10 February, 2025

February 10, 2025 0

The Ballad of the Great Value Boys by Ken Harris

 

The Ballad of the Great Value Boys by Ken Harris Banner

THE BALLAD OF THE GREAT VALUE BOYS

by Ken Harris

February 10 - March 7, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Ballad of the Great Value Boys by Ken Harris

FROM THE CASE FILES OF STEVE ROCKFISH

 

Private Investigators Steve Rockfish and Jawnie McGee's loyalty is tested when they are called upon to rescue a friend whose plan to grift a local Militia goes awry. The ruse rebrands expiring MREs as Q-Rations, focuses on fear, and targets those with an anti-government mindset.

Rockfish and McGee arrive in the dilapidated steel town of Grindsville and are quick to realize the Penn Forest Patriots are more than weekend LARPers. The partner's investigation uncovers a devious plot to light the fuse on a series of domestic terrorism events and throw the country into chaos.

The lack of a timely response by Federal Law Enforcement swiftly constitutes an emergency on Rockfish and McGee’s part. The plot forces them to empty their analytical and investigative skill sets across two states in an attempt to mitigate the threat. Can they prevent the terror cell from igniting the next insurrection and running out the clock on America’s democracy?

Praise for The Ballad of the Great Value Boys:

"Steve Rockfish is back and kicking militia ass. In fact, the whole crew is back, busting balls as they solve crimes and track down the bad guys. The wisecracks fly fast and furious. So do the twists and turns. The bad guys are badder, the danger more dangerous, and every character as endearing as they are dysfunctional. I couldn't turn the pages fast enough."
~ Haris Orkin, award-winning author of The James Flynn Escapades

"Prepare for twists, turns, and more than a few laugh-out loud moments in this rollercoaster of a thriller that pits wise-cracking private investigator Steve Rockfish and his band of unlikely cohorts against a right-wing extremist militia group with a dangerous agenda."
~ Patti Liszkay, author of The Equal and Opposite Reactions Trilogy

"Great gobs of serious yet hilarious crime-solving by Steve and Jawnie, along with their cast of friends ranging from dependable to what-the-hell-now crazy. Absolutely a fun ride! But I warn you, you'll want to read the entire series tonight."
~ Val Conrad, author of The Julie Madigan Thriller Series

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Fiction
Published by: Black Rose Writing
Publication Date: February 6, 2025
Number of Pages: 350
ISBN: 9781685135539 (ISBN10: 1685135536)
Series: From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish series, Book 4
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Black Rose Writing

Read an excerpt:

You've reached Rockfish & McGee, Investigative Specialists. At the tone, leave your name and message. Someone will get back to you at our earliest convenience. [Beep]

"Steve, why don't you ever answer your cell? I'm in deep shit here and you are my one call. Grindsville. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, heading west. The locals have me locked up on a trumped-up charge. You gotta believe me, Steve. I didn't do a damn thing..."

The partners stood around Lynn's desk and listened to the voicemail, left the previous evening. Their administrative assistant had heard Raffi's plea for help first, and immediately reached out to Rockfish and Jawnie to advise of a friend of the office's predicament.

"I'm guessing you didn't pick up his call yesterday?" Jawnie said, with a perturbed look on her face.

"Would you want to talk to Raffi every time he calls?" Rockfish said, raising his own eyebrows. "Plus, I didn't know it was him. The notification came up, Unknown Caller, and I forwarded it to the office line. I assumed it was spam, figured we'd listen and handle it on Monday. And well, here we are. Plus, I didn't want to mute the television. It was that new Marvel movie, Hawkgirl Takes Topeka."

"DC Universe, but I totally get where you're coming from," Jawnie said with a grin. "Too bad it wasn't a scammer halfway around the world calling regarding our Medicare benefits."

"If I was his only call, then he's expecting me to come up there and bail him out. Where the hell is Grindsville, anyway?"

"Central Pennsylvania, Boss," Lynn said. She glanced up from her computer at Jawnie and Rockfish, standing on the other side. "Two hours east of Pittsburgh. What do you think he did?"

"You heard as much of that rambling message as I did. Lord knows what type of scheme he had in mind and was trying to run on the rural bumpkins," Rockfish said. He stepped back into the office's bullpen area before slumping into his favorite recliner. This is the last damn thing I need today. The Andrist case keeps raising its ugly head and I don't have the time to handle two problem children at once. Where is my morning coffee?

"Steve, you know as well as I do Raffi's voicemail changes with each money-making opportunity," Jawnie said. He hadn't noticed she followed him and had taken up her normal seat on the couch, laptop open and at the ready. "Might as well dial and listen. It might give you a leg up on what you're facing in Grindsville. Assuming you're going and someone powered down his phone. It's probably in an evidence storage locker. The call should go straight to voicemail. If you're considering following up on this."

"You know as well as I do, I can't leave him hanging," Rockfish said. "Google says it's anywhere between three and four hours to get there as the Lana flies. If I can get out of here before noon, I might have him sprung before dinner." He shifted his body in the chair and turned toward Lynn's desk. "Lynn, let's hear it."

"Speed dial four on speaker. Gimme a sec."

Rockfish and Jawnie got up and stood around Lynn's desk. They both leaned across and listened as the number rang once and rolled over to voicemail.

"Hello, you've reached the desk of Raphael Pérez, President of Patriot Meals on American Made Wheels. Please visit our website, www.Q-Rations.biz for orders and to view our FAQ. Please leave a message and a true patriot will get back to you shortly. God Bless."

"He's catering to the insurrectionists, isn't he?" Jawnie said. The concern in her face was clear, and Rockfish wasn't sure how to answer. He chose his words carefully. Raffi was a friend.

What am I going to tell her she already doesn't know? The guy will do practically anything to make a buck, no matter the gray area involved. Social, political or moral issue be damned. That's Raffi.

"Jawnie, we've all got parts of us that aren't the most desirable. Hell, look at me. Who the fuck in their right mind would want to be associated with me?"

"Are you implying I'm not in my right mind?"

"Yeah, me too," Lynn said. "Shots fired, Steve."

Rockfish walked back to his chair and stood behind it, elbows resting on the back. "That's damn well not what I meant, and you both know it."

Both women cracked smiles, and Rockfish relaxed for a minute before continuing.

"We all know he straddles that line, but I've known him longer than either of you two. The man's in it for the money. Nothing more, nothing less. Let me go figure out what kind of mess he's gotten himself into and we can revisit adjusting his moral compass when I get back."

Rockfish poured himself a cup of coffee. I'll need more than this tonight after I sweet-talk his ass out of jail. Might as well stop at the liquor store before making the drive. Hotel bar drinks are on the expensive side. Shop for a happy ending and will it into existence.

"I'm headed back to my office. Try to figure out my next couple of moves and exactly what he was doing up in the middle of nowhere." He turned and walked down the short hallway to his private office.

Once out of the sight of prying eyes, Rockfish finished constructing his homemade Irish coffee and turned on his monitor. I need to figure this mess out. The sooner the better. Patriot Meals on American Wheels and something about rations. Since the Porbeagle case, Raffi usually focused his semi-legitimate business opportunities on the bumpkins he felt he could run circles around intelligence-wise. Especially should any part of his half-assed plans go sideways. Only makes sense he zeroed on those who continue to celebrate January 6th. Best to start researching with his website and gather what I can.

Rockfish picked up his desk phone and dialed Raffi's cell again. He jotted down the URL on a pink Post-it and stuck it to the bottom of his monitor. I need to talk to Lynn. We need good old-fashioned yellow ones. At least for me.

His fingers tapped out the web address and Rockfish paused as his pinky hovered over the return key. Do I really want to know? Can't I drive up there with a credit card and pay the fine or whatever percentage of his bail the bondsman requires? You should know this already. The less you know about the man's shenanigans, the better. No chance of being sucked into the Raffi vortex.

Curiosity won out and the Q-Rations.biz website filled the screen.

In the years since Jawnie had arrived on scene, Rockfish now had more experience with the Information Super Highway. While he wasn't on her level, even he had to question the design of Raffi's cracker-jack website. Looks like a site a middle school kid made in 1998. I can almost hear the dial-up modem noise.

The top of the page read Q-Rations against a black background, the letters alternating between red, white, and blue. The image flickered every couple of seconds. How many patriots had visited the site with full intentions to buy this shit but suffered a seizure before navigating to their shopping cart? Under the image was the slogan from the voicemail, Patriot Meals on American Made Wheels. What really caught Rockfish's attention was the picture directly to the right of the bit of jingoism. Raffi stood at attention, dressed in what Rockfish thought was George C. Scott's uniform from the opening scene in Patton. His right hand cocked and saluting.

The set of balls on this guy, but give him credit, he knows his audience. Pander to them until they open their wallets and then turn the grift up a few more notches.

The rest of the site's front page laid out a story full of fear mongering and catered to the benefits of hoarding Q-Rations. Each meal would be priceless once Hillary Clinton, the newly appointed Biden Gun-Czar, came a knocking on your door. Think the supply chain is fucked six ways to Sunday now? Wait until George Soros declares martial law. Repackaged MREs? How did he come up with this idea? Rockfish imagined the interest and rising demand. He wondered where Raffi would or had gotten his supply from. He ain't cooking and packaging this shit in the basement of his townhome.

The rest of the page detailed the different options of Q-Rations available for purchase, but Rockfish had seen and read enough. He moved his mouse over to the top of the browser and printed the page, before hollering down the hallway to where Lynn and Jawnie continued to talk.

"Lynn, can you use that webcrawly thing and download me a copy of Raffi's entire website?" Rockfish said. "Chuck it on a USB along with the prison voicemail, and I'll take it with me. I'm not sure what kind of internet I'll have out in the mountains of West Central Pennsylvania."

"Gotcha, Boss. I'm on it," Lynn said.

"You're a lifesaver." Rockfish smiled to himself and heard a light knock. He glanced up to see Jawnie standing in the open doorway.

"You're going this alone? There's something to be said about going lone wolf in that area of the country, if you know what I mean. Plus, I don't have the time to find a good-looking shot for when the milk container people call for your missing person picture."

"I get it, but he's my friend, and occasional support to this office," Rockfish said with a shrug. "Listen, I'll run up there, grab a hotel, pay his fine and come back with him riding shotgun in the morning. Worst case, it's bail money instead of a fine, but at least he'll be back on the street and owe me one."

Jawnie shifted her weight from one leg to the other and leaned against the door frame with her arms crossed. Rockfish understood his reasoning, hadn't fully sold his partner on the trip. In fact, Rockfish had lost count of exactly how many favors Raffi currently owed him.

"I can see you still don't think it's a grand plan. But if you come, who's going to stay here and handle Andrist? I mean, I love he keeps hiring us, but that man is a handful and I can't, in good faith, ask Lynn to deal with him on an almost daily basis." Rockfish saw this line of reasoning was an easier sell by Jawnie's nod and expression.

"He is our best client at the moment," Jawnie said. "Best paying, too."

"Coddle him. Hold his meetings at arm's length. Do whatever you need. I'll be back before noon tomorrow and be on my phone at all times," Rockfish said. He stood up and grabbed his messenger bag and laptop.

"You're leaving right this instant?"

"Yeah, I need to swing by Bass Pro Shops and pick up a few camo shirts, knit hat and a jacket. It'll be pretty cold up there and I'll blend in better. In small towns like this, the natives are restless. Just tryin' to prevent any kind of run-in."

"Better grab one of Mack's old trucker hats and by all means, don't shave," Jawnie said and stepped back out of the doorway.

Rockfish paused and held out his fist and Jawnie bumped it. He picked up the USB from Lynn on his way out the door and auto-started Lana before stepping out into the February cold.

***

Excerpt from The Ballad of the Great Value Boys by Ken Harris. Copyright 2025 by Ken Harris. Reproduced with permission from Ken Harris. All rights reserved.

 

Don't Miss The Other Case Files of Steve Rockfish

The Pine Barrens Stratagem by Ken Harris See You Next Tuesday by Ken Harris A Bad Bout of the Yips by Ken Harris
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads


 

Author Bio:

Ken Harris

Ken Harris retired from the FBI, after thirty-two years, as a cybersecurity executive. With over three decades writing intelligence products for senior Government officials, Ken provides unique perspectives on the conventional fast-paced crime thriller. He is the author of the “From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish” series. He spends days with his wife Nicolita, and two Labradors, Shady and Chalupa Batman. Evenings are spent playing Walkabout Mini Golf and cheering on Philadelphia sports. Ken firmly believes Pink Floyd, Irish whiskey and a Montecristo cigar are the only muses necessary. He is a native of New Jersey and currently resides in Virginia’s Northern Neck.

Catch Up With Ken Harris:
www.KenHarrisFiction.com
Twitch - @kenharrisfiction
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @KAHFiction
Instagram - @kenharrisfiction
YouTube - @KenHarrisFiction
X - @KAHFiction
BlueSky - @kahfiction.bsky.social
Facebook - @kah623

 

 

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03 February, 2025

February 03, 2025 0

Rented Grave by Charles Philipp Martin

Rented Grave by Charles Philipp Martin Banner

RENTED GRAVE

by Charles Philipp Martin

February 3 - 28, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Rented Grave by Charles Martin

AN INSPECTOR LOK NOVEL

 

Horace Yang, a downtrodden office worker haunted by failure, betrayal, and brutal imprisonment during Mao's Cultural Revolution, has finally found a way to settle the score. Obsessed with revenge, he presses on to a confrontation that can only end in death.

​In Hong Kong's teeming Yau Ma Tei district, a body is found in a gangster's limousine. The murder case takes Inspector Lok and his team deep into the heart of the city's criminal life. Eventually Lok's investigation uncovers an evil spawned in the turmoil of 1960s China, where a vicious regime exploited fear and terrorized the masses.

Rented Grave is a crime story about Hong Kong, a modern city entangled in China's past. Some can't forget that past, for their wounds still bleed, and their voices still cry out for revenge.

Praise for Rented Grave:

"An atmospheric crime story savvily blending the sleek modernity of Hong Kong with China’s tumultuous past."
~ Kirkus Reviews

"In noir, nothing goes according to plan. Charles Philip Martin’s RENTED GRAVE we have a crime, done in a different culture, against an alien political backdrop. Everything is different to Western eyes, from corruption to police procedure, women, and justice. Told in a crisp, vivid and relentless style that keeps the story moving forward and the mindset and values of a foreign city and its people at the fingertips, yet out of reach, Martin delivers noir in the darkest of shades."
~ Gabriel Valjan, Agatha, Anthony, and Shamus-nominated author of the Shane Cleary series​

"...lean and masterfully written...This book pulls you in and won't let go."
~ Carl Vonderau, award-winning author of MURDERABILIA and SAVING MYLES​

"Rented Grave is a beautifully-crafted, relentlessly-paced crime story studded with edge-of-your-seat thrills. Never for a moment does it stop bubbling with tension and danger."
~ Ron McMillan, author of YIN YANG TATTOO and BANGKOK COWBOY

"An as-authentic-as-you're-likely-to-get insider's view of Hong Kong police work…Martin pulls the reader through a twisty international thriller that ultimately satisfies while leaving us ready for the next installment. Exactly what you want in a thriller."
~ Bobby Mathews, Anthony-nominated author of MAGIC CITY BLUES, LIVING THE GIMMICK, and NEGATIVE TILT

"The criminal back alleys of Charles Philipp Martin’s Hong Kong simmer with sumptuous corruption."
~ Gerald Elias, award-winning author of the Daniel Jacobus mysteries

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: August 13, 2024
Number of Pages: 270
ISBN: 9781685126780 (ISBN10: 1685126782)
Series: An Inspector Lok Novel, 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Rented Grave

Yau Ma Tei District, Hong Kong, Friday, 7:31 p.m. It was not supposed to be like this.

Again the words come back to Horace Yang, persistent as the cat he kicks in the alley by his home, that wretched bag of fur that returns nightly to beg for what Horace doesn’t have.

The words come back, like the blotch on his toe, a mustard-colored rot that vanishes with a touch of rice vinegar, only to bloom again when it dries.

He banishes the words from his mind, but they return.

It was not supposed to be like this.

They return when he awakens in his flat, which seems to shrink by the year, and again when he takes the day’s work orders and prepares for the day’s disappointments.

It was not supposed to be like this. It was supposed to be different.

The words remain after other words are forgotten. They remain after he answers a question from his son, a boy without guile and without future. At night they keep him company in bed, while he counts the ways that life has thwarted him. And now they return in full voice as he clutches a knife bought in haste to kill a man.

There should have been time to plan, time to choose the weapon and the place, perhaps even a minute to tell Mo what he thought of him first. That would have felt good, might have eased the stress. That was how it was supposed to be.

But for Horace, things are never as they’re supposed to be.

It should be dark, but darkness, like silence, doesn’t happen in Mongkok. A faint glow washes in from lamps on Temple Street. Filthy and forgotten windows at the back of the restaurant shed their anemic light on crates full of rotting choi sum.

Horace approaches the dormant limousine, adding a few inches to his stride to speed things up.

Given more time, he could have taken control, and not had to sneak around. Why is it that people like him, who have the best minds and the keenest ambition, are the ones who can never get control?

One last look around. Except for Horace, the alley is empty. No one is passing on Temple Street behind him or on Woosung Street at the far end. If it’s to happen, it must happen now.

Horace grabs the handle and throws the door wide open to reveal a small figure in the glint of the dome light.

“Who…?” The man stares up in confusion.

He drives the knife into the man’s chest. They both gasp.

Up to this moment, Horace has thought only of himself: his own need for cover, for speed, for getting the thing done and getting away. And, of course, his resentment at how things have turned out.

Now, the deed done, he pauses to look at the man.

The wrong man. Not Mo Tun.

A stranger lies on the seat, eyes rigid in horror and pain. And then Horace sees what he hasn’t allowed himself to see till now.

Next to the dead man, another pair of eyes.

***

Excerpt from Rented Grave by Charles Martin. Copyright 2025 by Charles Martin. Reproduced with permission from Charles Martin. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Charles Philipp Martin

Charles Philipp Martin grew up in New York City's Greenwich Village. His father was an opera conductor and both his parents well-known opera translators and librettists who never uttered the word "parenting" but knew enough to steep their family in music and literature. After attending Columbia University and Manhattan School of Music, Martin took off for a six-year paid vacation in the Hong Kong Philharmonic Orchestra.

While in Hong Kong he hung up his bow and turned to writing, spending four years as a Sunday Magazine columnist for the South China Morning Post, and writing for magazines all over Southeast Asia. His weekly jazz radio show 3 O'Clock Jump was heard every Saturday on Hong Kong’s Radio 3 for some two decades.

Neon Panic, a suspense novel which introduced Hong Kong policeman Inspector Herman Lok, was published in 2011. His most recent novel is Rented Grave, the first in a new series featuring Inspector Herman Lok. Martin now lives in Seattle with his wife Catherine.

Catch Up With Charles Philipp Martin:
www.NeonPanic.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads - @cpmartin
Instagram - @writecharliewrite
Bluesky - @neonpanic.bsky.social
Facebook - @HongKongSuspense

 

 

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27 January, 2025

January 27, 2025 0

Star-Crossed Egg Tarts by Jennifer J Chow

 

STAR-CROSSED EGG TARTS

by Jennifer J Chow

January 27 - February 21, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Star-Crossed Egg Tarts by Jennifer J Chow

A MAGICAL FORTUNE COOKIE NOVEL

 

Jin Bakery has been asked to cater the Lum-Wu outdoor wedding at Pixie Park. The day of the ceremony, Felicity is finishing the “cake” of tiered egg tarts as the wedding party arrives for the ceremony. When one of the groomsmen, Miles Wu, doesn’t arrive, Felicity’s best friend and local florist Kelvin generously steps in for him and the wedding goes smoothly―until cake cutting time.

That’s when Felicity finds Miles’ dead body beneath the table with her egg tarts display, stabbed by Kelvin’s gardening shears. With the detective’s sights on Kelvin, Felicity starts sleuthing away to prove his innocence, revealing dark secrets about all the wedding's attendants. They each had something to hide―and a reason to quiet Miles forever. To make matters worse, Felicity’s powers of prediction are on the fritz thanks to the emotional turmoil of a surprise visit from her estranged father.

When the groom gets poisoned at the send-off party and winds up in a coma, the stakes are even higher, not to mention Felicity’s feelings for Kelvin are beginning to feel more than friendly. Will Felicity’s magic return in time to catch the true culprit and rescue her budding relationship with Kelvin?

Praise for the Magical Fortune Cookie series and Jennifer J. Chow:

"A spellbinding whodunit unfolds in the first installment of Jennifer J. Chow’s Magical Fortune Cookie series."
~ Woman's World

"The story itself is light, sweet, and delectable. The ensemble of interesting characters adds a crispy texture to the narrative, and, true to the cozy mystery genre, a central mystery―the ill-fated fortune―keeps readers engaged from start to finish."
~ The Big Thrill

"This first in a new series featuring a likable Chinese American heroine will appeal to fans of Jenn McKinlay, Eve Calder, or Joanne Fluke."
~ Booklist

"Nobody writes cozy mysteries quite like Jennifer J. Chow. No matter what is going wrong in my life, I know that all I need to do for some comfort is turn to one of Chow's books. Chow has done it again with Ill-Fated Fortune. I did not want to leave Felicity's side even for a moment, and you won't want to either."
~ Jesse Q. Sutanto, Edgar Award-winning author of Vera Wong’s Unsolicited Advice for Murderers

"A magical new culinary cozy mystery series filled with family, friendship, and heart―and a pinch of real magic."
~ Gigi Pandian, USA Today bestselling author of the Secret Staircase Mysteries on Ill-Fated Fortune

Book Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery, Amateur Sleuth, Asian American fiction
Published by: Minotaur
Publication Date: January 21, 2025
Number of Pages: 352
ISBN: 9781250351623 (ISBN10: 1250351626)
Series: The Magical Fortune Cookie series, #2
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Minotaur

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

I put the last egg tart in place on the tiered circular display, stepped back, and admired my handiwork. From a distance, if you squinted and tilted your head just right, you might actually mistake it for a wedding cake made of gold, or Jin. Fitting, since “Jin” was both my surname and the Mandarin word for “gold.” I grinned. Guess I’d been fated for this job.

Happily, I even got to rope in loved ones as other vendors. My best friend, Kelvin Love (who has the most fitting name to cater a wedding), handled the elaborate floral displays. And my godmother, Alma Paz, made the candle arrangements, including the votives for the cake table. She’d even handcrafted bowl-shaped lace holders for each votive candle.

Once the late afternoon dissolved into evening, the small candles would be lit, and the cake made of egg tarts would turn into an enchanting display. Quite literally, because my mom had used her magic to bake joy into every last bite. After all, that’s what we Jins do—pour joy into our signature recipe treats to flow out to others. Except my own brand of magic came with an extra bonus: I made special fortune cookies that provided happiness and accurately predicted future happenings.

I added a stash of business cards to the table. I’d been made official co-owner of Jin Bakery with my mom, and I now had business cards to attest to that exciting fact. Besides, I figured it wouldn’t hurt to have my contact info out there. If people were in the area for the wedding, maybe they’d decide to check out our local bakery, too.

Plus, many of the guests were from nearby Fresno, the bride’s hometown, though a fair share hailed from up north, where the groom’s relatives lived. It wasn’t too much of a trek from NorCal to visit Pixie, right? Not for delicious egg tarts, pineapple buns, and fortune cookies, all coated with magic.

“It’s beautiful,” someone whispered from near my shoulder. I would have startled at the interruption, but the voice was so gentle, it didn’t scare me in the least.

A bridesmaid must have snuck into the main tent without my noticing. Maybe the soft grass surrounding the tent had masked her footsteps. Or she’d minced along in those stiletto sandals.

She was a wisp of a young woman, just a few years past twenty. Even though I was twenty-eight, I couldn’t imagine having ever been so bright-eyed and hopeful as the girl before me. The twin honey-colored braids wrapped around her head only added to her youthfulness.

“Haley, was it?” I asked.

She nodded, almost bouncing on her heels. “You remembered my name.”

“It’s distinctive. Very pretty.”

She flushed a sweet shade of pink. “I like your name, too. Felicity is lovely.”

“Is that a rose tucked behind your ear?” I asked, pointing to the blossom, the full pink petals brushing up against a tiny golden ear cuff lined with diamonds.

She widened her green eyes at me. “Uh, is that okay? I mean, do you mind? Are you and Kelvin together—”

“It’s fine,” I said, waving away her concern. “Kelvin and I are just friends.” Best friends, technically. “I take it he’s still working on the flower arch outside?”

“Said he was ‘securing the petals.’” Kelvin was a stickler for floral quality. Guess that’s what made us good entrepreneurs in our little town of Pixie.

I glanced at Haley’s T-shirt and jeans. “What time is it? Do you need to change?”

“Four forty-five,” she said. “I better get ready.”

The wedding guests would show up at six. Right now, only us hired help and the wedding party, plus the parents of the bride and groom, were roaming the surrounding green space.

“Jada’s in our tent doing makeup, and she said she’d help me,” Haley said.

“I should get going, too.” I’d promised the bride, Leanne, that I’d check on the tea ceremony. Not that I’d be super helpful. I’m third-gen Chinese American and had had to google what the traditional tea ritual entailed.

I followed Haley’s bouncing steps out of the larger main tent into the lush green of Pixie Park. Our town’s biggest park definitely had enough space for the Lum-Wu ceremony. The bride and groom had asked to pitch four tents for the event: a reception tent for food, his and her tents for wedding prep, and a tent for the traditional tea serving ritual.

Pixie Park also boasted a large hill, and it was sure to look magnificent with its aerial view for the actual wedding ceremony and exchanging of vows. Kelvin was on the hill now, fussing over the flowers on the custom arch he’d made.

I waved at him. He bobbed his head at me, his fingers still patting petals into place. Kelvin looked good fancied up, in a dress shirt and pressed slacks. His usual go-to was a casual Henley and jeans.

There was a rainbow of beautiful blossoms decorating the immense arch he’d constructed. I didn’t know why Kelvin was so worried. There wasn’t a breeze to be found. It was perfect, and the flowers should stay put.

If anything, the temperature was slightly too warm today. Thankfully, it was dry heat, typical of the San Joaquin Valley. Whoever thought tea was a great idea in July had not factored in the weather. Then again, traditions were important. I headed over to the tea tent, and as soon as I put my head through the flap, Leanne squealed.

“You came to help. Thank goodness,” she said. The bride-to-be wore a red qipao with a golden phoenix trailing down the front. Her hair was pinned up, and pearls were scattered across the hairdo as decoration, matching the dangling pearl earrings she wore.

“How can I assist?” I asked.

“With the hot plate. You’re good in the kitchen. Er, bakery. Can you get it started?”

“I can try.” I mean, I was hired to cater the cake, not the tea. But I’d done the bare minimum online research. Maybe I could fake my way through.

***

Excerpt from Star-Crossed Egg Tarts by Jennifer J Chow. Copyright 2025 by Jennifer J Chow. Reproduced with permission from St. Martin’s Publishing Group. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Jennifer J Chow

Agatha, Anthony, Lefty, and Lilian Jackson Braun Award-nominated author. Jennifer J. Chow writes cozy mysteries filled with hope and heritage.

Catch Up With Jennifer J Chow:
www.JenniferJChow.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
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Instagram - @jenjchow
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Facebook - @JenJChow

 

 

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20 January, 2025

January 20, 2025 0

Early Termination by Cindy Goyette

 

EARLY TERMINATION

by Cindy Goyette

January 20 - February 14, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Early Termination by Cindy Goyette

A Probation Case Files Mystery

 

There are two ways to get off probation early. The first is to be a model citizen and complete all requirements imposed by the court. The second is to die. In Early Termination, Phoenix probation officer Casey Carson’s clients aren’t civic-minded, but they are dropping like flies.

She’s on a gang’s hit list, a detective’s suspect list, and is torn while two very hot men vie for her heart. As more clients die and a probationer accuses her of brutality, she becomes the focus of the investigation. Casey risks losing everything in her race to find the real killer, but doing so will put the target squarely on her back. She will need to find the person responsible for lightening her workload before she’s the one terminated.

Praise for Cindy Goyette's Novels:

"A hard-charging crime novel powered by combustible realism and driven by a fresh, new heroine—probation officer Casey Carson. Buckle up for a wild, white-knuckle ride."
~ Lee Goldberg, #1 New York Times bestselling author

"A dynamite start to an excellent new series. This is the kind of book that can grow legs and take off just by word of mouth. The character Casey Carson has grit, loyalty and honor. OBEY ALL LAWS is a topnotch thriller and I can't wait for the next one. Author Cindy Goyette is here to stay."
~ David Putnam the bestselling author of The Bruno Johnson series

"Cindy Goyette is a master with words. And she knows how to spin a tale! Drawing from rich life experiences in law enforcement, her characters jump from the page. Don't miss a single sentence this gifted author writes."
~ Judith L. Pearson, author of From Shadows to Life, The Wolves at the Door and Belly of the Beast

"A rollicking ride through the gritty world of feisty Probation Officer Casey Carson, a fantastic character with a heart as big and vast as the Arizona desert she calls home. When her probationers keep stacking up as homicide victims, Casey realizes that someone is sending her a message, and they're dead serious about it. Now, she must unravel the sinister plot before she becomes the next victim. A complex, entertaining story that includes a secondary theme of romantic frustration simmering in the background, and a twisty ending that ensures we'll see more adventures from Casey Carson. A great read! Five thumbs-up!"
~ Kerry Peresta, author of the Olivia Callahan Suspense series and Back Before Dawn

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Suspense
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: January 7, 2025
Number of Pages: 320
Series: A Probation Case Files Mystery
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

One

In probation work, there’s no such thing as a routine day at the office.

This morning, flashing red and blue lights guided me to the crime scene. Coming to a stop behind the coroner’s van, I parked my Jeep Wrangler and took a deep breath.

Coroner meant someone was dead. Not a good start to my day, but even worse for whoever I’d been called here about.

As I climbed out of my Jeep, I adjusted my sunglasses and surveyed the area. Yellow crime scene tape blocked off the entrance to the canal. Red tile rooftops peeked over six-foot walls that separated the waterway from the middle-class sea of stucco on either side. The canal, about ten feet wide, snaked smack in the middle of a dirt pathway that residents used to get their steps in.

It was nearing the end of September, and I was grateful for the hint of the cooler weather that would dip below one hundred for the first time in months. Ninety degrees might seem hot to some, but in Arizona, it was sweater weather.

I walked up to a uniformed cop and held out my badge. “I’m with probation. Detective Ramsey asked me to come.”

It wasn’t unusual for the police to contact us, but it wasn’t common practice to be called to a crime scene. My curiosity mixed with dread.

The cop glanced at my identification. “Ms. Carson. Welcome to the shit show. Don’t touch anything.” He held the tape high so I could pass. I ducked underneath and secured my badge to my belt so the other officers could tell I belonged there.

Lots of Tempe Police blue uniforms and forensic staff mulled around the area, but I homed in on the tall, balding man standing close to the water. He had on plain clothes—khakis and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I figured he might be Ramsey, so I walked over to him.

He scribbled something on a small notepad and glanced at me as I approached. “You the PO?”

I nodded and dropped my gaze to the mound covered by a tarp at his feet. I wasn’t fond of seeing dead bodies. One reason I was a PO and not a cop.

“Thinking this might be one of your charges, Ms. Carson,” he said. “I gotta warn you, it’s not pretty. He was in the water for a while and birds, and god knows what else got to him. You got a strong stomach?”

No. At the mere thought of seeing the body, my breakfast threatened to make a reappearance, but I wouldn’t admit that. “I’m fine. Why do you think he was on my caseload?”

Ramsey shrugged. “Someone stuffed your business card in his mouth.”

I gulped air. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. You ready?” Ramsey reached down and pulled the sheet back before I could respond.

A bloated, green face, missing chunks of cheek, greeted me. Bulging eyes looked skyward. Bran flakes swirled in my stomach and crested in my throat. Without a word, I ran to the canal and vomited so hard I thought I’d hack up a vital organ or two.

“You okay, ma’am?” Ramsey sounded bored.

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and straightened. Memories of the same man, alive and animated, flashed in my mind. Not so long ago, he was proud of accomplishing a solid month of sobriety. Now, I hardly recognized him. “Could you put the sheet back?” I said, keeping my back to the body on the ground.

“Sure.”

I waited a moment to give Ramsey time to cover the corpse and to compose myself. But that would take a while, and the detective didn’t seem like he had a lot of patience. The relationship between police and probation was fickle. We often needed each other, but POs were on the lower end of the food chain.

When I finally turned around, Ramsey was tapping his pen against his notebook. “So, you know the guy, or what?”

“Brian Johnson,” I said. “He was on abscond status. Haven’t seen him for a few weeks, maybe a month. He was doing well, but then he stopped reporting. He probably relapsed. I was gearing up to request a warrant for probation violations. What do you think was the cause of death?”

Ramsey shrugged again. “Too soon to tell, but most people who die of natural causes don’t end up in a canal or send a message like your business card does. They preserved it in a plastic Baggie, so we’d get the point no matter how long it took to find him.

I felt even sicker. Was the message for me? “Couldn’t you ID him through fingerprints? I thought you had all kinds of tech gadgets for that.”

“Sure,” Ramsey said. “But then I wouldn’t have seen your reaction. Plus, some of his fingertips are missing and what’s left probably isn’t usable. Dental records take time.” He pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to me. “Call me if you think of anything else I might need to know.”

I turned back to the canal and vomited until I had nothing left to give.

In probation work, there’s no such thing as a routine day at the office.

This morning, flashing red and blue lights guided me to the crime scene. Coming to a stop behind the coroner’s van, I parked my Jeep Wrangler and took a deep breath.

Coroner meant someone was dead. Not a good start to my day but even worse for whoever I’d been called here about.

As I climbed out of my Jeep, I adjusted my sunglasses and surveyed the area. Yellow crime scene tape blocked off the entrance to the canal. Red tile rooftops peeked over six-foot walls that separated the waterway from the middle-class sea of stucco on either side. The canal, about ten feet wide, snaked smack in the middle of a dirt pathway that local residents used to get their steps in.

It was nearing the end of September, and I was grateful for the hint of the cooler weather that would dip below one hundred for the first time in months. Ninety degrees might seem hot to some, but in Arizona, it was sweater weather.

I walked up to a uniformed cop and held out my badge. “I’m with probation. Detective Ramsey asked me to come.”

It wasn’t unusual for police to contact us, but it wasn’t common practice to be called to a crime scene. My curiosity mixed with dread.

The cop glanced at my identification. “Ms. Carson. Welcome to the shit show. Don’t touch anything.” He held the tape high so I could pass. I ducked underneath and secured my badge to my belt so the other officers could tell I belonged there.

Lots of Tempe Police blue uniforms and forensic staff mulled around the area, but I homed in on the tall balding man standing close to the water. He was dressed in plain clothes—khakis and a plaid shirt with the sleeves rolled up. I figured he might be Ramsey, so I walked over to him.

He scribbled something on a small notepad and glanced at me as I approached. “You the PO?”

I nodded and dropped my gaze to the mound covered by a tarp at his feet. I wasn’t fond of seeing dead bodies. One of the reasons, I was a PO and not a cop.

“Thinking this might be one of your charges, Ms. Carson,” he said. “I gotta warn you, it’s not pretty. He was in the water for a while and birds, and god knows what else got to him. You got a strong stomach?”

No. At the mere thought of seeing the body, my breakfast threatened to make a reappearance, but I wouldn’t admit that. “I’m fine. Why do you think he was on my caseload?”

Ramsey shrugged. “Your business card was stuffed in his mouth.”

I gulped air. “You’re kidding.”

“Nope. You ready?” Ramsey reached down and pulled the sheet back before I could respond.

The face before me was bloated, green, and missing chunks of cheek. Bulging eyes looked skyward. Bran flakes swirled in my stomach and crested in my throat. Without a word, I ran to the canal and vomited so hard, I thought I’d hack up a vital organ or two.

“You okay, ma’am?” Ramsey sounded bored.

I wiped my mouth on my sleeve and straightened. Memories of the same man, alive and animated flashed in my mind. Not so long ago, he was proud of accomplishing a solid month of sobriety. Now, I hardly recognized him. “Could you put the sheet back?” I said, keeping my back to the body on the ground.

“Sure.”

I waited a moment to give Ramsey time to cover the corpse and to compose myself. But that would take a while, and the detective didn’t seem like he had a lot of patience. The relationship between police and probation was fickle. We often needed each other, but POs were on the lower end of the food chain.

When I finally turned around, Ramsey was tapping his pen against his notebook. “So, you know the guy, or what?”

“Brian Johnson,” I said. “He was on abscond status. Haven’t seen him for a few weeks, maybe a month. He was doing well, but then he stopped reporting. He probably relapsed. I was gearing up to request a warrant for probation violations. What do you think was the cause of death?”

Ramsey shrugged again. “Too soon to tell, but most people who die of natural causes don’t end up in a canal or send a message like your business card does. It was preserved in a plastic Baggie, so we’d get the point no matter how long it took to find him.”

I felt even sicker. Was the message for me? “Couldn’t you ID him through fingerprints? I thought you had all kinds of tech gadgets for that.”

“Sure,” Ramsey said. “But then I wouldn’t have seen your reaction. Plus, some of his fingertips are missing and what’s left probably isn’t usable. Dental records take time.” He pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket and handed it to me. “Call me if you think of anything else I might need to know.”

I turned back to the canal and vomited until I had nothing left to give.

***

Excerpt from Early Termination by Cindy Goyette. Copyright 2025 by Cindy Goyette. Reproduced with permission from Cindy Goyette. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Cindy Goyette

Cindy Goyette is a former probation officer who had a front row seat to the criminal justice system. She kept her sanity by finding humor in most situations. A mix of these things helped her create The Probation Case Files Mystery Series, Book 1, OBEY ALL LAWS won a PSWA Award for best suspense, and was published in January of 2024. Book 2, EARLY TERMINATION, released January of 2025. Her first cozy mystery, DIAMOND IN THE RUFF, will release in May of 2025. After spending over twenty years in Arizona, Cindy lives in Washington state with her husband and two Cocker Spaniels.

Catch Up With Cindy Goyette:
CCGoyette.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @ccgoyettewriter
Instagram - @cindy.goyette
Threads - @cindy.goyette
X - @cindy_ccgoyette
Facebook

 

 

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13 January, 2025

January 13, 2025 0

Deadly When Disturbed by DM Barr

 

Deadly When Disturbed by DM Barr Banner

DEADLY WHEN DISTURBED

by DM Barr

January 13 - 31, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Deadly When Disturbed by DM Barr

Deadly When Disturbed follows the journey of leading Realtor and philanthropist Dara Banks. When Dara searches for an assistant, finding someone as resourceful as Meryl “Merry” Rafter seems too good to be true. So good in fact, she neglects to run a reference check. Bad move. Before she knows it, Merry, a former “actress” trying to be “helpful,” has insinuated herself into Dara’s business, family, and charity, and may be the only person saving her from prison. Dara becomes suspicious and begins snooping into Merry’s past. Feeling cornered, Merry reciprocates by launching an investigation of her own and realizes—too late—that she may have picked the wrong mark to con. These women’s unsettling discoveries, and their desperate efforts to safeguard their skeleton-filled closets and fragile self-images, lead to an explosive confrontation certain to destroy the lives of everyone in their midst.

Praise for Deadly When Disturbed:

"Two women. Friends? Hardly. They’re both after the same thing. And as the stakes get higher, the mind games get uglier, until—well, I’m not going to give away the killer ending. D. M. Barr’s latest domestic thriller is a total rush. It’s like being back with Betty and Veronica all over again—only this ain’t high school, and these women (like the title says) are DEADLY WHEN DISTURBED."
~ Marshall Karp, #1 New York Times Bestselling Author of the NYPD RED series

"Who’s the hunter and who’s the hunted in this taut domestic thriller? Don’t even try to guess. Just relax, enjoy, and hang on as DEADLY WHEN DISTURBED takes you on a wild ride."
~ Brad Parks, international bestselling author of THE BOUNDARIES WE CROSS.

"Tense, well-written, and surprising—Liane Moriarty meets Gillian Flynn by way of John Lutz in D.M. Barr's latest domestic thriller, DEADLY WHEN DISTURBED. Gaslighting and suburban intrigue abound in this carefully crafted tale, guaranteed to keep you in suspense all the way to the final chapter. Put this one at the top of your to-be-read pile!"
~ Richard Helms, Thriller, Macavity, and Shamus Awards winning author of 22 RUE MONTPARNASSE.

"DEADLY WHEN DISTURBED is a superb dark thriller that offers a brilliantly written bizarro take on the classic All About Eve. Shifts in reality and twists of the plot keep the reader on edge until the stunning and unexpected climax. Fasten your seatbelt and hang on. It's a great ride."
~ S. Lee Manning, award-winning author of TROJAN HORSE, NERVE ATTACK, BLOODY SOIL, and DEADLY CHOICE.

"DEADLY WHEN DISTURBED by D.M. Barr is a clever psychological thriller reminiscent of The Hand That Rocks The Cradle, updated for today's culture and with a superior narrative.… With a steady and increasingly intense pace, [it] is a hypnotic read of insanity and wretchedness that will stay with you long after the last page."
~ Gaius Konstantine for Readers’ Favorite

Deadly When Disturbed Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Domestic Suspense, Domestic Thriller
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: January 2025
Number of Pages: 310
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Prologue

She stood at her dining room table and calmly fingered through the cardboard box, double-checking that the paperwork was in chronological order. Even now, no one could accuse Samantha Ellingsworth of being anything but organized and precise. For nearly forty years, it had been both a gift and a curse.

First the letters from Harry, professing his incendiary ardor during their abbreviated law school courtship. The GIA certificate for the diamond, his glittering promise of passion extending through eternity. The deed to their Upper West side condo. A copy of her resignation from Davis & Milliken, where she’d been on the fast track to partner. The birth certificates for her daughter, dated a year later, and the surprise twins, ten years after that.

Next, the children’s coveted acceptance letters from Harrison—Manhattan’s most elite private pre-school and elementary—followed by every one of the glowing report cards she’d worked with them so diligently to earn. Campaign flyers she’d created for Harry’s run for state senate. Her passport opened to the page containing the stamp from that fateful trip to Aruba. The letters she’d written, refuting everything he’d accused her of as lies—all unopened and marked “Return to Sender.” The prescription for Prozac, unfilled, as if any pharmaceutical could rescue her from this pit of depression. Finally, the divorce papers she’d received a few weeks ago, still unsigned.

A lifetime of aspirations, misunderstandings, and betrayals, all encapsulated in a pile of paper less than an inch thick. She affixed the cover to the box and took a long, wistful look at the “perfect” apartment they’d been so ecstatic about buying, beating out several competing bids thanks to the lingering cachet of the Ellingsworth name and its clout in political circles. Confident that the condo was spotless, with everything in its place, Samantha slowly donned her hooded sheepskin coat, grabbed the box, and headed out.

The elevator operator nodded as she entered, but Gloria from the floor above murmured a curt hello and diverted her gaze as they descended from the seventh floor. Samantha had grown used to the frostiness over the past few weeks. Did the other tenants fear it was catching, that they too might be abandoned by their spouse and children, their lives reduced to rubble, if they inched too close? Whatever.

She trudged southbound through the early morning wintery mix; package still cradled to her chest like a newborn. Frigid raindrops grazed her eyelashes before cascading downward and stinging her cheeks as she passed the signs in Zabars’ windows, reminding patrons to purchase their Thanksgiving turkeys. The holiday was only days away. The irony did not escape her.

Shivering as much from the weather as from what lay ahead, she descended the subway staircase at 72nd Street, pushing against the throngs headed toward the sidewalk. She had someplace to go too and nothing—not crowds nor apprehension—was going to delay her.

Today was the day, a chance to have her say. Finally, she’d make him understand.

Samantha ran her MetroCard through the turnstile and headed toward the stairway leading to the uptown train. She positioned herself as close as possible to the opening of the tunnel and stood by the edge of the platform, resummoning her fleeting courage as the crowds swelled behind her. Commuters too involved with their phones to notice the determined woman beside them whose breathing had quickened and whose face had grown hot. She hugged the box even tighter to her fidgeting body and waited. And waited.

A collective sigh arose from the crowd as the loudspeaker announced that the next train was going out of service and wouldn’t be stopping. She saw the light in the distance and heard the clunk-de-clunk and whirl—a deafening gale descending onto the tracks, drowning out the murmur of the passengers. Her ride to the most important meeting of her life. And it was the number 2 train. How appropriate. Just like her, relegated from number one.

Timing was everything, the oncoming gleam only yards away. She tightened her grasp on what was left of her world, recalling the face of the bitch who’d laughed as she’d stolen it all away. Then she took one last breath and jumped onto the tracks.

***

Excerpt from Deadly When Disturbed by DM Barr. Copyright 2025 by DM Barr. Reproduced with permission from DM Barr. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

DM Barr

Dawn M. Barclay is an award-winning author who writes psychological and romantic suspense as D.M. Barr and non-fiction under her own name.

Her eight other published books include Expired Listings, Murder Worth the Weight, and Saving Grace: A Psychological Thriller. Along with Deadly When Disturbed, in February LBB will also publish the first of her multi-volume series, Vacations Can Be Murder: A True Crime Lover's Travel Guide.

Dawn recently completed her second stint co-editing a Sisters in Crime NY/Tri-state anthology. New York State of Crime, published by Down & Out Books in the fall of 2024, which includes her third published short story, "Orchestral Removals in the Dark." She is currently editing an anthology of crime fiction for Down & Out Books inspired by the music of Elton John and Bernie Taupin.

Dawn offers developmental and copy editing through SuggestedDevelopment.com, and ghostwrites personal histories and corporate profiles through LegacyQuest.net. A member of ITW, she has served as president of Hudson Valley Scribes, vice president of Sisters in Crime-NY (still a board member), and the newsletter author/board member of the NY chapter of Mystery Writers of America.

Catch Up With DM Barr:
www.DMBarr.com
Goodreads - @DMBarr
BookBub - @DMBarr
Instagram - @AuthorDMBarr
Threads - @AuthorDMBarr
YouTube - @BarrSinister-m7u
Bluesky - @AuthorDMBarr
YouTube - @BarrSinister-m7u
Facebook - @AuthorDMBarr
TikTok - @AuthorDMBarr

 

 

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09 January, 2025

January 09, 2025 0

Tale of the Seasons’ Weaver by D. Wallace Peach

 

Tale of the Seasons’ Weaver
D. Wallace Peach
Publication date: January 9th 2024
Genres: Fantasy, Young Adult

“Already the animals starve. Soon the bonemen will follow, the Moss Folk and woodlings, the watermaids and humans. Then the charmed will fade. And all who will roam a dead world are dead things. Until they too vanish for lack of remembering. Still, Weaver, it is not too late.”

In the frost-kissed cottage where the changing seasons are spun, Erith wears the Weaver’s mantle, a title that tests her mortal, halfling magic. As the equinox looms, her first tapestry nears completion—a breathtaking ode to spring. She journeys to the charmed isle of Innishold to release the beauty of nature’s awakening across the land.

But human hunters have defiled the enchanted forest and slaughtered winter’s white wolves. Enraged by the trespass, the Winter King seizes Erith’s tapestry and locks her within his ice-bound palace. Here, where comfort and warmth are mere glamours, she may weave only winter until every mortal village succumbs to starvation, ice, and the gray wraiths haunting the snow.

With humanity’s fate on a perilous edge, Erith must break free of the king’s grasp and unravel a legacy of secrets. In a charmed court where illusions hold sway, allies matter, foremost among them, the Autumn Prince. Immortal and beguiling, he offers a tantalizing future she has only imagined, one she will never possess—unless she claims her extraordinary power to weave life from the brink of death.

In the lyrical fantasy tradition of Margaret Rogerson and Holly Black, D. Wallace Peach spins a spellbinding tale of magic, resilience, and the transformative potency of tales—a tapestry woven with peril and hope set against the frigid backdrop of an eternal winter.

Goodreads / Amazon

EXCERPT:

A wicker basket of colorful spools rested at my feet. I picked through the bewitched thread my mother had hand-spun long before my birth. No matter how many seasons passed, the spools unwound and unwound, and I no longer fretted about reaching their ends. There was no end to magic, no end to the seasons, no end to my place on the cusp of two worlds.

A delicate pink caught my eye, a color crafted from the cherry blossoms bordering my garden. I held it against the tapestry, testing its suitability for flowering plum trees and coral bells I’d stitch into the meadows and along the forest’s edge.

“Should you desire my opinion, Erith,” a small voice piped up, “it requires a touch of carnation and a shimmer of sunshine. On the dogwood blossoms as well.”

“I wondered about those.” My gaze rose to my knee-high hospet. He sat cross-legged on the hearthstone in front of our shrinking fire, cracking walnuts with his sharp teeth. The creature blinked at me with eyes as clear as spring water, his waistcoat buttoned, cheeks rosy, and cinnamon hair parted in the middle like a magistrate. Nobbin kept my wood and moss cottage tidy, expecting little beyond customary respect and an occasional outfit when his garments aged past mending.

He also took it upon himself to offer artistic advice since my mother had chosen to join my father in the underworld.

“I might leave them as they are,” I said. “Dogwoods are white.”

Nobbin’s eyebrows tilted up in an expression of devilish skepticism. “Spring’s princess will agree with me. Give it a brush of magic. I know you dabble when I’m otherwise occupied.”

“You spy on me?”

“I’m observant. And I’m charmed.” He flicked his handcloth at the window. “Snow doesn’t glitter like that without your touch, my girl. You added that sparkle to your mother’s tapestry, and it impressed the Winter King.”

“Do you think so?” A blush heated my cheeks. “From what I’ve gathered, he’s not one to dole out compliments.”

“None of them are.” Nobbin held up a nut as if inspecting a precious gem. “Such is the nature of immortals. Add a layer of royalty on top, and we are lucky they don’t dismember anyone or anything tarnishing their crowns.”

“Dismember?” I cringed at the grisly thought and drew my black shawl around my shoulders. “My mother told me the courtiers are kind and cruel in equal measure. Without good reason for either.”

Not one to speak with his mouth full, Nobbin raised a finger and swallowed a morsel of walnut. “Indeed, they’re notoriously whimsical. But you are their weaver, and every artist must begin somewhere. You will earn your place, Erith, though it is no simple task to prove your power and demand respect. Spring is the first tapestry you may claim as your own creation, and it is a glorious start. I have untold faith in you.”

I smiled gratefully and stifled a shudder at the challenge ahead. Despite Nobbin’s trust in me, my confidence wavered like a weathervane on a gusty day. I’d done my best, and it would have to serve. The seasons’ rulers wouldn’t dismember me on a whim. I hoped.

Author Bio:

Best-selling author D. Wallace Peach grew up surrounded by her father’s well-loved paperback books. Fantasy was a staple, but it was Tolkien’s The Hobbit that planted the seeds which would grow into a passion for writing.

Peach started writing later in life when years of working in business surrendered to a full-time indulgence in the imaginative world of books. She was instantly hooked.
In addition to fantasy books, Peach’s publishing career includes participation in various anthologies featuring short stories, flash fiction, and poetry. She’s an avid supporter of the arts in her local community, organizing and publishing annual anthologies of Oregon prose, poetry, and photography.
Peach lives in a log cabin amongst the tall evergreens and emerald moss of Oregon’s rainforest with her husband, two owls, a horde of bats, and the occasional family of coyotes.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Myths of the Mirror


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06 January, 2025

January 06, 2025 0

River of Lies by James L'Etoile

 

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RIVER OF LIES

by James L'Etoile

January 6 - 31, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

River of Lies by James L'Etoile

A Detective Emily Hunter Mystery

 

Detective Emily Hunter must be the voice for the voiceless

The homeless camps spread throughout the city of Sacramento are a topic of heated debate among residents. They’re considered undesirable—a nuisance—an eyesore. But when the camps fall victim to a string of devastating arson attacks, Detective Emily Hunter and her partner, Javier Medina, dive into the investigation and become acquainted with the real people whose lives have been destroyed.

The attacks only begin to draw attention when two of the victims are identified as the city’s former anti-homeless mayor and a camp social worker—but rather than strengthening the push for justice, the movement to completely abolish the camps intensifies.

The investigation becomes politically charged when Emily discovers who stands to gain from burning the homeless out of their shelters. She struggles to balance the high-stakes investigation with caring for her Alzheimer’s-stricken mother, whose condition is rapidly deteriorating. The investigation uncovers an unlikely suspect and a reluctant witness standing between Emily and the shocking truth. Can Emily overcome resistance and her personal obstacles to halt the attacks?

Praise for RIVER OF LIES:

"[River of Lies has] everything that I love in a police procedural in spades: a smart and intuitive lead detective, an equally intuitive partner, and a high-stakes, ripped-from-the-headlines case that will challenge them both."
~ Karen Dionne, USA Today best-selling author of The Marsh King’s Daughter

"River of Lies is a rich, gripping crime novel. L’Etoile writes with a deep understanding of both human nature and investigative procedure, a combination that keeps the pages flying past."
~ Lou Berney, Edgar Award-winning author of Double Barrel Bluff

"River of Lies is a tour de force thriller . . . Brooding, heartfelt, and powerful."
~ T. Jefferson Parker, New York Times best-selling author of Desperation Reef

"River of Lies is a masterful blend of political intrigue and personal drama, weaving elements of true-life crime into a twisty, page-turning and compelling plot—with a climax and denouement that will shock you to the core. Enthusiastically recommended."
~ Baron Birtcher, award-winning author of Knife River

Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural; Thriller
Published by: Oceanview Publishing
Publication Date: January 7, 2025
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 9781608095896 (ISBN10: 1608095894)
Series: A Detective Emily Hunter Mystery, 2
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Oceanview Publishing

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

It would be easy to float away in the darkness and let the current pull her under, too. She’d thought about it several times before—in her “dark times,” as her ex-husband used to call them.

Lisa’s life hadn’t turned out the way she’d hoped. Abusive parents, a failed marriage, the booze—so much booze—all swirled together to set her on this path. Losing her apartment finally put her out here. Now this. She thought she’d escaped, but running from her past hadn’t worked. The ghosts of years past had stripped everything away. Lisa had nothing left, not even hope.

The tug of the Sacramento River on her legs was temping, and the spring snow runoff numbed Lisa’s thighs as she waded out.

Lisa closed her eyes and pictured herself lying back and allowing the river to put an end to it.

“Momma?”

Lisa’s eyes shot open.

Glancing over her shoulder, she spotted the faint outline of her daughter standing on the riverbank. The eight-year-old wore a thin blue t-shirt with a unicorn on the front, a threadbare pair of jeans, holding a stuffed bunny with one ear missing. The girl’s face registered confusion.

“Baby, go on back to the tent,” Lisa said.

Lisa felt her daughter would be better off without her. The mother’s sins cast a damning shadow. But she couldn’t abandon Willow. Not like this. Lisa knew what it was like to be an orphan in an unfriendly world. The future of an eight-year-old alone in a homeless camp wasn’t the life Willow deserved.

“Momma, what are you doing?”

Lisa’s eyes welled. She didn’t need to tell her daughter the world was a hurtful place. She’d keep the secrets and not let her know there was nothing worth living for—for now.

“I’m coming, baby.”

Lisa turned and waded back toward the bank. Her daughter spent the last two years in one homeless camp or another. The tightly packed shelters made Lisa’s claustrophobia itch.

Lisa reached for her daughter and grabbed her, lifting the girl into a tight hug. Tears streamed down Lisa’s cheeks. Not because Lisa wanted to end her suffering. She’d considered that option before. The tears came from nearly making Willow an orphan and leaving the innocent girl behind in a homeless camp. Willow couldn’t fight off the predators who lurked in the darkness—like they did tonight.

From the river’s edge, the camp spread a quarter mile in either direction. There was never any official count because people came and went, died, were arrested, or simply disappeared from the camp. Lisa guessed there were over two hundred people living here in the city’s forgotten shadows.

It was time to move. When the camps get too big, bad things happen, and people talk.

Lights flickered from small campfires and lanterns throughout the settlement. Lisa thought they looked like fallen stars. She hugged Willow a little closer and followed the trail back into the camp.

She unzipped the fly on their tent and scooted inside. Their belongings—a change of clothes, a towel to share, and two children’s books lay on one end of the nylon dome tent. A pair of sleeping bags took up most of the space. Lisa knew they were lucky to have them—others didn’t.

“All right, sweetie, let’s get you settled in for the night.”

Willow wiggled into her sleeping bag with her stuffed rabbit. Lisa grabbed a book, The Mouse and the Motorcycle, one of her daughter’s favorites. The eight-year-old could recite most of the story by heart.

Lisa opened the book when a loud commotion erupted outside. It wasn’t uncommon in the camp. Fights over property, drugs, or imagined slights fed by drugs, alcohol, and glitchy mental health were a daily occurrence. Lisa learned the best thing to do was stay out of it and never get involved.

It sounded like the usual dust-up until the screams began.

“Stay here, Willow.”

Lisa crawled to the tent flap, zipped it open, and poked her head out.

Fire.

Flames erupted on the far side of the camp. It was always a risk in the cardboard condos and plastic tarp shelters along the riverbank. This was different. At least six structures were ablaze. People were running, backlit by the orange and yellow glow. The evening delta breeze fanned the flames, igniting another dozen tents.

The cheap nylon shelters went up like dried rice paper.

“Baby, get your shoes on.”

“What is it, Momma?”

“We need to—”

Lisa spotted two men in the chaos, both outlined by the flames behind them. They weren’t running. One set the next row of tents ablaze. The second man wielded a baseball bat and swung the aluminum cylinder at anyone who came near. A sickening tink sound echoed among the rows of tents when he bounced the bat off a man’s shoulder.

Lisa grabbed her daughter’s hand, pulling her from the tent. The girl’s eyes grew large when she spotted the fires.

Willow pulled away and ducked back into the tent.

“Willow Marie, don’t you pull away from me. Come here. We need to get away.”

Lisa felt the heat from the fire. It was spreading fast, and the flames jumped up into the trees within the camp.

Bending into the tent, Lisa found Willow gathering her stuffed animal and the books.

“Come now, we need to—”

Tink.

Lisa fell flat on the ground. The rounded end of the baseball bat shoved at her ribs. Dazed from a blow to the head, she didn’t move. Lisa registered a man’s boot stepping over her.

The flames grew closer.

Willow’s fear backed her into the far corner of the tent.

Lisa’s ragged voice called to her daughter. “Willow. Listen. I need—I need you to run. Hide. Go to the safe place—the rock where we hide things. Stay until I come for you.”

“I don’t want to go. I’m scared.”

“I know, baby. You have to be brave. Take Mr. Bunny and go, now.”

Willow clutched her stuffed animal, the book, and stepped through the tent flap.

“Momma, you have an owie.”

“I know, baby. I’ll be okay.”

It was a lie. Lisa knew she was far from okay. She could feel the pressure in her head building with each heartbeat.

“Go to the place we talked about, honey. Go quick.”

Willow’s eyes welled. She didn’t budge, frozen in fear before a scream from someone nearby broke her from the trance. Another row of tents went up in flames.

“Go.”

Willow hugged her bunny and trotted toward the river. Lisa lost sight of her through the smoke billowing through the camp.

She tried to get up and couldn’t move her legs. She crabbed forward using her arms, inching away from the burning camp.

Her tent flashed, and the flames consumed it in seconds. The melting fabric, plastic and nylon fibers fell on her. The molten material burned through her clothing and ate into the flesh on Lisa’s back.

The pain seared into her. Screams around her meant she wasn’t the only one. The two arsonists headed in the same direction Willow had fled.

“Stop them,” she cried. No one could hear over the chaos of the burning camp.

Lisa now wished the water had brought a calm end to everything. She didn’t expect this—the fire, searing flame, and torture. Part of her believed she deserved this fate for the pain she’d caused. Willow didn’t. The girl didn’t understand. Now, Lisa worried about what would happen to her sweet little girl. Mr. Bunny would not be enough.

The last thought before the flames ate at her pant legs. “I’ve failed you.”

***

Excerpt from River of Lies by James L'Etoile. Copyright 2025 by James L'Etoile. Reproduced with permission from James L'Etoile. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

James L'Etoile

James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, and the Public Safety Writers Award. River of Lies is his most recent novel. Look for Sins of the Father and The Red List, coming soon. He is the host of Authors on the Air, served as a board member of his local Sister-in-Crime chapter, sits on the Mystery Writers of America national board, and serves as the Director of QueryFest at ThrillerFest for International Thriller Writers.

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