Archive for the ‘Excerpt’ Category

 

Fracture

By Basar Gorur

 

(Shadow Sovereign Series, #1)
Publication date: April 17th 2026
Genres: Adult, Techno Thriller

A murdered diplomat. A dying man’s cryptic message. A conspiracy that could shatter NATO.

When U.S. geopolitical strategist Roger ‘Simms’ Osbourne receives word that his colleague and friend Aslı Green has been killed, he inherits more than grief. He inherits her secret: evidence of a sophisticated Russian operation that sank a Ukrainian tanker and made it look like an accident.

Sent to London to sell a critical NATO surveillance system, Simms quickly discovers his official mission is compromised. A powerful British political faction, backed by shadowy money and royal connections, is determined to see him fail. The deeper he digs into Aslı’s murder, the more he realizes the two threats are connected.

Forced to abandon the rulebook, Simms assembles an unlikely alliance: his embattled team, a mysterious operative named Katya who knows too much, and assets on both sides of the law. Together, they uncover a sprawling network funneling Russian profits through international shell companies to fuel a political war against the West.

But Russian Admiral Sidorov isn’t waiting for the dust to settle. His devastating military demonstration exposes NATO’s vulnerabilities and humiliates the alliance on the world stage. And lurking beneath it all is an even darker secret: Chinese technology at the heart of Russia’s most advanced weapons.

Now Simms must wage war on three fronts: political, financial, and military. Because if he fails, his friend died for nothing. And the next strike won’t be disguised as an accident.

For fans of Tom Clancy, Mark Greaney, and Brad Thor.

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Ankara. Surveillance van outside Mikhail’s apartment. Evening.

Jack adjusted the lens for the hundredth time. Jones was sorting sunflower seeds by some private system known only to God and possibly his therapist.

“Stilettos,” Jones said.

“We’re not doing this.”

“We’re absolutely doing this. We’ve been here four hours. I’ve counted the bricks on that building. There are 2,847. I’ve earned a conversation.”

“You counted wrong. There are 2,846.”

“You counted them too?”

“Shut up.” Jack refused to look at him. “What about stilettos?”

“Women wear them voluntarily. On purpose. They pay extra for the privilege of balancing on pencil erasers.”

“Groundbreaking analysis. Call the sociology department.”

“I’m serious. Men’s fashion evolution went: uncomfortable, less uncomfortable, sweatpants. Enlightenment achieved. Women’s fashion went: uncomfortable, more uncomfortable, here’s a torture device from the Spanish Inquisition, but we made it beige.”

Jack checked the window. Nothing.

“Maybe they like being tall.”

“Platform sneakers exist. Wedges exist. Sensible block heels exist. Those chunky things that look like orthopedic equipment for fashionable astronauts.” Jones cracked a seed with surgical precision. “The stiletto isn’t about height. It’s about violence.”

“Violence.”

“Think about it. Historically, women couldn’t carry weapons. Swords, daggers, frowned upon. Very unlady-like. But shoes?” Jones gestured broadly, scattering shells. “Nobody regulates footwear. So some genius says, what if we put a three-inch steel spike on a pump and call it couture?”

“That’s actually not terrible.”

“I’m occasionally not terrible. Mark the calendar.”

The radio crackled. Static. The universe’s way of saying nothing was happening, and nothing would happen.

“You know they were daggers first,” Jones said. “Fifteenth century. Little needle-point shivs for punching through armor gaps.”

Jack checked the monitor. Still dark. “We are not talking about fashion history.”

“It’s tactical history. ‘Stiletto’ comes from stilus. The little metal spike Romans used for writing.” Jones pointed a shell at Jack. “It literally means ‘angry pen.’ The shoe is just a knife you can walk in.”

“You made that up.”

“Look it up. CIA even tried to weaponize them in the fifties. Program called Stiletto Rose. Pop-out blades in the heel.”

“Bullshit.”

“Swear to God. Total failure. Mechanics didn’t work. But someone tried.” Jones grinned. “Boredom is the mother of weapons development.”

Jack massaged his temples.

“Your ex-wife had stilettos, didn’t she?”

“Louboutins. Red soles. Cost more than my first car.” Jones found a seed worthy of consumption. “She never wore them. Kept them in the box. I asked why. She said they weren’t for wearing, they were for knowing she could wear them.”

“That explains the divorce.”

“Many things explain the divorce. Most of them are my fault. Some of them footwear-adjacent.”

The window remained dark. Jack was developing a personal vendetta against it.

The radio crackled.

“All teams, target vehicle approaching.”

Jack grabbed the camera. Jones swept the sunflower seeds aside.

“Finally,” Jones said. “I had a whole bit about platform shoes being siege equipment.”

“Save it.”

“Battering rams for the fashion-forward.”

“I will leave you here.”

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About Author Basar Gorur:

Başar Görür;

Writes geopolitical techno-thrillers grounded in institutions, leverage, and the real mechanics behind modern power. He has a BA degree in International Relations.

During his military service, he served on the personal staff of the Commander of the War Academies, working directly for a four-star air force general as an aide and translator. That experience informs how he writes briefings, decision cycles, and pressure under uncertainty.

He later held senior executive roles at PwC and at 3M Corporation headquarters, operating in multinational environments where cross-border incentives and capital flows shape outcomes. He now leads a private asset-management business.

Outside of work, he is a licensed captain and avid scuba diver who spends several months each year at sea and has traveled extensively. These experiences shape the Shadow Sovereign series.

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The Magical Library

By Aimee O’Brian

 

(Charmed Love, #4)
Publication date: April 16th 2026
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

In the small town of Hazard, the past never stays buried—and love may be the most powerful magic of all.

Whitney Hopewell, Hazard’s newly elected mayor and former librarian, is determined to protect the town she loves. When a smooth Boston developer offers a sleek solution to Hazard’s affordable housing crisis, she’s cautiously hopeful. Derrick Cross is charming, intelligent, and undeniably intriguing. Convincing the local innkeeper to rent him a room feels practical. Helping him with his historical research feels personal.

But Derrick hasn’t come to Hazard to help. He’s returned to settle a centuries-old score. His family’s downfall is tied to the town’s founding, and transforming Hazard’s quaint charm into soulless urban sprawl is his long-planned revenge. Falling for the woman fighting to save it threatens everything.

As Whitney and Derrick grow closer, sensing a deep connection neither can explain, secrets surface. A hidden tunnel, a looming hurricane, and a magical heritage quilt that reveals dreams of true love force them to confront history, heartbreak, and desire.

This enchanting small-town, enemies-to-lovers romance weaves family feuds, magical realism, and heartfelt emotion into a story about forgiveness, fate, and choosing love over vengeance.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Whitney looked up and up at the tall, dark-eyed man before her, and her heart beat just a tad faster…well, galloped actually, even as she sought to rein in her reaction. What was it about this man?

The man of her dreams.

She shook her head at the thought. Ridiculous! Obviously, she needed more sleep. She drew in a sharp breath and gripped her desk to pull herself together.

“Good afternoon, Mayor Whit.” The quick flash in his dark eyes told her he was mocking her. But to be fair, she had mixed feelings about the moniker she’d been gifted by the town.

She gave a small headshake. “Stop.” She motioned at the guest chair. “Have a seat, Mr. Cross.”

His eyes took in the vinyl-upholstered, armless chair. It wasn’t the most inviting, looking as if it was there by design to discourage lengthy visitations.

With a glance at her, he sat, leaned back, and steepled his fingers.

Aware of his penetrating gaze, Whitney looked down and arranged the papers scattered over her desk into neat little piles. “I haven’t finished studying the bids yet. Your visit is premature.” She swallowed, hard.

He raised a brow.

Whitney cleared her throat. “What I mean…”

“I know exactly what you mean.” He directed his attention on her now neat stacks of documentation. “Do you have any questions? Concerns I might…alleviate?”

Whitney caught her breath and stopped herself from leaning forward. He was being persuasive, cajoling, and for an instant, it had worked.

And that just irked her.

Oh, not that he’d employ tried-and-true sales techniques on her, but that such behavior was beneath him. She recognized in him a strength and a clarity of thought that rivalled her own. The man exuded decisiveness. This conciliatory manner didn’t suit, not at all, and worse, it chafed at her.

Fine…he wanted to play? She would take charge of the meeting. “Tell me why you believe H.A.S. Homes is our best option for the housing mandate?”

He raised a brow and launched, running down the superiority of the company over all others. This was better; biased, certainly, but a presentation of definitive ideas on what H.A.S. would bring to the community of Hazard.

And yet, even when he was outlining all the reasons she should choose his bid over all the others, something tickled the back of her mind until, in a flash, it became clear why it wasn’t quite right. Everything he said only highlighted what Mackenna had called his designs—cookie-cutter. “Your designs are unimaginative.” The words popped out at his pause before she could edit her thoughts. With the words flung out there, his pause lengthened, and Whitney held her breath. Would he fill the silence?

Or should she?

Before she could come up with something to say to lessen the impact of her last comment, he spoke. “Is that what you need? Imagination?” She heard the subtle teasing, as if she had missed entirely what she should have been focused on. “How about, instead,” and now his tone grew serious, “how about homes people can afford?” He had a point, and Whitney was willing to concede him that, but she missed the enthusiasm he had exhibited before, and his next words dampened his entire presentation, as recrimination hovered within them. “This town has imagination to spare. What you need is the practical.”

Did she? Because Whitney felt like she lived her life in the practical and what she craved was creativity. She released a slow sigh. She couldn’t help it. She tried to keep the disappointment off her face. Ah, well, balance then, she thought. What she said was, “Is that right?”

Silence stretched between them.

Whitney felt unbalanced suddenly, talking to him alone in her office. What had been businesslike before now felt intimate, just the two of them intent on each other. She found herself hyperaware of his masculinity, seated as he was, a mere three feet from her on the other side of her teakwood desk. She gave a tiny cough. “Well, I need more time, and the council hasn’t met to discuss the bids yet. We will vote.”

“At the next city council meeting.” His gaze on her was unwavering.

“Of course.”

“In a month.”

She nodded.

“So…”

He was watching her, waiting. She shifted in her chair. Suddenly, despite the air conditioning blasting out of the vents, the room was too warm, the heat of summer overwhelming. She had no idea now what she could give him. It wasn’t her place to make promises on how the council would vote. She…needed a moment. “I’m going to walk to the library and let everything you shared with me settle in. I’ll consider your points and study the bids again tonight.”

“Over dinner?”

Her eyes jerked back up to his, even as they both stood. She placed a hand on her desk to maintain her balance. “Dinner?”

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About Author Aimee O’Brian:

Having lived in both California and Texas, award-winning author Aimee O’Brian now resides in the beautiful wine country where she writes dark, sexy, funny romance. With her three children grown and experiencing their own adventures, she and her husband are free to explore the world. When she’s not reading, writing, or planting even more flowers in her garden, she can be found stomping through ancient ruins and getting lost in museums.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / X

 

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Everyone Is Perfect Here by Jane Haseldine Banner

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EVERYONE IS PERFECT HERE
by Jane Haseldine
April 6 – May 1, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
There’s no such thing as perfect.

To the outside world, English professor Carly Bennett is a rising star…. poised, confident and on a fast-track to success. But behind her professional facade lies a childhood shattered by betrayal and her mother’s mysterious death.

Fifteen years earlier, Carly was shipped off to boarding school after being accused of threats she never made and exiled by her beloved mother and wealthy stepfamily. Throughout, Carly clung to her one ally, her stepbrother Julien…. until she discovered he masterminded her downfall.

Julien, now a psychiatrist, reappears in Carly’s life, apologetic and bearing news: before a fatal break-in, Carly’s mother planned to bring Carly home. Vindicated, Carly investigates her mother’s cold case. But doing so unearths memories that cause Carly to question her sanity and finally face the truth.

Was she responsible for her mother’s murder or is something more sinister at play in her former stepfamily’s still perfect world?

Praise for Everyone Is Perfect Here:

“This tense psychological thriller, where nothing is as it seems, will keep you on edge until the final reveal” ~ Kirkus Reviews

“This was a well-written and complex drama that immediately grabbed my attention, quickly becoming a page-turner as I had to know how this was going to end.” ~ Dru Ann Love, Agatha, Anthony & Macavity Award-Winning Author, Raven Award Recipient

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Suspense

Published by: Severn House Publication Date: April 7, 2026 Number of Pages: 301 ISBN: 9781448320127 (ISBN10: 1448320127)

Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Severn House

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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ONE
Present Day, Los Angeles Carly Bennett

Light blue on dirty blonde.

Creative writing professor Carly Bennett did a quick scan of her face from its reflection in the window that overlooked the University of Southern California quad and smoothed a crease in her pencil skirt.

If Carly had known that the dean of the English department would schedule a last-minute meeting with her, she would’ve picked a better outfit than one that screamed, “I had no time to take this to the cleaner, so I ran a fast iron over it. But thank God the skirt is black so no one can see the stain from when my coffee cup lid jimmied its way free this morning.”

Nothing like near first-degree burns on your thigh from an errant Starbucks Pike to jolt a person awake during LA’s slog of a commute. No matter. Here she was. And she’d be ready. Even though she needed to master her prep on the fly. Carly turned the corner to the English department’s Office of the Dean and forged through her speaking points that she’d deliver to her boss, Bert Scanlon. “Making the LA Times’s ‘Thirty-Under-Thirty’ list was a complete surprise, but I’m so happy that the article will shine a spotlight on the great work our team is doing under your leadership.” Ack. Too mealy-mouthed. Plus, it made her sound like a big-headed brown-noser. And nobody likes that person. “Thank you for the kind words. Please know how much I appreciate that you believe in me, and I swear, I won’t let you down.” Better, and that sentiment was from the heart. Carly pictured her face, front and center on the page when she’d pulled up the LA Times story that morning and hoped that the people she used to know from her early Malibu days saw it too. Elitist jerks. As for herself, Carly had read the write-up, over and over, until she could now recite it in perpetuity. Carly passed by the USC English department’s wall of fame, which showcased its students’ esteemed awards through the years. She paused when she saw her name, capturing a moment in time from freshman year. Her: scared to near speechlessness amongst the far cooler co-eds but finding strength behind her pen. Winner of the 2018 Undergraduate Writing Prize—First Place: Carly Bennett Had she really come this far? Most would’ve marked her a losing bet at age twelve, her personal line of demarcation, but sometimes, even dark horses can come from behind and win the whole damn thing. Four. Three. Two. One. “You got this,” Carly whispered. She reached for the security of her inhaler in her briefcase and entered Scanlon’s office. Gretchyn Olson, a middle-aged woman with salt-and-pepper hair was working the phone with precision. She held up a single finger when she saw Carly. While she waited, Carly continued to clutch her briefcase in one hand and placed the other behind her back, where she dug a fingernail into a stray cuticle. After a beat, Scanlon’s assistant put the call on hold. “They’re waiting for you,” Gretchyn said. “Hang in there, kid. Sometimes, you need to play the game.” They? And what game was she talking about? Carly’s neck felt hot, but she made certain she was smiling when she entered the office, where she locked eyes with Scanlon, who rose to greet her. Scanlon had a Mr. Clean, shiny bald head, and his stomach struggled to stay behind the confines of the clasped gold buttons of his tweed coat. Seated across from the dean of the English department was an unfamiliar male, who was well dressed, neatly manicured, and appeared to be in his early fifties. Carly shot the stranger an equally polite smile. Who was this guy? “Miss Bennett, thank you for taking time to swing by under such short notice,” Scanlon said. “Of course, sir.” Maybe the man was another reporter from the paper who covered the education beat and was writing a follow-up article on the English department. “I don’t believe you’ve met Franklin Yeager. You taught Frank’s son, Landon, last semester.” In that moment, Carly felt like someone had jabbed an ice pick into her high-flying helium balloon. The room became very still as Carly struggled to find the appropriate response. “In all due respect, if this is about my former student, I think any further discussion should be held in private and between the administration, but I was under the impression the incident and disciplinary action had been decided,” Carly said. A robotic delivery, but at least she got the words out. “There’ve been some developments that have been brought to my attention. I asked Frank to come in so we could clear the air, so to speak,” Scanlon said. “Please, sit, Miss Bennett.” Carly kept her place, arms folded, standing above the men, but when Scanlon cleared his throat, she acquiesced and found a seat next to her former student’s father. “Landon didn’t plagiarize the paper,” Yeager said. Yes, he did! Carly wanted to scream. Instead, she slipped her hands underneath her legs, in case her palms started to sweat. “If my son did cheat, I’d be the first to request that USC boot him out the door on his fanny,” Yeager continued. “But I know my kid, and I also know a liar, and Landon is beside himself over this false accusation. I’ll be honest with you, when Landon first told me about the whole mess, I was ready to call my lawyer, but since Bert is an old friend, I thought, why not try and hash things out man-to-man first.” She had to respond. The words were there, ready to make her point, if only she could find the ability and the guts to say them. “But he did ch-ch-cheat,” Carly said, despising the catch in her voice. When was the last time she’d stuttered? Probably a year ago, during her annual review with Scanlon. She wondered if the universe would grant her a reprieve, and somehow the two men hadn’t picked up on her residual speech impediment, which still ambushed her in the worst possible moments, rising like an unkillable weed despite all her years of work to get rid of it. She shot a glance at Yeager, whose mouth had turned up into a bow that resembled a smirk or, worse, pity. If she were going down, at least she had to throw a punch. “I want all my students to excel, and if they need extra time on an assignment, they know I’ll give it to them, and my door is always open if they need additional help. But the paper Landon wrote was a complete replica of one I received from a different student last year. We’re talking down to the semicolon.” Carly looked to Scanlon, hoping for some back-up, but the dean kept his focus on Yeager. “Then it wasn’t a case of cheating but purely accidental on Landon’s part,” Yeager said. “Or is the word coincidental? You’re the English whizzes in here, and I’m a businessman who wouldn’t know a semicolon from a hyphen, but I do know mistakes can be made, even by well-meaning young professors. How long have you been a teacher? You look more like a co-ed than a professor, and I mean that in the most complimentary of ways.” Yeager chuckled, sounding to Carly like the laugh was cover so he wouldn’t sound like a creep. Too late. Carly fought to speak up and defend herself. But she remained still and silent, stuck between two powerful, rich males who were doing a very fine job of reeling in the young, errant female who didn’t know her place. “This is my second year at USC.” “Miss Bennett is still relatively new to our school as a professor, but she’s a rising star in our English department and did quite well as a student here before joining our professional fold.” The heat that Carly had felt in her neck earlier had now exploded into a full-blown, five-alarm inferno, despite Scanlon throwing her a pseudo-bone. Carly had crossed her legs and put a hand to her throat to try and cover her growing rash when she noticed Yeager was staring at something on the bottom of her black high heel. Whatever it was seemed to give him great satisfaction. “Mr. Scanlon . . .” Carly pleaded, but the dean interrupted. “I appreciate that you hold your students to the highest of standards, as you should, but since Frank is a trusted friend to the school, this time, we’ll expunge the previous disciplinary action and wipe the slate clean. Landon can resubmit the assignment and finish up the course through independent study, so he won’t lose credit. I have your word that Landon will be more careful in his work going forward, Frank?” “You bet. My kid is a good boy, and I knew we could wrangle this problem to the ground. You have my word on my kid and on my continued support. Generations of Yeagers have supported this school, and we’ll continue the tradition. “Fight on for ol’ SC, our men fight on to victory!” Yeager warbled, hitting the notes of the USC fight song slightly off-key but with great confidence in his delivery. When Yeager stood to shake the dean’s hand, Carly looked to the bottom of her high heel and saw a Macy’s close-out sale sticker still affixed to its outsole. Her previous high-flying balloon was now bits of spent plastic that an entitled rich boy and his adult minions had tossed into the dumpster. “No hard feelings, OK? New teachers can make mistakes with the best of them,” Yeager said. He extended his hand to Carly. You sold your integrity for a buck, and to a total cheese bag when you know I’m right! Carly wanted to scream to Scanlon. Instead, Carly remained quiet and stared at Yeager’s outstretched hand. Scanlon cleared his throat again. “Miss Bennett, the matter has been settled,” Scanlon answered. The dean’s eyes narrowed, and Carly followed his cue. She reached for Yeager’s hand, gave it a quick shake, and regretted it the second her skin touched Yeager’s. “That will be all, Miss Bennett.” This was so unfair. She had to stand her ground. “Is there something else you wanted to say?” Scanlon pressed. Carly paused, searching for the words. They were right there, but when she jumped from the platform to catch the brass ring, she missed and spiraled into freefall. “Miss Bennett?” Scanlon asked. “Th–th–th–thank you, sir.” She couldn’t remember leaving the office, but there she was, back in the lobby. Carly hurried past Gretchyn, and by the time she reached the corridor, she was certain that she heard the two men laughing from behind the office door. “HA! HA! HA! HA! HA!” * After escaping the humiliation-fest in Scanlon’s office, Carly lowered her head so she wouldn’t have to make eye contact, or worse, engage in fake, idle chitchat after her fall, and continued her fast walk to the USC faculty bathroom. She had ten minutes until her advanced creative writing class started, which was threading the needle a bit, but the familiar vice was constricting her chest, and if she didn’t take a pull from her inhaler soon, she’d be in the throes of a full-fledged, not to mention very public, asthma attack. She struggled for air and rushed into an open stall. Once inside, she slammed the door, snatched her inhaler from her briefcase, and gave it a quick shake. She heard the familiar whistling sound coming from her throat and shoved her rescue inhaler into her mouth. Feeling like a five-hundred-pound man was now sitting on her chest, Carly fought to stay calm. She closed her eyes, forced herself to hold her breath for the requisite ten seconds between puffs and prayed for the corticosteroid to kick in. When the tightness in her lungs loosened, she could see, plain as day, her old practice phrase, the one she’d started reciting at boarding school to help conquer her stutter. When her breathing steadied to a normal inhale-in, exhale-out, she whispered the words aloud to find her center. “The girl wore her hair in two braids, tied with two blue bows.” Not bad. Her voice was clear and strong this time, unlike her herky-jerky performance earlier. How had she let herself choke, and on such an epic scale? Feeling like she was no longer dry-drowning from her asthma attack, Carly took one more hit of her inhaler. She squeezed the metal canister and pictured Scanlon’s and Yeager’s mugs, having a big old chuckle at her expense. “Never again,” Carly whispered, not quite believing it, but at least it was a start. She rose from crouching position in the stall, straightened her shoulders, and then shot her middle finger in the air. “That’s bravery right there, giving the bird to a restroom door instead of standing up for yourself. Next time will be different.” Carly exited the stall and was relieved to see the faculty bathroom was still empty. She splashed cold water from the sink onto her face, then patted her sticky armpits with a wad of paper towels from the dispenser on the wall. A poor girl’s spa day. Having no idea how much time had passed since the start of her asthma attack, Carly worried that she was late for her next class. She grabbed her phone from her briefcase to check the time and gasped. On the home screen was a photo memory, which captured a hoped-for promise never to come. Carly ran her finger over the image of her mother and studied her twelve-year-old self. The photo had been taken by her then soon-to-be stepbrother Julien, on the day she’d met him and the rest of the Whites. A pang of melancholy cut through her. Everybody would’ve believed her if she were a rich boy. *** Excerpt from Everyone Is Perfect Here by Jane Haseldine. Copyright 2026 by Jane Haseldine. Reproduced with permission from Jane Haseldine. All rights reserved.

 

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About Author Janet Haseldine:

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Jane Haseldine

Jane Haseldine is a journalist, former crime reporter, columnist, and newspaper editor, and has also worked in politics as the deputy director of communications for a governor. Jane is the author of the Julia Gooden mystery series from Kensington Publishing and her upcoming domestic suspense novel, Everyone is Perfect Here, from Severn House.

Catch Up With Our Author:

www.JaneHaseldine.com Amazon Author Profile Goodreads BookBub – @JaneHaseldine Instagram – @janehaseldineauthor X – @janeeyre77 Facebook – @janehaseldinebooks

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Tour Participants:

Click through the other tour stops for can’t-miss reviews, insider interviews, exclusive guest posts, and more chances to win! Click here to view the Tour Schedule

 

 

Where Not‑So‑Perfect Secrets = Perfect Prizes
This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Jane Haseldine. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

. EVERYONE IS PERFECT HERE by Jane Haseldine | Gift Cards Can’t see the giveaway? Click Here!

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Royal Mayhem

By Samantha Jayne Grubey

 

Publication date: April 15th 2026
Genres: New Adult, Romance

Part one of a duet.

Melinda Brown doesn’t want much in life, graduate university and survive.

Prince Alexander has everything, surrounded be riches and spoilt to the core. Everything he’s ever wanted has been at the tip of his finger due to his prestigious status as future King of England.

Despite coming from two different worlds, they share the same university. One day everything changes when the two crash into each other’s lives, literally.

As they both enter each other’s worlds, they’re forced to make compromises for the sake of their growing attraction.

Will Melinda and Alexander be able to win people with their love, especially when it becomes clear that they both hide secrets? Or will Prince Alexander by denied for the first time by the first woman that he truly wants? Not everything is as it seems in Royal Mayhem.

Goodreads / Amazon

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Rolling onto my side, I was met with thin air falling to the floor letting out a groan as I hit the floor.

How did I fall out of bed?

I opened my eyes seeing I was in the living room. The memories of last night finally came rushing back to me. We had been binge-watching my favourite reality television show and fell asleep.

Looking behind me, Alex was still fast asleep. He looked so peaceful. With him asleep, I had time to admire him without him knowing it. It had taken a bit for Alex to get comfortable after the incident again. I could tell he was fighting with himself. There must’ve been a huge part of him that wanted to run and hide, whilst the other part of him wanted to stay.

What scared me the most is that I wanted to know both of those parts of him. The good, the bad, and the ugly. I wanted to know it all. I wanted to know him.

Then, there’s the secret.

Could I cope with not knowing what his secret was?

It was obvious he had one, no adult had a grown babysitter without a reason. The security that had suddenly appeared around the campus, it all coincides with when Alex started at university.

I couldn’t figure out what the reason was.

Did he have a famous and important family?

Was he secretly a political figure?

Would I end up hurt?

I wanted to google him so bad. I reached for my phone, opening up the browser and stared at it.

Could I break my promise?

I told him I wouldn’t.

I let out a groan, throwing my phone back on the sofa.

I stood up, made my way to the bathroom, and showered quickly. I wrap the towel around me heading to the bedroom changing into some clean clothes. My body ached so much. Sleeping on a small sofa with someone else was not the best way to sleep.

After finishing getting ready, I made my way downstairs, Alex was still asleep on the sofa, and into the kitchen. I grabbed a can out of the fridge, opening it and taking a small sip.

Maybe I should prepare some breakfast.

I know Alex brought breakfast things I couldn’t believe he went shopping for me. I don’t think anyone would top what he did for me. I walked into the living room and saw he was sitting up looking confused.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” he said. “I was really confused about where I was then.”

“Do you often wake up at random houses not knowing who you’re with?” I asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Not happened in a few years,” he admitted. “Do you have plans today?”

I shook my head.

“Do you want to go on that date?”

“I’d love to.” Butterflies filled my stomach, this was my first real date.

“Great,” he smiled. “I’m going to go home and then I’ll come pick you up” he looked at his phone “around midday if that’s alright with you?”

“Yeah, that sounds good,” I said. He stood up, stretching his arms out.

I made my way over to the door and let him out. “I’ll see you soon.”

“Yes, you will. Just so you know, I had fun last night,” he said.

“Me, too.”

He got into his car and drove off.

I headed into the living room, grabbing my phone.

Megan answered straight away. “If this isn’t life or death, I’m going to fucking kill you, Melinda,” she mumbled.

“Does Alex asking me on a date count?”

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About Author Samantha Jayne Grubey:

Samantha Jayne Grubey is an author of new adult romance.

When she’s not writing or reading, she will be playing sims or doing some diamond art and if she isn’t doing any of that she could be pole dancing or most likely working.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / TikTok / X

 

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

 

Nocturne

By Tricia D. Wagner

 

Publication date: April 14th 2026
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

In NOCTURNE, sixteen-year-old Livi learns the truth of who she is—a Siren, her people known only to legends. She must learn to master her powers of influence, strength, and destruction to stop a warmongering Admiral from drafting her best friends, capturing and killing her people, and decimating her homeland of Nocturne.

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks / Kobo

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Livi stood before the tavern’s bleak threshold, its heavy door cobbled of wrecked ships.

She peered through its ragged window, quieting the wiser part of her, an inner voice calling for her to turn back. And truly, she was stunned that she’d mustered the daring to try this.

There were dozens of men here—sailors all brooding over their flagons, many looking to be harboring grudges.

The tavern’s splintery walls were studded with trophies—toothy payaras, dry in their death throes, tacked beneath golden portraits of infamous Korps Mariner ships and their dread captains.

The men frequenting this sand-dusted, fish-pongy tavern—The Orphic, were the sun-beaten sailors and damaged soldiers of Merritaine, mercenaries and relieved fighters who’d reached the shore of old age still breathing.

No one dared step a toe in The Orphic unless he bore epic tales—bloody acts of acclaim on the baleful blue seas.

Many here had killed. Some for honorable causes in noble wars, yes. But they’d killed.

For all their savagery, though, they were brave.

Livi had heard enough stories to understand them as uniformly dauntless and skilled. If anyone could help her skip Merritaine’s coast and reach Nocturne, he’d be drinking here.

Through the brume of pipe smoke, she measured each face for hints of affability. Or at least for traces of good humor—signs that someone might consider her offer. If she could just single out one sailor more approachable than not, perhaps she could move to him unnoticed.

But that wouldn’t happen. Women scarcely set foot here, and sixteen-year-old girls certainly didn’t.

A few of the sailors came across as jovial—but even they harbored an undercurrent of trouble in their looks, their ease striking like a gusty southerly bathing the seaside, forecasting a typhoon’s assault.

The afternoon seemed all at once to grow late, a shaft of misted sunlight sluicing through the windows and casting the place in watery relief.

In fixing on that panorama of ocean, Livi could almost see Nocturne’s peaks in the deep west, its moonstone shores marbled with the shadowy ash given by its volcanic chain.

Those heights, she had to reach. For it was said that Nocturne’s high places were hived with sea caves—chambers shining with waters rumored to have healing properties.

Some believed those springs could stave off even death.

Livi eased from her jacket a small jar of pearls, each perfect, as plump as a blueberry—these a mere sampling of the trove she’d collected. They ought to be more than enough to buy passage to Nocturne from someone here bearing the skill, and the gall, and the ship, and the time to set sail for the Isles, along with some assurance that he could ferry her through storms, over waters where lurked sharks and killer whales and squids that tore up boats, and finally beyond the dread Maelstroms.

Livi had imagined this moment many times—making her bold approach in The Orphic, striking a deal. She’d imagined that arriving at this brink would feel like the onset of her escape.

But in finally standing here, readying to approach men alleged to be the most barbarous in Merritaine, the idea seemed beyond reckless.

Célian, her best friend—maybe more—would be sick at the thought of her here. And truly, in darkening this threshold, she felt she was skimming the rim of the Maelstroms, those great whirlpools unceasing in their churning, twisting what strayed near straight down in a tempest, claiming ships and seafarers alike as a part of themselves.

The bright Merrow Ocean glinting in, though, delivered some steadfastness. For at the sight of its rolling, Livi could gather a sense of what it might feel like, teaming with someone here, cruising on his scabrous ship to the treacherous west.

A man seated at the tavern’s back corner stood out a touch.

He looked a decade younger than the rest, and he had all his limbs, which was saying something. He seemed not resentful, or affable, or angry—just somber. His solemnity made it clear that he wanted to be left to himself.

But it also lent an impression of patience. Maybe he’d listen.

She edged open the tavern’s door and crept in. She eased behind a column in the entryway and held still.

She’d have to get to the somber man quick. If she drew too much attention, the barkeep—a tall man, his eyes sharp to check all the action, his manner busy and swift with his bottles—would cast her out before she could lay down one word of her offer.

Or worse—he’d let the men handle the disruption.

Livi stepped from the shade, into the amber light of the tavern.

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About Author Tricia D. Wagner:

As a young reader, writers were like gods and goddesses to now author Tricia D. Wagner. She never could have imagined weaving tales like her favorite storytellers, until a fateful April dinner conversation with her husband about a lecture he attended got her mind whirling. By the end of that summer, she’d written 400,000 words: a speculative fiction trilogy. Wagner felt as if she’d emerged from a cocoon as some new sort of creature. She was hooked.

It was important to Tricia to sharpen her skills, and she immersed herself in workshops, guides, and writing communities, learning from editors how to hone her craft. She did this for years, and the result is her newly released novella The Strider and the Regulus, two independently published novelettes, four soon-to-be published novellas, and five as yet unpublished novels. She found writing to be a method for becoming the person she felt she was born to be. Wagner finds that writing inspires her to be a better person, truer to herself.

The ideas and substance of Tricia’s writing comes from a very deep place that is strongly stimulated by setting. Often, when she has completed a story, she feels as if she’s been to her story world, whether it’s on the map or not. She likes to believe all the places she writes about exist somewhere, somehow.

In writing her stories, Wagner was surprised and delighted to discover how real the characters become to an author; that for many writers, their characters end up as their most treasured friends. She loves to delve into them to mine their natures, secrets, and desires—to tell their stories with the legitimacy they deserve. In studying her characters, she finds she has the opportunity to shape herself, inching closer to the person she wants to become.

Wagner believes revision is magical in its power to make a good book great, and early drafts are only the beginning of a story’s journey. Any idea can wind up a good story, but with reflection and time and improvement, it can become art. Once Wagner completes a revision project, it feels miraculous how many fresh approaches have manifested and how much truer the story feels.

Wagner hopes her readers feel enchanted when they read her stories; that after completing one, it seems they’re drifting out from under a spell. This is exactly how she feels when she finishes writing a story. She hopes to that her writing might expand their minds, spirits, and worlds a bit, and she hope they fall in love with her characters and are moved by her artistry of language.

When she isn’t writing poignant works of literary fiction, Wagner is a Director of Adult Education – ESL Programs at a community college, a job and staff that she loves. In her spare time she enjoys refining her writing craft to discover new angles and landscapes that might enrich her writing palette. One such example is a recent course she took in learning to read ancient Egyptian hieroglyphs, something that’s sure to end up in a story at some point. Wagner lives in Rockford, Illinois, with her husband and three darling cats.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / X

 

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Crying in the Chapel by Teresa Trent Banner

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CRYING IN THE CHAPEL
by Teresa Trent
April 6 – May 1, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
Swinging Sixties Mystery Series

  It’s August 1965, and Dot Morgan is finally getting married to the dashing reporter Ben Dalton. Her wedding day, August 14th, promises to be perfect—if only it didn’t follow Friday the 13th. What could go wrong? Planning a wedding with the members of the Camden Chapel, Dot thinks she’s overwhelmed, but then it gets worse when a body is found on the church lawn. Dot decides to focus on her wedding to Ben, but when police reveal the victim didn’t jump from the belfry he was pushed—she can no longer look away. Her suspects aren’t hardened criminals; they’re the same church members who bring casseroles and ask about her family. With her wedding day fast approaching, Dot must unmask a killer hiding in plain sight, or the secrets of Camden Chapel will remain buried in the summer heat.

 

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Book Details:

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Genre: Cozy Historical Mystery

Published by: Level Best Books – Historia Imprint Publication Date: March 10, 2026 Number of Pages: 174 Pbk ISBN: 979-8-89820-167-8 Series: Swinging Sixties Mystery Series, Book 5 || Each is a Stand-Alone Mystery

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

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Mystery Series

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Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub   Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub   Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub   Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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I entered the empty chapel holding a white leather bridal planning notebook, gifted to me by my own mother. The sturdy three-ring notebook held sections for guest lists, food, and the venue, and in the back pocket, my mother had included a small book from Emily Post, the etiquette goddess, on how to handle anything from duplicate gifts to late guests. Parts of the book were straight out of the Fifties, and things modern people in the Sixties rarely adhered to, but somehow it was good to have a book to tell me where the forks went in a place setting or how to properly plan a big event. Turns out, wedding planning involves a million different decisions, and today, I was working on the flowers. I decided my primary flower would be white daisies with other flowers worked in around them. I wanted the bouquets, the church, and the reception to be bursting with Gerber daisies. The best part was, they would also be on my wedding gown. The Camden Chapel sanctuary was relatively small and could hold up to one hundred and fifty people. There were classrooms and offices situated on the other side of the church, and surprisingly, there were three floors. It had been a big building project for a town as small as Camden, but hope springs eternal that the heathens from the Dallas area will choose to commute and live in our bedroom community. My assignment from Vernice was to pick up frames that would hook onto the pews to allow the florist to arrange flowers on the end of each row. After retrieving the frames, I was to deliver them to Lily Salem, the florist. Ben suggested her because he knew her from the private school they both attended. She had recently moved to town and opened Lily’s of the Field at the end of Main Street. For decades, Camden’s only flower shop was Henley Flowers, and they were still going strong. When I worked at the funeral home, I had daily chats with Gertrude Henley, and they were excellent at delivering on time. It would be tough for a new flower shop to get established in Camden, but we hoped our wedding would give Lily’s new business some good exposure. Up front, standing on a metal stepladder, was Earl Gunther, the church caretaker. Vernice told me to ask him about these contraptions she called pew hooks. Earl was in his late fifties, with a slightly receding hairline that lent itself more to white than grey. He wore brown overalls with black buckles over a tan button-down shirt. He was replacing a lightbulb in the fixture that hung from the vaulted ceiling. His hand rested on the top of the ladder as he turned the bulb in the socket. “Excuse me,” I said in a quiet voice, not wanting to make him jump and possibly fall off the ladder. At his age, a fall could do some damage. “Are you Earl?” “Yes, ma’am. How can I help you?” His voice was gentle and measured, like a kindly grandfather. “Vernice told me you could get some pew hooks out of the closet somewhere?” He descended the ladder. “Are you the new florist or the bride-to-be?” I blushed. In the last month, I had picked up a new name. People now referred to me as the bride before they used my name. They grinned at me when they said it and I wondered what they were thinking. “I’m the bride. I’m Dot Morgan.” “Nice to meet you.” He put a finger to his temple and repeated my name. “Dot Morgan. Why does that name ring a bell?” “I’m not sure. I’m not a member here. My fiancé is Ben Dalton.” He shook his head. “No. That’s not it.” He stepped back slightly and focused on my face. Suddenly, he snapped his fingers. “That’s it. I saw your picture in the paper. I have a knack for remembering things. That’s what made me a good patrolman so many years ago. People would say stuff, mostly drunk people who were trying to drive, and then forget what they said. I didn’t forget.” “You were a policeman?” “Oh yes. Twenty-five years. I joined the force after a stint in the army. I mostly did patrol. I’ve brought half this town to the drunk tank, and I know about every husband and wife who fight so much that the neighbors call, too. I retired back in ’57. So, how do I know about you?” As he observed me like a man looking for a piece to a jigsaw puzzle, I shifted from one foot to the other. I was never comfortable when someone connected me to those articles. I had been in the paper several times, mostly having to do with catching killers. The thought of it sounded like something out of The Fugitive on TV. Once people put it together that I was that girl, they treated me differently, and sometimes worse, even acting differently around me. They were waiting for me to find out something they might be hiding. My parents’ mailman once asked me if I knew what was happening with Mrs. Hitchcock down the street. I told him I didn’t really know her, and he laughed and said, “But I hear that when you don’t know, you have a way of finding out.” Was there something nefarious going on with Mrs. Hitchcock? I had no idea, nor did I want to find out. But the mailman imagined me as a clandestine source of information, brimming with details about the lives of Camden’s people. “Hey, Earl,” Clarence Shellhammer said from the door. “I need to talk to you about something.” He motioned for Earl to come closer. “Excuse me,” Earl said. He stepped to the back of the sanctuary, and the two men began to whisper. Clarence looked very bothered and kept pointing to the front of the church. I heard the word “pipes” and then, very clearly, that Earl needed to mind his own business. Earl nodded and whispered something I couldn’t hear. Then he smiled and patted Clarence on the arm. Clarence pulled away. And then looked over to me. “Sorry for interrupting.” As Clarence left, Earl turned and pointed a finger at me as he walked back to where we had been talking. “You were involved with that murder out at the lake. From what I read in the paper, you practically solved that case for the police.” He smiled, making friendly creases on his cheeks. “You’re a smart girl. Good to see a young woman who is as smart as she is pretty.” I wasn’t sure what to say to that, so I mumbled out a thank you. He stared at me for a few more seconds and then suddenly nodded, remembering my request. “Right. I’ll get those pew hooks for you, Detective Dot.” “Although a friend of mine is on the police, I’m not a detective, Earl. I’m just a secretary. An out-of-work secretary, right now.” Earl’s head bobbed back slightly as a look of surprise came over his features. “You’re too humble. I’m a good judge of character. And as far as just being a secretary, young lady, you just never know what you are capable of until you stop judging yourself.” As he walked away, I fought rolling my eyes at the moniker Detective Dot. How silly. Plus, I hated to admit how much I enjoyed hearing it. *** Excerpt from Crying in the Chapel by Teresa Trent. Copyright 2026 by Teresa Trent. Reproduced with permission from Teresa Trent. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Teresa Trent:

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Crying in the Chapel by Teresa Trent

Teresa Trent is the author of four different mystery series. The Swinging Sixties Series which features Dot in a small town in Texas starting in 1962. The Henry Park Series, which features Gabby, an artist in Colorado who is also psychic and The Piney Woods Series featuring Nora, a woman who came to a small town in Texas to find out she is related to many of the people there. Her first series, The Pecan Bayou Series, she started writing way back in 2011. That series has nine books and features Betsy, a woman who writes helpful hints and solves mysteries. Teresa is the voice of the Books to the Ceiling Podcast where she narrates scenes from new mysteries coming on to the market. Books to the Ceiling is featured wherever you listen to podcasts. Teresa lives in Texas with her husband and son.

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Catch Up With Teresa Trent:

TeresaTrent.com Amazon Author Profile Goodreads BookBub – @TeresaTrent Instagram – @teresatrent_cozymys Threads – @teresatrent_cozymys X – @ttrent_cozymys Facebook – @teresatrentmysterywriter

 

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Tour Participants:

Click through the other tour stops for can’t-miss reviews, insider interviews, exclusive guest posts, and more chances to win! Click here to view the Tour Schedule  

 

Here Comes The Bride… And Your Chance To Win
This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Teresa Trent. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

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Crying in the Chapel by Teresa Trent | Gift Card Can’t see the giveaway? Click Here!

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for House Of Cards organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Phillipa Mann will be awarding a $10 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

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House Of Cards

By Phillipa Mann

 

 

Genre: Memoir

Synopsis

A raw and unflinching memoir of survival, truth, and transformation. Phillippa Mann takes readers deep into the fractured world of a girl who grew up living with a monster–a world where love and fear shared the same face, and silence became a means of survival.

Through heartbreak, chaos, and betrayal, Phillippa’s voice emerges from the shadows as she begins to piece together a life that was never hers to begin with. Her journey is one of courage and reckoning, of facing the unbearable truths that shaped her, and finding strength in vulnerability.

More than a story of pain, House of Cards is a testament to the power of healing and self-forgiveness. It reminds every survivor that bringing hidden truths into the light is not the end – it’s the beginning of reclaiming your story and rebuilding the foundation of who you were always meant to be.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

As I embarked on this new chapter of motherhood and marriage, I began to re-evaluate some of the stories I had been told since childhood. How could my dad have been in bed with another man if he was married to my mother? And if he was gay, why would he marry my stepmom and then later adopt my little brother, further building a life with her? It didn’t even make sense in my mind.

He often reminisced about our family camping trips and his visits to us. I recall wondering whether his twin brother had merely shared those memories with him and why he had not wanted to see us when we were little, as it was obviously my dad I was visiting as I got older. Eventually, I mustered the courage to initiate a conversation with him. When my baby was approximately six months old, I wrote a letter to my dad expressing my need to ask him some questions and inquiring if he would be willing to visit for a discussion. He promptly called me upon receiving the letter to arrange a time for his visit.

I had prepared a list of inquiries, including whether he had been unfaithful to my mother, if she had discovered him in bed with another person (I lacked the courage to specify it was with a man), and whether he had a twin brother named Christian. He firmly denied all these allegations. Part of me wishes I had probed further or engaged in a more profound dialogue regarding my concerns; there was so much to unravel from those topics, yet at that moment, I felt content with the answers I received. For a while, I did not dwell on it too much, as I was preoccupied with my new baby.

I returned to work a few afternoons each week, and my nan would take the bus to my home to care for my son. I recall one day returning home to find his diaper on backward, and I thought about how challenging it must have been for her to fasten the sticky tabs at the back. My nan was an incredibly kind woman, and my son was undoubtedly the apple of her eye; she clearly cherished her time spent with him, and I wish she had been around longer to watch all my children grow up.

 

About Author Phillipa Mann:

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Phillippa Mann is a Canadian author who is passionate about helping others find healing through shared experience.

Her memoir, House of Cards:

Surviving Munchausen by Proxy and a Mother’s Web of Lies, explores the emotional journey of growing up in chaos and reclaiming strength through forgiveness and self-discovery.

Family is at the heart of everything Phillippa does. She and her husband share a love of creating together, and their children and grandchildren inspire her every day to live with gratitude, laughter, and purpose. When she’s not writing, Phillippa can be found playing with her Corgi, Glenn, crafting handmade gifts, baking cookies and cupcakes for her family business, Sweet Lavender Designs, which she started in memory of a dear friend.

She is currently working on her next creative project, a heartwarming children’s book titled Hop Hop and the Great Garden Adventure, inspired by the wonder and imagination of her grandchildren.

 

Website / Instagram / Amazon

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

 

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for A Real Collusion organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Stu Strumwasser will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner. Don;t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

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A Real Collusion

By Stu Strumwasser

 

 

Genre: Literary Thriller

Synopsis

A Real Collusion is about the secret conspiracy between the Republican and Democratic parties to control the US government through an illegal duopoly.

From the author of the bestselling novel, The Organ Broker, (hailed by Lee Child, New York Times # 1 bestselling author of the Jack Reacher series as, “Exciting and thought-provoking–the perfect package”) comes, A Real Collusion, a stunning political thriller and expose.

A Real Collusion is a David Vs. Goliath(s) story about a man who accidentally becomes the leader of an independent political movement that nearly takes down the two-party system in America, while exposing a conspiracy that affects the results of the 2016 election. It explores universal and deeply human themes of loss, and the tension between justice and power. In the opening sentence the narrator points out that, “Ordinary people often do extraordinary things.” The characters in the book do, and the action is driven by the fantastic events of a unique political satire. It is also the heartfelt story of regular people struggling with lost love, alienation and nearly universal disaffection who find strength in enduring loyalty and friendship

This is the story of John Campbell (a regular guy from the lower east side of Manhattan) as recounted by his friend Skip Winters. Skip becomes John’s campaign manager and later, a congressman in his own right. He narrates the stunning-but-plausible story of how John Campbell and The American Coalition race to popularity, raising over a hundred million dollars from grassroots contributors—and become a threat to the political duopoly of the Democratic and Republican parties. The book sprinkles in references to real events from recent history, and real political leaders including Trump, John McCain, and more. This imbues the novel with a sense of realism, albeit one of an alternate reality. Skip discovers a deep-seated conspiracy within our political system whose leaders orchestrate a murder, destroy his friend and tip the scales of the election. The novel turns out to be Skip’s exposé of the secret collaboration between the two major political parties in our country—a cooperation to protect the duopoly that is, in part, real.

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Enjoy this peek inside.

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“Ladies and gentlemen, my name is John Campbell, from the lower east side.”

The crowd responded with another enthusiastic round of cheers, but this time John held up his palm and said, “Please, please….” And that threw a quasi-hush over the audience.

“Thank you for coming to this little park tonight to hear me speak. Three nights ago, on the evening of July 10th, I attended our local Community Board meeting to propose that cigar smoking not be allowed on the sidewalk in front of bars and restaurants. That’s all. I was not there to critique our government and I didn’t ask for any of the attention that I have since received. I’m just like most of you, and I never anticipated that newspapers and newscasters would ever solicit my opinions on political issues. But now they’re asking, and I have decided that I have a responsibility to answer. I am not embarrassed to say… I care.”

Then, John paused. He had their rapt attention and he knew it. He looked directly at me, suddenly brimming with confidence. It might have been the kind of glance that Keith and Mick sometimes give to the roadies right before they go into the encore. I think that the feeling which washed over me then was pride. John turned back to the crowd and loudly said, “So, would you like to hear my answer?!”

Thunder from the crowd. “Yeah!” they yelled, some pumping their fists in the air.

“I won’t give it to you!” John shouted, but then quickly added, “Instead, I will give you my proposal for OUR answer!” which elicited yet another roar.

“In recent years our system of government has broken down. Everyone knows it. Washington has become caught up in never-ending partisan fighting. It was on display during the recent government shutdown. The two major political parties no longer represent us. Frankly, how could they represent the spectrum or sum total of the thoughts, feelings and will of three hundred million citizens? There is a reason that more young people now choose “Independent” than either party when they turn eighteen. The political parties today exist as little more than machines for the never-ending raising of money to combat the enormous amount of money raised by their opponents (their “enemy counter-party” or, as I prefer to refer to them: “fellow Americans.”) Let’s stop standing for it. The Democrats and Republicans currently run our nation like two petulant children fighting over which show to watch on TV and who gets to hold the remote. When one party chooses the program, the other storms out of the room. Is that really the way we want to be led?

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About Author Stu Strumwasser:

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Stu Strumwasser is a modern-day muckraker who writes literary novels that address important sociopolitical issues. His first novel, The Organ Broker, was published by Skyhorse (distributed by Simon & Schuster) and shortlisted as one of five finalists for the Hammett Prize for literary excellence in crime writing. Strumwasser was also the primary songwriter and drummer for the indie rock band Channeling Owen. He is a longtime investment professional (investing in sustainable technology that improves the manner in which we make food) and hails from Brooklyn NY. His new novel, A Real Collusion, is both an exposé and analysis of broken government and a fictional David Vs. Goliath(s) story of the man who almost took down the two-party system in America.

Website / Goodreads / Instagram / TikTok 

To read the first two chapters of the novel please visit HERE 

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Agatha Christie, She Watched by Teresa Peschel Banner

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AGATHA CHRISTIE, SHE WATCHED
by Teresa Peschel
April 6 – May 15, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
One Woman’s Plot to Watch 201 Christie Adaptations Without Murdering the Director, Screenwriter, Cast, or Her Husband

  Care to match wits with Hercule Poirot? Share tea and gossip with Miss Marple? Chase spies with Tommy and Tuppence? “Agatha Christie, She Watched” will introduce you to must-see movies (and must-avoid) dogs that prove Agatha’s genius depicting the hopeful and dark sides of human nature. These movies will tantalize you, mystify you, and make you laugh at the folly of humanity. Teresa Peschel watched and reviewed 201 adaptations, from the German silent movie “Adventures, Inc.” (1929) to “See How They Run” and “Why Didn’t They Ask Evans” (2022). Each film was rated for fidelity to the original material and its overall quality. Each review takes up two pages and comes with six cast photos, list of major actors, and known film locations. Foreign movies with English subtitles from India, France, Russia, and Japan are included. We include eight movies in which the fictional Agatha Christie solves murder mysteries, debates Poirot, battles a space wasp (in Doctor Who), and plots to kill her husband’s mistress.

“Agatha Christie, She Watched” is the only comprehensive collection of reviews about Christie adaptations. Use it to find the movies made from the novels you love, fill in your movie collection or host an Agatha Christie festival of your own.

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Praise for Agatha Christie, She Watched:

“From the German silent movie Adventures, Inc. (1929) to Why Didn’t They Ask Evans? (2022), she covers all of your favourites (including the One True Poirot) and some you may never have heard of! The level of detail and vast array of images is incredible.” ~ Labours of Hercule podcast

Book Details:

Genre: Movie & Video Reference, Movie & Video Guides & Reviews, Non-Fiction

Published by: Peschel Press Publication Date: April 7, 2023 Number of Pages: 436 pages, Paperback ISBN: 9781950347391 (ISBN10: 1950347397)

Book Links: Amazon | KindleUnlimited | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Peschel Press

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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Introduction

I’ve always been a fan of Agatha Christie, but not an obsessive one. I didn’t read and reread the novels. I didn’t go looking for obscure short stories. I didn’t read (and still haven’t) her Mary Westmacott novels. I treated her like most people did: She wrote good mysteries, and if they were handy, I read them.

Then Bill began the Complete, Annotated project by publishing Dorothy L. Sayers’ Whose Body?, followed by Agatha’s The Mysterious Affair at Styles. Over the years, as he annotated the next five of Agatha’s early novels, I read them carefully for possible footnotes. As I did, I paid more attention to her writing, her deft plotting, her sly sense of humor, and her ability to describe a character with a few sentences.

As I became more familiar with her novels, I realized that she’s underrated, probably because she was categorized as a genre writer. Some even consider her works cozies. Clearly, they never read Appointment with Death (1938), And Then There Were None (1939), or Endless Night (1967). I suspect that her Mary Westmacotts — which are described as romances — are anything but. The publishing world applies labels to make it easier for bookshops to shelve their books in the store, not because they’re accurate. In July 2020, as the world began opening up from the Covid-19 shutdowns, I was at the library, looking for a DVD to borrow. I spotted Crooked House (2017). I liked the novel, so I thought, “Why not?” Crooked House was the second Agatha Christie film adaptation I had seen. Sir Kenneth Branagh’s Murder on the Orient Express (2017) was the first. We needed fodder for the website (peschelpress.com) and I’d already been reviewing books, so I wrote a review of Crooked House. This reminded me that Bill was working on an annotated edition of The Secret of Chimneys. Was there a movie version? A review for the book would be nice. There was. It was an episode in a box set from ITV’s Marple. Oookaaaay. Having become overly familiar with Chimneys, I knew Agatha wrote it years before Miss Marple was a twinkle in her eye. But we watched it anyway. It was terrible. Bill wrote his review for The Complete, Annotated Secret of Chimneys, and I wrote mine for the website. Since the library’s Marple DVD set included three more episodes, we watched them and I reviewed them for the website. That’s when Bill said the fateful words that brought us here: “Let’s watch more Agatha films. You write the reviews. I’ll post them on the website, and we’ll publish them as a book.” So here we are nearly three years later. We had no idea how big the Agatha project would become or how many films have been made for cinema and TV. Bill and I have watched more than 200 adaptations. This includes all the English-language ones we could find beginning with Adventures, Inc. (a 1929 silent movie), and many of the foreign versions too. For those, we were limited by availability and whether or not they had English subtitles. It’s criminal neglect that some of the finest Agatha Christie film adaptations in the world are from Japan, yet they’re unavailable in the West. To my knowledge, we are the only people who’ve watched all the films. I’m definitely the only person who’s written and posted reviews for all those forgotten TV shows and kinescopes. Along the way, I became much, much more familiar with Agatha’s writing as I had to read the novels and short stories to compare them to the films. She was cutting edge from the beginning. She invented what we call The Poirot, the practice of bringing together the suspects, explaining the clues, and fingering the criminal. It was a trope born of necessity, when her first attempt — Poirot testifying at the trial — didn’t fly with her publisher. She began experimenting with narrative structure in 1924 with The Man in the Brown Suit. That novel has two narrators, one of them unreliable. Brown Suit is also a romantic thriller disguised as a mystery. Read the passage where Anne Beddingfeld administers to a mysterious, half-naked, sexy stranger’s wounds. This scene could be ripped from any romance novel of today (the sweet kind, not the spicy which would include far more detail). As a side note, the 1989 TV movie is very true to the text despite being turned into a contemporary. Agatha was an innovative writer throughout her career. Her The Seven Dials Mystery (1929) is a mash-up of P. G. Wodehouse and John Buchan thrillers. Partners in Crime (1929) is a loose cycle of 16 short stories starring Tommy and Tuppence. Each short story is also a parody of a famous mystery writer, including herself! And unlike Miss Marple and Hercule Poirot, Tommy and Tuppence aged in real time, from the young, eager lovers in The Secret Adversary (1922) to retired grandparents in Postern of Fate (1973). And what’s And Then There Were None (1939), in which 10 characters are dispatched in an entertaining manner for their sins, but a PG-rated slasher flick? As a sign of its influence, the basic plot has been lifted, the serial numbers filed off, and rewritten in dozens more novels and movies. The A.B.C. Murders (1936) is a prototypical serial killer novel. Agatha’s innovations could fill a book and go a long way to explaining why she’s still read today. The other reason is more subtle. Whatever you can say about the quality of the adaptations (like The Secret of Chimneys, bleah), they keep Agatha in the public eye. Never underestimate the importance of TV shows and movies on an author’s reputation. For each person who reads, 100 people go to the movies, and a 1,000 people watch TV. Every time an Agatha Christie film is shown, people who’ve never heard of her learn she exists. Some of them search out her books and discover how good her writing is. When a writer dies, they can vanish under the constant tsunami of books being written and published daily. Dorothy L. Sayers is a prime example. Sayers wrote at the same time as Agatha. She’s highly regarded and her books are great. But her estate, unlike Agatha’s, shows no interest in licensing her stories and novels for TV or movies. Say the phrase: “Murder at Downton Abbey,” then ask why her literary estate isn’t capitalizing on Lord Peter Wimsey, detective in the peerage and a duke’s brother. The Agatha Christie estate does not want her writing to suffer that fate, so they license her short stories and novels. Some adaptations are excellent; some are dreadful. For a few, the only commonality between novel and film is the name. Most range in between but all have something to offer, even if it’s only great period clothes, quality acting, or English Country House Porn. Linenfold paneling! Crenelated ceilings! Parquet floors as elaborate as the finest Persian carpet! Excuse me while I stop and fan myself. Watching 200+ Agatha adaptations also taught me plenty about filmmaking, pacing, and soundtracks. I can now, sometimes, recognize an actor from another adaptation. I’ve enjoyed seeing how one novel can be interpreted multiple ways, resulting in wildly different films. The Pale Horse (1961) is a good example. The three films (including Miss Marple in one!) are recognizably the same story, yet they’ve nothing to do with each other. The emphasis is different, the characters different, the tone is different. I’ve watched 13 different Poirots (including an anime version). Seven different Marples (including an anime version). Multiple Tommy and Tuppences. Each actor or actress brings something new to the character. The foreign films demonstrate how universal she is. She wrote about dysfunctional families, mapped the class divide, noticed the lengths we go to for status and security, and found reasons for murder ranging from money to passion to safety. Ironically, foreign filmmakers respect Agatha more than she is at home. Appointment with Death (1938) has been filmed three times, but the Japanese version is the only one that captures the novel’s cruelty and horror. The two English language versions fail, one moderately and one spectacularly. Of the four versions of The Mirror Crack’d From Side to Side (1962), only the Japanese version gives a voice to Margo Bence, one of Agatha’s most abused secondary characters. The other three versions ignore her because to face Margo Bence’s pain would mean admitting that the film business cares nothing for children unless they can be sold to make money. We did not watch every single foreign TV episode even when they were readily available. There just wasn’t enough time. The best we could do was see enough to convey the flavor of a given series. If you want to see them, enjoy yourself! They provide very different views of Agatha and can be rewarding. The novel that’s been adapted the most is And Then There Were None (1939). We saw ten versions, ranging from a blurry kinescope to slick studio productions with an all-star cast, so it merits its own chapter. Some versions hew to the stage play with its radically rewritten ending. Others stick to the novel, nihilism intact. Some combine the stage play and the novel, so Vera Claythorne learns who the puppet master was, begs for her life, and receives rough justice. One final warning before you go: spoilers abound, so beware! Unlike Agatha, I don’t play fair with my reviews and hide whodunnit. Where I play fair is in telling you what I thought of them. I liked films that critics panned, and I disliked films others loved. I say why. I go down sidetracks. I enjoyed myself and I hope you will too. So won’t you join me for an Agatha Christie Movie Marathon? You’ve got hundreds of hours of viewing pleasure ahead of you. Just remember to never accept a cup of tea you didn’t make, or take trips to lonely islands (or châteaus, or country houses) with strangers.
How to use this book
The films are organized by the starring detective. Miss Marple comes first, followed by Poirot, and Tommy and Tuppence. Next, a chapter is devoted exclusively to And Then There Were None, followed by the rest of the adaptations, and the final chapter is movies in which Agatha herself is the star. Each chapter opens with a photo gallery showing the actors and actresses who played her detectives and characters. There’s also an index, which is more important than it appears. Seems logical, yes? Except that some adaptations removed Agatha’s chosen detective, turning the novel into a police procedural. When that happens, the movie is not included in the detective’s chapter. It’s included in “The Rest of the Christies”. Many of the foreign adaptations fall into this category. Other adaptations (cough, ITV’s Marple, cough) insert a detective who didn’t exist in the novel. That’s why many standalone novels appear in the Miss Marple chapter. She’s now the star of The Sittaford Mystery, Murder Is Easy, The Pale Horse, and others. She also appears in a Tommy and Tuppence novel, By the Pricking of My Thumbs. Similarly, Margaret Rutherford snatched two Poirot novels and made them her own, so they appear in the Miss Marple chapter. The chapters dedicated to And Then There Were None and the movies not part of a detective series are self- evident. “Agatha the Star,” however, deserves an explanation. In addition to her stories, Agatha’s life has become fodder for Hollywood. This includes the dreadful Vanessa Redgrave/Dustin Hoffman biopic Agatha (1979), a documentary that quotes from her and her work, a Doctor Who episode, and three movies that show Agatha’s exciting life investigating mysteries in a parallel universe. It focuses on Agatha, not her writing. Any relationship to Agatha’s real life should be considered coincidental. Even the documentary in this chapter is not entirely reliable. Within each chapter, the films are organized chronologically. As you move forward in time, you’ll see changes in how a character was depicted and movie-making styles. Adventures, Inc. (1929) sets the stage. It’s the earliest Agatha film and the scriptwriter, Jane Bess, played fast and loose with the text. She led the way for hack screenwriters everywhere to rewrite Agatha’s prose. Each review gets two pages. We chose a banner image and six photos of important cast members. I rate films by fidelity to text (or life in “Agatha the Star,” and either the play or the novel in And Then There Were None) and by the quality of the movie overall. The two ratings are separate, but they complement each other and give you a clearer understanding of what to expect. The cast lists place detectives and police at the top. Everyone else follows in rough order of importance. We group families together to make it easier to work out relationships. Our cast lists are not comprehensive but the main characters are there. Also note that for those foreign films which don’t name their characters from the novel, we provide that information. This was omitted when they rewrote them so much (such as Unknown (1965), the Indian version of And Then There Were None) that it would not be helpful. At the end of the list come the film locations, or (in a couple episodes) a song list. Internet Movie Database and Agatha Christie Wiki provided most of the locations, but Bill added to that from other sources (see the bibliography). Knowing the film locations means you, dear reader, can visit the same castle as Poirot or Miss Marple. Subtitles matter to me. We always looked for versions with subtitles as so many actors mumble or the sound quality is bad. If I can’t understand the dialog, I miss important points. Not every DVD was released with subtitles. Fortunately, some of the older films like the Joan Hickson Miss Marples are being cleaned up for streaming. They get subtitles. But they aren’t being released as new DVDs so, no subtitles. If you can watch a streamed version, no problem. If you must use your TV and DVD player, you’re out of luck. We had to have subtitles for the foreign films. We couldn’t see some films we wanted to (we especially regret passing up the Japanese Murder on the Orient Express) because they either weren’t available with subtitles or they weren’t available at all. The index will help you find a specific film. This isn’t just because some novels got Miss Marple inserted, putting them into the Miss Marple chapter. Agatha’s novels were often released under different names. For example, the novel Lord Edgware Dies (1933) was released in the U.S. as Thirteen At Dinner. It’s been filmed three times, twice as Lord Edgware Dies and once as Thirteen At Dinner. But they’re all based on the same novel and the index connects them. I list all the names, with a note as to which film it applies to. Or, as with Margaret Rutherford, the film’s name doesn’t correspond to any edition of the novel but I tell you what to look for. The bibliography provides further reading and shows where some of my information came from. Enjoy the book. We enjoyed watching the movies, podcasting about many of them, and writing the reviews. We want it to be used, encouraging you to watch Agatha Christie on the screen, always different but always her. How the movies are rated Each movie is given two ratings. Fidelity of text is exactly what it sounds. How close is the film to the original text? Sometimes, only the names match. Other films are so faithful, they’re lifeless. Quality of movie is about the movie itself. Did everything together work as a film? Often, a very good movie isn’t faithful to the text at all (see Miss Marple in Ordeal By Innocence (2007)). If something jars about the movie, I’ll indicate it here. The rating icons demonstrate Agatha’s many, many ways of killing. Blunt objects, poisoned cocktails, garrotes, knives, guns, stranglers, being pushed down a flight of stairs. They usually reflect the first murder in the film. A few films, such as And Then There Were None, get five different symbols to reflect all the ways those nasty people got iced.
How to find the movies
We watched the vast majority of the films on DVD on our TV set, the one our neighbors were throwing away. You’re correct that we count our pennies. That’s why we use our public library. If yours is like ours, it contains a surprisingly large collection of Agatha Christie films. All you have to do is get a library card to borrow them. You may, like us, have access to more than one library. It’s worth learning what’s available in your area. We belong to our local library (the Hershey Public Library) and to our county library (the much larger Dauphin County Public Library). They often carry different titles so I always check both before moving on to the next step. Your library is bigger than your municipality, your county, or even your state. Ask for the interlibrary loan librarian. For us, it’s Denise Philips. Denise got us all kinds of DVDs from libraries across the country. This service is usually free, as libraries are tax-supported. Ask and you may be very pleased. The interlibrary loan may take a few weeks for the requested movie to arrive, but it nearly always will. If Denise could not get us a title, Bill would search eBay and Amazon. We bought a universal DVD player so we could play DVDs from Europe. There were obscure kinescopes that were on YouTube, so we watched them on the computer. There are streaming services, including Amazon which gave us access to Britbox. Dailymotion let us watch the Japanese films. We don’t recommend skeevy pirate sites. They’re illegal, don’t pay royalties to the creators, and whatever you get will be loaded with viruses and malware and the film may be incomplete or damaged.
*** A review ***

The Sittaford Mystery (2006)

Epic expansion of Trevelyan’s life leaves little room for a coherent mystery for Miss Marple to sort out Fidelity to text: 1 pharaoh’s curse The novel was eviscerated. The murder, séance, escaped prisoner, and a few names remain. Everything else, including the murderer, were altered beyond recognition. Miss Marple resented being shoved in; she stayed defiantly offstage for long stretches. Quality of movie: 1½ pharaoh’s curses The scriptwriter shoved ten pounds of plot into a five-pound running length and the result is incoherence with snow. The Review Queue up Sir Mix-a-Lot and “Baby Got Back” and recite along with me: Oh. My. God. Look at that plot! You’ll have to sit through this episode twice (at least) to understand what’s going on. This film is 93 minutes long, not long enough for all the disparate plot threads to be woven in a cohesive fashion. The film needed a minimum of another twenty minutes running time to do it justice. But since ITV didn’t do that, you, dear viewer, will be left asking what just happened? Rewind, dammit! That’s what we did. Repeatedly. Yet there were many moments when I still can’t tell you what was going on. The trouble starts with forcing Miss Marple into a property that was never written for her. This can work: see ITV’s By the Pricking of My Thumbs, a Tommy and Tuppence novel. Not here. In fact, Miss Marple disappeared for long stretches of the film, doing heaven only knows what in Sittaford House while sitting out the blizzard. Maybe she was questioning the staff (we only see one servant in the mansion but there must be more), knitting, and speed-reading Captain Trevelyan’s memoirs. She certainly wasn’t at the Three Crowns Inn, inspecting the body and questioning the guests, even though most of the action takes place there. An entirely new plot is shoehorned in, vastly expanding Captain Trevelyan’s character and backstory. Suddenly, he’s a war hero (WWI), a suspected war profiteer (WWII), an Olympic skater in between (I think; the dialog was incomprehensible at many key points), a major candidate to be the next prime minister (Winston Churchill (!) has a scene with Captain Trevelyan), and he’s a noted archeologist having discovered a major tomb in Egypt back in 1927 that made his fortune! Compared with Capt. Trevelyan, Indiana Jones was a lazy amateur. But all this rewriting was necessary to give Timothy Dalton scenery to chew to earn his paycheck. In the novel, Captain Trevelyan exists to be swiftly murdered. He doesn’t even get one line. In the movie — since he’s Timothy Dalton — when he’s not emoting in front of us, he’s the topic of conversation by the other characters. Which I can understand. It’s Timothy Dalton, and my goodness does he look yummy. Some men age very well and he belongs to that lucky cohort. He’s also got to be expensive so the producers made sure to get their money’s worth. Pity they didn’t spend some of their money on a better script or more film stock. But he didn’t age that well. I had a hard time believing that virginal, lovely, dewy, eighteen-year-old Violet Willets (Carey Mulligan) fell madly in love with a man old enough to be her grandfather. I know why he did, and it’s not just because Violet resembles the woman he callously abandoned twenty-five years prior in Egypt. Violet is delicious, naïve, and believes every word he says and what man doesn’t want that? As for Violet, she didn’t come across as a gold-digger, which is the usual reason sweet 18-year-olds marry men old enough to be their grandfather. Or maybe she was one and the tacked-on ending where Violet runs off to Argentina with Emily Trefusis proves it. Violet certainly wasn’t broken up about her husband being murdered on their wedding night. If anything, she seemed relieved. She got it all. The Trevelyan name, the inheritance, two tickets to Buenos Aires, and she didn’t have to sacrifice her sweet toothsome body to some old man, even if he was Timothy Dalton. The Egyptian subplot was of major importance yet it didn’t make any sense. There was the paranormal aspect too, with a ghostly maiden showing up in Captain Trevelyan’s visions. Was there a curse on the gold scorpion? Was he going crazy? We’re never told. The ghost follows a different movie’s script when it appears and vanishes. This script also doesn’t tell us how an Egyptian servant can show up in isolated Sittaford in 1949 and get hired on, no questions asked. I understand that the servant problem was bad enough that the upper crust didn’t ask as many questions as they could. But here? Really? We know Captain Trevelyan did potentially bad things in Egypt. Yet he wasn’t suspicious when this mysterious Egyptian showed up at his door? He’d been having weird dreams about his past. He’s got a burgeoning political career which means close scrutiny of his private life. He’s supposed to be a smart man. Add in the even more incoherent subplot about the escaped prisoner from Dartmoor prison. None of that made sense; not the purchase of the inn a year prior to the events of the story, not the backstory of how the star-crossed lovers met, not how the prisoner escaped from Dartmoor prison and found his way across the moors to be reunited with his paramour and cousin and their eventual escape to freedom. There’s also the American war profiteer who helped Captain Trevelyan make a fortune manufacturing substandard munitions that killed more American sailors than the enemy. The American war profiteer’s personal aide-de-camp and quack doctor made even less sense. Why did the war profiteer need him around, other than as a dogsbody? There was mumbled dialog that sounded like they were both in the mafia, but it was unclear. We also meet the incompetent government clerk who’s looking into Captain Trevelyan’s background to ensure nothing questionable is revealed to the press, thus discrediting the party. He’s not doing a very good job if Captain Trevelyan was a known associate of American war profiteers and he doesn’t know. Then there’s Charles Burnaby. In the novel, he’s boy-reporter Charles Enderby. The name change was the first step in his complete reworking of motives and backstory. Yet we get no foreshadowing of his dramatic personal life or of his connections to the Trevelyan family. We get almost nothing of James Pearson’s connection to Captain Trevelyan either. We get even less of a reason for Emily Trefusis to be engaged to James Pearson, boy alcoholic, other than that old standby: He’ll inherit big when Captain Trevelyan dies. Maybe that’s why Emily runs off to Argentina with Violet. She gets the money and the girl and doesn’t have to marry the boy alcoholic. I could rant on, but you get the picture: This movie was a mess, barely suitable for Timothy Dalton fans. ITV could have saved the cost of his salary and paid for a better script. Or, they could have capitalized on Timothy Dalton and added another twenty minutes of movie, explaining all the subplots and how they connected. General Information Based on: The Sittaford Mystery (U.S. title: The Murder at Hazelmoor; novel, 1931) Run time: 1 hr., 40 min. Subtitles: No Writer: Stephen Churchett Director: Paul Unwin Cast Geraldine McEwan as Miss Marple Timothy Dalton as Clive Trevelyan Mel Smith as John Enderby Jeffery Kissoon as Ahmed Ghali Laurence Fox as James Pearson Zoe Telford as Emily Trefusis James Murray as Charles Burnaby Rita Tushingham as Miss Elizabeth Percehouse Michael Brandon as Martin Zimmerman Paul Kaye as Dr. Ambrose Burt Patricia Hodge as Mrs. Evadne Willett Carey Mulligan as Violet Willett Matthew Kelly as Donald Garfield James Wilby as Stanley Kirkwood Robert Hardy as Winston Churchill Film Locations The Flower Pot Pub, Henley-on-Thames, Oxfordshire (pub exterior) Dorney Court, Dorney, Buckinghamshire (Sittaford House interiors) *** Excerpt from Agatha Christie, She Watched by Teresa Peschel. Copyright 2023 by Teresa Peschel. Reproduced with permission from Teresa Peschel. All rights reserved.

 

 

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About Author Teresa Peschel:

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Teresa Peschel

Teresa Peschel never planned to become a writer, nor did she plan to become an expert on film versions of Agatha Christie stories. Then, as a supportive wife, Teresa read and edited Bill’s annotations to Agatha’s first six novels. A desire to promote the books led to writing movie reviews for the Peschel Press website, which led to Bill suggesting they could publish a collection quickly. Two and a half years later, Agatha Christie, She Watched was born. This book got Teresa — and Bill as her supportive husband — an invitation to speak at the 2024 Agatha Christie festival in England. Like Agatha Christie, Teresa reinvented herself and because of Agatha Christie, she’s become a better writer.

Catch Up With Teresa Peschel:

PeschelPress.com Amazon Author Profile Goodreads BookBub – @peschel Instagram – @peschel_press YouTube – @peschelpress9911 X – @PeschelPress Facebook – @PeschelPress

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A Mysterious Little Giveaway
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ARTIST, LOVER, FORGER, THIEF by Sheila Sharpe Banner

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ARTIST, LOVER, FORGER, THIEF
by Sheila Sharpe
March 30 – April 24, 2026 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:

Artist, Lover, Forger, Thief is a riveting, wildly entertaining, complex, and adrenaline-fueled art crime novel that is as intriguing as it is satisfying. Nick McCoy wants out of the art forgery business but not until he exacts revenge on the man who murdered his family years ago. Kate O’Dade, McCoy’s former therapist, comes to him for help after mysteriously receiving a painting of Matisse’s Open Window from an unknown benefactor. This seemingly innocent meeting to determine its authenticity sets off a chain of events that will take McCoy, O’Dade, Cromwell and his new team of investigators from San Diego to England, and from art forgery to murder.

Rarely do you find such complex characters, intricate plot, compelling subject, and cunning psychological jousting woven throughout such a memorable story like Sharpe does in Artist, Lover, Forger, Thief.

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Praise for Artist, Lover, Forger, Thief:

“Sharpe dives headlong into the murky waters of identity, obsession, and deception in her smart, psychologically charged thriller [Artist, Lover, Forger, Thief]. It explores the blurry line between art and artifice, healing and manipulation, love and control. [T]his is a genre-bending literary thriller that lingers long after the final page.” ~ Prairies Book Review

Artist, Lover, Forger, Thief…is a gripping tale set amidst the opulent yet treacherous world of high-end art crime in San Diego…[It explores] the moral dilemmas of art forgery, theft, and deception, with each character caught between their desires and the consequences of their actions. This stellar examination of art, deception, and forgery kept me riveted.” ~ Reader’s Favorite 5-Star Review

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Literary Fiction, Crime Fiction

Published by: Redwood Publishing, LLC Publication Date: March 26, 2025 Number of Pages: 332 ISBN: 9781966333142 (ISBN10: 1966333145) Series: A Kate O’Dade Art Crime Novel, Book 1

Book Links: Amazon | Kindle | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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About Author Sheila Sharpe:

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Sheila Sharpe

Sheila Sharpe has been a therapist for more than forty years, specializing in treating trauma, couples, and artists. Being a detective of sorts to determine patients’ issues and their solutions like she does in The Ways We Love, along with her past history as an artist and fascination with art forgery, led to the creation of her new fiction book series, the Kate O’Dade Art Crime novels.

Catch Up With Sheila Sharpe:

www.SheilaSharpe.com Amazon Author Profile Goodreads BookBub – @sasharpedelmar Instagram – @sheilasharpe_writer BlueSky – @sheilasharpeauthor.bsky.social X – @SheilaSharpe19 Facebook – @sheilasharpenovel

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Steal A Moment With ARTIST, LOVER, FORGER, THIEF
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