Posts Tagged ‘mystery’

A Message in Poison by BJ Magnani Banner

A Message in Poison
by BJ Magnani
May 9 – June 3, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A Message in Poison by BJ Magnani
Sparks fly as Dr. Lily Robinson-the brilliant academic pathologist and covert assassin for the U.S. Government-investigates two seemingly unrelated deaths alongside her lover, Agent Jean Paul Marchand, and D.C. Medical Examiner Dr. Logan Pelletier.

A U.S. Senator and the president of a developing nation are found dead in their beds. As governments thousands of miles apart react to the fallout and begin their investigations, no one claims responsibility, and no motives are clear. Yet, the cause of death implies a link between the two—one that only a mind versed in poisons and politics can decipher. With her personal relationships teetering on the brink and her loved ones facing foreign threats, Lily must unravel the mystery and uncover a plot more calculating than anyone could imagine—but it may be too late.

A Message in Poison, the third part of the Art of Secret Poisoning trilogy (The Queen of All Poisons and The Power of Poison), continues with twists and turns as Dr. Lily Robinson travels the globe, stares down death, and finds herself at “another crossroad, another choice between life real or imagined…”

The fast-paced action juxtaposes nicely with the personal dilemmas Lily faces as she uncovers a new plot that forces her to reconsider her talents and place in the world. ~ D. Donovan, Senior Reviewer, Midwest Book Review

 

Book Details:

Genre: Medical Mystery / Thriller

Published by: Encircle Publications Publication Date: April 20th 2022 Number of Pages: 278 ISBN: 1645993256 (ISBN13: 9781645993254) Series: A Dr. Lily Robinson Novel, The Art of Secret Poisoning Part 3

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Enjoy this peek inside:
I’ve done some terrible things in my life. Big lies splash in my wake and follow me until the water creeps into my lungs. I’ve murdered many people who deserved to die. I take the phrase ‘pick your poison’ literally. My arsenal of natural toxins and poisons hidden deep within a freezer provide enough variety to mimic natural death. The cool salt air at my seaside cottage coaxes plants in my poisonous garden to yield the natural killers that I need. And I have collaborators around the world who can provide for me what my garden cannot. Yes, it’s true that I’ve spent much of my life taking care of patients as a physician and taught a generation of medical students. But it was this very expertise in toxicology that captured the attention of our government. They seduced me and then orchestrated a transformation from consultant to assassin. Some say it’s my jewel-green eyes, raven-colored hair, and even my stiletto heels that tend to disarm my victims. They are blinded to the truth. With eyes closed to the Hippocratic Oath, I travel the world, eliminating terrorists and traitors with poison, stealth in a bottle, in the name of preventing mass destruction on a global scale. Our small covert counter-terrorism team weeds out threats at home and abroad—sanctioned killing, the price of doing business. I’m told that ‘the good of the many outweighs the good of the one.’ It’s become my guiding mantra, allowing me to rationalize this dual existence. I hide my secret life beneath the cloak of justice, and I’ve discovered that others do too. So I ask you if you’re sure you know the truth about those around you. This last year of my life has been fraught with revelations that I didn’t see coming. For more than twenty years, I thought my baby, my little girl, had died in the Colombian jungle. Not only did I learn that she’s alive, but I discovered that she’s attending the same medical school where I have my academic appointment—a life-changing disclosure. I tremble when I think that we may have brushed by each other not only at the university, but in my fleeting past. I look back and see momentary images of familiarity etched in my mind. Was my beautiful Rose right in front of me while I wore blinders of guilt and despair? JP, my lover, and partner in our covert government band, grasps my turmoil. Desperate to soothe my soul, he promises that life’s twists and turns can only make us more resilient and resolute. Facing the wind, my body stands tall and hard like a tree firmly rooted in the ground. Having no support on its own, a vine uses its tendrils to clutch to the broad trunk. My stories are like this vine, ever climbing, ever strangling—a complicated life that requires both brilliance and strength. *** Excerpt from A Message in Poison by BJ Magnani. Copyright 2022 by BJ Magnani. Reproduced with permission from BJ Magnani. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:
BJ Magnani

BJ Magnani (Barbarajean Magnani, PhD, MD, FCAP) is the author of the Dr. Lily Robinson novels: The Queen of All Poisons (Encircle Publications, 2019), The Power of Poison (Encircle Publications, 2021), and A Message In Poison (Encircle Publications, 2022.) Lily Robinson and the Art of Secret Poisoning (nVision Publishing, 2011) is the original collection of short stories featuring the brilliant, yet deadly, doctor. Dr. Magnani is internationally recognized for her expertise in clinical chemistry and toxicology, has been named a “Top Doctor” in Boston magazine, and was named one of the Top 100 Most Influential Laboratory Medicine Professionals in the World by The Pathologist. She is Professor of Anatomic and Clinical Pathology (and Professor of Medicine) at Tufts University School of Medicine, Boston, MA, and the former Chair of both the College of American Pathologists (CAP) Toxicology Committee and the Department of Pathology and Laboratory Medicine at Tufts Medical Center.

Follow BJ Magnani on: www.BJMagnani.com Goodreads BookBub – @bjmagnani Twitter – @bjmagnani Facebook – @bjmagnaniauthor

Join us for an InstaParty at #bjmagnani!!

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!  

 

 

ENTER FOR A CHANCE TO WIN:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for A Message in Poison by BJ Magnani. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

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The Rising by Kerry L Peresta Banner

The Rising
by Kerry L Peresta
May 1-31, 2022 Virtual Book Tour
Synopsis:
The Rising by Kerry L Peresta

After an assault that landed her in a hospital as a Jane Doe two years earlier, Olivia Callahan has regained her speech, movement, and much of the memory she lost due to a traumatic brain injury. The media hype about the incident has faded away, and Olivia is ready to rebuild her life, but her therapist insists she must continue to look back in order to move forward. The only person that can help her recall specifics is her abusive ex-husband, Monty, who is in prison for murder. The thought of talking to Monty makes her skin crawl, but for her daughters’ sake and her own sanity, she must learn more about who she was before the attack.

Just as the pieces of her life start falling into place, she stumbles across the still-warm body of an old friend who has been gruesomely murdered. Her dream of pursuing a peaceful existence is shattered when she learns the killer left evidence behind to implicate her in the murder. The only person that would want to sabotage her is Monty—but he’s in prison! Something sinister is going on, and Olivia is desperate to uncover the truth before another senseless murder is committed.

 

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Suspense, Thriller, Crime Fiction, Suspense, Mystery

Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: March 29, 2022 Number of Pages: 300 ISBN: 168512092X (ISBN-13: 978-1685120924) Series: Olivia Callahan Suspense, Book 2

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:
“How low you fall points to how high you’ll rise.” ~Matshona Dhliwayo
The stark buildings and barbed-wire-topped walls surrounding the correctional facility reminded me of a Hitchcock movie. My fingers tightened on the steering wheel. I found a parking spot, and waited in the car a minute, taking in the starkness and finality of a prison compound. My heart did a little lurch when I thought about Monty—my ex-husband and the father of my two daughters—inside. Incarcerated. I guess since I hadn’t seen him since his indictment, it didn’t seem real. However, I’d learned that having sympathy for Monty was like having sympathy for a snake just before it sank its fangs. “It’s been eighteen months. You can keep it together with this psycho,” I hissed to myself. I hiked my purse onto my shoulder and walked out into the buttery sunshine toward the visitors’ entrance. I presented my driver’s license, endured a frisk, offered my hand for the fingerprint process, and walked through the metal detector, which of course, went off. With stoic resignation, I endured another frisk, a few hard glances from the guards, and eventually pulled the culprit from the pocket of my pants, an aluminum foil candy bar wrapper. While I waited for Monty at one of the small, circular tables in the visitors’ room, I scanned the list of do’s and don’ts. Hands must be visible at all times. Vulgar language not allowed. No passing anything to the prisoner. No jewelry other than a wedding band or religious necklace. I stared at my hands, sticky with sweat. My heart beat in my throat. I lifted my curls off my forehead and fanned my face with one hand. Three other visitors sat at tables. One woman with graying hair piled like a crown on her head stared at the floor. When she noticed that I was looking at her, she raised her head and threw me a sad smile. A younger woman at another table struggled to keep two young children under control, and an older couple with stress-lined faces whispered to each other as they waited. The room had tan, cinder block walls, a drop-in ceiling with grid tiles that probably hid video cameras, and a single door. No windows. A scrawny, fake plant in one corner made a half-hearted attempt at civility. The metal door opened. My thoughts were mush, a blender on high. Could I do this? After two years of physical therapy, occupational therapy, and every other kind of therapy the docs could throw at me, shouldn’t I react better than this? Remember, they’re only feelings. I squared my shoulders. Wiped my palms on my pants. As Monty offered his cuffed wrists to the corrections officer, he scanned the room under lowered eyelids. When he saw me, he gave me a scorched- earth glare. After the guard removed his handcuffs, he shook out his arms and rubbed his wrists. The raven-black hair was longer, and brushed his shoulders. He’d been working out. A lot. He wore a loose-fitting top and pants. Orange. As usual, he was larger than life, and in the bright white of the visiting space, surrounded by matching plastic tables and chairs, he was a raven-haired Schwarzenegger in a room full of Danny DeVito’s. I’d once had hope for reconciliation. The thought gave me the shakes now. He dropped into the chair across from me and plopped his hands on the table. “What do you want?” I spent a few seconds examining his face—this man I’d spent twenty, long years trying to please, and the reason I’d been assaulted and left for dead by Niles Peterson, a wreck of a man whose life Monty had destroyed as well. The man responsible for my convoluted recovery from a brain injury that stole my past. Even after two years, I still had huge gaps in my memory, and staring at him felt like staring at a stranger instead of an ex-husband. “My therapist says I need to look back to move forward. I wanted to ask you a few questions, that’s all.” “Okay,” he grumbled. “I’ll give you a few minutes. Oh, and you’ll love this. I have to attend counseling sessions about how to keep my ‘darker dispositions’ under control, and I have one of those in thirty minutes.” Resisting a smile, I quipped, “Are they helping?” He rolled his eyes. “What are the questions?” “I still have problems remembering stuff. There are things I need to… figure out about who I was before—” “Before you hooked up with my ole’ buddy Niles?” he interrupted, with a smirk. “Before you threw away everything we had? Before you got yourself in a situation that could’ve gotten you killed? Before you started treating me like a piece of shit?” I was careful not to react. I’d had enough therapy to understand how to treat a control freak that tried to make me the reason he ended up in prison. That part of my life—the part where Monty had been in charge and his spouse had to obey or else—was over. “Are you done?” I asked. He clamped his lips together. I folded my hands on the table and leaned in. “I’ll get right to the point. What drew you to me in the first place? What was I like before the accident, from your perspective?” Monty tried to get comfortable in the plastic chair. Beneath his immense bulk, it seemed like a child’s chair. “Is that how you’re dealing with it?” His lips twisted in disgust. “It was an assault, Olivia. He tried to rape you, for God’s sake.” I looked away. “It’s over, and he’s in the ground, thanks to you.” He crossed his arms and glared. A corrections officer lifted his hand. With a grunt, Monty slapped both hands on the small table where the officer could see them. After a few beats, he sneered, “You mean besides the obvious attraction of an older guy to a high school girl?” “Give me a break, Monty.” He chuckled. “You were kind of…I don’t know…scared. I was drawn to you in a protective way. You were shy.” I frowned. “What was I scared of?” “Your crazy mom had married some jerk that kept you off balance all the time. Don’t you remember him?” I thought for a few seconds. Nothing came. “That coma still messes with you, doesn’t it? Well…might be good not to remember. Maybe he did things to you that he shouldn’t have.” Monty raised his eyebrows up and down. I wanted to slap him, but I kept my expression neutral. “A brain injury recovery is unpredictable. I still lose memories, even if someone has drilled them into me. I’m trying to use visualization. I have this feeling…that if I can see it, the rest will be like dominos.” “So you may not ever remember? Even the good things about our marriage?” I laughed. “We must have very different perspectives about the word ‘good’, Monty.” Monty’s jaw muscles flexed. “Next?” “Was I a capable mother? Was I available and…loving to the kids?” Maybe it was my imagination, but his lower lip quivered. Did the guy have a heart after all? I’d always believed he loved our daughters. I hoped this was true. “Olivia, you were a good mother. We had our problems, but you made a good home, and took excellent care of the kids. You were at every freakin’ event, every school fundraiser, everything.” He scowled. “I took a big back seat to the kids.” “What problems did we have? When did they start?” He leaned in. “You don’t remember our sex life? How terrible it was? Nothing I could do would get you to….” He shook his head. “You couldn’t even fix a decent meal. You should have been grateful you married someone like me so I could…teach you things.”

CHAPTER ONE

“Keep your voice down!” I insisted, embarrassed. He cocked his head and grinned. “You always had this…desperate need for my approval or whatever. And when you conveniently avoided telling me you weren’t taking birth control it caused a lot of issues that could’ve been avoided.” He snorted. “Like being in here.” I tried to rein in my disgust. “So, let me get this straight. Your priority in our marriage was sex and good food and to pin all our issues on your child bride?” My tone hardened. “A young woman who came from a single-parent home? Who had no understanding what a good and normal guy was like?” He gave me a look that could peel the skin off my face. “How did you react when I didn’t do things the way you wanted?” I continued. “Like any man who’d been disrespected. I corrected the issue.” “How? By yelling? Physical force? Kicking your pregnant wife in the stomach?” This was a memory I had recovered. A vein pulsed in his neck. “How often, Monty? Were these reactions a…a lifestyle in our marriage?” “Look,” he snarled, “I don’t know that this is productive.” “It is for me,” I said, brightly. I glanced at the closest officer. He had his hands full with an issue at one of the other tables. “Mom told me that Serena and Lilly floated out to sea one time, on a rubber raft. Do you remember that?” His eyes found a spot on the wall. “So you do remember. What happened?” “Look, they were, I don’t know, four and six or so. I didn’t think it would be a problem for me to run grab a drink from our bag, and come back. I was gone less than five minutes. How could I know they’d lose control of the raft?” An earthquake of anger shot through me. “You turned your back on a four-year-old and a six-year-old and expected them to have control of a raft? They were babies!” “Yeah. Well.” He rose. “Looks like this question thing of yours isn’t working for me.” He pushed his chair in with a bang. The correctional officer gave him a look. Monty strode to the officer’s station and held out his wrists. Adrenaline made me a little shaky after he’d gone, but it wasn’t from fear of the man. My therapist would call this real progress. I left the room and gathered my things from the visitors’ processing center. As I walked out of the prison facility, all I could think about was…why? Why had I married this guy? And stayed for twenty years? I couldn’t even remember myself as a person who could do that. At least I’d dragged more information out of him. I was determined to piece together the puzzle of the past I’d lost. *** Excerpt from The Rising by Kerry L Peresta. Copyright 2022 by Kerry L Peresta. Reproduced with permission from Kerry L Peresta. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Kerry L Peresta:
Kerry L Peresta

Kerry’s publishing credits include a popular newspaper column, “The Lighter Side,” (2009—2011), and magazine articles in Local Life Magazine, The Bluffton Breeze, Lady Lowcountry, and Island Events Magazine. She is the author of three published novels, The Hunting, women’s fiction, The Deadening, Book One of the Olivia Callahan Suspense Series, and The Rising, Book Two. Book Three in this series releases in 2023 by Level Best Books. She spent twenty-five years in advertising as an account manager, creative director, editor, and copywriter. She is past chapter president of the Maryland Writers’ Association and a current member and presenter of Hilton Head Island Writers’ Network, South Carolina Writers Association, and the Sisters in Crime organization. Kerry and her husband moved to Hilton Head Island, SC, in 2015. She is the mother of four adult children, and has a bunch of wonderful grandkids who remind her what life is all about.

Catch Up With Kerry L Peresta: www.KerryPeresta.net Goodreads BookBub – @kerryperesta Instagram – @kerryperesta Twitter – @kerryperesta Facebook – @klperesta

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!  

 

ENTER TO WIN:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for The Rising by Kerry L Peresta. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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Welcome to The Friday 56 hosted by Freda’s Voice.

 

This is a really fun meme!

The only rules are to grab a book (any book), turn to page 56 or 56% in your eReader and find a sentence or a few (no spoilers) that grabs you and post it.

Then go over to Freda’s Voice and leave your link so we can visit your 56!

My 56 for this week is from:

The Third Grave

Savannah #4

  by Lisa Jackson

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Genre: Mystery / Thriller

From page 56 in the paperback.

She shuddered, knowing how cold that water could feel and now Morisette … no, she wouldn’t think about that now and pushed any worrisome thoughts aside.

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Synopsis

A thrilling new crime novel from the bestselling author of You Betrayed Me, perfect for fans of Sandra Brown and Iris Johansen! Return to the dark side of Savannah, Georgia where a crime writer and her detective husband are working a cold case, and hot on the trail of a killer who’s work isn’t done.

The old Beaumont mansion is a rotting shell of its once-grand self, especially after a disastrous hurricane sweeps through Georgia. The storm does more than dislodge shutters and shingles. It leads to a grisly find in the cellar. Three graves. But only two skeletons…

For Nikki, the discovery is a gift, the perfect subject for her next crime book—though Reed has made her promise not to keep involving herself in dangerous police business. But despite the increasing tension between them, Nikki can’t stay away from this story. Rumors are widespread that the burial site is the resting place of the Duval sisters—three young girls who went to the movies with their older brother, Owen, twenty years ago, and never returned. Forensics confirms that the remains belong to Holly and Poppy Duval. But where is the youngest sister, Rose?

Owen Duval was, and remains, the prime suspect, alibi or no. But as Nikki and Reed delve deep into the mystery, fractures in the case begin to show. There is more to the sisters’ disappearance than anyone ever guessed. Far from an isolated act, those deaths were just the beginning. And there will be no rest, and no relenting, until the killer has buried the twisted truth along with his victims…

Amazon

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I’ve been reading Lisa’s books for years and read the previous books in this series. I can’t warm up to some of the characters, but I can’t not continue with the series. It would haunt me. LOL

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There’s an alternative cover.

The one above is the paperback copy I own.

This one is the eBook cover.

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Which do you like more?

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You can find a list of my reviews HERE.

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I am an Amazon Affiliate. Product images are linked.

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If you’re like me, you have a pile of books beckoning to you from your lists. Carole hosts this fun feature where you can share some of those older books and perhaps nudge you to finally read them. If you want to join in on the fun, head over to Carole’s Random Life In Books and leave a link to your post.
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The Sun Down Motel

by Simone St. James

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Genre: Mystery / Horror / Supernatural

Synopsis

Something hasn’t been right at the roadside Sun Down Motel for a very long time, and Carly Kirk is about to find out why in this chilling new novel from the New York Times bestselling and award-winning author of The Broken Girls.

Upstate New York, 1982. Viv Delaney wants to move to New York City, and to help pay for it she takes a job as the night clerk at the Sun Down Motel in Fell, New York. But something isnʼt right at the motel, something haunting and scary.

Upstate New York, 2017. Carly Kirk has never been able to let go of the story of her aunt Viv, who mysteriously disappeared from the Sun Down before she was born. She decides to move to Fell and visit the motel, where she quickly learns that nothing has changed since 1982. And she soon finds herself ensnared in the same mysteries that claimed her aunt.

Amazon

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I added this back in February 2020.

The cover caught my eye. And the synopsis sounds right up my alley.

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You can find a list of my reviews HERE.

For a list of free eBooks go HERE

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I am an Amazon Affiliate. Product images are linked.

Dead Man's Leap by Tina deBellegarde Banner

Dead Man’s Leap

by Tina deBellegarde

May 1-31, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:
Dead Man's Leap by Tina deBellegarde
DEAD MAN’S LEAP revisits Bianca St. Denis in Batavia-on-Hudson, New York

Rushing waters…dead bodies…secrets…

As Bianca St. Denis and her neighbors scour their attics for donations to the charity rummage sale, they unearth secrets as well as prized possessions. Leonard Marshall’s historic inn hosts the sale each year, but it is his basement that houses the key to his past. When an enigmatic antiques dealer arrives in town, he upends Leonard’s carefully reconstructed life with an impossible choice that harkens back to the past.

Meanwhile, when a storm forces the villagers of Batavia-on-Hudson to seek shelter, the river rises and so do tempers. Close quarters fuel simmering disputes, and Sheriff Mike Riley has his work cut out for him. When the floods wash up a corpse, Bianca once again finds herself teaming up with Sheriff Riley to solve a mystery. Are they investigating an accidental drowning or something more nefarious?

Dead Man’s Leap explores the burden of secrets, the relief of renunciation, and the danger of believing we can outpace our past.
Book Details:

Genre: Traditional Mystery Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: April 5, 2022 Number of Pages: 254 ISBN: 1685120849 (ISBN-13: 978-1685120849) Series: A Batavia-on-Hudson Mystery, #2 Purchase Links: Amazon

Read an excerpt:
CHAPTER ONE
He inched toward the precipice, his toes gripping the stone ledge as if they had a will of their own. He lifted his head and squinted into the sunlight still streaming through the blackening clouds. He took in the expanse of rushing water below. In all his eighteen years, Trevor had never seen the creek roil so ferociously. A clap of thunder startled him. His toes relaxed, and he felt as if the slightest wind could take him over the edge. Lightheaded for a second, he regained his footing and his purpose. He had no choice if he wanted all this to stop. He needed to do it. And do it now. The downpour would break again soon. But for now, all he could hear was the rushing of Horseshoe Falls beneath him, the roar drowning out the noise of his past. Of his father. Of his mother. Yes, his mother. He had expected his father to be weak, and wasn’t surprised at all after he left. But his mother? A mother’s love is supposed to be unconditional. At least that’s what she had always said before she had turned their world upside down. It was bad enough when she had played at being the sexiest woman in town. At least when his friends teased him then, it was meant to be fun. But this was worse, far worse. Now they wanted nothing to do with him. Now they used him as a punching bag. His gang no longer looked to him as their leader. They ridiculed him for what his mother had done. From the beginning, he knew those kids were bad news. What choice did he have? In grade school he’d been bullied. Well, he had put a stop to that in high school. Can’t be bullied if you’re the biggest bully. His mother was gone. His father was gone. And now his posse. First, it was the cold shoulder, and a few snide remarks. Then he was cornered in the locker room after the game one day. That was the hardest. He hadn’t taken a beating like that since the fifth grade. But the tables had been turned on him so fast that he never saw it coming. Trevor realized now that they were never friends. They were just a group of trouble makers who hung out together. Good riddance to them. He didn’t need them anymore. Another thunderclap reminded him where he was. On the edge. Right on the edge. He either had to do this properly or he would be going over anyway. Trevor looked over his shoulder one last time and heard a faint commotion in the background. Once they rounded the path, he closed his eyes and jumped. * * * Bianca St. Denis stretched to grab the cord just out of reach above her head and yanked on it with all her force to bring down the attic staircase. She tilted her head to avoid being struck as it made its way down. She unfolded the retractable stairs and put one foot on the first rung. But there she stopped, not sure she could take the next few steps. At forty-two the issue wasn’t her physical ability to climb the steps, she was active, even fairly athletic. The old saying went “the mind was willing but the body was not.” Well, in her case “the body was willing but the mind was not.” She had stayed out of the attic all these months since Richard’s death. She had made do without her ski parka this past winter, and used Richard’s barn jacket she’d found in the mudroom instead. She had made do without the spring curtains she would normally switch out in the living room each March. The winter ones still hung heavy and foreboding. And she made do without the patio cushions she had sewn two seasons ago. She simply sat on the raw wood when she wanted to read or eat in the backyard. She hadn’t realized the number of things she had been doing without by avoiding the attic, not until the town started buzzing about the rummage sale. She pretended it was because she hadn’t had time to search for the items, but she knew better. She took her foot off the rung, bent and picked up the stairs again, refolded them, and let them float to the ceiling. The hatch closed with a neat click. * * * Once Trevor hit the water, his tension disappeared. He welcomed the release and let himself drop. Slowly he was pulled down into the chaos of the rushing water, but his mind had floated above it all. He didn’t feel a thing, he observed it instead. He watched as his body sank, as it swirled in the vortex of the overfull creek. He watched as his body escaped the current and floated peacefully in the murky water. And he watched as he gave in to full renunciation and allowed the water to decide what was to become of him. His thoughts slowed, as muddy as the water surrounding him. They slowed, but he could not make them disappear. He had managed to avoid jumping off Dead Man’s Leap every summer, but this year he knew he couldn’t get away with it. They had already threatened to make sure he jumped this year. That was only part of what the summer had in store for him. Who could he turn to? His grandparents had no idea what he was going through. They always hid their heads in the sand anyway. There was nothing they could do for him. So, he had taken matters into his own hands. He was shocked when his head broke the surface, and despite himself he gasped for air in enormous mouthfuls until he gagged. He bobbed there, undecided, until he finally attempted the few strides to reach the cove. It took him longer than he expected, like swimming in molasses. A cross between his fatigue, his indifference, and the strong current kept him from reaching the bank in the three strokes it would normally require. On his knees, he crawled out of the pull of rushing water and dropped on the shore. * * * Leonard Marshall picked up the package, the paper crinkling in his hand. He carefully unwrapped one layer, then another. Layer after layer until he held the smooth tiny statuette in his hand. He trembled, and smiled, attracted and repulsed at the same time. How could such a tiny thing hold so many emotions for him? So much power over him? It was so small he could cradle it in the palm of his hand. He closed his fingers around it. It disappeared. He opened them again, and there it was. With it came a flood of memories. Exhilarating. His heart raced with a quick pat, pat, pat. The basement door creaked. He took in a breath. Time slowed and his heart with it. Thump……thump……thump. The light clicked on. Another creak. Above him a step, a pause, another step. The door ached on its hinges as it opened wider. The light flicked off. The door closed. The steps faded. He let out his breath. * * * Trevor had never experienced fatigue like this. He crawled onto shore in the shadow of the cliff and collapsed. He never expected to make it out of the water, and now that he had, he lay there drawing in large mouthfuls of air, as if his lungs would never get enough. He stayed there, staring up at the sky, watching the dark clouds shapeshift. The rain would be there any moment, and to his surprise, he welcomed it. As his breathing relaxed, he realized that the pain he felt was a sharp object stabbing his back. He rolled over, removed it, and threw it off to the side. As he turned to lay back down, his blurry eyes focused on the object. It was a bone. A human bone? He scrambled onto his knees and slowly made his way over to it. He was repulsed and fascinated, but mostly he was frightened by the sight of a bone and what that could mean. What had happened here, right here in this cove? In the distance, he heard their drunken voices again. He knelt and grabbed handfuls of dirt to cover the bone. He heard them approach the edge of the cliff. “He came this way. I saw him jump.” “He’s too chicken, he didn’t jump. But when I find him, he’ll jump alright. He’ll jump or I’ll send him flying.” “He jumped, I tell ya. Leave him alone. You wanted him to jump, and he did. I saw him. Let it go, already.” “Yeah, well if he jumped, where is he?” “You think he’s still under? You think he hit his head like that kid a while back?” “I’m telling you, he didn’t jump.” “There’s nowhere else to go but down. Of course, he jumped.” “I’m going in. If he did jump, we’ll find him down there. He’s probably hiding under the cliff.” Trevor carefully picked his way out of the cove. Scraping up against the cliff as close as his body would allow, he followed the contours until he came out on the other side of the falls. With his last bit of strength, he climbed up the rocky trail alongside Horseshoe Falls. *** Excerpt from Dead Man’s Leap by Tina deBellegarde. Copyright 2022 by Tina deBellegarde. Reproduced with permission from Tina deBellegarde. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Tina deBellegarde:
Tina deBellegarde

Tina deBellegarde has been called “the Louise Penny of the Catskills.” Winter Witness, the first book in her Batavia-on-Hudson Mystery series, was nominated for an Agatha Award for Best First Novel, a Silver Falchion Award and a Chanticleer Mystery and Mayhem Award. Her story “Tokyo Stranger” which appears in the Mystery Writers of America anthology When a Stranger Comes to Town edited by Michael Koryta has been nominated for a Derringer Award. Tina’s short fiction also appears in The Best New England Crime Stories anthologies. She is the vice-president of the Upper Hudson Chapter of Sisters in Crime, a member of Mystery Writers of America and Writers in Kyoto. She lives in Catskill, New York, with her husband Denis and their cat Shelby where they tend to their beehives, harvest shiitake mushrooms, and cultivate their vegetable garden. She winters in Florida and travels to Japan regularly to visit her son Alessandro.

Catch Up With Tina deBellegarde: tinadebellegarde.com Goodreads BookBub – @tinadebellegarde Instagram – @tdb_writes Twitter – @tdbwrites Facebook – @tinadebellegardeauthor

 

 

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ItNeverOccuredtoher copy

Welcome to the book tour for It Never Occurred to Her by Michelle Jester! Read on for more info!

It Never Occurred to Her by Michelle Jester

It Never Occurred to Her

Publication Date: November 28th, 2021

Genre: Mystery/ Thriller/ Christian Fiction

For two years Gabriel has followed every lead, no matter how small, in the hope of finding his wife who has been kidnapped. He and the police always seem to be one step behind, until investigators give him information that helps him launch the plan to find her.

When Lena looks up into the eyes of her husband, who she hasn’t seen in two years, she is humiliated and wants nothing more than to run before he recognizes her. And so she does. It’s only when she faces a desperate situation that she is forced to return and ask for his help.

As fate twists its way through both of their lives, they realize it doesn’t matter how much they have prepared to face the realities of losing someone, or finding them again, redemption is in letting go of the past and finding a future just off the beaten path.

TW: Kidnapping/ Torture (Not Explicit)

Available on Amazon

About the Author

Michelle Jester Author Photo88 - sq

Michelle Jester lives in Louisiana with her husband, high school sweetheart and retired Master Sergeant. She is contributing author to the #1 bestseller My Labor Pains Were Worse than Yours, and has been writing poems and stories for as long as she can remember. Michelle is a hopeless romantic who wears a bracelet with a single yellow, rubber duckie charm on it to remind her to enjoy the fun and happy things of life!

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Razing Stakes by TG Wolff Banner

Razing Stakes

by TG Wolff
April 1-30, 2022 Virtual Book Tour
Synopsis:
Razing Stakes by TG Wolff

The first day of summer is the last day of a young accountant’s life. Colin McHenry is out for his regular run when an SUV crosses into his path, crushing him. Within hours of the hit-skip, Cleveland Homicide Detective Jesus De La Cruz finds the vehicle in the owner’s garage, who’s on vacation three time zones away. The setup is obvious, but not the hand behind it. The suspects read like a list out of a textbook: the jilted fiancée, the jealous coworker, the overlooked subordinate, the dirty client.

His plate already full, Cruz is assigned to a “special project,” a case needing to be solved quickly and quietly. Cleveland Water technicians are the targets of focused attacks. The crimes range from intimidation to assault. The locations swing between the east, west, and south sides of the city. This is definitely madness, but there is a method behind it.

The two cases are different and yet the same. Motives, opportunities, and alibis don’t point in a single direction. In these mysteries, Cruz has to think laterally, yanking down the curtain to expose the master minding the strings.

 

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery

Published by: Down & Out Books Publication Date: February 14, 2022 Number of Pages: 294 ISBN: 978-1-64396-245-0 Series: The De La Cruz Case Files, 3rd in series

Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Down & Out Books

Read an excerpt:
Ten minutes dead. The sun shined brightly, no clouds on this first day of summer, the last day of John Doe’s life. Cleveland police Detective Jesus De La Cruz squatted next to the broken body. The warmth beneath his hand testified to the newness of death. Two EMTs had worked to sustain the man’s life. One was at the ambulance now, tending to the tools of his trade. The other stood over the body, shaking his head at the victim. “He was dead before we arrived, Detective. He just didn’t know it.” The EMT peeled off his gloves, finality in a simple act. “Damn it if we didn’t fight for him. In the end, he was just too crushed.” Cruz rose looking east and west, north and south. The crime scene was on the side of a road halfway between East 9th Street and East 55th Street. North Marginal was a two-way street carved between Lake Erie and a spur off I-90 called the Shoreway. Properties cut off by the Shoreway—the Coast Guard station, Burke Lakefront Airport, a private marina, a condominium complex—were accessed from North Marginal. Even at the busiest times of day, vehicular traffic here was scant. Middle of a workday, a steady stream of runners arced around the first responders. “Popular place,” Cruz said, meeting the eyes of a curious runner rubbernecking as he slowed to a jog. “It is,” the EMT said. “Few better places downtown for running. A solid two and a half miles with no cross streets. Whoever hit him came from the east. Blew him up.” The body spoke for itself. No way it could be where it was being hit from the west. Cruz straddled the curb, which was a generous term for the inch separating the driving surface from the running path. A bicycle wouldn’t call it an obstacle. John Doe either never saw it coming or was unable to get out of the way. The impact had launched him into the airport’s tall security fence. The fence bounced him back, the one-hundred-eighty-pound body a pinball rebounding off bumpers. John Doe had been moved, necessary and appropriate as he’d been alive when he was found. “Medical Examiner is en route,” the EMT said. “He’s yours now.” “I’ll take care of him.” Cruz studied the victim. The man was mostly skin. He had taken off his shirt on the warm day, one of the first to be hot. A shirt lay on the edge of the path, marked by an evidence tag. Two other shirts lay close to the body; one black, one yellow and stained with blood. The running shorts covered hip to mid-thigh. He wore socks, shoes, and a fitness device on his wrist. Skin was scraped off his arms, legs, chest, and face, the asphalt unforgiving. An AirPod was in his left ear, the right one missing. Squatting again, Cruz felt the side seams of the shorts, finding zippered pockets. Inside the right one was a slim, card-size piece of plastic, a security badge for a building on East 9th Street. The dead man smiled out of a poor-quality image. Beneath was the name Colin McHenry. “Detective, we found his phone,” one of the officers securing the scene called out. “It’s in good shape. Thumb print pass coded.” “Open it before the ME takes him. Who found him?” “A pair of runners. I parked them under the big tree.” The officer pointed across North Marginal to a small grove on a manmade hill. The two men waited anxiously under the tree, watching the activity. Both were runners. Both were shirtless. Both came to attention as Cruz approached and introduced himself. “I’m Landon Chartres, this is Denny Bradford. We saw him as soon as we came around the bend. He was half in the street.” The otherwise straight line of North Marginal had a large curve bumping out to make space for an exit from the Shoreway. McHenry’s body would have been screened by the fence and shrubs separating the public from the airport’s private property. “We knew someone was ahead of us,” Bradford said. “When you turn onto the Marginal, you can you see all the way to the curve.” Chartres nodded like a bobblehead. “We saw the vehicle that must have hit him. It was the only one that passed us before we got to him. Black SUV. Part of the license plate was LDC. Those are my initials, so it caught my attention. I didn’t catch the make or model.” Bradford looked behind him, to East 9th Street. He repeatedly shifted his weight from foot to foot. “He was only out of our sight to a few minutes. Would you say he had a five-minute lead, Landon?” “At most. Probably more like three or four. We called 9-1-1 and pulled him out of the road. Anyone coming around the curve would have hit him. We used our shirts to try to stop the bleeding.” As a pair of witnesses went, these two were easy, answering questions before he could ask them. They wanted to talk, maybe even needed to talk. “Did anyone pass you from behind, coming from East 9th going east?” The pair looked at each other, huddled like they were on a pitcher’s mound deciding on a call. It was Chartres who answered. “We don’t think so, Detective, but we couldn’t swear to it. We weren’t paying that much attention. But the one that came toward us, the one with my initials, it was flying.” “Is he going to make it?” Bradford asked, hope in his voice. “The ambulance got here fast. We kept pressure on his wounds, like they tell you to.” “I’m sorry, he didn’t.” As if on cue, an engine started. The ambulance pulled away without a passenger. *** Excerpt from Razing Stakes by TG Wolff. Copyright 2022 by TG Wolff. Reproduced with permission from TG Wolff. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author TG Wolff
TG Wolff

TG Wolff writes thrillers and mysteries that play within the gray area between good and bad, right and wrong. Cause and effect drive the stories, drawing from 20+ years’ experience in Civil Engineering, where “cause” is more often a symptom of a bigger, more challenging problem. Diverse characters mirror the complexities of real life and real people, balanced with a healthy dose of entertainment. TG Wolff holds a Master’s Degree in Civil Engineering and is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime.

Catch Up With TG Wolff: TGWolffCom.wordpress.com Goodreads BookBub – @TG_Wolff Instagram – @tg_wolff Twitter – @tg_wolff Facebook

 

 

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CRIMSON SUMMER

Author: Heather Graham

ISBN: 9780778311829

Publication Date: April 5, 2022

Publisher: MIRA Books

Summary:

 

From New York Times bestselling author Heather Graham, suspense following agents from the FBI and Florida Department of Law Enforcement as they investigate a series of murders linked to conspiracy theorists and doomsday cults.

 

Just when FDLE agent Amy Larson thought she’d wrapped up her most chilling case, she was delivered a red toy horse–a not-so-subtle taunt from a Doomsday cult that she and FBI agent Hunter Forrest hoped they’d taken down. A apparent turf war in Seminole territory in North Florida is the scene of a bloody massacre, and the blame seems to lie with drug cartels out of South America. The trail will take the pair on a cross-country hunt, and deep into a world of conspiracy theories, greed and privilege, where a powerful, hidden group is trying to create civil unrest through violence.

Buy Links: 

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REVIEW

Boy, does Heather really bring it. Right from the Prologue. I was immediately put on the scene. She sucked me into it. Such a beautiful place. I experienced the beauty of the Everglades. The scents, the sounds, the air laden with moisture. Then I was smacked in the face. The blood, the bodies. What a jolt.

As the author introduced the players and deftly wove her plot, my eagerness grew. I had a good feeling this was going to be another killer read.

If you enjoy stories where you think you know where it’s going and then find out you don’t, and intricate plots along with genuine characters, Heather Graham doesn’t disappoint you.

I’ve been working a lot of overtime lately and struggling to stay awake to read. While I didn’t read this straight through, I really wanted to. I felt this need to know what was coming next. Just couldn’t make my tired eyes stay open. It took me two nights and I enjoyed every bit of it. Kudos to Heather Graham for giving me my up all night reading back.

 5 STARS

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Prologue

 

The sun was out, inching its way up in the sky, casting golden rays and creating a beautiful display of color over the shading mangroves and cypress growing richly in the area. The sunlight touched on the streams running throughout the Everglades, the great “River of Grass” stretching over two hundred acres in southern and central portions of Florida, creating a glittering glow of nature.

The sky was gold and red at the horizon, and brilliantly blue above, with only a few soft puffs of clouds littered about. Diamonds and crystals seemed to float on the water.

Such beauty. Such peace.

Then there was the crime scene.

The bodies lay strewn and drenched with blood. The rich, natural earth hues of the Everglades were caught in a surreal image, greens and browns spattered liberally with the color red as if an angry child had swung a sopping paint-brush around.

Aidan Cypress had never understood why the mocking-bird had been made Florida’s state bird—not when it seemed that vultures ruled the skies overhead. Never more so than today.

Now, as he stood overlooking the scene with his crew and special agents from the FDLE, trying to control the crime scene against the circling vultures, Aidan couldn’t help but wonder just what had happened and why it had happened this way—and grit his teeth knowing there would be speculation.

Stooping down by the body of a man Aidan believed to be in his midthirties—with dark hair, olive complexion, possibly six feet in height, medium build—he noted the shaft of an arrow protruding from the man’s gut.

All the dead had been killed with arrows, hatchets, axes and knives. Because whoever had done this had apparently tried to make it look like a historical Native American rampage.

Except the killers hadn’t begun to understand there were differences in the weaponry and customs between the nations and tribes of the indigenous peoples across the country.

In South Florida, the dead man’s coloring could mean many things; Aidan himself was a member of the Seminole tribe of Florida, though somewhere in his lineage, some-one had been white—most probably from northern Europe originally. He had a bronze complexion, thick, straight hair that was almost ebony…and green eyes.

South Florida was home to those who had come from Cuba, Central and South America and probably every island out there. The area was truly a giant melting pot. That’s how his family had begun. In a way, history had created the Seminole tribe because there had been a time when settlers had called any indigenous person in Florida a Seminole.

But while the killers had tried to make this look like a massacre of old, the dead men were not Seminole. They were, Aidan believed, Latino. He could see tattoos on the lower arms of a few of the dead who had been wearing T-shirts; a single word was visible in the artwork on the man in front of him—Hermandad.

Spanish for “Brotherhood.”

“What the hell happened here, Aidan?”

Aidan looked up to see that John Schultz—Special Agent John Schultz, Florida Department of Law Enforcement—was standing by his side.

John went on. “It’s like a scene out of an old cowboys and Indians movie!”

Aidan stared at John as he rose, bristling—and yet he knew what it looked like at first glance.

“Quaking aspen,” Aidan said.

“Quaking aspen?” John repeated blankly.

“It’s not native to this area. Look at the arrow. That wasn’t made by any Seminole, Miccosukee or other Florida Native American. That is a western wood.”

“Yeah, well, things travel these days.”

Aidan shook his head. He liked John and respected him. The older agent was experienced, a few years shy of retirement. The tall, gray-haired man had recently suffered a heart attack, had taken the prescribed time off and come back to the field. They’d worked together dozens of times before. He could be abrasive—he had a sometimes-unhappy tendency to say what he thought, before thinking it through.

A few years back John had been partnered with a young woman named Amy Larson. It had taken John a long time to accept her age—and the fact she was female. Once he’d realized her value, though, he’d become her strongest supporter.

But Amy wasn’t here today.

And Aidan missed her. She softened John’s rough edges.

She was still on holiday somewhere with Hunter Forrest, the FBI agent she’d started dating. They were off on an island enjoying exotic breezes and one another’s company minus all the blood and mayhem.

Aidan stopped lamenting the absence of his favorite FDLE agent and waved away a giant vulture trying to hone in on a nearby body.

Half of the corpses were already missing eyes and bits and pieces of skin and soft tissue.

Aidan sighed and looked around. There were twenty bodies, all of them male, between the ages of twenty and forty, he estimated.

Because he’d noted the tattoos on a few of them, and using his own years of experience, he theorized the dead were members of a gang. Florida had many such gangs. Most were recruits from the various drug cartels, resolved to hold dominion over their territories.

He looked at John, trying to be patient, understanding and professional enough to control his temper. “You know, you may be the special agent, but I’m the forensics expert, and this was not something perpetrated by any of the Florida tribes—or any tribe anywhere. I can guarantee you no one sent out a war party to slaughter some gang members. Someone tried—ridiculously—to make this look like some Natives did this.”

“Hey, sorry, you’re right. Forgive me—just…look around!” John said quickly and sincerely. “It’s just at first sight…well, I mean—wow. You’re right. I’m sorry.”

The apology was earnest. “Okay. Let’s figure out what really happened.”

The corpses were in something of a clearing right by a natural stream making its way through hammocks thick with cypress trees and mangroves and all kinds of underbrush.

While the area was customarily filled with many birds—herons, cranes, falcons, hawks and more—it was the vultures who had staked out a claim. The bodies lay with arrows and axes protruding from their heads, guts or chests, as if they’d fought in a bloody battle. And now they succumbed to decay on the damp and redolent earth.

John followed Aidan’s gaze and winced. “It’s a mess. Okay, well…all right. I’m going to go over and interview the man who found this.”

“Jimmy Osceola,” Aidan said. “He’s been fishing this little area all his life, and he does tours. Two birds with one stone. Members of his family work with him and all of them fish and take tourists out here. He has a great little place right off I-75. It’s called Fresh Catch, and his catch is about as fresh as it gets. Catfish. He’s a good guy, John.”

“I believe you. But we’re going to need a break here—you and your team have to find something for me to go on.”

Aidan stared at him, gloved hands unclenching at his sides. John was rough around the edges and said whatever came to mind, but he was a good cop.

He’d be hell-bent on finding out just what had gone on here.

Aidan told him what he’d heard. “Jimmy was out with a boatload of tourists—they’re right over there. See—two couples, a kid who just started at FIU and two middle-aged women. The first officers on the scene made sure they all stayed. Go talk to them. They look like they came upon a bloodbath—oh, wait, they did.”

John arched a brow to him and said, “Yeah. I got it.”

He headed off to talk to Jimmy Osceola and the group with him.

Aidan studied the crime scene again, as a whole.

First, what the hell had all these men been doing out here? A few of them looked to have been wearing suits; most were in T-shirts and jeans.

The few bodies he had noted—not touching any of them, that was the medical examiner’s purview—seemed to bear that same tattoo. Hermandad.

That meant a gang of enforcers in his mind, and he was sure it was a good guess.

Had a big drug deal been planned?

They were on state land, but it was state land traveled only by the local tribes who knew it. The park service rangers also came through, and the occasional tourist who arranged for a special excursion into the wilds.

Bird-watchers, often enough.

All they’d see today, however, would be the vultures.

“Aidan.”

He heard his name spoken by a quiet female voice and he swung around.

Amy Larson was not enjoying an exotic island vacation.

She was standing just feet from him, having carefully avoided stepping on any of the bodies, pools of blood or possible evidence. She was in a navy pantsuit, white cotton shirt and serviceable black sneakers—obviously back to work.

No matter how all-business her wardrobe, Amy had blue-crystal eyes that displayed empathy and caring. She was great at both assuring witnesses and staring down suspects.

“What are you doing here, Amy?” Aidan asked her. “You’re supposed to be sunbathing somewhere, playing in the surf with Hunter.”

“I was.”

“So what happened?”

“It was great. Champagne, chocolates, sun, surf, sand…” She sighed.

“And?”

“And a little red horse—like the one from last month’s crime scene—delivered right to the room,” she said.

 

Excerpted from Crimson Summer by Heather Graham, Copyright © 2022 by Heather Graham Pozzessere. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.

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About Author Heather Graham:

New York Times and USA TODAY bestselling author Heather Graham has written more than a hundred novels. She’s a winner of the RWA’s Lifetime Achievement Award, and the Thriller Writers’ Silver Bullet. She is an active member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America. For more information, check out her website, TheOriginalHeatherGraham.com, or find Heather on Facebook.

Social Links: Website / Twitter / Instagram / Facebook / Goodreads

 

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Mile High Lab Rat

by Ann Payton

Genre: Mystery

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A page-turning mystery that will strike a chord with anyone who’s coped with a toxic workplace, Mile High Lab Rat is also fun, thought-provoking, and authentic!

Coordinating a college science lab seems a terrific job for this fledgling graduate.

The instructors are fun and appreciative. Maci loves helping with field trips and magic shows, and the intrigues of science are endlessly fascinating.

Except, why all the secrets? The dean orders Maci to say nothing about finding a bleeding man in the parking lot.

Reporting missing lab equipment is also taboo!

When Maci investigates fraudulent expenditures the lab reagents she prepares fail. Toxic fumes from a broken bottle force an evacuation.

To make matters worse, someone uploads a devastating virus into a state-wide system—from Maci’s computer!

While she’s pushing to discover who’s behind the trouble, the instructors conclude that it’s Maci!

Her one loyal ally acts a lot like a stalker. She’s on her own dodging booby traps, bloody threats, and termination.

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**On Sale for Only .99 cents!**

Giveaway * Amazon

 

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What Makes a Book Magical?

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Clan of the Cave Bear had me keeping an eye out for saber-toothed tigers as I drove my kids to school. Len Deighton’s Berlin Game brainwashed me into pointing out passersby who were obviously spies. (The trench coat? Duh.) Getting that immersed in a book is the magic I treasure.

I also love traveling by book—getting to know places on an uber intimate level so rarely achieved with an actual visit. James Lee Burke’s Robicheaux series gave me the goods on New Orleans. Carl Hiaasen rules Floridian swamps. John Grisham and Margaret Maron rock the south, Peter Hessler’s River Town shanghiaed my heart to China.

Naturally I consider a strong sense of place essential in my own novels. I wrote my adventure novel Rocky Mountain Walkabout with the idea of showcasing Colorado and giving readers a tour of my favorite hangouts. Then things got out of hand, and my husband and I had to make a run for the border, so I could capture Juarez’s true colors.  My new novel, Mile High Lab Rat explores iconic Colorado scenery as well. My characters take a field trip to Hanging Lake in the Glenwood Canyon because I hiked that trail as a kid. Before I wrote the scene, I repeated the trip and gave every detail the attention it deserved. Breckenridge appears in the book, too, because it always charms me when I pass that way. I tried to buy my mom lunch at the Motherloaded Tavern, but it was closed that day. Funny how some part of me lays claim to places and historical events I’ve explored in my writings.

Genuine characters are also critical to the magic, and I relished bringing my Mile High College instructors and administrators to life with traits I observed in my 20 years working in a college science lab. Have you ever noticed that, even in conversation, some teachers tend to repeat key points, repeatedly? Teachers also tend to be rule breakers. Maybe being a rule maker corrupts a person’s respect for regulations? Or maybe a few rule breakers have colored my judgement…

Maci, my main character is into science and nature and is inclined to wonder what causes odd phenomena: What combination of wind currents formed that strangely shaped cloud? Why are some pinecones drenched in sap while similar cones on the same tree are bare?  Are birds nesting earlier as the climate warms, or are their instincts locked into a cue such as hours of daylight per day?

I’d never really thought about my tendency to analyze such things, but now that I’ve considered it, yes, I’m all for filling life with wonder!

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Sometime in the 90s I decided I needed a dream to pursue between working and raising three children. As the science lab coordinator for a Colorado community college, I enjoyed helping revise lab manuals, so why not become a travel writer? I managed to learn enough to sell freelance articles to a few major publications. Then I wrote a travel adventure novel, which led me into giving lectures on cruise ships and writing another novel. Can’t wait to see where that dream’s going to take me next.

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Paradise Cove by Davin Goodwin Banner

Paradise Cove
by Davin Goodwin
April 1-30, 2022 Virtual Book Tour
Synopsis:
Paradise Cove by Dave Goodwin

Every day is paradise on Bonaire—until something unexpected washes ashore

On the laid-back island of Bonaire, every day is paradise until a seaweed-entangled human leg washes ashore. Combing the beach, retired cop Roscoe Conklin examines the scene and quickly determines that the leg belongs to the nephew of a close friend.

The island police launch an investigation, but with little evidence and no suspects, their progress comes to a frustrating halt. Then, thanks to a unique barter with the lead detective, Conklin finds himself in possession of the case file. He can now aggressively probe for his own answers.

Sifting through the scant clues, eager to bring the killer to justice, Conklin struggles to maintain forward momentum. He has all the pieces. He can feel it. But he’d better get them snapped together soon.

Otherwise, the body count will continue to rise.

 

Praise for Paradise Cove:

“An intriguingly gruesome beginning, sexy location, and a supremely satisfying ending. Paradise Cove is a terrific read.” —Marc Cameron, New York Times best-selling author

Paradise Cove is a wonderful thriller with a great story . . . what makes it special are the perfect descriptions of Bonaire and life on the island.” —Nicholas Harvey, author of the AJ Bailey Adventure Series

“Grab a beer and revisit Bonaire with Roscoe Conklin as your guide in Paradise Cove. A rich cast of characters and an intriguing plot guarantee an exciting trip you’ll long remember.” –Shawn Wilson, author of Relentless

 

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery

Published by: Oceanview Publishing Publication Date: April 5th 2022 Number of Pages: 304 ISBN: 1608094855 (ISBN13: 9781608094851) Series: Roscoe Conklin Mystery #2 | The novels in the Roscoe Conklin Mystery Series stand on their own and can be read in any order.

Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Enjoy this peek inside:
Finished with my morning swim, having pushed myself hard the last quarter mile, I sat on the end of the pier with my legs dangling over the edge. No clouds in the typical Caribbean-blue Bonaire sky and a faint hint of salt floated in the air. The wind shoved waves, larger than normal, against the shore. An iguana lay a few feet away, basking in the sun, overweight from gorging itself on the remnants of the near-by garbage can. It sat motionless, one eye tilted in my direction, the other skewed over the edge of the pier at the water. It was a resident of the area and joined me regularly on the pier after my swims. I had taken to calling it Charlie. As I towel-dried my arms and hair, I noticed two teenaged boys using a stick to poke at an object near the water’s edge, a stone’s throw south of the pier. The object had washed ashore and was covered with random strands of dark seaweed. I watched the boys take a few steps forward, jab the stick at the object, then retreat, as if expecting something to happen. Nothing did, so they repeated the process several times with the same result. Some younger children ventured forth, staying well behind the brave teenagers. Wide-eyed, high-pitched streams of Papiamento—the native language of Bonaire—filled the air as they half-talked, half-screamed. They gawked at the object, the raced back up the beach to their mothers, sitting on beach blankets. One mother stood, nodding her head, and, appeasing the child, walked toward the water. She stopped a few feet shy of the shore. Her eyes widened and she shuffled backward to the other women, grabbed her cell phone, and, with a shaky hand, put it to her ear. She pointed at the object and spoke, her Papiamento not as high-pitched as the child’s, but every bit as excited. Unfortunately, I didn’t understand a word they said, my Papiamento being only slightly better than my Klingon. The base of my neck tingled. I no longer carried a badge, but nearly three decades as a law enforcement officer, specifically with the Violent Crimes Division of the Rockford, Illinois, police department, had trained my curiosity to remain on high alert. Of the hundreds of traits, quirks, and ticks conditioned into my psyche during those years, the sense of inquisitiveness, along with a constant need to know and understand, were the most deeply engrained. I shook my head, stood, and walked down the pier to the beach. This was something I probably needed to see. My sudden movement startled Charlie and he darted to the other side of the pier, both eyes now pointed in my direction. I gave him a shallow wave. “Sorry, Charlie.” The water surface on the west side—or leeward side—of the island remained consistently flat, almost glasslike, aided by a solid wind from the east. The wind also swept most of the seaweed, litter, and other debris out to sea. Few items floated ashore on the leeward coast of Bonaire. Except during wind reversals. Over the last few days, the easterly wind had changed direction and blew in from the west, bringing with it all kinds of surface floaties. I plodded through the sand, closing the distance to the water’s edge. Most likely, an unfortunate tuna or tarpon had met its demise. But based on the actions and behaviors of the children, and the concern of the mother, I quickly changed my mind. A fish washing ashore was too common an occurrence and wouldn’t generate the reactions I’d just witnessed. Then I remembered the epidemic affecting the green moray eels. For some reason, a strange parasite was attacking the green morays, causing the deaths of many. The occurrence was so rare that a group of marine biologists had recently arrived on the island, and with the help of local researchers, were studying the phenomenon. The situation was declared serious, possibly affecting the entire green moray population of the local reefs. When a dead eel washed ashore, the researchers wanted to be informed so they could harvest the carcass for study. The teenagers moved back a few steps as I worked past them and stood over the object. It wasn’t a tarpon or tuna. Or a diseased moral eel. I turned back toward the beach and scanned the area, noticing the increased crowd size. I admit, the word crowd is relative on a small island like Bonaire, but, even so, a small horde of lookie-loos had gathered. Some vied for a better view, meandering closer to the water’s edge. But not too close. I sighed and shook my head. Few things draw a crowd to the beach faster than a human body part washing ashore. *** Excerpt from Paradise Cove by Davin Goodwin. Copyright 2022 by Davin Goodwin. Reproduced with permission from Davin Goodwin. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Davin Goodwin:
Davin Goodwin

Davin Goodwin is a graduate of Arkansas State University and works in the technology industry. He’s been a small business owner, a real estate investor, an aerial photographer and flight instructor, a semi-professional banjo player, and a scuba diver, often seen on the island of Bonaire. Paradise Cove is the second novel in his Roscoe Conklin Mystery Series and he intends to continue writing the Roscoe Conklin series set on Bonaire. Goodwin lives in Madison, Wisconsin, with his wife, Leslie.

Catch Up With Davin Goodwin: DavinGoodwinAuthor.com Goodreads BookBub – @dgoodwin7757 Instagram – @davin_goodwin_author Facebook – @authordavingoodwin

 

 

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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