk Mystery Prequel

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Freelance zombie hunter seeking full-time employment-benefits required.

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In this prequel to The Corpse Whisperer series, financially challenged zombie hunter, Allie Nighthawk, returns to her hometown of Cincinnati and finds herself knee-deep in murder, mayhem, and zombies. Can she solve not one but two murders, and get away unscathed — when the good guys might not be so good, and a presence from her past returns for revenge?

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**Get it FREE!**

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Corpse Whisperer Torn

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An Allie Nighthawk Mystery Book 3

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Zombie hunting 101: Never tell your neighbors what you do for a living.

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Just after sunrise, I jumped on my Harley and hurtled toward Templeman’s Funeral Home, packing Hawk, my custom 9mm, a backup Glock, and a seven-inch Ka-Bar knife—the standard-issue zombie-hunter’s tool kit. Not that I’m standard-issue, by any stretch. I was born with the ability to raise the dead. It’s a genetic thing. Don’t ask me how it works. I didn’t write the playbook. I’m just living the dream.”

Allie Nighthawk faces a ghost from her past as she explores the fascinating and historic world of Cincinnati’s underground. When the Z-virus threatens world-wide contamination, it’s up to Allie to save the day. Is her magick strong enough to turn the tide? Or will doubt and inner demons stand in her way? And will those she loves survive?

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H.R. Boldwood, author of the Corpse Whisperer series, countless short stories, and Imadjinn Award finalist, is a writer of horror and speculative fiction. In another incarnation, Boldwood is a Pushcart Prize nominee and winner of the 2009 Bilbo Award for creative writing by Thomas More College. Boldwood’s characters are often disreputable and not to be trusted. They are kicked to the curb at every conceivable opportunity when some poor unsuspecting publisher welcomes them with open arms. No responsibility is taken by this author for the dastardly and sometimes criminal acts committed by this ragtag group of miscreants.

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

Welcome to The Friday 56!

 

This is a really fun meme!

The only rules are to grab a book (any book), turn to page 56 or 56% in your eReader and find a sentence or a few (no spoilers) that grabs you and post it.

Then go over to Anne at My Head is Full of Books and leave your link so we can visit your 56!

My 56 for this week is from

The Night Swim

  by Megan Goldin

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Genre: Mystery / Thriller

From page 56 in the paperback.

“I’ll expect you both at dinner time. Not a second before.”

“Sure, Mom.” Her voice was drowned out by the rattle of the car.

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Synopsis

Ever since her true-crime podcast became an overnight sensation and set an innocent man free, Rachel Krall has become a household name—and the last hope for people seeking justice. But she’s used to being recognized for her voice, not her face. Which makes it all the more unsettling when she finds a note on her car windshield, addressed to her, begging for help.

The new season of Rachel’s podcast has brought her to a small town being torn apart by a devastating rape trial. A local golden boy, a swimmer destined for Olympic greatness, has been accused of raping the beloved granddaughter of the police chief. Under pressure to make Season 3 a success, Rachel throws herself into her investigation—but the mysterious letters keep coming. Someone is following her, and she won’t stop until Rachel finds out what happened to her sister twenty-five years ago. Officially, Jenny Stills tragically drowned, but the letters insist she was murdered—and when Rachel starts asking questions, nobody in town wants to answer. The past and present start to collide as Rachel uncovers startling connections between the two cases—and a revelation that will change the course of the trial and the lives of everyone involved.

Electrifying and propulsive, The Night Swim asks: What is the price of a reputation? Can a small town ever right the wrongs of its past? And what really happened to Jenny?

Amazon

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It’s going to be a wild ride so strap in and hold on.

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Moonlight Beach

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Murder and Magic Book 1

by Yurie Kiri

Genre: Supernatural Murder Mystery, Paranormal Thriller

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Winner of the 2020 Hollywood Book Festival’s award for Genre Fiction.

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Chick lit Café Awards First Place toMoonlight Beach: Murder and Magic by Yurie Kirifor best Paranormal Thriller, Crime & Mystery – April 2023.

What Is Shattering The Idyllic, Seaside Community Of Rancho, California?

Grisly death. Bodies washing up on nearby Moonlight Beach. It’s downright disconcerting to the privileged one percent living in their gated communities in one of SoCal’s ritziest enclaves. Worse, they have no idea what or who is behind the slaughter.

Is It Sharks? Something Supernatural? Greedy Venture Capitalists?

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Maneaters are known to inhabit the waters off Moonlight Beach, but shark attacks are rare. What about black magic, satanic rituals? A coven of witches lives nearby. Or could it be the venture capitalists, whose latest company harvests human organs for transplant, exploiting the vulnerable to save the wealthy elite?

The Violence Shows No Signs Of Ending

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Two more people are killed on a cliff overlooking the beach – and all their organs are missing. This bloody terror isn’t slowing down. It’s accelerating. What the hell is going on? They better figure all this out before more people get butchered or, God forbid, Rancho’s inflated property values plummet.

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**On Sale Now for Only .99cents!!**

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Amazon * Author’s Site * Bookbub * Goodreads

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Moonlight Canyon

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Murder and Magic Book 2

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“Moonlight Duology” has just been selected as the winner in the “Sequels” category for the 2023 Los Angeles Book Festival. Moonlight Canyon, the second half of Moonlight Duology is the sequel to the award-winning book, Moonlight Beach.

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Terrible Things Are Happening In Silver City

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The rural paradise of Silver City, just south of Moonlight Canyon, is under attack. Half-eaten, mutilated bodies are showing up in public places. The peaceful residents of Silver City are in a panic. Horrible murders shouldn’t happen here. Evil like that is reserved for the big cities, right? Wrong.

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Are Drug Smugglers To Blame?

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A powerful, south of the border, drug kingpin named Tito Ocotillo could be responsible. Tito’s biker gang, the Coyotes, are very capable of murdering their enemies and putting them on public display as a warning to others.

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Could It Be Space Aliens? Or Ancient Native American Dark Rituals?

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Some people believe that space aliens are dismembering people to study us. Tito Ocotillo is using an old, mysterious Native American woman called Jane to try and open up a portal to the underworld. Whatever is terrorizing Silver City must be stopped and fast before this pastoral heaven becomes a living hell.

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Moonlight Duology

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Murder and Magic Books 1 & 2

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Yurie Kiri’s novel “Moonlight Beach” won the 2020 Hollywood Book Festival’s award for Genre Fiction is packaged here in the “Moonlight Duology” with its sequel “Moonlight Canyon”. These two books have been described as something like Carlos Castaneda’s “The Teachings of Don Juan…” combined with Jack Kerouac’s “On the Road” only more intense.

Now “Moonlight Duology” has just been selected as the winner in the “Sequels” category for the 2023 Los Angeles Book Festival.

Dive into the gripping ‘Moonlight Duology’ – a psychic thriller combination of murder mystery and supernatural intrigue that will keep you on the edge of your seat from the first page to the last.

The ‘Moonlight Duology’ is a classic psychic thriller that will captivate your imagination, leaving you breathless and yearning for more with its series of unfortunate events. A masterful blend of Carlos Castaneda’s mystique and Jack Kerouac’s raw energy, this series will redefine your understanding of intensity.”

Moonlight Duology: Murder and Magic Books 1 and 2 by Yurie Kiri are both awarded in the world of books that are captivating and filled with suspense with a hint of masterful supernatural elements. Find out Kindle Unlimited today and prepare yourself for a journey of violence, witchcraft, and crime.

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Moonlight Rocks

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Murder and Magic Book 3

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“A Wild and Crazy Ride.”

“… if you’re not used to the writer, buckle up.”

“This book has very great character development with a plot so great that you can’t ignore nor get enough…”

“The author’s use of religion to push the plot forward and develop characters is so masterfully crafted and unique – I’ve personally never seen in done in a novel like it is portrayed in Moonlight Rocks.”

Amazon 5-star Reviewers

What would you do if God fell into your lap?

Jessy Ascher and her friends set up camp near Moonlight Rocks in the California desert to watch the Leonid meteor shower. After darkness falls, a stunningly bright meteor suddenly flashes across the sky blinding the friends to the approaching danger.

The meteorite blasts into their camp site knocking everyone unconscious but Jessy quickly regains her senses. Her friends however, cannot be roused. Instinctively she grabs the still smoking meteorite and stumbles downhill toward the jeep she arrived in, desperate to get help for her friends…

But, Jessy isn’t alone in that rough, cactus-filled landscape… two dark figures who also saw the meteor flashing down to Earth are frantically searching the same area and they are ready to do anything… even murder to get their hands on a meteorite they could sell to the highest bidder.

And what about the meteorite? Others have been waiting for its arrival. Cultists, fanatical members of nearby religious or supernatural factions – some good, some evil – believe that the meteor heralds the birth of a new Messiah and they, too, are ready to do anything to gain control of the blessed rock.

Jessy wants help for her friends, others want the meteorite for their own end, but the Meteorite, it wants something too… Is this the dawn of a new spiritual age, or just a bunch of psychos raging in the desert?

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Amazon * Author’s Site * Bookbub * Goodreads

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Moonlight Rip Tide

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Murder and Magic Book 4

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Want to go for a ride in a classic car? Park by the ocean? Sounds nice huh?

Mona found the man and his car, a beautiful, old Ferrari, very attractive. Sure, she’d go for a ride with him to look at the ocean, the party was boring anyway. Maybe by the time they got back things would liven up a bit…

She felt the bag tighten around her neck, cutting off her air supply. This cannot be happening. She gasped and struggled, but it was no use. He was as strong as he was classically handsome, a real Hollywood leading man type. Everything went dark as she lost consciousness, her last thought was about the mistake she’d made threatening to tell Danny’s wife…

Susan felt that someone was stalking her. She’d gotten several strange calls attempting to make appointments for private exercise and aerobics lessons. Dicky and the cops had wrecked her apartment and she needed to work to get a new place but she was afraid to take on an unknown client. What should she do?

“Get in the car or your pregnant friend is dead!” he said hoarsely. Susan must save Anne, but how?

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Amazon * Bookbub * Goodreads

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**Coming soon Spring 2024!**

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Yurie Kiri speaks Japanese, English, French and has studied Chinese, Arabic, and Spanish and a smattering of other languages such as Korean and Russian along with binary and hexadecimal machine language. Why? Because if you really want to get to know someone, you need to speak their language no matter if they’re machine or human.

Yurie lived and worked in Asia for decades before recently coming to America. Yurie went on an extensive backroad journey all across the US and Canada. Yurie also sailed (single-handed) from Mexico to the Canadian border, retracing a well-traveled road journey by sea in a small, live-aboard sailboat.

Yurie has been traveling and gathering story ideas from Asia for the Game Series, which covers Japan and other Asian countries, and North America for the Murder and Mystery Series which covers the American Southwest.

And, yes, Yurie does not use pronouns (for a reason). For one thing, it keeps the reader guessing – is Yurie male, female, non-binary, or even a machine? No one really knows for sure…

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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a Rafflecopter giveaway

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

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Dead Letters by P.J. Murphy

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Category:  Adult Fiction (18+), 349 pages
Genre:  Mystery, Literary Fiction
Publisher:  P.J. Murphy
Release date:   May 2023
Content Rating:  PG-13 +M. The book is not violent, and swearing is infrequent. There are a number of references to ghosts, but the atmosphere is more gothic than scary (with one exception). However, it is a book aimed squarely at adults, with references to depression and mental illness.

Book Description:

“If you want to find me, search within these pages.”

Bestselling author Richard Debden is missing. The only clue: a copy of his unpublished final novel delivered to his ex-girlfriend, Amy. When those closest to Richard reunite for his memorial, Amy turns to Chris, his former best friend, to help unravel the mystery. Could Richard still be alive and in need of their help?

Richard’s manuscript tells of two abandoned children in wartime Britain, instructed by a shadowy Postmaster to deliver letters to ghosts and release them from their torment. As Chris and Amy delve into the text, they identify parallels between fiction and reality; clues to a trail that leads across the country and – they hope – to Richard.

But they are not the only interested party. A mysterious society is following them, their motives unclear. Can Chris and Amy unlock the secrets of Dead Letters, or will more sinister forces get there first?

Dead Letters is the captivating second novel by P.J. Murphy, author of Troubleshot.

Buy the Book:
Amazon Amazon.UK
add to Goodreads
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Interview with Author P. J. Murphy
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  • Where did you get the idea for Dead Letters?

Dead Letters resulted from two ideas coming together. The first was my desire to write a gothic ghost story – not scary but depicting ghosts in unusual situations and considering them as memories of people and events. The second was the idea of puzzling apart the truth behind a novel. After reading my previous novels, some people told me they could guess the real-life inspiration behind certain characters and events. I thought, ‘There’s a novel in that!’ Put the two together, and you have Dead Letters.

  • What other writers do you admire?

I try to read wide and avoid limiting myself to particular genres. Saying that, the author I have read the most is probably Terry Pratchett. The wisdom and humour that’s packed into his books is really quite staggering. The Vimes ones have some pretty good mystery plots, too. I also enjoy the work of Jeffrey Eugenides. His style of writing is very evocative and, at times, jaw-droppingly beautiful.

  • Which format do you prefer reading in: paperback or ebook?

Hmm, that’s a tricky one! I never thought I would get into ebooks until I received an e-reader as a gift ten years ago. I was hooked! They are so easy to carry around, and you don’t need to find shelf space for all your books at home. On the other hand, there is something special about having a physical copy of a book, particularly if it’s one of your favourites. I guess that’s why there’s such a market for special editions these days.

  • Have you had any of your books made into audiobooks? If so, what are the challenges of producing an audiobook?

I have recently ventured into the wonderful world of audiobooks. An audiobook version of Dead Letters should go live around when this interview is published. The main challenge for me was finding a reader with the right voice. Most of Dead Letters is narrated in the first person, so the narrator’s voice had to match our protagonist’s. I was lucky enough to receive many excellent auditions, making choosing difficult. Ultimately, I went with a narrator who hit the beats as I had written them, and I’m very excited to hear the final version.

If you’re interested in reading more, I have blogged about my experiences commissioning an audiobook on my website www.pjmurphywriter.com

  • What is your next project?

I have a few ideas on the go, including a road trip and an unusual take on a spy novel. The one closest to finishing, though, is the sequel to my satirical novel, Troubleshot. This will be set in Geneva, where I now live, and should be amusing to anyone who’s lived or worked internationally. I’m also releasing one of my older novels, Yesterday’s Shadow, in February. It’s a coming-of-age tale about homelessness and the dark side of faith. Believe it or not, it also contains plenty of humour!

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Meet the Author:


P.J. Murphy writes novels that introduce unusual and humorous twists to classic genres. If you pick up one of his books, you’re in for an interesting read that never loses its sense of fun. As a writer, P.J. tries to stick to the adage ‘write what you know’, although with the addition, ‘just make sure you exaggerate and distort it beyond all recognition’. He is planning to write a novel about taking a road trip with a parrot. He has never owned a parrot.

connect with author: website facebook goodreads

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DEAD LETTERS by P.J. Murphy Spotlight Book Tour Giveaway

 

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

BROADCAST BLUES by R.G. Belsky Banner

BROADCAST BLUES
by R.G. Belsky
January 1-26, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

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Synopsis:
Wendy Kyle took secrets to her grave— now, Clare Carlson is digging them up

New York City has no shortage of crime, making for a busy schedule for TV newswoman Clare Carlson. But not all crimes are created equal, and when an explosive planted in a car detonates and kills a woman, Clare knows it’ll be a huge story for her. But it’s not only about the story—Clare also wants justice for the victim, Wendy Kyle. Wendy had sparked controversy as an NYPD officer, ultimately getting kicked off the force after making sexual harassment allegations and getting into a physical altercation with her boss. Then, she started a private investigations business, catering to women who suspected their husbands of cheating. Undoubtedly, Wendy had angered many people with her work, so the list of her suspected murderers is seemingly endless. Despite the daunting investigation, Clare dives in headfirst. As she digs deeper, she attracts the attention of many rich and powerful people who will stop at nothing to keep her from breaking the truth about the death of Wendy Kyle—and exposing their personal secrets that Wendy took to her grave.

Praise for Broadcast Blues:

Broadcast Blues is a page-turning, meticulously plotted crime novel enriched by a terrific New York sense of place, Dick Belsky’s wicked sense of humor, and his insider’s view of the Machiavellian world that is broadcast news.” ~ Jonathan Kellerman, New York Times best-selling author

 

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery

Published by: Oceanview Publishing Publication Date: January 2, 2024 Number of Pages: 320 ISBN: 9781608095315 (ISBN10: 1608095312) Series: Clare Carlson Mystery Series, 6 | All of the novels in the Clare Carlson Mystery Series stand on their own and can be read in any order

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Oceanview Publishing

Enjoy this peek inside:
PROLOGUE
From the Diary of Wendy Kyle….
If you’re reading this, I’m already dead. How’s that for an attention-grabbing opening line? I know, I know…it’s a bit melodramatic. And I’m not normally the melodramatic type. Really. No, Wendy Kyle is the kind of woman who deals in facts for a living, the kind of woman who doesn’t let emotion cloud her judgment and – maybe most importantly of all – the kind of woman who never blindly puts her trust in anyone. Especially a man. Hey, I’m not some man-hating bitch or anything like that, no matter what you may have heard or think about me. I like men. I love men, or at least I’ve loved a few men in my life. It’s just that I don’t trust them anymore. So wouldn’t it be ironic – or maybe a little bit fitting, to look at it completely objectively – if trusting a man this one time was what wound up costing me my own life in the end. Here’s the bottom line for me: If I don’t succeed in what I’m about to do in the Ronald Bannister case, well…then it is important someone knows the truth about what happened to me. And that it was the lies – all of the damn lies men have told – that were the death of me.

—– The contents of this document were among evidence

seized by homicide detectives from the office of

Wendy Kyle Heartbreaker Investigations

218 West 42nd Street

New York City

This entry is listed as: POLICE EXHIBIT A

Opening Credits

THE RULES, ACCORDING TO CLARE

Nora O’Donnell is 50 years old. Samantha Guthrie 51. Hoda Kotb 58, Robin Roberts 62 and Gayle King 68. The point I’m trying to make here is that TV newscasters – specifically women TV newscasters – don’t have to be cute, perky young talking heads to succeed in the media world where I work. We’ve come a long way since the days when a respected newswoman like Jane Pauley was replaced by the younger Deborah Norville on the Today show because some network executive (a middle-aged man, of course!) decided Pauley was getting too old to appeal to a television audience. Or when an anchorwoman named Christine Craft lost her job at a station in Kansas City after a focus group determined she was “too old, too unattractive and not deferential to men.” She was 37. Well, 50 is the new 40 now. Or maybe even the new 30. And let’s get something straight right up front here. I’m not one of those women who normally gets stressed out over every birthday that passes by or every wrinkle on my face or every gray hair or two I spot in the mirror. That is not me. No way. I’m not hung up about age at all. But I am about to turn 50 this year. The big 5-0. The half-century mark. And the truth is I’m having a bit of trouble dealing with that… My name is Clare Carlson, and I’m the news director of Channel 10 News in New York City. I’m also an on-air reporter for our Channel 10 news show, and I’ve broken some pretty big exclusives in recent years that have gotten me a lot of attention and made me kind of a media star. But this whole business of turning 50 still seems odd to me. When I was in my 20s, I was a star reporter at a newspaper and won a Pulitzer Prize. In my 30s, after the newspaper went out of business, I switched to TV news at Channel 10. And in my 40s, I’ve been juggling two jobs: TV executive as the station’s news director and also as an on-air personality breaking big stories. Turning 30 and then 40 never really seemed like that big a deal for me. It was more fun than tragic. Look at me: I’m 40! But 50? I’m not so sure about that one. 50 is something completely different, at least the way I see it at the moment. I’m not sure where I go with my life after 50. It couldn’t be happening at a worse time for me either. Channel 10, the TV station where I work, is being sold to a new owner – and this has left everyone in our newsroom worried about what might happen next. My latest boss and I don’t get along, and I’m afraid she might be looking for a reason to fire me. My personal life situation is even worse. I’ve been married three times (all of them ending in divorce), and right now I’m not in any kind of a relationship. I have a daughter, but she didn’t even know I was her mother for the first 25 years or so of her life – so we don’t exactly have a traditional mother/daughter relationship. The only constant in my life – the one thing that I always turn to for comfort when my life is in turmoil – is the news. This newsroom at Channel 10 where I work is my true home. My sanctuary. And so each day I wrap it – along with all the people in it and the stories we cover – around me like a security blanket to protect myself from everything else that is going on around me. All I needed now was a big story to chase. The bigger the better. That’s what I was looking for right now. But as the old saying goes: Be careful what you wish for – because you just might get it. And that’s what happened to me with the Wendy Kyle murder…  

Part I

THE HONEY TRAP

CHAPTER 1

Susan Endicott, the executive producer of Channel 10 News, walked into my office and sat down on a chair in front of my desk. “What are you doing?” she asked. “Talking to you.” “I mean about tonight’s newscast.” “Oh, that.” “Don’t be impertinent with me, Carlson.” What I was actually doing at the moment was putting together one of those old David Letterman style Top 10 lists. I like to do that sometimes. My topic today was: TOP 10 THINGS AN ASPIRING WOMAN TV NEWSCASTER SHOULD NOT SAY DURING A JOB INTERVIEW. My list went like this. 10. What’s that red light on the camera for? 9. Yes, Mr. Lauer, I’d love to be your intern. 8. I sweat a lot on air. 7. I can name all the Presidents back to Obama. 6. If it helps, I’m willing to get pregnant as a cheap on-air ratings ploy. 5. Katie Couric? Who’s Katie Couric? 4. No makeup, please. I want to let my real beauty shine through. 3. My IQ is almost in three numbers. 2. Can I watch TikTok video during commercial breaks? And the Number One thing an aspiring woman TV newscaster should not say during a job interview… 1. I have a personal recommendation from Harvey Weinstein! I wondered if I should ask Susan Endicott if she had any suggestions for my Top 10 list. Probably not. She might call me impertinent again. “Do you have a lead story yet for the 6 p.m. show?” she asked now. “Well, yes and no.” “What does that mean?” “The lead story is about a controller’s audit raising new questions about the viability of the city’s budget goals.” “That’s not a lead story for us.” “Hence, my yes and no reply to your question.” “Do you have a plan for getting us a good story?” “I do.” “What is it?” “Hope some big news happens before we go on the air at 6.” “That’s your plan?” “Uh, huh. The news gods will give us something before deadline. They always do.” “The news gods?” “You have to always believe in the news gods, Endicott.” Looking out the window of my office, I could see people walking through the midtown streets of Manhattan below on a beautiful spring day. Many of them were coatless or in short sleeves. Spring was finally here in New York City after what seemed like an endless winter of snow and cold and bundling up every time you went out. But now it was spring. Yep, spring – time for hope and new beginnings. The sun shining brightly. Flowers blooming. Birds chirping. All that good stuff. In a few weeks New Yorkers would start streaming out of the city on their way to Long Island or the Jersey Shore or maybe Cape Cod. I thought about how nice it would be to be in a place like that right now. Or maybe on a boat sailing up the New England coast. Anywhere but sitting here at Channel 10 News with this woman. Except I knew that even if I did that, I’d probably wind up sooner or later sitting in another newsroom wherever I went talking about lead stories with some other person like Susan Endicott. Endicott and I had been at war ever since she came to Channel 10. That was after the firing – or, if you prefer, the forced resignation – of Jack Faron, the previous executive producer who had first hired me as a TV journalist from my newspaper career and had been my boss for most of my time here. Jack was a top-notch journalist, a good friend and a truly decent human being. Susan Endicott was none of those things. She was an ambitious career climber who had stepped over a lot of people in her efforts to score big ratings at the stations where she worked before. That’s what had landed her the Channel 10 job here in New York, and she was determined to keep her star rising no matter what it took for her to do that. She had no friends that I was aware of, no hobbies or interests, no outside life of any kind. She was completely focused on the job and on her career advancement. For whatever its worth, I didn’t like the way she looked either. She wasn’t fat or skinny, she wasn’t pretty or unattractive, she was just…well, plain. Like she didn’t care about her appearance. She wore drab clothes, hardy any jewelry, no makeup that I could see. It was like her appearance simply didn’t matter to her. Oh, and she wore her glasses pushed back on top of her head when she wasn’t using them. I disliked people who did that. I know it sounds crazy, but that’s the way I feel. It was the perfect final trait of Susan Endicott though. I detested everything about her. And, as you can see, she wasn’t too fond of me either. There were two things that had prevented her from getting rid of me so far. I’ve broken some exclusive stories that got us big ratings. She did like the fact that I was an on-air media star, even if she didn’t like me. So all I had to do was keep finding exclusives. Also, the owner of Channel 10, media mogul Brendan Kaiser, had backed me in any showdown with Endicott since she arrived here. Always good having the big boss on your side when you’re at odds with your immediate boss. But Kaiser was in the process of selling the station. We weren’t sure yet who the new owner would be. Maybe it would be some great journalist or wonderful human being that would care about more than profits. But people like that don’t generally buy big media properties like a TV station. So I was prepared for the worst once the new owner was in place. That meant I needed to keep on breaking big stories. And I hadn’t done that in a while. I needed to find a big story in a damn hurry. “You better come up with a good lead before we go on the air at 6 tonight,” Endicott said as she stood up and said over her shoulder as she started to leave my office. “Or?” I asked. “Or what?” “That sort of sounds like you were giving me an ultimatum. As in ‘or you’re suspended. Or you’re fired. Or your cafeteria privileges are suspended. Or you need to get a permission slip to go to the bathroom. Or…” Endicott turned around. She glared at me. Then she pushed her eyeglasses – which she’d been wearing – back on top of her head again. A nice touch. Perfect for the moment. “Keep digging that hole for yourself, Carlson,” she said to me. “It will make it so much easier when the time comes to get rid of you.” “You have a nice day too,” I said. As things turned out, it didn’t take very long to find a news lead for the show. After Endicott left, Maggie Lang – the assignment editor and my top assistant – burst in to tell me we had a big murder that had just happened. “Someone blew up a woman’s car!” she said excitedly. “On a busy street in Times Square. The victim’s name is Wendy Kyle, and she’s a former New York City cop and a controversial private investigator who’s been involved in a lot of high-profile divorce cases recently. Involving rich people, important people and catching them in sex scandals. Sounds like someone was out for revenge against her. Sex, money, power. This story has everything, Clare!” Yep, the news gods had saved us again. *** Excerpt from BROADCAST BLUES by R.G. Belsky. Copyright 2023 by R.G. Belsky. Reproduced with permission from R.G. Belsky. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author R.G. Belsky:

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RG Belsky

R.G. Belsky is an award-winning author of crime fiction and a journalist in New York City. His newest mystery, BROADCAST BLUES, was published on January 2 by Oceanview. It is the sixth in a series featuring Clare Carlson, the news director for a New York City TV station. The first book, Yesterday’s News, was named Best Mystery of 2018 at Deadly Ink. The second, Below the Fold, won the Foreward INDIES award for Best Mystery of 2019. Belsky has published 20 novels—all set in the New York city media world where he has had a long career as a top editor at the New York Post, New York Daily News, Star magazine and NBC News. He also writes thrillers under the name Dana Perry. And he is a contributing writer for The Big Thrill magazine and BookTrib.

Catch Up With RG Belsky: www.rgbelsky.com Goodreads BookBub – @dickbelsky Instagram – @dickbelsky Twitter/X – @DickBel Facebook – @RGBelsky

 

 

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The January Corpse by Neil Albert Banner

The January Corpse
by Neil Albert
January 15-26, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
 

Dave Garrett is a disbarred lawyer eking out a living in Philadelphia as a private eye. At noon on Friday, a law school classmate offers him what looks like a hopeless investigation. Seven years before, a man named Daniel Wilson disappeared. His car was found abandoned with bullet holes and blood, but no body. A hearing is scheduled for Monday on whether Wilson should be declared legally dead. The police have been stumped for seven years. Organized crime warned off the first investigator to look into the case. Over the course of the weekend, the case takes Dave from center city to the coal regions and back, where the story comes to what the critics called “a startling and satisfying conclusion.” Nominated as a Best First Novel by the Private Eye Writers of America when it first appeared in 1990 and the first of a series of twelve.

 
Praise for The January Corpse:

“Worthy of a Scott Turow . . . This exceptional first mystery is driven by a baffling plot and comes to a surprise ending that passes the Holmesian test.” ~ Publishers Weekly “Tantalizing twisted” ~ The New York Times Book Review “A first rate first novel.” ~ The Boston Globe

 

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Private Eye

Published by: Onyx Publication Date: First published January 1990 Number of Pages: 207 ISBN: 9798663201599 Series: Dave Garrett Mystery, #1

Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Enjoy this peek inside:
CHAPTER ONE
FRIDAY, 11:00 A.M.
I couldn’t stand the sight of him but I took his case anyway. I’d been sitting in the spectator’s section of a courtroom in the basement of the Court of Common Pleas of Philadelphia County. At night the room was used for criminal arraignments, and it showed. Everything in the room was dirty, even the air. I breathed in a mixture of grit, poverty and despair. The bare wooden benches were carved in complex, overlapping swirls of graffiti, initials, gang emblems, and phone numbers. Some people called it street art. I didn’t. To my left, fifteen feet off the ground, a clock was built into the wall. It was missing its hands and most of the brass numerals, and the few that were left were muddy brown. Not that I cared what time it was; as long as I sat there, waiting to testify, my meter was running. Today the room was being used by the Family Court for a custody case. This was the second day of trial, and the wife’s attorney was hoping to get me on the stand today. There’s no such thing as a custody case with class. The couple were both doctors, both well respected. Married ten years, two children, both girls, ages four and seven. They had separated two years ago. Each had a condo; his was just south of Society Hill in a newly gentrified neighborhood; hers was on Rittenhouse Square. They both had memberships at the usual country clubs, plus time-shares in Aspen and Jamaica. She drove a BMW and he drove a Benz. It had been amicable at first. Neither one was leaving for someone else; they just didn’t like being married to each other anymore. There was no one stirring it up. Most spouses need encouragement from a third party to get really nasty–a new girlfriend, a mother, a friend, or a lawyer. In the absence of someone to stir the pot, it was very civilized. For a while. Then, while working out a property settlement, her lawyer found that her husband had forgotten to disclose his half-interest in a fast-food franchise–a small matter of half a million dollars. In response, she dropped the blockbuster; she moved to terminate his visitation rights because she claimed he was sexually abusing the seven-year-old. He denied it and countered with a suit for attorney’s fees and punitive damages. The case had started yesterday, was being tried again today, and would probably go on for a good chunk of the next two weeks. I had very little to say, but the wife’s lawyer wanted me to testify anyway. In a close case, almost anything might make a difference. I’d followed the husband for a week, and the most interesting thing I’d found was that he read Penthouse. Plus, as I was sure his lawyer would point out on cross, Time, Sports Illustrated, Business Week, and The New England Journal of Medicine. The wife’s attorney, sitting at counsel table, turned to me, pointed to his watch, and shook his head. The cross examination of the wife’s child psychologist was hopelessly bogged down on the question of her credentials, and they weren’t going to reach me that day. The case wasn’t on again until the following Wednesday; I was free till then. I nodded, pointed to my own watch to indicate that my meter was off and headed for the door. My overcoat was already over my arm; no one familiar with the Court of Common Pleas of Philadelphia County leaves their property unattended. There used to be a sign outside the Public Defender’s office: Watch your hat, ass, and overcoat, till somebody stole it. The corridor was as filthy as the courtroom, but at least there was light. And people–lots of them. The young and shabbily dressed ones were there for misdemeanor criminal or for family law cases. The felony defendants were usually older and better dressed; they’d learned the hard way that making a good impression just might help. The best dressed of all–except for the big-time drug defendants, who put everyone to shame–were the civil trial attorneys. There was big money in personal injury work and large commercial claims, and a lot of it was worn on their backs. My own suit, when it was new, had looked like theirs; now it was dated and worn, and my tie had a small stain. I was dressed well enough for what I did now. I was nearly to the exit, feeling blasts of cold air as people went in and out, when I heard him call my name. The voice was raspy and nasal. I turned; it was Mark Louchs, a classmate from law school. He practiced with a small firm out in the suburbs. His hairline had receded since I’d last seen him, and he was wearing new, thicker glasses. His skin was red, probably from a recent Caribbean vacation. He smiled, shook my hand, and said he was so glad to see me. It was all too fast and too hearty, and I wondered what he wanted from me. “Hello, Mark. Going well for you?” “God, hearings coming out my ears. Clients calling all hours. Can’t get away from it. My accountant–I’m busy as hell–” He stopped himself. “Yeah. Fine. Look, you know how bad I feel about what happened to you. ” His voice trailed off. He’d been a jerk when I needed his help and we both knew it. I said nothing, letting the awkward silence go on. Making him uncomfortable was petty, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying it. When he was nervous, I noticed, his smile was a little lopsided. When he was certain that I was going to leave him hanging, he went on. “Look, I hear you’re doing investigations now.” “It’s the closest thing I can do to keep my hand in. And I sure wasn’t going to hang around as somebody’s research assistant.” “I tried to reach you first thing this morning. They said you were out. ” I hadn’t had time to check my messages, but I just stayed quiet. I liked leaving him under the impression that I was in no hurry to talk to him. Partly because it might give me an advantage in whatever he wanted with me, and partly because it was true. “Listen, Dave, I’d like you to do me a favor. Are you set up to handle a rush job?” I do plenty of favors, but not in business. And not for someone who didn’t respond to my request for a letter of support when I’d gone before the Disciplinary Board with my license on the line. I kept my voice disinterested and cautious. “How much a favor, and how much a rush?” “I need you to do an investigation for a case to be heard this coming Monday at one thirty.” I carefully gave a low whistle, watching for his reaction. “That gives me just the rest of today and the weekend. Pretty short notice.” “If you can do it, the fee should be no problem. I’m sure we can agree on an acceptable rate. ” I looked at his suit and at my own. I knew the money would never wind up in a suit. I had too many other bills. But it gave me something to focus on. “Let’s go somewhere and hear about it.” We put on our overcoats, cut through the perpetual construction around City Hall and wound up at a small bar near Sansom. He found a quiet corner booth and ordered two coffees. Whatever serious lawyers do after five, they don’t drink during the day. “Ever do a presumption of death hearing!” he asked. “Fifteen years ago, fresh out of law school, I did a memo for a partner.” “Familiar with the law?” “Unless it’s changed. If all you have is a disappearance, no body or other direct proof of death, the passage of seven years without word gives rise to a presumption of death. If the person were alive, the law assumes that someone would have heard from them.” “I represent the survivors of a man who disappeared under circumstances strongly suggestive of his death. His name is—was–Daniel Wilson. We filed an action to have him declared dead. The hearing is Monday afternoon at one-thirty in Norristown. The insurance company is fighting tooth and nail.” “What carrier? I do some work for USF&G and for Travelers. I’d hate to get on their bad side. ” “Neither of them. Some one-lung life insurance outfit out of Iowa. Reliant Fidelity Mutual, or something like that.” “Let’s hear some more. ” “He lived in Philly and had offices in the city and in Norristown. I figured that his office in Norristown gave me enough to get venue in Montgomery County. I don’t come into Philadelphia for trials if I can avoid it. The insurance company won’t offer a nickel, but they don’t care if it’s in Philadelphia or Montgomery County. ” “What kind of office?” “A law office. Never heard of the guy before this case, though. I made a couple calls to friends from law school, but neither of them knew him. ” “Lawyers aren’t disappearing kinds of people. We’re more like barnacles.” “Wait till you hear about the disappearance. Just after New Year’s, seven years ago. His sister was in town from LA; they planned to get together. They’re in separate cars, out in the country. Powell Township, Berks County. She finds his car off the road full of bullet holes. Plenty of blood, but no body. Police can’t turn up shit. He was never heard from again.” It was short notice, but I had no plans for the weekend. It sounded like a break from skip traces and catching thieving employees. And it paid. “The case has been kicking around for months. You didn’t decide to hire an investigator this morning.” Even in the dimness I could tell he was flustered. “Yeah, you’re right; you’re getting sloppy seconds. The Shreiner Agency was handling it till yesterday. ” I just sat there until he decided to continue. “They were doing all the usual interviews, credit checks, asset checks. They hand-delivered back the file and refunded our retainer. And a letter saying they wouldn’t be able to help any further. ” “Someone warned them off. ” “There could be other reasons.” “This thing smells to me like organized crime. That’s out of my league. ” “Look, nobody’s asking you to find who killed him, even if he’s dead. We just need to say that there’s no evidence he’s alive. That ought to be easy enough.” He didn’t say the words ‘even for you’, but I heard them. “Tell that to the Shreiner Agency. ” He finished his coffee. He was anxious to get help, but I was clearly hitting a nerve. “Yes or no?” I normally worked for a flat fifty dollars an hour. Right then, considering who I’d be working for and whatever had happened to the Shreiner Agency, I wasn’t so sure if I wanted it. “I charge my attorney’s rate–one hundred fifty per hour; two hundred for work outside of business hours, half rate for travel time, plus all expenses.” “Think you can come up with something for that kind of money?” “Haven’t the slightest idea. You know how it is. I work by time, not results.” “That’s a lot of money.” “And it’s quarter to twelve on Friday.” He gave me the kind of look I didn’t normally associate with being hired–it was closer to the expression you get when you steal somebody’s parking place. But he grunted something that sounded like “okay” and gave me his business card with his home number on it. And the Shreiner file, too–there was so little of it, he was carrying it in his breast pocket. “I’ll look this over and do what I can this afternoon. When can I talk to the sister?” I asked. “Give me your card. She’s in the area. I’ll have her at your office at nine tomorrow morning. ” “Make it seven; I don’t want to lose any time on Saturday. It’s tougher to reach people on Sunday.” “Okay, but keep me posted, will you? Remember that you’re working under the supervision of an attorney. ” “Right. ” I wanted to tell him that I was working under the supervision of an asshole, but I let it pass. Philadelphia has mild winters, but early January is no time to linger outside. I needed a quiet place to read. I went to Suburban Station and found an empty bench. The Shreiner Agency was like the Army: bloated, bureaucratic, and sluggish, and most of its best people moved along after a few years. Yet they were careful and scrupulously honest. That counted for a lot in my business. The file was only about twenty pages, and most of it was negative information. Daniel Wilson hadn’t voted in his home district since the time of his disappearance. Neither had he started any lawsuits, mortgaged any real estate, filed for bankruptcy, used his credit cards, joined the armed forces, opened any bank accounts, or taken out a marriage license. His driver’s license had expired a year after he disappeared and had never been renewed. At the time of his disappearance he had no points on his license and no criminal record. Since then, there had been no activity in his checking or savings accounts; the balances in each were a few hundred dollars. No income taxes or property taxes had been paid in seven years. None of this distinguished Daniel Wilson from somewhere between ten and fifteen percent of the population. I would need a lot more than this to convince a judge he was dead. Toward the bottom of the pile I found an interim report by “JBF,” who I knew to be Jonathan Franklin, an investigator I’d worked with before. According to the report, at the time of his disappearance Wilson was thirty years old, short to medium height, wiry build, brown hair and eyes. Paper-clipped to the corner of the first page was a black-and-white wallet-size formal photo of Wilson in a suit and tie. From the date on the back, it was probably his law school graduation portrait. Assuming he graduated at twenty-five, the picture was twelve years old. I had visions of showing it and asking people if they’d ever seen an average-looking guy with glasses and brown hair before. It was a pleasant-looking face; maybe a little bland, but presentable. His cheeks were smooth and pink, and he looked closer to twenty than twenty-five. His glasses weren’t the wire-rimmed ones that were fashionable when I was in college, or the high-tech rimless models the yuppies wore now, but good old-fashioned ones, horn rimmed, with a heavy frame. He had the kind of face clients would trust. The family background was minimal. Wilson’s father had died when he was a child; his mother was still living and worked cleaning offices in Center City. She lived in the Overbrook section of west Philadelphia. There was one sibling, a sister, Lisa, two years older; a former nurse who now lived in a small town upstate. She’d been living in LA, if I remembered Louchs correctly. I figured her for a loyal daughter who’d moved back east to be close to their mother after Daniel’s death, or disappearance, or whatever it was. Neither Lisa nor Daniel had any children. Neither had ever been married. Franklin had come up with some more about Wilson’s grade and high school education. Wilson was consistently a superior student; not brilliant, but always near the top of the class. He was seldom absent, hardly ever late with work assignments, and never a discipline problem. Several of his high school classmates had been contacted; they remembered him as serious and hardworking. He played no sports but was active with the school literary magazine and the newspaper: He had a few dates, but no one remembered a steady girlfriend. Except to tell me that he’d attended Gettysburg College, was secretary of the Photography Club, and obtained a degree in history, the college section was a blank. I wasn’t surprised; in high school everybody knows everybody. But people are too busy in college to know more than a couple of people well. Investigating backgrounds at the college level is usually helpful only if the subject was very well known or if the school was very small. I was reading with only half my attention by then; I was trying to imagine what kind of man was behind that picture. And what was the judge going to make of him. I hoped he wouldn’t decide that Wilson was the kind of loner who would pull up stakes and disappear without a word to anybody. The next section was hardly more help. After college, three years at Temple Law School, graduating about one-third of the way from the top. He passed the bar on the first try and set up practice in Center City with a classmate, Leo Strasnick. When Wilson disappeared five years later, the partnership already had three associates, with offices in Philadelphia and Norristown. Nice growth. I rubbed my eyes and looked at my watch. It was nearly one, and this was the only business day before the day of the hearing. The rest of the file would have to wait. One of the advantages of Suburban Station was plenty of phone booths. My investigation got off on the right foot. Not only was Leo Strasnick available, he agreed to see me at four that afternoon. His office was only a few blocks from the station. I tried Shreiner’s next. “Shreiner Security Agency. How may we help you?” She sounded like a recording of herself. “Mr. Franklin, please.” “And whom may I say is calling? “She was good. If my gross ever broke into seven figures, I promised myself I would get a receptionist who talked that well. And to take lessons from her. “Just say I’m calling regarding the Wilson case. ” I was curious to see if that would be enough to get me through. “Yeah, this is Jon Franklin,” was all he said, but it was enough. Something was bothering him. His words were unnaturally clipped, and his voice was too loud and too fast. “Hello, Jon, this is Dave Garrett–” “You said you were calling about Wilson?” “Yeah, right,” I said as casually as I could “Remember me, Jon? We worked together on those tools disappearing out of Sun Shipbuilding? I was–” “I remember. ” Then his voice got softer. “Dave, what do you have to do with this? We’re not in the Wilson case.” “I’ve just taken it over. ” There was silence on the other end. “I’ve read your report and I assume there’s more than you had time to put in writing. ” More silence. “Look, Jon, the case is coming up Monday, for Christ’s sake. Cut me some slack.” “You want some advice? Don’t take the case.” “The lawyer guaranteed payment,” I said, being deliberately stupid. I had a lot of practice at that. “No amount of money is worth it. ” I’d been expecting him to say that, but he was at the biggest agency in the state a fifteen-year veteran of the Philadelphia police. “Can we get together somewhere?” “I’ve told you all you need to know already,” he said, and hung up.” *** Excerpt from The January Corpse by Neil Albert. Copyright 1990 by Neil Albert. Reproduced with permission from Neil Albert. All rights reserved.

 

 

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MY REVIEW

Dave Garrett was disbarred. He couldn’t ever practice law again. He found a new niche as a private investigator and longed for a case he could really sink his teeth into. And he found it in a cold case. The mystery of what happened to another lawyer. He mysteriously disappeared seven years ago and on Monday will be declared legally dead. It’s Friday and Dave has his work cut out for him. He  wanted a serious case and he got it. Time is running out and the race is on to discover what happened to the missing lawyer while staying one step ahead of those who don’t want their secrets revealed…. at any cost.

This was quite the mystery. A cold case. A disbarred lawyer. And a whole lot of danger and events I didn’t see coming. I zipped through it. The main character, Dave Garrett was definitely the selling point in this book. He grew on me quickly. I liked his directness and his stubbornness. And I have a thing for cold cases. I like reading how the clues get sorted out and what truly happened brought to light. And the ending was a good one too. I’ve got my eye on this series now and am curious what comes next.

4 STARS

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About Author Neil Albert:

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Neil Albert

Neil Albert is a trial lawyer in Lancaster, Pennsylvania and this book is based on a real presumption of death hearing. He has completed nine of the projected twelve books in the series and hopes to finish with December within the next two years. His interest in writing mysteries was kindled by reading Ross Macdonald and Neil operates a blog with an in-depth analysis of each of Macdonald’s books, In his younger years he was an avid fox hunter. His best memory is that he hunted for fifteen years and was the only member not be to seriously injured at least once.

Catch Up With Neil Albert: www.neilalbertauthor.com Goodreads

 

 

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Welcome to The Friday 56!

 

This is a really fun meme!

The only rules are to grab a book (any book), turn to page 56 or 56% in your eReader and find a sentence or a few (no spoilers) that grabs you and post it.

Then go over to Anne at My Head is Full of Books and leave your link so we can visit your 56!

My 56 for this week is from

The January Corpse

  by Neil Albert

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Genre: Mystery / Thriller

From page 56 in the paperback.

“Come with us, bud” said the older one.

“I don’t think so.”

“Nobody asked you. “

“Oh?”

“You can go in one piece, or a couple.”

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Synopsis

Dave Garrett is a disbarred lawyer eking out a living in Philadelphia as a private eye. At noon on Friday a law school classmate offers him what looks like a hopeless investigation. Seven years before, a man named Dan Wilson disappeared. His car was found abandoned with with bullet holes and blood, but no body. A hearing is scheduled for Monday on whether Wilson should be declared legally dead. The police have been stumped for seven years. Organized crime warned off the first investigator to look into the case. Over the course of the weekend, the case takes Dave from Center City to the coal regions and back, where the story comes to what the critics called “a startling and satisfying conclusion.”

Amazon

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You can find a list of my reviews HERE.

For a list of free eBooks go HERE

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If you’re like me, you have a pile of books beckoning to you from your lists. Carole hosts this fun feature where you can share some of those older books and perhaps nudge you to finally read them. If you want to join in on the fun, head over to Carole’s Random Life In Books and leave a link to your post.
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Burning Ridge

A Timber Creek K-9 Mystery #4

by Margaret Mizushima

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Genre: Mystery / Suspense

Synopsis

Featuring Mattie Cobb and her K-9 partner Robo, Burning Ridge by critically acclaimed author Margaret Mizushima is just the treat for fans of Alex Kava.

On a rugged Colorado mountain ridge, Mattie Cobb and her police dog partner Robo make a grisly discovery—and become the targets of a ruthless killer.

Colorado’s Redstone Ridge is a place of extraordinary beauty, but this rugged mountain wilderness harbors a horrifying secret. When a charred body is discovered in a shallow grave on the ridge, officer Mattie Cobb and her K-9 partner Robo are called in to spearhead the investigation. But this is no ordinary crime—and it soon becomes clear that Mattie has a close personal connection to the dead man.

Joined by local veterinarian Cole Walker, the pair scours the mountaintop for evidence and makes another gruesome discovery: the skeletonized remains of two adults and a child. And then, the unthinkable happens. Could Mattie become the next victim in the murderer’s deadly game?

A deranged killer torments Mattie with a litany of dark secrets that call into question her very identity. As a towering blaze races across the ridge, Cole and Robo search desperately for her—but time is running out in Margaret Mizushima’s fourth spine-tingling Timber Creek K-9 mystery, Burning Ridge.

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I added this back in September 2018.

I’ve enjoyed another book in this series and need to get caught up.

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You can find a list of my reviews HERE.

For a list of free eBooks go HERE.

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.