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Death In The Ozarks by Erik S. Meyers ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: December 20, 2024 in Cozy Mystery, Excerpt, giveaways, reviews
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THE SALLY WITHERSPOON MYSTERY SERIES
by Erik S. Meyers
November 11 – December 20, 2024 Virtual Book Tour
DEATH IN THE OZARKS

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  A cross between Agatha Christie’s Miss Marple and a Cheers bartender, Sally Witherspoon, a 50-something accountant turned biker-bar owner, loves solving puzzles. Up to now, she has focused on helping neighbors and friends find lost jewelry, lost pets, and lost loves. But when she finds her best friend and business partner, Bill Arnold, dead in a dumpster behind her bar on a Saturday night, she needs all her wits and grit to find out who did it. And she won’t stop until she does.

Links: Amazon / B&N / BookShop.org / Goodreads

Praise for Death in the Ozarks:

“Christie meets Cornwell in this vivid mystery, by Erik Meyers. I found myself investigating the story, lending a hand to Witherspoon but never quite unravelling the threads, and in the end experiencing a satisfying read that provoked everything from anxiety to relief.” ~ Callan J. Mulligan, Bestselling Sci-Fi/Fantasy Author “Move over, Jessica Fletcher and Agatha Christie. Here comes Sally Witherspoon, a small-town bartender with mad skills as an amateur sleuth. Determined to discover who murdered her best friend and co-owner of Sally’s Smasher. Experienced in solving minor mysteries, the community isn’t surprised when Sally launches herself into the murder investigation, frustrating the local authorities, but they aren’t the only ones. Some secrets should stay secret or should they? Follow Sally and find out.” ~ Wendy Bayne, 5-Star Goodreads Review “I loved this mystery! Suspenseful and a real page turner. The main character Sally Witherspoon, the owner of a biker bar, is a gutsy, intelligent, likeable woman determined to find out who killed her business partner and this leads the reader on an exciting adventure. Thought I had it figured out but was surprised at the ending. Highly recommend!” ~ Lillian M. Finn, 5-Star Amazon Review

 

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MY REVIEW

I love a good mystery and it’s even more fun when there’s more than one. And more than one murder. I know, doesn’t sound so good. But, it’s fiction. This book has a pile. The small Ozarks town of Berry Springs has a pile of bodies and no suspect in sight. Or maybe too many to choose from. Enter Sally Witherspoon. She owns Sally’s Smasher, a local biker bar. When a connection between the victim’s and her club is discovered all eyes to turn to her and her clientele.

I really like Sally. It’s nice to have an amateur sleuth that’s a bit more mature. Doesn’t mean she’s that much wiser in  figuring out the who, what and why. But she’s determined despite warning from the police to mind her own beeswax and maybe drawing attention from the killer or killers. Oh yes, who says there can’t be more than one.

When I reached the end I realized I’d read the book straight through. It was that fun. And if I’d had the next one, I’d have picked it up and continued reading.

4 STARS

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Murder on the Mississippi; The Sally Witherspoon Mystery Series by Erik S. Meyers
MURDER ON THE MISSISSIPPI

  Six months after the events in Death in the Ozarks, Sally Witherspoon is trying to put that terrible time behind her. She books a river cruise down the Mississippi to get away and relax. Unfortunately relaxation is not to be as as she’s called on to get to the bottom of a mysterious death that occurs on board. A combination of Cheers bartender and Miss Marple, Sally Witherspoon is as determined as ever to solve it.

 

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Book Details:

Genre: Traditional Mystery, Cozy Mystery

Published by: Level Best Books

Series Links: Amazon | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt from Death in the Ozarks:
Chapter One
Sally Witherspoon dropped onto the sofa in her office with a sigh, the cracked brown leather groaning as she settled herself, and ran her hand through her graying chestnut ponytail. What a night. The fights in the bar on Saturday nights were getting worse. Sally loved her bar, Sally’s Smasher, and her adopted town of Berry Springs, but the violence was getting to her. She had come to live in the small town fifteen years ago. An old college friend, Bill Arnold, was from there, and he had always urged her to come for a visit. With a population of two thousand, one hotel, two bars, two diners, and a few arts-and-crafts shops, it was very different from her high-powered life in finance in Atlanta, but now it was definitely home. A home that didn’t include her husband, mind you. They had divorced soon after the trip to Berry Springs. Putting her life’s savings into buying an old run-down bakery—with a lot of financial help from Bill—and turning it into Sally’s Smasher had been quite a gamble, but life here was different. The thought of living in the beautiful Ozark mountains in Arkansas and still sitting in an office like back in Georgia hadn’t been an option for her, and the bar seemed like the perfect alternative. Running it meant she had more time to explore and hike the local area. Yes, the nights were long, but the town had come to love Sally and her biker bar, and she’d made many friends. With only two bartenders, Jay and Magda, to help, it took a lot to run the place. Most Saturday shifts were hard slogs, but that night had been an especially long evening, as she had to deal with three bar fights, each uglier than the last. First, her business partner, Bill Arnold, had gotten into a heated argument with his biker club, The Mountaineers, over who would get to ride Bill’s vintage Vincent Rapide next. As it was on display at the bar in a large metal cage, it was often a topic of contention. Bill was always worried it would be stolen, it was worth a lot, or worse, one of his buddies would ruin the perfectly restored and polished leather seat and shining metal. Then Bethany Wells, the school assistant, had accidentally stumbled into Mayor Jennifer Milkowski on her way to the bathroom. Bethany did love her wine, and there had been a bit of a misunderstanding. Bethany got easily annoyed when she had had too much to drink. Jennifer was not the easiest to get along with, for sure, but she was always watching her image, and being involved in a bar fight would certainly not fit her mayoral brand, and she quickly defused the situation. The third fight almost resulted in Sally calling the police. Her friend Jeff Bartholomew, a teacher at Clinton High School, was sitting with their local Catholic priest, Father O’Malley, and had become pissed off by the bikers yelling at each other next to their table. Jeff stood up, his fists at the ready. One of The Mountaineers lobbed him in the jaw, and Jeff swung in return. Jeff had had too many beers to be in top form, and his swing missed. As he swiveled around, he fell hard, knocking over a table full of glasses and falling on a metal chair in the process, which his broad six-foot-two frame bent out of shape. If it weren’t for Bill stepping in and throwing Jeff out of the bar at that moment, Sally’s Smasher would have been truly and royally, well, smashed up. Unfortunately, this was not something completely unusual; the rough-and-ready people living in the remote town rising to conflict more than she’d seen in the city, but the fights that night had been more violent than normal. They’d completely torn up one corner of the place. Her insurance would pay for now, she hoped. She didn’t really have the funds to fix it up herself. But reviewing the events of the evening wasn’t going to change matters, nor was it helping Sally relax. She pushed herself up from the couch to finish cleaning up and readying the place for the next night. She’d sent Jay and Magda home at half past twelve, not needing their help in finishing off the last of the jobs. Plus, she didn’t want to overwork them. If they quit, she would be up the proverbial creek without a paddle. Sally went over to her desk to tally up the night’s receipts, making a note of the amount of cash in the drawer and putting all of it in the safe. While the overall accounting at the bar wasn’t as perfect as she wanted it to be—far too much red ink for her finance background’s liking—she always made sure the cash drawer was perfect. She then headed back out into the bar to put the glasses away she had washed before closing for the night. Pushing all the tables and chairs back in their proper places, Sally made one final sweep of the bar before checking all the windows and doors. Casting her eyes over the decorations around the bar always made her smile. The deer antlers above the door came from one of her hunting trips. Bill’s vintage bike was a real pull. And the red wooden paneling had been specially made by the local lumberyard. She was so proud of what she had accomplished, though it wouldn’t have happened without Bill’s help, and his money. As she did every night, she went to each window from left to right, making sure the catches were secure. Then she locked the front door. Back in her office, she grabbed her backpack and shut off the lights. Just before leaving through the back door, she set the alarm. The reassuring red light always calmed her nerves. After four break-ins in one month the previous year, she finally broke down and bought an alarm, a huge expense, but so far, worth it. In the parking lot, she headed to her car, looking forward to falling into bed. She threw her red backpack in the back of her old blue Datsun and started the engine. Damn, I forgot to put out the trash. She turned off the car and reluctantly headed back across the parking lot. Looking up, she frowned. Bill’s fiery-red Harley-Davidson motorcycle was still parked in the back of the building near the trash bins. Bill didn’t have a car, so he couldn’t have taken that. And she had definitely checked everywhere inside to make sure no one was passed out in one of the bathroom stalls. Maybe someone had given him a lift home. Bill was her business partner, but he acted like a very loyal customer most nights, drinking up the Murphy’s stout imported from Ireland for him. She walked over to the motorcycle and was surprised to find the engine warm to the touch. That’s strange, she thought. She glanced around the parking lot and the woods behind for Bill. Though, why would he be waiting outside? At that point, she was too tired to think about the motorcycle any further. Bill was a big boy, and he’d make his own way home, and she went to get the trash bags. She stomped back inside. Annoyed with herself, she had to switch the alarm off. She’d left the damn things by the door but must have walked straight by them. There were three huge bags, so she would have to make two trips. To make it easier for herself, she moved the bags outside before locking up and turning on the alarm again. She then grabbed two of the bags and lugged them across the lot. Why hadn’t she put the trash bins closer to the door? This was one of her many to-dos that never reached the top of the priority list. She should get Jay to do it for her next week. At the dumpster, she opened the lid and threw the bags in without looking, brushing her jeans against some grease on the side. Jeans were pretty much her go-to outfits, or sweatpants at home. Everything else was a waste of money, as it got dirty so easily at the bar. And she didn’t do much beyond hiking, working, sleeping, and eating. She went back and grabbed the third bag from the door, and returned to the dumpster. Her long night would finally be over. As she opened the lid again, she realized the bags she had just thrown in were too close to the top. The dumpster had been emptied the day before, so what was under the bags? If someone else was dumping their rubbish in her bin, she’d be having words. Sally fumbled in her pocket for her cell, switched on the flashlight, and peered inside. Waving the flashlight, the light landed on something that was definitely not trash. She brought her hands to her mouth, dropping the trash bag, and screamed. Staring back at her were the gray, unseeing eyes of Bill Arnold. *** Excerpt from Death in the Ozarks by Erik S. Meyers. Copyright 2023 by Erik S. Meyers. Reproduced with permission from Erik S. Meyers. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Erik S. Meyers:

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Erik S. Meyers

Currently in Austria, Erik S. Meyers is an American abroad for years and years who has lived or worked in six countries on three continents, the longest in Germany. He is an award-winning author and communications professional with over twenty-five years of expertise in a variety of corporate roles. Reading and writing are his passions, when he is not hiking one of the amazing trails in Austria or elsewhere.

Catch Up With Erik S. Meyers: www.ErikMey.com Medium – @erikmey Goodreads – @erikmey Instagram – @erikmeyauthor Facebook – @ErikSMeyersAuthor

 

 

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This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Erik S. Meyers. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

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The Tell-Tale Homicide by Daphne Silver ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: December 19, 2024 in Cozy Mystery, Excerpt, giveaways, reviews
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The Rare Books Cozy Mysteries by Daphne Silver Banner

THE RARE BOOKS COZY MYSTERIES
by Daphne Silver
November 25, 2024 – January 3, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

 

CRIME AND PARCHMENT

  Rare books librarian Juniper Blume knows this much… an ancient Celtic manuscript shouldn’t be in a Maryland cemetery. But that’s exactly what her brother-in-law claims. Last year, Juniper saw the 1,200-year-old Book of Kells in Ireland. She learned how their bejeweled covers were stolen centuries ago, never to be seen again. So how could they have ended up in Rose Mallow, a small Chesapeake Bay town? Being Jewish, the Book of Kells might not be her sacred text, but as a rare books librarian, the ancient book is still sacred to her, making it important to Juniper to find out the truth. Rose Mallow is the same place where Juniper used to summer with her sister Azalea and their grandmother Zinnia, known as Nana Z. Ever since Nana Z passed away, Juniper’s avoided returning, but her curiosity is greater than her grief, so she heads down in her vintage convertible with her rescue dog Clover. Juniper discovers that her sister Azalea has transformed their grandmother’s Queen Anne style mansion into the Wildflower Inn, backing up to the Chesapeake Bay. Although Juniper isn’t much of a cook, Azalea has kept their grandmother’s legacy alive, filling the house with the smells of East European Jewish treats, like sweet kugels and tzimmes cake. Will coming back here feel like returning home or fill Juniper with a deeper sorrow? Can she apologize to her sister for not being there when she was needed most?

 

THE TELL-TALE HOMICIDE

  Rare books librarian Juniper Blume lands her dream job: creating a new museum in her Chesapeake Bay town of Rose Mallow, Maryland. But on her very first day, she makes a shocking discovery – a dead man clutching a book by Edgar Allan Poe, stolen from the collections! As Juniper gets closer to cracking the coded message hidden inside the book, she realizes someone is desperate to keep its literary secrets buried… even if that means burying her too. Dressed in her signature vintage style with rescue pup Clover by her side, the fearless bookworm must hunt down the culprit before becoming the next victim. But can she solve the case without jeopardizing a budding romance with her boss, the dashing Leo Calverton? And can she help her sister Azalea perfect their grandmother’s legendary blintz recipe before the Rose Mallow Festival? A delightfully deadly page-turner, The Tell-Tale Homicide continues the charming Rare Books Cozy Mystery series by Agatha award-winning author Daphne Silver. Fans of Kate Carlisle and Jenn McKinlay will love tagging along with the whip-smart, book-loving Juniper on her adventures.

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MY REVIEW

So, we’re back in Rose Mallow with Juniper Blume. And I’m excited for her. She’s starting a new venture, creating a museum and as a rare books librarian she’s perfect for it. There’s just one little hitch. A dead body holding a rare book. Looks like they might have been absconding with it. But who killed this burglar? Why didn’t they take the book? Was it a case of wrong time, wrong place? Or, something more sinister?

It’s not all about murder. When they ply the stolen book from the corpse’s cold dead hand, there’s a mysterious message inside. What’s that all about?  Hmmm.

It was fun being back with Juniper. She’s gotten better at sleuthing. Not that she has much choice if she wants to solve the murder and save her reputation, and the town’s.

I had a blast. I enjoyed the first book and this one even more fun. I already knew the characters and focused more on spotting clues and making my own guesses at who did what. This time I was right!

4 STARS

 

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Series Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery

Published by: Level Best Books Series:The Rare Books Cozy Mysteries

Series Links: Amazon | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt from Crime and Parchment:
CHAPTER 1
My 1965, robin’s egg blue convertible backfired as I parked in front of the Wildflower Inn. The noise set off Clover barking in the backseat. Not exactly the quiet homecoming I’d hoped for. I jumped out of my Karmann-Ghia – or “KG” as I’d nicknamed her – to check under the hood, hoping I wouldn’t need to get the roadster serviced yet again. No idea where that money would come from. A screaming, ranting madwoman poured out of a neighboring house. Maybe in her late seventies, she brandished a large umbrella. I dropped the hood to find the umbrella pointing at me. Clover – all twenty pounds of him – jumped out and started growling. “Easy, boy,” I said. “You shoot something off, Missy? Here to cause trouble? Because I’m on the board of the Friends of the Rose Mallow Police.” the woman said. She wore a perfectly fitted Mamie Eisenhower pink skirt suit with enormous pearls – straight out of the 1950s. Her white bouffant billowed around her head. She reminded me of a researcher I’d helped earlier that day at the Library of Congress. That woman had been a murder mystery author looking for books about early detectives. This woman looked like she wanted to murder someone – namely me. Suddenly I remembered her: Cordelia Sullivan. She was my late grandmother’s arch-nemesis. After my Nana Z had moved to Rose Mallow, they’d competed to be the president of almost every board in town. Nana Z had called it a “friendly rivalry to garner the most civic goodwill,” but I don’t think Cordelia saw it that way. To her, the Blume family were – and always would be – outsiders in her perfect Chesapeake Bay town. “What’s going on?” My sister Azalea appeared on the wraparound porch of the Wildflower Inn. Although I was two years younger at twenty-eight, she looked like my twin, except that her hair was much longer and darker than my slanted bob. She pushed her bangs back and brought a hand up to her forehead when she saw me. “Juniper? What on earth are you doing here?” “Well, I…” My words faltered. I’d spent the past hour driving and trying to figure out how to tell Azalea about why I’d finally returned, but every time I tested the words out loud, they failed. Clover had listened with confused curiosity before giving up and falling asleep. “You know there’s a noise ordinance,” Cordelia said as she waved her umbrella around. Clover barked at the offending instrument. However, I think he wanted to play with it more than anything else. Occasional growling aside, he’s not exactly attack dog material. “Yes, Mrs. Sullivan. Not until 10 p.m., and it’s not even 8 o’clock yet.” Azalea’s exasperated voice led me to suspect that she’d had this conversation more than once. “Hmph. I plan on taking your ‘halfway house’ to the zoning board. What a travesty to do to our pristine historic district. You know I’m president of the Rose Mallow Historical Society.” Cordelia wagged a finger at my sister. I closed my eyes before rolling them. “Mama! Mama!” A young bundle of legs and a mop of nearly black hair appeared next to Azalea on the wraparound porch. I couldn’t believe how big Violet had grown. She was almost four years old now. She latched onto Azalea’s legs and held on tightly. I wanted to run up to my niece and smother her in hugs and kisses, but I wasn’t sure how I’d be received. Clover apparently did too because he took off after her. The little girl squealed with laughter as he covered her in licks. “Go inside, Vi. It’s past your bedtime,” Azalea said. She turned to us. “I don’t have time for this. As you can see, I have a young child requiring my attention. Plus, I have a house full of guests. Mrs. Sullivan, it sounds like you have a plan in place to handle my zoning and noise issues. I’ll leave you to it. And Juniper, if you’re here, then let’s get you inside.” Violet ran inside, letting Clover follow. I took that as a positive sign, so I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and followed quickly, as Cordelia monitored us. Her umbrella remained held out in the air. She reminded me of Don Quixote in pearls. “You’ve done an incredible job restoring the place,” I said as I walked across the perfectly manicured lawn. Azalea had recently converted Nana Z’s Queen Anne style mansion into a boutique hotel. After so many years away, I hadn’t been sure what to expect. She eyed me with uncertainty. I could tell she was debating whether to chew me out for not being here for any of the work, let alone the hotel’s grand opening earlier in the spring. But my sister is much better at maturity than I am. “It’s been a journey. Not an undertaking for the faint of heart. Repairing that turret alone had me almost give up and put up the for sale sign.” Azalea pointed up to the three-story round tower protruding from the side of the house. As a kid, I used to pretend Nana Z’s home was a castle and fought many dragons racing up that tower. “You wouldn’t.” “I said ‘Almost,’” she replied with a laugh. “I love how bright the yellow siding is. I bet that color really pops in the morning against the Chesapeake Bay.” I walked up the stairs to the wraparound, past garden beds bursting with purple coneflowers and Black-Eyed Susans, Maryland’s state flower. “You know what’s funny is how much I hated canary yellow when we were little. Every time we came here, I’d always wished Nana Z’s house was more like Cordelia Sullivan’s with her dark greens and rich reds. But now that Nana Z’s gone, I couldn’t stand to change it,” Azalea said. “But it’s such a cheery color. Why would you want something so drab as Cordelia’s place? ” I asked. As a kid, Cordelia’s house had been as scary as the owner. Losing a ball into her yard meant it was never coming back. Neighborhood kids claimed her house was haunted. Azalea shrugged. “Yeah, the yellow’s growing on me.” “You kept this mess?” I said when I spotted the clunky clay mezuzah on the doorpost. I’d made the case at Jewish day camp as a kid. Inside was a tiny parchment scroll inscribed with biblical verses in Hebrew. The painted clay design was supposed to be a bunch of zinnias in honor of Nana Z’s first name, but it looked more like a lumpy mud puddle than a bright firework of flowers. Azalea shrugged with a smile. “Oh, there are a few of my own masterpieces on some of the other doors inside. Maybe I’ll get Violet to make some new ones.” The inside was as exquisite as the outside. I don’t think my memories did the place justice. The stained glass above the front door also sported Black-Eyed Susans, while those above each window featured a different native wildflower. Azalea had kept our grandmother’s lush red carpets with ornate gold and white floral patterns. Polished mahogany inset panels gleamed from the walls. A staircase with beautifully carved spindles fed into the large lobby. On the left was a parlor that Azalea had turned into the registration space. On the right was the library, overflowing with leather-bound books. It was in this room I had discovered my love for stories and books as a child. I wouldn’t have become a rare books librarian at The Library of Congress without Nana Z’s library. I sighed, wishing things were going better there. Nana Z would have been proud of me, but my job had become so difficult since I lost that promotion to Greyson. A little birdie had told me not to expect another chance for a long time, which meant I was stuck with someone Nana Z would have described as a “shlemiel.” A narrow hallway disappeared between the registration area and the staircase, which led back to the dining room and kitchen. I remembered how those overlooked the back garden, public boardwalk, and the Chesapeake Bay. I could imagine how ornately she’d decorated the upstairs bedrooms. Clover sniffed at everything in sight. I monitored him, but he was having a grand time exploring. Just not too grand of a time. I tried sending the message to him telepathically. He lifted his nose at me, as if to say, “Who, me?” “I love that you hung some of Nana Z’s watercolors,” I said. My eyes grew misty as I gazed at her paintings of native flowers, including dwarf crested irises, ironweed, columbine, and, of course, the rose mallow for which the Maryland town was named. I shook my head, pushing the grief down deep. A teenager hunched over a thick book sat at the registration desk. She had long, bluish-green locs that looked beautiful against her sepia brown skin. Her large glasses were rimmed in a matching turquoise color. She looked up from the book and said, “Sorry, Azalea. Vi got away from me.” The teen didn’t seem alarmed, but then again, neither did Azalea. I wondered if this happened frequently. Maybe Vi was a regular escape artist. Nana Z would have been pleased. I held back my smile. “I’m Juniper, Azalea’s sister,” I said to the teen as I extended my hand. “You have a sister?” she asked Azalea with a look of surprise. Then she recovered, shook my hand, and said, “I’m Keisha Douglass. I’ve been helping Azalea with the Wildflower Inn. But, uh, we’re all booked up tonight.” “I’ll figure it out,” said Azalea. “Although giving me some sort of a heads up you were finally coming would’ve been nice, Juniper.” I didn’t know what to say, so I smiled awkwardly. Clover raced over to the desk to check out Keisha. The desk was higher than him, so he couldn’t quite see atop. Fortunately, she came around to pet him. “Oh wow! A dog? We’re allowing dogs now?” I turned to check with Azalea, who massaged her temples. She breathed deeply but then simply shrugged. Great. Not only had I shown up out of the blue, but I hadn’t checked to make sure pets were allowed. I was pretty sure I knew the root cause of her sudden headache. I smiled sheepishly. “No worries, Keisha. Clover’s the exception to the no dogs rule. Vi’s fine. I’m going to put her to bed,” Azalea said, as she ushered the bouncing kid down the narrow hallway and turned abruptly right before the kitchen. Unsure of what to do, I followed. There was a small sitting room there, which she had reconfigured into a bedroom. It was a tight space. Azalea caught me staring. “It’s a temporary solution. I’m still working on updating the Carriage House in the back garden. Once I’m finished, Vi and I will move there.” Vi ran around the room, fighting Azalea’s attempts to return her to bed. My sister paused mid-chase and said, “This may take a bit. You know where the kitchen is. Why don’t you go there, start a kettle of tea, and I’ll meet you there when we’re done? I was getting ready to pull a kugel out of the oven anyway.” That was my sister, always gently commanding, whether it was an unruly neighbor, an energetic preschooler, or me, the surprise guest. I thought of her like a duck. Above the water, she appeared to be smoothly sailing along, but below, it was a mad fury of management to keep everything afloat. “A kugel?” I asked with excitement. Nana Z had made plenty of the baked noodle casseroles each summer. Sometimes they were savory, but more often, they were sweet, made with lokshen, or egg noodles, and various cheeses. Azalea looked pleased. “I’ve been trying to perfect her recipe. You’ll have to tell me what you think.” I knew immediately she meant Nana Z. As we headed down the hallway, I caught the aroma of the decadent noodle pudding. I could already detect the cinnamon she’d used. My eyes watered slightly at the memories the smell produced. The kitchen was both familiar and new. No longer was it the 1890s meets 1970s chic that Nana Z had employed. Azalea had replaced most of the yellowed appliances with updated stainless-steel, upgraded the laminate countertops to granite, and removed the harvest gold wallpaper to paint the in vogue “greige” along with a matching subway tile backsplash. Someone had been watching a lot of HGTV. But it was still Nana Z’s kettle on the stovetop, her handcrafted cookie jar on the counter, and a variety of favorite teas in the same cabinet location. Being here felt like being at home, but only if that home had been completely renovated when you weren’t looking. The view out back remained the same, looking past a blooming garden of blue hydrangeas and the small Carriage House, to the public boardwalk separating the garden from the Chesapeake Bay. On good days, you could make out the shoreline on the Eastern Shore. Being early June, the sun was beginning to set beyond the Bay’s edge, so the view became a Tonalist painting with its atmospheric blues, grays, and browns. Clover found an embroidered tea towel to play with. I tried pulling it away from him, but he decided that meant the game was afoot. I dug into my suitcase and found his food. I borrowed a couple of low rimmed bowls to fill with his dinner and water. He quickly abandoned the towel for something to eat. According to the timer, the kugel still had a few minutes left in the oven. I caught the kettle before it whistled and filled up two mugs. Given the abundance of Darjeeling black tea, I assumed it was still Azalea’s favorite and prepped it for both of us. Within a few minutes, she came in, plopped down on an empty seat, and dropped her head to the table. I sat up in alarm, afraid that my cool as nails sister might be about to cry. *** Excerpt from Crime and Parchment by Daphne Silver. Copyright 2023 by Daphne Silver. Reproduced with permission from Daphne Silver. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Daphne Silver:

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Daphne Silver

Daphne Silver is the Agatha Award winning author of the Rare Books Cozy Mystery Series. Her first novel, Crime and Parchment (Level Best Books, 2023), won the Agatha for Best First Mystery Novel. Her latest book, The Tell-Tale Homicide, comes out November 2024 from Level Best Books. She’s worked more than twenty years in museums and symphonies and has the great fortune of being married to a librarian. When she’s not writing, she’s drawing and painting. She lives in Maryland with her family. Although she’s not much of a baker, she won’t ever turn down a sweet lokshen kugel.

Catch Up With Daphne Silver: www.DaphneSilver.com Goodreads BookBub – @daphnesilverbooks Instagram – @daphnesilverbooks Facebook – @daphnesilverbooks

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway! Click here to view the Tour Schedule  

 

JOIN IN ON THE GIVEAWAY:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Daphne Silver. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

Can’t see the giveaway? Click Here!  

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

Crime And Parchment by Daphne Silver ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: December 18, 2024 in Cozy Mystery, Excerpt, giveaways, reviews
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The Rare Books Cozy Mysteries by Daphne Silver Banner

THE RARE BOOKS COZY MYSTERIES
by Daphne Silver
November 25, 2024 – January 3, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

 

CRIME AND PARCHMENT

  Rare books librarian Juniper Blume knows this much… an ancient Celtic manuscript shouldn’t be in a Maryland cemetery. But that’s exactly what her brother-in-law claims. Last year, Juniper saw the 1,200-year-old Book of Kells in Ireland. She learned how their bejeweled covers were stolen centuries ago, never to be seen again. So how could they have ended up in Rose Mallow, a small Chesapeake Bay town? Being Jewish, the Book of Kells might not be her sacred text, but as a rare books librarian, the ancient book is still sacred to her, making it important to Juniper to find out the truth. Rose Mallow is the same place where Juniper used to summer with her sister Azalea and their grandmother Zinnia, known as Nana Z. Ever since Nana Z passed away, Juniper’s avoided returning, but her curiosity is greater than her grief, so she heads down in her vintage convertible with her rescue dog Clover. Juniper discovers that her sister Azalea has transformed their grandmother’s Queen Anne style mansion into the Wildflower Inn, backing up to the Chesapeake Bay. Although Juniper isn’t much of a cook, Azalea has kept their grandmother’s legacy alive, filling the house with the smells of East European Jewish treats, like sweet kugels and tzimmes cake. Will coming back here feel like returning home or fill Juniper with a deeper sorrow? Can she apologize to her sister for not being there when she was needed most?

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MY REVIEW

I love cozy mysteries. The settings are usually small towns where you can’t hide skeletons in your closet. The murders aren’t gory. Kind of glossed over to keep it a cozy. There’s usually family history and some sweet romance. And as you get to know the characters, they can seem familiar.

And I love reading a series. From book to book I get to see how characters change. How they grow. And there’s always the pesky dead body. A new mystery to try and solve.

Crime And Parchment, fun title, is the first in the Rare Books Cozy Mystery series and was a whole lot of fun. Juniper Blume, love that name, is the main protagonist. She has such a great vocation. A rare books librarian. I love the feel and smell of old books. Her former bother-in-law claims he may know where to find the covers for the Book of Kells. There’s a catch though. She’ll have to return to Rose Mallow. Something she really doesn’t want to do. There’s some family things to deal with. She returns, only to come across a dead body. Is the murder related to the lost covers? The hunt for the covers and the killer begins.

The first few sentences reeled me right in and I settled down to get to know the characters and the town of Rose Mallow. I found so much of this story intriguing. It felt almost like a treasure hunt. There are a lot of colorful characters and my list of suspects was long. I finally settled on the guilty party, and I was wrong. Sure had fun being wrong though. I wonder if I’ll be wrong in the next book. I’m getting ready to find out.

4 STARS

 

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THE TELL-TALE HOMICIDE

  Rare books librarian Juniper Blume lands her dream job: creating a new museum in her Chesapeake Bay town of Rose Mallow, Maryland. But on her very first day, she makes a shocking discovery – a dead man clutching a book by Edgar Allan Poe, stolen from the collections! As Juniper gets closer to cracking the coded message hidden inside the book, she realizes someone is desperate to keep its literary secrets buried… even if that means burying her too. Dressed in her signature vintage style with rescue pup Clover by her side, the fearless bookworm must hunt down the culprit before becoming the next victim. But can she solve the case without jeopardizing a budding romance with her boss, the dashing Leo Calverton? And can she help her sister Azalea perfect their grandmother’s legendary blintz recipe before the Rose Mallow Festival? A delightfully deadly page-turner, The Tell-Tale Homicide continues the charming Rare Books Cozy Mystery series by Agatha award-winning author Daphne Silver. Fans of Kate Carlisle and Jenn McKinlay will love tagging along with the whip-smart, book-loving Juniper on her adventures.

 

Series Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery

Published by: Level Best Books Series:The Rare Books Cozy Mysteries

Series Links: Amazon | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt from Crime and Parchment:
CHAPTER 1
My 1965, robin’s egg blue convertible backfired as I parked in front of the Wildflower Inn. The noise set off Clover barking in the backseat. Not exactly the quiet homecoming I’d hoped for. I jumped out of my Karmann-Ghia – or “KG” as I’d nicknamed her – to check under the hood, hoping I wouldn’t need to get the roadster serviced yet again. No idea where that money would come from. A screaming, ranting madwoman poured out of a neighboring house. Maybe in her late seventies, she brandished a large umbrella. I dropped the hood to find the umbrella pointing at me. Clover – all twenty pounds of him – jumped out and started growling. “Easy, boy,” I said. “You shoot something off, Missy? Here to cause trouble? Because I’m on the board of the Friends of the Rose Mallow Police.” the woman said. She wore a perfectly fitted Mamie Eisenhower pink skirt suit with enormous pearls – straight out of the 1950s. Her white bouffant billowed around her head. She reminded me of a researcher I’d helped earlier that day at the Library of Congress. That woman had been a murder mystery author looking for books about early detectives. This woman looked like she wanted to murder someone – namely me. Suddenly I remembered her: Cordelia Sullivan. She was my late grandmother’s arch-nemesis. After my Nana Z had moved to Rose Mallow, they’d competed to be the president of almost every board in town. Nana Z had called it a “friendly rivalry to garner the most civic goodwill,” but I don’t think Cordelia saw it that way. To her, the Blume family were – and always would be – outsiders in her perfect Chesapeake Bay town. “What’s going on?” My sister Azalea appeared on the wraparound porch of the Wildflower Inn. Although I was two years younger at twenty-eight, she looked like my twin, except that her hair was much longer and darker than my slanted bob. She pushed her bangs back and brought a hand up to her forehead when she saw me. “Juniper? What on earth are you doing here?” “Well, I…” My words faltered. I’d spent the past hour driving and trying to figure out how to tell Azalea about why I’d finally returned, but every time I tested the words out loud, they failed. Clover had listened with confused curiosity before giving up and falling asleep. “You know there’s a noise ordinance,” Cordelia said as she waved her umbrella around. Clover barked at the offending instrument. However, I think he wanted to play with it more than anything else. Occasional growling aside, he’s not exactly attack dog material. “Yes, Mrs. Sullivan. Not until 10 p.m., and it’s not even 8 o’clock yet.” Azalea’s exasperated voice led me to suspect that she’d had this conversation more than once. “Hmph. I plan on taking your ‘halfway house’ to the zoning board. What a travesty to do to our pristine historic district. You know I’m president of the Rose Mallow Historical Society.” Cordelia wagged a finger at my sister. I closed my eyes before rolling them. “Mama! Mama!” A young bundle of legs and a mop of nearly black hair appeared next to Azalea on the wraparound porch. I couldn’t believe how big Violet had grown. She was almost four years old now. She latched onto Azalea’s legs and held on tightly. I wanted to run up to my niece and smother her in hugs and kisses, but I wasn’t sure how I’d be received. Clover apparently did too because he took off after her. The little girl squealed with laughter as he covered her in licks. “Go inside, Vi. It’s past your bedtime,” Azalea said. She turned to us. “I don’t have time for this. As you can see, I have a young child requiring my attention. Plus, I have a house full of guests. Mrs. Sullivan, it sounds like you have a plan in place to handle my zoning and noise issues. I’ll leave you to it. And Juniper, if you’re here, then let’s get you inside.” Violet ran inside, letting Clover follow. I took that as a positive sign, so I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and followed quickly, as Cordelia monitored us. Her umbrella remained held out in the air. She reminded me of Don Quixote in pearls. “You’ve done an incredible job restoring the place,” I said as I walked across the perfectly manicured lawn. Azalea had recently converted Nana Z’s Queen Anne style mansion into a boutique hotel. After so many years away, I hadn’t been sure what to expect. She eyed me with uncertainty. I could tell she was debating whether to chew me out for not being here for any of the work, let alone the hotel’s grand opening earlier in the spring. But my sister is much better at maturity than I am. “It’s been a journey. Not an undertaking for the faint of heart. Repairing that turret alone had me almost give up and put up the for sale sign.” Azalea pointed up to the three-story round tower protruding from the side of the house. As a kid, I used to pretend Nana Z’s home was a castle and fought many dragons racing up that tower. “You wouldn’t.” “I said ‘Almost,’” she replied with a laugh. “I love how bright the yellow siding is. I bet that color really pops in the morning against the Chesapeake Bay.” I walked up the stairs to the wraparound, past garden beds bursting with purple coneflowers and Black-Eyed Susans, Maryland’s state flower. “You know what’s funny is how much I hated canary yellow when we were little. Every time we came here, I’d always wished Nana Z’s house was more like Cordelia Sullivan’s with her dark greens and rich reds. But now that Nana Z’s gone, I couldn’t stand to change it,” Azalea said. “But it’s such a cheery color. Why would you want something so drab as Cordelia’s place? ” I asked. As a kid, Cordelia’s house had been as scary as the owner. Losing a ball into her yard meant it was never coming back. Neighborhood kids claimed her house was haunted. Azalea shrugged. “Yeah, the yellow’s growing on me.” “You kept this mess?” I said when I spotted the clunky clay mezuzah on the doorpost. I’d made the case at Jewish day camp as a kid. Inside was a tiny parchment scroll inscribed with biblical verses in Hebrew. The painted clay design was supposed to be a bunch of zinnias in honor of Nana Z’s first name, but it looked more like a lumpy mud puddle than a bright firework of flowers. Azalea shrugged with a smile. “Oh, there are a few of my own masterpieces on some of the other doors inside. Maybe I’ll get Violet to make some new ones.” The inside was as exquisite as the outside. I don’t think my memories did the place justice. The stained glass above the front door also sported Black-Eyed Susans, while those above each window featured a different native wildflower. Azalea had kept our grandmother’s lush red carpets with ornate gold and white floral patterns. Polished mahogany inset panels gleamed from the walls. A staircase with beautifully carved spindles fed into the large lobby. On the left was a parlor that Azalea had turned into the registration space. On the right was the library, overflowing with leather-bound books. It was in this room I had discovered my love for stories and books as a child. I wouldn’t have become a rare books librarian at The Library of Congress without Nana Z’s library. I sighed, wishing things were going better there. Nana Z would have been proud of me, but my job had become so difficult since I lost that promotion to Greyson. A little birdie had told me not to expect another chance for a long time, which meant I was stuck with someone Nana Z would have described as a “shlemiel.” A narrow hallway disappeared between the registration area and the staircase, which led back to the dining room and kitchen. I remembered how those overlooked the back garden, public boardwalk, and the Chesapeake Bay. I could imagine how ornately she’d decorated the upstairs bedrooms. Clover sniffed at everything in sight. I monitored him, but he was having a grand time exploring. Just not too grand of a time. I tried sending the message to him telepathically. He lifted his nose at me, as if to say, “Who, me?” “I love that you hung some of Nana Z’s watercolors,” I said. My eyes grew misty as I gazed at her paintings of native flowers, including dwarf crested irises, ironweed, columbine, and, of course, the rose mallow for which the Maryland town was named. I shook my head, pushing the grief down deep. A teenager hunched over a thick book sat at the registration desk. She had long, bluish-green locs that looked beautiful against her sepia brown skin. Her large glasses were rimmed in a matching turquoise color. She looked up from the book and said, “Sorry, Azalea. Vi got away from me.” The teen didn’t seem alarmed, but then again, neither did Azalea. I wondered if this happened frequently. Maybe Vi was a regular escape artist. Nana Z would have been pleased. I held back my smile. “I’m Juniper, Azalea’s sister,” I said to the teen as I extended my hand. “You have a sister?” she asked Azalea with a look of surprise. Then she recovered, shook my hand, and said, “I’m Keisha Douglass. I’ve been helping Azalea with the Wildflower Inn. But, uh, we’re all booked up tonight.” “I’ll figure it out,” said Azalea. “Although giving me some sort of a heads up you were finally coming would’ve been nice, Juniper.” I didn’t know what to say, so I smiled awkwardly. Clover raced over to the desk to check out Keisha. The desk was higher than him, so he couldn’t quite see atop. Fortunately, she came around to pet him. “Oh wow! A dog? We’re allowing dogs now?” I turned to check with Azalea, who massaged her temples. She breathed deeply but then simply shrugged. Great. Not only had I shown up out of the blue, but I hadn’t checked to make sure pets were allowed. I was pretty sure I knew the root cause of her sudden headache. I smiled sheepishly. “No worries, Keisha. Clover’s the exception to the no dogs rule. Vi’s fine. I’m going to put her to bed,” Azalea said, as she ushered the bouncing kid down the narrow hallway and turned abruptly right before the kitchen. Unsure of what to do, I followed. There was a small sitting room there, which she had reconfigured into a bedroom. It was a tight space. Azalea caught me staring. “It’s a temporary solution. I’m still working on updating the Carriage House in the back garden. Once I’m finished, Vi and I will move there.” Vi ran around the room, fighting Azalea’s attempts to return her to bed. My sister paused mid-chase and said, “This may take a bit. You know where the kitchen is. Why don’t you go there, start a kettle of tea, and I’ll meet you there when we’re done? I was getting ready to pull a kugel out of the oven anyway.” That was my sister, always gently commanding, whether it was an unruly neighbor, an energetic preschooler, or me, the surprise guest. I thought of her like a duck. Above the water, she appeared to be smoothly sailing along, but below, it was a mad fury of management to keep everything afloat. “A kugel?” I asked with excitement. Nana Z had made plenty of the baked noodle casseroles each summer. Sometimes they were savory, but more often, they were sweet, made with lokshen, or egg noodles, and various cheeses. Azalea looked pleased. “I’ve been trying to perfect her recipe. You’ll have to tell me what you think.” I knew immediately she meant Nana Z. As we headed down the hallway, I caught the aroma of the decadent noodle pudding. I could already detect the cinnamon she’d used. My eyes watered slightly at the memories the smell produced. The kitchen was both familiar and new. No longer was it the 1890s meets 1970s chic that Nana Z had employed. Azalea had replaced most of the yellowed appliances with updated stainless-steel, upgraded the laminate countertops to granite, and removed the harvest gold wallpaper to paint the in vogue “greige” along with a matching subway tile backsplash. Someone had been watching a lot of HGTV. But it was still Nana Z’s kettle on the stovetop, her handcrafted cookie jar on the counter, and a variety of favorite teas in the same cabinet location. Being here felt like being at home, but only if that home had been completely renovated when you weren’t looking. The view out back remained the same, looking past a blooming garden of blue hydrangeas and the small Carriage House, to the public boardwalk separating the garden from the Chesapeake Bay. On good days, you could make out the shoreline on the Eastern Shore. Being early June, the sun was beginning to set beyond the Bay’s edge, so the view became a Tonalist painting with its atmospheric blues, grays, and browns. Clover found an embroidered tea towel to play with. I tried pulling it away from him, but he decided that meant the game was afoot. I dug into my suitcase and found his food. I borrowed a couple of low rimmed bowls to fill with his dinner and water. He quickly abandoned the towel for something to eat. According to the timer, the kugel still had a few minutes left in the oven. I caught the kettle before it whistled and filled up two mugs. Given the abundance of Darjeeling black tea, I assumed it was still Azalea’s favorite and prepped it for both of us. Within a few minutes, she came in, plopped down on an empty seat, and dropped her head to the table. I sat up in alarm, afraid that my cool as nails sister might be about to cry. *** Excerpt from Crime and Parchment by Daphne Silver. Copyright 2023 by Daphne Silver. Reproduced with permission from Daphne Silver. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Daphne Silver:

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Daphne Silver

Daphne Silver is the Agatha Award winning author of the Rare Books Cozy Mystery Series. Her first novel, Crime and Parchment (Level Best Books, 2023), won the Agatha for Best First Mystery Novel. Her latest book, The Tell-Tale Homicide, comes out November 2024 from Level Best Books. She’s worked more than twenty years in museums and symphonies and has the great fortune of being married to a librarian. When she’s not writing, she’s drawing and painting. She lives in Maryland with her family. Although she’s not much of a baker, she won’t ever turn down a sweet lokshen kugel.

Catch Up With Daphne Silver: www.DaphneSilver.com Goodreads BookBub – @daphnesilverbooks Instagram – @daphnesilverbooks Facebook – @daphnesilverbooks

 

 

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Dying To Tell by Tj O’Connor ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: December 13, 2024 in Cozy Mystery, Excerpt, giveaways, reviews
Tags: , ,
2

The Dead Detective Casefiles by Tj O’Connor Banner

THE DEAD DETECTIVE CASEFILES
by Tj O’Connor
October 28 – December 13, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

DYING TO KNOW

  Detective Oliver Tucker’s dead—murdered—and back as an earth-bound spirit to help his wife, Professor Angela Tucker, crack the most important case of his life—his own. But, this is not a ghost story; it’s a murder case. Tuck knows why he is back among the living but not one of them—Detective Solve Thyself. Perhaps he was murdered because of his last case—a murder involving a retired mob boss, a local millionaire land developer, a New York hit man, and the local university elite. Or could it be that Bear Braddock, his best friend and partner for more than fifteen years, wants Angela? Tuck knows that everything surrounds Kelly’s Dig where the discovery of Civil War graves may put an end to a multi-million dollar highway project. If it does, who stands to gain the most? Enough to kill? Using his unique skills, Tuck weaves through half-truths and generations-old lies chasing a madman. And he’s not alone—others, dead and alive—are hunting the same killer. Still nothing can change the truth—it is the living, not the dead, who are most terrifying.

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DYING FOR THE PAST

  Still an earth-bound spirit-detective, Tuck is on the case of the murder of a mysterious philanthropist with ties to the Russian mob and 1930’s gangsters. With the help of his wife, Professor Angela Tucker, and his former partner, Detective Bear Braddock, they must find the killer and be the first to read “the book”—an old gangster’s journal of the roots of espionage, racketeering, and corruption leading to the identity of modern-day powerbrokers and spies. Tuck finds a colorful cast of allies in a tough Assistant U.S. Attorney General, a secretive FBI agent, and the spirits of a long-dead 1930’s gangster and his sassy girlfriend. As Tuck searches to learn the secrets of “the book,” he begins to unravel his own ancestry of mobsters, adventurers, and wayward spirits. Is being a ghost hereditary?

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DYING TO TELL

  Detective Oliver Tucker never knew how perilous dying was until he stumbled onto William Mendelson—murdered in a hidden vault where Egyptian relics and World War II secrets were once stashed. Now those relics are missing. The secrets are coming out. The dead are talking. Tuck, the detective for the dead—the Dead Detective—is pulled into the case by the spirit of a World War II Office of Strategic Services operative with his own agenda. OSS Captain Ollie Tucker I—Tuck’s namesake—knows the past is catching up to the survivors of an Egyptian spy ring from more than seventy years ago. With the help of his beautiful and brilliant wife, Angel, and his gruff former partner, Detective Bear Braddock, Tuck must unravel a tale of spies, murderers, and thieves. As Tuck’s case unfolds, he confronts the growing distance between his death and Angel’s life—and the solution is a killer of its own.

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MY REVIEW

I read the first two books in the series and absolutely loved them. And now I’m thrilled to say I loved this one too. I’m partial to whodunit’s, especially in the cozy category. I loved these characters, seeing them grow together. I loved all those clues leading me down one garden path after another. When I reached the end, whether I was wrong or right about the guilty party didn’t matter. Kinda, LOL. I laughed a lot and had a blast.

Being the third in the series, it’s hard to fill you in on things without spoilers. There’s so much I’m ‘Dying To Tell’ you. Read the blurb. Check out what others are saying. And then dive in.

5 STARS

 

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Praise for The Dead Detective Casefiles:

“O’Connor’s The Dead Detective Casefiles series is a must read for those who like mysteries with a dash of history, a hard-boiled twist, and a pinch of paranormal.” ~ Heather Weidner, Author of the Jules Keene Glamping Mysteries “Tj O’Connor is a master storyteller who can have you gasping in suspense one moment and snorting coffee through your nose the next. In the Dead Detective Casefiles, he seamlessly merges mystery, humor, and paranormal so authentically that the reader never gives a second thought to the concept of the main character, Detective Oliver Tucker, actually being dead. ” ~ Annette Dashofy, USA Today Bestselling author of the Zoe Chambers Mystery Series

 

Book Details:

Genre: PI Cozy Mystery  Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 2024

Series: The Dead Detective Casefiles

Read an excerpt from DYING TO KNOW:
One
Dying is overrated. Murder, on the other hand, is not. Trust me, after fifteen years as a detective, I know a lot about both. Like death and murder are always complicated, but not always related. You can have death without murder, but not the other way around. That’s what I used to think anyway. I changed my mind after an episode of my recurring nightmare. I’d been having it for years and it always turned out the same. While chasing a bad guy in the dark, he turned and shot me. I was about to die when something always pulled me from the nightmare. This time, it was Hercule’s hot breath. My four-year-old black Lab was standing beside my bed alternating between low growls and a tongue-lashing. Both demanded my attention. When my eyes first opened, he lapped at my face and nudged me with his big, wet nose. I forced my eyes open wider and at the same time realized that Angel was not snuggled beside me in bed. She was standing across the room and listening at our bedroom door. “Angel, did you hear something again?” She always heard things late at night and always felt compelled to share them with me. “Are you sure?” “Yes, Tuck. Herc can hear it, too. Wake up, will you? What kind of detective are you?” “The asleep-kind.” “Just get up. Please?” Hercule froze, nose down, staring at me as we both heard creaking floorboards in the downstairs hall. I rolled sideways and sat on the side of the bed. Hercule crept away and crouched near the door. For the third time, something interrupted Angel’s sleep. The first two times were just our old house’s creaks and groans, and both failed to wake Hercule out of a stone-cold sleep. Now, after summoning me, he was poised for homeland defense. I got to my feet and gathered my clothes littered in a strategic path across the room. I nearly toppled over slipping on my jeans and a black tee shirt and did manage to trip over my running shoes. Angel motioned for Herc to return to the bed. To me she whispered, “Hurry up.” “Look, if I’m going to get killed tonight, I don’t want to be naked.” I grabbed my 40-caliber Glock from the nightstand and checked the chamber. Then, I retrieved a .38 revolver from our walk-in closet and handed it to Angel. “Just in case.” “Okay. Be careful.” “Keep Herc close, babe. If it’s your imagination, stay awake and lose those pjs. If it’s trouble, give me fifteen minutes—then lose them.” Even in the dark, I could see her eyes roll. “Just be careful.” At the door, I listened but heard nothing. I winked at Angel and Hercule on the bed and whispered, “I love you—you too, Angel.” Hercule wagged his tail. In the hallway, I waited for my eyes to adjust a little more to the darkness. I shifted them to use my peripheral vision, looking for any telltale movement. Still nothing. From the top of the stairs, I could just make out the foyer below and did not see or hear anything. There were no wispy shadows, no running feet, and no creaking floorboards. Yawning, I eased down the stairs with my Glock out in front of me. At the bottom landing, I stopped. Darkness and the grandfather clock greeted me—it chimed two. The downstairs was quiet and I checked the front door. It was still locked and there were no signs of splintered wood, broken glass, or other forced entry. The only sound I heard was my own breathing. The only curious sighting was the half-dressed, frumpy guy in the hall mirror who looked tired and irritated. Maybe Angel would be losing those pjs sooner rather than later. I started with the kitchen and worked my way around the first floor, searching room by room—all five of them—ending in my den. Nothing. The most dangerous thing I found was Hercule’s squeaky frog that scared the crap out of me when I stepped on it. I felt foolish and decided to head back to bed. It hit me when I reached to turn off my desk lamp. The light shouldn’t have been on. I looked around. My briefcase wasn’t in its ritual place on my credenza. It was on my chair and the contents strewn over my desk. Everything was dumped out—my gold detective’s badge and I.D., several files, a notepad, tape recorder, and my .380 backup piece. No, the Walther wasn’t there—the holster was empty. “Angel …” I bolted to the stairs and looked up. Floorboards groaned above me. A door opened in the darkness beyond the landing. Movement—a shadow. Somewhere above, Angel called, “Tuck.” There was a flash at the top of the stairs … a shot. I lunged for the third stair. A figure stepped out of the darkness twelve feet above me. Another flash. “Angel!” *** Excerpt from DYING TO KNOW by Tj O’Connor. Copyright 2014/2024 by Tj O’Connor. Reproduced with permission from Tj O’Connor. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Tj O’Connor:

,

Tj O’Connor

Tj O’Connor is an award-winning author of mysteries and thrillers. He’s an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism, investigations, and threat analysis—life experiences that drive his novels. With his former life as a government agent and years as a consultant, he has lived and worked around the world in places like Greece, Turkey, Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom, and throughout the Americas—among others. In his spare time, he’s a Harley Davidson pilot, a man-about-dogs (and now cats), and a lover of adventure, cooking, and good spirits (both kinds). He was raised in New York’s Hudson Valley and lives with his wife, Labs, and Maine Coon companions in Virginia where they raised five children who supply a growing tribe of grands.

Catch Up With Tj O’Connor: tjoconnor.com Goodreads BookBub – @tj37 Amazon Author Instagram – @tjoconnorauthor Twitter/X – @Tjoconnorauthor Facebook – @TjOConnor.Author YouTube – @tjoconnorauthor3905

 

 

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Don’t Miss Your Chance to Win! Enter Today!

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Tj O’Connor. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

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~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

Dying For The Past by Tj O’Connor ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: December 12, 2024 in Cozy Mystery, Excerpt, giveaways, reviews
Tags: , ,
2

The Dead Detective Casefiles by Tj O’Connor Banner

THE DEAD DETECTIVE CASEFILES
by Tj O’Connor
October 28 – December 13, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

DYING TO KNOW

  Detective Oliver Tucker’s dead—murdered—and back as an earth-bound spirit to help his wife, Professor Angela Tucker, crack the most important case of his life—his own. But, this is not a ghost story; it’s a murder case. Tuck knows why he is back among the living but not one of them—Detective Solve Thyself. Perhaps he was murdered because of his last case—a murder involving a retired mob boss, a local millionaire land developer, a New York hit man, and the local university elite. Or could it be that Bear Braddock, his best friend and partner for more than fifteen years, wants Angela? Tuck knows that everything surrounds Kelly’s Dig where the discovery of Civil War graves may put an end to a multi-million dollar highway project. If it does, who stands to gain the most? Enough to kill? Using his unique skills, Tuck weaves through half-truths and generations-old lies chasing a madman. And he’s not alone—others, dead and alive—are hunting the same killer. Still nothing can change the truth—it is the living, not the dead, who are most terrifying.

.

DYING FOR THE PAST

  Still an earth-bound spirit-detective, Tuck is on the case of the murder of a mysterious philanthropist with ties to the Russian mob and 1930’s gangsters. With the help of his wife, Professor Angela Tucker, and his former partner, Detective Bear Braddock, they must find the killer and be the first to read “the book”—an old gangster’s journal of the roots of espionage, racketeering, and corruption leading to the identity of modern-day powerbrokers and spies. Tuck finds a colorful cast of allies in a tough Assistant U.S. Attorney General, a secretive FBI agent, and the spirits of a long-dead 1930’s gangster and his sassy girlfriend. As Tuck searches to learn the secrets of “the book,” he begins to unravel his own ancestry of mobsters, adventurers, and wayward spirits. Is being a ghost hereditary?

 

.

.

MY REVIEW

Detective, or should I say former detective, Oliver Tucker, likes to be called Tuck, describes hinself as a puff of dust. That’s because he’s dead. But that doesn’t stop him from detecting and theirs one heck of a muder and mystery to be solved.

While his widow, Angel is on board and accepts he’s still around, albeit as a ghost, friends and his former partner, Bear, are still in denial. I had many a chuckle as Tuck used his ghostly presence to give them a spooky Boo now and then and steered them where he wanted them to go with comments from beyond the grave.

I realized pretty quickly this was the second book in a series, but the author caught me up quickly on the history. The first book is about Tuck’s own murder and how he stayed around afterwards and helped solve his own case. I imagine it was just as fun as this book and I’ll be going back to read it too.

So the skinny is, Angel, Tuck’s widow, holds a swanky charity ball and someone gets murdered right in front of everybody. To top it off, all the charity donations get snatched right out from under their noses.

As Tuck digs into the case, he meets some other ghosts, those being mobsters, the sexy Sassy, and even some relatives from long ago. All of them are tied to this case, which stems from events about a book back during the cold war and before.

Russian spies. Mobsters from the 30’s. Dead guys, several of them. A mysterious book. And a trail that leads to Tuck’s own ancestors. Lots of shenanigans and mystery in this one.

Tuck is a hoot. He gets a kick out of taunting his former partner, Bear. The poor guy is in denial and Tuck likes to give him a creepy boost now and then. Bear better get on board before people start looking at him like they do Angel.

Angel is a sweetie and she’s got a lot of sass herself. She likes having Tuck around and even gets jealous when he has an encounter with the sexy Sassy, another ghost. People are starting to look at her funny as she talks to Tuck, sometimes forgetting others can’t see or hear him. She takes it in stride.

You’d think after solving his own death, Tuck would have moved on, seen the bright light. But nope, his remaining here was a bit of a mystery even to him. He might have some of it figured out, as other ghosts do approach him to help with their murders. Tuck can do what they can’t, he can interact with the living, be heard and talk to them. Well, some of them. So he’s still detecting and will keep on doing it until it’s time to go.

The end of the book was such a hoot. You tore from one event to the next, all of it culminating in the big bang ending. I wanted to read the end, yet I didn’t want the story of Tuck and his gang to be over. I have a feeling there will be more in this series as Harry has some ancestral mysteries yet to solve. One of them being about his mother and father. Hope to see that soon.

5 STARS

.

DYING TO TELL

  Detective Oliver Tucker never knew how perilous dying was until he stumbled onto William Mendelson—murdered in a hidden vault where Egyptian relics and World War II secrets were once stashed. Now those relics are missing. The secrets are coming out. The dead are talking. Tuck, the detective for the dead—the Dead Detective—is pulled into the case by the spirit of a World War II Office of Strategic Services operative with his own agenda. OSS Captain Ollie Tucker I—Tuck’s namesake—knows the past is catching up to the survivors of an Egyptian spy ring from more than seventy years ago. With the help of his beautiful and brilliant wife, Angel, and his gruff former partner, Detective Bear Braddock, Tuck must unravel a tale of spies, murderers, and thieves. As Tuck’s case unfolds, he confronts the growing distance between his death and Angel’s life—and the solution is a killer of its own.

.

Praise for The Dead Detective Casefiles:

“O’Connor’s The Dead Detective Casefiles series is a must read for those who like mysteries with a dash of history, a hard-boiled twist, and a pinch of paranormal.” ~ Heather Weidner, Author of the Jules Keene Glamping Mysteries “Tj O’Connor is a master storyteller who can have you gasping in suspense one moment and snorting coffee through your nose the next. In the Dead Detective Casefiles, he seamlessly merges mystery, humor, and paranormal so authentically that the reader never gives a second thought to the concept of the main character, Detective Oliver Tucker, actually being dead. ” ~ Annette Dashofy, USA Today Bestselling author of the Zoe Chambers Mystery Series

 

Book Details:

Genre: PI Cozy Mystery

Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 2024

Series: The Dead Detective Casefiles

Read an excerpt from DYING TO KNOW:
One
Dying is overrated. Murder, on the other hand, is not. Trust me, after fifteen years as a detective, I know a lot about both. Like death and murder are always complicated, but not always related. You can have death without murder, but not the other way around. That’s what I used to think anyway. I changed my mind after an episode of my recurring nightmare. I’d been having it for years and it always turned out the same. While chasing a bad guy in the dark, he turned and shot me. I was about to die when something always pulled me from the nightmare. This time, it was Hercule’s hot breath. My four-year-old black Lab was standing beside my bed alternating between low growls and a tongue-lashing. Both demanded my attention. When my eyes first opened, he lapped at my face and nudged me with his big, wet nose. I forced my eyes open wider and at the same time realized that Angel was not snuggled beside me in bed. She was standing across the room and listening at our bedroom door. “Angel, did you hear something again?” She always heard things late at night and always felt compelled to share them with me. “Are you sure?” “Yes, Tuck. Herc can hear it, too. Wake up, will you? What kind of detective are you?” “The asleep-kind.” “Just get up. Please?” Hercule froze, nose down, staring at me as we both heard creaking floorboards in the downstairs hall. I rolled sideways and sat on the side of the bed. Hercule crept away and crouched near the door. For the third time, something interrupted Angel’s sleep. The first two times were just our old house’s creaks and groans, and both failed to wake Hercule out of a stone-cold sleep. Now, after summoning me, he was poised for homeland defense. I got to my feet and gathered my clothes littered in a strategic path across the room. I nearly toppled over slipping on my jeans and a black tee shirt and did manage to trip over my running shoes. Angel motioned for Herc to return to the bed. To me she whispered, “Hurry up.” “Look, if I’m going to get killed tonight, I don’t want to be naked.” I grabbed my 40-caliber Glock from the nightstand and checked the chamber. Then, I retrieved a .38 revolver from our walk-in closet and handed it to Angel. “Just in case.” “Okay. Be careful.” “Keep Herc close, babe. If it’s your imagination, stay awake and lose those pjs. If it’s trouble, give me fifteen minutes—then lose them.” Even in the dark, I could see her eyes roll. “Just be careful.” At the door, I listened but heard nothing. I winked at Angel and Hercule on the bed and whispered, “I love you—you too, Angel.” Hercule wagged his tail. In the hallway, I waited for my eyes to adjust a little more to the darkness. I shifted them to use my peripheral vision, looking for any telltale movement. Still nothing. From the top of the stairs, I could just make out the foyer below and did not see or hear anything. There were no wispy shadows, no running feet, and no creaking floorboards. Yawning, I eased down the stairs with my Glock out in front of me. At the bottom landing, I stopped. Darkness and the grandfather clock greeted me—it chimed two. The downstairs was quiet and I checked the front door. It was still locked and there were no signs of splintered wood, broken glass, or other forced entry. The only sound I heard was my own breathing. The only curious sighting was the half-dressed, frumpy guy in the hall mirror who looked tired and irritated. Maybe Angel would be losing those pjs sooner rather than later. I started with the kitchen and worked my way around the first floor, searching room by room—all five of them—ending in my den. Nothing. The most dangerous thing I found was Hercule’s squeaky frog that scared the crap out of me when I stepped on it. I felt foolish and decided to head back to bed. It hit me when I reached to turn off my desk lamp. The light shouldn’t have been on. I looked around. My briefcase wasn’t in its ritual place on my credenza. It was on my chair and the contents strewn over my desk. Everything was dumped out—my gold detective’s badge and I.D., several files, a notepad, tape recorder, and my .380 backup piece. No, the Walther wasn’t there—the holster was empty. “Angel …” I bolted to the stairs and looked up. Floorboards groaned above me. A door opened in the darkness beyond the landing. Movement—a shadow. Somewhere above, Angel called, “Tuck.” There was a flash at the top of the stairs … a shot. I lunged for the third stair. A figure stepped out of the darkness twelve feet above me. Another flash. “Angel!” *** Excerpt from DYING TO KNOW by Tj O’Connor. Copyright 2014/2024 by Tj O’Connor. Reproduced with permission from Tj O’Connor. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Tj O’Connor:

.

Tj O’Connor

Tj O’Connor is an award-winning author of mysteries and thrillers. He’s an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism, investigations, and threat analysis—life experiences that drive his novels. With his former life as a government agent and years as a consultant, he has lived and worked around the world in places like Greece, Turkey, Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom, and throughout the Americas—among others. In his spare time, he’s a Harley Davidson pilot, a man-about-dogs (and now cats), and a lover of adventure, cooking, and good spirits (both kinds). He was raised in New York’s Hudson Valley and lives with his wife, Labs, and Maine Coon companions in Virginia where they raised five children who supply a growing tribe of grands.

Catch Up With Tj O’Connor: tjoconnor.com Goodreads BookBub – @tj37 Amazon Author Instagram – @tjoconnorauthor Twitter/X – @Tjoconnorauthor Facebook – @TjOConnor.Author YouTube – @tjoconnorauthor3905

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway! Click here to view the Tour Schedule  

 

Don’t Miss Your Chance to Win! Enter Today!

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Tj O’Connor. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

Can’t see the giveaway? Click Here!  

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

Dying To Know by Tj O’Connor ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: December 11, 2024 in Cozy Mystery, Excerpt, giveaways, reviews
Tags: , ,
2

The Dead Detective Casefiles by Tj O’Connor Banner

THE DEAD DETECTIVE CASEFILES
by Tj O’Connor
October 28 – December 13, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

DYING TO KNOW

  Detective Oliver Tucker’s dead—murdered—and back as an earth-bound spirit to help his wife, Professor Angela Tucker, crack the most important case of his life—his own. But, this is not a ghost story; it’s a murder case. Tuck knows why he is back among the living but not one of them—Detective Solve Thyself. Perhaps he was murdered because of his last case—a murder involving a retired mob boss, a local millionaire land developer, a New York hit man, and the local university elite. Or could it be that Bear Braddock, his best friend and partner for more than fifteen years, wants Angela? Tuck knows that everything surrounds Kelly’s Dig where the discovery of Civil War graves may put an end to a multi-million dollar highway project. If it does, who stands to gain the most? Enough to kill? Using his unique skills, Tuck weaves through half-truths and generations-old lies chasing a madman. And he’s not alone—others, dead and alive—are hunting the same killer. Still nothing can change the truth—it is the living, not the dead, who are most terrifying.

.

MY REVIEW

A confession. I read the second book, Dying For The Past, before this first one in the series. I absolutely loved the second one and had high hopes for Dying To Know.

Cozies are a favorite for me in the mystery genre. Fun titles and colorful covers. And those characters, often a bit quirky, who you feel you know. What’s even more fun is a paranormal cozy. And that’s what I got. A detective, Tuck, who wakes up dead, killed in his own home. There stands his wife, crying over his body. Being a detective, his first case as a dead guy is to solve his own murder. But, who can he turn to for help. The only one who can see and hear him is his dog, Hercule, and he ain’t talking. I couldn’t wait to see how he sorted it out.

There’s a lot to sort out. Tuck doesn’t like what he’s learning about his partner, Bear. It couldn’t be him, could it? Bear is close with Tuck’s wife, Angel. Does this put her in danger? How can he, a dead man, protect her?

And what is it with spirits anyway? Tuck’s spirit guide, Doc, raises more questions than answers. Just get to the point already. There must be a reason for it. But, Doc ain’t saying. It’s up to Tuck to decipher the information.

There’s a serious mystery to solve. But there’s fun and plenty of humor too.  A great start to a series I must continue reading.

5 STARS

 

.

 
DYING FOR THE PAST

  Still an earth-bound spirit-detective, Tuck is on the case of the murder of a mysterious philanthropist with ties to the Russian mob and 1930’s gangsters. With the help of his wife, Professor Angela Tucker, and his former partner, Detective Bear Braddock, they must find the killer and be the first to read “the book”—an old gangster’s journal of the roots of espionage, racketeering, and corruption leading to the identity of modern-day powerbrokers and spies. Tuck finds a colorful cast of allies in a tough Assistant U.S. Attorney General, a secretive FBI agent, and the spirits of a long-dead 1930’s gangster and his sassy girlfriend. As Tuck searches to learn the secrets of “the book,” he begins to unravel his own ancestry of mobsters, adventurers, and wayward spirits. Is being a ghost hereditary?

.

DYING TO TELL

  Detective Oliver Tucker never knew how perilous dying was until he stumbled onto William Mendelson—murdered in a hidden vault where Egyptian relics and World War II secrets were once stashed. Now those relics are missing. The secrets are coming out. The dead are talking. Tuck, the detective for the dead—the Dead Detective—is pulled into the case by the spirit of a World War II Office of Strategic Services operative with his own agenda. OSS Captain Ollie Tucker I—Tuck’s namesake—knows the past is catching up to the survivors of an Egyptian spy ring from more than seventy years ago. With the help of his beautiful and brilliant wife, Angel, and his gruff former partner, Detective Bear Braddock, Tuck must unravel a tale of spies, murderers, and thieves. As Tuck’s case unfolds, he confronts the growing distance between his death and Angel’s life—and the solution is a killer of its own.

.

Praise for The Dead Detective Casefiles:

“O’Connor’s The Dead Detective Casefiles series is a must read for those who like mysteries with a dash of history, a hard-boiled twist, and a pinch of paranormal.” ~ Heather Weidner, Author of the Jules Keene Glamping Mysteries “Tj O’Connor is a master storyteller who can have you gasping in suspense one moment and snorting coffee through your nose the next. In the Dead Detective Casefiles, he seamlessly merges mystery, humor, and paranormal so authentically that the reader never gives a second thought to the concept of the main character, Detective Oliver Tucker, actually being dead. ” ~ Annette Dashofy, USA Today Bestselling author of the Zoe Chambers Mystery Series

 

Book Details:

Genre: PI Cozy Mystery

Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 2024

Series: The Dead Detective Casefiles

Read an excerpt from DYING TO KNOW:
One
Dying is overrated. Murder, on the other hand, is not. Trust me, after fifteen years as a detective, I know a lot about both. Like death and murder are always complicated, but not always related. You can have death without murder, but not the other way around. That’s what I used to think anyway. I changed my mind after an episode of my recurring nightmare. I’d been having it for years and it always turned out the same. While chasing a bad guy in the dark, he turned and shot me. I was about to die when something always pulled me from the nightmare. This time, it was Hercule’s hot breath. My four-year-old black Lab was standing beside my bed alternating between low growls and a tongue-lashing. Both demanded my attention. When my eyes first opened, he lapped at my face and nudged me with his big, wet nose. I forced my eyes open wider and at the same time realized that Angel was not snuggled beside me in bed. She was standing across the room and listening at our bedroom door. “Angel, did you hear something again?” She always heard things late at night and always felt compelled to share them with me. “Are you sure?” “Yes, Tuck. Herc can hear it, too. Wake up, will you? What kind of detective are you?” “The asleep-kind.” “Just get up. Please?” Hercule froze, nose down, staring at me as we both heard creaking floorboards in the downstairs hall. I rolled sideways and sat on the side of the bed. Hercule crept away and crouched near the door. For the third time, something interrupted Angel’s sleep. The first two times were just our old house’s creaks and groans, and both failed to wake Hercule out of a stone-cold sleep. Now, after summoning me, he was poised for homeland defense. I got to my feet and gathered my clothes littered in a strategic path across the room. I nearly toppled over slipping on my jeans and a black tee shirt and did manage to trip over my running shoes. Angel motioned for Herc to return to the bed. To me she whispered, “Hurry up.” “Look, if I’m going to get killed tonight, I don’t want to be naked.” I grabbed my 40-caliber Glock from the nightstand and checked the chamber. Then, I retrieved a .38 revolver from our walk-in closet and handed it to Angel. “Just in case.” “Okay. Be careful.” “Keep Herc close, babe. If it’s your imagination, stay awake and lose those pjs. If it’s trouble, give me fifteen minutes—then lose them.” Even in the dark, I could see her eyes roll. “Just be careful.” At the door, I listened but heard nothing. I winked at Angel and Hercule on the bed and whispered, “I love you—you too, Angel.” Hercule wagged his tail. In the hallway, I waited for my eyes to adjust a little more to the darkness. I shifted them to use my peripheral vision, looking for any telltale movement. Still nothing. From the top of the stairs, I could just make out the foyer below and did not see or hear anything. There were no wispy shadows, no running feet, and no creaking floorboards. Yawning, I eased down the stairs with my Glock out in front of me. At the bottom landing, I stopped. Darkness and the grandfather clock greeted me—it chimed two. The downstairs was quiet and I checked the front door. It was still locked and there were no signs of splintered wood, broken glass, or other forced entry. The only sound I heard was my own breathing. The only curious sighting was the half-dressed, frumpy guy in the hall mirror who looked tired and irritated. Maybe Angel would be losing those pjs sooner rather than later. I started with the kitchen and worked my way around the first floor, searching room by room—all five of them—ending in my den. Nothing. The most dangerous thing I found was Hercule’s squeaky frog that scared the crap out of me when I stepped on it. I felt foolish and decided to head back to bed. It hit me when I reached to turn off my desk lamp. The light shouldn’t have been on. I looked around. My briefcase wasn’t in its ritual place on my credenza. It was on my chair and the contents strewn over my desk. Everything was dumped out—my gold detective’s badge and I.D., several files, a notepad, tape recorder, and my .380 backup piece. No, the Walther wasn’t there—the holster was empty. “Angel …” I bolted to the stairs and looked up. Floorboards groaned above me. A door opened in the darkness beyond the landing. Movement—a shadow. Somewhere above, Angel called, “Tuck.” There was a flash at the top of the stairs … a shot. I lunged for the third stair. A figure stepped out of the darkness twelve feet above me. Another flash. “Angel!” *** Excerpt from DYING TO KNOW by Tj O’Connor. Copyright 2014/2024 by Tj O’Connor. Reproduced with permission from Tj O’Connor. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Tj O’Connor:

.

Tj O’Connor

Tj O’Connor is an award-winning author of mysteries and thrillers. He’s an international security consultant specializing in anti-terrorism, investigations, and threat analysis—life experiences that drive his novels. With his former life as a government agent and years as a consultant, he has lived and worked around the world in places like Greece, Turkey, Italy, Germany, the United Kingdom, and throughout the Americas—among others. In his spare time, he’s a Harley Davidson pilot, a man-about-dogs (and now cats), and a lover of adventure, cooking, and good spirits (both kinds). He was raised in New York’s Hudson Valley and lives with his wife, Labs, and Maine Coon companions in Virginia where they raised five children who supply a growing tribe of grands.

Catch Up With Tj O’Connor: tjoconnor.com Goodreads BookBub – @tj37 Amazon Author Instagram – @tjoconnorauthor Twitter/X – @Tjoconnorauthor Facebook – @TjOConnor.Author YouTube – @tjoconnorauthor3905

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway! Click here to view the Tour Schedule  

 

Don’t Miss Your Chance to Win! Enter Today!

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Tj O’Connor. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

Can’t see the giveaway? Click Here!  

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

Grammie And Pupa’s House by Daisy Butterfield ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: December 9, 2024 in Children's books, giveaways, reviews
Tags: , ,
1

 

​  Grammie And Pupa’s House

by Daisy Butterfield

Category:  Children’s Fiction (Ages 3-12),  72 pages
Genre: Children’s Fiction
Publisher: Daisy Butterfield Press
Release date:  September 30, 2024
Formats Available for Review: print-softback (USA and Canada) and ebook (EPUB, PDF)
Tour dates: Nov 18 to Dec 13, 2024
Content Rating:  G:The story follows Daisy during an afternoon at her grandparents house making snacks, planting the garden, playing cards, and enjoying the warmth and love of her grandparents.

Book Description:

Welcome to Grammie and Pupa’s House!
The door is always open and everyone is welcome in as the smell of fresh baked pies and cookies lingers in the kitchen air. So, pour a cup of tea and sit down and relax. It is my pleasure to share with you a day in the life of Grammie and Pupa as seen through the eyes of their granddaughter, Daisy.

Buy the Book:
Amazon 
add to Goodreads
.
.

MY REVIEW

Oh my, this delightful story brought back some special memories. Daisy was such an endearing character and it was special to walk in her footsteps and remember the wonder of visiting my own Grandma. She had a little house on a small lake and we’d play games, eat her yummy food and read together.

Grammie and Pupa are wonderful grandparents and Daisy is a sweet young girl. Young ones will have their own memories while reading it with their grandparents or parents. I adored it!

5 STARS

.
.
.

Meet Author Daisy Butterfield:

I was born in a small New England town. Growing up I lived just two houses away from my grandparents, and spent countless days hanging out with Grammie and Pupa playing games and gardening. I loved flowers, and still do. I would roam the fields picking wild Lupine, Queen Anne’s Lace, and, of course, Daisies. This book is a legacy to my grandparents, a way of saying thank you for the sweet memories. May you make sweet memories with your little ones as you read this book with them.

connect with author: website ~ facebook ~ instagram ~ goodreads

Tour Schedule:

Nov 1 – @michellegodardricherauthor * – book mail
Nov 7 – @book_withquotes * – book review
Nov 18 – @this.human.reads * – book review
Nov 18 – Cover Lover Book Review – book review / giveaway
Nov 18 – @Leannebookstagram – book review
Nov 18 – Liese’s Blog – book spotlight
Nov 19 – @adeela_books * – book review
Nov 20 – @Junebug_reads – book review
Nov 20 – @onceuponafrida * – book review
Nov 20 – @jilljemmett * – book review
Nov 20 – Frugal Freelancer – book review / guest post / giveaway
Nov 21 – Cheryl’s Book Nook – book review / giveaway
Nov 22 – @adriftinfictionalworld – book review
Nov 22 – @michellegodardricherauthor * – book review
Nov 25 – @ira_reads_4 * – book review
Nov 26 – Gina Rae Mitchell – book review / guest post / giveaway
Nov 26 – Library Lady’s Kid Lit – book review / author interview / giveaway
Nov 26 – @bookscape__ * – book review
Nov 27 – Country Mamas With Kids – book review / author interview / giveaway
Nov 29 – @stars.and.embers * – book review
Nov 29 – @lizzies.reading.recs * – book review
Nov 29 – @thisreadergirl * – book review
Nov 29 – @bearyintobooks * – book review
Nov 29 – @onceuponamaltesereader * – book review
Dec 1 – @Enjoyingbooksagain – book review
Dec 2 – Paws.Read.Repeat – book review / giveaway
Dec 3 – My Reading Getaway – book review / author interview / giveaway
Dec 4 – @nissa_the.bookworm * – book review
Dec 4 – @speedreadstagram * – book review
Dec 5 – @Alyssas_book_obsession * – book review
Dec 5 – @kiv_coffeeandpages * – book review
Dec 6 – @joannasbookshelf * – book review
Dec 6 – From the TBR Pile – book review / giveaway
Dec 9 – @readsandmusic * – book review
Dec 9 – FUONLYKNEW – book review / giveaway
Dec 10 – Locks, Hooks and Books – book review / giveaway
Dec 10 – @just_another_mother_with_books * – book review
Dec 11 – Sandra’s Book Club – book review
Dec 11 – @bookameme * – book review
Dec 12 – Faith And Books – book review / giveaway
Dec 12 – @acourtofspinesnpages * – book review
Dec 13 – Reading is My Passion – book review / giveaway
Dec 13 – Books for Books – book spotlight
Dec 13 – Reading Authors Network – book review / giveaway

~~~~~

Enter the Giveaway:

~~~~~

GIV

GRAMMIE AND PUPA’S HOUSE by Daisy Butterfield Book Tour Giveaway

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

What Bear Said by Jack Wiens ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: December 5, 2024 in Children's books, giveaways, Guest Post, reviews
Tags: , , ,
4

 

 

Book Details:

​  What Bear Said about Life, Love, and Other Stuff 

by Jack Wiens

Category:  Children’s Fiction (Ages 3-7),  98 pages
Genre: Juvenile fiction/picture book/values & virtues
Publisher: Torchflame Books
Release date:  October 15, 2024
Content Rating: G. Specifically for children.

Book Description:

The boy has a lot of questions—hard ones about love, honesty, grief and loss, prejudice, forgiveness, why we are here, and more.

Bear’s wise answers are always offered with compassion and enthusiasm. The friendship between these two is deep, tender, and sometimes fun. Bear’s clear, common-sense philosophy of life is a welcome contrast to the complex world our children face today.

On the beautifully illustrated pages, you will also meet Jay, Raccoon, Badger, Elder Moose, and others who add to the fun and adventure.

Walk with Boy and Bear for a while in the woods and see what you might learn about life, love and other stuff.

​This uplifting book will surely become a treasured collection of simple wisdom, inspiring rich, meaningful conversations between adults and children alike.
Buy the Book:
Amazon 
B&N ~ Bookshop.org
​add to Goodreads
.
.

MY REVIEW

Bear was such a gentle friend to Boy and shared with him answers to some hard questions. Some of Boy’s worries might not come to mind as adults. What seems minor to us could be huge to a child. Me, I found much of Bear’s advice helpful even as a grownup. My son asked questions I struggled to answer and I would have loved to have Bear as my sounding board.

I enjoyed this book from cover to back flap. It was filled with wisdom and delightful illustrations. I’d recommend you keep it within reach when you and child feel like reading together.

5 STARS

.
.
GUEST POST
.

Excerpt from the book: Meaning and Purpose

“Bear, what is this all about? Why are we here? What am I supposed to do? I really just want to play a lot and have fun!

What Bear Said

Well, yes, we ARE here to play. Look at our beautiful playground! AND, we have to eat, and stay warm (pick berries and find a den), and that takes some work. The tricky part is keeping it all balanced.

What is this really all about? It is The Great Mystery. Many ideas have been shared, but no one really knows for sure. Perhaps we are close to the answer when we are feeling the happiest, when we have found our “place in the woods,” have loved ones who love and appreciate us, and when we have found our unique gifts—those things we are good at and have passion for—and are offering them to the world.”

My answer to the question, “What is this life all about?” has gotten simpler over the years.  I used to have a lot of dogma to share from my early days of religious and theological study.  Then I moved into much more psychological explanation for things and then more spiritual, generic language. As Bear’s answer reflects, I have drawn from all those earlier orientations and distilled it down. As corny as it sounds, I really do believe love is the answer to most questions. I am a relational person. How I am with people in my life is the most important thing. Am I kind, loving, honest? Can people count on me? Do they know I care? Do I like myself? I know when I am using my abilities, like illustrating or communicating, or even playing tennis, I am happier and feel fulfilled. When I invite a friend to meet me for breakfast or a cup of coffee, I feel richer, happier. When I stop what I’m doing because a blue jay is pecking on my kitchen window and go out and feed him or her some peanuts, I feel happier.  Anytime I enter the natural world and make conscious contact with it, I feel calmer, peaceful and even more hopeful.

Is there some lofty mission I have in this world? I used to think I did. I literally felt I should somehow save the world. These days I believe if a give a friend a ride to their doctor’s appointment or tell someone I appreciate their good work, I have, in some degree, fulfilled my mission for today as a human being.

I think it is important these days to help children have very real, direct experiences of honest, loving, in-depth communication with others—their peers or adults—that happens in person, not on a screen. They need to be really seen and heard by a real person they see and hear. We all need that! This is the main way they will learn what their strengths and gifts are which they can offer the world.

Finally, I think it is good for kids to hear that adults don’t have it “all figured out.” When Bear says, “It is the Great Mystery,” I hope that can light a little fire of curiosity in a young reader. It is important to continue at all ages to find “wonder” in living, to be amazed at the unknowns and unexplainable parts of our world and Universe. It’s really okay to seek answers and to recognize nobody has them all figured out.

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Meet Author Jack Wiens:

Jack Wiens has illustrated over 40 children’s books and designed many book covers, a family magazine, curriculum materials and greeting cards. He has also exhibited his fine art in galleries and art shows in Colorado, Missouri and Oregon.

Jack earned a Masters degree in Marriage and Family Therapy and worked as a counselor for 34 years in private practice as well as in a hospital inpatient addictions program and mental health centers. He led many workshops on communication, relationships and self-care during his career as psychotherapist.

​He lives in Ashland, Oregon, where he enjoys the natural beauty of nearby mountains, lakes and rivers, the creative energy of the community and good friendships. Besides hiking, biking and tennis, a favorite activity is exploring the Oregon coast and whale watching in Depoe Bay.

connect with the author: website 

Enter the Giveaway:

WHAT BEAR SAID ABOUT LIFE LOVE AND OTHER STUFF Book Tour Giveaway

 

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Final Cut By Marjorie McCown ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: December 3, 2024 in Cozy Mystery, Excerpt, giveaways, reviews
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Final Cut by Marjorie McCown Banner

FINAL CUT
by Marjorie McCown
November 18 – December 13, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
The Hollywood Mystery Series

  Every day on the set of a big budget Hollywood movie is full of surprises. But the last thing key costumer Joey Jessop expected to find on the first day of principal photography was the body of a fellow crew member. And she immediately becomes a suspect — not only because she found the body on the beach in Malibu where they’re shooting the movie, but because the victim, second assistant director Courtney Lisle, was seeing Joey’s ex, first assistant director Eli Logan. When the press takes hold of the story and social media begins to run with it, Joey watches her well-ordered life behind the scenes of the movie business become front and center tabloid fodder. But that isn’t even the worst of it. In addition to her new and unwanted stardom, Joey must also contend with the reckless behavior of the movie’s predatory director and producer, Marcus Pray, who churns out blockbuster hits while subjecting his movie crews to a toxic work environment. As a result, Joey finds herself embattled both personally and professionally. With tensions building on set and a murder investigation looming over her life and future, Joey takes it upon herself to clear her name. Will she be able to uncover the truth before it’s a wrap?

Praise for Final Cut:

“[A] keen sense of what it’s like to work on a Hollywood production.” ~ Kirkus Reviews “A fun and unique story . . . Readers will love FINAL CUT.” ~ Cozy Mystery Book Reviews “Expertly showcases [McCown’s] genuine flair for original and the kind of narrative driven and unexpected plot twists that make for a riveting story.” ~ Midwest Book Review “Engaging, with twists and turns.” ~ Red Carpet Crash “A must-read movie mystery packed with juicy details from a Hollywood insider, FINAL CUT gets my nomination for best debut.” ~ Ellen Byron, Agatha and Lefty Award Winner, USA Today bestselling author “FINAL CUT is both an insider look at what it’s like to work on Hollywood’s biggest blockbuster and a surprising, timely mystery about a murder on the set . . . The story is a pop culture lover’s dream. I’m already lining up for the sequel.” ~ Kellye Garrett, Agatha, Anthony, and Lefty Award winning author of Like a Sister

 

 

Book Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery

Published by: Crooked Lane Books Original Publication Date: June 2023 Number of Pages: 320 ISBN: 9781639107285 (ISBN10: 1639107282) Series: The Hollywood Mystery Series (Joey Jessop), Book 1

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Penguin Random House

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MY REVIEW

I love cozy mysteries. Why? Because they have genuine characters, flaws and all. The murders aren’t described vividly, for those with a sensitive tummy… no worries. And the person trying to solve the murder is usually an amateur sleuth. Which, to me, means their actions may not always be the wisest. They put themselves in the villain’s line of sight.

Oh, and the most fun is finding a cozy with a different theme such as this one. It’s not a quaint little town. It’s Hollywood, baby. A bustling major city where anything can happen and murder isn’t uncommon. Our amateur sleuth is Joey Jessop. She works behind the scenes of the big movie being made. When she stumbles over a dead body, it’s her time in the spotlight. She may not be a professional investigat but she shines.

There’s quite a bit about what goes behind the scenes when making a movie and about costume design. I found it interesting, especially the costumes. I always wondered how they chose and designed them.

This was a fun mystery and I’m glad I read it.

4 STARS

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Enjoy this peek inside:

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JUNE 21 8:10 pm
Joey felt frustrated that she was late getting back to the shoot. By this time, nearly an hour after wrap, most of the movie crew had packed up and gone home after what had been a long, discouraging day. As key costumer, Joey usually started the morning on set, then ended her day at one of the specialty shops that made clothing for the film, or one of a dozen other tasks that went with her job. But tonight was different. She’d made the long drive back to the shooting location in Malibu because she wanted to talk to Courtney in person, and even though she wasn’t looking forward to the conversation, she wished she’d made it back before wrap. The second AD hadn’t answered her texts, and now Joey worried she’d missed the chance to do timely damage control, to smooth over the tension between them after their flare-up on set earlier that day. The hectic pace of the movie had everybody on edge, but their confrontation could threaten the costume department’s entire working relationship with the assistant directors. If she couldn’t talk to the second AD without starting a fight, it was game over. Determined not to let that happen, Joey bypassed the wardrobe truck and headed straight to the AD trailer as soon as she got back to location. She’d seen firsthand the problems that came from bad blood between departments. On one of her first films, the costume supervisor had gotten into a feud with the transportation captain. After that, the wardrobe trailers were permanently parked in base camp Siberia, as far from the actors’ trailers as possible. The time it took to travel those extra yards added up fast when you had to cover them many times each day. Then drivers suddenly became unavailable to do runs of any kind for the costume department, no matter the urgency. That might not sound like a big deal, but transpo can be a lifesaver when you’re up against an impossible deadline by making an important pickup or drop-off when everybody in your department is too slammed with work to do it, which can happen several times a week on a busy film. Getting on the wrong side of the AD department was even worse. Assistant directors are like air traffic controllers on a movie. Without them, everybody crashes into everybody else, literally and figuratively. Alienate the ADs and you’re just asking for trouble. The costume department already had enough problems on this movie between the lack of prep time, late casting, and a director with an ego as big as his box office grosses. Making an enemy of the second AD wasn’t an option. The thought sent a shiver through Joey, and she picked up her pace. When she didn’t find Courtney in the AD trailer, she continued her circuit of the movie’s base camp, asking everyone she passed if they’d seen the second AD. “She was by the cafe set last I saw her, but that was a while ago,” one of the grips said. Joey headed for the Paradise Cove Cafe up by the beach. All the actors’ trailers, nearest the set, were dark and locked up for the night. She tried the back door of the cafe, but that too was secured, so she peered through the windows. A single work light remained on, but there was no sign of anyone inside, the cafe apparently deserted now that the day’s filming was done. The sun was low in the sky, dipping toward the ocean. The longest day of the year, and that’s exactly what it felt like to Joey. She’d run out of places to look. Anxiety tugged at her. Her relationship with Courtney was complicated, like it is whenever your ex is dating somebody new. And she needed to be honest with herself about the way her personal feelings may have clouded their interactions. With daylight dying over the water, she stepped onto the beach, hoping to feel a scrap of the serenity she always found in the natural rhythm of the breaking waves, like a favorite refrain, a golden oldie that just gets better with time. At the water’s edge, she noticed a pile of clothing, buffeted by the incoming tide scudding across the sand. Her first thought was that one of the extras had abandoned their costume, but that didn’t make any sense. As the sun dropped out of the sky, she took a few steps closer to investigate, at the same time as a larger wave swept aside what she’d taken for coils of kelp swirling around that bundle of fabric. Horror sliced through Joey like a scalpel; she stumbled and fell to her knees. Courtney Lisle lay motionless in the shallow water at the shoreline as the cold blue Pacific surf washed over her body.

FOURTEEN HOURS EARLIER

Chapter One
The first day of principal photography on a film is always a milestone in production, like opening night in the theater. After working mostly independently of each other for three months or more, all the different departments merge to become one big machine. No matter how many movies you’ve done, every new job is a blank slate. Each time, you ask yourself: Do I have what it takes to climb that mountain again, to create a new world out of whole cloth? Put up or shut up time. Joey slept poorly the night before, which was par for the course; but she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that dropped on her like a net as soon as she opened her eyes that morning. She’d had a bad feeling about this job from the start; she’d nearly passed on the movie for a number of reasons, both personal and professional. But the carrot of working so close to home was finally too tempting to resist. The costume department had been prepping for months, but the schedule was rushed for a project so large and complex. Lots of special effects, stunts, and complicated costumes; lots of money and reputations on the line. Still, she felt her department was as ready as they could be, and her standards for readiness were high. So she tried to chalk up her misgivings to first day of shooting jitters. Later, she’d wonder if they’d been a premonition. Just before sunrise, she pulled her car into the crew parking lot, about a mile south of base camp in Malibu. A shuttle van idled, waiting to ferry people to the set. It was empty save for the driver, whose head rested against his seat back. The teamsters were respon- sible for the setup of vehicles and equipment, so that all was ready for the shooting company when they got to work. They were the first in and last out every day, and most of them were expert at grabbing a few winks when they had the chance. Joey gathered her purse and work satchel, then locked her car and pinned her keys to her waistband. She had keys to the costume offices and storage space for the movie as well as her personal keys, and this was the only sure way to keep them at hand throughout the day without losing them. She trotted over to the van and pulled the side door open, startling the driver out of his catnap. A grizzled veteran in his late forties, he sat up with a frown until he saw who was climbing into his back seat. “Joey Jessop! Girl, how you doin’?” A wolfish grin lit his face. “You are lookin’ fine as ever, Sweet Cheeks.” Pete O’Neill was a relentless lech, and even though he was basically harmless, he could be tiresome, especially first thing in the morning. “Pete, what a nice surprise,” she said, trying to hide her true feelings. “I didn’t see your name on the crew list.” “We ran three weeks over on the last job down in Louisiana. Made it back in the nick of time to get on this one. Didn’t want to miss out on a big show in LA, for a change.” “No kidding,” she said. “This is the first job I’ve booked in the past four years that’s shooting here. I’m thrilled to be sleeping in my own bed for the next six months.” “You coming off location, too?” “I’ve been back here prepping this one for a while, but before that I was out of town shooting a Western.” “How’d that go?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You meet a lot of hunky cowboys?” She managed to keep from rolling her eyes. “It was an education.” “Never done a Western before, huh?” He gave her a knowing look. “Whole different animal.” “That’s one way of putting it.” Joey had been on dozens of location shoots, but the Western was a real eye-opener. From the wild temperature swings in the desert—25 degrees at night to over 100 in the afternoon—to the dust storm that took out their generators one day, or the flash flood that nearly trapped them in a box canyon on another, the experience had given her a fresh appreciation for the comfort of shooting on a studio back lot. She stifled a yawn. “At least it was fast. Six-week shoot.” “Yeah?” His expression was skeptical. “Who was directing?” “Clint Eastwood.” She smiled as she pictured the director on set, watching the shot in progress on a handheld monitor. Despite the difficult conditions, Joey enjoyed working with him. Pete nodded appreciatively. “That man’s a class act, old school Hollywood.” “Yes, he is,” she said. “A real filmmaker. We could use more like him in the business these days.” “You got that right.” Pete checked his watch. “I don’t think I’ll be getting any more customers for a while. Crew call’s not for another hour. If you want, I’ll run you up to base camp now.” “That’d be great.” She slid the door closed. “I can use some quiet time before everybody gets here.” He dropped the van into gear. They turned north onto the Pacific Coast Highway as a pale watercolor wash of daylight began to spread across the ocean, sketching in the horizon line to the west. Joey took a deep breath, bracing herself for the nonstop activity the next sixteen hours would bring. “Have you read the script for this one yet?” Pete glanced at her in the rearview mirror. “Didn’t have much choice,” she said lightly. “That bad?” “Not my cup of tea. I’m not a big fan of comic book movies.” “’Bout all they make around here anymore,” he said, “if you want to earn a decent living.” “Don’t I know it.” The screenplay was 125 pages of special effects–driven gobbledygook, but Joey had no doubt it would play well with the movie’s crucial fourteen- to twenty-year-old target audience. “I heard this one’s about some new superhero.” Pete caught her eye in the mirror again. “It’s actually the Legion of Phenomenals, based on some underground comics that have a big cult following. Nothing new, but they haven’t been used in any movies so far.” “Why not just call it that, instead of UMPP?” He was asking about the working title for the movie. “Sounds like a noise you’d make if you got punched in the stomach.” She couldn’t help smiling. “It’s code for Untitled Marcus Pray Project. You know how paranoid the producers are. They’re trying to keep the fanboys in the dark.” “Like that’s going to stop them. The director’ll probably be posting pictures on Instagram from the set, and the studio won’t say boo to him.” Pete leaned back to talk to her over his shoulder. “Marcus Pray’s no Eastwood, even if he is a big dog in the business right now. I’m taking care of his trailer, and I got a mile-long list of special stuff that’s gotta be on board for him and his friends.” Pete gave the word a suggestive emphasis. Marcus Pray was a powerful Hollywood hyphenate, a producer-director with a string of action-adventure blockbusters to his credit. This movie was sure to be another lucrative notch on his belt. Joey hadn’t worked with him before, and some of the stories she’d heard made her think twice before she signed onto this job. *** Excerpt from FINAL CUT by Marjorie McCown. Copyright 2023 by Marjorie McCown. Reproduced with permission from Marjorie McCown. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Marjorie McCown:

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Marjorie McCown

Marjorie McCown spent 27 years in Hollywood working on the costumes for movies such as Forrest Gump, Apollo 13, and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Her film career provides the inspiration for her Hollywood Mystery series of books that are set behind the scenes in the world of moviemaking and feature key costumer Joey Jessop as the main character. Her cozy murder mystery, FINAL CUT (Crooked Lane Books, June 2023) was chosen as an Amazon Editors’ Pick in the best Mystery, Thriller, and Suspense category. Deadly Pleasures Magazine named FINAL CUT as one of the best cozy mysteries of 2023, and FINAL CUT was also named a Top Pick in the cozy mystery category for the Silver Falchion Award by Killer Nashville. STAR STRUCK, Book #2 in her Hollywood Mystery series published May 7, 2024. Marjorie is a member of Sisters-in-Crime and Mystery Writers of America.

Find out more about Marjorie: MarjorieMcCown.com Goodreads BookBub – @marjoriemccownauthor Instagram – @marjoriemccownbooks Twitter/X – @eastlamm Facebook – @MarjorieMcCownBooks

 

 

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Burn This Night by Alex Kenna ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: November 29, 2024 in Excerpt, giveaways, Mytery/Thriller, reviews
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BURN THIS NIGHT
by Alex Kenna
November 4 – December 6, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

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Synopsis:
The Kate Myles Detective Series

 

Told in alternating timelines, this gripping mystery about a PI and her quest for answers is full of twists and turns, perfect for fans of Allison Brennan and Gytha Lodge.

Struggling private investigator Kate Myles is shattered to learn her late father isn’t her biological dad. She’s still reeling when she discovers that an unknown distant relative is the prime suspect in a decades-old murder investigation. Trying to convince her to take on the case for free, an old colleague recommends her as an investigator for a recent arson murder in the same small town.

After giving up on a failed acting career, Abby Coburn is starting over as a promising social work student. With her life on the right track, she’s determined to help her brother, Jacob, whose meth addiction triggered a psychotic break and descent into crime. But when Abby dies in a fire that kills two other people and destroys part of the town, the police immediately suspect Jacob.

As the Coburn family grapples with the tragedy, Kate begins unraveling the cold case but finds herself caught in the middle of an emotional minefield. Pretty soon, she discovers that this town is full of dark secrets, and as she comes closer and closer to figuring out the truth, Kate must solve both murders before she becomes the next victim.

Praise for Burn This Night:

“The twists keep coming in this devilish PI mystery . . . Lisa Unger fans will devour this.” ~ Publishers Weekly

“Solid, heartfelt spadework into an alarming range of graves.” ~ Kirkus Reviews

“A true page turner . . . Full of twists, turns, and suspects.” ~ Book Review Crew

“Burn This Night is a fast-paced thriller that masterfully utilizes alternating perspectives to tell an absorbing, character-driven mystery. This is an electrifying read that had me engaged and on the edge of my seat until the very end!” ~ Elle Grawl, Amazon Charts bestselling author of One of Those Faces and What Still Burns

“An absorbing read told from multiple layered perspectives, Kenna ranges from finely observed domestic scenes to adept portrayals of grimy addicts living on the ragged edge. Burn This Night is smart and satisfying.” ~ Adam Plantinga, author of The Ascent

“Burn This Night is an utterly-absorbing mystery. Alex Kenna skillfully weaves a tale of two women who both face emotional and physical danger as they fight for truth and family love. Kenna masterfully draws the reader into the dark exploration of the secrets hidden in small towns and the depths some will go to hide the truth. With fiendishly smart dialogue, a captivating setting and a plot that keeps you on the edge of your seat, Burn This Night is absolutely fantastic!” ~ Elise Hart Kipness, author of Lights Out

“A dark, lyrical crime novel, Burn This Night weaves a complex and twisty spell about addiction, family ties, and how sins of the past can’t stay buried. Kate Myles is a great addition to LA’s canon of troubled PIs—real, flawed, smart, and very human—and I can’t wait to see what’s next for her.” ~ Halley Sutton, USA Today bestselling author of The Hurricane Blonde

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery/Thriller – Private Detective Published by: Crooked Lane Publication Date: November 12, 2024 Number of Pages: 256 ISBN: 9781639109371 (ISBN10: 1639109374) Series: Kate Myles private detective series, 2

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Penguin Random House Books

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MY REVIEW

You might think it would be confusing to read this story as it’s written in multiple points of view in two separate time lines. The author made it easy to follow. And her choice to tell the story this way was a good one. There are two crimes to solve. One recent and one cold. And many characters involved, whether as suspects, those connected to the victims, or the person who’s charged with solving both crimes. Getting separate points of view invites you to get to know the characters. Get to know what they are thinking. And this makes the story move forward and keeps you invested in the conclusion.

Kate Myles, a private investigator is hired to investigate an arson case which resulted in two people’s death. The brother of one of the victim’s is accused of the crime and she’s tasked with finding out whether the clues lead to his innocence or guilt. She’s also assigned a cold case that, while investigating, seems to point to a dark secret.

There is a lot going on in this book and I appreciated the slow build up. I was able to easily follow both time lines and the characters of each. And I liked having more than one mystery to solve. Did I guess who did it? Not the first time. The second time I tried? Nope. At the end? Again, nope and nope. But, I sure enjoyed getting to the answers.

4 STARS

 

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Enjoy this peek inside:
PROLOGUE
Eight Months Ago—Grace

My eyes shot open when I heard the yelping. Barney was going to wake the baby. I dove toward the old dog, grabbed his snout, and held it closed with both hands. “Shh,” I pleaded.

I lowered one hand and rubbed Barney’s back, trying to calm him. He let out a whine, and like clockwork, Liam started to cry. I closed my eyes, sucked in a deep breath, and braced myself for another late-night nursing session. My body felt heavy with milk and stress and exhaustion.

Carefully, I scooped up the howling baby, carried him over to the rocking chair, and lifted my T shirt to feed him. Liam quieted down and nestled against me. I sniffed his hair and stroked his cheek as we rocked back and forth. Part of me wanted to stay like this all night. But a bigger part of me longed to be under the covers, passed out in a warm oblivion.

I heard the shower turn on down the hall. Ted must be back from serving his warrant. A few months ago, he’d gotten smart with a lieutenant, who then started feeding him late-night assignments. These frequent absences were brutal now that I was back from maternity leave and needed sleep to function at work.

Barney whined again and clawed at the bedroom door. Clutching Liam, I rose to let the dog out of the room.

I looked down at the baby, who was asleep and making little catlike snores. With slow, deliberate steps, I made my way toward the crib and lowered him until his back rested against the fabric. But the change in angle caused his eyes to open and his lungs to inflate. Then came the cry—and Barney ran back to the bedroom, joining Liam in a horrible wailing duet. I reached out toward the dog and felt wet fur. Damn it—Barney must have peed in the house. Hot tears ran down my cheeks. What I wouldn’t give for one night’s sleep.

The door opened and Ted walked in with a towel around his waist. “I need help,” I snapped. “What?” asked Ted, surprised by my tone. My eyes were closed, and I was crying. But Ted couldn’t see that in the dark. He just sensed the anger in my voice. I knew it wasn’t his fault that the baby wouldn’t sleep, that the dog couldn’t hold it, and that his boss was a jerk. But I’d reached my limit, and Ted was the only living being in earshot who understood human language. “Barney peed in the house. Take Liam so I can let the dog out before he does it again. Just try to get him back to sleep.” I placed the screaming, wriggling infant in Ted’s arms before either of them could protest. Flipping on the hall light, I made my way to the kitchen. Barney scampered ahead of me, spinning in circles. I threw on Ted’s faded hoodie. It reeked of old sweat, but I was too tired to care. I hooked Barney’s leash to his collar, and bracing myself for the cold, I unlocked the back door and stepped outside. The Santa Anas blew hard, and I shivered as cold air soaked through the hoodie’s weave. I could hear the Jeffrey pines rustle in the wind. Thrusting my hands into the central pocket, I rubbed them together for warmth. A smoky odor hung in the air—maybe the residue of a neighbor’s barbecue dinner. But the wind should have blown away the scent by now. Barney tugged at his leash. I let him drag me toward the street. Now that we were outside, he wouldn’t be satisfied without a walk, and it might clear my head as well. The sky was lighter than I’d expected. Idlewood doesn’t have streetlights. It’s a conscious decision to preserve the log-cabins-in-the-woods feel of the place. Darkness adds to the storybook charm, and it can be hard to find your way on moonless nights. But the sky had an orange-gray glow that reminded me of LA smog. Maybe it was later than I thought, almost morning. Barney tugged on his leash, half-dragging me up the road toward the intersection. He seemed agitated, and I wondered what had gotten into him. As we passed the Hernandez’s place, our footsteps activated the motion sensor, and the automatic light above their garage snapped on with an electric hum. I noticed something floating in the air. Tiny particles, like gray snow or dryer lint. The flecks danced in the air, and Barney snapped at one as it fluttered toward his jaws. The smell of smoke was growing stronger. Oh my god. Clutching Barney’s leash, I ran the rest of the way to the cross street, which cut straight to the mountain. High in the pines, I saw an orange glow—luminous against the dark sky. My vision tunneled, and all I could see was the fire on the hillside. The light was near Abby’s cabin. But I couldn’t tell how near. I grabbed my phone and scanned my recent calls, but it had been weeks since I’d spoken to my sister, and her name didn’t pop up. I pulled up my contact list and clicked on her name. After four rings, a cheerful recording prompted me to leave a message. Maybe she’s already fled. No, Abby would’ve called if she were awake. She might hate me, but she’d warn me about a wildfire. I called back, praying that her cell wasn’t on silent. Come on Abby, answer the phone. When I heard the prerecorded message again, I started to panic. I left a voicemail: “Abby, it’s Grace. There’s a fire by your cabin—you need to leave now!” The orange glow was getting bigger as the Santa Anas blew the flames toward Idlewood. It was how I’d always imagined an erupting volcano would look, with lava flowing down its sides. I called Abby a third time, cursing under my breath. Across the street, a door opened, and an old man stepped outside, holding a little white dog. “There’s a fire!” he shouted. I looked at him and then back at the mountain, ringing phone pressed against my ear. Dammit, Abby, pick up! “My son works at the fire station,” said the man. “They’re about to put out an alert. We have to evacuate. The whole town could burn.” “My sister’s cabin is on the hillside, and she’s not answering,” I shouted. “Can you call your son and tell him someone’s up there?” I heard a chime and looked down at my phone. It was a text from the fire department, ordering us to leave Idlewood. But my feet stayed planted. My sister was on that mountain, with nothing but a narrow dirt road leading down to safety. If the fire overtook the path, she’d be trapped. “Jeffrey, it’s Pop,” I heard the old man say. “There’s a lady here whose sister has a cabin near the fire.” Hearing those words unleashed a fresh wave of panic. Abby’s cheerful answering machine message sounded for a fifth time in my ear. “Abby, get out of there!” I screamed into the phone. “We have to go,” said the neighbor. “This thing could spread faster than they can contain it.” My phone chimed and I looked down at the screen, hoping to see Abby’s name, but it was a voicemail from Ted. Before I could call him back, a text flashed across my screen: FIRE—COME HOME NOW I looked back and forth from my screen to the mountain. My sister was up there. But my husband and son were at the house. I couldn’t wait any longer. I tugged at Barney’s leash and ran home. *** Excerpt from Burn This Night by Alex Kenna. Copyright 2024 by Alex Kenna. Reproduced with permission from Alex Kenna. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Alex Kenna:

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Alex Kenna

Alex Kenna is a mystery writer, prosecutor, and amateur painter. She lives in Los Angeles with her husband, son, and giant schnauzer. Alex’s first novel, WHAT MEETS THE EYE, was a 2023 Shamus Award Finalist for best first P.I. novel. Her second novel, BURN THIS NIGHT, is coming November 12, 2024.

Catch Up With Alex Kenna: www.AlexKenna.com Goodreads BookBub – @akenna Instagram – @alexkennabooks Twitter/X – @AlexKenna9 Facebook

 

 

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This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Alex Kenna. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

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