Archive for December, 2022

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Everything You Dream Is Real

by Lisa de Nikolits

Genre: Speculative Fantasy Fiction, Romance

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From the award-winning “Queen of Canadian Speculative Fiction” comes a futuristic, multigenerational love story and a gripping edge-of-your-seat thriller. Filled with a cast of loveable, unforgettable, and entirely unique characters, the novel is a fabulous, adventure-filled sequel to highly-acclaimed The Rage Room – or read it as a standalone. Mad Max: Fury Road meets a futuristic True Romance in a highly original and imaginative novel.

Eleven years after a world war destroyed the consumer-driven, plastic-based existence of 2055, a new order of players jostles for power. Streaky electricity, ravaging drought, a scarcity of food, and deadly Monarch butterflies make for an increasingly desperate situation.

Worlds collide when both Mother and Sharps’s children are kidnapped by the unstable plastic surgeon Alpha Plus and taken to The Fountain of Youth compound. There’s flowing water and beautiful people and beautiful clothes and an incongruous convent where children wear smart uniforms and are tutored by nuns. Lovely, until they discover that a subterranean sex trade funds the compound and the man who leads it is mad. Can Mother, Sharps, and the others take down Alpha Plus and his army? Or will they too become pawns in his bid for world domination?

Hilarious and at the same time poignant, Everything You Dream Is Real is a fabulous, adventure-filled sequel to highly acclaimed The Rage Room that will delight fans both new and old.

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**On Sale for 30% off at InannaBooks with code “holiday22” !**

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InannaBooks * Amazon * B&N * Google * Kobo * Goodreads

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Did you find yourself having a “favourite” amongst your characters? If so, who was it and why?

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I always love my secondary characters the most. It’s almost a trend that secondary characters in my short stories become protagonists in later novels. Mother/Mariangela was a minor character in The Rage Room but she’s a big shiny star in in Everything You Dream is Real, because I just knew she had so much more to give.

 

I was particularly fond of the convicts who get trapped inside Sharps’ head (he’s the protagonist of The Rage Room.) I loved the convicts so much that I extravagantly overwrote them. There were so many of them that they were a book unto themselves and my substantive editor had to rigorously cull a lot of the content.

 

I love so many of the characters in Everything You Dream is Real. Take Anise, for example. She’s so sassy, with such great style (I picture her as Linda Evangelista in the 1990’s) but the character development she shows is heart wrenching at times. She’s a beautiful baddass who’s been through a lot.

 

If you had to describe your book in one sentence, what would you say?

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Planet Earth, irremediably afflicted by a war born from mankind’s avarice and negligence, is now home to the remnants of a civilization forced to navigate a decadent world.

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DECK YOUR DAYS WITH GREAT BOOKS!
because #FemLitCan change the world!

INANNA ANNUAL HOLIDAY SALE! 30% off until January 3!

Until January 3! Browse our website and at check out, type in the coupon code
holiday22
to receive your 30% discount!
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Lisa de Nikolits is the internationally award-winning author of ten novels (all Inanna Publications). No Fury Like That was published in Italian in 2019 by Edizione Le Assassine as Una furia dell’altro mondo. Her short fiction and poetry have also been published in various anthologies and journals internationally. She is a member of the Mesdames of Mayhem, the Crime Writers of Canada, Sisters in Crime, The Australian Crime Writers, The Short Fiction Mystery Association and the International Thriller Writers. Originally from South Africa, Lisa de Nikolits came to Canada in 2000. She lives and writes in Toronto.

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Innocence

by Adrienne Woods

 

(Beaumond, #1)
Publication date: December 20th 2022
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Paranormal, Romance

Welcome to Beaumont Academy! We’re here to mold your supernatural abilities into the best they can be. Remember to submit your abilities test results, or we will deny your application.

After Maxima Lane turns into a bat, her acceptance into Beaumont Academy was a given. It means freedom from her horrid stepmother and equally terrible stepsisters. However, her freedom isn’t long lived as her stepmother claims she doesn’t have the x-gene and if Max can’t turn into a bat before the Magic Sector comes, she might get expelled from school.

Gabriel Hendrix’s life is simple. Capture the villains and don’t fall for a witch. Until he meets Maxima Lane. She has an X-gene that allows her to turn into a bat. Meaning she can follow the falcon, and he can put a stop to the Shadowed—if only it was that simple. The girl comes with a lot of secrets, and it drives Gabriel insane. Why is her stepmother obsessed with her? Why is there yellow in her eyes when it’s supposed to be red and why can’t she activate her bat?

When people die and Max gets kidnapped from the academy, time is running against Gabe. He needs to find answers and Max before it’s too late.

If you are fans of Jennifer L. Armentrout and Bella Forrest, you don’t want to miss out on this new paranormal/fantasy series by Adrienne Woods. Scroll up to order your copy!

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

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Enjoy this peek inside:

My gaze searched the treetops where it came from, and the falcon was jumping from branch to branch. Something hung from her claw.

She stared straight at me as if she were begging for help.

I lifted my arm, and she dove from the branch. Her talons pierced into my skin as she landed on my arm. The blood seeped through the jacket that Maria had lent me.

My gaze flickered from the blood on the jacket toward the blinking red button on a metal sphere hanging from the leather laces.

My fingers worked fast, untangling the leather strings around her leg.

The magic pricked and burned the tips of my fingers, but I pushed through that too. The only thing that drove me through the pain was that someone had forcefully used magic to put this tracker on her. Someone nasty and that they wanted to hurt her beyond my understanding.

It wasn’t the first time that the falcon had crossed paths with me. We were old friends. Met on previous occasions, usually in this forest. Sometimes I gave her berries or took her to Maria if she had a broken wing or something that needed attention. She would stay until she was ready to go on her way.

“Again? How do you always get into trouble?”

She kacked softly. As if she was telling me ‘I don’t know.’ I finally got the string off. The magic died as I shoved the tracker inside my pocket. I inspected her wing, pulled it softly open. She let me. There didn’t seem to be any other wounds.

She kacked her thank you.

“Don’t!” a man’s voice yelled, and the falcon pushed herself off my arm and darted through the trees. My arm throbbed where her claws had pierced into my skin.

Arrows whooshed after her, and my teeth ground on each other as the guy was relentless, trying to kill something as beautiful as that bird. She didn’t do anyone harm.

I didn’t think; I just charged.

My body connected hard with his, and we both tumbled to the ground. Grunts left him and complaints left me as we rolled a couple of times.

Rocks and pinecones pressed into my back, and something sharp on this guy nipped at my hip-bone. The scent of sandalwood mixed with a sweet manly fragrance spread through my nostrils and clouded my mind.

My head bumped against something hard bringing me back to reality.

His weight worked in his favor. My boney ass might have knocked him to the ground, but it wouldn’t get the upper hand in this struggle.

My back connected hard with the ground as he pinned me there. He forced my hands above my head, grasping both my palms with one of his giant ones. An arrow pointed into my cheek.

Author Adrienne Woods:

Adrienne Woods is a USA Today Bestselling author, living in South Africa.

She’s been in love with books all her life and knew at the age of 13 that she is going to be a writer one day.

That dream happened ten years ago and she started to pen her stories down on paper. Firebolt, her debut novel, were released 4 years after that, and she hasn’t stop since.

Now she almost have 15 novels under her belt, and it doesn’t look like she is going to stop soon.

To find out more about Adrienne and her books, please visit her website at www.adriennewoodsbooks.com.

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Rocked in Time is set in the rebellion, love, and chaos of the 1960s and ‘70s and explores a world of resistance and celebrates those who dared to buck the system in those turbulent times…

By Charles Degelman

 

 

Book Blurb

 

Rocked in Time (Volume Three in
the Resistance Trilogy) slips behind the scenes of a blasphemous
theater company hell-bent on toppling America’s Vietnam-era
establishment with punch lines, pratfalls, and comic rebellion. Along
the way, our protagonist pursues a love for the stage, a passion for
resistance, and the intimate politics of sexual revolution amid the
tear-gassed campuses and burning cities of a nation at war with itself.

Release Date: October 18, 2022

Publisher: Harvard Square Editions

Soft Cover: 978-1941861882; 408 pages; $22.95

Amazon: https://amzn.to/3AhO7NW

Book Excerpt  

RATMAN MEETS THE 50-FOOT HINDU

The Emeryville flats used to stink of the tide. Dead fish, drying algae, bottles and cans, old tires lay scattered over a landscape of mud and sewage. Stick figures perched on the muddy edges of the East Bay, fanciful driftwood and tin creatures standing stork-legged in the mud, stick-flapping arms, wings, feathers, broken brooms, old flags, weathervanes, hubcaps, rusted saw blades, other detritus.

Celebrating America’s junk. Resistance. We drove together, my cousin Eric and I, in a VW bus weathered to a chalky blue. Across the flats, the Bay Bridge arched toward Angel Island and beyond, to the summer fog bank of San Francisco. We bounced into the Haight-Ashbury to check out a band my cousin had written to me about the previous winter. He called them the Jefferson Airplane and they were playing at a little club called The Matrix.

We were stoned on Mexican weed. I was reciting lines from Ratman Meets the 50-Foot Hindu, a play I had recently closed back in Harvard’s experimental, black box theater. I played a 50-foot Hindu who had journeyed to America to avenge the murder of the sacred cow. This zealot took his revenge by stomping his burger-munching victims to death with a set of hooves.

I’d picked up the fake Indian accent from the cultural ether without offense. White people had begun to stir, waking to the notion that civil rights were human rights and that racism was alive and well in America. When Ratman and the 50-foot Hindu walked the earth, India still seemed like a distant, overpopulated nation, shaped by British colonialism, its independence two decades old but still imbued with the nonviolence of Gandhi and the meditative power of the spinning wheel. The Maharishi hadn’t yet hustled The Beatles, India and Pakistan hadn’t yet become nuclear powers, Bangladesh hadn’t been flooded out by cyclones, and John and Yoko’s meditations hadn’t dispatched my generation on a simpleton’s goose chase.

So, my Hindu accent was still okay and my character diabolical, a complex being who, beyond his fierce and scheming interior, presented himself as an addled older gentleman whose faith had been defiled by America’s hamburger fetish. He was a man with a mission. But the 50-foot Hindu had proven to be no match for Ratman.

In the finale, the superhero and his diabolically tragic foe squared off in a revolving restaurant high above the city.

More…

 

 

 

 

 

About the Author

 

 

Charles Degelman is an award-winning
author, performer, and producer living in Los Angeles. After graduating
Harvard, Degelman left academia to become an antiwar activist, political
theater artist, musician, communard, carpenter, hard-rock miner, and
itinerant gypsy trucker. When the dust settled, he returned to his first
love, writing.

A Bowl Full of Nails, set in the rural counterculture of the 1970s, collected a Bronze Medal from the 2015 Independent Publishers Book Awards and Gates of Eden, set during the anti-war movement of the 1960s, won an Independent Publishers book award.

Degelman’s screenplay Fifty-Second Street garnered an award from the Diane Thomas Competition, sponsored by UCLA/Dreamworks. A second screenplay, The Red Car, reached finalist status in Francis Ford Coppola’s American Zoetrope Screenplay Contest.

In addition, Degelman has written and
produced documentary and educational films for TNT, Churchill Films,
Pyramid Films, and Philips Interactive Media. He co-founded Indecent
Exposure, a Los Angeles-based theater company dedicated to creating
original, high-quality, socially relevant work for the stage. Degelman
is on the faculty of California State University where he teaches writing in the Communication Studies Department.

His latest book is the historical fiction, Rocked in Time.

Website / Twitter / Instagram

 

Sponsored By:

 

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Roast Date

A Barks & Beans Cafe Mystery

by Heather Day Gilbert

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Roast Date (Barks & Beans Cafe Cozy Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
7th in Series
Setting – West Virginia
WoodHaven Press (December 20, 2022)
Number of Pages ~250
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B09Z8NYHX9

BOOK SEVEN in the bestselling BARKS & BEANS CAFE cozy mystery series!!

 

Welcome to the Barks & Beans Cafe, a quaint place where folks pet shelter dogs while enjoying a cup of java…and where murder sometimes pays a visit.

 

After much cajoling, Macy gives in to her neighbor, Vera, and agrees to come to her book club’s Christmas party so she can share about the cafe. While public speaking isn’t Macy’s thing, she wants to brighten Vera’s lonely holiday season…and she can sell a little house blend on the side.

 

When a lively book discussion spirals into a public roast of the mayor—who happens to be sitting in their midst—things get uncomfortable. Soon afterward, the mayor shows up dead in Vera’s bathroom, and no amount of gingerbread cookies or eggnog can restore Vera to the club’s good graces. ‘Tis the season for Macy to find the murderer, or else Vera might be taking a long winter’s nap in a jail cell.

 

Join siblings Macy and Bo Hatfield as they sniff out crimes in their hometown…with plenty of dogs along for the ride! The Barks & Beans Cafe cozy mystery series features a small town, an amateur sleuth, and no swearing or graphic scenes.

The Barks & Beans Cafe cozy mystery series in order:
Book 1: No Filter
Book 2: Iced Over
Book 3: Fair Trade
Book 4: Spilled Milk
Book 5: Trouble Brewing
Book 6: Cold Drip
Book 7: Roast Date

About Heather Day Gilbert

Award-winning novelist Heather Day Gilbert enjoys writing mysteries and Viking historicals. She brings authentic family relationships to the page, and she particularly delights in heroines who take a stand to protect those they love. Avid readers say Heather’s realistic characters—no matter what century—feel like best friends. When she’s not plotting stories, this native West Virginian can often be found hanging out with her husband and four children, playing video games, or reading Agatha Christie novels.

Author Links: Website / Facebook / Twitter / BookBub / Goodreads

Purchase Link – Amazon 

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TOUR PARTICIPANTS

December 19 – Celticlady’s Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

December 19 – Ruff Drafts – SPOTLIGHT

December 19 – Reading Is My SuperPower – REVIEW

December 20 – Literary Gold – AUTHOR INTERVIEW

December 20 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT

December 20 – Mystery Thrillers and Romantic Suspense Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

December 20 – #BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog – SPOTLIGHT

December 21 – Christy’s Cozy Corners – REVIEW

December 21 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW, AUTHOR INTERVIEW

December 21 – Lady Hawkeye – AUTHOR GUEST POST

December 21 – Sapphyria’s Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

December 22 – Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

December 22 – Books a Plenty Book Reviews – REVIEW

December 22 – Maureen’s Musings – SPOTLIGHT

December 22 – The Mystery Section – SPOTLIGHT

December 23 – Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW

December 23 – The Book Diva’s Reads – AUTHOR GUEST POST

December 23 – I’m Into Books – SPOTLIGHT

December 23 – MJB Reviewers – SPOTLIGHT

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I am so excited that MISS INDECISIVE: A ROMANTIC COMEDY by Elise Eliot is available now
and that I get to share the news!

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If you haven’t yet heard about this wonderful book, be sure to check out all the
details below.

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This blitz also includes a giveaway for a $10 Amazon GC’s courtesy of Rockstar Book Tours. So if you’d like a chance to win, check out the giveaway
info below.

 

MISS INDECISIVE: A ROMANTIC COMEDY

 by Elise Eliot

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Pub. Date: December 10, 2022

Publisher: Elise Eliot

Formats: Paperback, eBook

Pages: 312

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Find it: GoodreadsAmazon

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Read for FREE with a Kindle Unlimited Membership! 

 

Lesson #1: Don’t fall in love with two guys at the same time.

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Vanessa Hunt prefers to stay in her 5th grade classroom and
avoid relationships entirely, so when she meets not just one, but two, handsome
strangers in the same week, it starts to throw her entire life off balance.

How is she supposed to avoid Jack, aka Principal Hottie, when
he walks right into her school as the new interim principal? Too bad she’s made
a rule for herself that she will never date someone she works with ever again.

Then, there’s fireworks when she meets Rishi at her
roommate’s wedding. Only problem is: Rishi’s family wants him to marry someone
else. When he finds himself torn between tradition and his heart, he will have
to decide how many rules he’s willing to break for love.

Turns out, one teacher + one principal + one doctor = an
equation that is nothing but trouble. When Vanessa starts having feelings for
them both, she learns that falling – in love and in life – can really turn your
whole world upside down. Will she figure things out before she ends up losing
them both?

 

 

TikTok Teaser:

 

@eliseeliotauthor When Vanessa meets Rishi, she’s unprepared for the feelings it stirs up. She has no idea how much it’s going to turn her world upside down. #booktok #sneakpeek #excerpt #sweetromancebooks #lovetriangletrope #arcreaderswanted #romanticcomedy ♬ Summer – Instrumental – Devinney

 

 

About Elise Eliot:

Elise Eliot is a highly-caffeinated
wordsmith who loves writing funny, romantic stories that offer readers a mental
vacation. She grew up watching classic romantic comedies over and over until she
memorized all the lines, and they have inspired her to write her own. When she
isn’t plotting her next novel, she can be found chauffeuring tiny humans or
stopping her dogs from mass destruction. Miss Indecisive is her first novel.
Follow her to find out what’s next!

Follow Elise everywhere!- https://linktr.ee/eliseeliot

 

 

 

 
 
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1 Winner will receive a $10 Amazon GC, International.
Ends December 27th, midnight EST.

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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.

Chaos at Carnegie Hall by Kelly Oliver Banner

Chaos at Carnegie Hall

by Kelly Oliver

 

 

December 5 – 30, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Agatha Christie meets Downton Abbey in the Fiona Figg and Kitty Lane Mystery series opener.

Can Fiona catch a killer and find a decent cup of tea before her mustache wax melts?

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1917. New York. Notorious spy, Fredrick Fredricks, has invited Fiona to Carnegie Hall to hear a famous soprano. It’s an opportunity the War Office can’t turn down. Fiona and Clifford are soon on their way, but not before Fiona is saddled with chaperon duties for Captain Hall’s niece. Is Fiona a spy or a glorified babysitter? From the minute Fiona meets the soprano aboard the RMS Adriatic it’s treble on the high C’s. Fiona sees something—or someone—thrown overboard, and then she overhears a chemist plotting in German with one of her own countrymen! And the trouble doesn’t stop when they disembark. Soon Fiona is doing time with a group of suffragettes and investigating America’s most impressive inventor Thomas Edison. When her number one suspect turns up dead at the opera and Fredrick Fredricks is caught red-handed, it looks like it’s finally curtains for the notorious spy. But all the evidence points to his innocence. Will Fiona change her tune and clear her nemesis’ name? Or will she do her duty? And just what is she going to do with the pesky Kitty Lane? Not to mention swoon-worthy Archie Somersby… If Fiona’s going to come out on top, she’s going to have to make the most difficult decision of her life: the choice between her head and her heart.

 

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Cozy Mystery

Published by: Boldwood Books Publication Date: November 2022 Number of Pages: 298 ISBN: 9781804831564 Series: The Fiona Figg Mysteries

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

* * * Inside, the cabin was the opposite of Hugo Schweitzer’s. Whereas the German’s room was disorderly and repulsive, this man’s berth was tidy and attractive. In fact, it hardly looked occupied. The bed was made in a neat military style. There wasn’t an article of clothing nor a personal item in sight. A faint scent of pine and citrus graced the room. Like a familiar embrace, the uniform order and pleasing smell put me at ease. Hugo Schweitzer’s disgusting mess had allowed clues to remain hidden in plain sight. This man’s neatness required clever hiding places. Where would I hide a secret document in this room? Under the mattress? In the wardrobe? Sewn inside an article of clothing? I crossed the room. Getting to the wardrobe was considerably easier than it had been in Schweitzer’s clutter. When I opened the wardrobe, a waft of pine and citrus caressed my nostrils again. I thought of Archie. When would I see him again? Concentrate, Fiona. Now was not the time to behave like a lovesick schoolgirl. Two neat suits hung on hangers, spaced apart like sentries guarding a gate. One was a uniform. A British uniform. Could this traitor be in the British army? The other was a black evening suit. Whatever the blackguard was wearing under that trench coat constituted his third and final outfit. There were no more. Standing to attention at the bottom of the wardrobe were two tall black boots. I bent down to get a closer look. Inside a boot would make a decent hiding place. “Looking for something?” a man’s voice boomed from behind me. I gasped and squeezed my eyes shut tight. If only I were wearing my maid’s costume—although what maid would be cleaning at this time of night? I should have changed into Harold the helpful bellboy. At least then I’d be dressed as a man. As it was, I was wearing a flimsy evening gown and as vulnerable as a lamb in a ship full of wolves. Did I dare turn around and face my accuser? “Did you find it?” The voice was closer now… and softer… and familiar. Good heavens. I whipped around and practically flew into his arms. “Archie.” He chuckled. “I should have known I’d find you breaking into my room.” He pulled me into an embrace. “Fiona. Dear Fiona.” He kissed the top of my head. I buried my head in his shoulder. Ahhh. The scent of pine and citrus… and those horrible Kenilworth cigarettes. The scent of Lieutenant Archie Somersby. My heart was racing. From being scared out of my wits, or from being in Archie’s embrace, I didn’t know. “What are you doing here?” “I could ask you the same.” He held me tighter. “You, first.” I inhaled his familiar presence. “I will tell you, but only because it’s necessary.” He pulled out of the embrace and held me out at arm’s length. “It’s crucial that you don’t expose me.” “Expose you?” I had to censor my imagination. His earnest green eyes framed by those dark lashes and that wild lock of chestnut hair falling across his forehead made it deuced difficult. “I’m on an important mission.” He fortified his countenance with a steely gaze. “You mustn’t let on that you know me. In fact, you should stay away from me.” He pulled a gold pocket watch out of his waistcoat pocket and glanced at it. I pulled my arm out of his grip. “Does your mission involve Hugo Schweitzer?” My tone was pained, but I couldn’t help it. I wished my feelings for him weren’t so strong. After all, I hardly knew him. Still, I knew he worked for British Intelligence, despite Fredrick Fredricks’s accusations to the contrary. Afterall, who was more trustworthy? A German spy or a British soldier, an especially attractive one too? Archie tilted his head and gave me a quizzical look. “How did you know?” “I saw you together earlier on deck.” Without a doubt, the trench coat and fedora Archie was wearing, along with his sleek silhouette and graceful gait, were identical to those of my mysterious compatriot and Hugo Schweitzer’s clandestine companion. He laughed. “I should have known that was you watching us.” He kissed me on the cheek. “Fiona, you’re an ace. I’ve never met a girl quite like you.” His eyes danced mischievously. The way he was laughing, I didn’t know whether to be insulted or flattered. Wait a blooming minute. “Did you forget something?” I’d seen that amused expression before. “Why did you return to your cabin?” “To catch you in the act, love.” Archie grinned. “So, you saw me in the corridor?” He raised his eyebrows and nodded. “Afraid so.” I punched his shoulder. “And instead of saying anything, you pulled this trick?” “I’m sorry.” He intercepted my hand and brought it to his lips. “Can you forgive me?” I pulled out of his grip. “Only if you can tell me about Mr. Schweitzer and the chemists’ war.” “You know I can’t do that.” He sighed. “It’s classified.” “What does the war have to do with aspirin, the headache remedy?” He led me to the bed, sat down, and patted the bedcover, inviting me to sit too. My cheeks flamed. It was only then that I realized I was alone in a gentleman’s room… after midnight, no less. Dilly Knox’s words echoed through my head. “Our Fiona will do anything for King and country, don’t you know.” That only strengthened my resolve. I was on official business and not a romantic getaway. I took a seat on the bed and tucked my gown tightly around my thighs. “You were going to tell me about aspirin?” “You’re nothing if not persistent.” Archie smiled and put his arm around my shoulders. I scooted to the head of the bed and out of his reach. “Aspirin?” He shook his head. “You really are quite a girl.” I folded my arms over my chest and glared at him. “Righto.” His smiled faded. “Aspirin is made from a chemical called phenol.” Phenol. I’d heard Hugo Schweitzer mention it. And phenol was in the letter from the Kaiser. The Kaiser’s letter. Should I tell Archie about the letter? Or report it to Captain Hall first? “What does phenol have to do with the war?” “We need phenol to make trinitrotoluene.” Archie gave me a knowing look. I gave him an ignorant stare in return. “What is trinitrotoluene?” “TNT.” “The explosive?” He nodded. “Golly.” Still, why did it matter if aspirin and TNT shared one element? How did that affect the war? Could aspirin be turned into an explosive? “Golly is right.” When he smiled, tiny dimples appeared at the corners of his mouth. I had to stop myself from reaching across the bed to touch that tempting lock of wavy hair… and those dimples. Stop it, Fiona. You’re on an espionage mission and not on holiday. A holiday with Archie… how divine. Stop! Just stop. “I’m sorry we can’t work together in the open.” He took my hand and kissed it. “But for now, I’m undercover and I have to stop Schweitzer at all costs.” “I have a confession.” I sat on my hands to keep from touching him. “I broke into Hugo Schweitzer’s cabin.” Archie sat up straighter. “Go on.” “He has a briefcase full of papers and letters… in German.” “Yes,” Archie said encouragingly. “One of the letters was from the Kaiser.” I glanced over at him. “I don’t suppose you can recount the letter verbatim?” He raised his eyebrows. He’d seen me do it before. “I don’t suppose you have a pencil and paper?” I released my hands from their bondage. Archie got up and went to the dressing table. He opened the top drawer and pulled out a sheet of paper and then withdrew a pencil from his breast pocket and held it up. I joined him and sat down at the table. He placed the paper on the table in front of me and handed me the pencil. “Work your magic, my love.” My pulse quickened. Did Archie just call me my love? My cheeks warmed. With a smile in my heart, I closed my eyes and let the words form before my mind like captions across a black screen. I didn’t know what they meant, but I could see them as clearly as if I were holding the letter in my hands. I opened my eyes and began setting to paper what I had seen. My hand was flying across the page. When I finished, I scanned my reproduction and then held it up to Archie. He’d been breathing over my shoulder as I wrote, which was deuced distracting. As he read, the grim look on his face spoke volumes. “Good God,” he gasped. “So that is what they’re up to. And the phenol plot goes all the way to the Kaiser himself.” He dropped the paper on the dressing table. “Schweitzer is siphoning off phenol from the allies on orders from the Kaiser himself.” Siphoning off phenol. The chemical needed to make explosives. So that was the phenol plot. The corners of his mouth turned up ever so slightly. “Fiona, you’re a genius.” I couldn’t help but smile. His eyes hardened. “I’ve got to stop him.” Archie’s hand trembled as he ran it through his hair. “I’ve got to stop Schweitzer.” I gazed up at him with as much resolve as I could muster. “You mean we’ve got to stop him.” *** Excerpt from Chaos at Carnegie Hall by Kelly Oliver. Copyright 2022 by Kelly Oliver. Reproduced with permission from Kelly Oliver. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Kelly Oliver:

Kelly Oliver

Kelly Oliver is the award-winning and bestselling author of three mystery series: the seven-book suspense series, The Jessica James Mysteries; the three-book middle grade series, Pet Detective Mysteries; and the four-book historical cozy series, The Fiona Figg Mysteries. Chaos at Carnegie Hall is the latest Fiona Figg mystery, and the first to feature sidekick, Kitty Lane. When she’s not writing novels, Kelly is a Distinguished Professor of Philosophy at Vanderbilt University.

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Her Sister’s Death by K. L. Murphy Banner

Her Sister’s Death

by K. L. Murphy

   

November 28 – December 23, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

She wanted the truth. She should have known better.

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When her sister is found dead in a Baltimore hotel room, reporter Val Ritter’s world is turned upside down. An empty pill bottle at the scene leads the police to believe the cause of death is suicide. With little more than her own conviction, Val teams up with Terry Martin, a retired detective who has his own personal interest in the case, to prove that something more sinister is possible.

In 1921, Bridget Wallace, a guest on the brink of womanhood, is getting ready to marry an eligible older man. But what seems like a comfortable match soon takes a dark turn. Does the illustrious history of the stately Franklin hotel hide another, lesser known history of death?

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery Published by: CamCat Books Publication Date: December 2022 Number of Pages: 352 ISBN: 9780744307399 (ISBN10: 0744307392) Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | CamCat Books

Read an excerpt:

PRESENT DAY

CHAPTER 1

VAL Monday, 9:17 a.m.
Once, when I was nine or maybe ten, I spent weeks researching a three-paragraph paper on polar bears. I don’t remember much about the report or polar bears, but that assignment marked the beginning of my lifelong love affair with research. As I got older, I came to believe that if I did the research, I could solve any problem. It didn’t matter what it was. School. Work. Relationships. In college, when I suspected a boyfriend was about to give me the brush-off, I researched what to say before he could break up with me. Surprisingly, there are dozens of pages about this stuff. Even more surprising, some of it actually works. We stayed together another couple of months, until I realized I was better off without him. He never saw it coming. When I got married, I researched everything from whether or not we were compatible (we were) to our average life expectancy based on our medical histories (only two years different). Some couples swear they’re soul mates or some other crap, but I considered myself a little more practical than that. I wanted the facts before I walked down the aisle. The thing is, research doesn’t tell you that your perfect-on-paper husband is going to prefer the ditzy receptionist on the third floor before you’ve hit your five-year anniversary. It also doesn’t tell you that your initial anger will turn into something close to relief, or that all that perfection was too much work and maybe the whole soul-mate thing isn’t as crazy as it sounds. If you doubt me, look it up. My love of research isn’t as odd as one might think. My father is a retired history professor, and my mother is a bibliophile. It doesn’t matter the genre. She usually has three or more books going at once. She also gets two major newspapers every day and a half dozen magazines each month. Some people collect cute little china creatures or rare coins or something. My mother collects words. When I decided to become a journalist, both my parents were overjoyed. “It’s perfect,” my father said. “We need more people to record what’s going on in the world. How can we expect to learn if we don’t recognize that everything that happens impacts our future?” I fought the urge to roll my eyes. I knew what was coming, but how many times can a person hear about the rise and fall of Caesar? The man was stabbed to death, and it isn’t as though anyone learned their lesson. Ask Napoleon. Or Hitler. My dad was right about one thing though. History can’t help but repeat itself. “Honey,” my mother interrupted. “Val will only write about important topics. You know very well she is a young lady of principle.” Again, I wanted to roll my eyes. Of course, for all their worldliness, neither of my parents understands how the world of journalism works. You don’t walk into a newsroom as an inexperienced reporter and declare you will be writing about the environment, or the European financial market, or the latest domestic policy. The newspaper business is not so different from any other—even right down to the way technology is forcing it to go digital. Either way, the newbies are given the jobs no one else wants. Naturally, I was assigned to obituaries. After a year, I got moved to covering the local city council meetings, but the truth was, I missed the death notices. I couldn’t stop myself from wondering how each of the people died. Some were obvious. When the obituary asks you to donate to the cancer society or the heart association, you don’t have to think too hard to figure it out. Also, people like to add that the deceased “fought a brave battle with (fill in the blank).” I’ve no doubt those people were brave, but they weren’t the ones that interested me. It was the ones that seemed to die unexpectedly and under unusual circumstances. I started looking them up for more information. The murder victims held particular fascination for me. From there, it was only a short hop to my true interest: crime reporting. The job isn’t for everyone. Crime scenes are not pretty. Have you ever rushed out at three in the morning to a nightclub shooting? Or sat through a murder trial, forced to view photo after photo of a brutally beaten young mother plastered across a giant screen? My sister once told me I must have a twisted soul to do what I do. Maybe. I find myself wondering about the killer, curious about what makes them do it. That sniper—the one that picked off the poor folks as they came out of the state fair—that was my story. Even now, I still can’t get my head around that guy’s motives. So, I research and research, trying to get things right as well as find some measure of understanding. It doesn’t always work, but knowing as much as I can is its own kind of answer. Asking questions has always worked for me. It’s the way I do my job. It’s the way I’ve solved every problem in my life. Until now. Not that I’m not trying. I’m at the library. I’m in my favorite corner in the cushy chair with the view of the pond. I don’t know how long I’ve been here. How many hours. My laptop is on, the screen filled with text and pictures. Flicking through the tabs, I swallow the bile that reminds me I have no answer. I’ve asked the question in every way I can think of, but for the first time in my life, Google is no help. Why did my sister—my gorgeous sister with her two beautiful children and everything to live for—kill herself? Why? *** Sylvia has been dead for four days now. Actually, I don’t know how long she’s been dead. I’ve been told there’s a backlog at the ME’s office. Apparently, suicides are not high priority when you live in a city with one of the country’s highest murder rates. I don’t care what the cause of death is. I want the truth. While we wait for the official autopsy, I find myself reevaluating what I do know. Her body was discovered on Thursday at the Franklin, a Do not Disturb sign hanging from the door of her room. The hotel claims my sister called the front desk after only one day and asked not to be disturbed unless the sign was removed. This little detail could not have been more surprising. My sister doesn’t have trouble sleeping. Sylvia went to bed at ten every night and was up like clockwork by six sharp. I have hundreds of texts to prove it. Even when her children were babies with sleep schedules that would kill most people, she somehow managed to stick to her routine. Vacations with her were pure torture. “Val, get up. The sun is shining. Let’s go for a walk on the beach.” I’d open one eye to find her standing in the doorway. She’d be dressed in black nylon shorts and neon sneakers, bouncing up and down on her toes. “We can walk. I promise I won’t run.” Tossing my pillow at her, I’d groan and pull the covers over my head. “You can’t sleep the day away, Val.” She’d cross the room in two strides and rip back the sheets. “Get up.” In spite of my night-owl tendencies, I’d crawl out of bed. Sylvia had a way of making me feel like if I didn’t join her, I’d be missing out on something extraordinary. The thing is, she was usually right. Sure, a sunrise is a sunrise, but a sunrise with Sylvia was color and laughter and tenderness and love. She had that way about her. She loved mornings. I tried to explain Sylvia to the police officer, to tell him that hanging a sleeping sign past six in the morning, much less all day, was not only odd behavior but also downright suspicious. He did his best not to dismiss me outright, but I knew he didn’t get it. “Sleeping too much can be a sign of depression,” he said. “She wasn’t depressed.” “She hung a sign, ma’am. It’s been verified by the manager.” He stopped short of telling me that putting out that stupid sign wasn’t atypical of someone planning to do what she did. Whatever that’s supposed to mean. The screen in front of me blurs, and I rub my burning eyes. There are suicide statistics for women of a certain age, women with children, women in general. My fingers slap the keys. I change the question, desperate for an answer, any answer. A shadow falls across the screen when a man takes the chair across from me, a newspaper under his arm. My throat tightens, and I press my lips together. He settles in, stretching his legs. The paper crackles as he opens it and snaps when he straightens the pages. “Do you mind?” He lowers the paper, his brows drawn together. “Mind what?” “This is a library. It’s supposed to be quiet in here.” He angles his head. “Are you always this touchy or is it just me?” “It’s you.” I don’t know why I say that. I don’t even know why I’m acting like a brat, but I can’t help myself. Silence fills the space between us as he appears to digest what I’ve said. “Perhaps you’d like me to leave?” “That would be nice.” He blinks, the paper falling from his hand. I’m not sure which of us is more surprised by my answer. I seem to have no control over my thoughts or my mouth. The man has done nothing but crinkle a newspaper, but I have an overwhelming need to lash out. He looks around, and for a moment, I feel bad. The man gets to his feet, the paper jammed under his arm. “Look, lady, I’ll move to another spot, but that’s because I don’t want to sit here and have my morning ruined by some kook who thinks the public library is her own personal living room.” He points a finger at me. “You’ve got a problem.” I feel the sting, the well of tears before he’s even turned his back. They flood my eyes and pour down over my cheeks. Worse, my mouth opens, and I sob, great, loud, obnoxious sobs. I cover my face with my hands and sink lower into the chair, my body folding in on itself. My laptop slips to the floor, and I somehow cry harder. “Is she all right?” a woman asks, her voice high and tight. The annoying man answers. “She’ll be fine in a minute.” “Are you sure?” Her gaze darts between us, and her hands flutter over me like wings, nearing but never touching. I recognize her from the reference desk. “People are staring. This is a library, you know.” I want to laugh, but it gets caught in my throat, and comes out like a bark. Her little kitten heels skitter back. I don’t blame her. Who wouldn’t want to get away from the woman making strange animal noises? “Do you have a private conference room?” the man asks. The woman points the way, and large hands lift me to my feet. “Can you get her laptop and her bag, please?” The hands turn into an arm around my shoulders. He steers me toward a small room at the rear of the library. My sobs morph into hiccups. The woman places my bag and computer on a small round table. “I’ll make sure no one bothers you here.” She slinks out, pulling the door shut. The man sets his paper down and pulls out a chair for me. I don’t know how many minutes pass before I’m able to stop crying, before I’m able to speak. “Are you okay now?” I can’t look at him. His voice is kind, far kinder than I deserve. He pushes something across the table. “Here’s my handkerchief.” He gets to his feet. “I’m going to see if I can find you some water.” The door clicks behind him, and I’m alone. My sister, my best friend, is gone, and I’m alone. *** “Do you want to talk about it?” the man asks, setting a bottle of water and a package of crackers on the table. Sniffling, I twist the damp, wadded up handkerchief into a ball. I want to tell him that no, I don’t want to talk about it, that I don’t even know him, but the words slip out anyway. “My sister died,” I say. “Oh.” He folds his hands together. “I’m sorry. Recently?” “Four days.” He pushes the crackers he’s brought across the table. “You should try to eat something.” I try to remember when I last ate. Yesterday? The day before? One of my neighbors did bring me a casserole with some kind of brown meat and orangey red sauce. It may have had noodles, but I can’t be sure. I do remember watching the glob of whatever it was slide out of the aluminum pan and down the disposal. I think I ate half a bagel at some point. My stomach churns, then rumbles. The man doesn’t wait for me to decide. He opens the packet and pushes it closer. For some reason I can’t explain, I want to prove I’m more polite that I seemed earlier. I take the crackers and eat. He gestures at the bottle. “Drink.” I do. The truth is, I’m too numb to do anything else. It’s been four days since my parents phoned me. Up to now, I’ve taken the news like any other story I’ve been assigned. I’ve filed it away, stored it at the back of my mind as something I need to analyze and figure out before it can be processed. I’ve buried myself in articles and anecdotes and medical pages, reading anything and everything to try and understand. On some level, I recognize my behavior isn’t entirely normal. My parents broke down, huddled together on the sofa, as though conjoined in their grief. I couldn’t have slipped between them even if I wanted to. Sylvia’s husband—I guess that’s what we’re still calling him—appeared equally stricken. Not even the sight of her children, their faces pale and blank, cracked the shell I erected, the wall I built to deny the reality of her death. “Aunt Val,” Merry asked. “Mommy’s coming back, right? She’s just passed, right? That’s what Daddy said.” She paused, a single tear trailing over her pink cheek. “What’s ‘passed’?” Merry is the youngest, only five. Miles is ten—going on twenty if you ask me—which turned out to be a good thing in that moment. Miles took his sister by the hand. “Come on, Merry. Dad wants us in the back.” I let out a breath. Crisis averted. My sister has been gone four days, and I haven’t shed a tear. Until today. The man across the table clears his throat. “Are you feeling any better?” “No, I’m not feeling better. My sister is still dead.” God, I’m a bitch. I expect him to stand up and leave or at least point out what an ass I’m being when he’s gone out of his way to be nice, but he does neither. “Yes, I suppose she is. Death is kind of permanent.” I jerk back in my chair. “Is that supposed to be funny?” Unlike me, he does apologize. “I’m sorry. That didn’t come out right. I never did have the best bedside manner for the job.” I take a closer look at the man. “Are you a doctor?” He half laughs. “Hardly. Detective. Former, I mean. I never quite got the hang of talking to the victims’ families without putting my foot in my mouth. Seems I’ve done it again.” My curiosity gets the best of me. He’s not much older than I am. Mid-forties. Maybe younger. Definitely too young for retirement. “Former detective? What do you do now?” “I run a security firm.” He lifts his shoulders. “It’s different, has its advantages.” The way he says it, I know he misses the job. I understand. “I write for the Baltimorean. Mostly homicides,” I say. “That’s a good paper. I’ve probably read your work then.” Crumpling the empty cracker wrapper, I say, “I’m sorry I dumped on you out there.” He shrugs again. “It’s okay. You had a good reason.” I can’t think of anything to say to that. “How did she die, if you don’t mind my asking?” The question hits me hard. What I mind is that my sister is gone. My hands ball into fists. The heater in the room hums, but otherwise, it’s quiet. “They say she died by suicide.” The man doesn’t miss a beat. “But you don’t believe it.” He watches me, his body still. My heart pounds in my chest and I reach into my mind, searching for any information I’ve found that contradicts what I’ve been told. I’ve learned that almost fifty thousand people a year die by suicide in the United States. Strangely, a number of those people choose to do it in hotels. Maybe it’s the anonymity. Maybe it’s to spare the families. There are plenty of theories, but unfortunately, one can’t really ask the departed about that. Still, the reasoning is sound enough. For four days, I’ve read until I can’t see, and my head has dropped from exhaustion. I know that suicide can be triggered by traumatic events or chronic depression. It can be triggered by life upheaval or can be drug induced, or it can happen for any number of reasons that even close family and friends don’t know about until after—if ever. I know all this, and yet, I can’t accept it. Sylvia was found in a hotel room she had no reason to be in. An empty pill bottle was found on the nightstand next to her. She checked in alone. Nothing in the room had been disturbed. Nothing appeared to have been taken. For all these reasons, the police made a preliminary determination that the cause of death was suicide, the final ruling to be made after the ME’s report. I know all this. My parents and Sylvia’s husband took every word of this at face value. But I can’t. Sylvia is not a statistic, and I know something they don’t. “No. I don’t believe it.” I say, meeting his steady gaze with my own. He doesn’t react. He doesn’t tell me I’m crazy. He doesn’t say “I’m sorry” again. Nothing. I’m disappointed, though I can’t imagine why. He’s a stranger to me. Still, I press my shoulder blades against the back of the chair, waiting. I figure it out then. Former detective. I’ve been around enough cops to know how it works. It’s like a tribe with them. You don’t criticize another officer. You don’t question anyone’s toughness or loyalty to the job. You don’t question a ruling that a case doesn’t warrant an investigation, much less that it isn’t even a case. So, I sit and wait. I will not be the first to argue. It doesn’t matter that he’s retired and left the job. He’s still one of them. In fact, the more I think about it, I can’t understand why he’s still sitting there. I’ve been rude to the man. I’ve completely broken down in front of him like some helpless idiot. And now, I’ve suggested the cause of death that everyone—and I mean everyone—says is true is not the truth at all. He gets up, shoves his hands in his pockets. This is it. He’s done with me now. In less than one minute he’ll be gone and, suddenly, I don’t want him to leave. I break the silence. “I’m Val Ritter.” “Terry Martin.” I turn the name over in my brain. It’s familiar in a vague way. “Terry the former detective.” “Uh-huh.” He shifts his weight from one foot to the other. “Look, I’m sorry about your sister. You’ve lost someone you love, and the idea that she might have taken her own life is doubly distressing.” “I’m way past distressed. I’m angry.” “Is it possible that you’re directing that anger toward the ones that ruled her death a suicide instead of at your . . .” His words fall away. “My sister?” “Yes.” “I might be if I thought she did this.” I cross my arms over my chest. “But I don’t. This idea, this thing they’re saying makes no sense at all.” Terry the former detective’s voice is low, soothing. “Why?” My arms drop again. I’m tempted to tell him everything I know, which admittedly isn’t much, but I hold back. This man is a stranger. Sure, he’s been nice, and every time I’ve expected him to walk out the door, he’s done the opposite. But that doesn’t mean I can trust him. “I’m sorry if my question seems insensitive,” he says. His voice is soft, comforting in a neutral way, and I can picture him in an interrogation. He would be the good cop. “No matter how shocking the, uh, idea might be, I have a feeling you have your reasons. You were close—you and your sister?” “We were.” I sit there, twisting the handkerchief in my fingers. The heat- er makes a revving noise, drops back to a steady hum. “We talked all the time, and I can tell you she wasn’t depressed. That’s what they kept saying. ‘She must have been depressed.’ I know people hide things, but she was never good at hiding her emotions from me. If anything, she’d been happier than ever.” I give a slow shake of my head. “They tried to tell me about the other suicide and about the pills and the sign on the door and—” I stop. I hear myself rambling and force myself to take a breath. “If something had been wrong, I would have known.” Terry the former detective doesn’t react, doesn’t move. He keeps his mouth shut, but I know. He doesn’t believe me, same as all the others. I can tell. There is no head bob or leading question. He thinks I’m in denial and that I will eventually accept the truth. He doesn’t know me at all. The minutes pass, and I drink the water. I realize I feel better. It’s time to leave. “I should be going.” I hold up the crumpled rag in my hand. “Sorry I did such a number on your handkerchief. I can clean it, send it to you later.” He waves off the suggestion. “Keep it.” I gather my items and apologize again. “Sorry you had to witness my meltdown out there.” “It happens.” I’m headed out the door, my hand on the knob, when he breaks protocol. “What did you mean by ‘the other suicide’?”

CHAPTER 2

TERRY Monday, 10:02 a.m.
The woman—Val, I remind myself—hesitates. I can see she’s wary, worried I don’t believe her. I don’t know that I do, but I am curious. “What did you mean? There was another suicide?” “A month ago, maybe a little longer, a woman killed herself in the same hotel. She jumped off the roof, which apparently was no easy task since there were all kinds of doors to go through to get up there. Of course, what happened to her was horrible, but it has nothing to do with my sister. I don’t know why they’re acting like it does.” My jaw tightens. “Which hotel?” “The Franklin.” I look past her and think maybe I should be surprised, but nothing about that hotel surprises me. “The Franklin,” I say, echoing her words. The Franklin is one of Baltimore’s oldest hotels. Built in 1918, it’s fifteen stories high with marble columns and archways at the entrance. Along with the Belvedere, before it became condos, and the Lord Baltimore, the Franklin is a destination, a swanky place that’s attracted film stars and politicians for decades. Somewhere along the line, it fell into disrepair and the famous guests went elsewhere. For a brief time, the management offered rooms for short-term rentals, desperate to keep the hotel from plunging further into the red. Twenty years ago, the hotel was sold to an investment group. They declared the hotel historic, sunk tens of millions of dollars into it, and reopened it in grand style. The governor and the mayor cut the big red ribbon. Baseball stars from the Orioles and a well-known director were photographed at the official gala. It was a big to-do for the city at the time. Since then, it’s remained popular—one of the five-star hotels downtown, which, of course, means that a night there doesn’t come cheap. That’s the press release version. But there’s another one. Lesser known. Val is calm now, watching me, and I catch a glimpse of the reporter. “Do you know it?” she asks. “Yeah, I know it.” Stories have circulated about the hotel through the years. Some are decades old while others have been encouraged by the hotel itself. Ghost tours are popular these days, and the Franklin tour is no exception. “It has a history. For a while, it was called the Mad Motel.” She flinches. “What?” “According to my grandfather, people seemed to die there. Most deaths occurred right after the Depression, victims of the stock market crash, but not all. There was one guy that killed his whole family right before he killed himself. They said he lost his mind. That was the first time it was called the Mad Motel, though there were other stories.” “What are you saying?” I see the flush on her cheeks and know my words have upset her in a way I didn’t intend. I do my best to smooth it over. “Nothing. I didn’t mean anything. I’ve never been a fan of the name myself, but there were some guys around the department that used it.” The anger that colored her cheeks a moment earlier fades, eclipsed by something else I recognize. Curiosity. “Why would they use such a terrible name?” It’s a valid question, and I give the only explanation I can. “The first time I heard it on the job was about fifteen years ago. An assault at the Franklin. I didn’t catch the case, but I remember a man almost beat his wife to death. He would have, if someone in the next room hadn’t called the police.” She doesn’t blink, doesn’t raise a hand to her mouth. Just waits. “Before that day, the guy was a typical accountant. Kind of nerdy. Mild-mannered. Went to work. Went home to his family. Nothing out of the ordinary. Then they fly into Baltimore for their nephew’s wedding, stay at the Franklin. As they were dressing, he loses it. He hits her with the lamp, punches her, throws her up against the wall. When the police arrived, they had to pry him off of her. They rushed her to the hospital. She ended up with broken ribs, a concussion, a whole bunch of other stuff.” “And the husband?” “That’s what was so strange. According to the officers on the scene, as soon as they pulled him off, he stopped all of it. He cried, begged to be allowed to go with her to the hospital. When they took him downtown, he swore he didn’t know what had come over him. That he’d never hit anyone in his life, and he couldn’t even recall being angry with her. They kept him in jail until she woke up. Oddly, she corroborated his story. She said he didn’t have a violent bone in his body before that day.” Val’s forehead wrinkles. “I don’t remember ever reading about that case. What happened?” “He was charged in spite of his wife’s insistence that she didn’t want that. When he went to trial, his lawyer put him on the stand. That’s when I heard his story.” I pause and run my hand over my face, scratching at my chin. “He told the jury that while he was putting on his tux jacket, a cold breeze blew in. He said he checked the room, but the windows were closed, and it was winter, so the heat was on. Then according to him, this cold air got into his body, in his hands and his feet and then his mind. He said when his wife came out of the bathroom, he didn’t recognize her, that she was someone else, something else.” “Something else? What does that mean?” “He described a monster with sharp teeth and claws. His attorney even had a drawing done by a sketch artist. She held it up for the jury, but the man wouldn’t look at it. Refused. He claimed he panicked, grabbed the lamp, and swung, but the monster kept coming. He said the monster howled—that was probably his wife screaming—and came at him again. That must have been when the guest in the other room called the police.” I pause again. Even as I say it, I know how it sounds. “So, he tells this story at trial, and everyone looks around at each other thinking this guy is crazy. But his wife is in the audience and nodding like it’s true. The prosecutor goes after him, but he doesn’t back down. He admits he attacked someone, but he swears he didn’t knowingly hurt his wife. He breaks down on the stand, and it’s basically bedlam in the courtroom.” Memories of that day flood my mind. I sat in the back of the packed courtroom, watching the melee. It was hard to know what to think. Was the man delusional? A sociopath? Or was he telling the truth? Fortunately, Val doesn’t ask my opinion, and I tell her the rest. “The prosecutor decided to cut his losses,” I say. “He let the man plead to a lesser charge and get some mental help.” “That’s all?” “Yep. The man did three months in a mental health facility, then went back to Omaha and his wife. End of story.” “So that’s why the Franklin is called the Mad Motel?” “It’s one of the reasons. But like I said, the place has a history.” Newspaper articles and pictures and evidence files flit through my mind. Many of the images are gruesome. Others just sad. Although the library is warm, I’m cold under my jacket. My voice drops to a whisper, the memories too close for comfort. “A history of death.” *** Excerpt from Her Sister’s Death by K. L. Murphy. Copyright 2022 by K. L. Murphy. Reproduced with permission from CamCat Books. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author K. L. Murphy:

K. L. Murphy

K. L. Murphy is the author of the Detective Cancini Mystery Series: A Guilty Mind, Stay of Execution, and The Last Sin. Her short stories are featured in the anthologies Deadly Southern Charm (“Burn”) and Murder by the Glass (“EverUs”). She is a member of Mystery Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, Sisters in Crime, James River Writers, and Historical Writers of America. K. L. lives in Richmond, VA, with her husband, children, and amazing dogs. When she’s not writing, she loves to read, entertain friends, catch up on everything she ignored, and always—walk the amazing dogs.

Catch Up With K. L. Murphy: KellieLarsenMurphy.com Goodreads BookBub – @KLMurphy Instagram – @k.l._murphy Twitter – @klmurphyauthor Facebook – @klmurphyauthor

 

 

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Stained Glass Secrets and Star Wishes

A Christmas Cookies Novel

by Celaine Charles

Genre: Paranormal Holiday Romance

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Ember McCoy, a young and stressed accountant, plans to spend Christmas alone at her family’s lakeside cabin. But after a mysterious man offers his kindness and time, she begins to reassess her fast-paced world. Holding a star-shaped, stained-glass cookie up to the light, she makes a wish. Is the glistening candy-blue center a hopeful sign there may be more to her existence than the long work hours draining the joy from her life?

Laiken Devere, an Ashrai water fairy, laments the passing of his grandmother and his future in the shadows of his older brothers. To honor his grandmother, he visits the human world above James Lake, asking the stars to reveal his destiny. But why would fate lead him to an impossible relationship with a human, especially the sorrowful young Ember he found by the lake?

Does Ember and Laiken’s future together now rely on stained-glass secrets and star wishes?

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Ember propped the flashlight against an inside corner of the snow castle. She took the bottle from his hands to lean in the opposite corner, then sat down at the ice table. Laiken exhaled away his thoughts and joined her, setting down the mugs.

“We should wait a bit for the Kahlua to chill,” she said.

He nodded, afraid to say a word, because if he did, he might confess everything he was feeling inside. Meeting Ember had sparked new emotions. And these new emotions had him wondering if they were anything like Grandmother felt for her human friend…lover…whoever it may have been. The one she left behind.

“I can’t believe you made this. How long did it take?”

His attention snapped back. The Ashrai measured time differently, so he wasn’t sure how to answer. He pulled off his hat, shoved it into his pocket. “It was done before the sun rose.”

Her expression lifted as she blew out a breath. “You worked all night?”

“Yes.” He swallowed at the nerves jabbing inside. The image of her crying in the window flashed through his mind again. “For you. I wanted to make you smile.”

Her mouth dropped open, pink lips unable to express what she might have wanted to say. Or maybe, like him, she wasn’t sure how much truth to divulge. He could see her struggling, her gaze latching onto his. They’d just spend the whole evening laughing and eating, sharing bits and pieces of themselves, without really sharing anything at all. The Ashrai were honest. They were bold. He didn’t know how much longer he could keep his mouth shut about their worlds. He was more than intrigued by her. Not only did he want to sweep away the sorrow he’d seen through her window that first night, but there was more.

Maybe he felt a little missed happiness himself.

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Celaine Charles lives in the Pacific Northwest where she teaches elementary school, writes fantasy fiction and poetry, and blogs about her writing journey on Steps In Between.

On the fiction side, Celaine’s YA Fantasy, Seam Keepers (The Wild Rose Press), released in May 2021, and won a first place golden award (in the category of YA/Sci-fi) through Moonbeam Children and Young Adult book awards, 2021. Her new adult, holiday, paranormal, romance novella, Stained Glass Secrets and Star Wishes, launches November 2022 (The Wild Rose Press, Christmas Cookies Series).

On the Poetry side, Celaine’s book, Colors Collected (Palmetto Publishing Group), debuted in August 2019. This book stemmed from her online poetry series, Colors, hosted on Channillo.com, and was awarded Best New Series, Best Continuing Series, and Best Poetry Series for the 2018 Channillo Awards.

Currently, Celaine is working on the sequel to Seam Keepers, entitled, Dream Keepers, and a brand-new YA Contemporary Fantasy, Life Song. She is always penning new poetry for no other reason than to cleanse her soul, yet she is also working to create a new collection and exploring a children’s book project, as well.

When Celaine isn’t writing, she is usually with her family, reading, watching movies, or taking walks in her beautiful home of Washington state. Nature is always her muse. She takes a million picture on every venture.

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Wrapped Around My Heart

by Kelly Collins

 

Publication date: October 16th 2017
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Holiday, Romance

Mark Cantwell has a life most men can only dream of—he’s rich, respected, and ripped. There’s only one thing he wants—to regain control of his grandfather’s company. When the chance finally pops up, he jumps at it even though it means ruining Christmas for his executive assistant, Jess Stone.

Jess Stone will do anything for her handsome boss. He’s everything she wants in a man so when he needs her during her family’s annual Colorado Christmas celebration, she doesn’t hesitate to adjust her plans.

What should have been a simple flight and a quick meeting turns into a road trip from hell, leaving the pair stranded in a motel room together in the middle of a snowstorm.

Will Mark take the first chance he can to just get on with his business, or will he realize all he wants for Christmas is Jess?

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

He lifted his head for the briefest of moments and gave me a slip of a smile. I loved this little power exchange we had going. He’d demand, and I’d push back. Not a lot, just enough to get him to smile.

“Is this a hostile takeover?” It was a valid question since the man gobbled up companies like I did chocolate candies.

Mark laughed. “No, it’s something new.” He brought a pen to his mouth and chewed on the end, then laid it on the desk‐ top. “It’s a partnership.”

I was tempted to snatch the pen he’d been chewing on but let that thought go. Instead, I leaned in like I would if I were to tell him a secret.

“Can I be candid with you?”

He leaned in like every word I uttered was important. “I always want you to be honest with me, Jess.”

I lifted my head so we were eye to eye. “Forgive me for saying, but you don’t come across as the kind of man who plays nicely with others.”

He looked up at me with eyes the same color as a smog-free California sky. “Oh, I’m really quite good at playing, Ms. Stone.”

He only used my last name when he was making a point he didn’t want me to forget, but what was his point? His words seemed naughty in nature. Combined with his sly smile, and I was certain he was teasing me.

“I’d love to see that, Mr. Cantwell.” I made a note to get him the report within the hour. “But in all honesty, you don’t seem the type of man who likes to share, and a partnership implies sharing.”

He sat back and folded his arms across his broad chest. The smooth fabric of his custom suit gripped his muscles. “We’re talking about two different things. I can play all day and never have to share.” He took the last bite of his muffin and watched me for a second. “I never share. Once something is mine, it’s mine forever.”

A shiver ran down my spine. He was probably talking about money or possessions, but when he looked at me and said those words, my heart beat wildly. What would it be like to be Mark Cantwell’s woman for a minute—a day—forever?

 

Author Kelly Collins:

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International bestselling author of more than thirty novels, Kelly Collins writes with the intention of keeping love alive. Always a romantic, she blends real-life events with her vivid imagination to create characters and stories that lovers of contemporary romance, new adult, and romantic suspense will return to again and again.

Kelly has sold more than a quarter of a million books worldwide, and in 2021 she was awarded a Readers’ Favorite Award Gold Medal in the Contemporary Romance category for A Tablespoon of Temptation.

You can learn more about Kelly at www.authorkellycollins.com.

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Death Checked Out

A Larkspur Library Mystery

by Leah Dobrinska

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Death Checked Out: A Larkspur Library Mystery
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Setting – Wisconsin
Level Best Books (December 6, 2022)
Number of Pages ~300
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0BHJJ1QRT

She’s used to checking out books. A death? Not so much.

 

Greta Plank, resident librarian in the small, lakeside town of Larkspur, Wisconsin, prefers her rose-tinted glasses extra rosy, thank you very much. Ever since a family tragedy landed her in Larkspur, she’s kept a happy-or-bust outlook. But Greta’s cheery resolve takes a hit when she finds the town recluse dead at the base of the stairs leading from his deck to the lake. What she assumes is a terrible accident Greta soon learns is something more sinister, and to make matters worse, new-to-town Detective Mark McHenry cites her as not only his primary source for the case, but his top suspect.

 

To clear her name and return to life as she knew it before the murder, Greta decides to do some clue cataloging of her own. After all, she’s got her master’s degree in library science with an emphasis in research methodology…how hard could a criminal investigation be? With the help of her fellow librarians and her lawyer mom, Greta begins checking out the pages of the murder, uncovering details about the recluse’s rare book collection and Larkspur’s real estate market as she tries to understand why anyone would have authored his death.

 

But with friends and neighbors stacking up as both victims and suspects, Greta must cross-reference the facts and put a hold on her idyllic worldview if she wants to get the full story without paying the fine of her life.

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Character Interview

Hello! Welcome to Larkspur Community Library. I’m Greta Plank, the director here. I’m so glad you stopped by. I’m just finishing up our Monday Morning Storytime. We host a reading hour for our youngest and most wiggly patrons each week, and it’s one of my favorite library events.

Unlike large branches with designated youth services and children’s librarians, I split the duties with my two co-librarians, Iris and Josie. Maybe someday we’ll hire someone who specializes in this area, but it’s not in the budget right now.

I suppose it’ll be my job to try to figure out our capacity for hiring and future guest services. To be honest, I’m still working to figure out exactly how to navigate my role as director. I’ve only been in the position for four months. I’ve been well received, for the most part, but there are some members of the Library Board with whom I don’t see eye-to-eye.

At this point, I’m choosing my moments so I don’t ruffle any feathers.

I do love spending time in the children’s corner of the library. With the colorful, kid-curated art adorning the walls, the wooden toy train table that’s tarnished with use, and the bin of cheerful stuffed animal puppets over there in the corner, it’s one of the happiest spots in the whole building.

And, as usual, I’m choosing joy this morning. If I’m being completely honest, I needed the children’s story time today more than usual. My dear friend, Franklin, died tragically on Friday. I stumbled upon his body. It’s awful, and I’ll be grieving his loss for a long time.

But this morning, I gladly buried myself in my duties and in the whimsical words of Leaf Man by Lois Ehlert. It’s a crowd favorite, and the kids are currently milling about with the dried leaves I handed out after we finished our reading.

Oh dear. Why is Detective McHenry here? How am I just seeing him now? He’s new to town, too. Newer than me, even. And he was first on the scene of Franklin’s death, after me. I can’t argue with the fact that the man is rock solid in a crisis, but I’d rather not be reminded of all that right now. His presence is totally bursting the bubble of happiness I had built up around myself this morning.

Shoot. He’s coming this way. Everyone is staring. No doubt they’re all taking in the badge the detective is wearing on his hip and thinking that I, the woman who appears to be a sweet and innocent librarian, have somehow found myself on the wrong side of the law. Rest assured, I’ve done nothing wrong. I’m sure there’s a reasonable explanation for why Detective McHenry is gracing me with his presence while I’m at work.

If you’ll excuse me, I’m going to have to go and figure this out.

Feel free to make yourself at home in the library. We’ve got something for everyone, and my co-librarians, Josie and Iris, can help you out if I get tied up with the detective. Wish me luck!

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About Leah Dobrinska

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Leah Dobrinska is the author of the Larkspur Library Mysteries, a cozy mystery series set in the Wisconsin Northwoods, and the Mapleton novels, a series of standalone small town romances. She earned her degree in English Literature from UW-Madison and has since worked as a freelance writer, editor, and content marketer. As a kid, she hoped to grow up to be either Nancy Drew or Elizabeth Bennet. Now, she fulfills that dream by writing mysteries and love stories. Death Checked Out is her debut cozy mystery.

A sucker for a good sentence, a happy ending, and the smell of books—both old and new—Leah lives out her very own happily ever after in a small Wisconsin town with her husband and their gaggle of kids. When she’s not writing, handing out snacks, or visiting local parks, Leah enjoys reading and running. Find out more about Leah, join her newsletter community, and connect with her through her website, leahdobrinska.com.

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TOUR PARTICIPANTS

December 12 – The Avid Reader – REVIEW, EXCERPT

December 12 – Literary Gold – AUTHOR INTERVIEW

December 12 – Maureen’s Musings – SPOTLIGHT

December 13 – Elizabeth McKenna – Author – SPOTLIGHT

December 13 – Brooke Blogs – CHARACTER GUEST POST

December 14 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW, AUTHOR INTERVIEW  

December 14 – Socrates Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

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December 18 – Guatemala Paula Loves to Read – REVIEW

December 18 – Lady Hawkeye – SPOTLIGHT

December 19 – Reading Is My SuperPower – REVIEW

December 19 – Jane Reads – AUTHOR GUEST POST

December 20 – Christy’s Cozy Corners – AUTHOR GUEST POST

December 20 – Ascroft, eh? – CHARACTER INTERVIEW

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December 21 – #BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog – SPOTLIGHT

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December 23 – Books a Plenty Book Reviews – REVIEW, CHARACTER GUEST POST

December 23 – Mystery Thrillers and Romantic Suspense Reviews – SPOTLIGHT

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