Posts Tagged ‘review’

How To Make A Sandwich by Lorena M. Proia ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: September 11, 2024 in Children's books, giveaways, reviews
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Book Details:
  How to Make a Sandwich by Lorena M. Proia
Category:  Children’s Fiction (Ages 3-7), 32 pages
Genre:  Children’s Picture Book
Publisher:  Lorena M. Proia
Release date:   December 2023
Content Rating:  G.  It’s appropriate for children
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In The Pale Light by Westley Smith ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: August 22, 2024 in Excerpt, giveaways, reviews, thriller
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In the Pale Light by Westley Smith Banner

IN THE PALE LIGHT
by Westley Smith
August 12 – September 6, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:

When Clay Graham and his family are found slain in the parking lot of his struggling business, the police suspect Clay’s troublemaker brother, Terry. Terry claims he was drunk the night of the murders and passed out at home. With little evidence against Terry to make an arrest, the case soon goes cold. Shunned from the community, harassed by the locals who believe he’s a murderer, and suffering from an undiagnosed illness, Terry lives alone on his farm, punishing himself for his past indiscretions. Then Pennsylvania State Police Trooper Henry Miller, who has ties to the town and the Graham murders, shows up with newly discovered evidence that kick-starts the case all over again. Now, before his illness kills him, Terry sets out, battling against small-town secrets and old grudges, racing against time to stay one step ahead of both the State Police and his own impending death, to finally find out what really happened to his family and hopefully prove himself and innocent man –if he is one.

 

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Thriller

Published by: Watertower Hill Publishing Publication Date: August 13, 2024

Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads | Watertower Hill Publishing

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MY REVIEW

Terry Graham is running out of time. He’s dying. And he needs answers. Answers to who killed his family and why. He’s consumed with thoughts of vengeance. The town and law enforcement long suspected him of the murders. When State Trooper Henry Miller comes back in town with new evidence on the cold case, Terry struggles to stay a step ahead and exact that vengeance.

Terry wasn’t a likable character. He drank too much. Fought too much. Had a hair-trigger temper. I tried to feel sorry for him. Reminded myself of his circumstances. It was hard, since his character hadn’t changed much since before the tragedy. I think that’s what really made the story work for me. I kept reminding myself of the victims and got behind Terry.

Terry also did a credible job of sniffing out witnesses and information on the murders. He didn’t always approach them in an agreeable manner but he was getting answers. Sifting through the self interest and lies and zeroing in. This kept the suspense ramped up. As Terry got closer to those answers, so did I. And I couldn’t wait to find out how it wrapped up.

A man out for vengeance. Not at all a sympathetic character. Yet, I was on his side. How cool is that!

5 STARS

 

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Enjoy this peek inside:
December 25th, 2015
The emergency lights from the Hickory Falls Sheriff’s Department Ford Interceptor flashed across the snow when it pulled into the Graham Video store parking lot. The sheet of white should have been untouched by tires at 6:45 a.m., and the snow-covered green Jetta, sitting in the far left-hand corner of the parking lot should not have been there. Two different sets of tire tracks cut through the pristine snow. One set belonged to the Jetta. The other set made a large circle in the snow before making its way back toward Main Street. The officer brought the SUV to a stop about five feet from the Jetta; its headlights bathed the car in the frigid darkness. Unable to see past the Jetta’s frosted snow-covered windows, a building sense of unease began to crawl over him, tightening the flesh to his bones. The officer’s shift had been easy that night. He had not responded to any emergency calls, nor had he had to pull anyone over. A Christmas miracle itself. But all that had changed fifteen minutes ago while he was patrolling Broke Run Road, when Sheriff Will Daniel’s voice came over the radio. “Call just came in. We got a report of shots fired at the Graham Video store. Caller says they saw a man running across the parking lot, carrying what appeared to be a shotgun. The suspect reportedly got into the passenger side of a blue sedan before it took off with two others inside. Need you to check it out,” Daniel had said. Why the hell is the sheriff in at this hour? the officer had wondered. Shouldn’t Susan be on the call desk? And what’s going on at the Graham Video store? Now on scene, with the first cracks of gray sky beginning to materialize through the night horizon, he radioed back into the station. “I’m at the Graham Video store. I’ve located a V-dub Jetta. It’s an early 2000s model. No sign of anyone else, including the reported blue sedan. Though there are two sets of tire tracks in the snow, indicating another vehicle was present.” He glanced at the video store’s entrance. There were no broken windows and no ajar door to indicate a robbery had occurred. The place appeared buttoned up tight. “No signs of a break-in, Sheriff. Getting out to inspect the vehicle.” “Ten-four,” Sheriff Daniel’s voice came back over the line. “Proceed with caution.” Again, the officer thought it was strange that the sheriff was in at that hour, and on Christmas morning. Where was Susan Green? She usually worked the overnight shift; she should still have been at the station, working the dispatch desk. Still, the officer knew, she could have gone home for any number of reasons—the holiday, the storm, or maybe a family member had fallen –ill—and the sheriff had filled in for her. Pushing the thought from his mind, the officer returned to the pressing matter at hand. Stay focused. Stay sharp. Stepping from the SUV, the blowing snow and driving wind bit at the officer’s exposed skin, penetrated his clothes. Zipping his jacket up to his chin, he started toward the car, trudging through the shin-deep snow. As he neared the Jetta, pelted with snow and ice so hard it stung, he noticed a set of footprints leading away from the passenger-side door toward the second set of tire tracks before vanishing. The tracks were nearly filled in with fresh powder, but it was unmistakable what they were. He assumed this was where the person had gotten into the second car—an old blue sedan. Looking back to the Jetta, he saw something smeared along the top of the passenger-side door. Whatever it was had frozen to a hard, ruby-colored substance. He eased in for a closer look. lood! Frozen blood. A strange tightness gripped the base of the officer’s neck as if Death had wrapped a cold, boney hand around him and begun to squeeze. His heart rate quickened. He placed his right hand on his sidearm and identified himself. “This is the Hickory Falls Sheriff’s Department. If there’s anyone inside the vehicle, would you please step out?” There was no reply. The car was dead still. The only sound across the parking lot was the howling wind and the ice pebbles hitting the closest metal lamp post. Not wanting to disturb what he believed to be blood on the passenger-side door, the officer lumbered through the deepening snow, around the front of the Jetta, to the driver’s side. Reaching down, he took hold of the handle and pulled. The driver’s side door was locked. He took a deep breath of cold air, sending what felt like ice daggers into his lungs as he tried to steel himself for what he might find inside. His teeth began to chatter, and an internal shudder tremored in his core and quickly expanded to the rest of his body. “I’m asking anyone inside to identify themselves and step out.” He waited, but when no one replied, he said, “If you do not comply, I will be forced to inspect the vehicle. Last warning.” Silence. No movement came from within. The car’s stillness bothered him—like it was dead. But that was impossible. Cars could not be deceased like humans or animals. So why was he getting the dreaded feeling that death emanated from it? Placing his gloved hand on the window, he brushed the light dusting of snow away and bent down to look inside. The officer recoiled at what he saw or who he saw staring back at him. His feet slipped out from under him, and he went down onto his backside, hard. Snow kicked up when he hit the ground, and for a moment he was cocooned in falling white powder, protected from what he had seen. But when the snow settled, the officer was again gazing at the driver’s-side door of the Jetta. There, he saw a man’s pale face pressed against the glass, the muscles twisted and tightened in agony. His eyes were open and locked directly on the officer with a vacant, lifeless stare, pleading with him, even in death, to save him. Too late. I’m too late to save you. The officer shot to his feet; snow fell off his uniform in large patchy clumps. And though the temperature was in the teens, he felt sweat break out across his back and forehead. Moving gingerly toward the Jetta again, the officer realized he knew the dead man looking back at him. Clay Graham—the owner of the Graham Video store. He removed his Maglite from his belt and turned it on. Bending, he shone the beam through the ice-crusted driver’s-side window and began to scan the car’s interior. That’s when he saw them. He pressed a gloved hand over his lips, suppressing the scream that wanted to leap from his throat at the horrific sight of carnage and death inside the Jetta. It wasn’t just Clay Graham dead inside the car but also his wife, Claire, and their teenage daughter, Sidney. *** Excerpt from In the Pale Light by Westley Smith. Copyright 2024 by Westley Smith. Reproduced with permission from Westley Smith. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Westley Smith:

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Westley Smith

Westley Smith had his first short story, Off to War, published when he was just sixteen. He is, more recently, the author of two horror novels, Along Came the Tricksters and All Hallows Eve, as well as the thriller Some Kind of Truth. His short fiction has been published in various magazines and websites. Wes lives with his wife and two dogs in the beautiful woodlands of southern Pennsylvania–the perfect place to hide a body.

Catch Up With Westley Smith: WestleySmithBooks.com Goodreads BookBub – @wssmith100 Instagram – @wsmithbooks Facebook – @westleysmith100

 

 

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A Cold, Cold World by Elena Taylor ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: August 15, 2024 in Excerpt, giveaways, Mystery, reviews
Tags: , , ,
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A Cold, Cold World by Elena Taylor Banner

A COLD, COLD WORLD
by Elena Taylor
July 29 – August 23, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery

 

A female sheriff tries to fill her late father’s boots and be the sheriff her small Washington State mountain town needs as a deadly snow storm engulfs the town, in this dark, twisty mystery.

The world felt pure. Nature made the location pristine again, hiding the scene from prying eyes. As if no one had died there at all. In the months since Bet Rivers solved her first murder investigation and secured the sheriff’s seat in Collier, she’s remained determined to keep her town safe. With a massive snowstorm looming, it’s more important than ever that she stays vigilant. When Bet gets a call that a family of tourists has stumbled across a teen injured in a snowmobile accident on a mountain ridge, she braves the storm to investigate. However, once she arrives at the scene of the accident it’s clear to Bet that the teen is not injured; he’s dead. And has been for some time . . . Investigating a possible homicide is hard enough, but with the worst snowstorm the valley has seen in years threatening the safety of her town, not to mention the integrity of her crime scenes – as they seem to be mounting up as well – Bet has to move fast to uncover the complicated truth and prove that she’s worthy of keeping her father’s badge.

Praise for A Cold, Cold World:

“Readers who appreciate the strong woman police chief in Linda Castillo’s Kate Burkholder books or the vivid landscapes of Craig Johnson’s Walt Longmire mysteries will appreciate Taylor’s riveting crime novel.” ~ Lesa Holstine, Library Journal Starred Review “Taylor perfectly captures the tension and determination of a small town sheriff facing down an isolating blizzard while racing against the clock to solve a murder and save a missing child. Sheriff Bet Rivers will be your new favorite character” ~ Lisa Gardner, #1 New York Times bestselling author “A terrific ensemble cast in a total immersion setting! Fans of CJ Box and Julia Spencer-Fleming will adore this novel – it’s whipsmart, completely cinematic, and full of heart. Not to be missed!” ~ Hank Phillippi Ryan, USA Today bestselling author of One Wrong Word “Sheriff Bet Rivers is back with a suspenseful and shrewdly plotted story of deadly small town secrets . . . Think Longmire meets Yellowstone” ~ James L’Etoile, award winning author of Dead Drop and Face of Greed “Tense and divinely atmospheric, this is the perfect book to curl up with on a cold winter’s day” ~ J.L. Delozier, author of the multi-award-winning mystery, The Photo Thief

A Cold, Cold World Trailer:

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Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural, Mystery

Published by: Severn House Publication Date: August 6, 2024 Number of Pages: 256 ISBN: 9781448314065 (ISBN10: 1448314062) Series: A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery, Book 2 | Each is a Stand-Alone Mystery

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

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MY REVIEW

You know those movies? The mysteries that have you confused, yet fascinated and determined to figure out? I’ve sometimes rewatched some really twisty ones so I could try to spot clues I missed. That’s how this book was for me. I never really felt like I was close to figuring things out. Not that it took away from my enjoyment. Nope. In fact, the only reason I didn’t read it straight through was because I started it later at night and when I started feeling sleepy I stopped so I wouldn’t lose my edge. Got to keep the brain sharp to try and sort things out. Anyway, back to what I was saying. In some parts of the book I did a rewind. I paused and flipped back when something tickled my memory just to see if I’d found a connection, a bread crumb. When I finally got answers, I realized I’d never been close to figuring out the who and why. Gotta love that, right.

I like small town settings. I like connecting with characters. I like those that make brief cameos that make me think they might be important later in the book. I like a mystery that I can’t figure out. And I like bonuses, such as critter characters that add to the story. This book delivered on all of my likes. So glad it’s a series so I can get tangled up in the next mystery.

4 STARS

 

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Enjoy this peek inside:
ONE
Bet Rivers sat in the sheriff’s station and watched the radar on her computer screen turn a darker and darker blue. Snow headed for the little town of Collier and keeping everyone safe was her responsibility. Bet’s advancement to sheriff had taken place less than a year ago, but the name Rivers had followed ‘Sheriff’ all the way back to the founding of the town. None of the previous Sheriff Rivers, her father included, ever failed the community, and she didn’t plan to be the first. With her father’s death last fall, Collier residents were the closest thing she had to family. The valley Bet protected sat high in the Cascade Mountain Range of Washington State. Winter storms often dropped a couple inches of snow at once, a situation Collier could handle, and winter had been relatively mild so far. February, however, was shaping up into something else. This morning, nearby Lake Collier – a dark and dangerous body of water the locals respected from a safe distance – started freezing completely over for the first time in years. Bet couldn’t remember such a large storm ever bearing down on the valley. The weather was determined to test her in ways that patrolling the streets of Los Angeles and her short stint as sheriff had not yet done. Clicking off the weather radar screen and opening another file, Bet read over her severe winter storm checklist. Snowplow – ready to go. Volunteers with tractors and trucks with snowplow attachments – set. The community center would be open twenty-four hours a day in case the town’s power went out and people needed a warm place to go. Donna, the elementary school nurse, was on hand for minor health emergencies. She would be staying at the center twenty-four seven until the storm passed. Most residents owned generators and a lot of people used fireplaces for heat, but the community center provided a central location for anyone in trouble. Nothing like living in an isolated mountain valley to make folks respect what Mother Nature hurled at them – and rely on each other, rather than the outside world. A lot of people would look to the sheriff as a leader. She couldn’t let them down. Bet turned her attention to the pile of pink ‘while you were out’ notes that Alma still loved to use rather than sending information to Bet digitally. Alma was much more than an office manager, but she also fought certain modern conveniences. Most of the notes were mundane issues that Alma could handle, but the last in the pile was a call from Jamie Garcia, a local reporter trying to get back into Bet’s good graces after an incident a few months ago had cost her Bet’s trust. Wants to chat about the possibility of an increase in drug use in the area, the note read. Specifically – meth. That would definitely have to wait. It crossed Bet’s mind that Jamie might exaggerate the situation just to have reason to touch base with her, but Bet taped it to the computer monitor to follow up on after the storm passed. Her valley didn’t have the kind of drug problems as many other communities, and Bet wanted to see it stay that way. If Jamie had any information on a rise in illegal activity, that could be useful. The rest of the notes she would return to Alma to deal with. Right now, weathering the tempest would take all of Bet’s resources. Bringing up the radar one more time, Bet’s stomach clenched as she tracked the monster storm. What if she made a decision during this event that hurt her entire community? Confidence didn’t make responsibility lighter to bear, and the hot, sunny streets of Los Angeles hadn’t prepared her for one thousand residents slowly buried under several feet of snow. They were a long way from the plowed highways and larger cities with fully functional hospitals. Bet was the first line of defense against disaster. She was also likely the last line of defense. Once they were snowed in, she couldn’t bring help in from the outside. A year ago, she had been poised to take the detective’s exam in Los Angeles. Her goal was a long and successful career in the nation’s largest police force. But events outside her control got in the way, and now she was back in Collier, trying to fill her father’s large, all-too-recently vacated shoes. She faced a once-in-a-century storm with her lone deputy, a septuagenarian secretary, and one very big dog. Her first instinct was to talk to her father, but his death prevented her from ever gaining new insight into his expertise. Her second instinct was to contact Sergeant Magdalena Carrera. Maggie had mentored Bet during her time at the LAPD. ‘We chicas need to stick together,’ she’d said to Bet early on in her career, back when Bet still called her sergeant. But as good as Maggie was at her job, Bet doubted she’d have much advice about facing a blizzard. ‘It’s up to us, Schweitzer,’ Bet said to the Anatolian shepherd sitting in her doorway. ‘As long as no one has a heart attack after the storm hits, we’ll be fine.’ Schweitzer had a look on his face like he knew what was coming. He always could read her mood, not to mention the weather, and he’d been edgy all morning. She had learned to read his mood too, and right now it wasn’t good. ‘It’s going to be all right, Schweitz.’ It surprised her to realize she believed her own words. She could handle this. Lakers – residents proudly took the nickname from their mysterious lake – could hunker down in their valley and survive on their own. Everyone in town knew that if snow blocked them in and a helicopter couldn’t fly, they had no access to a hospital. But Donna was good at her job too. Plus, it would only be for a couple of days. The phone on her desk rang, jarring her from her thoughts. As long as the ring didn’t herald an emergency, everything would be fine. Bet rolled out in her black and white on the long teardrop of road that circled the valley. She didn’t turn on her siren; there wasn’t anyone on the loop to warn of her approach and the sound felt too loud, like a scream into the colorless void. The emergency lights on top of her SUV stained the white unmarked fields of snow on either side red, then blue, then red again, like blood streaking the ground. Her studded tires roared on the hard-packed snow, the surface easy to navigate – at least for now. The drive to Jeb Pearson’s place took less than twenty minutes, even with the worsening conditions. Pearson’s Ranch sat at the end of the valley farthest from the lake and the town center. The ranch occupied an area the locals called the ‘Train Yard’, though that name didn’t show up on any official maps. Long ago, the roundhouse for the Colliers’ private railway perched there at the end of the tracks. The roundhouse was a huge, wedge-shaped brick structure, like one third of a pie with the tips of the slices bitten off. It was built to house the big steam engines owned by the Colliers. The facility could hold five engines, each pulled inside through giant glass and iron doors. Engines could be parked and serviced inside the roundhouse, while an enormous turntable sat out front to spin the engines around, sending them down different tracks in order to pass each other in opposite directions. It was unlikely the Colliers ever housed five engines up here all at once, but they owned other mines around the state and had used engines in other places. It must have been reassuring to know that if they ever needed to, they could bring their assets up here, protected in their high-elevation fiefdom. Jeb used the property as a summer camp for boys who struggled with drug and alcohol addictions and guesthouses for snow adventure enthusiasts during the winter. Jeb lived there year-round, with a giant Newfoundland dog named Grizzly, a half a dozen horses, and one mini donkey named Dolly that helped him rehabilitate the boys. Bet pulled up in front of the roundhouse. The cabins and other outbuildings stretched away from where she parked, with the barn the farthest from the road. The pastures were empty with the storm bearing down, the animals all safely tucked away in their stalls. Jeb stood out front with two bundled figures that must have been the father and son who were currently staying at his place. A third member of their party, the mother, was nowhere to be seen. Bet got out of her vehicle and walked over to where two of Jeb’s snowmobiles were parked, running and ready to go. Layers of winter clothing padded Jeb’s wiry form, his face ruddy in the arctic wind. ‘What have we got, Jeb?’ ‘Mark and Julia Crews and their son Jeremy came across what looks to be a solo wreck up on Iron Horse Ridge. They didn’t have any details about the driver’s condition, so I’m not sure what we’re looking at. The parents wanted to protect their son and got him out of there before he could see anything gruesome. These two came down to get me while Mrs Crews stayed with the injured rider.’ Bet nodded to the man standing a few feet away. Only part of his face was visible through the balaclava he wore. His eyes looked haunted. ‘You did the right thing,’ she said to him. ‘If the driver’s got a spinal injury, you could have done more damage than good trying to bring them down.’ She didn’t add that if the driver was dead there was nothing to be done except locate the next of kin. ‘Thanks, Sheriff,’ Mark Crews said, his voice shaky. ‘That was—’ Emotion cut off the man’s words. He reached for his son and pulled him close. The boy didn’t resist, but he also didn’t hug his father back. Bet considered checking the boy for shock, but guessed he was just a teen being a teen. She gave Mark a nod and hoped the accident victim survived the wait – otherwise Mark Crews would always wonder if he should have made a different choice. The father got his emotions under control and turned his attention back to Bet. ‘Please get my wife Julia down safely.’ Jeremy might be shocky, but the two people up on the ridge were her priority. ‘Always prioritize,’ Maggie said to Bet on a regular basis. ‘Don’t get caught up trying to fix everything at once. Fix the big things first.’ Her father would have agreed. His voice no longer took precedence in her mind, but his teachings never left her. Bet promised to take care of Julia Crews and walked over to straddle the closest snowmobile. Pulling on the helmet she’d brought, she tucked her auburn curls out of the way before closing the face shield. Bet admired the Crews family for helping a stranger as the ominous storm bore down on the area. It must be terrifying to know Mrs Crews waited up on the ridge as the weather closed in. Bet was impressed the family put their own safety in jeopardy for someone they didn’t know. Not everyone would do that. It would have been easy enough to pretend they never found the accident, leaving the driver alone in the snow. Jeb hopped on the other snowmobile, which was already set up to tow the Snowbulance – a small, enclosed trailer with a stretcher mounted inside. Bet made eye contact with Jeb to confirm she was ready, and they took off with him in the lead. Search-and-rescue was Jeb’s specialty, and he knew the terrain better than she did. Her father Earle always said a good leader knew when to follow. Like most of her father’s advice, Bet knew it was true even if her instinct was never to admit someone else was the right person for a job she could do. In her defense, her father never faced life in law enforcement as a woman. Maggie always said, ‘Never let a man think he’s got control. If you hand control over, he’ll never give it up.’ Bet wasn’t her father, but she wasn’t a patrol officer in LA, either. Sometimes neither Maggie’s nor her father’s advice was any help to her at all. Not far from the ranch, Jeb turned off the main road and started up a forest service road that went west and north into the mountains. The turnoff wasn’t obvious, so it was interesting that the Crews had found that particular trail. Snowmobiling was a popular sport in Collier and a lot of people used these forest service roads for trails, even the ones that were officially closed to traffic because there were no funds for maintenance. Without anyone to police the extensive system, the locals used them as their own private playground. The roads connected in a complex web throughout the area. The injured teen could have arrived at the ridge from any direction. The forest was riddled with paths that the forest service no longer had the money or workforce to keep up, but people and animals kept cleared. In a lot of ways, the community benefited from the interlopers who cleared the roads, because that provided fire access into their local forest, which would otherwise become impassable through neglect. If the brunt of the storm held off long enough for them to locate the scene of the accident and get the injured teen down the mountain before the conditions worsened, everything should still be all right. Bet kept her focus on Jeb’s sled as they rode up the hill. The road turned dark as they got farther into the trees and the cloud cover grew almost black. She was glad for the headlight and someone she trusted to follow. At least in this moment, her father’s advice was right. If only the injured rider survived the wait. *** Excerpt from A Cold, Cold World by Elena Taylor. Copyright 2024 by Elena Taylor. Reproduced with permission from Elena Taylor. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Elena Taylor:

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Elena Taylor, CREDIT MARK PERLSTEIN

Elena Taylor spent several years working in theater as a playwright, director, designer, and educator before turning her storytelling skills to fiction. Her first series, the Eddie Shoes Mysteries, written under the name Elena Hartwell, introduced a quirky mother/daughter crime fighting duo. With the Bet Rivers Mysteries, Elena returns to her dramatic roots and brings readers much more serious and atmospheric novels. The series introduces Collier, Washington, with its dark and mysterious lake, tough-as-nails residents, and newly appointed sheriff with her sidekick Schweitzer, an Anatolian Shepherd. Elena is also a senior editor with Allegory Editing, a developmental editing house, where she works one-on-one with writers to shape and polish manuscripts, short stories, and plays. If you’d like to work with Elena, visit www.allegoryediting.com. Her favorite place to be is at Paradise, the property she and her hubby own south of Spokane, Washington. They live with their horses, dogs, and cats. Elena holds a B.A. from the University of San Diego, a M.Ed. from the University of Washington, Tacoma, and a Ph.D. from the University of Georgia.

Catch Up With Elena Taylor: www.ElenaTaylorAuthor.com Elena’s Blog: The Mystery of Writing Goodreads BookBub – @elenataylorauthor Instagram – @elenataylorauthor Twitter/X – @Elena_TaylorAut Facebook – @ElenaTaylorAuthor

 

 

Tour Participants:

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

 

 

 

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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A Carrow’s Murder by Annabelle Lewis ~ Review And Author Interview

Posted: August 9, 2024 in Humor, Interview, Mystery, reviews, Romance
Tags: , , , ,
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Book Details:

​Book Title: A Carrows Murder (The Carrows Family Chronicles, Book 10) by Annabelle Lewis
Category:  Adult Fiction 18+, 286 pages
Genre: Mystery/Crime/Romance/Humor
Publisher:  PePe Press
Release Date: June 2024
Content Rating:  PG13 +M: My book has cursing. The f-bomb. Sexual flirting but closed-door action. ​

A Note from Annabelle Lewis:

Welcome to the latest installment of The Carrows Family Chronicles. Don’t let the words Book 10 scare you! Dive into the adventure without the need for exhaustive backstory, as each page unfolds with its own excitement, color, and twists. While my characters’ pasts enrich their present journeys, rest assured that you can fully immerse yourself in this standalone tale. Prepare to be swept away by the twists, turns, fashion, humor and discoveries awaiting you within these pages.

Book Description:

A Crafty Plan. A Healing Sojourn. A Deadly Twister.

Royal Dutton, close friend and stylist for Charles and Angelica Carrows, has a broken heart and he’s falling to bits. Disturbed by Royal’s escalating depression and dangerous choices, the London-based Carrows family decide to distract Royal with a vacation to an English castle on the dazzling eastern shores of Yorkshire, Britain.

Well-intentioned, they plan a murder mystery using the villagers near the castle as characters who will each play a role in convincing the unsuspecting Royal that there is a murder to be solved for a real-life person.

It should have been fun.

But there are unforeseen consequences. The small town of Boswell Crag and its eccentric villagers will never be the same.

​And someone . . . will not survive.

Buy The Book:
Amazon
add to goodreads
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MY REVIEW

First things first. I have this thing where I have no compunctions about jumping into a series anywhere. I was a bit worried about it with this book as it’s the tenth in the series. I’m thrilled to say I had no issues about it being so far along. I was immediately captivated by the characters and the plot. Everything flowed so easily.

About the plot. A fake murder mystery event at a castle. How fun. I once did one of these on a ferry boat cruise. Highly recommend you do it if you have the chance. Of course, someone ends up dead, for real. And let the sleuthing begin. It’s not an easy solve. I always love that. And I really enjoyed the characters frustrations and fears as they tried to figure out the who and why while also making sure they aren’t a target for the killer.

This was a straight through read for me and I finished it in a couple of hours. If this book is any indication of the author’s other ones, I can’t wait to read more.

5 STARS

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Interview With Author Annabelle Lewis
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Tell us about a favorite book when you were a kid

I fell in love with books early. Fairy tales, picture books, comic books—Peanuts, I devoured what I could at home until I was old enough to pedal my bike alone to the library. There I spent hours roaming the stacks, amazed by every single volume and frustrated with giddy anticipation that there were so many worlds to explore and choices to be made. But the real favorite and love of my life came when I found the Chronicles of Narnia. I was never the same after entering that world and from that point on was reading whenever I found a moment to spare. Annabelle Lewis is a pen name and Lewis—is a humble hat tip to the great man who wrote the Narnian world – C.S. Lewis.

What is the last great book you’ve read?

I don’t know that it’s the greatest book in the traditional sense of what might qualify for that title, but I actually fell on the floor laughing while reading the book FU Penguin. Since it almost made me pee in my pants, I think that qualifies the book as something particularly special. The book is a farce – a collection of raging rants or blogs from a hysterically funny man named Matthew Gasteier who for no reason takes on cuddly pictures of animals and rages at them with absurd and foul-mouthed glee. I loved every single page of his absurd and twisted sentiments. Not everyone’s cup of tea to be sure, but damn, it worked for me! Thank you for the belly laughs, Matthew!

How many books have you written and which is your favorite?

It’s hard for me to choose, but I wrote a short story called Caliburnus that is very personal to me. It’s not part of a series, just a fictional story based on my journey as a special needs mom. It’s about a mother’s dream and the ache of hope. https://theannabellelewis.com/caliburnus-2/

Regarding time frames, what is your favorite era to work with and why.

My work is contemporary fiction. I’ve placed the story in the “now,” and this definitely has its drawbacks. Even before the work can be published, advancements and the use of technology, slang, trends, and societal developments vex me and my characters. I worry about the work holding up but hope that years from now the storytelling itself will still be enjoyable enough to accept.

Talk about how you outline a book

The process can vary, but I always have a broad outline in my head of what the book is about. It’s the ‘elevator pitch’ I would present if given 10 seconds to explain the synopsis while trapped in an elevator. Then I layer on the story with characters, and timeline, and events. Then I build a storyboard with a short explanation of what happens in each chapter. Often, however, I’m just dying to write the story and begin. Consequently, my characters often totally screw up my outline and I have to follow them where they take me. The story will often change, but the overall idea will not.

How long have you been writing?

In hindsight, I think I have always been writing. It began with journaling, and I often worked out my angst or issues after putting them on paper and looking at them. And I read books, all the time. As many as possible. When I became a mom, I started writing short stories about my children to capture the feel and memory of a moment or event. And my own mom always encouraged me to write a book, telling me over and over “I know you have a book in you.” But I didn’t really try until my children had graduated from high school and the activity level in the house decreased. One day, I drafted the first outline of Charlotte McGee, Book 1 of the Carrows Family Chronicles, and never looked back. I wish I had taken my mom’s advice and begun writing fiction earlier!

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Meet Author Annabelle Lewis:
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Annabelle Lewis—a pseudonym—is a Minneapolis-based, multi-genre writer, dog lover, incredible mom, and champion of the screwed over. In addition to her touching, yet oddly scathing blog posted on her website, she’s published two exciting fictional series.

The Carrows Family Chronicles are humorous and vengeful caper novels. If you’re interested in a light romp about a family of well-dressed billionaires serving yummy revenge to a string of unsuspecting bad guys who have it coming, look no further.

The second series—The Boston Clairvoyants—is also a set of good versus evil stories. These psychic mystery/thrillers have been edited so they could be read as stand-alones, but as Glinda the Good Witch says – “It’s always best to start at the beginning.” The books have a supernatural hierarchy, a wee bit of romance and mythology, and a solid sense of humor. Lovers of dogs and Dean Koontz fans will adore these books.

Annabelle typically sends out two newsletters a month—so she promises not to annoy her subscribers too much. They typically contain feverish reviews on the latest stuff she is watching or reading, links to book giveaways, contests to win a signed paperback, and book browsing for other author’s work.

​Oh, and a warning. Annabelle loves to curse. And there is cursing in her books and her blogs . . . because she’s gotta keep it real.

Connect with the Author:  Website ~ X/Twitter ~ Facebook ~ Pinterest ~Instagram ~ Bookbub ~ Goodreads

 

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To Preserve, Protect, And Destroy by Matthew D. Saeman ~ My Review

Posted: August 7, 2024 in reviews, Science Fiction, suspense, thriller
Tags: , , ,
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To Preserve, Protect And Destroy

by Matthew D. Saeman

 

 

 

Synopsis (from Amazon):

NASA Geologist Unearths Deadly Martian Stones: A Race Against Time to Thwart Catastrophic Mission and Save Millions from Imminent Disaster!

In To Preserve, Protect and Destroy, we follow the gripping journey of Terrence Sullivan, a dedicated NASA geologist, as he is thrust into an unexpected mission of universal importance. Tasked with the perilous job of collecting volatile stones from the hostile terrain of Mars, Terrence is initially led to believe that his mission is purely for the safety of the universe. These are no ordinary stones, but the very same that caused the catastrophic end to the first terraforming mission on the red planet.

As the narrative unfolds, Terrence uncovers the chilling truth behind his mission’s ultimate goal. The stakes are higher than he could have ever imagined, with the fate of his crew and millions of innocent lives hanging in the balance. The ship is set to return to Earth, but with a deadly cargo that could cause it to crash land in the Middle East, resulting in an unimaginable disaster.

Caught in a web of deceit and danger, Terrence must navigate the treacherous path of duty, morality, and survival. With time running out, he is forced to make decisions that will not only determine his fate but that of humanity itself. Will he be able to thwart the impending catastrophe and reveal the truth to the world, or will he become another casualty in this deadly game of power and control?

To Preserve, Protect and Destroy is a thrilling exploration of space travel, the fragility of life, and the lengths one man will go to protect it. It is a testament to the human spirit’s resilience and the power of truth in the face of overwhelming odds. This gripping tale is sure to captivate fans of space exploration and those who relish in seeing the mighty fall. Prepare for a journey that will take you to the edge of your seat and beyond, as you delve into the heart-stopping world of To Preserve, Protect and Destroy.

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Enjoy This Peek Inside:

“Madame Speaker, the President of the United States.”

Having been formally introduced to this joint session of Congress, President William Dowd III made his way down the center aisle of the House of Representatives chamber. The stark blue carpet matched his eyes perfectly and complimented the expensive, custom tailored suit he wore. As he proceeded, he was inundated with hands to shake, all of which he ignored. The president’s face resembled that of a boxer preparing to defend his belt, focused solely on the fight he’d been training for. He wanted no distractions and his pace was nearly at a slow jog.

Passing the podium from which he’d speak, President Dowd made his way to the back of the ceremonial seating posts where he shook hands with his Vice President and the Speaker of the House. He then headed back to his podium, stood and waited for the applause from half the audience to quiet down.

“Madam Speaker. Mr. Vice President. Members of Congress, Madam Chief Justice, and associate Justices of the Supreme Court. I’m certain you are all well versed in the subject of World History, so I won’t presume to educate you on this particular topic. But please bear with me as I highlight the most important tenet of the Nazi party’s rise to power.”

The president, certain his speech’s opening was a shock to all, allowed the audience to murmur for a few seconds before proceeding. “In 1918, shortly after the end of World War I and the signing of the Treaty of Versailles, a man named Anton Drexler formed the foundation of what would come to be known as the Nazi party. His beliefs and philosophy centered around German nationalism. Nothing wrong with being a patriot, right? Unfortunately, for the nearly 84 million people who would lose their lives as a result of the Second World War, Drexler’s ideology was steeped in the blaming of anyone not belonging to the Aryan master race for every problem the German people encountered. And once Adolph Hitler, a gifted orator, joined forces with Drexler, it was only a matter of time before what started as a fledgling, some would say outlandish, concept began taking root with the German people and eventually garnered full fledged acceptance.

“It’s been many decades since the thankful end of World War II, the Holocaust, and the Nazi party. But has it been too long? Are we, as citizens of this great country, in danger of forgetting the atrocities committed by one man with a silver tongue? ‘Those who cannot remember the past are condemned to repeat it.’ George Santayana, a Spanish American philosopher spoke these words in 1905, more than a century ago… and they couldn’t be more applicable today. I received the video I am about to show not more than twenty four hours ago. It was captured by an agent who has been working undercover for several years amongst the terrorist organization ISIS in Iraq. I called together this joint session of Congress so that all of you could see first hand the danger posed by Abu al-Hussein, the newly crowned leader of this lawless organization, now that he has convinced Al-Qaeda and the Taliban to join forces with his in an effort to complete their Caliphate dream of uniting all Muslims around the world. The Muslim faith is one of honor and respectability, but al-Hussein and his newly formed regime have bastardized this proud religion, converting it into an organization replete with decadent thugs. Once the leader gets a taste of power, his appetite won’t be satisfied. And as has been too painfully recognized many times over in days gone by, once the mob mentality takes control, there is no way to stop it before the loss of too many lives.”

As President Dowd stepped away from the podium, the Vice President and Speaker of the House took the seats next to his in the front row. The lights slowly dimmed as a large projector screen was lowered. It reached its extent with a metallic thud, causing some in the silenced gallery to jump. And then the video began to play. Shot with a cell phone, the operator was close enough to the speaker for his words to be heard and the thousands upon thousands of mesmerized onlookers to be seen clearly. Though Arabic was the language used by al-Hussein, an English translation of his delivered message was displayed at the bottom of the screen.

It was clear from the way he spoke and the hand gestures used, that he had familiarized himself with Hitler’s greatest hits. Every statement flowed methodically and strong, and the pace with which he spoke was slow enough to ensure all listeners, no matter their learning level, could easily understand the points he was attempting to make. He used strategic pauses in order to keep his audience intrigued, and the expression on his face was one of genuine care for his people.

According to the translation, al-Hussein was bemoaning the loss of so many centuries stolen from them by infidels from foreign lands and the loss of life resulting from infighting amongst their own kind. He touted the new regime as having seen enough of their own blood, and that now was the time to band together in order to rebuff any opposition who tried standing in their way. Upon hearing these words, the crowd drew to a near frenzy of approval, and as al-Hussein saw this, he took a step back from the microphone so he could relish in his success.

The remainder of the footage resembled a political rally comprised of no opposition to the speaker being celebrated. Everything al-Hussein said was gladly accepted and then answered by thunderous waves of applause. He concluded his remarks by indicating this unification was only the beginning. That as one with Allah, they were capable of anything.

It was dead silent as the screen went dark and began rising back toward the ceiling. When the lighting brightened, and as the president walked back to the podium, he could see the challenged faces of all in the auditorium; some uncertain, some frightened, but most categorically mad.

“Though other world leaders have viewed this footage, none seem to have seen it with the concern that I… and you now have. They are considering al-Hussein with a lack of concern as did President Roosevelt, Prime Minister Neville Chamberlain, and President Lebrun of France with Hitler. The difference, of course, being that the three men I just named had no reason to believe the worst could happen. Now that we have seen the possibilities, it would be irresponsible of us not to act. And since we, the United States of America, remain the greatest country ever created by God, the responsibility falls upon our shoulders.”

The president received a standing ovation, and allowed it to persist a bit longer before furthering his thoughts aloud. “Of course, I’m not asking for a declaration of war. There are those in Iraq as well as other countries in the Middle East who deplore the movement which has begun gaining footage. My recommendation is to send in a single battalion of highly trained soldiers who will train the young men and women of these countries how to fight for what they believe in; a democratic way of life where you’re not told how to dress or whether or not you can hold a job other than raising children and bowing to your spouse’s every whim.”

The round of applause President Dowd earned following that statement was similar to the one al-Hussein received, the only difference being that no one in the House of Representatives chamber fired off their guns in celebration.

“Let me be clear. Our soldiers will be nowhere near the front line. In fact, they will be safely back home long before any aggression takes place. I simply ask you all to consider the potential ramifications of allowing al-Hussein’s movement to swell, and to remember the mistakes made in the past that took so many lives. God bless you, and God bless America.”

On his journey back up the center aisle, President Dowd’s pace was much slower. He shook every hand thrust his way and showed genuine appreciation for the verbal bi-partisan support he received. But in the quiet space of his own mind, he wondered how long it would take these people to realize they’d just been duped, or if they ever would.

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MY REVIEW

Do I think we’ll ever set foot on Mars? Yes. But not for a long time. There’s too much still to learn about traveling such a long distance. Do I think once we do go there it will be exploited? Yes. There’s always those who hunger for power and wealth waiting for a new way to get it.

To Preserve, Protect And Destroy. Such an apt title. Something is discovered on Mars. People are sent to retrieve it. Some want to study it. Some want to bury it. And some want to use it. There’s that saying…” just because you can doesn’t mean you should.”

I was pulled in right from the first couple of sentences. Those brief descriptions put me there. I learned what was on Mars. Thought about what it might mean and formed my own opinions. Shared the excitement, fears and desires along with the crew. And kept turning the pages. I needed, no, had to know what the outcome was.

As I neared the end of the book all I thought was, “there’s no place like home.” And I hoped the last few pages showed me it was still there.

I enjoy science fiction stories. Especially those that might be able to happen. Throw in characters I grow to care about and some bad guys I’d like to drop kick, and I’m a happy camper.

4 STARS

 

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Interview With Author Matthew D. Saeman

On writing:

 

How did you do research for your book?

The majority of the research I did was from the Geological perspective since I knew very little about that branch of science. That information was readily available online, as was everything I needed regarding NASA, the White House, and the President.

 

Which was the hardest character to write? The easiest?

The hardest character to write was President Dowd since I’ve never met a U.S. president, especially one of his ilk. The easiest was Terrence Sullivan since I based most of his emotions after my own.

 

Where do you get inspiration for your stories?

I keep an open mind, and when an idea pops into my head I ask myself two important questions: Has it already been done and would it be fun to write?

 

What advice would you give budding writers?

Since I still consider myself one, my advice is something I tell myself every day: Trust your gut and write stories YOU think would be fun to read.

 

Do you have another profession besides writing?

I teach High School Special Education.

 

How long have you been writing?

As far as novels, only six or seven years. Prior to that I wrote screenplays and short stories.

 

Do you ever get writer’s block? What helps you overcome it?

I don’t believe in “writer’s block.” The only times I have difficulty progressing with a story are when the story has a fundamental flaw that must be fixed. Once it is, the “block” goes away.

 

What is your next project?

I have a friend who fell while rock climbing. She’s kind enough to allow me to use her experience in the story I’ll write… though I have no idea what that’ll be yet.

 

What genre do you write and why?

The majority of the stories I write are Suspense/Thrillers, mostly because there are so many fun ways to tell interesting stories in that genre.

 

What is the last great book you’ve read?

Legion by William Peter Blatty.

 

What were the biggest rewards and challenges with writing your book?

The biggest reward was finishing it, the biggest challenge was having the patience not to start writing before the outline was solid.

 

Which authors inspired you to write?

Gordon McAlpine was a friend who inspired me to do what I love.

 

 

 

On rituals:

 

Where do you write?

Resting comfortably on my couch.

 

Do you write every day?

If I’ve got a story that’s flowing well, I write every day. My goal is at least 1000 words a day.

 

In today’s tech savvy world, most writers use a computer or laptop. Have you ever written parts of your book on paper?

Never. I write on my phone, it feels more personal.

 

Fun stuff:

 

If you could go back in time, where would you go?

1700s USA. I’d love to see first hand how our founders worked together.

 

Favorite travel spot?

The Republic of Ireland

 

Favorite dessert?

Chocolate fudge cake… the richer the better.

 

What’s the funniest thing that ever happened to you? The scariest? The strangest?

The funniest was when I ordered a lamb stew that had a hoof in it, the scariest was when I almost accidentally dumped Ray Bradbury out of his wheelchair, and the strangest was hearing a cat crying outside our house that sounded like a small child.

 

Any hobbies? or Name a quirky thing you like to do.

No real hobbies, but when watching a TV show or movie, I enjoy checking my phone to see how tall the actors are.

 

If there is one thing you want readers to remember about you, what would it be?

I’m hysterically funny, despite what my wife and daughter would say.

 

What TV series are you currently binge watching?

I just finished Defending Jacob and am about to begin Billy the Kid.

 

What is your theme song?

“The Modern World” by The Jam

 

What song is currently playing on a loop in your head?

“22” by Taylor Swift. My daughter listens to her nonstop!

 

What is something that made you laugh recently?

A YouTube video where a guy is on the phone at work and his colleagues placed a tarantula on his shoulder. His reaction was priceless!

 

What is your go-to breakfast item?

An apple with reduced fat peanut butter.

 

What is the oldest item of clothing you own?

 A ratty t-shirt I refuse to throw away. It’s at least 20 years old.

 

Who was your childhood celebrity crush?

Kathy Coleman who played Holly Marshall on Land of the Lost (the TV show).

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Guest Post

I’m fascinated that EVERYONE doesn’t love to write. The thought of crafting a story from scratch, developing the characters and plot in whatever form of outline works best, then writing one chapter after another until the book is finished makes me giddy! Being a High School teacher, it’s rare for students not to ask “How many sentences do we have to write?” when I give them a writing assignment. They make it sound as if the process were the equivalent of a root canal with no novocain, which is why I do my best to make it as interesting as possible. I first tell them there are NO wrong answers. I compare writing to painting, explaining that every artist sees things in their own way, then showing them how I do it and how much fun it can be. Does this procedure work with every student? Absolutely not. But it does allow their minds to open up just enough to get the work done, and for some, exposes a love for the written word they never knew they had.

In sixth grade, my teacher asked us to write a Halloween story. To this day, I still remember how cathartic it felt to craft that one page piece. It’s something inside that can’t be defined but it truly exists. I do believe all of us possess this creative gift, yet most choose to ignore it. To each their own. I love writing. Not a day goes by that I don’t think of either the story I’m currently working on or the one I’d like to write next. I’m a dedicated soul, an attribute passed down from my parents. When I begin a project, no matter what kind, I finish it. When it comes to writing stories, completing them provides a sensation of pride from which I derive my optimistic outlook on life. I’m thankful every day that I’ve chosen this facet as my creative outlet, if for no other reason than it allows me an internal peace which, in these crazy times, seems so hard to come by for too many.

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About Author Matthew D. Saeman:

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Matthew D. Saeman, a native of Orange County, CA, is a distinguished graduate of Cal State Fullerton. He has dedicated his life to shaping young minds as a Special Education teacher in San Diego. His personal life is as fulfilling as his professional one, being a loving husband and a doting father to one child. A proud owner of a Great Dane, Matthew’s life is a blend of compassion and commitment.

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Author Marketing Experts tags for social media: Instagram / Twitter

Purchase Links: Amazon / Goodreads

 

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For a list of my reviews go HERE.

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Killer Weed by Manning Wolfe ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: August 6, 2024 in giveaways, reviews, thriller
Tags: , ,
2
KILLER WEED
by Manning Wolfe
July 29 – August 16, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

 

 

Synopsis:
Merit Bridges Legal Thrillers

 

GET READY FOR A LEGAL SHOWDOWN, LIKE NO OTHER, IN MANNING WOLFE’S GRIPPING THRILLER, KILLER WEED!

Austin attorney, Merit Bridges, steps up to defend a client whose twin sons are targeted in a fiery attack on a lucrative medical marijuana field. Once again, Merit is thrust into a dangerous game of deception with a corporate giant pulling strings. With their ruthless hired gun, Raiden Prince, eliminating obstacles with chilling precision, Merit finds herself in a high stakes battle for justice. As Merit thwarts the ambitions of the dangerous corporation, Prince turns his sights on her. With his mastery of disguise, he lurks in the shadows. But Merit, her clients, and her trusted team aren’t going down without a fight. Can Merit navigate a labyrinth of legal issues, protect her client, and survive Raiden Prince? Prepare for a twisty confrontation that no one can see coming. From award winning author Manning Wolfe comes the fifth installment in the electrifying Merit Bridges Legal Thrillers. Can be read in any order. DIVE IN TODAY! Killer Weed will keep you on the edge of your seat!

 

Book Details:

Genre: Legal Thriller

Published by: Starpath Books Publication Date: July 25, 2024 Series: Merit Bridges Legal Thriller, Book Five

Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

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MY REVIEW

Sometimes, not often, I come across a book that bogs down when going into detail about how something works. Not so with this book. I found it amazing. Never knew how difficult it was to legally farm pot. The author did her research. She shared the ins and outs of the legal hemp and marijuana business. For those who manage to get one of the licenses to grow pot, there are so many hoops to jump through. So much red tape. That’s where the politicians and lawyers play a huge part. They navigate through the confusion, making sure the players are on the up and up.

The illegal pot business is dangerous. So is the legal one. It’s a business that brings in billions. For some, they would do anything to get a piece of that pie. From threats to sabotaging the crops, to arson and even murder.  Killer Weed indeed. It’s a fast paced thriller with some characters that you’ll love and some that you’ll want to…. well, erase from the picture. This is my first dive into the series and now I want more.

4 STARS

 

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Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1
Raiden Prince prowled the field on foot, a solitary figure moving purposefully in the dark through the field of tall green leafy stalks. The summer night wrapped around him like a shroud, making his eyes appear as black as pools of Texas crude oil and concealing his clandestine mission. In the velvet light, only the shape of the vegetation was visible, but the outline of the three-pronged leaves was unmistakable. He threw gasoline from a red gas can onto the field of hemp, backing up as he worked, so as not to soak his jeans or work boots with the flammable liquid. He returned the red can to the bed of his pickup, retrieved another gas can and moved to the opposite side of the field. There, he emptied the flammable liquid onto a greenhouse made of a steel frame and plastic sheeting, filled with high grade medical marijuana plants, some labeled Peanut Butter Breath, and others Blue Dream. The silence of the night was broken only by the rhythmic chirping of dog-day cicadas, and Prince’s off-key rendition of Red Headed Stranger. He did his best Willie Nelson imitation in his practiced backwoods Texas accent. He mimicked the elastic voices, that he’d heard most Texans use, by eliding certain syllables. All the vowels were stretched out in the middle of each word, and the end of them clipped, especially ones ending in ing. The music was just to set the mood for the evening’s tasks. He preferred rap. After he’d soaked the greenhouse, Prince backed toward the two lane county road as he threw the last of the gasoline. He then moved out of the field, onto the caliche roadbed, where he walked back to his old rusty pickup truck and placed the second gas can in the bed beside the first. # Brad and Thad Lane, each on an ATV with custom paint jobs and extra-large wheels, cut across the pasture from their picturesque home on the hill above the expansive farm owned by the Lane family. They often rode late at night when they could sneak out without waking their mother, Gladys. She was a heavy sleeper, as the pure of heart often are, but she was still a protective mother and didn’t like the twins roaming the acreage in the dark. Brad, the larger of the two, now shirtless, and already tan, played defensive end on the local high school football team, the Giddings Buffaloes. Thad, three minutes younger, wearing a white wife-beater undershirt, played tight end and was the more talented of the two. He was often compared to Travis Kelce because he was fast and often carried the ball in for the team’s touchdowns under Friday night lights, a Texas passion. Riding around the family farm was not an issue for the seventeen-year-olds, even at night. They knew every inch of the family property, as they’d been using it as their personal playground since they could walk. They had certain hiding places for their special crops. Not marijuana, there was plenty of that. Their secret was growing small patches of maize or clover near their bird blinds so they could enjoy a good season of dove hunting in the fall. It was called baiting, and was illegal, but this was their land, and they didn’t follow many rules once they entered the gate to the property they called home. The twins cut low into a narrow creek bed caused by hundreds of years of rain runoff, then peaked again at the top of a low mound overlooking the growing fields. From their vantage point atop the rise, Brad spied a solitary figure below, near the county road, his movements casting eerie shadows against the moonlit landscape. Brad’s brow furrowed in confusion as he pointed out the intruder to his brother. “Who is that?” Thad’s eyes narrowed as he squinted into the darkness, his instincts going on high alert. “Don’t think I know him. What the hell is he doing?” They watched the intruder move further onto the country road, then recede, taking a squarish object that appear to be a gas can with him. The man placed the can in the back of a pickup and returned to the edge of the field. He pulled a lighter from his pocket and just as he was about to thumb the heel, the twins came tearing down the rise, bearing down on the intruder on their ATV’s, while shouting obscenities. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” “This is private property, Asshole.” At that moment, Prince thumbed the wheel, sparking the flint, and tossed the flaming Zippo, lighting up the edge of the field. The fire caught and expanded flaring toward the twins. They zigged and zagged, skirting the field and avoiding the flames by driving through a wet creek at the edge of the heat. Marijuana smoke puffed out of the burning field and then the greenhouse, the plants expelling gases that smelled sweet and exotic. Prince moved back toward his pickup, placing his right hand in his pocket and grabbing his keys to expedite his exit. He moved quickly, but the twins were quicker. Thad bounded his ATV up out of the creek bed and headed straight for Prince. Thad knocked Prince down with the front bumper, and Brad came charging up behind Thad. Prince pulled himself up, dropping his truck keys in the onslaught, and picked up a large limb that had fallen from a nearby oak. He swung it over and caught Brad across the chest with the heavy weapon before Brad could come to a complete halt, knocking him from the ATV. The machine continued into the roadbed and across to the neighboring fence, where it was caught by barbed wire and abruptly died. Thad did a wheelie in the road, turned back, stopped his ATV, and jumped off to help his brother. While he was bending over Brad, Prince came up behind him and slammed the same offending tree limb into the back of Thad’s head, knocking him out cold. Prince went down again as his right leg gave way from the injury caused by Brad’s ATV. Prince got up, limped nearer to the twins, and hit them again, although they were both already unconscious. “Stay down.” Prince sat down on a nearby rock outcropping to catch his breath and assess the situation. The fire popped and flared as he watched and listened for fire trucks that might have been dispatched. The two young men had seen his face and his truck. He could not risk their exposing him or his employer to scrutiny. Feeling the urgency to leave the scene of his crime, he made a decision. He limped back over to the bodies and dragged each twin in turn to the edge of the flames, leaving first Brad, and then Thad to be consumed by the fire. Prince then returned to his truck, but when he put his hand in his pocket to fetch his keys, there was nothing there. It was only then that he remembered dropping them when the first boy’s ATV had taken him down. He limped back to the area where he had been hit and searched the leaves, grass, and waning Bluebonnets with the flashlight on his phone. His search was in vain, and when he heard the siren of an approaching fire truck, and the grinding sound of another ATV coming closer from the direction of the farmhouse, he jumped into his truck and jerked the wires from beneath the dashboard. He hot-wired the engine, and it sparked and sputtered to a start. Prince threw gravel on his exit from the roadside and headed down the county road, leaving a trail of white caliche dust to mingle with the smoke from the burning field. *** Excerpt from Killer Weed by Manning Wolfe. Copyright 2024 by Manning Wolfe. Reproduced with permission from Manning Wolfe. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Manning Wolfe:

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Manning Wolfe

MANNING WOLFE, an award-winning author and attorney residing in Austin, Texas, writes cinematic-style, smart, fast-paced thrillers and crime fiction. Manning was recently featured on Oxygen TV’s: Accident, Suicide, or Murder. * Manning’s legal thriller series features Austin attorney Merit Bridges, including Dollar Signs, Music Notes, Green Fees, and Chinese Wall. * Manning’s new Proxy Legal Thriller Series features Houston attorney Quinton Bell and includes: Dead By Proxy, Hunted By Proxy, and Alive By Proxy. * Manning is co-author of Killer Set: Drop the Mic, and twelve additional Bullet Book Speed Reads. As a graduate of Rice University and the University of Texas School of Law, Manning’s experience has given her a voyeur’s peek into some shady characters’ lives and a front-row seat to watch the good people who stand against them.

Catch Up With Manning Wolfe: ManningWolfe.com Goodreads BookBub – @ManningWolfe Instagram – @manningwolfe TikTok – @manningwolfe Pinterest – @manningwolfe Twitter/X – @ManningWolfe Facebook – @manning.wolfe

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway!  

 

Join In for YOUR Chance to WIN:

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

 

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

Ralph & Murray by Rick Glaze ~ Guest Post And My Review

Posted: August 1, 2024 in Children's books, Excerpt, Guest Post, reviews
Tags: , ,
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Ralph & Murray

by Rick Glaze

 

 

Synopsis (from Amazon):

In the quaint backdrop of a small southern town, circa 1959, an extraordinary tale unfolds through the charming narration of an unlikely storyteller – Ralph, a spirited four-legged companion with a knack for punchy humor.

Amidst a world where most dogs merely wag their tails and feline neighbors purr quietly, Ralph and his witty counterpart, Murray, emerge as remarkable exceptions, gifted with extraordinary abilities.

As they traverse the idyllic landscapes of their hometown, encountering ghosts, hobos, and even the iconic twist dance craze spearheaded by Chubby Checker himself, Ralph and Murray’s adventures take on a whimsical, yet deeply resonant quality.

Through their escapades, readers are treated to a delightful journey brimming with empathy, kindness, and compassion, serving as a poignant reminder of the power of standing up for others.

From unraveling the mysteries of why pencils have erasers to discovering who might have alligators for lunch, Ralph and Murray weave a tapestry of nostalgia from a bygone era with heartwarming humor and infectious charm.

Readers of all ages are invited to immerse themselves in a world where the bonds of friendship and the beauty of diversity reign supreme, leaving behind a trail of laughter, wisdom, and unforgettable memories.

~~~~~

Enjoy this peek inside:

Chapter 1 

 

After the car ride across town when they first brought me home, my stomach was rumbling around, and I upchucked on the kitchen floor. That’s when they  named me Ralph. It’s an average name for a dog. Especially suited for a pound puppy with short, white hair from the neck down, black and brown fur on my head distributed judiciously, lanky legs not quite eight inches long, and a nondescript tail wagging most of the time. I lie around the house and yard like dogs tend to do, waiting on some action from the people around here.

A cat started wandering over my fence and I raced out and pretended to catch him in my lockjaw fangs and tear him to shreds. Actually, it’s Murray next door and if he didn’t show up occasion- ally, it would be even more boring when the kids are off at school. So, I race out to intercept him, he screeches and arches his back and pretends he’s a vicious lion, and king of the fence. We have a Mexican standoff for a minute from his perch on top of the fence; then he jumps back to his yard and I go back to the shade of my patio. It breaks up the afternoon, what can I say?

Like most Americans, I don’t have a notable pedigree. And no, I don’t try to fabricate  the pedigree thing by showing off “designer” labels. Well, I actually don’t wear  labels. But if I had a well-placed blush of color across my back, I might have a  pedigree…at least for some folks. It’s a fun game, but actually I have more fun with  the Murray thing.

When I joined the family, Tommy was eleven, and Ricky was nine. I was almost six  months old and didn’t know much about a dog’s life or how people acted, but I  started watching everything. I noticed there was a hierarchy in the family, a kind of  pecking order, and it adjusted itself depending on who was in the house. For  example, when Dad was home, there was an unwritten deferral to him as the top dog, no pun intended. Mom was the default when Dad was on a trip, and when in  their rooms, big brother Tommy was the alpha, leaving Ricky on the bottom  rung…except for me, but I’m just a dog.

So telling a story from a dog’s perspective, you’d think it would be pretty limited. After all, I can’t speak, and I don’t have a place at the supper table to talk over the

day’s events, and all that sort of thing. But two things happened that changed all  that.

One April afternoon when the springtime sun was breaking through a cloudy gloom,  and drying the winter-soaked yard, I was making a security check around the  periphery of the back fence. I turned the corner and looked up to see Murray sitting  leisurely on a cross beam at the top. He was sprawled out so his red-white-and touches-of-black coat caught the waning sunlight in an almost shiny glisten. While  standing there motionless dismissing my gut reaction to defend the sanctity of my  turf, a small, quiet voice spoke into my ear. “How’s it going today, buddy?” I tilted my  head at this strange sound while I looked up at Murray. His mouth was stretched out  in a big grin and it looked like he actually winked at me. Bewildered, my head turned  back the other way. “It’s okay, you can do this,” the voice whispered. Looking back to Murray, I thought, “Are you talking to me?” “Yes, and it’s okay,” the voice said.

Over time, Murray showed me how to listen to everything around me including, and  most intriguingly, people. When he climbs to the top of the fence, I still run out as if  tearing him to pieces, because we both like doing it. But the world changed, and a lot  of the things that happen are no longer a mystery.

Okay, as if that’s not enough. In the evenings after dinner, the boys go to their rooms  and do homework. As I had no homework of my own to do, I broke up the boredom by shuttling back and forth between the two bedrooms. Snuggling into Tom’s bedspread, I watched him stare at books and quietly turn the pages, sometimes fast and other times deliberate, while writing on an adjacent pad. Watching Ricky was a different experience, and led to the second life-changing event. For one, he usually sat on the bed with a couple of pillows behind his back. Sometimes he had a pad of  paper out, but other times he leafed through books with a steady even pace, and  then I noticed the thing that was the defining moment. He was moving his lips as he read, literally mouthing the words. And get this, about half the time he actually whispered each word as he read…so low that people didn’t notice, but I have better hearing than people. After a while I found a position to sit where I could watch the page while hearing the words. Now sit down and take a deep breath, because what  I’m about to tell you is hard to swallow. Ready? Okay, here goes. Under this strange confluence of circumstances, I taught myself to read. Okay, I know. Believe me I get  it. I’m a dog. Dogs can be very smart, and some can think and even outwit their masters. But read?

Well, let it settle in for a bit while I tell you some stories of growing up in this small  Southern town.

~~~~~

MY REVIEW

Try to imagine navigating the world through the eyes and ears of a dog or a cat. You can enjoy that experience with Ralph and Murray. From grasping our language to learning how to read, their adventures are a delight to experience. Murray takes the young dog, Ralph, under his wing and guides him with a grudging tolerance that becomes a true friendship.

As people, we tend to give our beloved creatures human characteristics. It’s called anthropomorphism. What makes this such an enchanting, fun story is how the author makes me see the world as Murray, a cat, and Ralph, a dog. I walk in their shoes, or I should say paws. What fun.

4 STARS

~~~~~

Guest Post

How Ralph & Murray Came to Be

 

Ralph & Murray is a pandemic book. Yes, it was easy to find time to write while literally everything was shut down. But, as I’ve heard from writers and others, the whole uncertainty and anxiety of this unknown event took a toll on mental space. I’m grateful that a lighthearted book was on my agenda. Ralph and I shared serious chuckles writing it.

 

I had planned a memoir incorporating growing up in a small southern town in the 1950s, leading later to the abrupt changes and unhinged people I encountered in Silicon Valley. It had some nice twists to it. The California segment was planned to be live interviews with a group of disparate characters that I was hoping to be quite juicy. Sounds kind of fun, right?

 

Okay. Maybe you’re guessing what happened. My March 8, 2020 flight to Silicon Valley was postponed for a week or two until this little virus thing blew over. Instead, it blew under the rug, under the sheets, and stole all the toilet paper.

 

The interview format was going to be a stretch for me in the first place, because it was a new approach. So, with no visits to the west coast and no interviews, I was relieved to enlist Ralph, my dog, to tell this story. I gave serious thought to the format, because I had some concern that there was little in the way of a fixed plot running through the various vignettes.

 

One of the most popular contemporary memoirs was a favorite of mine, and this was a perfect time to re-read Tuesdays With Morrie, a deeply touching and intimate story where the only plot was that the story took place every Tuesday. Like with every book, I was worried whether or not the book would find an audience. Ralph and his zany buddy, Murray saved the day, and as you can tell there is overwhelming, laugh-out-loud interest.

 

During the writing, there is a chance if you were around me and had something whacky or offbeat going on, you got a little ink or maybe your own chapter. For example, I escaped to Florida for a week and visited the Everglades. The fan boats skidded across the swamp and the guide explained details of the food chain, as in the adult racoons eat the baby alligators and the adult reptiles eat the racoons. As you may know, Murray chewed this one up in the chapter called, “The Big Ones Eat the Little Ones.” Thank you, Murray!

 

Now a confession. When Ralph is reading the letters from Uncle Art, it may be pure plagiarism. Is it stealing if I wrote in a different format? I hope not. A couple of these came from my previous weekly column in Silicon Valley, The Uncle Art of Investing. I’m not surprised these short, whacky pieces made it into the book. But I am surprised they made it into the newspaper in the first place.

 

There is a grain of truth in most of the vignettes in the book, even though the dog and cat mix things up a bit. That is, except for Zeke, down by the creek. I created Zeke so he could wind through some stories and places that the dog, cat, and the kids couldn’t go. In the end this is my memoir, even though I recruited Ralph and Murray to do the heavy lifting, so the last chapter finishes on a nostalgic note, which makes me feel just fine.

~~~~~

Interview With Author Rick Glaze

On writing:

 

How did you do research for your book?

I did research during the pandemic by inviting my friend Buddy to reminisce about those times and our adventures when we were ten years old. Also, I took the short drive from Nashville to my hometown, where the book is set. I drove around and walked around the neighborhoods. I stopped frequently in front of my childhood home and studied the whole place letting my imagination run free.

 

In your book you make a reference to Zeke, the neighborhood character. How did you come up with this idea?

We were small-town kids and didn’t know much about the outside world. Zeke purported to have traveled the world and didn’t mind telling stories about exciting places and things he’d done…even if he made up most of them. His stories opened their world up to many possibilities.

 

Where do you get inspiration for your stories?

I listen a lot looking for twists and turns in people’s lives that might make a story. I also try to frequently read both fiction and non-fiction. I generally latch onto a big story idea and then watch and open up to elements that fit. For example, with Ralph & Murray, I toured the Everglades while writing it, and came back with a really fun twist on “who eats alligators for lunch.”

 

There are many books out there that are memoirs or about dogs. What makes yours different?

This book is a memoir about my growing up in a small southern town in the late 1950’s, but the narrator is two-feet high and walks on all fours. How could you not be Laugh-Out-Loud funny with that?

 

What advice would you give budding writers?

ABCD. Apply butt to chair daily. Okay…and get some training so you have a baseline to work from.

 

Your book is set in Murfreesboro, Tennessee. Have you ever been there?

I was born there.

 

Do you have another profession besides writing?

I retired from a business career.

 

How long have you been writing?

I started writing a weekly business column for a local newspaper in California around 1995, but didn’t try fiction until I was in classes at Stanford University in 2006.

 

Do you ever get writer’s block? What helps you overcome it?

Writer’s block is just losing focus. I try to turn the anxiety and frustrations of the moment into great scenes or dialogue. I stand back and embrace the feelings, and learn not to let these emotions slip away unused. I try to not think about myself too much.

 

What is your next project?

We are editing Book two in the Pieces of Eight series called Eight Pieces of Eight. A new dog and cat book is on the drawing board called Ralph & Murray: The Parrot, the Poison, and the Ghost.

 

What is a favorite compliment you have received on your writing?

One reader said, “I had to leave the room, I was laughing so hard.”

 

If your book were made into a movie, what songs would be on the soundtrack?

I expect that I’ll write them.

 

Which authors inspired you to write?

My favorite writer is Jack London.

 

Where do you write?

I write in my home office.

 

Do you write every day?

When in the middle of a manuscript, I try to write 5 or 6 days a week for a few hours.

 

Fun stuff:

 

If there is one thing you want readers to remember about you, what would it be?

He is really good looking and he’s nice to dogs. But seriously, I like to paint word pictures for the reader. I like my characters to show their feelings and be relatable to readers. I want readers to be intrigued by the story and the plot.

 

What is something you’ve learned about yourself during the pandemic?

It’s okay to be alone!!

 

What is your theme song? 

I wrote a song called, “Nickel Beer.” It’s on Spotify, iTunes, and you’ll be glad you listened to it.

 

What song is currently playing on a loop in your head? 

I wrote a song for Ralph to sing about the mom of the house called “Looking After Me.” The recording is almost finished, but I haven’t released it, and it’s rolling around my head.

 

What is your go-to breakfast item?

I usually have Greek Yogurt, blueberries, granola and bacon on the side.

 

Tell us about your longest friendship.

My longest friendship is made clear in the pages of Ralph & Murray. He’s Buddy in the book.

 

Who was your childhood celebrity crush?

I wanted to be Elvis.

~~~~~

About Author Rick Glaze:

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Rick Glaze published the kayaking adventure, The Purple River in 2021, Spanish Pieces of Eight, a sailing adventure/mystery, and Jackass: Short Story Collection in 2022. He was a Columnist at San Francisco’s Nob Hill Gazette, attended the Stanford University Creative Writing Program, and is a graduate of Peabody College, Vanderbilt University, and MTSU.

He is an award-winning songwriter with two CDs, a Pandora radio station, credits on Country Music Television (CMT), BBC Radio, as well as radio airplay. Rick has rafted the Grand Canyon, the Salmon and Rogue Rivers as well as sailed throughout the Caribbean Sea.

 

Author Links: Website / Facebook / Twitter/X / Instagram

Author Marketing Experts tags for social media:

Twitter / Instagram

 

Purchase Links: Amazon / Goodreads

Praise:

“”Rick Glaze does an amazing job of sharing what life was like in the 50s and 60s through the perspective of a dog and it makes for a hilarious and unique book.”

— Red Headed Book Lover Blog

 

“Ralph & Murray is a delightful journey into nostalgia that will resonate with readers of all ages, making it a perfect shared experience for the entire family.”

— Going Dad Blog

 

“A funny, smartly observant, and philosophical animal tale; a heartwarming read.”

— Kirkus Reviews (starred review)

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Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

Cabaret Macabre by Tom Mead ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: July 31, 2024 in giveaways, Mystery, reviews
Tags: , ,
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I am thrilled to be hosting a spot on the CABARET MACABRE by Tom
Mead Blog Tour hosted by Rockstar Book Tours.

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Check out my review and make sure to enter the giveaway!

 

CABARET MACABRE: A Locked-Room Mystery
(Joseph Spector Series)

Author: Tom Mead

 

 

Pub. Date: July 16, 2024

Publisher: Mysterious Press

Formats: Hardcover, eBook, Audiobook

Pages: 320

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Find it: Goodreads, https://books2read.com/CABARET-MACABRE 

 

This latest puzzle mystery from the author of Death and the
Conjuror and The Murder Wheel takes stage magician
sleuth Joseph Spector to a grand estate in the English countryside.

.

Victor Silvius has spent nine years as an inmate at The Grange, a private
sanatorium, for the crime of attacking judge Sir Giles Drury. Now, the judge’s
wife, Lady Elspeth Drury, believes that Silvius is the one responsible for a
series of threatening letters her husband has recently received. Eager to avoid
the scandal that involving the local police would entail, Lady Elspeth seeks
out retired stage magician Joseph Spector, whose discreet involvement in a case
Sir Giles recently presided over greatly impressed her.

.

Meanwhile, Miss Caroline Silvius is disturbed after a recent visit to her
brother Victor, convinced that he isn’t safe at The Grange. Someone is trying
to kill him and she suspects the judge, who has already made Silvius’ life a
living hell, may be behind it. Caroline hires Inspector George Flint of
Scotland Yard to investigate.

.

The two cases collide at Marchbanks, the Drury family seat of over four
hundred years, where a series of unnerving events interrupt the peace and quiet
of the snowy countryside. A body is discovered in the middle of a frozen pond
without any means of getting there and a rifle is fired through a closed
window, killing a man but not breaking the glass. Only Spector and his mastery
of the art of misdirection can uncover the logical explanations for these
impossible crimes.

.

An atmospheric and puzzling traditional mystery that pays homage to the
greatest writers of the genre’s Golden Age, Cabaret Macabre is
the third book in Tom Mead’s Joseph Spector series, hailed by the Wall
Street Journal as “a recipe for pure nostalgic pleasure.” The books
can be enjoyed in any order.

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MY REVIEW

Dust off the old brain pan folks. This one will put it to the test. How does a man get shot to death in a locked room and there are no bullet holes in the windows? How does a body get in the middle of a frozen pond? See, I told you this would be a tough solve. I love it when it’s tough. Makes me wish I was Peter Falk’s character, Lt. Columbo. Remember that show. He knew who did it, how they did it and why from the first time he met the suspect. The fun was seeing how he figured it out and proved it.

The cast or characters couldn’t be more fascinating…. or different.  An inmate at an insane asylum. A judge and his wife. A retired stage magician. An inspector from Scotland Yard. They all brought something to the table.

And the author did his best to keep my thoughts spinning and leading me down the garden path to some dead ends. Gotta love it when you have no clue of the who and how and still derive so much pleasure in not knowing.

This is the third book in the series and didn’t require my having to read the first two. It read easily as a stand alone. But, I want more by this author and will be grabbing those too.

5 STARS

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Reviews:

.

“Ingenious . . . Mead hides all
the clues in plain sight, constructing a fair-play puzzle that will delight and
challenge readers who love pitting their own wits against the author’s. It’s
another crackerjack entry in an exceptional series.”― Publishers
Weekly STARRED REVIEW

.

“Mind-bogglingly complex . . . A lovely valentine to Mead’s idol, John
Dickson Carr, and even more to Clayton Rawson’s tales of The Great
Merlini.”― Kirkus

 

 

Enjoy this peek inside:

.

Bit by bit, Joseph Spector’s
world was shrinking. He was an old man now; his friends were dying off one by
one; his legs and back ached. A new decade―the 1940s―was scarcely a year away,
but to Spector this felt less like a new beginning than an eked-out ending.

.

However, time had left two
of Spector’s attributes mercifully unharmed. The first was his mind, which was
as quick and devilishly brilliant as ever. The second was his hands, which had
lost none of their spindly dexterity. In the distant past he had been a music
hall conjuror, and he still dressed like one in a suit of black velvet, with a
cloak lined in red silk. He brought a touch of old-world flamboyance into the
murky 20th century; he walked with a silver-tipped cane and dabbled in the
occult. He was out of step with his era, and yet he was an indelible product of
it; an embodiment of the baroque, the Grand Guignol.

.

Spector was on his way back
from a meeting of the London Occult Practice Collective when he first realised
someone was following him. The meeting had been out in Greenwich. It was a
pleasant trip with good food, good conversation, and one or two amusing tricks
into the bargain. Spector waited for the train back into the City feeling fat
and happy. But as he perched on one of the metal benches which lined the
platform, he felt eyes on him.

.

It was mid-afternoon, and
already dusk was closing in. The platform’s overhead lamps flickered to life
and clutches of travellers chatted, smoked and stamped their feet to stave off
the chill. Spector sat motionless with his bare fingers twined around the
handle of his cane.

.

Once he realised he was
under scrutiny, he waited a moment or two to make sure it was not simply his
imagination, or a trick of the gathering dark. But it wasn’t. Somewhere among
the little clusters of waiting travellers, somebody was watching him. Very slowly,
Spector turned, and with a sweeping glance took in the entire vista of the
platform. There were a few lone commuters, but only one viable suspect: a tall
man whose head was now hidden behind a three-day-old Herald. Spector studied
the man’s lower half, which was all that could be seen of him. Smart, tailored
trousers and impeccable patent leather shoes; a poor choice for this weather.
Whoever the man was, he was certainly no professional.

.

Soon enough, the train
arrived in a shriek of steam, and Spector smiled to himself as he boarded.

.

He disembarked at Paddington
and took a gentle amble through the crowds. He was in no rush to get back to
Putney. And once again, the eyes were on him. The man followed him along the
central concourse, past the various concession stands, as he threaded his way
through the bustle and toward the stone steps down into the Underground. Before
he began his descent, Spector cast a quick glance in the man’s direction, just
to check that he had not lost him.

.

He hadn’t. There the fellow
was, loitering in the shadow of a nearby pillar beneath the clock. Spector
headed down the steps, and the man followed.

.

His pursuer maintained a
careful distance on the Tube, but even though he frequently employed his
out-of-date newspaper, Spector got a good look at the man’s face. He was
younger than Spector had first thought, which went a considerable way toward
explaining these idiotic “Boy’s Own” antics. He had a merciless
Gwynplainian grin, but there was a vacancy in his eyes that told of both
ignorance and arrogance. He was convinced that he had the upper hand.

.

Stepping off the train at
Putney, Spector ascended the steps to street level and wondered briefly how
best to go about dealing with this fellow. There were two places in which he
was truly comfortable: the first was his home in Jubilee Court, a weird ramshackle
dwelling crammed with decades’ worth of macabre bric-a-brac. The second was the
nearby public house, The Black Pig; an ill-lit, low-ceilinged Elizabethan
tavern. To step through its door was to step back in time. Spector was as much
of a fixture there as the brass beer taps; it would not be the same without the
grey fug of his cigarillo smoke choking the atmosphere, or his skeletal,
cheerily funereal figure seated by the fire in the snug. From time to time he
gave impromptu displays of legerdemain: cardistry or coin manipulation to
bamboozle the regulars.

.

The Black Pig glowed warmly
at the other end of the street, its painted sign swinging in the icy breeze.
The young man halted. The magician had pulled off some kind of vanishing
act―the street was empty. The young man continued at a slower pace, his brow
creasing. He tilted his trilby back, as though he might find Joseph Spector
hiding behind the brim.

.

“What in the
hell―” he said, before his words were cut off by a sudden, sweeping motion
at his feet. The silver-tipped cane clipped his ankles and sent him sprawling,
his hat scudding off into the darkness.

.

The young man rolled onto
his back with a groan, and Joseph Spector towered over him. The old conjuror
smiled. “I don’t believe we’ve met.”

 

 

About Tom Mead:

.

 

Tom Mead is a Derbyshire mystery writer
and aficionado of Golden Age crime fiction. His debut novel, Death and
the Conjuror, was an international bestseller, nominated for several
awards, and named one of the best mysteries of the year by The Guardian and Publishers
Weekly. Its sequel, The Murder Wheel, was described as “pure
nostalgic pleasure” by the Wall Street Journal and “a delight”
by the Daily Mail. It was also named one of the Best Traditional
Mysteries of 2023 by CrimeReads. His third novel, Cabaret
Macabre, will be published in 2024.

Subscribe to Tom’s newsletter! Scroll to the bottom.

Website | Twitter | Facebook | Instagram | TikTok | Goodreads | Amazon | BookBub

 

Giveaway Details:

3 winners will receive a finished copy of CABARET MACABRE, US Only.

Ends August 6th, midnight EST.

.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

Tour Schedule:

Week One:

7/1/2024

Two Chicks on Books

Interview/IG Post

7/2/2024

Lady Hawkeye

Excerpt/IG Post

7/3/2024

Book Review Virginia Lee Blog

Excerpt/IG Post

7/4/2024

Daily
Waffle

Excerpt

7/5/2024

Writer of Wrongs

Excerpt

7/6/2024

@darkfantasyreviews

Excerpt

Week Two:

7/7/2024

@dreaminginpages

IG Review

7/8/2024

Brandi Danielle Davis

IG Review/TikTok Post

7/9/2024

Books and Zebras

IG Review

7/10/2024

@evergirl200

IG Review

7/11/2024

GryffindorBookishnerd

IG Review

7/12/2024

@katemageau

Review/IG Post

7/13/2024

Bookborne Hunter

Review/IG Post

Week Three:

7/14/2024

Lifestyle of Me

Review

7/15/2024

Fire
and Ice

Review/IG Post

7/16/2024

@jaimes_mystical_library

IG Post

7/17/2024

Edith’s Little Free Library

IG Review/LFL Drop Pic/TikTok Post

7/18/2024

Country Mamas With Kids

Review/IG Post

7/19/2024

Kim’s Book Reviews and Writing Aha’s

Review/IG Post

7/20/2024

The Momma Spot

Review/IG Post

Week Four:

7/21/2024

@lara.maynard

IG Review

7/22/2024

Dana Loves Books

Review/IG Post

7/23/2024

heyashleyyreads

IG Review/TikTok Post

7/24/2024

Deal sharing aunt

Review/IG Post

7/25/2024

One More Exclamation

Review/IG Post

7/26/2024

@amysbookshelf82

IG Review

7/27/2024

A Blue Box Full of Books

IG Review/LFL Drop Pic/TikTok Post

Week Five:

7/28/2024

@nolareads504

IG Post

7/29/2024

two
points of interest

Review

7/30/2024

More Books Please blog

Review/IG Post

7/31/2024

FUONLYKNEW

Review

 

~~~~~

Thanks so much for visiting fuonlyknew and Good Luck!

For a list of my reviews go HERE.

For a list of free eBooks updated daily go HERE

To see all of my giveaways go HERE.

Wormwood by D.H. Nevins ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: July 20, 2024 in Dystopian, Excerpt, Fantasy, giveaways, reviews
Tags: , , , ,
4

Wormwood

by D.H. Nevins

 

(Wormwood, #1)
Publication date: October 10th 2011
Genres: Adult, Dystopian, Fantasy, Romance, Young Adult

Angels. Demons. Love. Deceit.
“Nevins should be at the top of the New York Times Best-sellers List with this series.” – Amazon Reviewer

Tiamat and his brothers, a legion of one hundred half-angels, have orders to end all of humanity. Yet in a moment of weakness, Tiamat risks his life to rescue a hiker named Kali from the very destruction he initiated.
Kali, thrust from the surety of her world into the boundless hell of Tiamat’s, must try to find a way to survive on the Earth’s vast, devastated landscape. Plagued by a legion of Nephilim bent on sending her on, she is forced to trust Tiamat – the one being who could prove to be her greatest enemy.

“OMG … Fabulous. Unputdownable. 5 stars” – Fundinmental Reviews

“A new kind of tormented romance that is absolutely captivating.” – Carlyle Lasbuchane, USA Today bestselling author

Goodreads / Amazon

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MY REVIEW

The first chapter introduces you to Kali. She is a trail guide at Pinecrest National Park. A quiet hike up to her favorite spot, Lookout Peak, starts out normally enough, but a light breeze quickly becomes a tree snapping gale. The once clear skies have turned a heavy grey-black, the clouds tumbling over each other as they race towards her.

This would not be so bad if the woods had not suddenly gone silent. Not a sound could be heard. The winds had stopped and all was still. Not even a bird song was heard. Into this silence came a rumbling that turned into a roar. The ground began to vibrate under her feet and she could see something was coming. The trees started to shake and then to fall, the ground began to roll. Kali ran.

The earth twists and buckles as she tries to reach the safety of Lookout Peak.  Trees and shrubs reach out as if to grab her. She sees her goal and rushes forward. Stillness. All around her the earth is raging. Great rents appear, lava flows up from below, the skies open up and rain and hail lash down, but from her vantage point all she feels is a mild tremor under her feet. How can this be?

Kali wants to move out from under the overhanging rocks and edges around them to a clear space. The rocks could fall at any moment.  There is a campfire burning. She is not alone up here. A quick look around reveals a figure standing on the cliffs edge, his arms stretched out towards the devastation that is still raging below.

Tiamat.

I tell ya, I was not prepared for this.  I was exhausted from the tension I experienced following Kali’s mad dash to safety. My description is just a wee bit of what she goes through.

I am so excited just thinking about what I want to tell you. This happened and that happened! And what? I have never read a story quite like this. There is so much going on. The story raced to its conclusion, leaving me stunned.

At times I was scared. Other times I was so mad. And at one part, I realized I was crying, and it hurt.

D. H. Nevins has written a fantastic story of the end of the world and the last survivors. Perhaps this description is too simple, but I hesitate to tell much of the story. I want you to read it like I did. Unprepared and wide-eyed.  I want you to get to know each character and discover just what is really causing all the destruction.

I hope when you read Wormwood, you’ll tell me how it made you feel. Did you experience it like I did?

A huge Thank You to the author for an extremely well written story in which to immerse myself.

5 STARS

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EXCERPT:

I hastily threw the saddle on Hero and was up and riding before anyone in the group had a chance to ask me what was wrong. With my pulse thundering in my ears, I pushed the horse, leapt over crevasses and rode hard in a wide circle around the camp, scouring both sides of the stream and looking fiercely for anything that might indicate where my three friends had gone. But after a thorough, fruitless scout of the countryside, I began to slow my pace, the gravity of what may have transpired sinking in like a corrosive poison.

“Tiamat!” I screamed, my voice laced with venom. “What have you done with them? Where are they?” I turned the horse and scanned the gray skies but could see nothing. “Show yourself, you son-of-a-bitch!”

And he did.

Tiamat appeared as a speck on the western horizon. White wings spread out behind him, he grew larger by the second as he neared our location. And all around him, pacing his approach and stretching wide across the sky, rolled towering black clouds, thick and heavy with impending rain.

With my heart hammering in my chest, I kicked Hero into motion and raced back to the camp, watching Death approach on silent wings. He was incredibly fast—we reached the camp at almost the same moment—Tiamat, a vulture circling overhead while I thundered in on my horse.

There was a loud clang as the stew pot fell and splattered into the dirt. The group’s hunger was replaced by awe as they took in this supposed heavenly sign. They stood frozen, gawking at Tiamat in wonder and ignorance. Obviously unaware of the danger they faced, they looked expectantly at him, believing, perhaps, that mercy would come from above.

It did not. Like a warning, rain began to fall in a steady drizzle. It gathered and beaded on our upturned faces, and dripped from Tiamat’s wings and body as he circled overhead.

I watched him closely, my limbs shaking from anger and adrenalin. Keeping my eyes glued to his still passive movements, I slid from Hero’s saddle and scooped up the crossbow—Tiamat’s crossbow, actually. But while I loaded a bolt and cocked it, Tiamat matched my ante and calmly pulled out a knife. I was confused by this move at first. He could kill us in any number of ways; quickly and effortlessly. Why use a blade?

I moved to the center of the throng, trying to protect the others by maintaining a simple proximity to them. “Keep close to me,” I told them. “He’s come here to kill us.” A few of the group moved in toward me, but most looked at me like I was insane. Nellie and the tattered-looking business woman, whose name I had learned was Jennifer, actually stepped a few paces away, as if to show this celestial being they did not share my sentiment.

“Damn it,” I muttered under my breath. What was I to do? Did they think he was going to bless them with his knife? “If you want to slaughter them, you’ll have to kill me too!” I shouted at him. My hands shaking, I aimed the crossbow up into the drizzle.

Tiamat didn’t respond and made no move toward us, but instead brought the edge of the knife to his bared wrist. He held it there for a moment, appearing to exert pressure with the blade, and I lowered the crossbow in shock. “Tiamat, don’t…” I gasped.

With a swift, violent movement, he slashed his left wrist deeply and the blood pumped out like a river, running down his arm as he held his gashed limb above his head. Wasting no time, Tiamat flew straight up into the drizzling sky, gaining height at an incredible speed. Then he ceased flying and immediately began tumbling downward, plummeting as he deliberately smeared the blood from his wrist across the feathers of his right wing. At the last moment, he pulled out of the free fall and swooped above our heads, scattering bloody water droplets onto our upturned faces.

“Oh … oh shit!” I cried, realizing what he was doing. There was something with his blood … what was it about his blood? I raised the crossbow again, watching as he tightly bound his wounded left wrist while he circled us, flinging blood from his wings with every beat. I had to shoot him … I had to…

My hands were slippery on the crossbow and my eyes blurred with tears. With quick, angry swipes, I dragged my arm across my eyes to clear them, and tried to aim again. I had him in my sights; he was about to slice into his right wrist—all I had to do was pull the trigger. I could feel the tears running freely now as a sob escaped my throat. The crossbow shook, but I fought to hold it steady, and focused my aim on his chest, the only way I could be sure…

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About Author D.H. Nevins:

D.H. Nevins was born in Toronto and currently lives in a quiet area of Ontario, surrounded by forests and lakes. By day, she is a personable, friendly school teacher. By night, she silently chuckles as she writes about destroying the world. When she isn’t writing, she enjoys world travel, hiking, camping, flying around on her motorcycle or dabbling in live theatre.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram

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The Garden Girls by Jessica R. Patch ~ Review And Giveaway

Posted: July 15, 2024 in giveaways, reviews, thriller
Tags: , , ,
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The Garden Girls by Jessica R. Patch Banner

THE GARDEN GIRLS
by Jessica R. Patch

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June 24 – July 19, 2024 Virtual Book Tour
Synopsis:
FBI: Strange Crimes Unit

 

On a remote Outer Banks island, a serial killer collects his prized specimens. And to stop him, an FBI agent must confront his own twisted past.

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FBI agent Tiberius Granger has seen his share of darkness. But a new case sets him on edge. It’s not just the macabre way both victims—found posed in front of lighthouses—are tattooed with flowers that match their names. There’s also the unsettling connection to the woman Ty once loved and to the shadowy cult they both risked everything to escape. Bexley Hemmingway’s sister has gone missing, and she’ll do anything to find her—including teaming up with Ty. That may prove a mistake, and not just because Ty doesn’t know he’s the father of her teenaged son. It seems the killer is taunting Ty, drawing everyone close to him into deeper danger. As the slashing winds and rain of a deadly hurricane approach the coast of North Carolina, the search leads Ty and Bex to an island that hides a grisly secret. But in his quest for the truth, Ty has ignored the fact that this time, he’s not just the hunter. Every move has been orchestrated by a killer into a perfect storm of terror, and they will need all their skills to survive…

Praise for The Garden Girls:

“A perfect storm of thrilling suspense and intricate plot twists that will leave readers breathless!” ~ Nancy Mehl, author of the Ryland & St. Clair series “The Garden Girls by Jessica R. Patch is a hold-your-breath-and-pray novel full of suspense and unexpected twists. This gritty and compelling story is outstanding in every way. Highly recommended!” ~ Colleen Coble, USA Today bestselling author “In a word, WOW! The story caught me up and didn’t let go to the final page. Tight action, beautiful pacing. **Highly Recommended**” ~ Carrie Stuart Parks, best-selling, award-winning author “‘Riveting!’ Jessica R. Patch has created an immaculate psychological thriller that will leave the reader racing through the pages. Well-written characters and a plot that sizzles and crackles with danger made this story impossible for me to put down, and yet I didn’t want it to end. . .it’s that good. The Garden Girls will leave you breathless from the non-stop suspense filling the pages and wanting more from this amazing author” ~ USA Today Bestselling Author Mary Alford, author of Among the Innocent “Buckle your seatbelt! Jessica R. Patch is about to blow you off the road with The Garden Girls. The story will grab you on the first page and won’t let go until The End!” ~ Patricia Bradley, USA Today Best-Selling romantic suspense author of Counter Attack Book 1 in the Pearl River Series

 

Book Details:

Genre: Christian Psychological Thriller

Published by: Love Inspired Trade Publication Date: April 23, 2024 Number of Pages: 367 ISBN: 9781335463074 (ISBN10: 1335463070) Series: FBI: Strange Crimes Unit, Book 3 || Each is a Stand-Alone Novel

Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Harlequin | JessicaRPatch.com

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MY REVIEW

I’ve not read previous books in this series but The Garden Girls Was an easy stand alone read for me. The author filled in pertinent past events and personal history’s of her main characters. Ty Granger, an agent for the FBI’s Strange Crimes Unit which specializes in cases with religious elements, has lots of history. No stranger to how religion can be used for nefarious purposes as he was raised in a cult, Ty and his unit set off to the Outer Banks in North Carolina. Someone is murdering young women and posing their bodies at lighthouses. Each girl has tattoos she’d not had before being taken. One of the girl’s that’s missing is right out of his past. She escaped the cult but can she escape The Artist?

I’m a fan of psychological thrillers. I binge and re-watch tons of shows like Criminal Minds and lots of movies. And my book shelves are full of the genre. Give me a great teaser for an opening that sets the hook, which this author did, and I allow myself to be caught. Then, like a bloodhound, I’m on the scent, following the clues and trails given to me, but also letting my mind go off trail and pause to wonder what if this or what if that.

There are religious elements in the book too. It feels and flows naturally and the characters are more genuine because of it.

If you enjoy a complex psychological thriller that leaves you thinking about what you just read after finishing it, this is one I urge you to read.

4 STARS

 

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Enjoy this peek inside:
Prologue
Sharp claws scrape along my neck. Back and forth. Back and forth. Buzzing fills the room, and I strain to open my eyes but they’re like molasses, thick and sticky and slow-moving. My stomach jumps and the room shifts as my blurred vision registers red walls and coffee-colored concrete. I inhale a hint of bleach and incense with a spicy note as I shift to survey the rest of the room, but my muscles ripple like languid water. The air-conditioner kicks on, and the cold air raises chills across my naked body. I’m…naked. A fist squeezes my lungs as panic rips through my system. My memories are disjointed. Where am I? How did I arrive here? What is happening to me? What has already happened? Shoe soles click on the floor and silence my questions. I am not alone. Or…I wasn’t. The door closes with a quiet click. Get up. Move. Run! Gripping the sides of a massage table, I roll off, and my bare feet hit cool flooring. The walls close in and shift, and my stomach roils. Something is wrong. Off. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors cover an entire wall, and my breath catches as reality comes into view. Pink flower buds wend through a vine of black along my neck and upper back. Confusion clouds my senses, and I stand cemented in place gawking at the angry red skin, sore and tender and smeared with glossy petroleum jelly. A tight knot grows in my throat, and tears stab with heated force against the backs of my eyes. I have to get out of here. Behind me, I spot a twin bed with luxurious sheets and a thick white comforter as well as tattooing equipment. My hands tremble. Am I in a tattoo parlor? Why is a bed in here? Lying on the floor next to the bed is an old iron cuff attached to a thick, heavy chain that is anchored to the wall. Why is that in here and where are my clothes? I snatch the downy comforter and drape it over my exposed body. Run. Run. Run! I open the door but have no clue which way to go or where he is or how long until he finds and cuffs me to that bed. I’ve been trapped before at the hands of a vicious predator. Old memories surface and spur me across the carpeted flooring. The hall veers left. My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness as I flee to safety—no. To a dead end. Defeat leaches like muddy water into my soul, and my chest aches. The only choice is to turn around. But he’s in that direction. Sweat slicks down my temples and spine, springing up through my pores like an underground fountain as I return the way I came. I see what might be a crack in the wall. Light seeps in from the other side. As I approach, I discover it’s a door made to look like part of the wall. I swallow hard and guide my fingers along the smooth wood until I feel a lever. I push it and the door releases, but it takes some grit to open it enough for me to slide through. I expect some kind of lair or dungeon or God knows what—a wall with torture devices and cages—but it’s not. It’s a living room with wall-to-wall windows overlooking dark water. Where is he? I suck in a breath as creaking registers on the stairs. There’s nowhere to hide, and the comforter is bulky and will easily give me away. I have no option but to ditch it in the corner. I can’t dwell on modesty. Outside. I dart toward the sliding glass door, silently slide it open and slip out into the warm night air before scrambling to the edge of the balcony. I crouch to make myself small, like when I was a child and needed to obscure myself. Maybe he doesn’t realize I’m gone, but then it hits me. I didn’t shut the secret door concealing the other rooms. A sob bubbles to the surface as I shake uncontrollably like I’ve woken from anesthesia. The ground is far below me. I’d die or break my legs, maybe my spine. But I’d rather die than go back to that room. To that chain. To more tattoo needles. To him. I draw up my knees and wait, pray. Hope. When the door doesn’t open, I scoot across the deck, the raw wood digging into tender flesh, but I need to see if the coast is clear. What if he’s standing at the door, waiting? Watching? I hear something and freeze. One Mississippi. Two Mississippi…I count silently until I reach Twenty Mississippi and scoot again. I can’t be sure if he’s nearby. If he is, deep in the marrow of my bones, I know the kinds of things that await me. I know what evil men can do. I’ve seen it. Experienced it. Finally, I muster the courage to peep through the door. The room is empty and dimly lit from the one glowing lamp. I creep inside; my brain is fuzzy and spins. No footsteps. Only bulging shadows in the corners. I slither across the Berber carpet and inhale the newness. A set of stairs is on the other side of the open living concept. About ten feet of space isn’t occupied with furniture which means when I make a run for it, and he enters the room, I’ll have no cover. If he doesn’t and I make it downstairs, he could still be waiting for me. I try to form a defense plan, but my brain might as well be sludge. Making my move, more out of my flight response than logic, I army-crawl across the open space to the stairs. Two sets of six. I practically roll down the first set and pause. He’s not there at the small landing. Six more to go. This time I move slower, ignoring the adrenaline shouting sprint. I can’t. He could be waiting and I need to listen. One…two…three…four…five…six. I pause again at the bottom of the stairs. No light befriends me on the ground floor. Only darkness—and darkness is never a friend. Darkness is deceptive, offering false security. Nothing good transpires in darkness. It’s not a refuge to hide. But a place to be found. In the dark, I can’t see my predator, but I know he’s lurking. The door is five feet away to freedom, and I sprint for it. Hope blooms in my chest. I mutter a prayer as I run. Three feet left. Two. Thank God, I’m here. I twist the knob. It’s locked. A cry cracks loose inside me, but I hold it down and fumble with the dead bolt. Shuffling sounds across tile. Closer. Closer. I manage to turn the dead bolt and pull on the door, but it sticks. He’s coming. The clicks are methodic, slow and measured as if he’s in no hurry. Like he knows I can’t escape. It’s a game. Please. Please. Come on! The door opens and I slip out, forcing myself to stay calm in case my mind is playing tricks on me and it’s not him. This time, I make sure to close the door behind me. The air is balmy and the wind rustles through the grass. The briny sea air washes over my tongue and the marsh grass swishes as I dart down a private boardwalk that leads…I don’t know where. I only know to run and eat up the ground and create distance between me and the house of horror. Between me and him. Thick walls of clouds block the moonlight. A door slams. Then I hear something. Thwupt. Thwupt. Thwupt. He’s dragging something across the boardwalk. I dare not turn to look. He’s coming. Slow and methodical. Silent. Only the awful dragging noise. Nothing comes into view but marshland and water surrounded by clusters of trees. Alligators lie in wait. I can’t remember how I know this. There are snakes and snapping turtles too. But he’s behind me. Plopping noises in the water draw my attention, and I freeze. What is it? Will it approach me or prey on me if I enter too? I can’t risk staying on the boardwalk. I ease myself into the icy depths and it steals my breath. Slime oozes over my feet, and I sink into mire. Murky water reaches my waist, sending a shock along my abdomen, but I can’t gasp. Instead, I push through the grass and hope the stirring due to my movement won’t alert him of my location. Sharp twigs and rocks gouge into the bottom of my feet, and I crunch my bottom lip to keep from crying. Marsh grass appears soft at a glance, but it’s strong and sharp like knitting needles and stabs into my flesh and tender places where I’ve been tattooed in flowers. Ahead is a patch of dense trees that would conceal me even in daylight. A huge splash sends ripples only a few feet away, startling resting birds to flight. Now I know what’s been causing the dragging noise. A canoe. He’s cutting through the narrow channels and at an advantage. I can’t stop now. I push through the mud, which tries to hold me captive, and toward the dense thicket of trees. I finagle my way inside, but it’s like camping in a thorn bush, and nettles rip my flesh. A quiet cry escapes my throat, and I cover my mouth. Did he hear me? Does he know I’m here? I shiver in the water, my teeth chattering as something lightweight drops onto the crown of my head and skitters into the thick layers before I can catch it. I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my jaw to muffle a scream. What hideous legged creature is creeping through my hair? What swims unseen below my waist? Plop. Plop. Plop. Fish, alligators, snakes…him? “Daaaah, daaaah, dah daaaah,” his rich buttery tone sings. It echoes through the wetland and sweeps over my skin like icy talons. “I’ve got all night,” he continues singing. “I’ll take my time.” I cup my hands over my mouth to silence my chattering teeth. He’s close. So close. “I’ll find you. There’s nowhere to hide,” he belts out as if we’re in a Broadway show. His voice is magical and terrifying. “You belong to meeeee…You want only meee…” I can’t stay here. He’ll find me. I work as silently as possible out of the thicket and away from the concentration of his voice. I hoist myself onto the wooden boardwalk because he believes I’m in the water. Rushing is out of the question. He’ll hear my footfalls. Slow and steady is about all I can muster anyway. My legs might as well be licorice sticks. He’s still singing and slicing an oar through the water as I forge ahead, quickening my steps by a small measure until I finally reach the end of the boardwalk and am on dry ground. In the woods. The woods mean I’ll find a road at the clearing. Help will drive by, and I’ll flag it down to freedom. I wait a beat while my eyes adjust to greater darkness. The trees loom overhead, and the ground is mushy and mixed with sand. I stub my toe, tripping over roots jutting out, but press on. There’s a path and I follow it. Bike path maybe? My feet are cut and bleeding and my head pounds. The path curves, then straightens out, and I halt. Not a road. Not freedom. Before me is a long stretch of beach littered with driftwood and shells that cut into my feet. Beyond the beach is the endless sea. No homes. Only wetland to my back and the sea everywhere else. I have no boat. No canoe. Nothing to propel me to freedom. I’m on a private island, and I finally remember how I arrived. *** Excerpt from The Garden Girls by Jessica R. Patch. Copyright 2024 by Jessica R. Patch. Reproduced with permission from Jessica R. Patch. All rights reserved.

 

 

About Author Jessica R. Patch:

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Jessica R. Patch

Publishers Weekly Bestselling Author, Jessica R. Patch is known for her dry wit and signature twists whether she’s penned a romantic suspense, a cold case thriller, or a small-town romance. When she’s not getting into fictional mischief with her characters, you can find her cozy on the couch in her mid-south home reading books by some of her favorite authors, watching movies with her family, and collecting recipes to amazing dishes she’ll probably never cook. Sign up for her newsletter “Patched In” at www.jessicarpatch.com and receive a FREE short thriller exclusive to subscribers. Jessica is represented by Rachel Kent of Books & Such Literary Management.

Catch Up With Jessica R. Patch: www.jessicarpatch.com Goodreads – @JessicaRPatch BookBub – @JessicaRPatch Instagram – @JessicaRPatch Threads – @JessicaRPatch Twitter/X – @JessicaRPatch Facebook – @JessicaRPatch TikTok – @readjessicarpatch

 

 

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