Two orphan loners. One supernatural plague. When wood-eating zombies
threaten their island, mismatched investigators Felix and Ninja must combine
science and instinct to save Spinachi-before they’re next.
ZOMBIE ZOO is Book 1 in a five-book middle grade adventure series for readers
ages 8-13, blending paranormal mystery, zombies, unlikely friendship, and
STEAM-powered problem-solving.
When 13-year-old aspiring naturalist Felix Fizzystyxx discovers that
orphans at Wayward Amok Orphanage are transforming into wood-eating zombies,
his quiet tree-fort observations are no longer enough. Someone has
deliberately unleashed a strange plague on Tub’s island town of Spinachi-and
they’re still out there.
To find a cure, Felix must team up with Ninja, a shadow-dwelling orphan who
trusts her instincts and never backs down. Intense and razor-sharp, she
notices what others overlook and lives up to her name as the island’s most
mysterious sleuth. With their eccentric mentor Doc Brunne compromised and the
town’s water supply contaminated by a glowing bioluminescent substance, the
two mismatched investigators must combine scientific observation with sharp
intuition to stop the outbreak before their island home is devoured.
Set on the fictional island of Tub, this fast-paced, humorous adventure
naturally weaves in STEAM concepts-biology, chemistry, bioluminescence, water
systems, pattern recognition, and the scientific method-within an
age-appropriate supernatural mystery. Themes include unlikely friendship,
identity, trust across differences, courage, and finding your voice when
adults won’t listen.
Featuring diverse protagonists, quirky humor, spooky-but-fun scares, and
strong female and male leads. ZOMBIE ZOO is ideal for reluctant readers and
fans of Max Brallier’s The Last Kids on Earth, B.B. Alston’s Amari and the
Night Brothers, and Goosebumps. Comprehensive educator resources-including
discussion guides, vocabulary lists, STEAM extension activities, and printable
maps-support classroom use, library programming, book clubs, and make this
title ideal for cross-curricular lessons bridging ELA, STEAM, and SEL.
About Author Melanie Abed
Melanie Abed is a behavioral expert turned story weaver. She believes
dragons are real but hiding, and finds thunderstorms equally delightful and
terrifying. A tea-loving bookworm, she champions young minds and writes to
help kids discover their superpowers are real.
August 24th – September 18, 2026 Virtual Book Tour
Synopsis:
SHERIFF HANK WORTH MYSTERY SERIES
Another outstanding book in an ever-evolving police procedural series perfect for fans of Terry Shames and Steven F. Havill.
When spring settles over Branson, Missouri, Sheriff Hank Worth hopes for a quiet season. Instead, the town is rocked when Gene Willard, owner of the local fishing stores, is savagely murdered. What looks like a burglary gone wrong quickly descends into something far more personal. Gene’s messy divorce, his resentful stepson, and a terrified employee with a violent ex all weave a tangle of motives. As Hank digs deeper, the investigation collides with the long‑delayed, politically explosive trial of the men charged in his chief deputy Sheila’s near‑fatal assault. Tempers run high throughout the county, stretching Hank’s department to the breaking point. With personal stakes rising and the community on edge, Hank must unravel lies, expose old betrayals, and confront a killer driven by revenge. In a place where everyone knows everyone else’s business, the hardest secrets to uncover may be the ones floating right near the surface.
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Book Details:
Genre: Police Procedural
Published by: Severn House Publication Date: September 1, 2026 Number of Pages: 240 ISBN: 9781448313891 (ISBN10: 1448313899) Series:The Sheriff Hank Worth Mystery Series, Book 8
The lake was calm and glassy, reflecting the bluffs on the other side. The giant bur oak rustled above them, its foliage almost fully returned after its winter shedding. The tree had stood near the White River for more than two hundred years, adding rings as settlers built Branson around it and dammed its river to create the lake. On this side, the shoreline was flat, dotted with homes, a cabin resort, the edge of downtown where Main Street met the water, and the park where Sam Karnes and Brenna Cassidy now stood. It would make a beautiful background, Brenna said. There was no guarantee the weather would be good, Sam thought. But he looked at his fiancée’s face and kept his mouth shut. They had decided on a May wedding, before everything got too hot and sticky with summer humidity. That didn’t mean they’d be safe from the rain, though. That could come any time. He thought maybe he should suggest a contingency plan, then remembered his boss’s advice. “You can have an opinion on the food and the music. Everything else—tread carefully.” So he stood quietly as Brenna framed potential photos with her hands. Where to take the wedding party pictures was one of the last decisions they needed to make. He hoped. “This area looks good,” he said. “Doesn’t it? It’s not too far from the church.” She half-nodded and moved to eye things from a different angle. “I don’t know how to avoid that darn plaque. It ruins every shot.” He walked over to it. It was such a part of the scenery, he’d almost forgotten it was there. When some enterprising 1970s tree aficionado figured out the oak was older than the country, it became the Liberty Tree and the plaque went up in time for the bicentennial. Now the thing needed a good cleaning and, if Brenna had anything to do with it, a relocation. “If we shoot this way, you don’t see the lake. And if you do it that direction . . .” She sighed. “Big old ugly plaque.” It stood on a waist-high column. Sam leaned against it and watched Brenna wander around this end of the park. The darn thing was wider than he was. He thought about that and stepped away. Then did some hand measurements. “What if we covered it up?” Brenna walked back to him. “What do you mean?” He moved so he stood directly in front of it. It was clearly visible behind his thin frame. “We put Roddy in front of it.” He spread his hands out a foot on either side, which was about how wide his groomsman Roddy Hale was. “He’d block the whole thing. We just have to arrange the order of everybody so he’s right here.” Brenna considered that. “I think that could work. Don’t move. Stay right there.” She walked fairly far away while Sam stood with his hands out as if he was illustrating the size of a particularly large trout. A mom with two young children walked by and gave him a look. He wished he had his sheriff’s deputy uniform on. Then he’d look like he was doing something important instead of just standing around like a sketchy weirdo in the park. The lady hustled her kids past and headed to the picnic area. Sam watched her go as another group came by on their way to the shoreline. By the time they noticed him, Brenna had gestured that he could put his hands down. “Yes, that’s going to work. Good thinking, babe.” She stood on tiptoe and kissed him. “And good thing you have a football linebacker as a friend.” Sam laughed at that. Roddy’s size had come in handy many times growing up. He told her a few stories as they walked back to his car. By the time they got there, the group near the picnic area had equipment out, and a lady in slacks and a silk blouse was pointing them in multiple directions. “Looks like someone else is planning an event, too,” he said, opening the passenger door of his Subaru for Brenna. “The way they’re measuring things, maybe it’s a whole wedding ceremony.” She scoffed. “That would be way too risky. What if it rained?”
CHAPTER TWO
Sheila Turley had left him a note. And a file. It never boded well when she did this. Hank Worth sat down at his desk and cautiously slid the paperwork closer. Gursey’s at it again. He’s all yours this time. The Branson County sheriff opened the file and pulled out the arrest report. Sheila, his second-in-command, only printed things out when she wanted to make a point. Or wanted quick action. Because Hank wasn’t known for staying on top of his email. And she knew this particular suspect was a pet project of his. Gursey Rugg. The young man had shoplifted again. The twenty-three-year-old was always plucking cheap items off the shelves of local retailers. If it was food, he’d eat it. If it wasn’t, he’d sell it on cheaply to friends and use the money for drugs. If the shopkeepers caught him, they’d call Hank’s deputies and Gursey would spend a while behind bars. But only rarely did people press misdemeanor charges. It wasn’t worth anybody’s time and, even if it had been, the sticky-fingered addict would still be back out on the street soon enough. So instead, he sobered up in Hank’s jail, swore he’d stay off the meth, and slouched back off into an existence where everyone involved deserved better and no one knew how to accomplish it. But this time, Gursey overstepped. A magpie entranced by bright and shiny, he’d scooped up a handful of the wrong thing in the wrong store. Fourteen hand-tied, rare-feathered flies from Reel Life Outfitters. The owner was a newcomer. Purchased the two venerable fish and tackle stores on opposite ends of Lake Taneycomo when Lyle Boskins retired and seemed to be doing well. But it turned out he wasn’t willing to do nice. He wanted to press charges. And that meant a felony, because of the misdemeanor convictions Gursey had already accumulated. And a felony meant a stint in state prison, which wouldn’t be good for the fragile kid. Hank re-read the narrative included in the arrest report. Then he got up and walked over from his office in the sheriff’s department Forsyth headquarters to hear from the man himself. “Hi, Gursey. How you doing?” “Hey, Sherf.” A disheveled scarecrow the color of a ghost rose to a seated position on the cell bunk. The jail scrubs hung off him in folds, and his dull brown hair stuck out in a dozen directions. At least it was clean. The young man blinked blearily and steadied himself on the mattress. “What happened?” Hank leaned against the bars. “Last I heard, you were doing pretty well.” Gursey shrugged, clavicles jutting like wings. “I was. Ask my addiction counselor. I got one of those, did you know? Nice lady. Always worried all the time, though.” “It sounds like she was helping. When was the last time you saw her? Because right now you don’t look so hot.” Gursey rubbed his wrists together. “Don’t feel so hot, neither.” “You coming down off something?” “Not really. Not like last year. At all, man, I swear. Just a little bit when Morty come to town.” Hank had no idea who that was. He sighed and ran his hand through his dark hair in frustration. “And when did Morty come?” “’Bout two weeks ago. He brought some homemade stuff, fresh cooked. I don’t remember much after that, ’til last night—I think. There weren’t no Morty anymore and I was at some trailer someplace.” He shifted suddenly from staring at the ground to looking Hank straight in the eye. “And that sucked, man. It was gross, and I was gross, and I don’t like that anymore.” Hank blinked in surprise. After every previous arrest, Gursey had promised to stop the drugs. But until right then, he’d never come close to saying he wanted to stop. He kept Hank’s gaze as he continued to talk. “I walked ’til I got past Honey Lane and then saw that fishing place. Figured it would have a bathroom. I went in, and bro, I just wanted money for food. Thought I could turn some stuff over for a few bucks. I—” “Stop talking,” Hank said. “Just take a deep breath and stop talking.” The goal of keeping Gursey out of state prison would not be helped by a confession to the county sheriff. He considered the inmate. In their numerous interactions in the four years since Hank became sheriff, Gursey had never made this much eye contact. It gave Hank hope. And made him a lot more willing to do what he was going to do once he left the cell block. *** Excerpt from Hidden Currents by Claire Booth. Copyright 2026 by Claire Booth. Reproduced with permission from Claire Booth. All rights reserved.
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About Author Claire Booth:
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Claire Booth spent more than a decade as a daily newspaper reporter, working all over the country—from Washington, D.C., to South Florida, the Seattle region, and the Bay Area. She spent much of it covering crimes so convoluted and strange they seemed more like fiction than reality. Eventually, she had enough of the real world and decided to write novels instead. Her critically acclaimed Sheriff Hank Worth mystery series takes place in Branson, Missouri, where small-town Ozark politics and big-city country music tourism clash in, yes, strange and convoluted ways.
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This Investigation Has a Giveaway Twist!
This giveaway is hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Claire Booth. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.
If you love snarky heroes, twisty mysteries and plenty of
magic,
delve into this urban fantasy series set in Melbourne, Australia!
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Graves Robbed,
Heirlooms Returned
Reed Lavender Book 1
by Ashley Capes
Genre: Urban Fantasy, Paranormal Mystery
He can speak to the dead. But will giving them justice get him killed?
Reed Lavender lives two lives—one as a detective and another as a reaper.
Hearing the last words of the dead is a handy skill in his line of work, but
magic can’t solve all his problems. While investigating the case of a teen
runaway, he learns his cousin is missing. Racing against the clock, Reed soon
finds himself trapped in a vast conspiracy.
A cult is capturing reapers to siphon their powers and his current case is
somehow connected. But the deeper he digs, the more dangerous and convoluted
the trail becomes. As his two lives get tangled, Reed realizes if he can’t
solve the case and save his cousin, the man who listens to the dead will end up
joining them.
Graves Robbed, Heirlooms Returned is the first thrilling urban
fantasy novel in the Reed Lavender series. If you love snarky
heroes, twisty mysteries and plenty of magic, delve into Graves Robbed,
Heirlooms Returned!
Graves Robbed, Heirlooms
Returned (Reed Lavender: 1)
Chapter 1
In the bright moonlight, Reed Lavender inserted his best
crowbar into the pine box where the top met the sides and wrenched the steel
down. Wood squeaked and he shuddered. Worse
than fingernails on a blackboard. He lifted the lid free, resting it
against the freshly turned earth – which, unlike the sound of an opening coffin
– was an almost pleasant thing. A pungent scent, but real. Honest. Worms and
bugs, minerals and secrets lived in the earth; when you got right down to it,
grave dirt wasn’t really any different to regular dirt.
And he was certainly down to it now, about to be elbow-deep in a coffin.
Again.
But for what they’d given Elise, the word ‘coffin’ was a stretch. A pine box wasn’t
much of a final resting place – dignity hardly came cheap in Rikerton’s funeral
home and unclaimed bodies were lucky to avoid the incinerator. Or maybe that
would have been better. Dust to dust and
all that.
“But then you’d be out of work,” he told himself.
Elise the runaway – that’s what the police thought she was – lay in her dirty jeans
and the same faded Pink Floyd t-shirt she wore when she walked into the cafe
two days back. Her arms lay at her sides, cuts on her palms mostly hidden. Her
face had been covered… by a used napkin. “Jesus, Jennings, that the best you
could do?” Reed growled. At least the napkin was in one piece; the undertaker
had been known to be far more slipshod at times.
Reed lifted the napkin… and ground his teeth.
She’d been beaten blue. Deep bruises swam across her cheeks, one eye swollen shut and
the other just as blackened, torn skin at her temple. Jennings had cleaned her
face up well enough but there were still leaf fragments and dried blood in her
hair. The pallor of death had washed out Elise’s freckles, mere suggestions
crossing her bent nose. God, what is she,
fifteen? She looks so small.
Reed tossed the napkin aside and unwound his scarf, folded it and placed it over her
face, standing still a moment, shaking as he blinked. The night air ran chill
fingers across his now-exposed throat and the back of his neck. Finally, he
took a breath and leant over the coffin, where he lifted her arm. “Sorry,
sweetheart,” he said softly, twisting her silver bracelet up to the moon. Only the
letters ‘Elise’ engraved there. Really, there was little he could learn from a
perfunctory glance at her clothing and jewellery that the police wouldn’t have
already catalogued. He’d check that later, of course – but Elise deserved more.
No, he’d have to wake her up – sort of.
Her last words would maybe be enough of a clue. Most folks didn’t have much to say,
right before the end. Sometimes it was a scream or a grunt if he was unlucky.
Other times, they addressed their killer. Or a loved one, perhaps, if the death
was peaceful. Not that I’ve heard a lot
of those in my time.
There’d been a man out west, he couldn’t recall where – so many cities and towns
blended together – whose last words had been an apology for burnt toast. After
that, the poor guy hadn’t said a thing before being t-boned at an intersection
by a bus an hour later, two blocks from his office.
But sometimes, a person’s last sentence held a clue.
“Come on, Elise, tell me something I can use.”
If she didn’t, he had no other supernatural tricks up his sleeve either, since he
couldn’t simply call upon her spirit. It would have made things much easier and allowed him to stop violating peoples’ graves but sadly, he wasn’t that lucky.
Reed removed the scarf a moment, took her cold hands and closed his eyes, sending
his awareness down through her mute fingertips, pushing his way along quiet
veins until he reached her chest, still echoing with the memory of a million
heartbeats, then at last up the throat to the tongue; the tongue which
remembered everything.
But it would move only once more.
“In the name of Mors, speak any that you might,” he whispered. “I’ll help you if
you can.”
Her body resisted.
Not unusual. It meant reliving the pain and shock – why wouldn’t her body want to
fight that? It was at rest now, if not at peace. But he had to know. Reed
pushed harder, pouring both his hope and anger into the request. “Please,
Elise.”
A flicker, a tiny sound as her jaw shifted.
He opened his eyes and leant close. Would it be a scream? A clue? Nonsense? Her
voice was little more than a rasping whisper, such as might easily be mistaken
for a breeze, but he caught the words.
“Wow, what a beautiful view. This is some place; you can see half the city from
here.”
Then silence.
“Shit.”
Poor girl, she probably never saw it coming.
Reed lowered Elise’s hands. Half the city.
That hardly narrowed things down – there were only hundreds of such high points available. But it probably put the owner in a certain tax bracket at least. He shook his head. No assumptions. It was his first rule.
And that went for murder too – maybe it was an accident. Still, something happened to bring Elise’s life
to an unjust end.
He had to find out; no-one else was looking and Elise’s grandmother deserved
answers. Even unpleasant ones, he supposed.
Reed placed the scarf back over the girl’s face and reached for his shovel.
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The Radiant King
Reed Lavender Book 2
Things aren’t exactly
getting easier for Reed Lavender.
Old obligations and new cases are piling up but in the aftermath of Feronia’s
defeat, answers are still too thin on the ground. But one clue – his father’s
knucklebone – might just lead to something big.
To learn the truth about his parents’ disappearance, Reed
will have to take the fight to whoever is behind the growing turmoil in his
city. And if the rising number of Spirit-Worms, needy Gods, vindictive lawmen
and only somewhat-helpful cousins don’t stop Reed, then his sense of duty might
do what the others cannot.
Because Reed now finds himself caught between two goals –
solving the murder of Elise or chasing down whoever stole the Goddess’ hand, an
unfathomable thief who might hold answers about his parents…
Reed is about to snap
– and this time, nothing is going to stand in his way when it comes to getting
answers for Elise, not even a supposedly long-vanished Sumerian God.
Or so Reed thinks.
But summer in the city isn’t going to be like the others.
The city itself isn’t quite the same either, and even if you’re lucky (or
cursed) enough to count the children of Gods among your friends, nothing is
ever simple…
Ashley is a poet, novelist and ex-teacher living in
Australia.
He taught English, Media and Music Production, he ‘sang’ in
a metal band, worked in an art gallery and for a few years, slaved away at
music retail. (For a few years, he was also a legal secretary).
Aside from reading and writing, Ashley loves (indoor)
volleyball, Studio Ghibli and Magnum PI.
When sniper fire erupts at the Central Coast Surf Trials at
Pismo Beach, private investigator Thad Hanlon is thrust into every parent’s
worst nightmare. His eleven-year-old son and two teammates are shot while
surfing—one critically injured—plunging the contest into chaos and terrorizing
the tight-knit Five Cities beach community.
The shooter disappears, torching his hideout, leaving only questions in his
wake. Random attack—or the first move in a deadly game? Why target young
surfers? And is the marksman finished…or just getting started?
Urged by desperate parents, Hanlon and his sharp-witted partner, Bri de la
Guerra, race to protect the kids as they train for the upcoming West Coast
Championships. But as the detective duo close in on the sniper, they uncover a
chilling truth: the surf team isn’t his ultimate target—and the nightmare is
far from over.
This gripping thriller will keep you turning pages late into the night.
What Critics Are Saying
“Engaging characters, wit, and suspense elevate this rip-curling
page-turner.”
— Kirkus Reviews
“Pismo Beach Sniper is a tense and fast-moving mystery
with real emotional stakes. The target audience is readers who enjoy mystery,
private investigator fiction, crime thrillers, action suspense, coastal noir,
and family-driven detective series. Readers who like Robert Crais’s Elvis Cole
and Joe Pike novels may appreciate the same mix of banter, loyalty, and
wounded-hearted heroism, though Jones swaps Los Angeles grit for Central Coast
surf and spiritual undertow.”
— Literary Titan
“It felt like I was reading something akin to James Patterson: fast,
frighteningly imaginative, and furious with action. Pismo Beach
Sniper is a deftly plotted story of a man doing everything to keep his
child safe in a world where not only waves can kill.”
I was sitting under a beach canopy in the spectator
section of the California Central Coast Surf Trials, watching the first heat of
the semifinals, when I heard the sonic crack of a large firearm. Something
long-range like the scoped high-precision rifle my business partner, Bri, uses
to qualify at the Five Cities Shoot’n Center.
“What was that?” my son’s surf coach asked. Gev Burian
was sitting on my left. “Sounded like it came from behind us.”
Bri de la Guerra, on my right, stood to check things
out. “Cityside, yeah. I’m thinking .30 cal. Maybe three-oh-eight.”
I swiveled to scan the low-rise buildings of downtown
Pismo—the seafood cafes, souvenir shops, and beach rentals. Clumps of tourists
meandering down narrow Pomeroy Avenue stopped. Some gazed skyward, herd-like,
examining the highest roofline—the old Hotel Pier Vista. Others rushed indoors.
When a second blast didn’t happen soon after, I saw
pedestrians raise their palms in the classic “what’s up” shrug before
continuing their weekend saunter. Some, trailing well-groomed dogs on leashes,
took refuge in their smartphones.
I turned to face the Pacific as Bri sat in her folding
chair. Coach Gev got out his binocs and we rejoined the hundreds of other
parents, friends, and supporters along the beach to watch the tournament.
Three junior surfers, ages eleven to twelve—”grommets”
in surf jargon—were perched on their boards 100 yards offshore in the chilly
morning waters north of Pismo Pier. The contestants wore different colored
jerseys over their wetsuits. Red jersey had priority takeoff; the next wave was
his. As the kids waited for the sets to roll in, they bobbed in the mushy surf
like sitting ducks.
“Yellow’s down!” Coach Gev shouted. He handed me his
binoculars. “The kid’s slumped sideways off his board.”
“Cramp, maybe?” I pressed the field glasses to the
bridge of my nose, fiddling with the adjustments. “January water temps are
cold, fifty-three, fifty-four degrees. These temps? He should have worn a 5/4/3
mm instead. Maybe even a—”
There was a second sonic crack. I watched Yellow’s board
splinter into pieces. Chunks of the foam core ringed the downed contestant as
he struggled to keep his head above water.
Red jersey, closest to Yellow, dropped prone and paddled
with fury toward him. Just as he was about to grab Yellow’s arm, I heard shot
three. There was a splash near the tail of Red’s board.
Red turned turtle, flipping his tri-fin surfboard over
so the bottom faced the sky. Only his hands, gripping the sides of the
shortboard, were exposed.
Shot four took out Red’s middle fin. Shots five and six
took out the two outer fins. Red let go of his board and sank out of view.
That left the eleven-year-old in the light blue jersey
as the only contender sitting on the water. My son, Zael, was in full
competition mode, hyper-focused on The One Thing—a wave with his name on it. A
wave built by the sea gods just for him, for his performance, his tricks, the
ones he’d stick. The 10-rating he’d be awarded by all three judges. That
perfect ten.
Zael was in the zone, tunnel vision his ally. Chaos
bending to will. He had no clue what had happened to Red and Yellow.
I popped out of my beach chair, sprinted from our shade
canopy to the shoreline, and screamed as I waded in. “Duck and cover, Zael! Get
down! Now!” I waved my arms, zigzagging through the shallows.
My son wasn’t hearing me, wasn’t seeing me, wasn’t even
attuned to my panic despite his gift for sensing things unspoken. Zael paddled
hard for takeoff, slid into the three-foot wave breaking off the pier, and
dropped into the curl. He drove down the line, pumping his board to build
speed, then bottom turned, and angled toward the lip to launch into his
signature 360-degree air rotation and—
Blam.
Shot seven.
Zael’s right leg buckled. He lost balance and angled
into a dive as far away from his board as his leash would let him. When he didn’t
come up for air…
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Are your characters based on real people or did they all come entirely from your imagination?
Mostly the latter. One of the two primary protagonists in PISMO BEACH SNIPER, Bri de la Guerra, is pure fiction. The other primary protagonist, Thad Hanlon, while also make-believe, was inspired by my nephew, who has competed internationally in surfing like Thad. But that’s where the similarity ends. Unlike Thad, who washed out of the pros, my nephew still competes. And my nephew’s a firefighter, not a private eye.
The ocean feels almost like a character in PISMO BEACH SNIPER. What role does the California Central Coast play in shaping the story’s mood?
The Pacific Ocean is a moody presence. At times, she provides solace from the daily grind. A chance to take a dip, cool off, and catch a few waves. And at other times, when big weather rolls in and the swells kick up, she can be a cruel monster, lashing out with rip tides and pounding surf. In Thad Hanlon’s world, the ocean is simultaneously a source of comfort, danger, and wisdom. When life becomes complicated, he paddles out beyond the break. The rhythm of the waves helps him untangle the Gordian knot of mysteries he’s facing and decide what to do next. In that sense, the Pacific isn’t just a setting—it’s a trusted companion in the story.
The novel blends PI procedural, action suspense, family drama, and coastal noir. How do you balance those elements while keeping the story moving?
By ensuring tension in every scene. That’s the secret to keeping the story moving when you’re juggling multiple elements.
For each scene, I work from a cinematic framework inspired by Blake Snyder’s Save the Cat!® approach to screenwriting. I start with a simple structure: where the scene takes place, what is happening, and—most importantly—the emotional arc of the point-of-view character.
From there, I focus on what really drives momentum: the conflict. Who wants what, what stands in their way, and what’s at stake if they fail. If I can clearly define Hero—Goal—Obstacles—Stakes, the tension takes care of itself, and the story keeps moving.
Thad’s fear for Zael gives the mystery a strong emotional charge. How did you approach writing him as both a father and an investigator?
For the father side of Thad, I simply tapped into my own experience raising two sons. While I had the good fortune of a supportive wife to share the journey, there were still plenty of nights spent worrying about our boys—especially during their tween years, when sports, adventure, and growing independence seemed to present a new reason to worry every week. No parent survives those years without a healthy concern for their children’s safety.
For the investigator side, I drew on my professional training as a CPA, software developer, and college professor. I’m analytical by nature. I like patterns, puzzles, and problem-solving. I can be methodical to a fault and have been known to spreadsheet just about everything.
The challenge—and the fun—was bringing those two sides together. When Thad is investigating a case, he wants to follow the facts wherever they lead. When his son is in danger, he’s a father first. The tension between those roles gave the story much of its emotional energy.
Who inspired you to write PISMO BEACH SNIPER?
I have an “idea catcher.” I bet you have one too.
Mine’s a little notebook on the nightstand where I jot down inspirations that arrive while I sleep, dream, or ponder. It’s chock-full of ideas for the next murder mystery—the howdunnits, the whodunnits, the whydunnits, even possible book titles.
But getting from a brilliant idea to a fully developed manuscript sometimes takes more than a notebook.
Sometimes it requires a mentor. A force majeure.
This is the story of the man who inspired me to finish PISMO BEACH SNIPER.
The year is 2022. Mid-January. I’m taking an eight-week novel writing class through the Institute for Continued Learning at Utah Tech University. Dr. Warren Stucki, author of the Dr. Cooper Mystery Series and six standalone novels, is teaching.
On day one, he tells us, “This is the year you write your novel,” and challenges us to complete Assignment #1—NOVEL IDEA SUMMARY SHEET—by the following week.
All we have to do is fill in the blanks:
(a) Working Title
(b) Genre
(c) Protagonist
(d) Antagonist
(e) Main Supporting Character
(f) Setting
(g) A one-line story idea describing the central problem the protagonist faces and the primary obstacles.
Piece of cake, right?
I had a possible title, but that was it.
Something I had come up with in 2016, years before I had even published the first two books in the Thad Hanlon & Bri de la Guerra Mystery Series.
For the assignment’s Working Title, I wrote down:
CowaBANGa!
A mashup of two exclamations that seemed incapable of belonging together.
Cowabunga!—surf slang for “Dude, that was Awwwwsome!”
BANG!—the sonic crack of a high-powered rifle.
It was high concept.
Excited surfers and unexpected gunplay.
But that was all I had.
Assignment #1 forced me to take the next step.
I scratched out the remaining fill-in-the-blanks, relying heavily on the backstories from my first two books. By the end of the eight-week course, I’d developed a working outline, key plot points, three sample chapters, and a draft query letter complete with a three-paragraph blurb.
I was well on my way to writing PISMO BEACH SNIPER, book three in the series.
My takeaway from Dr. Stucki’s class?
A force majeure can make all the difference between a middle-of-the-night inspiration scribbled into an idea catcher and a finished book on the shelf.
When all you have is the germ of an idea, sign up for a workshop. Let the instructor—and the energy of fellow writers—propel you from a mere notion to a fully realized story complete with character arcs, themes, and purpose.
Muse + Force Majeure = Your next masterpiece on the shelf!
What can we expect from you in the future?
Book Four, of course.
The next installment in the Thad Hanlon & Bri de la Guerra Mystery Series takes place two years after the events of PISMO BEACH SNIPER. Bri is out drumming up new business for the duo’s detecting agency when she stumbles upon a murder that will test both detectives in ways they never imagined.
Here’s the opening scene:
***
Even in the moonlight, Bri recognized the man floating face down in the cliffside pool as Dr. Yicheng Zhang. Potential client. The world-renowned fertility researcher was fully clothed in his signature charcoal wool-blend blazer with well-worn elbow patches, and he didn’t look so good. Pale, bluish skin, and that wild black hair of his fanned out like sea grass.
Bri sprinted to the rescue hook hanging on the cabana wall and used it to snag the good doctor, pulling him toward the pool steps. She strained to flip him over. His lips, forehead, and tip of his nose were a blotchy purple. There was a fine white froth around his nostrils. She checked for a pulse in a Good Samaritan move she knew didn’t have favorable odds. Still, she had to try.
The odds didn’t pan out.
Across the glass wall of the pool that faced the Pacific—brooding more than usual— someone had spray-painted in angry caps:
PERFECTION HAS A PRICE
***
True to cliché, the Five Cities Sheriff’s Department immediately suspects the spouse. But Mrs. Zhang insists she’s innocent, has an ironclad alibi, and hires Bri and Thad to find the real killer.
That’s when the case heats up.
As the investigation deepens, frozen embryos—including those intended for Thad’s future family—become a bargaining chip in a deadly game where science, ambition, and obsession collide.
Shell Beach Slayer (working title) is part mystery, part thriller, and brings back familiar faces, including Thad’s son Zael, now a teenager, and Naiya Ygnacio, his new bride. The stakes couldn’t be higher as Bri and Thad navigate a case that explores designer children, genetic engineering, and the meaning of perfection itself.
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Oceano Beach Bedlam
A Thad Hanlon/ Bri de la Guerra Mystery Book 2
Hanlon & de la Guerra have gone full service. In this
second book in the surfing crime-fighter mystery series, Thad Hanlon and his
martial-arts-obsessed partner, Bri de la Guerra, hang out their shingle as
newly licensed private investigators. Now in addition to fraud-busting, the two
detectives do it all. Background checks. Surveillance. Even finding lost souls.
Just about anything that requires sleuthing or going undercover.
All they need is a client.
That’s when a former exotic dancer from Bakersfield CA shows up looking for her
surf prodigy son who’s gone missing in the wake of cult violence terrorizing
the California Central Coast.
What Critics
Are Saying
“A crunchy detective novel set in the world of California surfers.
Jones delivers a proper beach read, both in form and content.”
-Kirkus Reviews
“Honestly, I had a blast with this one. Oceano Beach
Bedlam is a smart and entertaining read. If you like your mysteries with
surfboards, sass, and just enough heart to keep you caring, this one’s for you.
It’s a great pick for fans of offbeat detectives, fast dialogue, and
sun-drenched noir with a brain and a soul. I’d recommend it to readers who
enjoy Janet Evanovich, Robert Crais, or the beachier edges of Elmore Leonard.”
When the facts don’t add up in his surf buddy’s bizarre
death, forensic consultant (and daddy-to-be) Thaddeus Hanlon investigates,
volunteering to go undercover to pick up where best friend Rafi Silva left off
in a secret probe of the U.S. gold stockpile—every last bullion bar.
Rafi’s spunky fiancée, Bri de la Guerra, has suspicions of her own and soon
joins Thad on the hunt for answers. Together, the two amateur sleuths delve
deep, stumbling onto a financial a-stock-alypse in the making, triggering a
brutal manhunt along the Eastern seaboard meant to silence anyone looking to
set the ledger straight.
What Critics
Are Saying
“Jones’ action-packed murder mystery…is
tension-fueled with plenty of twists and two appealing sleuths. In this
detective series opener, Thad Hanlon, a 27-year-old forensic accountant,
becomes the target of a murderous cadre when he accepts a new assignment that
takes him from Los Angeles to the East Coast center of power. Woven into the
gripping plot are sensual, detailed descriptions of Thad’s adventures riding
the waves, which should please the surfer crowd and afford others a visceral
sense of the experience.”
—Kirkus Reviews
“All That Glisters by Topper Jones is well-written with not a
single dull moment. I liked the way the author included elements of action,
mystery, and even some cyber investigating. Overall, I found this book to be an
amazing read.”
Writing
as Topper Jones, award-winning author Christopher G. Jones, Ph.D., delivers
detective fiction with a dash of romance, plenty of action, and memorable
characters. His Thad Hanlon & Bri de la Guerra Mystery Series has earned
Readers’ Favorite Five Stars and the Literary Titan Gold Book Awards.
Before
writing full-time, Jones taught financial reporting and business systems
development at the university level and worked in public accounting and
consulting. He is a member of The Private Eye Writers of America and
International Thriller Writers, and an affiliate of Mystery Writers of America.
To
stay close to family, Jones now lives in the southwestern desert rather than
his native California. But when the surf’s up, he’ll make the 450-mile trek to
the coast for a little “water therapy.”
Victorian mystery fiction as you’ve never read it before
from well below stairs.
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The Belgravia Phantom
The Quill & Page Victorian Mysteries Book 1
by Ellis Blackwood
Genre: Historical Victorian Mystery
How do you prove you
didn’t scare Lady Pemberton to death with a phantom?
Such is Kate Quill’s quandary. The faked séance went horribly wrong, and now
Inspector Hartwell of Scotland Yard has her in his sights.
Kate’s poor. Seamstress poor. But what she lacks in the pocket, she makes up
for in allies.
There are her siblings. Daisy, the actress. Ned and Vi… There’s no way around
this – they’re petty thieves.
There’s Mrs McGinty, their formidable Irish landlady. There are Vi’s
Whitechapel Worthies, Little Till (adorable) and the Twins (quite odd).
And there is Frederick Page, former gentleman’s gentleman, chess aficionado,
lover of puzzles, and now reluctant partner in an unlikely Victorian detective
duo. Please, do not refer to him as Freddie, or he’ll be grasping for the
smelling salts.
Can this glorious rabble somehow band together to investigate all those lofty
lords and ladies who attended the séance?
And discover who really murdered Lady Dorothea Pemberton?
The Belgravia Phantom is the first in a series of irresistible Victorian murder
mysteries from the acclaimed author of the Samuel Pepys Mysteries. Expect
fiendish whodunits, singular characters and vivid history. Step into London’s
gaslit and swirling pea-soupers, and hear those click-clack footsteps
approach…
Ned and Vi belong to the evening, when the
naphtha lamps of the costermongers’ stalls hiss and flare, and all between is
subsumed in shadow. When the streets still throng with shoppers, and the trams
and cabs and omnibuses are lit by oil – white light, oncoming; red light,
receding – and Whitechapel Road feels interesting to know. When the cries of
the chestnut roasters, the fried-fish sellers and the pie-men create a
cacophony of distraction.
This is when they thrive.
They have their stomachs set on the hawker
of baked potatoes, with his lovingly polished can on four legs, its brass
plaque proclaiming: “Old Original Baked Potatoes”. The old man who ran the
stand for many a year lately died; his errant son has the business now, and
shows rather less aptitude for vigilance.
While Ned lurks in the background, Vi
sidles up. Her head tilts this way and that, apparently undecided. She plays
with an unseen coin in her hand. The bait.
Glowing charcoal lights the lad’s face
orange. He narrows eyes at her. Steam rises from his burner, and the earthy
aroma of the treasure within.
“What can I have for a ha’penny?” she asks.
It is all she could spare, but it should suffice if she plays it right.
He snorts. “On your way, missy. My prices
start at a penny and no less.”
She glances up and down the road, where the
sellers either side, of ham sandwiches, hot green peas and eels, have patrons
queueing.
He kicks a heel. It has not been easy,
taking over his father’s trade. The baker who roasts his hundredweights
recently upped his fee, and the locals whose custom the old man relied upon
have found new flavours elsewhere. Many deserted him for that other potato
hawker in Spitalfields.
As his gaze follows Vi’s, he licks his
lips. “S’pose I might be able to find a small one.”
He opens the wide half-lid, peers inside
debating, and picks out the smallest spud he can find.
“Butter and salt?” she asks innocently.
“For a ha’penny? Don’t push yer luck.”
As he hands over the plain fare, she
fumbles the coin. The tiniest flick of her thumb sends it skittering into a
gutter, his attention trapped on its progress. By the time he has retrieved it,
mumbling sourly, Ned has pounced and vanished, melting into the crowd. He moves
slickly for a big lad, even one cradling stolen potatoes in an untucked shirt.
“Sorry. Butterfingers.” Vi smiles,
savouring the spud’s warmth as she heads home.
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Ellis Blackwood writes very British historical mysteries:
fiendish whodunits packed with singular characters, vivid period detail and
plenty of wit. His completed nine-book Samuel Pepys Mysteries series is set in
17th century London. He is currently working on the Quill & Page Victorian
Mysteries, featuring a found family of East End misfits investigating the
crimes of the upper classes who cast them out.
A former journalist, Ellis wrote features for the UK’s most
popular national newspapers and magazines before escaping to Cornwall with his
wife, two daughters and Spike the dog. He holds an MA in Comedy Writing, which
explains a lot.
He grew up on The Hardy Boys and Three Investigators,
graduated to Sherlock Holmes, and has never quite recovered from Columbo. He
prefers writing female sleuths, with the odd chap thrown in, and is firmly
convinced that historical settings are simply more fascinating.
“Absolutely fabulous, reek of authenticity, full of
intrigue and fun” – Amazon review of the Samuel Pepys Mysteries
For fans of Louise Penny and Robert Dugoni, Illusionist is a
contemporary crime thriller where PI McPherson must choose between killing an
author at a writing retreat in the Pacific Northwest or letting a college
student die.
When an illusionist joins the Pines & Quill writing retreat, one of the
owners vanishes without a trace in the middle of everyone, but the surrounding
would-be witnesses don’t see or hear a thing. That’s when crime
boss Georgio Gambino makes a checkmate move against his nemesis, Sean
McPherson. He forces a writer in residence to kill another writer and frame
McPherson. In a video call, Gambino warns the writer, “If you
don’t follow orders, your daughter will die.” Then, he pans the
camera to prove access to her college dorm room.
McPherson discovers that Carmine Fiore, Gambino’s second in command,
covets his boss role and is staging a coup. As Gambino’s soldiers
traffic drugs, weapons, and humans, Fiore plants incriminating evidence
against the notorious Sureños gang. Can McPherson leverage that
knowledge for a temporary truce and the gang’s help?
The writers in residence—a former NASCAR driver, a professional
triathlete, an architect turned house flipper, and a world-renowned magician
who may not be who she appears to be—band together with McPherson to
create the illusion of a lifetime.
Enjoy this peek inside:
Gambino picks up his cell phone and makes another call. His heart races with
anticipation. When the recipient answers, he says, “If you hang up,
I’ll kill your child. Do you understand?”
“Is this some kind of sick joke?”
“I assure you this is no joke. When I disconnect, you’ll receive a video
call from my associate. He’s visiting your child’s class—Market
Power in the New Economy. If you don’t do what I say, it will cost the
life of the person you love most.”
“Who is this? What do you want from me?”
“I’m the person who’s going to kill your child if you don’t
do what I say. In two days, you’re heading to Pines & Quill writing
retreat. While there, you will frame Sean McPherson for murder.”
“Frame someone for murder? What do you mean?”
“No, not just someone. You’re going to frame Sean McPherson.
You’re going to kill one of the other writers in residence. I
don’t care which one, nor do I care how you do it. You’re a crime
writer. Figure it out. You arrive at Pines & Quill on October first and
leave on the twenty-first. You have three weeks to accomplish the task.”
About Author Laurie Buchanan:
A blend of Dr. Doolittle, Nanny McPhee, and a type-A Buddhist, Laurie
Buchanan is an active listener, observer of details, payer of attention,
reader and writer of books, kindness enthusiast, red licorice aficionado, and
lover of the Oxford comma.
As a novelist, photographer, and voracious reader, she never travels without
three essentials—a laptop, a camera, and a book.
Growing up, she dreamed of being a magician, an international spy, and a mad
scientist. There’s still time!
Her writing studio is the hayloft of a historic carriage house in the Pacific
Northwest, where creativity thrives. Her husband, Len, a private pilot, and
Henry, their not-so-standard Standard Poodle, join her on daily walks. She
always carries a camera because sometimes, the best word choice is a picture.
A journey that left an indelible imprint on her was a 20-day, 211-mile trek
across the majestic landscapes of Scotland. She, her husband, and their son
hiked from the North Sea to the Atlantic Ocean, with the pinnacle being the
climb of Ben Nevis at the midpoint of their adventure, the highest point in
the British Isles.
“My writing goal is simple: to leave you wanting more.” —Laurie Buchanan
A chilling disappearance, a lethal enemy, and a family pushed to the
brink…
When the Duke of Wrengate’s sister vanishes without a trace, suspicion
swirls. Did she flee to escape a scandalous secret…or has she been
abducted? Whispers lead to a treacherous underworld, where rumors of an
illicit auction suggest a far more sinister fate: a woman trapped, drugged,
and enslaved. Determined to save her, Adrian Croft and his valet, Murry,
plunge into London’s darkest corners.
But Finn O’Leary, the Irishman bent on revenge, remains a threat that
presents a difficult choice for Adrian: save Wrengate’s sister or protect his
family. With the recent birth of his daughter, he and his wife, Samantha, have
more to lose than ever before. And as danger closes in, they must fight with
everything they have. Not only for justice, but for their very survival.
About Author Sophie Barnes:
USA TODAY bestselling author Sophie Barnes writes historical romance
novels in which the characters break away from social expectations in their
quest for happiness and love. Having written for Avon, an imprint of Harper
Collins, her books have been published internationally in eight languages.
With a fondness for travel, Sophie has lived in six countries, on three
continents, and speaks English, Danish, French, Spanish, and Romanian with
varying degrees of fluency. Ever the romantic, she married the same man three
times—in three different countries and in three different dresses.
When she’s not busy dreaming up her next swoon worthy romance novel,
Sophie enjoys spending time with her family, practicing yoga, baking,
gardening, watching romantic comedies and, of course, reading.
Family values are great for campaigns. Family baggage isn’t.
His twin is the last person Miami Detective Seth Rizk expects to defend him at an internal affairs hearing that could end his career. As the interim attorney general for Indiana, Jakob has to keep his reputation clean as he campaigns for the permanent seat.
While waiting for the ruling, Seth returns to Indiana to repay a debt posthumously. The retired cop who once helped solve the Rizk family’s greatest tragedy was found dead under suspicious circumstances. The trail leads straight into a luxury rehab facility where, posing undercover, Seth discovers fraud, theft, ambition—and a motive worth killing to protect.
But Seth’s sins in Miami follow him north, and Jakob is caught in the storm. His campaign team issues an ultimatum: cut ties with your brother or lose the election. With enemies closing in, the twins must decide which bond is stronger: family, justice, or survival.
Perfect for readers of smart mysteries, legal intrigue, and brotherly chemistry.
Praise for Guilty by Association:
“I was pulled into this story and felt like I was right there with all the characters and I love the way the twins interact with each other.” ~ Bookbub Reviewer
“There is so much drama and intrigue, making for an entertaining and enjoyable story. The characters are wonderful and so genuine. I find the interactions between the twins, their dad, Jakob’s wife and his staff to be fun to read. The book ended on a zinger and I can’t wait for book 3. I highly recommend reading it and give it 5 stars.” ~ Bookbub Reviewer
“If you enjoy engaging sound plots with relatable characters who are involved in complex investigations, then Guilty by Association is the book for you. Because of the cliffhanger ending I can hardly wait for book three.” ~ Bookbub 5⭐ review
Book Details:
Genre: Mystery; Legal Mystery, Whodunnit
Published by: Tule Publishing Publication Date: April 22, 2026 Number of Pages: 324 ISBN: 9781972451007 (ISBN10: 1972451006) Series: The Rizk Brothers Legal Mystery Series, Book 2
Sitting on the rooftop of Wallace Investigations in the shade of a canopy, Seth reflected on his afternoon. He’d seen everything the South Bend PD had on the Jameson case. It was both what he expected and disappointing. But, he realized, if there had been the proverbial smoking gun, he wouldn’t be here now.
Or maybe that voicemail to Butch was the smoking gun. Without it, Declan Jameson’s death would have been ruled accidental, and life would have moved on.
While Stanton had welcomed him on the team, Seth had to run his own investigation, separate and unofficial. Top of Seth’s list were Jameson’s children, Danielle and Sean. If he were lucky, Jameson talked to one of them about what he thought stunk. He dialed the number for Danielle in the police report. After five rings, it rolled to voicemail. Not a surprise. In the day and age of spam calls, he was one of the many who only answered numbers he knew. Well, his phone knew. Seth long ago stopped knowing phone numbers beyond his and the one that rang in the house where his father still lived. He left a message for Mrs. Tolbert and then dialed the woman who had reported Jameson missing. She picked up on the second ring. “Hello?” The female voice was soft, almost melodic. “Mrs. O’Connell? My name is Seth Rizk. I am conducting a secondary investigation into Declan Jameson’s death. How are you today, ma’am?” He asked the question to give the woman time to digest the mouthful he’d just given her. “I’m fine, thank you for asking.” “I would like to meet with you to talk about Captain Jameson.” “Who is it?” a nosy voice asked grumpily in the background. “My nephew,” Mrs. O’Connell said away from the phone, then came back to the speaker. “I would love if you visited. It’s been so long since I’ve seen you.” “Ma’am? Did you hear what I said?” “Of course. Tomorrow afternoon? That would be fine. You’re welcome to join us for lunch, if you don’t mind eating with a crowd of sophisticated, older ladies.” “I would love to join you for lunch. I’ll be there at noon, Mrs. O’Connell. Or should I call you Aunt Morrighan?” “Yes, that would be best,” she said. “Oh, it’s been such a long time since I’ve had someone to, er, talk to. You know, family. Do you have any news?” “About Captain Jameson’s death? More questions than answers, but there are a few things I can share.” She laughed, the sound forced and brittle. “Oh, that brother of yours. He always was a troublemaker.” No, Jakob was the good brother. Not that she knew. “I really can’t wait to hear what kind of trouble you’ve been making,” she said, her voice cracking. Seth heard the real stress behind the faked banter. “I can come now. I’m in the city and can be there in twenty minutes.” “No, no. Things are the same around here. It will be nice to have a break in routine …” “Seth, Aunt Morrighan. I’ll see you at noon. You have my number—don’t be shy about using it.” “Wonderful, see you tomorrow, Seth.” She ended the call. “Color me intrigued,” Seth said to the pigeon walking around the roof. “The woman was intimidated by someone. Maybe the same someone who shot Jameson up with heart meds. This ought to be an interesting visit. Hold that thought,” he said as his screen showed the daughter’s name. “Seth Rizk.” “Hello, this is Danielle Tolbert. I’m returning your call?” The question held more than a little distress. “Thank you for calling, Mrs. Tolbert. My condolences on your loss. I met your father a long time ago. I’m one of the many who respected him.” Not Jakob. Whatever his problem was. “Thank you.” Her voice broke. “I want to speak with both you and your brother, tomorrow if possible.” She sniffled. “Why do you want to talk to Sean? He lives in Nashville, Tennessee and just came back home when Dad went missing. He doesn’t know anything.” “With investigations, you just never know when the smallest, off-hand comment holds the key to the entire puzzle. I know this is hard.” “Why isn’t the South Bend PD handling my father’s case? He worked for them for more than thirty years. He trusted them and wouldn’t like it if they were pushed aside.” Even in her grief, Danielle wasn’t rolling over for him. “No one has pushed anyone aside. I spent the morning with Detective Stanton. If you prefer, I can see if he’s available to join us.” A pregnant pause followed. “No. It’s all right.” She didn’t sound as if it was. “As long as he knows you’re meeting with us, it’s okay. Sean is staying with us. Could you come by the house in the morning? Maybe nine thirty?” When Seth agreed, she ended the call with little courtesy or fanfare. Seth sat with his elbows on his knees. He would have his hands full tomorrow. He would have to be strategic interviewing the grieving family. In his experience, the doors of cooperation could slam shut quickly. For an instant, he contemplated tagging Stanton. She obviously trusted him. But Seth wanted to get his own impressions. Stanton would be his backup plan, in case he did end up shut out. The trip to Seven Families, to see Morrighan O’Connell, had to be solo. Walking in with a known cop could shut mouths he needed open. Briefing the detective after would be good enough for now. “Well,” he said to the pigeon, “since I’m not going anywhere soon …” He opened the cooler, pulled out a Bud, and leaned back in his chair. *** Excerpt from Guilty by Association by TG Wolff. Copyright 2026 by TG Wolff. Reproduced with permission from Tule Publishing. All rights reserved.
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About Author TG Wolff:
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TG Wolff has never been able resist a good puzzle. With an engineer’s mind for logic and a lifelong love of mysteries, she crafts whodunnit stories that challenge readers to outsmart her detective. Her books are filled with quirky characters, red herrings, and—because she firmly believes solving (fictional) murders should be fun—a healthy dose of humor.
TG earned both her Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in civil engineering, learning early to see every problem as a mystery and each solution as the answer the result of asking the right questions. That same curiosity drives her fiction, where nothing is ever accidental and every detail counts.
When she’s not plotting fictional crimes, TG is a mystery reader and reviewer, and the co-creator / co-host of the whodunnit mystery podcast Mysteries to Die For. A Cleveland, Ohio native, she now lives in northeast Indiana with her husband and two sons, where dogs and mysteries are always welcome.
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A quirky detective tackles a haunting family mystery.
Caitlin was four years old when her mother died in
mysterious circumstances. Thirty years later she comes into possession of her
family home in Dorset. As she slowly recovers memories of her past, she becomes
convinced that her mother’s ghost is warning her of impending disaster.
Aided by Charlie Bond, a private investigator, an enthralling story of deceit
and deception unfolds as Caitlin and her friends expose the ultimate truth.
Fleeing to Dorset traps a mother and son between a cult
and a killer waiting in the shadows…
If this whole saga was a fight between good and evil, then
who had won? As far as Miriam could work out, neither good nor evil had
triumphed yet. Now she was having to confront the grim consequences of Will’s
behaviour, and she was mortally afraid. Maybe he and his darkness would win
after all.
The tragic suicide of a young student starts a shocking chain of events for
William Marshall, his wife Miriam and their son, Ollie. As Will descends into
madness, a ghostly presence appears in their old house to protect Ollie.
However, when two strangers threaten Miriam and an attempt is made to snatch
Ollie, mother and son are forced to flee.
Amidst ever-present danger, they shake off pursuers to seek sanctuary in Rock
House in Dorset, where they meet Caitlin and her friends. Twenty years have
passed since Charlie Bond helped Caitlin solve the mystery of her mother’s
death. Now, it is the turn of Charlie’s sidekick, Sam Haskell, to investigate a
mysterious cult and unmask a killer.
Gill Calvin
Thomas is a retired academic who lives with her husband in Swanage , UK. She finds inspiration in the landscape around
her – the Isle of Purbeck has a spectacular coastline and beautiful beaches,
and it is whilst walking here, that Gill develops characters and plots the
twists and turns you will find in her books.
Gill’s life
experiences have informed her writing.
For example, her mother’s death when she was a small child, influenced
her first book, Vex Not Her Ghost, where the heroine has to delve into the past
to uncover the real circumstances of her mother’s death, the cover up and the
ongoing corruption. Her experiences as a
social work academic governs the plot of her second book, Sister Olive Wouldn’t
Hurt a Fly. In this book the fatal
combination of a researcher’s mental collapse and a sociopathic opportunist
give rise to a cliffhanging finale.
Reviewers
have said that Gill writes the sort of books in which you find yourself racing
to the end, whilst not wanting to finish.
Her characters are compelling, well-drawn and sensitively portrayed. In her books bad people get what they
deserve, but it is never quite what it seems.
What he got was a
murder, a demon, and a 73-year-old detective with no time to kill.
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Death Takes a Holiday
The Mortimer & Mrs Morris Trilogy Book 1
by Tammie Painter
Genre: Humorous Dark Paranormal Mystery
Death is bored.
Immortality will do that to you.
** A hilarious new series from the author of The Cassie Black Trilogy! **
After an eternity of escorting souls to the afterlife, Death
— who really prefers you call him Mortimer — is bored. There’s been
departmental divisions, technical developments, and fitness crazes that mean
people just aren’t dying like they used to.
What’s worse… He’s running low on romance novels to keep
himself occupied.
His solution: a working holiday to Top World, where he
expects room service, infinity-high thread counts, and an easy solution to get
business booming again.
What he doesn’t expect is Mrs Morris, a
seventy-three-year-old detective with a tightly packed schedule that leaves no
room for an immortal assistant.
But Mortimer refuses to go away. After all, detectives find
murderers, and having his very own killer would be the perfect way to nudge up
those mortality rates.
Luckily, someone’s just been murdered — and Mrs Morris has
been hired to find the culprit. The only trouble? The victim reeks of demons,
turning Mortimer’s perfect opportunity into a great deal of trouble that could
end his career. Oh, and the human race.
Death Takes a Holiday is a humorous fantasy
novel about the most inconvenient partnership in the history of the afterlife,
where a pair of unlikely allies are thrown together by broken bones, murder
mysteries, pesky demons, and the deadliest cup of coffee in Portland.
Like Terry Pratchett joining the Thursday Murder Club, Death
Takes a Holiday is perfect for fans of wry humor, paranormal mystery,
and unforgettable characters forming reluctant bonds.
Author of humorous fantasy whodunits full of mythical
misfits and magical mishaps
Many moons ago I was a scientist in a neuroscience lab where I got to play with
brains and illegal drugs. Now, I take wickedly strong tea and turn it into
comic fantasy whodunits full of mythical misfits and magical mishaps that I
hope give you a giggle.
My tales run the gamut from the ever-expanding Cassie Black Trilogy with its
wryly humorous paranormal mysteries to the comical fantasy whodunits in The
Circus of Unusual Creatures, and from light-hearted novellas celebrating my
love of books to short fiction in which I really flex my myth-loving and
humor-craving muscles!
When I’m not creating worlds or killing off characters, I can be found
gardening, planning my next travel adventure, concocting some sort of mess in
the kitchen, or working as an unpaid servant to one very spoiled cat and some
very demanding squirrels.
