Posts Tagged ‘excerpt’

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Knit Or Dye Trying 

A Riverbank Knitting Mystery

by Allie Pleiter

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Knit or Dye Trying (A Riverbank Knitting Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
2nd in Series
Setting – Maryland
Berkley (April 5, 2022)
Mass Market Paperback ‏ : ‎ 304 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0593201809
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0593201800
Kindle ASIN ‏ : ‎ B093YRVK42

Business is booming for Libby Beckett and her fabulous Maryland shop, aptly named Y.A.R.N., but when a town festival brings a fatality with it, Libby gets all tangled up in murder.

As spring comes to Collinstown, the village launches a food festival to draw a new group of tourists. Libby, the proud owner of Y.A.R.N., has planned a yarn event to provide an alternative option to a foodie weekend. Artisan fiber dyer Julie Wilson—known for her work with animal-friendly, plant-based knitting fibers such as bamboo and hemp as well as her brilliant use of color—will hopefully draw a crowd with a special dyeing workshop.

The festival begins, but it draws more than crowds. First, a flock of sheep parades down the street, herded by farmers protesting Julie’s antiwool stance. Then Julie’s celebrity chef sister appears, and the siblings resume a long-standing rivalry. Despite all this, Julie’s workshop has sold out. Libby is thrilled, and they’re preparing for a full house. But the night before the event, Julie is found alone in the warehouse event space—dead. The witty “Watch Julie Wilson Dye” workshop title now has a terrible new meaning—and it’s up to Libby to catch a crafty killer.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

I held up the handbag in question, a very beautiful, very functional satchel bag in a spring-beckoning mint green.

“The day after Gavin announced his festival,” I went on, “I was staring at this in a DC department store. I bought it just because I liked it, but the store clerk asked me if I was buying it because it was vegan. Some people don’t like the idea of buying leather things, so things that aren’t made from leather or another animal product can be considered vegan. In fact, the tag on the bag touted it as a vegan product.”

Margo stared at the bag. She’d complimented me on it twice since I bought it. A superb handbag is one of life’s great pleasures.

She nodded. “Makes sense. But I confess, I never thought about it that way.”

“Neither had I, but it got me thinking. People don’t realize yarn can be vegan, too. Sure, everyone’s first thought is sheep wool or alpaca or Angora rabbits. And those are great fibers with all kinds of good qualities. But there is so much more out there. Loads of really interesting, beautiful fibers that aren’t made from animal products.”

“So they might come in for the wool but discover all the other stuff while they’re in the shop.”

“Exactly,” I replied. “By the time I turned off the highway, I had the idea for a Wield More Than Wool weekend to go along with See More Than Seafood.”

Always the kind of friend who is happy for anyone’s success, Margo smiled and sat back in her chair. “Brilliant. I have a brilliant best friend.”

I have often thought the same of Margo. “After that,” I replied, “there was only one person to call. I had Julie Wilson on the phone within the hour.”

Julie Wilson has been an outspoken advocate for animal-friendly, plant-based knitting fibers for the past two years. She designs patterns and imports plant-based fiber, but she is most known and loved for her gorgeous dyeing of yarn. Nobody, but nobody, creates the incredible colors she does. I’d been reading an article about her just the day before I bought that handbag. Granted, Julie treads the oh‑so‑thin line between aggressive and abrasive, but her work is extraordinary. Besides, I admire someone with that much passion for their message.

“And you booked her, smart you. But didn’t you say she was . . . feisty?”

That was a gracious term for Julie’s difficult personality. “She is.”

Margo scowled. “Okay, but who needs difficult and feisty? Why would someone as nice as you bring in someone like her?”

I reached over to the counter behind me and picked up a shimmering, luxuriously drapey shawl in an indigo blue so rich, it would make most knitters weep.

“Oh.” Margo fingered the luscious fiber in the same way I’d just fawned over her dessert. “That looks as good as my pie. I think I get it now.”

I’d had that exact reaction when first seeing the yarn, and it only intensified once I started knitting it into the shawl Margo was now touching.

“It’s a silk blend made by a Mumbai yarn company,” I explained. “Their whole process is specially designed not to harm a single silkworm.”

“That color. Wow.”

“ ‘Wow’ is right. I already sold out the first shipment before Julie even got here.”

Not that I make a habit of putting cash over courtesy, but I was hanging on to the notion that somewhere under that prickly exterior was a nice woman just waiting to come out. Really, how else could all the creative beauty flow out of that mind?

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About Allie Pleiter

An avid knitter, coffee junkie and firm believer that “pie makes everything better,” Allie Pleiter writes both fiction and non-fiction working on as many as four novels at a time.  The bestselling author of over fifty books, Allie has enjoyed a twenty-year career with over 1.5 million books sold.  In addition to writing, Allie maintains an active writing productivity coaching practice and speaks regularly on the creative process, publishing, and her very favorite topic—The Chunky Method of time management for writers.

Author Links : Instagram / Facebook / LinkedIn / Twitter / Pinterest 

Goodreads / Bookbub / Amazon / Newsletter

Purchase Links

Link on my webpage    Amazon (including Kindle and Audible)      Barnes & Noble (including Nook)      Apple Books     Google Play     Kobo     IndieBound

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THE GOOD SON

Author: Jacquelyn Mitchard

ISBN: 9780778311799

Publication Date: January 18, 2022

Publisher: MIRA Books

 

Synopsis

From one of America’s most beloved storytellers, #1 New York Times and #1 USA Today bestselling author Jacquelyn Mitchard, comes the gripping novel of a mother who must help her son after he is convicted of a devastating crime. Perfect for book clubs and fans of Mary Beth Keane and Jodi Picoult—this novel asks the question, how well does any mother know her child?

For Thea, understanding how her sweet son Stefan could be responsible for a heinous crime is unfathomable. Stefan was only 17 when he went to prison for the negligent homicide of girlfriend, college freshman Belinda McCormack—a crime he was too strung out on drugs even to remember. Released at 21, he is seen as a symbol of white privilege and differential justice by his local community, and Belinda’s mother, Jill McCormack, who also happens to be Thea’s neighbor, organizes protests against dating violence in her daughter’s memory.

Stefan is sincere in his desire to start over and make amends, and Thea is committed to helping him.  But each of their attempts seems to hit a roadblock, both emotionally and psychologically, from the ever-present pressure of local protestors, the media, and even their own family.

But when the attacks on them turn more sinister, Thea suspects that there is more to the backlash than community outrage. She will risk her life to find out what forces are at work to destroy her son and her family…and discover what those who are threatening them are trying to hide.

This is a story in which everything known to be true is turned inside out and love is the only constant that remains.

Buy Links: 

BookShop.org

Harlequin 

Barnes & Noble

Amazon

Books-A-Million

Powell’s

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Enjoy this glimpse inside:

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I was picking my son up at the prison gates when I spotted the mother of the girl he had murdered.

Two independent clauses, ten words each, joined by an adverb, made up entirely of words that would once have been unimaginable to think, much less say.

She pulled in—not next to me, but four spaces over—in the half circle of fifteen-minute spots directly in front of the main building. It was not where Stefan would walk out. That would be over at the gatehouse. She got out of her car, and for a moment I thought she would come toward me. I wanted to talk to her, to offer something, to reach out and hold her, for we had not even been able to attend Belinda’s funeral. But what would I say? What would she? This was an unwonted crease in an already unaccustomed day. I slid deep into my down coat, and wished I could lock the car doors, although I feared that the sound would crack the predawn darkness like a rifle shot. All that Jill McCormack did, however, was shove her hands into the pockets of her jacket and lean against the back bumper of her car. She wore the heavy maroon leather varsity jacket that her daughter Belinda, captain of the high school cheer team in senior year, had given to her, to Stefan, and to me, with our names embroidered in gold on the back, just like hers.

I hadn’t seen Jill McCormack up close for years, though she lived literally around the corner. Once, I used to stop there to sit on her porch, but now I avoided even driving past the place.

Jill seemed smaller, diminished, the tumult of ash-blond hair I remembered cropped short and seemingly mostly white, though I knew she was young when Belinda was born, and now couldn’t be much past forty. Yet, even just to stand in the watery, slow-rising light in front of a prison, she was tossed together fashionably, in gold-colored jeans and boots, with a black turtleneck, a look I would have had to plan for days. She looked right at my car, but gave no sign that she recognized it, though she’d been in it dozens of times years ago. Once she had even changed her clothes in my car. I remember how I stood outside it holding a blanket up over the windows as she peeled off a soaking-wet, floor-length, jonquil-yellow crystal-beaded evening gown that must, at that point, have weighed about thirty pounds, then slipped into a clean football warm-up kit. After she changed, we linked arms with my husband and we all went to a ball.

But I would not think of that now.

I had spent years assiduously not thinking of any of that.

A friendship, like a crime, is not one thing, or even two people. It’s two people and their shared environs and their histories, their common memories, their words, their weaknesses and fears, their virtues and vanities, and sometimes their shame.

Jill was not my closest friend. Some craven times, I blessed myself with that—at least I was spared that. There had always been Julie, since fifth grade my heart, my sharer. But Jill was my good friend. We had been soccer moms together, and walking buddies, although Jill’s swift, balanced walk was my jog. I once kept Belinda at my house while Jill went to the bedside of her beloved father who’d suffered a stroke, just as she kept Stefan at her house with Belinda when they were seven and both had chicken pox, which somehow neither I nor my husband, Jep, ever caught. And on the hot night of that fundraising ball for the zoo, so long ago, she had saved Stefan’s life.

Since Jill was a widow when we first met, recently arrived in the Midwest from her native North Carolina, I was always talking her into coming to events with Jep and me, introducing her to single guys who immediately turned out to be hopeless. That hot evening, along with the babysitter, the two kids raced toward the new pool, wildly decorated with flashing green lights, vines and temporary waterfalls for a “night jungle swim.” Suddenly, the sitter screamed. When Jill was growing up, she had been state champion in the 200-meter backstroke before her devout parents implored her to switch to the more modest sport of golf, and Belinda, at five, was already a proficient swimmer. My Stefan, on the other hand, sank to the bottom like a rock and never came up. Jill didn’t stop to ask questions. Kicking off her gold sandals, in she went, an elegant flat race dive that barely creased the surface; seconds later she hauled up a gasping Stefan. Stefan owed his life to her as surely as Belinda owed her death to Stefan.

In seconds, life reverses.

Jill and I once talked every week. It even seemed we once might have been machatunim, as they say in Yiddish, parents joined by the marriage of their son and daughter. Now, the circumstances under which we might ever exchange a single word seemed as distant as the bony hood of moon above us in the melting darkness.

What did she want here now? Would she leave once Stefan came through the gates? In fact, she left before that. She got back into her car, and, looking straight ahead, drove off.

I watched until her car was out of sight.

Just after dawn, a guard walked Stefan to the edge of the enclosure. I looked up at the razor wire. Then, opening the window slightly, I heard the guard say, “Do good, kid. I hope I never see you again.” Stefan stepped out, and then put his palm up to a sky that had just begun to spit snow. He was twenty, and he had served two years, nine months and three days of a five-year sentence, one year of which the judge had suspended, noting Stefan’s unblemished record. Still, it seemed like a week; it seemed like my entire life; it seemed like a length of time too paltry for the monstrous thing he had done. I could not help but reckon it this way: For each of the sixty or seventy years Belinda would have had left to live, Stefan spent only a week behind bars, not even a season. No matter how much he despaired, he could always see the end. Was I grateful? Was I ashamed? I was both. Yet relief rippled through me like the sweet breeze that stirs the curtains on a summer night.

I got out and walked over to my son. I reached up and put my hand on his head. I said, “My kid.”

Stefan placed his huge warm palm on the top of my head. “My mom,” he said. It was an old ritual, a thing I would not have dared to do in the prison visiting room. My eyes stung with curated tears. Then I glanced around me, furtively. Was I still permitted such tender old deeds? This new universe was not showing its hand. “I can stand here as long as I want,” he said, shivering in wonderment. Then he said, “Where’s Dad?”

“He told you about it. He had to see that kid in Louisville one more time,” I told him reluctantly. “The running back with the very protective grandmother. He couldn’t get out of it. But he cut it short and he’ll be home when we get back, if he beats the weather out of Kentucky this morning, that is.” Jep was in only his second season as football coach at the University of Wisconsin–Whitewater, a Division II team with significant chops and national esteem. We didn’t really think he would get the job, given our troubles, but the athletic director had watched Jep’s career and believed deeply in his integrity. Now he was never at rest: His postseason recruiting trips webbed the country. Yet it was also true that while Stefan’s father longed equally for his son to be free, if Jep had been able to summon the words to tell the people who mattered that he wanted to skip this trip altogether, he would have. But he couldn’t quite bring himself to say it’s a big day, our son’s getting out of prison.

Now, it seemed important to hurry Stefan to the car, to get out of there before this new universe recanted. We had a long drive back from Black Creek, where the ironically named Belle Colline Correctional Facility squatted not far from the campus of the University of Wisconsin–Black Creek. Stefan’s terrible journey had taken him from college to prison, a distance of just two miles as the crow flies. I felt like the guard: I never wanted to see the place again. I had no time to think about Jill or anything else except the weather. We’d hoped that the early-daylight release would keep protestors away from the prison gates, and that seemed to have worked: Prisoners usually didn’t walk out until just before midday. There was not a single reporter here, which surprised me as Jill was tireless in keeping her daughter Belinda’s death a national story, a symbol for young women in abusive relationships. Many of the half dozen or so stalwarts who still picketed in front of our house nearly every day were local college and high-school girls, passionate about Jill’s work. As Stefan’s release grew near, their numbers rose, even as the outdoor temperatures fell. A few news organizations put in appearances again lately as well. I knew they would be on alert today and was hoping we could beat some of the attention by getting back home early. In the meantime, a snowstorm was in the forecast: I never minded driving in snow, but the air smelled of water running over iron ore—a smell that always portended worse weather.

 

Excerpted from The Good Son by Jacquelyn Mitchard. Copyright © 2022 by Jacquelyn Mitchard. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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Author Jacquelyn Mitchard:

#1 New York Times bestselling author Jacquelyn Mitchard has written nine previous novels for adults; six young adult novels; four children’s books; a memoir, Mother Less Child; and a collection of essays, The Rest of Us: Dispatches from the Mother Ship. Her first novel, The Deep End of the Ocean, was the inaugural selection of the Oprah Winfrey Book Club, and  later adapted for a feature film. Mitchard is a frequent lecturer and a professor of fiction and creative nonfiction at Vermont College of Fine Arts in Montpelier. She lives on Cape Cod with her husband and their nine children.

Social Links:

Author Website

Facebook: Jacquelyn Mitchard

Twitter: @JackieMitchard

Instagram: @jacquelynmitchard

Goodreads

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A Murder Yule Regret

A Bread Shop Mystery

by Winnie Archer

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A Murder Yule Regret (A Bread Shop Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
7th in Series
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Kensington Cozies (November 30, 2021)
Mass Market Paperback ‏ : ‎ 304 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 149673355X
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1496733559
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B08Y69YZKB

Freelance photographer and Yeast of Eden bakery assistant Ivy Culpepper has just scored the job of a lifetime shooting the Dickensian dress-up X-mas party thrown by It Girl film actress Eliza Fox . . . until an unwanted guest appears.

 

A holiday costume party in the sleepy coastal town of Santa Sofia could be just the boost Ivy needs for her fledgling photography business. At the party, Ivy enters a Victorian fantasy come to life, all courtesy of the fabulous Ms. Fox. Ivy gets to play shutterbug while hanging with Scrooge, Marley, the Cratchits, and more classic Dickens characters. But what begins as the best of times turns out to be the very worst for one of the party guests—a tabloid journalist with more enemies than Ebenezer himself.

 

When the man’s body is found sprawled across the jagged rocks below the house, the fingers begin pointing at Eliza. Meanwhile, Ivy gets roped into helping prove the starlet’s innocence. Her festive photos are now official evidence—and the Ghosts of Christmas Present could mean the party for Eliza is over, once and for all.ance photographer and Yeast of Eden bakery assistant Ivy Culpepper has just scored the job of a lifetime shooting the Dickensian dress-up X-mas party thrown by It Girl film actress Eliza Fox . . . until an unwanted guest appears.

 

A holiday costume party in the sleepy coastal town of Santa Sofia could be just the boost Ivy needs for her fledgling photography business. At the party, Ivy enters a Victorian fantasy come to life, all courtesy of the fabulous Ms. Fox. Ivy gets to play shutterbug while hanging with Scrooge, Marley, the Cratchits, and more classic Dickens characters. But what begins as the best of times turns out to be the very worst for one of the party guests—a tabloid journalist with more enemies than Ebenezer himself.

 

When the man’s body is found sprawled across the jagged rocks below the house, the fingers begin pointing at Eliza. Meanwhile, Ivy gets roped into helping prove the starlet’s innocence. Her festive photos are now official evidence—and the Ghosts of Christmas Present could mean the party for Eliza is over, once and for all.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Olaya stood behind the bread table, hands on her hips, her chin lowered. “Maggie, you are here to help me, not to star gaze,” she scolded.

Maggie did her best to look sheepish, but didn’t quite pull it off. Her gaze strayed past the people gathering at the food tables and toward the backyard, still searching for another glimpse of Eliza. “I know but—”

“No,” Olaya said in a tone that brought Maggie’s head back around. Olaya snapped her fingers three times.“I am paying you, yes?”

Maggie nodded.

“Bueno.” And that was it. With five little words, Olaya had made it clear that she expected Maggie to tamp down the fangirl and stay put at the bread table.

Maggie looked appropriately chastised.

“Oh God, the carbs!” a woman said as she took two slices of panettone.

Olaya’s lips curved into an almost imperceptible smile. I suspected that she’d worked a little of her magic, the mere aroma of her bread drawing in the perpetual dieters, making them disregard their carb-counting and caloric intake for the evening, instead giving them the mental boost of satisfying a long-suffering hunger for all things baked.

I knew better than to take too many pictures in the library with all the food being consumed, so I left Maggie and Olaya and drifted back out to the great room. Some of the partygoers had made their way upstairs to the loft. The great room felt manageable now, and I was able to catch people in candid poses just as Nicole had requested. One by one, I took shots of each and every person downstairs, which took a solid hour and a half. Some people were not as photogenic as others. Even though they were candids, I wanted each subject to be shown in their best light. Finally, I headed upstairs to capture the rest. Outside, the ocean had become an inky expanse, a few lights appearing far in the distance. Even with the low lights, the backyard was still dark. It was eerie knowing that with the blackness outside and the bright lights inside, we were all on display.

Not that it was possible for anyone to actually see in. We were on a cliff, after all. I gripped the metal railing and continued upstairs, freezing when a shrill scream cut through the party chatter.

The entire house seemed to have gone mute for a few seconds. I spun around, trying to place the location, realizing suddenly that it was coming from outside. A few of the guests had come to the same conclusion. I raced back down the stairs and through the frozen crowd, joining those who had propelled themselves into action by plowing through the side door. Down the square cement steps.

Onto the patch of grass.

A serving tray lay upside down on the grass, bits of bread and smashed appetizers scattered around it. A young woman, who couldn’t have been older than twenty, backed away from the huge boulders, one hand covering her mouth, the other pointing past the edge of the yard and down over the cliff.

Those of us who had rushed outside moved forward while the girl continued to back up.

“Someb-b-body—” she stammered.

That’s when I noticed her outstretched arm, her finger pointing . . . down.

My heart climbed to my throat as I dropped to my knees and inched forward. Carefully, I peered over the edge. Sure enough, splayed out on the rocks below, was the dark form of a body.

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About Winner Archer

Winnie Archer is the nationally bestselling author of the Bread Shop Mystery series, and the Magical Dressmaking Mystery series written as Melissa Bourbon. A former middle school English teacher, lives in North Carolina with her educator husband, Carlos, and the youngest of their five children. She can be found online at MelissaBourbon.com.

Author Links: Kensington / Website / Facebook

Purchase Links – Amazon  – B&NKoboIndieBound

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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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I am an Amazon Affiliate. Product images are linked.

Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Two Many Sleuths organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author M. K. Scott will be awarding a $40 Amazon Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour and more chances to win.

Two Many Sleuths

by M. K. Scott

Genre: Cozy Mystery

Synopsis

Can the Brits and Yanks team up to solve a murder?

What should have been an easy week for small town detective Mark Taber and his amateur sleuth and innkeeper wife, Donna Tolllhouse Taber goes awry when a local garden club member is shot. One of the inn guests, a Scotland Yard detective’s insistence on helping could actually make things worse. Can ruffled feathers be smoothed before the killer strikes again?

Find out in Book Twelve of The Painted Lady Inn Mystery series, Two Many Sleuths.

Enjoy this peek inside:

Both grinned at her as Donna schooled her face into something looking a bit less like shock. She found herself nodding her head as she surveyed their attire. Jeans. Sneakers. Who were they? Did they think she served as a driver? Maybe their driver failed to show on time and thought anyone standing about could be the missing chauffeur. Before Donna could formulate a response to clear up matters, she remember the man had a clipped manner of speaking.

 

Nothing elegant and cultured like the BBC shows, though. “Howard? Elizabeth?”

 

“That’s us,” Elizabeth agreed with a nod.

 

“I’d thought you’d be wearing hats,” Donna uttered the words, then she realized how stupid they sounded.

 

“Wait,” Elizabeth said, then dug into her backpack. She pulled out a red cap with Boston stitched on the front. “I bought this at the last airport. Should I be wearing it?”

 

“No.” The last thing the newly arrived Brits needed was to get the cold shoulder from the southerners who held a grudge almost two hundred years later about the War of Northern Aggression. “Let me show you to the baggage area. How did you recognize me?”

 

Howard puffed out his chest. “I am a Scotland Yard trained detective. Most of the people had already scattered, so, not that many people to choose from. I then subtracted all the airport workers. Finally, I looked for a lush lady.”

 

“Lush lady,” she repeated the words, not liking the sound of them. Either they thought her a heavy drinker or overweight. Sure, she had to buy her clothing in the plus-size department, but only because the garment industry decided to end misses’ sizes at twelve now.

 

“Lush lady. That’s how Mark described you.”

 

Well, someone would be getting a chat tonight. Did he really think of her that way? He’d always assured her he loved her curves and not to change a thing. Was it just nonsense men say to keep their wives from chattering on? A bewildered smile served as her response until she realized a verbal response might be expected. “Lovely.”

Author M. K. Scott

M. K. Scott is the husband and wife writing team behind the cozy mystery series, The Painted Lady Inn Mysteries, The Talking Dog Detective Agency, The Way Over the Hill Gang, and Cupid’s Catering Company.

Morgan K Wyatt is the general wordsmith, while her husband, Scott, is the grammar hammer and physics specialist. He uses his engineering skills to explain how fast a body falls when pushed over a cliff and various other felonious activities.

The Internet and experts in the field provide forensic information, while the recipes and B and B details require a more hands on approach. Morgan’s daughter, who manages a hotel, provides guest horror stories to fuel the plot lines. The couple’s dog, Jane, is the inspiration behind Jasper, Donna’s dog.

All the series are full of quirky characters, humorous shenanigans, along with the occasional murder.

Amazon

The book will be $0.99 during the tour.

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

I am an Amazon Affiliate. Product images are linked.

Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Haunted Ends: Dead In The Water organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Elizabeth Price will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Don’t forget to enter!

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour and more chances to win.

Haunted Ends: Dead In The Water

by Elizabeth Price

Genre: Paranormal Mystery / Horror

Synopsis

The crew of Haunted Ends is diverted from filming their show when a cursed and extremely haunted pirate ship, the Serpents Cross, docks off the coast of San Francisco. After repeated attempts by the Coast Guard to tow the pirate ship back to the sea have left many hospitalized, they call Rocky and Sam to help. The paranormal duo must persuade the Serpents Cross’ phantom captain to leave San Francisco Bay peacefully. However, if the Captain’s requests are not satisfied, he has deadly plans for the citizens of San Francisco.

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Rocky said then tapped his phone. “Rose, would you believe I was just about to call you. Sam—“

 

He paused, listening to Rose on the phone. “The news? Yes, it’s on in the bar. I was wondering why all the residents were watching. Hold on.” He waved for Sam to follow him into the bar.

 

At the doorway of the bar, he watched one of the televisions. The news was featuring a rather peculiar ship that resembled the Flying Dutchmen.  For some unknown reason the ship had floated into San Francisco Bay.

 

Sam pointed to the television. “That’s what I wanted to call her about. I watched that ship float into the bay around sunrise. I was with Arthur when he saw it and he completely freaked out,” he said, excitement ringing in his voice.

 

“Wait,” Rocky held his hand over the phone’s receiver. “You were with Arthur? That low-unlife? Seriously, Sam, he’s a bad influence. You don’t need to be hanging around that—!”

 

Sam rolled his eyes. “The point is that Arthur knew that ship. He called it the… the…” he smacked his forehead to think, “…the Serpent’s Cross. That’s it!” he exclaimed. “He took off as soon as he saw it, leaving Alexis and me behind. He looked like he had seen the devil,” he added.

 

“Alexis too?” Rocky huffed. “Come on, Sam. You’re floating with the wrong crowd. You’re going to get yourself in trouble,” he groaned.

 

Sam waved him on. “Yes, mom. I’m dead. I could hang out with Al Capone if I wanted. It’s not like I couldn’t get any deader than I already am,” he mentioned. He pointed to the television again. “How about focusing on the real problem. That ship shouldn’t be here let alone be seen by the living.”

 

“Rocky!” Rose screamed through the phone.

 

Rocky placed the phone back to his ear. “Oh, yeah. Sorry about that. No, it’s Sam jabbering on about this ship.”

 

“Jabbering? Do I look like a jabberer to you?” Sam asked a passing spirit. The spirit turned to him, looked him up and down, then continued into the bar to watch the television.

 

 “Sam says that a friend,” Rocky sneered in disgust, “told him that the ship’s name was the Serpent’s Cross. This friend is an old ghost, so I can only assume it’s a really old ship. What was that? Oh, is it Haunted?” He glanced at Sam, who shrugged.

 

“Skeletons were hanging out on the deck, you tell me,” Sam spoke condescendingly back.

 

 Rocky held his hand over the receiver. “Skeletons?” he asked. Sam nodded. “Yeah, we’re not sure. Assume it is. Oh, okay. We can do that. I’ll let you know what we find.” He hung up the phone.

 

“What did she say?” Sam asked.

 

“She wants us to grab Marcus and check it out,” he said, walking back to his room to grab his Haunted Ends gear, T-shirt, and baseball cap.

 

Sam followed Rocky back into the lobby. “Investigate an ancient ship filled with walking skeletons? Is she crazy?”

 

“You already know that answer,” Rocky jabbed back.

 

“Okay, okay, no, seriously, that ship has to be crawling with police and the Coast Guard. How are we going to get on board?” Sam questioned.

 

“Apparently,” Rocky glanced to his left thigh were Sam hovered, “they asked for us by name.”

 

“Of course they would.” Sam paused in the hall while Rocky went inside his room to change. His eyes grew wide and he began to nod slowly as he thought. “What could possibly go wrong talking to a ship full of skeletons?”

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Author Elizabeth Price

Elizabeth Price is best known for her Paranormal Mystery series Haunted Ends, which makes light of the dark side of death. Born in Southern California, Elizabeth has always been drawn to Science Fiction and fantasy stories. Having also lived and worked in haunted buildings for many years, she has a deep interest in the paranormal and anything that goes “BOO!” in the night – with the exception of critics that is.

 

You can connect with Elizabeth on Facebook at facebook.com/authorelizabethprice or on Twitter @Chaosonpaper. You can also visit her website, espwriter.com, to sign up for emails about new releases.

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Novice Necromancer

Northern Necromancers: The Island Book 1

by Amy B. Nixon

Genre: Romantic Dark Fantasy

Novice Necromancer is a revised edition of my discontinued book Nordstrøm Necromancer. It includes new content, sprinkled throughout the story.

Intrigue, monsters and a forbidden affair. What could go wrong?

Learyn Dustrikke didn’t believe in black magic, until her aunt’s secrets forced her to flee San Francisco and seek shelter on the ominous Nordstrøm Island – an obscure Norwegian holm uprooted from the realm Vanaheim.

Ensnared by the island’s magic, Learyn finds herself in deadlier peril than ever before.

Between juggling the principles of necromancy, waltzing with intrigue and monsters, and falling for a man whose love is forbidden by the gods, can Learyn untangle the web of family secrets before it’s too late? Or will the threat she fled from catch up with her?

Hop on a ride to cinematic lands of atavistic Norse mythology in this NA Dark Fantasy series, as Learyn learns why black magic should not be taken lightly.

(Disclaimer: Every book in the series contains swearing, deaths and occasional gore. The main characters are also featured in my other series Northern Necromancers: The Dragons.)

Goodreads * Amazon

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The excerpt features one profanity, but if you prefer to spare some language-sensitive bloggers, you can stylize it as “f-ck” (I did the same on Amazon to bypass Author Central’s restrictions, so I’m totally fine with that if you have to censor it). I also left line breaks above and below the paragraphs in Italics since they’re a scene during which the character has a vision of the future, and the Italics/ line breaks would make it less confusing for the bloggers.

 

“Miss Dustrikke, I’d like a word with you.”

Confused by his request, I waited for everyone to leave before I stepped onto the raised podium.

He studied me from head to toe with that pair of unnaturally light blue irises. Cold and intrusive, like an avalanche sliding across every inch of me. Hoar-frost scalded my guts. My heart dropped in my stomach with the weight of a glacier. Why did he always look so freakishly intimidating?

When his icy blues finally trailed back up, I barely prevented myself from squirming. And then the world unraveled around me.

 

I was standing in what was supposed to be a spacious hall, or at least it had been once before.

Erosion had struck the stony walls, demolishing them to nothing more than crumbled ruins. They laid bleak and barren in hues of fading grays. Jagged outlines of damaged columns spanned up to an open sky, devoid of stars. A pale crescent moon barely illuminated its onyx darkness, shedding light on a thinning haze.

My eyes darted down as I stepped onto something hard and uneven — a serrated piece, chipped off the marbled tiles. Disarrayed, aegean patterns covered the icy floor, like protrusive veins running under pale skin. Shudders slithered up my spine at the sight of hollow trunks and tarred roots, mere footsteps from where I stood. Those trees were dead. They shouldn’t have been able to break through the stone.

I navigated my way across the ruins carefully, diving deeper into the remains of a dead world.

Until it wasn’t dead anymore.

Eerie tones flew past my ears. A haunting rock ballad, coming from somewhere ahead. I braved the freezing temperatures and kept walking. A man and a woman, locked in a tight embrace, appeared out of the blue and spun around me. I barely caught a glimpse of their formal clothes before they disappeared. Just as I wondered if they had been some crazy mirage, another couple broke through the haze.

More and more people manifested before my shocked stare, all of whom were waltzing. Trying to tell mirages from reality, my eyes lingered on the formal suits and puffy dresses. Torn and battered, they revealed naked flesh. Rotten, flaky, decomposing flesh.

A horrified gasp ruptured my throat. The cloud of somber mist lured out my breath, robbing me of my fleeting warmth. A sinister thought rushed through my mind — the haze was sucking away my life, like it had sucked away theirs.

 

I panted, writhing like an aspen twig.

The haze had disappeared, as had the ruins and the waltzing corpses. I was standing back on that podium, facing Dann’s creepily intense stare.

“What the fuck was that?” I whispered, still trembling from the lingering aftertaste of what I had just experienced.

“What was what, exactly?”

“That! The ruins, corpses, music and… everything!”

His face hardened in an obscure grimace.

“You were there!” I pressed when he didn’t say anything. “You were there with me all the time!”

“I never stood from my chair, Miss Dustrikke, and you never left this room.”

My mouth fell open. I peeked over my shoulder to see nothing more than rows of tables and empty chairs, stacked neatly in their ascending formation. I could swear on the creator of the Python programming language, moments ago we had both been in that dreadful, gothic, post-apocalyptic excuse of a ruined hall.

Tearing my gaze off the empty room, I faced his stone-cold features.

Incorporeal blades raked through my spine while the waltzing corpses still glided through my head, possessing my thoughts with images of their rotten, festering flesh. Between the livid skin and the soul-sucking haze, his familiar presence had felt like the only factor that had prevented me from losing myself to the cold, ghastly darkness. Which was a paradox on its own, considering I didn’t even know him well, least of all trust him.

Still, why was he pretending nothing had happened?

“We both walked through those ruins.” Treacherous notes of desperation bled from my shaky voice. “You were right behind me.”

“As I said, neither of us left the room.”

So, I’d had… a hallucination, or something? A vision? Was it even possible? Did necromancers have visions? Omens? Predictions about the future? Past lives? What the hell was going on?

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Rampant Necromancer

Northern Necromancers: The Island Book 2

My life got freakier than a black metal music video. Ironic, since my blood runs with black magic.

Newbie necromancer Learyn Dustrikke quickly learned why leaving San Francisco and moving to a chunk of Vanaheim land nestled in Norway was a bad idea.

Nordstrøm Island is anything but the fairytale land she thought it would be. Murderers run rampant in broad daylight. Freshly deceased human flesh rots before her eyes. Wrongfully cast spells serve as a one-way ticket to a soulless eternity. And sneaking out means getting exposed to lethal forces, which are impervious even to necromancy.

The last things on Learyn’s mind are worrying about Dann’s eerie secrets or the furtive warnings of a mysterious dark elf. But in a world where reality is more terrifying than any nightmare, seeking love and friendship will cost her more than she’s prepared to lose.

And that’s just the calm before the storm…

Hop on a ride to mythical lands of ancient Norse mythology in this NA Dark Fantasy series, as Learyn learns why black magic should not be taken lightly.

(Disclaimer: Every book in the series contains swearing, deaths and occasional gore. You’ll also see some characters and events from my series Northern Necromancers: The Dragons.)

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Amy B. Nixon is a designer and columnist by day, an aspiring fiction author by night and a 24/7 caffeine addict.

When she’s not working or writing, Amy enjoys cooking, playing board games, taking roadtrips, shocking the people around her with dark humor, playing the piano and ruining group photos due to not being able to pose seriously for a proper picture.

Website * Facebook * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

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On Tour with Prism Book Tours

 

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A Love Unexpected

 

(Under Kansas Skies #1)

 

By Leah Brunner
Contemporary Romance
Paperback & ebook, 224 Pages
May 21, 2021 by Leah Brunner Publishing

My one and only goal has always been to make it to congress. I’ve got it all: the looks, the brains, the connections… Except I missed one glaring requirement: a wife.

The conservative voters of Kansas don’t trust an unmarried man. Which means I need a bride. Immediately.

The lovely Odette Hastings seems to fit the bill. She’s a wholesome small-town girl, and most importantly, in need of cash. I’ll give her the money to take care of her elderly parents, and she’ll be the political arm candy I need.

The only problem is Odette is a little too beautiful, a little too intelligent, and much too distracting. I have to keep my eye on the prize. Even when I’m starting to think there might be something I’d rather have more…

(Affiliate links included.)

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Enjoy this peek inside:

 

I have to ruin the moment. I have to announce my campaign next month, and I still need a wife to help my chances of winning this election. It’s now or never.

I rub my sweaty palms down the front of my jeans. “So… there’s actually something I need to talk to you about. It’s going to sound completely insane, so I don’t want you to answer right away. Take some time to think about it first. But not too much time because, well, I need to announce my campaign next month…” I trail off, feeling hopelessly stupid.

She takes a step back and I watch her defenses go up. She twirls her hair again. “Okay. What is it?”

I swallow nervously. “You said you wanted to help my campaign–and I do need your help–but I can’t continue without… This is going to sound insane, I know, but I have no chance of success if I’m not…well, if I’m not married.”

 

Excerpted from A Love Unexpected by Leah Brunner, Copyright © 2021 by Leah Brunner. Published by Leah Brunner Publishing.

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About Author Leah Brunner

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Leah writes romance full of witty banter and lovable characters. She spends most of her time writing… and also petting her Maine Coon.

Although she’s a Kansas girl at heart, Leah is a proud Air Force spouse and currently resides in Northern California with her husband and three children.

Her parents always told her she lived in her own little world and was oblivious to reality. The real world was simply too boring for Leah, writing is how she enjoys sharing her little world with others.

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It’s Beginning To Look A Lot Like Murder

A Catering Hall Mystery

by Maria DiRico

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It’s Beginning to Look a Lot Like Murder (A Catering Hall Mystery)
Cozy Mystery
3rd in Series
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Kensington Cozies (October 26, 2021)
Mass Market Paperback ‏ : ‎ 288 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1496725360
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1496725363
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B08VFBT9B2

Astoria, Queens, is decorated within an inch of its life for the Christmas season, and Mia Carina is juggling her job at the Belle View catering hall with a case of murder . . .

 

Mia’s busy with a full schedule of events at the family business—among them an over-the-top Nativity-themed first birthday party and a Sweet Sixteen for a teen drama queen. But her personal life is even more challenging. Her estranged mother has returned—and her lifelong friend Jamie has discovered a shocking secret about his past. He’s so angry that he starts hanging out with Lorenzo, who claims to be his long-lost brother—even after it becomes clear that Lorenzo’s story is as fake as a plastic Christmas tree.

 

Then a body turns up among the elves in a Santa’s-workshop lawn display, and amateur sleuth Mia has a buffet of suspects to choose from. Amid the holiday celebrations, she intends to find out who’s the guilty party . . .

 

Italian recipes included!

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Enjoy this peek inside:

Donny took Mia’s hands in his and squeezed them.

“Mille grazie, Mia. All we ask is that you keep this news to yourself until we meet together to tell Jamie. You can share it with your father. I trust him with my life. But no one else.”

Mia nodded her agreement. A thought occurred to her.

“Does Donny Junior know?” Jamie’s older brother, a textbook goombah who barely made it out of high school, lived to tease his more cerebral little brother and give him grief.

Donny Senior shook his head. “We’re not saying a word to Little Donny until we talk to Jamie.”

“Good. I’m worried he might throw this in Jamie’s face.”

A bookcase suddenly rotated out of place and Donny Junior burst into the room from a secret location, eliciting startled screams from the office occupants. “I would never do that,” Donny Junior declared with passion.

“Donny, what were you thinking?” his angry mother scolded. “You know your father has high blood pressure. You could have given him a stroke.”

“Or me,” Mia said, pouring herself a small shot of Strega. “I know you have a hidden bar, but what the hell is that?” She pointed to a small room behind the faux bookcase.

“It’s a panic room,” Donny Senior said. “We’ve got a few around the place. This one was a birthday present from Aurora.” He glared at his son. “You got a lot of nerve, sneaking up on your family like that.”

Donny Junior returned his father’s glare. Even though he had half a foot on his father, he was often referred to as Little Donny by friends and family. He and “Big Donny” shared the same coloring, muddy brown eyes, and fleshy facial features, making it impossible for anyone to deny that Little Donny was a biological Boldano. “I’ve seen how you all been whispering to each other and shutting up the minute I came into the room. When I heard Mia was coming over by herself, I knew something was up and if you weren’t gonna tell me, I was gonna do whatever it took to find out what was going on.” His expression softened. “Jamie is my brother. I know we’re always on each other, but I love him. And I should be part of this conversation.”

His father began to protest, but Aurora cut him off.

“You’re right, son,” she said. “You should be. We’ll tell Jamie tomorrow night. At Piero’s restaurant. Jamie loves Piero’s mushroom pasta alla carbonara. It’ll make the news go down easier.”

That’s so typically Italian, Mia thought. If there’s a problem, a dish of homemade pasta will solve it. But as far as she was concerned, there wasn’t a pasta dish in the world that would ease Jamie into this revelation.

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About Maria DiRico

Maria DiRico is the pseudonym for Ellen Byron, author of the award winning, USA Today bestselling Cajun Country Mysteries. Born in Queens, New York, she is first-generation Italian-American on her mother’s side and the granddaughter of a low-level Jewish mobster on her father’s side. She grew up visiting the Astoria Manor and Grand Bay Marina catering halls, which were run by her Italian mother’s family in Queens and have become the inspiration for her Catering Hall Mystery Series. DiRico has been a writer-producer for hit television series like Wings and Just Shoot Me, and her first play, Graceland, appears in the Best Short Plays collection. She’s a freelance journalist, with over 200 articles published in national magazines, and previously worked as a cater-waiter for Martha Stewart, a credit she never tires of sharing. A native New Yorker who attended Tulane University, Ellen lives in Los Angeles with her husband, daughter, and two rescue dogs.

Author Links – Website – Chicks on the Case – Facebook –  Twitter

Purchase Links – AmazonB&NKobo IndieBound 

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November 2 – Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW

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Beneath Blackwater River

Detective Kay Sharp Book 2

by Leslie Wolfe

Genre: Thriller, Suspense

Have you ever read a book that was so suspenseful and intriguing that you didn’t do anything but read it till you were finished? This is that book. I started it and finished in 2 days. I couldn’t put it down!!… SO thrilling and kept me on the edge of my seat! Loved it!!!” NetGalley Reviewer, ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐

She looked beautiful, her hair drifting freely in the water, a small locket floating by her face, attached to her neck with a silver chain. Her red lips were gently parted, as if to let her final breath escape…

When Detective Kay Sharp first left Mount Chester—population 3,823—in her rear-view mirror, she promised never to look back. The town only contained bad memories and dark secrets. But when a brutal crime surfaces, she finds herself home once more, and this time she’s not going anywhere.

Kay is called to Blackwater River, where the body of a seventeen-year-old girl has been found. Surrounded by snowy peaks and a forest alive with the colors of fall, the victim floats in the water, a hand-carved locket around her neck.

The locket seems strangely familiar. Digging into cold cases, Kay discovers that three-year-old Rose Harrelson was wearing it when she vanished fourteen years ago. In the middle of the night, the little girl’s bedroom—with Mickey Mouse on the wall and a hanging baby mobile—was suddenly empty. The unsolved case still haunts the town.

But the teenager they have found has been dead for only a few hours. If the girl in the river is Rose, where has she been, and who has been hiding her all this time? If she is someone else, why is she wearing the locket, and what happened to the missing child from all those years ago?

Kay knows she must solve the kidnapping in order to untangle the mystery of the dead body. As she unearths a web of lies and deceit spun for decades, the close-knit community will never be the same. And Kay will find herself facing a truly terrifying killer…

A totally gripping page-turner that should come with a health warning! Be warned: you’ll lose sleep and your heart will race like crazy as you read twist after twist. Perfect for fans of Lisa Regan, Robert Dugoni and Kendra Elliot.

Goodreads * Amazon

FALLS

Malia wore a flower in her hair.

Not just any kind of flower; she’d gone through online shopping hell to get the plumeria blossom delivered to the hotel that morning, just in time for her planned trip to Blackwater River Falls. She’d paid a fortune for it, worth every cent.

She wore the scented bloom over her left ear, a Hawaiian custom that told the entire world her heart was taken. By a twenty-seven-year-old, good-looking, and slightly awkward computer nerd from San Francisco named Tobias Grabowsky, who’d probably miss the symbolic meaning of the plumeria, and that was if he even noticed it in the first place.

She didn’t care. She still wanted the flower to be just right, her hair perfectly shiny, the scent of the petals surrounding her like a mist from heaven, bringer of love and good fortune. But she wished she could’ve worn something else for that special occasion. She cringed at the thought of being proposed to in cream-colored stretch shorts and a red tank top instead of a breezy, white, ruffled gown that bared her shoulders. But if Toby wanted to take her to Blackwater River Falls that morning, she had to pretend she didn’t know why and wear the appropriate attire for hiking.

But she knew, and the excitement had overwhelmed her since she’d first found the diamond ring in his jacket pocket.

She’d been worried about his strange behavior the night they’d arrived in Mount Chester. Soon after dinner, expertly served by a blond with cleavage so deep it should’ve been restricted to adult audiences only, she’d noticed that Toby kept touching his right pocket as if to make sure something precious was still in there, tucked safely. That pocket was where he’d shoved the change and check from dinner, and Malia feared that Miss Cleavage might’ve sneaked in her phone number. Anxious for the rest of the evening, Malia could barely wait to get back to their hotel room. There, she lingered with the patience of a hungry spider for Toby to get into the shower, then plunged her hand into the pocket and found it.

That 1-carat beauty was definitely not for Miss Boobs.

Before Toby had come out of the shower, she had her plan in place. She’d make sure it was one to remember, and even if she had to wear shorts, at least everything else would be perfect.

Blackwater River Falls was a one-hour hike from their hotel, climbing at a gentle rate on the western versant of Mount Chester through a stunningly beautiful, fall-tinged forest. As they gained elevation, oaks and maples gave way to a variety of pines and firs, their cones littering the paths. They held hands and hiked with enthusiasm, her impatience causing Toby to ask, “Why the rush?” a couple of times. She’d just smiled in response and slowed down a little, even stopped to press her lips against his for a quick moment, before rushing uphill again.

They were a good ten minutes away when the whooshing sound of the falls started to be heard, faint and distant, yet precise, melodious, echoing against the rocky slopes of the mountain.

“I can see it,” Malia announced cheerfully, letting go of Toby’s hand and sprinting ahead. “We’re there.”

“All right,” Toby replied, panting heavily. “It will still be there in a few minutes, you know,” he quipped, stopping for a moment and looking around.

She rushed back to him and grabbed his hand, then pulled him ahead on the trail.

“Come on, you’ll rest when we get there,” she said, and he followed her with a resigned sigh. “You need to work out more,” she added. She was barely out of breath, the fresh air filling her lungs with pure energy. “All day long you sit in front of a screen,” she started, then bit her lip. Maybe she should wait until after the wedding to start criticizing him. She burst into laughter instead, imagining herself as a nagging wife, hands propped on her hips, tapping the tip of her slipper against the gleaming hardwood floors in their future home.

“What?” he asked.

“Ah, nothing, I’m just happy,” she replied, lifting her arms in the air and turning in place like a dervish. “Whoo-hoo,” she cried, and the mountain promptly echoed back. “Did you hear it?”

“Yeah, and so did half the state of California.”

A punch to his side was quick to follow, and she burst into crystalline laughter as he feigned injury and collapsed to the ground, holding his side and groaning as if he were about to die a wretched death. Now he would have dirt and pine needles on the white T-shirt he was going to propose in, but she didn’t care as much as she thought she would. She just loved hearing him laugh.

When he stood, he touched his pocket briefly, and then brushed some dirt off his shoulders. She ran her hands over his back, wiping away whatever stuck to the cotton fabric, then they joined hands again and sprinted ahead.

In a few minutes, they cleared the forest and stopped, hand in hand, to admire the tall, narrow falls against the blue sky, flanked by rocks tinged rusty red. Still panting, Toby gave her a long, loving look, as if trying to figure out what to do next, and then crouched to undo his laces and remove his shoes.

“What are you doing?” Malia asked, her voice filled with disappointment, after her heart had promptly stopped thinking he was going to take a knee and propose in front of the majestic falls, only to see him preoccupied with the entangled shoelaces on his left sneaker.

He kicked off both his shoes, then invited her to do the same. “Let’s go in there,” he pointed at the waterfall, “behind that water curtain. I read there’s a cave, not too big, and the water’s only a few inches deep.”

She hesitated as she imagined dipping her bare feet into the freezing water. She forced a smile and took off her shoes and socks, then tiptoed, faltering on the sharp-edged gravel that littered the path to the fall’s basin.

He jumped in first, without hesitation. “Yup, it’s freezing, but you won’t feel it,” he reassured her, once he had caught his breath. “Come on.” He tugged gently at her hand. “Take the leap with me.”

Her face lit up in a beaming smile. She was ready to take a leap with him, the biggest leap of all, for the rest of her life. She put one hesitant foot into the icy water, then the next. He was right. After a few moments, she stopped feeling the cold as badly.

They splashed toward the water curtain, and she winced at the thought of wading through a shower of freezing water to get to the cave, but that wasn’t the case. There was a narrow opening to the side, enough to allow them to sneak in. Inside the almost dark space, the loud sound of the waterfall was dimmed and seemed distant, as if the silence of the cave absorbed the screams of the crashing cascade. Filtered and powerless, the light that came through the torrent barely touched the glistening walls.

She studied her surroundings for a quick moment. The walls were stained in hues of green and rusty red, with off-white blotches here and there, where calcareous stone interlaced with the granite. She dipped her hand in the freezing water, and cupped her palm to collect some. She wanted to taste it, but Toby stopped her hand before it reached her lips.

“I wouldn’t do that,” he said. “You never know what’s in it.”

She looked at the water still pooled in the cup of her hand. “It looks like it has a pink hue, or is that just the light?”

“Could be what stained these walls.” He looked around briefly, then smiled widely, visibly nervous. “But I’m not here for spelunking.” He lowered himself on a bent knee, dipping it in the freezing water, while his hand revealed the ring nestled in its black velvet box. “I wanted it to be just you and me, my lovely Malia, when I ask you, will you marry me?”

Her eyes widened in feigned surprise and sincere delight, while her smile broadened. She clasped her hands together in excitement, then extended her left hand toward Toby. He took out the ring from its box and slid it onto her finger. She looked at him grinning, sealing every detail of the image in her memory, to always remember, till death did them part.

Then she screamed, a long, searing shriek of pure terror.

A pale hand with long, narrow fingers grazed Toby’s calf, shifting slowly into the rippling water.

Toby jumped to his feet and rushed to her, grabbing her shoulders. “What? What is it?”

Speechless, she pointed at the body moving slowly back and forth under the water surface, barely visible in the dim light.

In the flashlight coming from Toby’s phone, she saw a large boulder held the girl’s body in place, pinning it to the bottom of the cave. Her long black hair and her right arm had surfaced, the water only a foot deep, brought forward by the constant pounding of the cascade.

She looked alive, her hair drifting freely in the water as if flowing in the wind, her beautiful face pristine, her red lips gently parted, as if to let her final breath escape. Her eyes seemed to stare at them, surprised, aghast, the terror of her last moments still alive in her irises. A small red locket floated right by her face, still attached to her neck with a silver chain.

She couldn’t’ve been more than seventeen years old.

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Don’t miss the first Detective Kay Sharp book, The Girl From Silent Lake!

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Q&A with Leslie Wolfe 

 

  1. What is Beneath Blackwater River about?

When the body of a teenage girl is found under the water curtains of the Blackwater River Falls, Detective Kay Sharp is called to the scene. Surrounded by snowy peaks and a forest alive with the colors of fall, the victim floats in the water, a hand-carved locket around her neck.

 

The locket seems strangely familiar. Digging into cold cases, Kay discovers that three-year-old Rose Harrelson was wearing it when she vanished fourteen years ago. In the middle of the night, the little girl’s bedroom—with Mickey Mouse on the wall and a hanging baby mobile—was suddenly empty. The unsolved case still haunts the town.

But the teenager they have found has been dead for only a few hours. If the girl in the river is Rose, where has she been, and who has been hiding her all this time? If she is someone else, why is she wearing the locket, and what happened to the missing child from all those years ago?

Kay knows she must solve the kidnapping in order to untangle the mystery of the dead body. As she unearths a web of lies and deceit spun for decades, the close-knit community will never be the same. And Kay will find herself facing a truly terrifying killer…

 

Beneath Blackwater River  shines a light on the staggering implications of parental abuse and its life-long consequences in the lives of the abused. Sometimes, the abused turns into the abuser and such the cycle of abuse continues. In many known cases of serial homicide in the United States, the killer’s early life was one of appalling abuse endured at the hands of a parent or immediate family member.

 

  1. What would readers remember after they finish reading the book?

They will remember that many times, appearances can be deceiving. Sometimes, refusing to dig deeper under the ornate masks worn by predators in our midst could lead to lives being threatened and lost. I also hope readers will regard parental abuse with a renewed interest, given its long-term, potentially deadly consequences. As my readers have grown accustomed to, the parental abuse in my book isn’t physical. It’s entirely psychological, but even if the scars aren’t visible to the naked eye it doesn’t mean they’re not there.

 

  1. Your writing style is fast, filled with dialogue, almost at the expense of descriptives and narratives. Why is that?

This is how human beings interact, especially when under pressure or stress. We stop paying attention to our surroundings, and focus on the task at hand. People interact with one another, talk to one another, and have feelings for one another and for everything we do. That’s what I’m focused on, rather than specifying each article of clothing someone wears, or the color of the flower vase in an office somewhere. This technique isn’t necessarily good or bad; just somewhat different from mainstream.

 

  1.  What’s the biggest compliment you received from a fan?

It’s when readers tell me they stay up all night to finish the book, because they couldn’t put it down. That’s music to my ears ☺ Like any other artist and entertainer, I thrive knowing that I deliver that escape into the fictional world in a grasping, gritty, and memorable way.

  1. You mentioned science, technology, psychology. How do you keep it real?

I do extensive amounts of research for my work, and I’m fascinated by what I have the opportunity to learn. Additionally, sections of my books go through a process of validation at the hands of several fantastic partners who are law enforcement officers, attorneys, scientists, doctors in medicine. In Dawn Girl, for example, there are sections that speak about using certain plant extracts and animal venoms to achieve certain goals. Despite the extensive research, my hands were shaking a little as I wrote them, metaphorically speaking, and I was relieved when my research “passed scientific review.”

 

  1. Do you do any book signings, interviews, speaking and personal appearances? If so, when and where is the next place where your readers can see you? Where can they keep up with your personal contacts online?

Apart from social media and email interactions, I’m a veritable recluse. Email is the best and quickest way to reach me, and I was fortunate to build true friendships with readers over email. The majority of my readers ask me when’s the next book coming out, not when I’m getting out of the house, so I get the hint and keep on writing.

 

  1. Is this book a first in a series and going to be continued?

This book is the second in the Kay Sharp Series, a story centered on a certain family and its layered dysfunction. There are two other books published in the series. So far, this series has been very well received by the readers, and my fans have been adamant: they want more. Therefore, in the future there will be more books to enjoy in the Kay Sharp Series.

 

Until then, the Tess Winnett Series features FBI Special Agent Tess Winnett in a series of eight (so far) gripping crime thrillers you won’t be able to put down. The first title in that series is Dawn Girl, but all books can be read as standalones.

Baxter & Holt is a three-book series featuring two Las Vegas detectives who trust each other with their lives, only not with their deepest, darkest secrets. Start this engrossing series with Las Vegas Girl.

Alex Hoffmann is an action-adventure series featuring a young and smart heroine and her team of private investigators. They follow their cases wherever those might take them, even if that means behind enemy lines, in five engrossing thrillers that will remind you of James Bond and Jack Reacher. The book that will get you started on this adventure is Executive.

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Leslie Wolfe is a bestselling author whose novels break the mold of traditional thrillers. She creates unforgettable, brilliant, strong women heroes who deliver fast-paced, satisfying suspense, backed up by extensive background research in technology and psychology.

Leslie released the first novel, Executive, in October 2011. Since then, she has written many more, continuing to break down barriers of traditional thrillers. Her style of fast-paced suspense, backed up by extensive background research in technology and psychology, has made Leslie one of the most read authors in the genre and she has created an array of unforgettable, brilliant and strong women heroes along the way.

A recently released standalone and an addictive, heart-stopping psychological thriller, The Girl You Killed will appeal to fans of The Undoing, The Silent Patient, or Little Fires Everywhere. Reminiscent of the television drama Criminal Minds, her series of books featuring the fierce and relentless FBI Agent Tess Winnett would be of great interest to readers of James Patterson, Melinda Leigh, and David Baldacci crime thrillers. Fans of Kendra Elliot and Robert Dugoni suspenseful mysteries would love the Las Vegas Crime series, featuring the tension-filled relationship between Baxter and Holt. Finally, her Alex Hoffmann series of political and espionage action adventure will enthrall readers of Tom Clancy, Brad Thor, and Lee Child.

Leslie has received much acclaim for her work, including inquiries from Hollywood, and her books offer something that is different and tangible, with readers becoming invested in not only the main characters and plot but also with the ruthless minds of the killers she creates.

A complete list of Leslie’s titles is available at LeslieWolfe.com/books.

Leslie enjoys engaging with readers every day and would love to hear from you. Become an insider: gain early access to previews of Leslie’s new novels.

Website * Facebook * Twitter * Instagram * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads

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Follow the tour HERE for special content and a giveaway!

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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Divorce Bucket List organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.

Author Jennifer Harris will be awarding a $15 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Don’t forget to enter.

And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour and for more chances to win.

Divorce Bucket List

by Jennifer Harris

Divorce Bucket List: One Woman's Powerful Journey of Self-Discovery and Healing Through Divorce and How You Can Heal Too by [Jennifer Harris]

Synopsis

Divorce Bucket List is a practical and heartfelt guide that effortlessly blends meaningful exercises and reflections with author Jennifer’s personal experiences through the trials and challenges of divorce. Written as a way to empower others to rebuild their lives as they work through the trauma of a divorce, this illuminating guide explores Jennifer’s harrowing journey through divorce, revealing her creation of her Divorce Bucket List – and how it helped her emerge into a happier, healthier, and more emotionally fulfilling chapter of her life.

Perfect for anyone who feels lost, alone, or broken as they struggle through divorce, Divorce Bucket List will help you rediscover yourself and your values, overcome your fear of the future, and learn to love again. With a blend of real-life anecdotes, reflections, and exercises to encourage you to apply a Divorce Bucket List to your unique situation, Jennifer’s story will inspire you to move past your divorce and make the most of this exciting new time in your life.

 

Check out this glimpse inside:

Don’t forget to take some time to appreciate the journey as you go through your divorce or separation. If you’re having one of the most challenging days or are experiencing conflict that you think you can’t get through, then take a step back and look at it and say, “I am so grateful for this part of my journey, because I’m going to learn something from it.” I want you to look at your entire journey, be grateful for all of it, and know that you can learn something from every single thing you experience through this journey. You are going to come through stronger, and you are going to be even better. You’re going to rebuild. You’re going to flourish. You’re going to thrive.

Don’t forget to appreciate the moments. Look at things outside of the moment as you go through it, so that when you are at the point where you feel on top of the world when everything has finally recovered, you’ve rebuilt again, and you’re happy, you will have those memories to know how you got to where you are. You will put your own crown back on as you fall in love with yourself and life again, and maybe, just maybe, you can even help one other person do the same by showing them it can be done.

I want to leave you, the reader—and now my friend—with what I said at the end of that speech in London in hopes that it touches you. No matter where you are in your divorce or separation journey, I want you to know that you are not alone, there is hope, and you can truly thrive in your wildest dreams on the other side. You might be only considering a divorce, you might be in the middle of a messy one, your divorce might be finalized—and you’re ready to move on, or anywhere in between. Wherever your journey currently is, the rest of your book is up to you. It’s up to you to take action, and when you use the tools that I’ve given you and implement your own Divorce Bucket List, I know you will be able to find joy and peace as I, and many others, have.

About Author Jennifer Harris:

Jennifer Harris is an author, speaker, divorce coach, and the creator of the Divorce Bucket List. After experiencing her own traumatic marriage and divorce, she went on to become a highly trained and certified Confidence & Transformation Divorce Coach. With over ten years of coaching experience, she’s passionate about sharing her story of the grief and trauma she experienced and how she developed the Divorce Bucket List to help her move forward. Jennifer is dedicated to inspiring others to achieve their desired outcomes through divorce and rebuild their lives to emerge from their separations into happier, healthier chapters of their lives. She currently resides in Pennsylvania with her two wonderful boys.

http://www.DivorceBucketList.com

For More Resources or To Work with Jenn: http://www.Divideguide.com

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The book is on sale for only $0.99.

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

I am an Amazon Affiliate. Product images are linked.