19 September, 2024

September 19, 2024 0

Running on Empty by Karin Fitz Sanford

 

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RUNNING ON EMPTY

by Karin Fitz Sanford

September 16 - October 11, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Running on Empty by Karin Fitz Sanford

A WINE COUNTRY COLD CASE

 

An ex-FBI agent. A murder. And a Ponzi scheme that rocks the wine country.

Anne McCormack, a former FBI agent-turned-estate liquidator, must find out who murdered a beautiful socialite and dumped her body on a remote wine country road 16 years earlier. Could that killing be connected to a current-day Ponzi scheme that has bilked Santa Rosa residents? McCormack thinks so and sets out to solve the case—but she'll have to keep her wits about her if she plans on outracing thieves and solving the murder without become a victim herself, for dark forces are working against her and she’s running out of people to trust.

Praise for Running on Empty:

"Full of fun clues, quirky characters and a great sense of place, Running on Empty is the perfect visit to California’s wine country."
~ Rhys Bowen, New York Times bestselling author of the Royal Spyness and Molly Murphy mysteries

"The title of this latest Wine County Cold Case may be 'Running on Empty,' but the story’s certainly not. A full-bodied mystery with depth and bite, and a plot that’s meaty and lush. Savory, smoky, and smooth, from the first sip to the last."
~ J.R. Sanders, Shamus Award-winning author of the Nate Ross mysteries

"With a freight train of a plot worthy of any seasoned crime writer—think Elmore Leonard, Karin Slaughter, and Raymond Chandler—Sanford delivers a timeless thriller and heroine in feisty, brilliant, and flawed ex-FBI agent Anne McCormack, who finds herself entangled (again) in a web of mystery and deception in Northern California's wine country. The setting is but one of this book’s plentiful charms. There is a cold case—the decades-old murder of a socialite—and a devastating Ponzi scheme that will have readers turning pages well into the night.
Full of zigzagging cliffhangers, Running on Empty hooks readers from the first sentence and never lets up—not even when it looks like our heroes have run out of gas. I loved this book."
~ David Samuel Levinson, author of Tell Me How This Ends Well

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery/Adventure/Detective
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: May 7, 2024
Number of Pages: 294
ISBN: 9781685126155 (ISBN10: 1685126154)
Series: A Wine Country Cold Case, 2
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Santa Rosa, California

Anne McCormack surveyed the living room, casting her eyes from one gilt-framed oil painting to another, taking in the antique red tasseled lampshades, red flocked wallpaper, red floral overstuffed sofa, and the oriental rug woven with every imaginable shade of red. All that exuberant red reminded her of a magazine layout she’d seen featuring the late Vogue editor Diana Vreeland’s famous New York apartment. Tastefully garish.

The house was one of many Victorian homes lining McDonald Avenue, Santa Rosa’s historic “Victorian row.” The tree-lined boulevard was the filming location of several Hollywood classics, including the 1943 Shadow of a Doubt by Alfred Hitchcock, Disney’s 1960 Pollyanna, and the nineties camp horror film Scream. The Victorian in which Anne was standing was owned by her newest clients, the family of the recently deceased, very wealthy Lily Danielson, who had left behind more treasures and personal effects than her heirs could handle.

Those belongings were why Anne, owner of McCormack Estate Services, was here after eight o’clock on a Sunday night with her teenage assistant, Chloe Grindel. Anne’s job was to dispose of everything in the house, one way or another: to assess, catalog, toss out, put up for auction, sell, save for the family, or donate to charities. The executor, the family’s lawyer, wanted it all handled ASAP before any more troublesome family fights could break out. Fine, Anne thought, the sooner the job was done, the sooner she’d deposit a commission check on the proceeds of any sales.

They were still at the sorting and boxing up stage.

Seven banker’s boxes were stacked precariously in the middle of the room, the top ones on the verge of toppling over onto Chloe, who was sitting cross-legged on the floor. Next to her on the rug was an old diary she’d found in the bookcase. Chloe was packing up books—except for the first editions, which would be offered to dealers—and sighing theatrically.

“How are you doing over there?” Anne asked.

“Slow, very slow. I’m not fast like you are,” Chloe said, standing up to stretch, raising her arms to the heavens. “But then, you’ve been doing this for decades…”

“A slight exaggeration,” Anne said. In fact, she was fairly new to family estate services. She’d spent most of her twenties as an FBI agent in Sacramento’s Violent Crimes division. After six years, she left the Bureau voluntarily, under no cloud (You did not get fired, her Uncle Jack, a retired cop would insist). Under no cloud, that is, except the one she conjured up and obsessed over (But it did get ugly after they discovered I was using their high-security database software to track my ex-husband, she’d counter).

On the same day she was confronted by her supervisor, she dropped her resignation letter on his desk and walked out the door, vowing that her next career would be a complete 180 from law enforcement. She would follow her passions—researching art and its provenance—and someday be her own boss, health benefits or not. Turns out, those passions were the exact skills required for family estate sales services. And since it was a far cry from crime-fighting, she figured why not do it professionally? For two years she worked as an assistant to estate services guru Marty Holmes, who became her mentor in the business. His mantra: “Estate sales are not garage sales!” The estate sales business, he’d insist, is about helping families dispose of the treasures left behind after a loved one’s death, and then getting a big fat commission from the sales of said treasures. Period.

After learning the trade, Anne struck out on her own three years ago. If she’d ever imagined that being a business owner meant naming her own hours and taking long vacations, she was quickly proven wrong. The reality was that when business was good—and it finally was—she ended up working relentlessly long hours. Like tonight.

“After finishing that box, let’s call it a night,” she said. Chloe had school in the morning.

“Not yet,” Chloe pleaded. The girl was always angling for longer hours, arguing, “You won’t find cheaper or better child labor than me.” And Anne almost always relented. She knew that nearly every dollar Chloe earned was being squirreled away into her college fund. Besides, she liked Chloe’s company. Chloe was the favorite grandchild of one of Anne’s first clients, Claire Murray, whose death two years before had hit the teenager hard. Anne had grown fond of Claire and missed her too, and while she and Chloe worked, they would often swap Claire stories.

But recently, all Chloe wanted to talk about—when not complaining about her mother’s strict hours or the unfair soccer coach—was the “Battalion Chief” competition at her high school. Not much had changed about the yearly contest since Anne had participated: The student who searched private homes and collected the most “fire hazard” violation tickets was the winner. Back then, the winning prize was simply being named “Honorary Battalion Chief.” But this year, the stakes were high—a $25,000 college scholarship to the winner in each class, donated by a group of wealthy vintners who wanted to encourage fire safety in the wildfire-ravaged Sonoma County.

“I can put it toward any college I want. When I add that to what I’m making working for you, and what my parents can chip in, I might get to go to UC Berkeley, Harvard, or California College of the Arts, who knows!”

One of their phones pinged.

“Sky’s the limit,” Anne agreed, looking down at her phone. Nothing. She hadn’t heard from Scott, her boyfriend of three months, since their fight two days before. Nodding toward Chloe’s phone on the coffee table, she said, “Bet your mom wants you to come home.”

Chloe sauntered over to pick up her phone. Leaning against a wall, she stared intently at the screen—reading the text message, answering it, and reading the response.

“Oh, no,” Chloe blurted out. She slowly slid down the wall, crumbling to the hardwood floor. “There goes everything,” she said in a low, ominous tone. “Everything I’ve ever worked for.” She set her phone down beside her and hugged her knees to her chest.

Anne bit her lip to keep from smiling. How much work could Chloe have done in her short life? How much did she have to lose? Chloe was a month shy of being sixteen years old, not some frail senior citizen whose life savings were ruthlessly embezzled or whose house was destroyed in a fire without any insurance to cover rebuilding it. But as Anne watched tears well in Chloe’s eyes, she knew there was nothing even slightly amusing about whatever was going on. Chloe was heartbroken.

Anne crouched down in front of her. “What do you mean by ‘lost everything?’ What happened?” she asked in a gentle voice.

Chloe uncovered her eyes, let out a sigh, and pointed to her phone. “That girl. Pam O’Brien. Tomorrow is the last day to hand in our tickets to see who wins the scholarship. She asked me how many I had….”

“And?” Anne prompted.

“I told her I had forty-five, which is way more than anyone else in the class. The nearest kid to me is Justin Frey, and he only has thirty-two. Then Pam texted back, ‘Too bad, cause I have fifty.’ That’s five more than me,” Chloe’s voice broke. “I never even knew she was close!”

Fire hazard violations were hard to come by, as Anne well knew. She remembered having to screw up the courage to knock on the door of a neighbor or acquaintance, then taking a deep breath and asking permission to go poking through their house looking for fire hazards like loose wiring, stacks of newspapers, overloaded electrical outlets, aging space heaters. Most people were good-humored about it, accepted their copies of the tickets, and promised to do better. But others tried to talk her out of the tickets, thinking the violations would be reported to city officials and they’d be fined. That never happened, of course; the fallout would have ended the contest years ago.

“And she tells you this at 8:30 at night…”

“Too late…”

Anne stood up abruptly. “Where’s your book of tickets? In your backpack?”

“Yeah. For all the good it does me,” Chloe said, giving the bag a shove as if it were to blame for her crushed dreams, the late hour, Pam O’Brien’s taunts. Everything.

Anne reached out her hands to the sobbing girl and pulled her to her feet. She grabbed their jackets off the couch and tossed Chloe’s to her.

“Get in the car,” Anne said.

***

Excerpt from Running on Empty by Karin Fitz Sanford. Copyright 2024 by Karin Fitz Sanford. Reproduced with permission from Karin Fitz Sanford. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Karin Fitz Sanford

Karin Fitz Sanford, a former advertising copywriter, was born in New York but grew up in Northern California's wine country, the setting for her Wine Country Cold Case series. Having run her own award-winning ad agency for over twenty-five years, she is a member of Sisters in Crime and lives in Northern California with her husband.

Catch Up With Karin Fitz Sanford:
www.FitzSanford.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @karin140
Instagram - @karinfitz8
Facebook - @karin.f.sanford

 

 

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09 September, 2024

September 09, 2024 0

The Courtesan's Pirate by Nina Wachsman

 

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THE COURTESAN'S PIRATE

by Nina Wachsman

September 9 - October 4, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Courtesan's Pirate by Nina Wachsman

Venice Beauties Mysteries

 

1614. At long last, Belladonna has been reunited with Isaak, a pirate captain, on the island of Jamaica. Amidst the chaos of hurricanes and Spanish marauders, they are separated. When she discovers her beloved Isaak is captured and bound for execution in Spain, Belladonna goes back to Venice, planning to leverage her allies to save him, only to learn her influence has diminished. Now facing cunning adversaries and shifting alliances, she must navigate perilous intrigues in a high-stakes bid to rescue Isaak from a tragic fate. Belladonna risks everything, including her own safety, in a daring gambit to save the man she loves.

Praise for The Courtesan's Pirate:

"Join Belladonna and Isaak on a Caribbean quest filled with rich history, dangerous risks, and suspenseful intrigue. Will the couple be reunited? Can Belladonna save her love and her soul? If you like an atmospheric adventure story, you’ll love The Courtesan’s Pirate. Witty and engaging!"
~ Kelly Oliver, author of The Fiona Figg & Kitty Lane Mysteries

"From the pirate-infested waters of the Caribbean to the silken-clad intrigues of Venice, Nina Wachsman vividly recreates life, and particularly the dangers faced by Jews, in the turbulent 17th century. Exciting and richly textured, with strong, admirable female characters."
~ Alyssa Maxwell, author of The Gilded Newport Mysteries

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Suspense
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: September 1, 2024
Number of Pages: 350
Series: Venice Beauties Mysteries, Book 3
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

PART 1 – THE NEW WORLD

CHAPTER 1 – BELLADONNA

THE ISLAND OF JAMAICA, The fifth of NOVEMBER, 1614

“Just a short trip to Curacao,” Isaak said, as he stood beside her on the dock, “I will return shortly, I promise.”

Belladonna wondered how many women had heard the very same words from their fathers, sons, and lovers, and how many had returned to their families, as promised.

“Why must you go?” Belladonna had waited so long and given up so much to be with Isaak. She secretly believed their union was at risk every time they were away from each other.

“Despite our efforts to attract the English to Jamaica, the Spanish have moved faster, and the heirs of Christopher Columbus have been bought off. We need to find somewhere else to settle,” Isaak said, wrapping his arms around her and pulling her close.

She raised her eyes skyward, to keep the tears from rising. “Then my brother died for naught.”

“We cannot change the past, but we must try to find the way to our future, for you and I and for your brother Roderigo’s family. Curacao has been abandoned by the Spanish and will soon become part of the dominion of the Dutch West India Company.”

Belladonna wanted to believe his promise, but after a life tossed about at the whim of Fate, it seemed like random interventions could foil any plan they made for the future.

Isaak caressed her cheek. “It is also a port of call of the Jewish Brethren. Under the Dutch we have little to fear. The Dutch are the only nation who does not force its Jews to live separately in a Ghetto. We will soon formalize our union. There lies our potential future.”

Belladonna sighed. “In Curacao do you believe no one will care about our origins ̶ if we are Jew or Christian?”

Like her sister-in-law Mariella, she had begun life as the daughter of a New Christian landowner who had sought freedom in the New World. In a terrible twist of Fate, on a visit to Recife, Brazil, the Inquisition had murdered her parents because of their Jewish heritage, turning her into a refugee. Luck had found her, and she had been rescued by Isaak from Barbary pirates. Thanks to Isaak she had been taken to Venice, but he had soon set sail once more, leaving her to save others from captivity.

When Isaak returned to Venice to reunite her with her brother Roderigo, feelings between the courtesan and the corsair were rekindled, and Belladonna made her decision to sail with Isaak. Giving up her palazzo, her wealth and servants had gone against her usual cynicism but for once, she had chosen love over security.

“It is worth the chance,” said Isaak, and then he pulled her close, “You must stop nourishing your guilt over the death of Roderigo. You have come here to take care of his family as you promised. And we have accomplished the impossible: we are together at last.”

Belladonna acknowledged her satisfaction with her decision. “Over the past year in Jamaica and with you, I have discovered the comfort of family, which had been missing from my life for so long. Why dare Fate to disrupt our happiness once more?”

Isaak looked beyond her towards the sea. “There is a storm coming, which will provide us with a distraction to sail by Spanish war ships gathering along the coast.” He lifted her chin and brushed her lips with a last kiss. “Both the storm and the Spanish ships represent a bad omen. But do not fear, I am a seasoned captain and have sailed through worse brews than this. But my senses tell me our idyll in Jamaica is bound to come to an end. I must go to Curacao.”

Belladonna did not want to let him go, but he kissed her, and gently disengaged from her. She ran to the edge of the wooden dock, and leaned as far forward as she dared. He waved one last time as he boarded his ship. She reasoned that the fierce winds should be good for sailing and would speed Isaak’s journey. Squinting, she tried to see his figure on the bridge, imagining him making his farewell to Jamaica and to her.

Isaak’s fears about Jamaica were not unfounded. The Spanish were becoming bolder in establishing their dominion over the island, even though it officially remained under the sovereignty of the heirs to Christopher Columbus. The end of Jamaica’s independence was near, and once the Spanish took over, both she and Isaak, as well as her newfound family would be in danger because of their Jewish blood.

“Senora, we must go. Big storm is coming, and we must prepare. The sky do not look good. Horses do not like it.” The coachman peered up at the amassing dark clouds, and then gave her a pleading look.

Reluctantly, Belladonna turned away from the sea towards the mountains. “Let us go.”

Adjusting his hat so it was firmly placed on his head, the driver flicked his whip and the horses responded by taking off at a gallop, as if they were as eager as the driver to find shelter. Belladonna craned her neck, still looking towards the dock as they drove away.

The coachman kept the horses going at a fast gallop, so she had to hold tight to both sides of the carriage to avoid toppling forward. The wind kicked up the dust of the roadway, flinging it through the bushes and trees, shaking loose leaves and petals, swirling through the air and into their faces.

“Hiyah!” the coachman shouted again at the horses, flicking his whip so they galloped even faster. Used to traveling by boat in Venice, she knew little of carriages and put her faith in the coachman to get them home safely.

Lurching from side to side in the speeding carriage, she closed her eyes to shut out the frightening views of a careening landscape. She dared open them only when the carriage slowed, and the wails of the wind were softer. They had entered the sheltering thickness of the mangrove forest adjoining her brother’s land. The trees here were very thick and though their upper boughs still rustled in the wind, she felt more protected. The respite from the wind did not last long, and soon the carriage emerged from the mangrove trees into a slashing rain. The downpour swamped the open carriage, soaking her completely and making it even more difficult to move forward. Though it seemed like an eternity in the wind and rain, the coach soon drew to a sharp halt. Safe.

Her brother’s plantation house stood two stories tall, surrounded by trees, which the wind lashed against the closed shutters. Assailed by wind and rain, it did not seem to be the safe haven it had seemed several months ago when she first arrived on the island. After over a year at sea, when she first stepped onto the grand veranda, it had conjured long-ago memories of home. Though not as grand as the palazzo she possessed in Venice, it did have many rooms, furnished comfortably with bright island fabrics on sofas and chairs. There were flowers in abundance, and island paintings and pottery similar to her childhood home on the island.

That home and her family had been torn from her when the Inquisition came to Recife, Brazil where they had been visiting relatives. Her parents were New Christians, having been born Jews but then baptized, like many others who had come to the New World, and easy targets for accusations of heresy and the fires of an auto de fé. Both she and Roderigo had escaped capture, but each did not know the other survived until very recently, when they had found each other in Venice. Their reunion was short-lived; and Roderigo’s dying request was for Belladonna to find his family in Jamaica and make sure they were cared for.

After securing the door behind her, Belladonna stood in the entry hall, water dripping from her gown and pooling at her feet.

“Mariella!” she shouted, hoping her sister-in-law was in the house, and could hear her above the howling wind.

Mariella and Moises, her son, bounded down the stairway from the upper floor, each carrying armfuls of clothing and possessions.

“We do not have much time,” Mariella shouted back to her above the rattling of the shutters and the wind, “We must go. Take what you need.”

“We cannot stay here?”

Moises answered for his mother. “When the wind is this strong, the house is not safe. We must go to the Cave.”

Cave? Belladonna shivered in her wet clothes at the thought of it. Mentally, she checked off what she needed to take, including the small leather sack of jewels which had been with her since Venice. Hurrying up the stairs with her water-heavy skirts, she raced to her room. She quickly shed her wet clothing for dry ones, then pulled up a few select floorboards and retrieved the leather sack. She stuffed it into a bundle of clothing she had grabbed, and was heading for the stairs just as the shutters of her room banged wide open. Rain and wind invaded as Belladonna ran, skirting the flying debris of a large tree that had crashed through.

Her wet feet slid on the polished wood floors where she landed from her flight down the stairway, but neither Mariella nor Moises were in sight. She called out both their names, and let out a breath of relief when Moises emerged from behind the door to the servant’s area and beckoned to her.

She followed Moises below the stairs to the servants’ dining area and the kitchen. The servants’ quarters were protected by bushes and were on a lower level, so Belladonna assumed they could take refuge there. The few servants huddled together on plain wooden benches.

“Ready to go?” asked Mariella, Belladonna’s sister-in-law, who had taken full charge. “We have taken some food and supplies. The storm is growing more severe, and it is best we go now, or we will not be able to make it to the Cave.”

“What is this Cave?”

“The Cave of Christopher Columbus. It is on the highest point on the island, safe from flooding, and deep enough to avoid the damage of the wind.”

“That is not the same cave from the map that Roderigo—”

Mariella held up a hand and did not allow her to continue. “Yes, it is. But there is no time for talking or explaining. It is imperative we leave this house now, before another tree crashes down.”

A whimper from a maid was the only other comment as the servants were instantly on their feet, each clutching a bundle of belongings.

Mariella wrapped a shawl around her head and handed another to Belladonna to do the same. As soon as the outer door opened, the wind swept them into its maelstrom. Clustered together, they braced themselves as best as they could, and faced the storm.

***

Excerpt from The Courtesan's Pirate by Nina Wachsman. Copyright 2024 by Nina Wachsman. Reproduced with permission from Nina Wachsman. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Nina Wachsman

Nina Wachsman is a graduate of the Parsons School of Design, where she studied under Maurice Sendak. She is currently lives and runs a digital agency in New York City. She is also a descendant of a chief rabbi of the Ghetto, a contemporary of her characters in the Venice Beauties Mysteries. The Gallery of Beauties, her debut novel set in 17th Century Venice, was an Agatha nominee for Best First Novel and a Silver Falchion finalist for Best Historical mystery. The second book in the Venice Beauties Mysteries, The Courtesan’s Secret received a 5 star recommendation from the Historical Fiction Company and is a Silver Falchion Top Pick and a finalist for the Silver Falchion for Best Historical. Nina has published stories, many with an art theme, in mystery and horror magazines and anthologies. She is one of the four authors who write stories and novels about art and crime as Curators of Crime.

Catch Up With Nina Wachsman:
VeniceBeauties.com
Goodreads
BookBub - @ninawachsman
Instagram - @thegalleryofbeauties
Threads - @thegalleryofbeauties
Facebook - @nina.wachsman

You can also find Nina on the www.CuratorsOfCrime.com website and Facebook - @curatorsofcrime page or at Facebook - @GalleryBeauties.

 

 

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02 September, 2024

September 02, 2024 0

Lethal Standoff by DiAnn Mills

 

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LETHAL STANDOFF

by DiAnn Mills

September 2-27, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Lethal Standoff by DiAnn Mills

Justice can be elusive.
Family secrets can be deadly.

The stakes are high, and the clock is ticking in a volatile criminal case filled with unanswered questions. And Carrington Reed is running short on time to piece together clues that will solve the puzzle.

Hostage negotiator Carrington Reed is called to the scene when reports come in that fifteen hostages are being held by the Kendrix brothers in an abandoned house in south Texas. When she arrives on site, Carrington quickly learns that the brothers are armed and refuse to release their victims, a group of undocumented immigrants, until the local police identify their father’s murderer.

Working closely with Levi Ehrlich, a handsome investigative reporter who has covered some of Carrington’s negotiations in the past, she finds herself being undeniably drawn to him. Carrington digs deeper into the death of the Kendrixes’ father and begins to notice that some details surrounding his death aren’t adding up.

As Carrington investigates the brothers’ claims and tries to piece together their motive for taking innocent people captive, it soon becomes clear that they are trying to hide something and that revenge for their father’s death may not be what they’re really bargaining for after all. To protect the hostages and ensure the brothers don’t carry out the rest of their sinister plot, Carrington must get to the bottom of one family’s secret and the truth they’re trying so hard to hide before time runs out.

Award winning author DiAnn Mills delivers pulse-pounding romantic suspense about secrets, betrayal, and finding a path to forgiveness.

Praise for Lethal Standoff:

"DiAnn Mills delivers another pulse-pounding thriller you’re going to love. Lethal Standoff combines gripping tension with a captivating mystery, skillfully woven by DiAnn’s signature storytelling. She navigates the high-stakes world of hostage rescue, proving once again why she’s a master of the genre."
~ Jerry B. Jenkins, author of the Left Behind series and The Chosen novels

"In Lethal Standoff, DiAnn Mills works magic―weaving suspense and intrigue into a heart-pounding hostage thriller. Hostage negotiator Carrington Reed is a hero with heart who refuses to quit even when it means risking her own life for strangers. Don't miss this high-stakes gambit set in south Texas that will keep you flipping pages to the very end."
~ Andrews & Wilson, bestselling authors of Dark Intercept

"Warning: do not start this book if you intend to put it down any time soon. This is a roller-coaster ride. A bullet-biter. A heart-thumper. This is DiAnn Mills at her best."
~ Eva Marie Everson, bestselling author and CEO of Word Weavers International

"Lethal Standoff has everything I look for in a great novel! Alongside a heartwarming romance, the plot and themes of this page-turner are pulled from current events and offer a hopeful, triumphant message for readers. Highly recommended."
~ Deborah Raney, author of Breath of Heaven in the Camfield Legacy series

Lethal Standoff Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Tyndale House Publishers
Publication Date: September 3, 2024
Number of Pages: 368
ISBN: 9781496485106 (ISBN10: 1496485106)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Tyndale House Publishers

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

SEPTEMBER - CARRINGTON

My role as a hostage negotiator often plunged me into the evil designs of the human mind. I embraced the responsibility and possible danger because it’s my identity— a one-woman battlefront determined to free others from victimization.

The challenge excited me, but fear of failure stalked me, and respect for human life was my constant companion. Too often innocent lives depended on my ability to negotiate their safe release without anyone getting hurt. The demands, rewards, and sometimes the defeats with tragic outcomes kept me awake at night. How could I have done things differently? My apprenticeship began when I was eight years old, but thinking about those days didn’t change the past. Right now, lives were in jeopardy. . . .

I’d driven ten minutes out from a critical situation on a Wednesday afternoon when my cell phone rang. My contact, a detective from the Houston Police Department, had spent several hours talking to an angry man who held his wife and son hostage.

“Carrington, we have the information you requested,” Detective Aaron Peters said. “The man inside the home is the owner, Nick Henderson. Age thirty-five. Married to Christine. He’s holding his wife and eight- year- old son at gunpoint. Yesterday, he was served divorce papers, and we believe this is in retaliation.”

Hurt. Rejected. Probably a lit stick of dynamite. “You talked to him from the outside?”

“We’ve routed his calls through our mobile command center. I tried talking to him. Got nowhere. He hung up on me.” Aaron blew out his frustration.

Domestic calls were the most dangerous, often violent, causing me to appreciate my Kevlar vest. I had a handgun in my purse, but I could count on one hand the times I’d pulled it. Never used it. “All right. I’m nearly there. SWAT in place?”

“Yes, two have clear shots. Not an action I want to take unless necessary.”

“Me either. What are Henderson’s demands?”

“Just to leave him alone or he’ll pull the trigger on his family.”

Cool, calm focus settled on me. My ability to mediate critical discussions depended on my wearing emotional blinders to the outside world. “When did the problem start?”

“The wife phoned 911 at 8:00 a.m. today. I don’t know how long he was there before she reached out to us. We’ve been called here twice in the past month for domestic abuse.”

I glanced at my watch, and it neared 4:00 p.m. “Have HPD negotiators been talking to him?”

“Yes. Henderson hung up on them too. He’s drinking. Slurring his words. Seems to have trouble concentrating.”

Alcohol could make him more volatile. Flashing lights appeared on the residential street ahead. “I’m parking now. Give me five minutes.”

“I’m standing beside my car in front of the house.”

“Aaron, do you have Henderson’s work history?”

“Fired three months ago from Home Depot, where he held a management role. They walked him out of the store in front of his employees.”

The man definitely had nothing to lose.

Phone in hand, I hurried from my parked truck and raced to where police cars barricaded the entrance to the street where Henderson held his family. A reporter blocked my way between vehicles. She rammed a mic in front of my face.

“Carrington Reed, do you think this standoff will have a peaceful resolution?”

My blood boiled. The last time I had verbally unleashed on her aggressive means to get the best story, she lied in her article about my concern for those in danger. I paused long enough to give her eye contact. “My goal is always a peaceful solution. Excuse me, I need to talk to HPD.”

“Are the police advocating a violent takedown?”

“No.” I sidestepped around her and ignored her shouts.

Aaron stood in front of the home and waved. He had the appearance of average—average height, weight, gray eyes, brown hair, and shoulder span— but nothing about his physical appearance showed his intense scrutiny of a crime scene. His rating as one of HPD’s finest hit my respect button.

“Good to see you. I’d like the man’s cell number,” I said. “I assume my cell phone is routed through the command center too?”

“Sure thing.” He gave me the information. “The wife’s name is Christine, and the son’s name is Rand.”

I nodded my thanks and pressed in the digits. A man answered on the second ring.

“Nick, this is Carrington. I’m standing beside a police car outside your house, and I’d like to help you.”

“I . . . leave me alone.” He spoke fast and loudly. “I’m busy.”

“What do you need?”

“You can get rid of all those cops. I can’t breathe.”

I expected a more belligerent response. “Nick, I can’t do that. These officers are here to protect you in case someone tries to break into your home and hurt you.”

“I’d kill my wife and kid first.”

“Tell me why you feel that way.”

“They deserve it for the way they’ve treated me.” He stumbled over his words. “I’m a good husband and dad.”

“I’m sure you’re great at both. Tell me what’s hurting you.”

***

Excerpt from LETHAL STANDOFF by DiAnn Mills. Copyright 2024 by DiAnn Mills. Reproduced with permission from DiAnn Mills. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

DiAnn Mills

DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who believes her readers should expect an adventure. She weaves memorable characters with unpredictable plots to create action-packed, suspense-filled novels with threads of romance. DiAnn believes every breath of life is someone’s story, so why not capture those moments and create a thrilling adventure?

Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists; won two Christy Awards, Selah, Golden Scroll, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol award contests.

DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, an active member of the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers, Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, the Jerry Jenkins Writers Guild, and International Thriller Writers. DiAnn continues her passion of helping other writers be successful. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country.

DiAnn has been termed a coffee snob and roasts her own coffee beans. She’s an avid reader, loves to cook, and believes her grandchildren are the smartest kids in the universe. She and her husband live in sunny Houston, Texas.

DiAnn is very active online and would love to connect with readers on:
diannmills.com
Goodreads - @diannmills
BookBub - @diannmills
Instagram -@diannmillsauthor
YouTube - @diannmills
Twitter/X - @diannmills
Facebook - @diannmills
Pinterest - @diannmills
LinkedIn - @diannmills

 

 

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30 August, 2024

August 30, 2024 0

Carved From Wood (Crafting Humanity #2) by Brendan O’Meara

 

Carved From Wood
Brendan O’Meara
(Crafting Humanity, #2)
Publication date: June 6th 2024
Genres: Dystopian, Young Adult

James and his team head South after witnessing the BlankZone decimate the city of Midway. Their self-ascribed mission is to explore the most dangerous place on the planet – the new BlankZone border in the Southern Federation.

While conspiracies drive the narrative in the North, James and his team set out to learn about the Federation’s mysterious aggressors. Jump back into the adventure as James and his friends discover new families, build allies, and come face to face with the enemy threatening their existence. Secrets, lies, and manipulation are exposed as James gets closer than he ever imagined to their greatest threat.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

Next up.

Stacie did not give anyone else the chance to go ahead of her and within seconds her back was against the wall next to Deck. Another sign from Deck signaled it was James’s turn to go.

Why the hell did I have to follow Stacie, he thought tensing his stomach muscles, crouching as low as his body would allow, and sprinting to the edge of the camp. His heartbeat remained taut while he walked the tightrope of slim shadows under the glare of the floodlights until he stood shoulder-to-shoulder with Stacie. Deck signed to them:

You two get the intel. I’ll handle the rest of the team.

Stacie and James nodded in unison and walked to the edge of the tent. Stacie held up her hand to stop and in one swift motion brought it down. Time to move.

James followed her, sticking close to the shadows. They reached the front of the tent.

No sentry, thank God, James thought, and Stacie guided them farther into camp. They discovered a natural hiding place behind racks of ion shield emitters where they could regroup to locate intel. James scanned the tents. Deck wasn’t kidding about erring on the more side. Four barracks stood side by side on one half of the camp while the outer ring housed functional buildings indicated by their standard Federation insignias etched into the front flaps. Vehicles were lined up in an orderly fashion, their headlights gleaming in the dimmed lighting. Beyond the barracks lay a long flat strip of asphalt accompanied by a tower with a beacon alternating white and green flashes.

Do they have a runway? James thought, wondering how temporary this camp actually was.

He felt a tap on his arm and Stacie pointed at one of the tents. It looked like nothing at first, but when James looked closer, he saw the telltale generators stacked outside its doors likely there to fuel HOLO emitters. The front flap bore a compass rose with swords as the directional points indicating intelligence in Federation icons.

That’s where we need to start, James thought, scanning the area around the tent and evaluating their options to move closer.

Stacie placed her hand on top of one of the shield emitters and James knelt next to her ready to sprint when he was blinded by light accompanied by a loud CRACK.

James reacted, dropping flat behind the emitters. He reached out, finding Stacie’s shoulder, rolling her behind the shield with him. He regained his vision while purple and blue dots popped up in his sight line. He shifted another one of the emitters in front of him while Stacie grabbed the other, penning them inside the bunch. Overhead sirens blared and the shouts of a military camp coming to life roared around them.

Someone must have tripped an alarm. They woke up the entire camp.

His hands curled into fists and his leg muscles tensed ready to spring.

Stacie leaned over and whispered in his ear above the cacophony and chaos surrounding them, “We’re fucked.”

Author Bio:

Raised in White Plains, New York, Brendan O’Meara formed a love of stories and books from a young age. He has spent his free time over the last decade crafting his debut novel, Cut From Stone, book one in the Crafting Humanity series.

It began in Philadelphia where he attended college daydreaming about a dystopian reality. With a vivid imagination (as described by his middle school teachers) and a passion for adventure, Brendan’s novels will transport you to a different life and capture you from cover to cover.

Brendan lives in Washington, DC with his daughter, wife, and two dogs. You will find him on the weekends drinking a beer watching the Packers and Notre Dame football games. He is an avid reader with a specific interest in sci-fi, anything dystopian, fantasy, history, and all levels of fiction.

Brendan would love to hear from you, feel free to contact him any time at brendan.omeara@craftinghumanity.com.

Finally, visit craftinghumanity.com and sign up for our email lists for news, updates, and information on the rest of the Crafting Humanity series. We will not spam you!

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28 August, 2024

August 28, 2024 0

A Scandal in Mayfair by Katharine Schellman

 

A Scandal in Mayfair by Katharine Schellman Banner

A SCANDAL IN MAYFAIR

by Katharine Schellman

August 19 - September 13, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A Scandal in Mayfair by Katharine Schellman

A Lily Adler Mystery

 

Sometimes danger lurks in plain sight, and in the cutthroat London Season socialite Lily Adler must race against time to catch a killer.

Fans of Bridgerton will delight in this Regency-era mystery featuring an intrepid sleuth, plenty of intrigue, and a touch of romance.

London, 1817. The London Season is beginning once more, and Lily Adler’s return to her home on Half Moon Street feels different this year. No longer a recent widow, she has a life and friends waiting for her. Lily also has new responsibilities in the form of her protégée Amelia, the sister of her longtime friend Jack Hartley, who is escaping her own brush with scandal and murder.

It doesn’t take long for Lily’s growing reputation as a lady of quality who can discreetly find what is missing or solve what is puzzling to bring a desperate young woman to her doorstep. But helping her means unraveling a tangled web of family secrets. Soon, a missing will, a dead body and the threat of blackmail leave Lily facing danger every way she turns.

The glittering society of Mayfair conceals many secrets, and the back alleys of London hide even more. Lily Adler will need to find the connection between them quickly if she wants to stop a killer before it’s too late.

Praise for A Scandal in Mayfair:

"A perfect London crime novel... Fast paced, expertly researched, and intricately plotted."
~ Alex Grecian, New York Times bestselling author

"The strong characters will appeal to readers of the Bridgerton romances, as well as those who appreciate Georgette Heyer’s stories."
~ Library Journal

Book Details:

Genre: Historical Cozy Mystery
Published by: Crooked Lane Books
Publication Date: August 20, 2024
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 9781639108411 (ISBN10: 1639108416)
Series: A Lily Adler Mystery, Book #5 | Each is a Stand Alone
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Penguin Random House

Read an excerpt:

“You are Mrs. Adler? You do not look anything like I expected,” the young woman said bluntly. “I thought that someone who offers such investigations would be . . . more dramatic, I suppose. But you are very nearly plain. Well, not plain,” she added apologetically, looking Lily over once more. “Your gown is beautifully made, I must say, and you are very elegant—a tall figure helps with that, I suppose.” She sighed, glancing down at her own figure, which was of average height and rather waiflike. “But I thought you would be more glamorous. Is it not a glamorous occupation that you have?”

“Hardly an occupation,” Lily said firmly. Miss Forrest was not wrong; with unremarkable coloring and looks only just on the pretty side of average, elegant was the best descriptor Lily could hope for from an impartial observer. But it still rankled to be sized up so bluntly. “And not a genteel one, if it were. Besides, I think what you have heard of are discreet inquiries for those who need them. A dramatic or imposing appearance would hardly serve that purpose.”

“Oh, indeed. That does make sense.” The girl’s eyes were wide as she nodded along. “That is what Mrs. Mannering said—that you were the soul of discretion. I am so hoping it is true, believe me. My predicament is dreadful, and it would become even worse were it to be

widely known and discussed.”

“That is often the case, especially in town,” Lily said, but her eyes narrowed as she spoke. The Mannerings’ daughter had disappeared one night, leaving no trace of where she might have gone, and they had been beside themselves when Lily arrived for tea with a mutual

friend. She knew Mrs. Mannering to be a loose-tongued woman, so rather than offering to help directly, she had presented them with one of her cards and suggested that her “acquaintance” might track down their daughter.

The daughter had been located—she had become so fed up with her parents’ matrimonial ambitions that she had run away to the home of her aunt—and the Mannerings had never known that it was Lily herself who had found her.

“So it was Mrs. Mannering who suggested you contact the lady of quality?” On the one hand, Mrs. Mannering loved to gossip. On the other hand, sharing such a story about her own daughter would hardly reflect well on her, even if that daughter was now well married. And Lily had no interest in assisting someone who began with lying to her.

“Yes,” the young woman said, nodding.

Lily waited silently, her brows rising just a hair.

“No . . .” Miss Forrest stretched the word out hesitantly, biting her lip as she looked away. “That is to say, not exactly. Mrs. Mannering mentioned that someone had assisted them with a sort of inquiry—she made it sound dreadfully dramatic, which is why I thought—well, and she showed my cousin, who is my companion, and me the lady of quality’s card over tea. And I was already so worried, and in need of help, that I—I took it.” The final words came out in a rush, and the girl looked suddenly both deflated and relieved. “I stole it, I suppose. And then I wrote because I so desperately needed someone to help me. Can you?” She raised her eyes hopefully to Lily’s.

“Perhaps,” Lily said. “Though beginning with a falsehood does not bode well.” Miss Forrest’s face fell, and she looked like nothing so much as a scolded puppy. Lily sighed. “Tell me what it is you need assistance with.” She glanced at Clive and added coldly, “And how you come into it, sir. Then I shall make up my mind.”

Miss Sarah Forrest sat up very straight. “I need your assistance to escape my uncle. I fear he has stolen all the money my father intended for me to inherit.” Her mouth and hands both trembled, and she clasped her fingers together tightly to keep them still. “He says it is for my own good that he controls my inheritance. But I do not believe my father would do such a thing. And now, because he has kept my independence from me, my uncle is preventing me from marrying in order to keep me dependent on him, perhaps forever.”

Lily sat back against the bench. She glanced at Clive. “And that is where you come into it, I suppose?”

He, still standing, bowed. “I have asked Miss Forrest to marry me, yes. We met during the winter and were instantly in sympathy with each other.”

“Mr. Clive’s family is from Suffolk, and his property is there too, of course.” Miss Forrest said, holding out her hand to her suitor. “But he felt so dreadfully isolated that he came to London last winter.”

“I had not recalled that your family was from Suffolk,” Lily said, her eyes fixed on Clive. Her hands were clenched into fists by her sides; she took a deep breath, trying to relax them. “How forgetful of me.”

“No matter,” Miss Forrest went on, not noticing Lily’s tone. Clive’s sideways glance, however, said he had not missed it. “Such a handsome, charming young man is much better suited to life in town, do you not think?”

“My dear Sarah is too kind to me,” Clive said gallantly, taking the hand she held out to him, giving her a warm smile as he pressed it between his. “And I am fortunate indeed that she is. She is the love of my life.”

“So Miss Forrest said in her letter,” Lily said a little more cynically than she intended. But it was impossible to keep a completely straight face as she watched their romantic interlude, or as she remembered the melodramatic turns of phrase the young woman had employed.

“Yes.” Miss Forrest smiled at her sweetheart, showing no hesitation or embarrassment over her elevated prose. “He is a most dashing, wonderful young man. Though I hardly need tell you that,” she added earnestly, turning back to Lily, “as you are already acquainted.”

They were acquainted. And when Lily had met him in her aunt’s small Hampshire village, he was a cardsharp and a bookmaker, accepted into more elevated circles than the ones into which he had been born because nearly every young man with pretensions to dissipation owed him money. No one had trusted him, but no one could risk offending him either. He knew it, and he despised those around him even as he needed them in turn.

Once or twice, Lily had thought she saw a hint of the more admirable man he might have become had he chosen a different path. But if there was, he had not bothered to cultivate it. And he had made no secret of his plan, during that brief week of their acquaintance, to use his ill-gotten income to one day place himself in the role of a gentleman and improve his lot in life.

It seemed he had succeeded. Or would have, if Miss Forrest’s inheritance had not disappeared.

“But it seems this dashing, wonderful young man will not marry you without your inheritance?” Lily asked.

That prompted a scowl from Miss Forrest. “I know what you are thinking, ma’am. But you are wrong. My dear Mr. Clive has some money of his own. The problem we face is that my uncle will not give his consent.”

“How old are you, Miss Forrest?” Lily asked, glancing sideways at Clive.

“I am not yet two-and-twenty,” Miss Forrest said sitting up very straight, as though to look as mature and worldly as possible.

“Then you are legally able to marry, even without your uncle’s consent,” Lily said pragmatically. “If it is not a question of needing your inheritance, why not simply do so?”

Clive sighed. “Because—”

But Miss Forrest broke in. “Just because he is not marrying me for my money does not mean we’ve no need of something to live on,” she said, the irritation plain in her voice. She gave Lily a look up and down. “You will forgive me for saying, ma’am, but you look like you are no stranger to comfort. Is it so wrong that we might wish for the same in our own lives?”

Lily wanted to argue the point, but it was a reasonable one. Or it would have been, were it not for what she knew of the gentleman in question. “Very well,” she said, inclining her head. “I merely wish to know all the facts of the situation.”

“And if I had come to you for marriage advice, your interference might be warranted,” Miss Forrest snapped, her cheeks going splotchy with irritation. “But I did not.”

“Sarah,” Clive said before Lily could reply. When she glanced at him, his smile was firmly in place, but there was a cynical edge to it. “It is a mark of her good character that she asks such questions. Mrs. Adler does not know me as you do.”

Miss Forrest took a deep breath, reining in her emotions once more. “I suppose. But my uncle’s refusing his consent only proves my concern is warranted.” She clasped her book tightly against her midsection, as though it were a shield she could hide behind. “Even if my father did change his will, whatever inheritance my uncle is currently steward of would pass from Uncle Forrest’s control to that of my husband if I marry. What other reason could he have for refusing his consent if not to keep control of those funds?”

“Skepticism of your suitor, perhaps?” Lily murmured.

“But we have never met,” Clive put in. “He has refused to do so.”

“Which is also suspicious!” Miss Forrest declared.

Lily glanced around. Miss Forrest’s emphatic tones had drawn curious stares from the couples strolling nearby. One of the women glanced at them several times, though she had not stopped talking to the man with her. A feeling of unease settled in Lily’s stomach. She

thought she recognized the woman, though she could not put a name to the face.

She needed to leave this conversation as soon as possible.

“Well,” she said, tapping the tips of her fingers together, “you tell an interesting story.”

Miss Forrest met Lily’s eyes; her own, for the first time, were wide and sober. “I know it sounds like something out of a novel. But it is the truth. All I want is to reclaim the independence that should be mine.”

“Then you would be best served by speaking to your father’s solicitor,” Lily said briskly. “He would be able to assist you in understanding how your father left things, I’ve no doubt.”

The young lady scowled, her cheeks flushing red. “I do not know who his solicitor was. And for obvious reasons, I cannot ask my uncle for the name.”

“Then what is it you are hoping I will do?” Lily said. “I am one woman, Miss Forrest. I cannot retrieve your money for you.”

“I know that. But my uncle will have a copy of my father’s will in his house, and I think I know where it would be.” The girl leaned forward, her breath coming quickly and her hands trembling once more. “I want to hire you to steal it for me so I can prove what he has done.”

***

Excerpt from A Scandal in Mayfair by Katharine Schellman. Copyright 2024 by Katharine Schellman. Reproduced with permission from Katharine Schellman. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Katharine Schellman

Katharine Schellman is a former actor and one-time political consultant. These days, she writes the Regency-set Lily Adler Mysteries and Jazz Age Nightingale Mysteries. Her books have been praised in outlets from Library Journal to The New York Times, with reviewers calling them “worthy of Agatha Christie or Rex Stout” (Library Journal). Katharine writes in the mountains of Virginia, where she lives with her husband, children, and the many houseplants she keeps accidentally murdering.

Catch Up With Katharine Schellman:
KatharineSchellman.com
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BookBub - @KatharineSchellman
Instagram - @katharinewrites
Facebook - @katharineschellman

 

 

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27 August, 2024

August 27, 2024 0

The Cadieux Murders by R.J. Koreto

 

THE CADIEUX MURDERS

by R.J. Koreto

August 27, 2024 COVER REVEAL

Synopsis:

The Cadieux Murders by R.J. Koreto

The ink is still wet on the contract, but Wren Fontaine is already running into trouble as she renovates Cadieux House, a modernist masterpiece on Long Island's exclusive Gold Coast. The home's architect was the brilliant and eccentric Marius Cadieux, her father's mentor, and Ezra doesn't want Wren to change as much as a doorknob.

And the home itself comes with a dark past: In 1955, it was the site of the never-solved murder of its owner, Dennis Blaine. Cadieux himself was alleged to be having an affair with Dennis's wife, the stunningly beautiful Rebecca. It seems like yesterday's headlines, but then someone starts killing people with a connection to the house. The home's new owner—bestselling novelist Bronwyn Merrick—may be using the house to launch a fictionalized account of the 1955 crime. But someone may not want to her to. Just how far will Bronwyn's armed bodyguard go to protect her?

As Wren untangles the threads, she finds they all lead back to the house. Rebecca apparently inspired the strange, yet alluring residence, and both the home and its mistress may have caused uncontrolled emotions that led to tragedy. Wren uses all her architectural skills to decipher the hidden message Cadieux cunningly wove into the home's design. She must think back 20 years to when, as a little girl, she met Cadieux. Deeply impressed with Wren, he gave her a clue about the house—and his unusual friendship with Rebecca. With her girlfriend Hadley at her side, Wren eventually solves the mysteries of the home and the people who lived there, develops a grudging respect for modernist architecture—and learns something about the difference between love and obsession.

Don't Miss The Previous Historic Homes Mysteries

The Greenleaf Murders

Book 1

Young architect Wren Fontaine lands her dream job: restoring Greenleaf House, New York's finest Gilded-Age mansion, to its glory days. But old homes have old secrets: Stephen Greenleaf—heir to what’s left of his family’s legacy—refuses to reveal what his plans are once the renovation is completed. And still living in a corner of the home is Stephen's 90-year-old Aunt Agnes who's lost in the past, brooding over a long-forgotten scandal while watching Wren with mistrust.
Wren's job becomes more complex when a shady developer who was trying to acquire Greenleaf House is found murdered. And after breaking into a sealed attic, Wren finds a skeleton stuffed in a trunk. She soon realizes the two deaths, a century apart, are strangely related. Meanwhile, a distraction of a different kind appears in the form of her client's niece, the beautiful and seductive Hadley Vanderwerf. As Wren gingerly approaches a romance, she finds that Hadley has her own secrets.
Then a third murder occurs, and the introverted architect is forced to think about people, and about how ill-fated love affairs and obsessions continue to haunt the Greenleafs. In the end, Wren risks her own life to uncover a pair of murderers, separated by a century but connected by motive. She reveals an odd twist in the family tree that forever changes the lives of the Greenleafs, the people who served them, the mansion they all called home—and even Wren herself.

The Turnbull Murders

Book 2

Movie star Nicky Tallon selects architect Wren Fontaine to renovate Turnbull House, where he'll be filming his next movie. Even to Wren, used to old homes, this one is special: a 200-year-old federal-style home on a private island in New York harbor, designed by the most celebrated architect of the day. But Turnbull House hides many secrets, such as the disappearance of the sea captain who built it. That's just a historical curiosity, until a studio executive no one likes is killed.
Wren just wants to keep her worksite safe, but then another murder occurs, and she starts noting eerie connections between the mysteries surrounding the Turnbull family and Nicky and his entourage. The handsome star seems to have two girlfriends, a childlike folk singer and a cynical fashion model. Meanwhile, renowned actress Veronica Selwyn renews a friendship with Wren's father, which Wren finds more disturbing than she wants to admit. She concludes it's time she and her girlfriend Hadley take the next step and find a place together, an exciting but stressful change.
As the attacks continue, Wren realizes she will have to solve the mysteries surrounding Captain Turnbull and Nicky Tallon. Turnbull House speaks of order and harmony, and Wren must dig deep to see how the house has affected its owners, old and new. Fortunately for her, the eminently practical Hadley is by her side, pepper spray at the ready—because a frighteningly clever killer is about to find that Wren is getting too close to the horrific truth.

 

Author Bio:

R.J. Koreto

Over the years, R.J. Koreto has been a magazine writer, website manager, textbook editor, novelist and merchant seaman. He was born and raised in New York City, graduated from Vassar College, and has wanted to be a writer since reading The Naked and the Dead. In addition to his novels, he has published short stories in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine, Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine, the 2020 Bouchercon Anthology and Paranoia Blues: Crime Fiction Inspired by the Songs of Paul Simon. His current series features Wren Fontaine, an architect who finds mysteries in the historic homes she renovates. He and his wife have two grown daughters, and they divide their time between Rockland County, N.Y., and Martha’s Vineyard, Mass.

Catch Up With R.J. Koreto:
www.RJKoreto.com
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Instagram - @RJKoreto
Threads - @RJKoreto
Twitter/X - @RJKoreto
Facebook - @RJKoreto

 

 

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25 August, 2024

August 25, 2024 0

The Summer of Love and Death by Marcy McCreary

 

The Summer of Love and Death by Marcy McCreary Banner

THE SUMMER OF LOVE AND DEATH

by Marcy McCreary

August 19 - September 13, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Summer of Love and Death by Marcy McCreary

A Ford Family Mystery

 

The summer of ’69: memorable for some, murder for others.

Detective Susan Ford and her new partner, Detective Jack Tomelli, are called to a crime scene at the local summer stock theater where they find the director of Murder on the Orient Express gruesomely murdered—naked, face caked in makeup, pillow at his feet, wrists and ankles bound by rope. When Susan describes the murder to her dad, retired detective Will Ford, he recognizes the MO of a 1969 serial killer . . . a case he worked fifty years ago.

Will remembers a lot of things about that summer—the Woodstock Festival, the Apollo 11 moon landing, the Miracle Mets—yet he is fuzzy on the details of the decades-old case. But when Susan and Jack discover the old case files, his memories start trickling back. And with each old and new clue, Susan, Jack, and Will must narrow down the pool of suspects before the killer strikes again.

Praise for The Summer of Love and Death:

"An old case has repercussions on a new copycat killing in this excellent police procedural. With juicy twists, an engaging cast, and an intriguing case that’s impossible to predict, The Summer of Love and Death is everything I want in a mystery. An addictive and entertaining ride!"
~ Christina McDonald, USA Today bestselling author

"McCreary unspools a lot of threads in The Summer of Love and Death, then masterfully weaves them all together atop the Ford family's compelling dynamic for an ending you won't see coming. It's a fun ride that kept me guessing the whole time!"
~ Tony Wirt, bestselling author of Just Stay Away

"A compelling mystery that unfolds in two skillfully woven parallel narratives. McCreary pairs a haunting meditation on intergenerational trauma with an evocative rendering of that famous Summer of Love to deliver a suspenseful and deeply satisfying read."
~ Lori Robbins, author of Murder in Fourth Position

"In the summer of 1969, there was peace and love—but also a serial killer committing bizarre murders. When a copycat killing occurs at the local summer stock theatre, detective Susan Ford must call on her father’s memory of his 1969 investigation to help her solve the present-day murder. The Summer of Love and Death offers page-turning suspense of how the legacy of murder can continue, leaving more than death in its wake."
~ Nina Wachsman, author of The Courtesan’s Secret

"A fiendishly smart modern who-dunnit with clever characters and a mystery that keeps you guessing . . ."
~ Elise Hart Kipness, author of Lights Out

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery (Detective)
Published by: CamCat Books
Publication Date: August 13, 2024
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 9780744310597 (ISBN10: 0744310598)
Series: A Ford Family Mystery, #3 | A Stand-Alone Series
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | CamCat Books

Read an excerpt:

You know that jittery, gut-roiling feeling you get when heading out on a blind date? That brew of nerves, anxiety, anticipation—plus a hint of dread. That pretty much summed up my morning. Today was the day, and standing at the front door, it finally hit me. I was no longer flying solo. A new partner was waiting for me down at the station.

My fingers twitchy, I fumbled with the zipper of my yellow slicker as I stood in front of the framed poster—an illustration of a white dove perched on a blue guitar neck, gripped by ivory fingers against a bright red background—touting three days of peace and music. Usually, I paid it no mind. But today it captured my attention. A signal, perhaps, that everything would turn out just fine, like it did exactly fifty years ago when four hundred thousand idealistic hippies descended upon this town. A projected disaster that ended up being a glorious experience. The legendary summer of love.

The Woodstock Music and Art Fair didn’t take place in Woodstock, New York. The residents of Woodstock were not keen on having the initially projected fifty thousand hippies traipsing through their town. The concert promoters eventually secured Max Yasgur’s dairy farm in Bethel, New York—fifty-eight miles from Woodstock and six miles from where I live now. I was four at the time. I have no memory of it. Mom said I was sicker than sick that weekend. Ear infection. Fever escalating to 104 degrees. She tried to take me to a doctor, but the roads were clogged with festival revelers, so she had to postpone my appointment until Tuesday. But by then, the worst of it was over.

Fifty years. Those teenagers were in their sixties and seventies now. The older ones in their eighties. How many of them were still idealistic? How many were still into peace, love, and understanding? How many “dropped out” and berated “the man,” only later to find themselves the beneficiaries of capitalism? Becoming “the man.”

I leaned over slightly as I reached for the doorknob. The door swung open unexpectedly, smacking me in the forehead. “Whoa.” I ran my fingertips along my hairline. No bump. For now.

“Sorry, babe.” Ray’s voice drew Moxie’s attention. Our thirteenyear-old lab mix moseyed into the foyer, tail in full swing. Moseying was really all Moxie could muster these days. “Didn’t realize you were standing there.”

Ray had left the house an hour earlier. I peered over his shoulder at the running Jeep. “Forget something?”

“Yeah. My wallet.” Ray stepped inside, dripping. Moxie stared up at him, waiting. He squatted and rubbed her ears. “Raining cats and dogs out there. No offense, Moxie.” He glanced up at the poster. “Just like fifty years ago.” He sighed.

Ray’s parents were married at the festival by a traveling minister. One-year-old Ray in tow (earning him bragging rights as one of the youngest people to attend Woodstock). Tomorrow would have been their fiftieth wedding anniversary. Their death, at the hand of a drunk driver twelve years ago, spawned a program called Better Mad Than Sad—a class baked into the local drivers-ed curriculum that Ray (and the drunk driver’s girlfriend, Marisa) created ten years ago. Parents would join their kids for a fifty-minute session in which they pledged to pick up their kids or their kid’s friends, no questions asked, no judgment passed.

Last month, Ray reached out to a few of his and his parents’ friends asking if they would be up for a “celebration of life” vigil at the Woodstock Festival site this evening. Nothing formal. Just twenty or so folks standing around, reminiscing and shooting the shit about his parents.

Ray shook the rain off his jacket. “Met your new partner this morning.”

“Yeah?”

“He’s very good-looking.” He smirked, then added, “Movie-star good looking.”

I leaned back and gave Ray the once-over. “I’m more into the rough-around-the-edges type.”

“So I got nothing to worry about?”

“Not as long as you treat me right.” I smiled coyly. I had been without an official partner for a little over a year, since July 2018. My ex-partner bought a small farm in Vermont. He told me not to take it personally, but he was on the verge of a nervous breakdown. I still wondered if I contributed to his anxiety in some small way. Then I got shot in the thigh that August. So hiring a new partner was put on hold. Upon my return to active duty in October of 2018, I was assigned an under-the-radar cold case with my dad brought on as consulting partner. By the time the Trudy Solomon case was resolved, in December 2018, Chief Eldridge still hadn’t found a suitable replacement. Small-town policing isn’t everyone’s cup of tea. So for the better part of 2019, it was just me and my shadow. Dad and Ray assisted on the Madison Garcia case, but the chief made it clear that protocol called for two detectives working a case, and my partnerless days were numbered. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like I didn’t want a partner. I did. I just wished I had a say in who it was.

***

Excerpt from The Summer of Love and Death by Marcy McCreary. Copyright 2024 by Marcy McCreary. Reproduced with permission from CamCat Books. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Marcy McCreary

Marcy McCreary is the author of the Ford Family Mystery series. She graduated from George Washington University with a B.A. in American literature and political science and pursued a career in marketing and communications. She lives in Hull, MA with her husband, Lew.

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22 August, 2024

August 22, 2024 0

#BookReview :: The Song of a Dark Angel (Hugh Corbett #8) by P.C. Doherty


 


'The Song of a Dark Angel' is the eighth book in the Hugh Corbett series by P.C. Doherty, and it’s a fantastic medieval mystery that will keep you on the edge of your seat. Set in November 1302, the story takes you to the chilly Norfolk coast, where Sir Hugh Corbett, a secret agent, is sent on a dangerous mission.


The book starts with Sir Hugh Corbett arriving at Mortlake Manor with his loyal servant, Ranulf, and a quick-witted messenger named Maltote. They’ve been sent to Norfolk to investigate some truly creepy and mysterious deaths. The first body they find is particularly gruesome: a man’s headless corpse, with his head stuck on a pole on the beach. Even more disturbing, the young wife of a local baker is discovered hanging from a gallows on a cliff. 


The Norfolk coast is as cold and eerie as the crimes they’re investigating. The winds that blow through the area are called the “Dark Angel” winds, adding an extra layer of spookiness to the story. Corbett and his team have to figure out who is behind these horrifying murders while dealing with the harsh environment and the secrets of Mortlake Manor.


Paul Doherty does an amazing job of making the historical setting come alive. The book is full of details about medieval life, which helps you really feel like you’re back in the 1300s. The setting isn’t just a backdrop—it’s an important part of the story, making everything feel more intense and realistic.


Hugh Corbett is a smart and determined detective. He uses his brains and his knowledge of politics to solve the mystery. His interactions with Ranulf and Maltote add a lot of depth to the story. Ranulf, in particular, brings some humor and warmth to the book, balancing out the darker parts of the plot. The mystery is very cleverly put together. Doherty keeps you guessing with plenty of clues and surprises. The reason Corbett has been sent to Norfolk is a big part of the puzzle, and as he uncovers more about the murders, the story becomes even more interesting. The cold, windy coast and the isolated villages add a creepy feeling that makes the mystery even more exciting.


Overall, 'The Song of a Dark Angel' is a thrilling medieval mystery that blends history with suspense. Paul Doherty has created a fantastic adventure for Hugh Corbett, full of twists, turns, and historical details that make the story really come alive. If you enjoy solving mysteries - without forensics and more human psyche, then this book is certainly for you.




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