Welcome to my stop in the virtual book tour for The Search For Sasha Lockwood organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.
Author Thomas Grant Bruso be awarding a $10 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!
And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
The Search For Sasha Lockwood
by Thomas Grant Bruso
Genre: Horror / LGBT / Mystery
Synopsis
Something is stalking the campgrounds at Pine Hill Creek.
Rumor has it that local folklore about the notorious Bigfoot is responsible for the mystery of a missing young woman.
When eighteen-year-old high school senior Sasha Lockwood vanishes without a trace while camping with her friends, fear and horror sequester a small community. Local and federal law enforcement officers begin an exhausting twenty-four-hour investigation of seventy acres of vast forest, looking for the victim.
The tight-knit community is in an uproar, horrified by these unexpected events. An unrelenting sheriff’s department and a media-savage system doggedly interrogate Sasha’s parents and close friends.
What happened the night Sasha Lockwood disappeared? Is it real or part of a cruel joke? Is Bigfoot responsible, or is something sinister at play in the deep, dark woods?
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Enjoy this peek inside:
Silver Lake Woman Still Missing
Search efforts by Bedwell County Sheriff’s Department to locate local girl Sasha Lockwood, 18, continue after a 24-hour search and rescue mission.
Sheriff Joshua Bronson, with the help of his deputy sheriff, Wade Rosen, and state police, has combed the entire five-acre campsite of Pine Hill Creek in search of the young college girl who went missing during a camping excursion over the weekend.
Due to weather conditions, the search has slowed. It will resume when the snowstorm abates in the upstate New York region of Bedwell County.
Lockwood is described as 5-foot-6, 145 pounds, with green eyes and curly amber hair. Athletic, muscular build.
She was last seen on Saturday, October 15. A white Subaru was spotted in Silver Lake Woods, a half mile from where Ms. Lockwood and her friends were camping.
Bedwell County Sheriff’s Department and state police are asking for anyone with information to come forward or contact the Bedwell County Sheriff’s Department or state police.
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About Author Thomas Grant Bruso:
Thomas Grant Bruso knew he wanted to be a writer at an early age. He has been a voracious reader of genre fiction since childhood.
His literary inspirations are Ray Bradbury, Dean Koontz, Stephen King, Jim Grimsley, Karin Fossum, and Joyce Carol Oates.
Bruso loves animals, reading books, and writing fiction, and prefers Sudoku to crossword puzzles.
In another life, he was a freelance writer and wrote for magazines and newspapers. In college, he won the Hermon H. Doh Sonnet Competition. Now, he writes and publishes fiction and reviews books for his hometown newspaper, The Press-Republican.
A cowboy lies dead on the trail, shot through the heart with no one around.
Detective Dan Alsop must find his killer through a maze of squabbling
relatives, disgruntled friends and Hollywood mobsters. Was it a single event
or will the killer strike again?
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Book 2, The Dan Alsop Series
Murder Mystery
Date Published: March 28, 2025
His mentor lies dead at his feet. Detective Dan Alsop is stretched thin
with only the notion of an ancient casino robbery to guide him. His search
for the elusive killer takes him to cemeteries and silver mines until he
strikes again.
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About Author SJ Slagle
SJ SLAGLE started her career as a language arts teacher. When she began
writing, her initial interest was children’s stories, but then she
moved on to Western Romance, Mysteries and Historical Fiction. She has
published over 30 novels and her website is www.sjslagle.com.
SJ has written several Western Romance series including the THESE NEVADA
BOYS, RANCHER, and THE WESTERNERS, as well as Mystery series: FLOYD SISTERS
MYSTERIES and SHERLOCK AND ME. All her books are distributed in digital,
paper and audiobook formats.
Her first historical fiction novel, LONDON SPIES, was awarded a B.R.A.G.
Medallion in 2018. She was given the Silver Award with the International
Independent Film Awards for her screenplay called REDEMPTION. She conducts
writing/publishing symposiums in her local area.
When Bay Browning helps direct the Flourish College summer theater production, “Shakespeare’s Couch,” she doesn’t plan for murder at the first practice.
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Someone wants revenge against the elite cast members, as more terror unfolds on stage and backstage with each rehearsal. What should be a lighthearted parody on The Bard and his characters is cursed from the start, even without someone shouting “Macbeth” in the theater. Detective Downing takes charge of the crime, but Bay and her puzzle-solving cohort, Jen Yoo, follow their own script behind the scenes. Cassandra, Bay’s extraordinary sister, makes her own dramatic entrance on the case. After all, Cass is now the personal assistant to one of the elites living the high life on the bluff above Prairie Ridge. How many tragic scenes will be scripted before the villain faces the final curtain? .
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Praise for Shake-speared in the Park:
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“A clever cozy that reads like an elusive buried treasure, that, once uncovered, shines with a burnished gold. Shakespearean scholars can revel throughout, as a college summer play, Shakespeare’s Couch, features a myriad of familiar characters, representing their plays. A costume party with more Shakespearean identities milling about provides sheer fun and frolic. The best part, however, is the thorough depiction of humanity, characteristic of Ribar’s writing. Even secondary characters come alive with strengths and foibles that delight and endear.” ~ Saralyn Richard, author of the Detective Parrott mystery series, Bad Blood Sisters, and Mrs. Oliver’s Twist
“Ribar serves up wicked, clever fun in ‘Shake-speared in the Park,’ the second installment in her Bay Browning mystery series. A young man with much promise falls from a stage-prop balcony. He’s dead when he lands, but that’s not what killed him. Was his brother, the wayward son, involved? His best friend? Or one of the wealthy equestrian crowd? Then, another death, this time in a greenhouse. It’s like ‘Knives Out’ meets Agatha Christie. Suspects abound. Two sisters—one a killer magnet, the other an ex-con—are determined to find out. The escalating tempo keeps readers on the edge of their seats until the end!” ~ Laurie Buchanan, author of the Sean McPherson crime thriller novels
“In this fast-paced mystery and nod to Shakespeare, the murderous shenanigans would please the Bard himself! Professor Bay Browning’s play rehearsals go awry with deadly weapons, poisons, and just about anything else a playwright might use to scare or ‘off’ someone in dramatic fashion. As in ‘Romeo & Juliet,’ differences of class and money between families put a small Wisconsin college and Bay in the crosshairs. Replete with a twisty costume party, this novel opens the curtain on an entertaining theater production with actors poised to take their final bow, pun intended. Ribar balances scenes effectively between amateur detectives Bay and her sister Cass, the latter a plant aficionado and former prison inmate. To borrow from the Bard, ‘To read or not to read?’ The answer is easy: This is fun.” ~ Christine DeSmet, author, Fudge Shop Mystery Series and Mischief in Moonstone Series
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Book Details:
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Genre: Blended Mystery: Traditional Mystery with Paranormal Twists
Published by: Wine Glass Press Publication Date: February 2025 Number of Pages: 359 ISBN: 9781959078272 (ISBN10: 1959078275) Series:Bay Browning Mysteries: Book Two
Carillon Tower Park was buzzing with activity when Bay arrived for rehearsal. Desmond Carver, the director, was only steps ahead of her, so she dashed to catch up. Bay smiled at his signature bobbing walk on those extra-long legs that might belong to a pro basketball player instead of a theater professor.
“Desmond, hey. Looks like the students are psyched about the show.” Bay nodded toward the outdoor theater area where a portable tech booth had been set up. People inside were testing spotlights and sound effects.
The stage was midway through set construction showing false stone walls and two framed second story balconies. Someone was sweeping the stage free of pine needles, while a couple of others were taping the floor where furniture would go. Bay waved at Jen Yoo, her art professor friend, who was painting a flat with some students.
“It’s a positive sign when they show up early. Believe me, once we’re in the trenches, some will find reasons not to show up at all.” Desmond set a stack of scripts on one of the seats near the middle of the theater. “Actors,” he said using air quotes around the word. Bay’s optimism didn’t dwindle. She was pleased with the turnout for auditions, considering it was a summer production, meaning many students were gone or working. The fact she and Desmond had backups for the main roles revealed enthusiasm for the show. Desmond handed her a theater badge and key for the rooms beyond the stage. “By the way, in case I forget later, thanks so much for volunteering to help with the play. It can be a thankless job.” Bay grinned but wondered why Desmond was being so pessimistic. He wasn’t close to retirement, maybe ten years older than Bay, and she’d pegged him as carefree and upbeat. Then again, in the two years she’d been a Flourish professor, she’d had a handful of short conversations with him. At seven p.m. on the dot, the clock tower bell rang out the hour and Desmond spoke through a megaphone he’d brought to rehearsal. “Let’s get going. We start on time. We end on time. That’s my number one rule.” To Bay’s surprise, every student hushed without delay. She’d heard Desmond was respected, and he knew these students from past plays. Many were seniors doing a final postgraduation show before entering the real world. “For the first few rehearsals, we’re going to need to work around the set builders and the tech crew setting up lights and testing sounds. This isn’t a typical show. Summer theater is a shortened schedule, so we’re putting an entire production together in short order.” Desmond handed printed schedules to Bay, who passed them out to the actors and crew. It wasn’t quite June, thankfully, because performances were marked for the last week of that month, just past the celebration of Midsummer on June twenty-fourth. “You’ll notice on the schedule that all lines must be memorized by June tenth. That’s two weeks, my friends. Let’s make it happen.” Desmond used his teacher voice. Even Bay snapped to attention. “Places everyone. We’ll start with the prologue and go straight through from act one as far as we can until eight-thirty. The script notes some introductory music, but we won’t add that for a couple of weeks. Proceed, Kitt.” Bay and Desmond watched from the back third of the theater, taking notes as lines were delivered, stopping when necessary to help with enunciation or cadence. At the end of the second act, Desmond announced a seven-minute break, then headed to the tech booth to talk about lighting. Bay noticed he seemed nervous about the tech crew being run by an intern. His normal production partner, Leo, another theater professor, was spending summer break in New York City at a Broadway intensive master class. Leo recommended a theater grad student from Madison to take his place. As lights flashed on and off in different positions, Bay watched the techies at the booth. Desmond pointed at the script as intern Evan made notes, then flashed the light Desmond asked for. Bay noticed Evan’s body posture: alert, attentive, like a golden retriever eager to please. In contrast, Desmond alternated running a hand through the twists on top of his head, placing his hands on his hips, then rubbing the back of his neck before repeating the moves again. “That looks intense.” Jen Yoo was sitting by Bay, a clean paint brush in one hand. “Hey, Jen. Yes, I’ve never seen this side of Desmond. How about you?” Jen shrugged. “I haven’t worked on a summer production in some time. The younger Desmond was laid-back. But some of us lose our patience as we age. Thankfully, I don’t have that problem.” She snickered. Bay turned her full attention to Jen. “Why are you working on this production, anyway?” “Two reasons. One: It fulfills my volunteer hours for the whole year. Two: It’s a show you wrote. I’m proud of you and want to see how it turns out.” Jen leaned her head over to meet Bay’s. With break wrapping up, chatter from the stage echoed around the quiet outdoors. When a commotion ensued, Bay chalked it up to high energy from a new show, the honeymoon period. But then a loud thud sounded, someone began shrieking, and a cacophony of shouts and running feet ensued. Bay, Jen, and Desmond ran to the stage, with the tech crew close behind. The adults vaulted onto the stage where the lead actor, Talon Hunt, lay crumpled in a twisted heap. “Everybody back up,” Desmond shouted. “He fell off the balcony,” one of the students called out. “I didn’t mean to. We were goofing around, practicing a duel.” Jackson Lange knelt over Talon, his chest heaving, his face distraught. Desmond, Jen, and Bay knelt beside Talon too, and Jackson stood up and looked away. Desmond checked Talon’s pulse, shook his head, listened for a heartbeat, and shook his head again. Bay called 911. “Let’s straighten him a bit so I can do CPR.” Desmond motioned for Jen and Bay to get on either side of his legs and they gingerly turned him. Desmond was still administering chest compressions and breaths when the emergency team arrived to take over. Thirty minutes later, the EMTs pronounced Talon dead. *** Excerpt from Shake-speared in the Park by Joy Ann Ribar. Copyright 2025 by Joy Ann Ribar. Reproduced with permission from Joy Ann Ribar. All rights reserved.
About Author Joy Ann Ribar:
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Joy Ann Ribar is an RV author, writing on the road wherever her husband and their Winnebago View wanders. Joy’s cocktail of careers includes news reporter, paralegal, English educator, and aquaponics greenhouse technician, all of which prove useful in penning mysteries. Her cozy Deep Lakes Mysteries, feature baker/vintner Frankie Champagne, who moonlights as an investigative reporter. Joy’s Bay Browning Mysteries blend edgy, traditional, and paranormal elements twisted around classical literary themes. Joy loves to bake, read, research wines, and explore nature. Her writing has received awards and recognition from WWA, PenCraft Book Awards, Book Fest, Reader’s Favorite, and Chanticleer Cozy and Not-So-Cozy awards.
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Welcome to my stop on the virtual book tour for Mean Cuisine organized by Goddess Fish Promotions.
Author Wendy will be awarding a $25 Amazon or B&N Gift Card to a randomly drawn winner. Don’t forget to enter!
And you can click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.
Mean Cuisine
by Wendy W. Webb
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Genre: Supernatural Murder Mystery
Synopsis
Beluga Stein is taking a cooking class and it’s a real killer. This time she’s traded her signature loud muumuus for ill-fitting chef attire, including a toque the size of her ego.
A well-liked chef is found dead and it’s up to Beluga and her feline familiar, Planchette, to investigate. There’s no recipe to follow, only the hope that her erratic psychic ability will hit the spot. Is a supernatural entity stirring up trouble, or something far more dangerous?
Beluga and Planchette can’t stand the heat, but there’s no way out of this kitchen while murder is the main dish.
Enjoy this peek inside:
Beluga Stein’s Diary
Such a day.
And while Chef Pernod tried mightily to restore order with an impromptu lecture on the differences between Grande, Classic and Nouvelle cuisines, I’m afraid the distinctions were lost when the frozen body was wheeled past us to the waiting ambulance.
The sight of such a spectacle took a toll on the chef as well, I should add. Fortunately for me there was no mention of Planchette in the kitchen, but for the rest of us the chef’s well-practiced lecture took a sudden nosedive into a stream-of-consciousness series of French words. I think I heard her say that a traditional kitchen brigade had positions with names sounding something like “poisoner,” which is rather ominous if you ask me, and “chefs who party,” which might warrant further investigation if things start to get dull. Or one finds herself in immediate need of hors d’oeuvres and a tropical cocktail.
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About Author Wendy W. Webb:
Wendy W Webb (aka one of the many Wendy Webbs) has published dark fantasy short stories and novels, co-edited anthologies, and has had productions of stage and radio plays. After a hiatus as a doctoral student of emergency management and as a disaster responder, she welcomed the return to fiction with The Wild Rose Press writing the gothic Widow’s Walk, and two updated books in the Beluga Stein supernatural-humor-murder mystery series, Bee Movie and Mean Cuisine. Sunbury Press under the Milford House imprint published the paranormal, travel, “memoir,” Eye of the Gargoyle. She adores her husband; two dogs, one of which turns on iTunes whenever Wendy leaves her office; dry red wine; theatre; and travel as long as she doesn’t see anymore ghosts!
Just north of Parker City in the small town of Wakeville, a string of robberies have the residents of the quiet community on edge. Then, when two homes in one of Parker City’s wealthiest neighborhoods are broken into on the same night, PCPD Detectives Ben Winters and Tommy Mason wonder if the crime wave has spilled into their jurisdiction. There’s one chilling difference, though. This time, the intruders left a dead body behind in their wake. As Ben and Tommy delve into the investigation, what initially appears to be a robbery gone wrong soon unravels into something far more sinister. Their pursuit of the truth leads them down a path, uncovering ties to a crime spree that shook Baltimore fifty years earlier. As past and present collide, the young detectives must race to find a killer driven by a motive buried deep in the past.
Book Details:
Genre: Traditional Mystery – Police Procedural with a dual timeline element
Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: February 18, 2025 Series: PARKER CITY MYSTERIES; 5 [Amazon | Goodreads]
Tommy Mason sat in his beat-up, but much-loved, Bronco on the side of the road. His hands rested on the steering wheel as his eyes focused on the rearview mirror. Behind him, an unmarked police car with a red bubble light on its roof pulled up and parked. This certainly wasn’t how Tommy was expecting to start the day, being pulled over on his way to work. What he’d been pulled over for, he had no idea. He drove this stretch of road every day. He knew the speed limit. There were no stop signs or red lights to run. The Bronco was just in the shop, so he knew there were no lights out or any sort of violations that a cop would think it necessary to pull him over for. And his license plate tags were up-to-date. He was going to have some questions for whoever this patrol officer was. Keeping his eyes on the rearview mirror, he watched as the door to the police car swung open and a square, rather unkept looking officer stepped out. Tommy raised an eyebrow as he watched him approach the Bronco. The officer was wearing a pair of dark Aviator sunglasses and a blue windbreaker with a badge pinned to his chest. He looked as though he hadn’t shaved in a couple of days and could use a comb to run through his hair. As he sauntered up to Tommy’s window, he placed a traditional eight-point police hat on his head to complete the official appearance. “Huh…” Tommy grunted, watching the cop giving the Bronco a thorough, yet overly exaggerated examination. “This is going to be fun.” When he reached the driver’s side of the truck, Tommy rolled down the window and gave the officer his trademark thousand-watt smile. The same smile that had gotten him out of so many jams in the past. Incidentally, it had also been the cause of a few problems as well. But he preferred to think of the good his smile had done. And might do for him again. “Good morning, officer. What seems to be the problem?” He tried to sound as cheery as possible. Tommy expected some sort of response, but instead found himself staring silently at his own reflection in the officer’s sunglasses while the man chewed on an enormous wad of gum. When he finally spoke, he said, “I’m Officer Smith with the Parker City Police Department. Do you know why I pulled you over this morning?” “Officer Smith? I can’t say that I do. I don’t think I was speeding. But I guess I could have been. You see, I’m just traveling through Parker, so I don’t know the area all that well,” Tommy lied. “Well, you were speeding back there, sir. Sorry to say. It happens sometimes. But unfortunately, I had to pull you over. It’s all about safety. You understand.” “Dang, Officer! I really didn’t mean to be speedin.’” Tommy had suddenly taken on an accentuated southern drawl. “I guess it’s just such a nice mornin’ I wasn’t paying much attention. Look how beautiful that sky is. So bright blue. I just love the spring. Don’t you?” “Spring is very nice but–” “And I was just thinkin’ about all the flowers. It’s been a bang-up season for the flowers this year. Have you noticed how vibrant the flowers have been? I think that’s the best word for them. Vibrant.” “I really haven’t–” “I mean, I’m not much of a flower guy, to be honest with you. But something about them this year just got to me. My girlfriend’s always bringing home fresh flowers. I guess I’ve started paying attention to them.” Trying to take control of the conversation, the officer raised his voice slightly. Tommy could hear a hint of irritation, but Smith was trying to keep himself in check. Tommy admired that. “Sir. If I could please see your license and registration card.” “Officer…Smith? Was it? I really am sorry about this. Was I really goin’ that fast that you need to give me a ticket? I didn’t feel like I was goin’ too fast. Not that this old bucket of bolts can even get its giddy-up on to start with. I mean, maybe you could just give me a warning. And I promise the next time I come through Parker City I’ll drive real slow.” “I need to see your license and registration, sir.” Tommy leaned over and opened the glove box, rifled around looking for the Bronco’s registration for a moment, then popped back up and said, “Really, I’m very sorry. I must have been daydreamin.’ You see, I’m plannin’ on askin’ my girlfriend to marry me. I’m on my way home. I was in Baltimore for a job last night. And tonight I’m taking Suzanne out…Suzanne’s my girlfriend…I’m taking Suzanne out to dinner to pop the question. She’s gonna be so surprised. She didn’t think I was ever gonna ask her. But I am. I asked her father’s blessing and everything. It’s gonna be perfect.” “Uh huh. Well, it sounds like you’re a man in love.” The officer’s stone-cold demeanor began to melt. A smile slowly spread across his lips. “Maybe there is something we could do.” “That would be so great. I would really appreciate it. Because I really have to be going. But not too fast!” Tommy forced a laugh. He knew he must sound completely ridiculous. “Let me think here. If I write you up and turn in the speeding ticket as is, it could be a few hundred dollars in fines. Plus, you’ll have to show up in traffic court. Nobody likes that. The judge might even say you have to go back to driving school.” “You’re kiddin’?” Tommy’s eyes went wide, dutifully playing his part. “Let’s see. What can I do?” Smith made a show of scratching his head while he looked off at some point in the distance. “What say you just give me fifty dollars to take care of the warning notice fee right here and we’ll be square. I’ll be able to let you get on your way and I’ll fill out all the paperwork later.” “A warning notice fee,” Tommy repeated. “Well, fifty sounds better then three hundred any day.” “Hey, not all policemen are hardasses. And you’re right. It’s a nice day. You caught me in a good mood,” Smith said, a smirk curling the side of his lip. “So, fifty dollars and it’s all taken care of.” “Okay. I just want to make sure I got this. I just have to pay you fifty dollars for the warning notice fee and we’ll be all good? No ticket? No traffic court?” “That’s right.” “But you still need my license and registration so you can get my name for the paperwork. Right?” Tommy asked, reaching into his back pocket. “Um. Yeah. Right. I need your name and address for the warning.” Tommy handed over a black leather wallet and smiled. He watched intently as Officer Smith opened it. He could only imagine what Smith’s eyes looked like behind the sunglasses. “Wha…what’s this?” Smith asked. “You see, that is a real Parker City Police Department badge,” Tommy said leveling his gaze. “And you can see by my ID card that my name is Detective Thomas Mason. I know everyone in the PCPD. Who the hell are you?” Before Smith could answer, Tommy raised his service revolver from beneath the edge of the window. The color drained from the imposter’s face. Tommy knew exactly what was about to happen, so he was fully prepared. As the fake cop dropped the badge wallet, Tommy flung open the driver’s side door, hitting Smith square in the hip. Losing his balance, Smith stumbled and fell to his knees. Tommy swung the door again, this time hitting him full-on in his side, sending him sprawling across the pavement. Before he could even think about getting up, still dazed from the unexpected blows, Tommy was standing over him with his foot firmly in the middle of his back. “You, dipshit, are under arrest for impersonating a police office and ruining my good mood.” *** Excerpt from Cops & Robbers by Justin M Kiska. Copyright 2025 by Justin M Kiska. Reproduced with permission from Justin M Kiska. All rights reserved.
About Author Justin M. Kiska:
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When not sitting in his library devising new and clever ways to kill people (for his mysteries), Justin can usually be found at The Way Off Broadway Dinner Theatre, outside of Washington, DC, where he is one of the owners and producers. In addition to writing the Parker City Mysteries Series, which includes Now & Then (Finalist for the 2022 Silver Falchion Award for Best Investigator), Vice & Virtue, Fact & Fiction (Killer Nashville Top Pick and Finalist for the Chanticleer CLUE Award), and Black & White, he is also the mastermind behind Marquee Mysteries, a series of interactive mystery events he has been writing and producing for nearly twenty years. Justin and his wife, Jessica, live along Lake Linganore outside of Frederick, Maryland.
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This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Justin M Kiska. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.
Genre: Time Travel Romantic Suspense, Historical Mystery
In this riveting
conclusion to the Always and Forever trilogy, Ryan’s
classified new case awakens Siena’s greatest fears. As shadows of the past
deepen and close in, only Ryan’s fulfillment of his ancient sacred vow can
dispel them.
1566, ULSTER, IRELAND. Neave lives in fear as Queen Elizabeth’s
obscene bounty on Aedan’s head turns him into a target. Undeterred, Aedan
enlists his allies, the Antrim Scots, in his relentless fight to free Ireland
from English rule. But when greed and treachery hide in plain sight, nothing is
as it seems. After Aedan’s plans crumble in a shocking twist, he makes a solemn
oath to heartbroken Neave—one he may have to honor in another lifetime.
2013, MIAMI, FL. When Siena discovers the truth about Ryan’s new
case and their tragic past life, she realizes he is in mortal danger.
Tormented, she begs him to quit, but Ryan is determined despite an inner voice
urging him to do right by her. Unwilling to be sidetracked, he resolves to deal
with it later and on his own terms. But when a ruthless cartel takes Ryan
hostage, he just might run out of time.
Will Ryan uphold his vow to Siena, or are they destined for disaster… again?
If you love time travel romance with elements of reincarnation, suspense,
mystery, drama, and a touch of magic, don’t miss the grand finale of the Always
and Forever trilogy!
In this
gripping sequel to the award-winning novel, Through the Veneer of Time,
echoes of Siena’s past life lure her into a shocking indiscretion that
threatens to destroy her marriage. She alone can undo the damage, but this
chilling revelation is only the beginning of her battle.
1564, ULSTER, IRELAND. After Aedan’s diplomatic visit to Queen
Elizabeth’s court results in his compulsory divorce and arranged marriage,
Neave’s violent unraveling drives her into another man’s arms. But in seeking
revenge, Neave falls into a perfect trap set by Aedan’s enemy. By the time she
learns the truth, it’s too late to undo the damage to Aedan, herself, and the
hard-won peace in Ulster. When despair makes her reckless, the price will be a
lifetime of infamy, confinement, and isolation from what Neave treasures
most—Aedan and her son.
2011, WASHINGTON D.C./DALLAS, TX. It seems like a reasonable
plan—Siena finishing her final mural in D.C. while Ryan starts his new job in
Dallas. But when Siena meets Ryan’s new FBI partner, an inexplicable fit of
jealousy sends her on a downward spiral. To make matters worse, the present
mirrors the past when her visions take a startling turn. Consumed by
insecurities, Siena takes a drastic step, which proves a catastrophic lapse in
judgment. When her self-fulfilling prophecy unfolds in a devastating inversion
of the past, Siena’s actions could cost her the two people she most fears to
lose—Ryan and their baby.
Will Siena and Ryan beat their disastrous odds, or is their marriage
foredoomed?
If you love time travel romance with dark undertones, as well as elements of
domestic suspense, psychosexual thriller, reincarnation, and a touch of magic,
don’t miss the second installment of the Always and Forever trilogy!
“An achingly beautiful story that lingered in my thoughts long after
I’d finished the last page.” — Jodi Jensen, Author of Sophie’s Key
“Bell had me feeling ‘all the feels’ as I feverishly turned each
page.” — Five Star Review from Reader Views
“Vera’s brilliant storytelling comes out in full force again in this
exceptional sequel.” — The Bookish Historian Book Reviews
“It’s literally taking me a few days to finally come down from the
rollercoaster. (I mean that in the best way).” — Irish Booklover Book Reviews
“BEWARE… this book will leave you with an awful hangover and thinking
about it for days long after you’ve finished.” — Kindle Babe Book Reviews
“Bell’s vision is imaginative, sexy, and sweeping. The author offers a
distinctive voice for the two time periods (and) populates the novel with
complex and flawed characters.” — BookLife Prize by Publishers Weekly
“Not only a satisfying continuation of Siena’s growth process, but a
story that simmers with intrigue, passion, historical insights, and thoroughly
engrossing revelations.” —D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review
For fans of
Diana Gabaldon and Susanna Kearsley comes a riveting new tale of time travel
and romantic suspense: A haunted painter’s past life visions are not the
creative inspiration they seemed. They’re a harbinger of her ancient revenge
vow, and her FBI husband won’t find the serial killer until she fulfills it.
But it may already be too late.
1559, ULSTER, IRELAND. When a young noblewoman Neave McConway weds
the newly elected King of Tyrone, Aedan O’Neal, the couple’s rare union of love
and passion becomes the talk of the region. But Aedan’s bold rule and fierce
defiance of the English crown threaten his powerful enemies, and they’ll stop
at nothing to crush his growing influence. After Aedan rides off to fight
against the English occupiers, Neave suffers a shocking attack that will
forever alter both their lives — as well as the lives they have not yet lived.
2009, WASHINGTON, D.C. While mural artist Siena Forte battles a
creative block, her FBI husband Ryan Casey struggles with a serial killer case.
When research leads Siena to the practice of Past Life Regression, she stumbles
upon irresistible inspiration. But after her art exposes her to a vicious
ancient adversary, she discovers the true reason for her past life visions.
They’re a harbinger of her centuries-old revenge vow, and the serial killer
can’t be stopped until she fulfills it. But there is another person from the
past with unfinished business—her husband.
Will Siena and Ryan settle their long-overdue score, or will the past repeat
itself in a chilling parallel?
If you love time travel romance with elements of reincarnation, suspense,
mystery, fantasy, and a touch of magic, don’t miss this thrilling read!
“A true masterpiece. It is a book that once read is impossible to
forget.” — Highly Recommended Award of Excellence from The Historical Fiction Company
“The intricate and creative plot is one you will not want to miss.
Anxiously awaiting book two.” — Five Star Review from Reader Views
“Vera Bell’s novel successfully combines historical fiction, romance,
and a contemporary thriller. “ — Historical Novel Society
“Past and present lives collide in Vera Bell’s hauntingly beautiful
debut. A sexy, sensuous tale.” — Julie McElwain, national award-winning journalist and author of A
Murder in Time
“Bell mixes romance, mystery, and history to take the reader on
an adventure across centuries.” — BookLife Prize by Publishers Weekly
“Against the backdrop of love, hate, and a killer’s threat lies the
attraction of a thriller’s fast pace and heated twists.”
— D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review
Vera Bell is a
Georgia Author of the Year nominee and the award-winning author of the
“Always and Forever” trilogy, set in sixteenth-century Ireland and
present-day United States. Book One, “Through the Veneer of Time,” is her debut
novel. She wrote it after trying past life regression and finding herself
immersed in a world so captivating, she couldn’t let it go. A former commercial
artist, she lives in Atlanta with her husband, two teenagers, and one fur baby.
Her favorite place to write is on her porch, overlooking a pond lined with
river birches and magnolias. The topics she never tires of are bygone eras, our
universal human condition, and love that transcends time and space.
Want to be in the know? Join Vera’s private mailing list to get first dibs on
cover reveals, sneak peeks, new releases, free giveaways, and much more
at https://www.verabellauthor.com.
When the police rule her dad’s death an accidental overdose, 16-year-old Chloe refuses to believe it and vows to find his killer. Alone against a potentially corrupt, small-town police force, a persistent social worker seeking proof that she has adult supervision, and precariously low funds, Chloe learns that her dad’s life as a cemetery caretaker masked a web of family secrets that quite possibly led to his death—and are now putting her in mortal danger. Needing freedom to investigate, Chloe pretends that her only surviving relative, a famous war correspondent, has returned from an overseas assignment to be her guardian. But living alone in the caretaker’s house in the middle of the cemetery, mere feet from the crime scene, puts Chloe’s nerves on edge even before she unearths clues about the shadowy side of her small town. Help comes from unlikely and surprising allies: the colorful owner of the local retro diner, the quiet new classmate with his near-perfect memory, and a spirit who visits in her moments of greatest need.
But as Chloe gets closer to the truth, someone else is getting closer to Chloe, watching her every move. And when her aunt turns up on international news reporting from a war zone, Chloe’s cover is blown. Now the race is on to reveal her dad’s killer—but perhaps—Chloe isn’t as alone as she thought.
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Praise for Beyond the Cemetery Gate: The Secret Keeper’s Daughter:
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Recently voted Notable 100 Best Indie Book of 2024 (from Shelf Unbound) and a Semi-Finalist for the CIBA YA Fiction Book Award (Chanticleer International Book Awards)
“This taut, suspenseful mystery goes beyond the cemetery gate and settles, creaking, into our very bones.” ~ Silvia Acevedo, author of the award-winning God Awful series
“A gripping mystery that succeeds due to a headstrong protagonist who’s unwilling to fail.” ~ Kirkus Reviews
“… a must-read and recommended for fans of mysteries looking for a gripping and compelling story.” ~ 5-Stars – Reader Views Kids
“A haunting YA mystery. Touching on everything from police ineptitude and community solidarity to the endless frustration of being patronized as a young person, this paranormal thriller confidently combines timely and relatable themes within a page-turning storyline.” ~ Self-Publishing Review
“Not all secrets are buried in the grave. Beyond the Cemetery Gate is a nonstop read through a dark, twisting plot and the dangerous world of shadows and sinister people that 16-year-old Chloe must outrun and outsmart.” ~ Patricia Skalka, Author of the Dave Cubiak Door County Mysteries
Book Details:
Genre: Young Adult Mystery Suspense
Published by: Lost Lake Press Publication Date: October 31, 2024 Number of Pages: 342 ISBN: 9780998173641 (ISBN10: 0998173649)
In the space between sleep and wakefulness, a sound seeped into my consciousness. The sense that something wasn’t quite right pulled me fully awake. I listened beyond my own breathing for it to come again.
A wail pierced the silence. An animal in pain? Only it wasn’t. I knew it was human. I slipped from bed to stare out into the cemetery. The tombstones always made for fascinating or eerie shadows, depending on how you felt about graveyards. I never minded, which was a good thing, considering my house was smack dab in the middle of one.
The sound came again, more of a moan this time, followed by a murmur of voices. I couldn’t tell what they were saying, but people were definitely in the cemetery. One of them was scared or maybe hurt. Dad wasn’t going to like this. He locked the gate tight every night. The only way in was to scale the tall, spiked iron fence or pick the lock. Either one was going to piss him off.
In the distance, a pinpoint of light moved away from where I perched. It was too small to be a flashlight . . . maybe a cell phone? I padded down the hall to Dad’s bedroom, calling for him. His door was ajar, and the hall light was enough to show his empty bed, the covers rumpled and thrown back as though he’d gotten up quickly. He must have heard the same thing. His boots weren’t in their usual spot by the back door, so I knew for sure he’d gone to investigate. I had to help because Dad and I were a team, small and mighty, he said. We always made it through everything together. In my hurry I forgot to stop the screen door from slamming behind me when I stepped out onto the porch, cringing when the sound echoed through the night. I waited a moment and then whispered, “Dad,” as loudly as I dared. No answer. I angled toward the part of the cemetery where the small light had been, thinking I’d find him corralling some kids from high school pulling a prank. It happened once in a while but usually in a few weeks—closer to Halloween. I knew more than a handful of idiots my age who would think this was funny. I hadn’t heard the wailing or voices since I left the house. Maybe whoever it was had left? That hopeful thought disappeared as a weird combination of worry and fear crawled up the base of my spine. Just in case it was something more menacing than kids, I hid my approach behind the cemetery’s largest and oldest tombstones. Maxwell, Bell, Ludington . . . I touched their cold granite and the mossy green lichen growing up their sides as I slid between them. I expected to find Dad by now. Where was he? A terrible thought pushed me into full fear mode. What if the person making that horrible scream was Dad? It hadn’t sounded like him, but … what if he was out here somewhere and hurt? I had to find him! My breath quickened and a damp sheen of sweat prickled my skin. I sped up, more concerned with finding him than being seen. The cemetery was big, but I had to be close to where I’d spotted the light. I calmed myself long enough to pivot in a slow circle, my bare feet sliding on the dewy grass. The main gate was open, obviously where the trespassers came in—and hopefully where they’d gone out. It was quiet and dark. The cemetery had no lights of its own, and the glow of streetlights reached only to the second row of graves. Here and there, solar decorations shimmered for dead loved ones as cheerfully as possible but didn’t shine far enough to be helpful. The darkness didn’t hinder me. The cemetery had been my playground since preschool, so even in the dark I was able to avoid every tree root, odd stone, or divot that might trip me up. I decided to be systematic and jogged a grid pattern, snaking through the rows. I stopped short and gasped at the next turn. A body was slumped against the base of my favorite statue, a white marble angel holding a sword and shield. “Dad!” He didn’t move. In two quick strides, I was at his side. “Dad!” I gave his shoulder a gentle shake, and his head tipped sideways. “Oh my god! Wake up!” I needed a better look and found the light on my phone. What I saw scared me even more. Dad’s face was pale, his eyes unfocused. I needed help—fast! Dialing 911 seemed impossibly slow for three simple numbers. “911. What’s your emergency?” “It’s – it’s my dad. He won’t wake up.” “What’s your location?” “I’m in the city cemetery. My dad is the caretaker here.” “What’s your name?” “C-Chloe Cowyn.” “Okay, Chloe, can you check whether your dad’s breathing?” I bent low and placed my face close to Dad’s mouth. “I don’t think so. Please hurry!” This didn’t make sense. Had someone hit him? I didn’t see any blood. I swept my eyes over his legs and arms—stopping abruptly at what I saw. “Nooooo.” At first, I thought the wailing had returned, until I realized that I was the one making the sound eerily like what woke me. “Chloe, are you okay? I have help on the way. Stay on the line with me until they arrive.” “No. No. No.” My cell phone dropped from my hand as I backed away. Tears blurred my view until I could no longer see the needle stuck in my dad’s arm. *** Excerpt from BEYOND THE CEMETERY GATE: The Secret Keeper’s Daughter by Valerie Biel. Copyright 2024 by Valerie Biel. Reproduced with permission from Valerie Biel. All rights reserved.
About Author Valerie Biel:
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Valerie Biel writes books for middle grade to adult audiences–stories inspired by her travels and her insatiable curiosity. Her award-winning, young adult fantasy series, Circle of Nine, was inspired by the myth and magic of Ireland’s ancient stone circles. She’s also the author of Haven, a contemporary middle grade novel, and Beyond the Cemetery Gate, a YA mystery suspense story. She helps other authors with their book promotion and marketing and frequently teaches writing workshops to students of all ages. When Valerie’s away from the computer, you might find her wrangling her overgrown garden, traveling the world, and reading everything she can get her hands on. Once upon a time, she graduated from the University of Wisconsin with degrees in journalism and political science. She lives with her husband on a (tiny) portion of her family’s century-old farm in rural Wisconsin, but regularly dreams of finding a cozy cottage on the Irish coast where she can write and write.
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Don’t Miss Your Chance to Win! Enter Today!
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This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Valerie Biel. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.
In the summer of 1941, Hollywood heats up again when Humphrey Bogart arrives right after a female corpse with a dead bird stuffed inside her overcoat topples into the office of B. Norman Investigations. While filming The Maltese Falcon, Bogie found a mysterious ancient Egyptian hawk artifact on his doorstep containing a mummified black bird. Someone with dark intentions threatens the main cast, one by one, leaving dead birds, from crows to falcons, as their calling cards. While more murders pile up, jeopardizing the film from being finished, Bogie hires private eyes Babs Norman and Guy Brandt, infuriating his volatile third wife, Mayo Methot, or Sluggy, as she’s known in some circles. Unraveling the personal lives of Mary Astor, John Huston, Sydney Greenstreet, Elisha Cook, Jr., Peter Lorre, and Jack L. Warner in their quirky, humorous way, the PIs turn the underbelly of Tinseltown upside down to stop the crazed killer from claiming another victim.
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Praise for Bye Bye Blackbird:
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“No author can seamlessly blend Hollywood history with and engaging mystery yarn better than Elizabeth Crowens. It’s a jaunty tale that could have been lifted from a Warner Bros. screenplay with all the principals from the studio’s famed stock company: The Maltese Falcon, Bogie, Mary Astor, Greenstreet, John Huston, and Jack L. Warner. Fasten your seatbelts for a wild ride through 1940s Hollywood!” ~ Alan K. Rode, film historian and author, Michael Curtiz: A Life in Film
“Crowens does it again with Bye Bye Blackbird. Babs, Brandt, and Bogart make this rocking novel the stuff dreams are made of.” ~ Reed Farrel Coleman. New York Times bestselling author of Blind to Midnight
“It’s like someone shook a movie projector and out tumbled Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre, and a duo from a struggling PI agency bringing all the lighthearted fun of a 1940’s Hollywood mystery. That someone is Elizabeth Crowens.” ~ Tom Straw, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author
“A creative twist on The Maltese Falcon: Dead birds show up on doorsteps. Humphrey Bogart assumes the role of a real-life Sam Spade, and two young PIs rescue every oddball animal as they investigate. Even the mogul of a major movie studio is no match for a wisecracking myna bird who sounds like a Warner Brothers cartoon. If you’re a fan of Turner Classic Movies and the Golden Age of Hollywood, Bye Bye Blackbird will be sure to entertain.” ~ Robert Dugoni, New York Times bestselling author of The Tracy Crosswhite Mystery Series
“Elizabeth Crowens’ Bye Bye Blackbird is a welcome addition to the Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery series. Set during the Golden Age of Hollywood and brimming with depictions of its personalities, Crowens succeeds in bringing Old Hollywood to life and offering readers another thoroughly entertaining installment to this series.” ~ Annette Bochenek, Ph.D., author of the Hometowns to Hollywood series
“A delectable mystery set in the Golden Age of Hollywood, Elizabeth Crowens Bye Bye Blackbird is a fantastic addition to her Babs Norman series with a treat of a cast featuring Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre and other screen legends from the era brought to stunning life.” ~ Lee Matthew Goldberg, award-nominated author of The Great Gimmelmans and The Mentor
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Bye Bye Blackbird Trailer:
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Book Details:
Genre: Golden Age of Hollywood Private Investigator novel with satire
Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: January 28, 2025 Number of Pages: 340 Series: Babs Norman Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery, Book 2 | Each is a Stand-Alone Mystery
On Friday, July 4th, only the most essential, dedicated, or insane Los Angelenos punched the clock. Established businesses that usually stayed open closed early that afternoon. For the fledgling ones, like the young private detectives at B. Norman Investigations, there would be no weenie roasts, barbeques, or national holiday celebrations. Death would soon follow. Every electric fan they owned hummed its own tune. Between the fan blades whirring and the cats purring, panting dogs, who could qualify as hotdogs, an injured pelican with its wing in a sling, and their janitor’s wisecracking myna bird, the whole kit and caboodle at Hollywood Boulevard and N. Sycamore resembled a cross between the Humane Society and the Griffith Park Zoo.
Guy Brandt, more detective-partner than secretary, manned the desk upfront. On top of it: a shoebox of magazine clippings, scissors, and a stack of The Times and Herald-Examiner. He undid one more button on his clammy, sweat-stained shirt, flung his tie onto their hat rack, and took a swig of his warm Nehi orange soda, already flat. He hoped to find new clients from newspaper leads but wasn’t getting anywhere. Babs Norman, who always had every pin curl in place, patted off her sticky forehead with a handkerchief. Way beyond a simple touch-up with powder and fresh lipstick, only a masterful makeup wizard, like Perc Westmore, could bring new life to this wilted flower. “Wouldn’t it be fine and dandy if we could afford to run an ad at least once a week saying that we’re private detectives, specializing in discreet celebrity cases?” she asked. An adventurous kitten, who strayed from the pack, latched on to Guy’s sock and started to climb his leg. “Maybe we should ask if we can put a note in the downstairs lobby that we’re also a pet adoption service.” He unhooked its claws, returning him to his mama. “You think that would pay off our debts?” “Do you always have to sound like a broken record?” An Irish Wolfhound, in need of a bath, sauntered in from the doorway between the two offices. He went up to Guy and plopped his oversized, hairy head into his lap. “Dog days not agreeing with you, Sir Henry?” After rubbing the furry beast’s head, he went to their icebox and plopped chunks of ice in the various water bowls scattered around both rooms. Several prostrated cats laid on their backs, trying to find coolness on the linoleum floor. From under his pile of clippings, he fished out a copy of Black Mask. Babs, with a wooden clothespin clamping her nostrils shut and carrying an odiferous box of shredded newspapers, walked into his office and stopped short when she caught him reading the pulp. “You think we’re going to find our next client from detective fiction? We need another high-profile case like when we rescued Asta, so MGM could go into production on their next Thin Man film. They paid us an unheard-of amount of money…until you lost it all.” “Stop being such a sourpuss.” He refused to give her eye contact. “Do you think I’m enjoying spending time in our stifling office? I’d rather be at the beach with the man of my dreams.” Her inflection had a hint of sarcasm. “Who’s the lucky fella?” She went over to their monstrous dog and kissed him on the nose. “Looks like it’s you, Sir Henry of the Baskervilles. Instead of my frog prince, you’re my dog prince. Ah, you’re such a good boy.” She stared at the bulldog in the corner. “But we really need to paper-train Bruno.” Their adopted bulldog whined. “You hurt his feelings,” Guy said. “Give him a good scratch behind his ears and apologize.” She scowled. “I’ll give him two more weeks, and it’ll be your job to train him. Otherwise, he can go back to Wiggins, and I don’t care if one of his kids breaks out in hives.” She headed out the door to dump the litter. * * * “Our phone rang twice while you were out,” Guy said. “But Wiggins’ stupid bird answered before I could.” “Hello, sucker!” the myna bird cackled. “Down for the count…1…2…3. Knocked him in the kisser, didn’t ya?” “By the time I picked up the receiver, whoever it was hung up,” he explained. “It’s hard to believe a bird can be so smart,” Babs muttered. “Smart-mouthed is more like it,” he said. “Sounds like Jimmy Cagney, who he’s named after. Maybe we should let him earn his keep. The bird can impersonate him at parties.” Babs stared at the troublemaker. “The person on the other end probably thought it was a prank.” She looked around the room. “Keep it up and…I got a lot of hungry cats and canines who wouldn’t mind a bowlful of myna bird stew.” Wiggins, the building janitor, propped their front door open, causing their ginger tomcat to disappear into the hallway faster than gunfire. “My wife said the same. What are the two of ya doing here on Independence Day? With the tenants gone, I heard yer bickering all the way in the basement. Sounded like a married couple in divorce court. How did ya get in?” “We had an extra set of keys,” Guy said. Wiggins planted his hands on his hips. “More like makin’ a copy of my set while my back was turned. There’s no foolin’ me. Come on now. Who’ll be the first to confess?” Both detectives buried their noses in their newspapers. “All right, if none of ya willin’ to come clean, why aren’t you out having fun?” “Paying our overdue office rent is my idea of fun,” Babs replied. Wiggins looked confused. Guy explained, “We’re hurting. Nothing but small potatoes since retrieving our dognapped canine stars.” “We might be forced to move out, if we don’t land a decent case,” said Babs. “I’m not looking forward to setting up shop at my house.” Wiggins inhaled but choked. “You make sure you keep this place spic-and-span. If your neighbors start belly achin’…” From inside his desk, Guy took out a sardine from its wax paper wrapping and tossed it to their pelican. “Sniff…sniff… If you don’t get rid of this stench,” Wiggins continued, “my boss’ll make sure he throws you out on your arse.” She plucked a bottle of cheap toilet water from her purse and spritzed the room. “Better now?” Wiggins pointed toward the exit. “Goin’ after that mouser. Left the back door open to the alley downstairs. He’s liable to slip out and get lost forever.” Babs handed her partner a feather duster. “Do something.” Then she returned to her lair with a stack of discarded tabloids to make fresh litter and to do her own skewed interpretation of housekeeping. Guy reset their wall clock, which was a few hours behind the last time they had a power outage, and gave the reception area the minimal once-over by removing accumulated grime from the top of file cabinets. He was just about to straighten the frame displaying his private investigator’s license, when out of the side of his eye, he noticed a shadow. A large, irregular object leaned against the pebbled glass window of their front door. At first he paid it no mind and continued his cleanup crusade. When minutes passed and it hadn’t budged, he called out just above a whisper, “Do you mind coming over? Make it quick, but be quiet.” A startled canary flew out their open transom as Babs breezed toward the front. Guy pointed to the silhouetted figure. “I tidied up, like you asked, but don’t recall hearing anyone approach. This thing…it appeared out of nowhere and hasn’t moved since.” Babs called out to see if it was Wiggins, but whomever it was didn’t respond. She inquired again. “The door is open. Come on in. We’re too hot and tired for practical jokes.” With a nod, she gave Guy the go-ahead to open the door, but when he did, a young woman they’d never seen before, wearing a hat and an oversized coat despite the heatwave, fell face-forward onto the floor. “The casting office is on the fourth floor,” Babs said, until she realized the lady hadn’t moved or said a word. Horrified, she squealed and froze in place. Guy, also shaking, reached for the phone and called Wiggins’ downstairs office. His voice broke up. “Come up—pronto!” As soon as he put down the receiver, she demanded he call the cops. Without thinking, she leapt up on a wooden chair as if she’d seen a mouse. Her legs wobbled, and she continued to holler. Wiggins returned, heaving as if he had skipped waiting for the elevator and sprinted up the stairs. He had the missing tomcat draped over his shoulders. “Heard screams echoing down the hallway. You better keep better tabs on your tabbies. What the blarney did ya think was so important—Holy moly! Mary, Mother of God!” Guy poked the stranger with his feather duster. Not having any luck, Wiggins, who was bigger than the two detectives combined, got a firm toehold with his work boots and rolled her onto her back. All three stared at the stiff. “Oh, she’s dead alright,” Wiggins assured them. “Ever seen her before?” Both PIs shook their heads. Guy tiptoed around the corpse and closed the front door. Wiggins fended off their curious menagerie. “Something dark and…fea-ther-y is protruding from her coat. Like she was trying to conceal whatever she was carrying.” Babs wrinkled her nose. “Smells like she or someone else doused her with…men’s cologne. Not flowery enough to be one a lady would wear. Wiggins, how do you think she got in?” “Through the back-alley door, I suppose, ’cause I locked the front. Could’ve snuck in and been here a while. Maybe passed out in a stairwell while my back was turned and crawled up to your floor before she expired.” Guy paced the room and checked the clock. “The cops seem to be taking their time.” He pulled a flask from his file cabinet and took a swig. He offered some to Babs, but she declined. Wiggins wrested the flask out of Guy’s hand and finished it to the last drop. “Sure as hell, this would have to happen on a holiday when the police are short-staffed.” He took a swatter from off the wall and clobbered a pesky fly that landed on the stranger’s ear. Babs trembled. “She can feel it no more than if you were all doped up at the dentist,” Wiggins said. Babs commented that the police could examine the body. She wasn’t touching it. Guy suggested to Wiggins to wait for the cops downstairs. “They’ll need you to unlock the building.” Keeping his distance, Guy asked, “Babs, how do you think she died?” “I don’t know, and I don’t care.” She made it clear she wasn’t even interested in slipping on gloves to search for an ID. He suggested that this could be the lead they’ve been looking for. She didn’t see it that way. “This is no way to spend a holiday. Let the police and the medical examiner do their jobs. They’ve expressed they don’t want us meddling in their homicide cases, anyway. I just want her out of here.” Soon, they heard footsteps and the sound of crunching paper. She took for granted the cops had arrived. “Come in. It’s unlocked.” She and her partner didn’t make a move until the front door creaked open. Instead of the police, Humphrey Bogart stood there holding a parcel haphazardly wrapped in brown paper and twine. “I called twice. Assumed you had an answering service to leave a message. Dialed the right number, but someone with a peculiar voice like a Warner Brothers cartoon picked up. When I tried to explain my predicament, he mocked me and cracked a few jokes. Figured I better stop over.” “How did you get into our building?” Guy asked. “Your janitor recognized me. When I asked to see you, he figured I was harmless. He said he was waiting for—” Babs interrupted his train of thought. Still standing on the chair, she covered her eyes with one hand and pointed to the floor without making a sound. Bogie backed up. The blood drained from his face. “Whoa! Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he was expecting the cops.” A black cat jumped on top of the victim and started making biscuits. “Oh, no, you don’t.” Guy bent down to throw him off. “Wh-a-a-t happened?” Bogie’s words came out choppy. Babs regained her voice, which, at first, came out in squeaks. “Not sure. What brings you here?” “I’m looking for a private investigator. You came highly recommended as some of the best private dicks in town.” Babs flushed. She preferred a more ladylike elucidation. With no further introductions needed, she ushered Bogart into her office, and Guy followed, grabbing a notepad off his desk. Even though she hated staring at the corpse, she kept her door open to keep an eye out for the police. She kept reminding herself to take deep breaths and not to panic. “Do you mind clearing your desk?” Bogie held out his parcel. “I’d like to show you what I found on my doorstep this morning.” With one fell swoop of her arm, the papers went into a spare box, which Babs said she’d sort through later. Bogart put his parcel down on her desk and fanned out his jacket. “I guess we can skip formalities when the weather beats us into submission. Mind if I take this off?” His shirt was soaked. “This has been one of those days where I’ve felt like an omelet slapped on the Devil’s griddle.” Babs identified his mysterious object as a museum replica of an ancient Egyptian canopic jar of Horus, the Hawk, the offspring of Isis and Osiris. “This is much smaller and lighter than the falcon prop in our movie. Ours is about forty-seven pounds of lead. If you dropped it, you could break someone’s toe.” Bogie lifted its lid and revealed a mummified object. Taking special care, he unwrapped its gauze, stained but far from looking ancient, to reveal a sizable dead crow. “I have no idea what this is supposed to symbolize, but now it looks like I’ve got competition from what’s in your front room as to which gives me the worst case of the heebie-jeebies,” Bogie remarked. Guy pulled the privacy shades down on the pebbled glass windows on the walls and door separating the front office from her inner sanctum. “One would presume to find a dead falcon, not a raven, considering you’re in the middle of production for The Maltese Falcon.” * * * Excerpt from Bye Bye Blackbird by Elizabeth Crowens. Copyright 2025 by Elizabeth Crowens. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Crowens. All rights reserved.
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About Author Elizabeth Crowens:
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Elizabeth Crowens is bi-coastal between Los Angeles and New York. For over thirty years, she has worn many hats in the entertainment industry, contributed stories to Black Belt, Black Gate, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazines, Hell’s Heart, and the Bram Stoker-nominated A New York State of Fright, and has a popular Caption Contest on Facebook. Awards include: Leo B. Burstein Scholarship from the MWA-NY Chapter, New York Foundation of the Arts grant to publish the anthology New York: Give Me Your Best or Your Worst (no longer in print), Eric Hoffer Award, Glimmer Train Awards Honorable Mention, Killer Nashville Claymore Award Finalist, two Grand prize, six First prize, and multiple Finalist Chanticleer Awards. Crowens writes multi-genre alternate history and historical Hollywood mysteries.
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NYPD Detective James Early wanted out. Taking his death wish into a tenement on the Lower east side, he stepped into a hail of machine-gun fire…and waited. But the bullets never arrived. Somehow they had been “diverted” and his life saved. Now he had to find out why.
Ricochetting between the mountains of Tibet, the streets of New York City and the haunted corridors of past lives, Early attempts to track down this mystery. A devastating truth from his previous lifetime awaits him. At its core lies a pure and innocent love that led to carnage and death. In the process of discovery, however, Early mysteriously gains access to a database of past lives (the Akashic Records), and begins to understand the submerged element that underlies the human condition—the godfather of change. Karma.
Infused with this new awareness, Early hits the streets—this time “awakened” to the deeper layers. Immediately, he is flung into the frantic hunt for an unknown assassin who has declared a private war on America and has already killed seven times.
While the combined forces of the NYPD, FBI and Interpol comb the streets looking for clues, James Early follows the twisting light.
In the end, it will come down to a wild card: The Karma Factor
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Praise for The Karma Factor:
“The Karma Factor not only delivers on all its IOUs—it provides ample food for thought as to how we live our lives and our connection to the cosmos.” ~ Joey Madia, Into the Outer Realms
“Demonstrating remarkable literary talent, Thomas Lane transcends the troubled police detective trope by incorporating elements of Eastern philosophy, predestination and reincarnation in this fast-paced thriller. In the tradition of The DaVinci Code and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Lane’s debut novel The Karma Factor is entertaining and thought-provoking; introducing readers to characters and concepts that are not often given center stage in Western culture…” ~ BOOKTRIB
“Tom Lane has written a powerful story of inner transformation and outer suspense and heroism that will have you turning pages, inspiring you to understand your own life within a new cosmic framework. I couldn’t put it down.” ~ Robert Thurman, Professor Emeritus of Tibetan Buddhism, Translator for the Dalai Lama and Author of Wisdom Is Bliss
In times of crisis, James Early often found himself listening to the background noise of the city, the churning mantra of Manhattan that drifted up from the streets below. Somehow all those harsh single notes—the honking horns, the squealing brakes—could blend together and end up sounding restful, like the wash of the sea.
But tonight, watching her put her clothes back on, the air was charged and full of static. He had his reasons, but he hated himself for causing her this moment.
Lit only by the flickering light from the fireplace, Kelli Girard stood with her back to him, pulling on her skirt. Usually, after being together, getting dressed was a graceful act, a physical celebration of her womanhood. But on this evening, her motions were clipped and terse. Right then, the world was an ugly place. On top of everything else, she broke another nail fighting with the buttons on her blouse. She spoke without looking up.
“Come on, Early. This stinks. Throw me a bone here. Say something that makes sense.” Balancing on one foot, she leaned down and slipped on a high heel. “You won’t even give me the satisfaction of a cliché. There’s no ‘other woman.’ You’re not doing the ‘you deserve better’ bit. Nothing. Just—bang! It’s over. And you can’t even tell me why?” She stood up and smoothed down her clothes. “But I’ll tell you how it feels. Like you’ve had your little fling with the secretary. And now it’s time to toss her back into the general pool where she belongs. Cold, Early. Really cold.” He remained silent, compulsively rubbing his forehead, pushing back a clump of grey-tinged dark hair. In truth, there was too much to say, but words would trivialize it. And it had nothing to do with her, nothing to do with anything he understood. All he knew was that his mind was finally giving way. The hostile voices and images were crowding him out. And he couldn’t access the language to describe it… Early finally stood up. At thirty-eight years old and driven, he was still lean and muscular. A hybrid of Irish and Jewish ancestry, his thin, sculpted face seemed overwhelmed by a collection of strong irregular features. Growing up in Brooklyn and living the daily warfare of the streets had deepened and darkened the effect, giving him an intense, somewhat brooding presence. As he turned toward her, his expression remained cloaked. “You’re making it worse. This was never about the big love. We knew that from the start. We’re friends, remember? Let’s leave it there before we regret the whole thing.” She turned away from him, almost fiercely, then checked herself and sighed. “What’s the use? You’ve got everyone else duped. I hear the talk. By day, the great legendary cop—intuitive, ballsy. Down at the station, a James Early hunch is considered gospel. And, on top of all that, he’s a regular good guy. Nothing but hard work and ‘go team, go.’” She squinted at him in the semidarkness. “But after hours? Well, strange things come out to play. Guy’s got a flip side. He’s doing women, liquor, God knows what else. And here’s the sad part. He’s working hard at it, but the bad boy thing doesn’t fit him. Doesn’t fit him at all.” She paused, retrieved her earrings from the bedside table, and jammed them into her purse. “So who’s James Early? The jury’s absolutely still out.” Early grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen. I’m bone-tired, and I’m not right. I have nightmares, vicious ones. I wake up sweating, with no memories—just worn out. And the pressure never quits, never gives me a day off. Right now, all I want to do is go sit on a beach somewhere and forget. But I can’t. And there’s no room . . . no room for anything else until I sort it all out.” He slackened his grip. “I can’t care if you don’t understand. I’m just asking you not to take it personally.” His words slapped her quiet. For a moment, she stopped her barrage and actually studied him. It had only been five months ago, but no, this was not the same man she had flirted with in a Soho bar. The sharp features seemed worn down, the grey-green eyes colder, more distant. Even his skin looked paler, drawn more tightly across his cheekbones. With his guard down, her sometimes-lover did seem ten years older and running very rough. “Hey Early, it’s the twentieth century. You feel messed up—you see somebody. There are medications that—” “Zombies and junkies. No thanks. I’ll take my chances.” He mustered his best smile. “I just need to regroup. I’ll get through it. People do it every day.” Kelli resumed her packing. Wadding up her negligee into a ball, she tossed it unceremoniously into her overnight bag. “I thought I got in there,” she said softly, “but I swear there’s an electric fence around you.” He shrugged. It was true –– he avoided real intimacy. It was all about sex and liquor–– mind numbing sensation and quick routes to oblivion that had gotten hm through the nights. Now even that wasn’t working. The flames in the fireplace had softened into embers—a steady orange sheen bathing the room. As Kelly zipped up her bag, Early slipped on his underwear and trousers, then got her coat from the closet. Taking her arm, he navigated her around the chaos on the cluttered floor. Her traditional comment about the maid’s night off went unspoken. At the door, he put his arm around her waist. His six feet towered above her diminutive frame. “It’s better for both of us this way. I mean it.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Please take care of yourself.” “Whatever.” She fixed her collar. “I’m not going to hold my breath, but if you need or want . . . hell, just a friend, call me.” She leaned up against him and gave him a girlish kiss on the cheek. Turning quickly, she disappeared down the stairs into the darkness of the lower landing. When he could no longer hear the click of her heels, he closed the door softly, then sagged against it, exhausted from his efforts. It was getting harder and harder to hold the surface together while the foundation was breaking into pieces… He willed himself upright and into the living room, where he collapsed into the armchair in front of the fireplace. Alone now, the fire hissed and danced quietly before him. His eyes scrutinized the small studio apartment. He was struck by its sadness, struck by the pervading sense of loneliness. The room was inhabited, yes, but not lived in. It hadn’t always been that way. When, as a rookie cop, he had first moved in, he had commanded the space. Within months, he had turned it into a bastion of discipline and masculine aesthetics: dark wood and brick and things in their rightful places. As his condition worsened, however, things unraveled. Chaos was an easy mistress. Now, from the unmade bed to a floor strewn with empty bottles, pizza boxes, and newspapers, no sense of home was being articulated. Maybe it never would again. Early leaned over and pulled his .38 revolver from the shoulder holster on the end table. It felt like a touchstone; the weight, the cold metal in his hand oddly soothing. The cylinder spun effortlessly beneath his fingertips. Round and round. He lifted it to his ear and smiled obliquely. Chamber music. With the heel of his hand, he brought the spinning cylinder to an abrupt halt, then unloaded a single bullet. Turning it around between his thumb and index finger, Early examined it carefully. Sexy. A jewel of death. Rotating the chamber slowly, he emptied the rest of the ammo into his hand until all six bullets lay nestled in his palm. They were asleep now. A family. At peace in their snug metal jackets. Then, as if feeding them to a wild animal, he began to toss the bullets, one by one, into the fireplace. “Here’s one for the sickos. One for the cop killers.” Then two more. “For all the scumbag lawyers, corrupt politicos. You’re the worse. You keep it all going. You’re supposed to know better.” Without warning, the first slug hit meltdown and exploded, sending a shower of shattered brick from inside the chimney down onto the flaming logs. The second and third followed quickly as ash and smoke belched into the room. Early’s face remained impassive as he fingered the last two shells. He isolated one. “For all of you. Your crap. Not mine anymore.” The next eruption came moments later, kicking out a fireball onto his carpet. A chunk of metal whizzed past his ear and tore into the wallpaper on the opposite wall. The hallway outside filled with the sudden cacophony of rattling deadbolts sliding and doors flinging open and people yelling. Early ignored the commotion. Unaware of the silent tears on his cheek, he leaned closer to the pit of swirling sparks and ashes, the last bullet resting in the middle of his open hand. “And this one, James Early, is for you. You and all your ghosts. You’re broken. Don’t know how to fix yourself.” A furious knocking at his door startled him back to reality. “Hey! Hey in there! Early, you all right?” Disoriented, the detective looked around. Caustic smoke swirled around the room. Live coals glowed on the carpet and from the side of the armchair. He stared down at the bullet still cupped in his palm. It seemed out of focus. Surreal. The knocking came again, this time louder. But now the sounds were far away, in someone else’s bad movie. Placing the final bullet back into his revolver, he adjusted the chamber. When he needed it, it would be there. Slowly and deliberately, Early got up, went to his closet, and finished dressing. His plainclothes uniform never varied: white shirt, tie, black shoes. Beneath the grey sports jacket, his revolver and holster pressed against his ribs. Trench coat under his arm, he crawled through the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. The sudden shift was abrasive. A sharp April wind lashed at his face. A massive city roared below. Hands gripping the railing, he leaned out into the night. All around, the inky skyline peaked and plunged. Above, the stars shone like dull silver—cold, eternal nails hammered into the night sky. As the wail of a siren grew closer, Early descended, zigzagging his way down to Seventy-Eighth Street. One thing was obvious. Whatever forces were conspiring, whatever madness was overtaking him, it was about to hit critical mass. *** Excerpt from The Karma Factor by Thomas Lane. Copyright 2022 by Thomas Lane. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Lane. All rights reserved.
About Author Thomas Lane:
Born and raised in Connecticut, Thomas Lane is a multi-dimensional creative drawn to spaces where art, spirit, and social justice intersect. He is the author of The Artists’ Manifesto–– a tribute to the power of the Arts, its value to a society that has forgotten the precious nature of life.
In addition to a book of poetry, screenplays and paintings, he recently recorded a CD of his songs, entitled Hotel Earth under the stage name, Trakker.
Politically active since his teens, Thomas subsequently created The Helen Hudson Foundation, a charitable organization focused on social issues –– including homelessness, racism, and the environment. He currently lives with his wife in Rhode Island.
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A Killer Whisky
By Susan Calder
Genre: Mystery
Synopsis
The 1918 influenza pandemic strikes Calgary, Alberta, Canada. The Great War rages overseas. While her husband fights in Europe, Katharine works in a doctor’s office to support her children and her brother, a wounded veteran. One night their neighbour suddenly takes sick and dies. The attending doctor concludes the man died from influenza, but Katharine suspects someone laced his whisky with a drug that mimics the deadly flu’s symptoms.
Katharine convinces the police to investigate. Worried about her brother’s involvement with a suspect, she delves into his secrets and comes to fear he’s connected to the murder. She grows disturbingly attracted to the investigating detective who returns her affections. He’s convinced her brother or someone else close to her is a killer and risks his career to pursue the crime. Katharine must discover the truth so she can move forward in a world that has changed forever.
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Enjoy this peek inside:
Detective Bertram Tanner strode into Calgary Police Headquarters, his steps lighter than they’d been this morning.
“How was your walk?” Julia, the receptionist, asked.
“Reflective.”
“I often think while walking too.”
It was too soon to tell his colleagues he might be leaving the police force. “How was your lunch hour?”
“Busy,” she said. “I tracked down balloons for my son’s birthday celebration tonight.”
“Which son?”
“The oldest. He’s ten years old. We decided to limit the party to family due to the flu. He’s disappointed his friends can’t come, but it will be lively with all of us there.”
Julia, a war widow with three children, lived with her parents—the police chief and his wife.
“I phoned my mother after lunch,” Julia said. “She went to every confectionary in town and managed to find all the children’s favourite sweets despite the sugar shortage.”
The chief’s wife was a ball of energy. A leader in the local suffragette and Prohibition movements, she claimed personal credit for Alberta women gaining the vote and the province going dry in 1916.
Bertram went into his office, closed the door, and draped his coat and hat on the coat tree. What work could he do this afternoon? Reports of the Spanish flu’s arrival on a train from Eastern Canada were keeping people away from the pool rooms and dance halls. Calgary hadn’t had a brawl or knifing in a week. Even the criminals seemed to be staying home.
He took out an old file, a robbery scheduled for trial next week. A man broke into a house in the Sunalta neighbourhood and stole $2.75. Disturbed by a noise, he fled through a window but foolishly returned an hour later. Caught red-handed by three residents, the robber could be sentenced to up to a year of hard labour. Bertram tried to organize his trial notes, but his thoughts kept shifting to his plan to leave the police force when the war ended and soldiers came home to replace him on the job. After fifteen minutes, he set the robbery file aside and decided to take a methodical approach to his lunch hour reflections about leaving.
He took out a clean sheet of paper, drew a vertical line down the middle, and titled each side “pro” and “con.”
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About Author Susan Calder:
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Susan Calder lives in Calgary, Alberta, Canada. She is the author of five novels published by BWL Publishing Inc. A Deadly Fall, Ten Days in Summer, Winter’s Rage and Spring Into Danger are part of her Paula Savard Mystery Series. The books follow the adventures of Paula, a Calgary insurance adjuster who works with the police to solve insurance-related crimes. Susan’s standalone suspense novel, To Catch a Fox takes a troubled Calgary woman to Southern California on a quest to find her missing mother. In December 2024, BWL will release Susan’s first historical novel, A Killer Whisky. The story is set in 1918 Calgary and will be the 12th and final book of the BWL Canadian Historical Mystery Series. Susan has also published non-fiction articles. Her short stories and poems have won contests and appeared in numerous anthologies and magazines. She is a member of Crime Writers of Canada, Sisters in Crime, and the Writers’ Guild of Alberta.
