Review & Giveaway: 16 MILLIMETERS by Larissa Reinhart

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As part of a Blog Tour organized by Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours, I recently had the pleasure of reading 16 Millimeters: A Maizie Albright Humorous Mystery  by Larissa Reinhart.

Description

LarissaReinhart_16Millimeters_COVER#StillAWannabeDetective In continuing her career-makeover quest as a for-real detective, ex-teen and reality star Maizie Albright has a big learning curve to overcome. A sleuthing background starring in a TV show— Julia Pinkerton, Teen Detective—does not cut the real life mustard. It doesn’t even buy her lunch, let alone extra condiments. Her chosen mentor, Wyatt Nash of Nash Security Solutions, is not a willing teacher. He’d rather stick Maizie with a safe desk job and handle the security solution-ing himself. But Maizie’s got other plans to help Nash. First, win Nash’s trust. Second, his heart.

Wait, not his heart. His respect. His hearty respect.

So when a major movie producer needs a babysitter for his hot mess starlet, Maizie eagerly takes the job. But when her starlet appears dead, and then not dead, Maizie’s got more than an actress to watch and a missing corpse to find. Body doubles, dead bodies, and hot bodies abound when the big screen, small screen, and silent screams collide. Maizie’s on the job, on the skids, and on thin ice, hunting a killer who may be a celebrity stalker. And Maizie just might be the next celebrity who gets snuffed.

My Review

Maizie is a former child/teen star turned private detective-in-training.  An attractive young woman, she has all the exuberance of youth and the recklessness that often goes with it.  Nash is a great looking, seasoned detective,  and the underlying sexual attraction between them is no surprise. Maizie’s a fun character. I enjoyed getting to know her. As the job reminds her of her previous career,  she channels her Hollywood roles, sometimes quite humorously, to deal with difficult predicaments.  The combination of romance, humor, and mystery made for an enjoyable read.

Giveaway

Click here to enter a Rafflecopter for a chance to win an Amazon giftcard.

About the Author

LarissaRLarissa is a 2015 Georgia Author of the Year Best Mystery finalist, 2014 finalist for the Silver Falchion and Georgia Author of the Year, 2012 Daphne du Maurier finalist, 2012 The Emily finalist, and 2011 Dixie Kane Memorial winner. Her family and Cairn Terrier, Biscuit, have been living in Nagoya, Japan, but once again call Georgia home. See them on HGTV’s House Hunters International “Living for the Weekend in Nagoya” episode. Visit her website, LarissaReinhart.com, find her chatting on FacebookInstagram, and Goodreads,  or join her Facebook street team, The Mystery Minions.

Purchase Links

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Review: DON’T LET GO by Harlan Coben

Having read and enjoyed many of  Harlan Coben’s books, I jumped at the chance to read a pre-release copy of  Don’t Let Go.  I wasn’t disappointed. It’s quite a page turner.

Description (from Amazon)

51fhmvx7w3lSuburban New Jersey Detective Napoleon “Nap” Dumas hasn’t been the same since senior year of high school, when his twin brother Leo and Leo’s girlfriend Diana were found dead on the railroad tracks—and Maura, the girl Nap considered the love of his life, broke up with him and disappeared without explanation. For fifteen years, Nap has been searching, both for Maura and for the real reason behind his brother’s death. And now, it looks as though he may finally find what he’s been looking for.

When Maura’s fingerprints turn up in the rental car of a suspected murderer, Nap embarks on a quest for answers that only leads to more questions—about the woman he loved, about the childhood friends he thought he knew, about the abandoned military base near where he grew up, and mostly about Leo and Diana—whose deaths are darker and far more sinister than Nap ever dared imagine.

My Review

Nap, who provides the first-person narrative, is an interesting and well-developed character.  He is a good person and a good cop, but he doesn’t have a problem with breaking the law when it suits him. He is a bit of a loner, with the exception of Ellie, with whom he became friends as they shared their grief so many years before. Nap’s unanswered questions about his brother’s death and Moira’s disappearance drive his actions and fuel a fast-paced tale.  With its with intrigue, conspiracies,  hidden secrets and plot twists,  this suspenseful read kept me reading late into the night. Another great read from this author.

FTC Disclosure:  I received an advance review copy of this book via NetGalley and have voluntarily chosen to share my honest review. 

 

Spotlight & Giveaway: ANOTHER MAN’S POISON by Jo-Ann Lamon Reccoppa

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As part of a blog tour organized by Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours, today’s post turns the spotlight on  Another Man’s Poison, the latest addition to the Jersey Girl Cozy Mystery series by  Jo-Ann Lamon Reccoppa.

Description

AnotherMansPoison-CoverCrime reporter Colleen Caruso’s appetite for romance with her hunky boss falls flatter than a ruined soufflé when he keels over after one bite of his trout almondine. With his food editor wife mysteriously poisoned three years before, Ken was and still remains the prime suspect. Clearly
someone wanted both Ken and Nadine Rhodes dead, and Colleen finds herself hot on the case of the poisoned plate. She whisks her way into the scrumptious world of the culinary arts, hoping her investigation isn’t a recipe for disaster. Colleen is determined to give those responsible their just desserts, but has this Jersey Girl bitten off more than she can chew?

Read an excerpt:

I never gave any serious thought about being married to Ken Rhodes. Somehow I didn’t think I could fall asleep every single night next to that luscious body and wake up each and every morning to see those washboard abs. All he’d see is a woman in such disarray that he’d think he married a psychotic. It would mess up everything and definitely destroy every speck of romance between us. And after seventeen long, long years of being Mrs. Neil Caruso, my master plan was to remain single for the rest of my days and lead a life that would make my mother cringe.
Excerpt from ANOTHER MAN’S POISON by Jo-Ann Lamon Reccoppa. Copyright © 2017

Giveaway

Click here to enter a Rafflecopter for a chance to win a copy of Another Man’s Poison.

About The Author

JOANN-LAMON-RECCOPPAJo-Ann Lamon Reccoppa is the creator of the Jersey Girl Cozy Mystery series, which includes New Math is Murder, Hide Nor Hair, and the latest installment, Another Man’s Poison, released
in August, 2017. Reccoppa has worked for many years as a newspaper stringer, writing everything from serious medical pieces to restaurant reviews. Her short stories have appeared in
several genre magazines, in addition to a mystery which  appeared in the Barnes & Noble Crafty Cat Crimes anthology.

Jo-Ann loves to hear from fans. Visit her website/blog at  https://joannlamonreccoppa.com/
or drop her an email at joannreccoppaauthor at gmail.com

Purchase Links:  Amazon

Other books in this series:
 

Review: IN IT FOR THE MONEY by David Burnsworth

As part of a blog tour organized by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours, today’s post spotlights  In It For The Money,  the first book in the Blu Carraway Mystery series by David Burnsworth.  I had seen the author’s name a few times and have read lots of books from Henery Press, and I couldn’t resist the cover.

510udzlstolDescription (from Amazon)

Lowcountry Private Investigator Blu Carraway needs a new client. He’s broke and the tax man is coming for his little slice of paradise. But not everyone appreciates his skills. Some call him a loose cannon. Others say he’s a liability. All the ex-Desert Storm Ranger knows is his phone hasn’t rung in quite a while. Of course, that could be because it was cut off due to delinquent payments.

Lucky for him, a client does show up at his doorstep—a distraught mother with a wayward son. She’s rich and her boy’s in danger. Sounds like just the case for Blu. Except nothing about the case is as it seems. The jigsaw pieces—a ransom note, a beat-up minivan, dead strippers, and a missing briefcase filled with money and cocaine—do not make a complete puzzle. The first real case for Blu Carraway Investigations in three years goes off the rails.

And that’s the way he prefers it to be.

Scroll down to the end of the post for an excerpt!

My Review

This was an interesting story that centers around Blu, a private detective suffering from under-employment.  When a missing person case comes his way, he jumps at the chance to pay his bills. However, the case turns out to be more complicated than expected, and he is soon joined in his efforts by his mostly absentee partner, Crome.  Although both men are macho ex-military types, Blu has a more sensitive side to him and is definitively more likeable than Crome.   The story was well written, however, it did take time for me to get into it.  Once the pace picked up, I enjoyed reading about Blu’s efforts to find the kid and connect the dots between the various plot points.

As someone who hasn’t visited the low country, I also enjoyed the touch of southern charm and the description of Blu’s island and his semi-tame wild horses.  Sounds like a place worth visiting some day.

FTC Disclosure:   I received an advance review copy of this book.  This has not affected the content of my review in any way. 

About the Author

david-burnsworth-authorDavid Burnsworth became fascinated with the Deep South at a young age. After a degree in Mechanical Engineering from the University of Tennessee and fifteen years in the corporate world, he made the decision to write a novel. He is the author of both the Brack Pelton and the Blu Carraway Mystery Series. Having lived in Charleston on Sullivan’s Island for five years, the setting was a foregone conclusion. He and his wife call South Carolina home.

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Lowcountry, South Carolina, early June, Thursday morning

The old rotary phone sitting on the desk refused to ring. No matter how much Blu Carraway wanted it to. He looked out the window of his makeshift office at the surrounding marsh and sighed. Crumpled up in his right hand was the latest tax assessment, in his left was an electronic cigarette. Without thinking, he took a hit off the vaporizer, which replaced Camels as his only vice. Well, that and pirated satellite TV.

And still the receiver remained silent.

One more good job.
It was all he needed.

Then Charleston County would be happy for another year, and he’d get to keep his little island home. Just. One. Good. Job.

The hula girl on his desk a Desert Storm buddy had given him when he first hung out his PI shingle bobbled at him as if to say, “How long did you think you could keep this up, tough guy?”

He swatted her off the desk with the tax bill. “At least another year, Dollie.”

As the plastic figure skittered across the old plank flooring, Blu heard the sound of tires on his crushed shell drive. With the sole air-conditioning being a ceiling fan and open windows, he heard everything happening on his little slice of paradise. But he suspected his tenure there was on borrowed time. The house and land, which had been in the family for next to forever, were his free and clear. Except nothing was free and clear. He still had his yearly rent payment to the county, which seemed to think nine acres of mostly sand and marsh with a small herd of free-roaming scraggly horses was worth one helluva lot. Even though they neglected to consider it relevant enough to route the mosquito sprayers anywhere near the place.

A black Mercedes, the new big one, sliced between two live oaks and rolled to a stop beside his ancient Land Cruiser. Blu watched as the driver’s door opened and a man in a suit and tie exited the car. Just as Blu was about to run outside to greet him, he noticed the man walk around the expensive German machine, open the rear door, and extend a hand to assist whomever was in the backseat.

A pale white hand grasped the driver’s. After a moment, a woman with shoulder-length gray hair and sunglasses stood beside the car as the driver shut her door. She was not unattractive—in a wealthy, snobby kind of way. Her pose accentuated thin, but not frail, limbs and a torso hinting at personal trainer visits. Her crème-colored sleeveless blouse, tailored slacks, and shoes his daughter had once told him were called wedges exuded confidence. The woman held what looked like an expensive pocketbook.

Blu walked outside and approached the pair. “Can I help you?”

The woman, who was more attractive up close with high cheekbones, a small nose Blu guessed was natural, and a perfectly- proportioned neck adorned with modest pearls, said, “I’m looking for a Mr. Carraway.”

“You found him.”

“Good.” She turned to the driver, who upon closer inspection had an athletic build with a slightly visible shoulder rig beneath his suit coat. “Told you this was the place.”

He said, “Yes, ma’am.”

It didn’t sound like the man was convinced.

Two of Blu’s horses, at least he called them his because they wouldn’t leave his property even though there was no fencing, clomped around the house and approached. These were the curious ones from the herd, and not the brightest. He’d named them Dink and Doofus.

The woman’s mouth opened in surprise.

Her driver, apparently startled, reached inside his jacket where the shoulder rig was.
Blu said, “Don’t mind these two. They’re harmless. But if you see a black stud, best keep your distance.”

The woman watched the horses approach. Dink, the brown male with a tangled mane, lowered his head and sniffed. Doofus, his coat best described as dirty snow, lumbered up to the woman. In a past life, these two must have been canines.

Blu said, “Come on, guys.”

As if the horses just noticed he was there, they both raised their heads and snorted. Doofus gave his mane a quick shake.

The woman reached out and touched Dink on his nose.
The horse granted her hand a big lick before she could retract it. Dink and Doofus didn’t approach just anybody. Blu had recognized this trait in them a long time ago. They liked this woman. Or else they just thought she had a treat for them.

Blu said, “What can I do for you fine folks?”

“Mr. Carraway,” the woman said, maneuvering around Dink and offering a business card. “I’m Cynthia Rhodes.”

Blu held the card. “That’s exactly what this says.” It also gave a Charleston, South Carolina address. South Battery, no less. Big money. Real big money.

She said, “Yes, well, I’d like to talk to you about employing your services.”

Tapping the card on his open palm, he said, “I appreciate your effort to get here, Ms. Rhodes. I would have gladly met you somewhere closer to Charleston. Saved you the forty-minute trip.”

The driver stepped forward and the horses retreated to the other side of the vehicles.

“There must be something wrong with your phone.”

An image of a stack of unpaid bills came to mind, specifically the one marked “third and final notice.” Blu didn’t reply.

Cynthia Rhodes said, “Is there someplace we can sit and talk?”

Coming to his senses, Blu said, “Of course. I’m sorry. I don’t normally receive clients out here. Please come this way.” He ran through a mental checklist: the office was one chair short for this group, the desk was a mess, the hula girl was on the floor, and the bathroom hadn’t been cleaned in, well, he couldn’t remember when.

Ms. Rhodes and her driver followed him, all of them crunching on the shell drive, up the porch stairs, and into the office he’d created out of the living room of the one-story bungalow his great- great-grandfather had built.

His guests didn’t comment on the disheveled appearance.

The driver pulled out the single client chair in front of Blu’s desk and Cynthia Rhodes sat.

Blu made an assumption the man would prefer to remain standing seeing as how his role could best be described as armed chauffer. Walking around his desk, being sure to step over the hula girl on the floor, and noticing the crumpled tax bill flittering in the wind of the ceiling fan, Blu sat on the ripped cushion of his ancient captain’s chair. It gave a long, un-oiled squeak. “Okay, Ms. Rhodes, tell me why you think you need my services.”

Cynthia Rhodes removed her sunglasses and held them in her lap. She looked at him with deep blue eyes. “Mr. Carraway, I have a situation I’m not sure how to handle.”

The horses’ intuition and this woman’s bold and transparent acknowledgement of uncertainty regarding her situation had him trusting her almost immediately. Well, those reasons and the big tax bill he had to pay.

“Can I get either of you something to drink?” he asked. “I’ve got tap water or cold—I mean iced—coffee.” Cold was a more accurate statement, but he didn’t think it sounded sophisticated enough.

Cynthia Rhodes said, “No, thank you.”

Meeting her deep blue gaze, he guessed she was mid-fifties, about ten years his senior. He asked, “How can I help?”

“I was told you could be trusted.”

“By whom?” he asked.

“Adam Kincaid.”

With the name, Blu immediately understood the depth of her need, if not the specifics.
She continued. “He said you got his daughter back for him when those awful men took her.”

“More or less.” Kincaid’s daughter was returned to her father intact, physically if not emotionally, without paying any ransom. And the world had lost a half-dozen kidnappers. “Has your daughter been kidnapped?”

With a tight-lipped smile and a slight headshake, she said, “I have a son.”

He said, “What is it you think I can do for you?”

“He’s missing.”

“How do you know?”

She looked down. “My son and I have a strained relationship, to say the least. The only way I know he’s okay is because he makes withdrawals from his trust fund.”

Blu said, “He hasn’t made any in a while?”

“Two weeks.” She looked at him. “I was told you handle unique situations. That they were your specialty.”

Her driver smirked.

Blu said, “You don’t want the police involved?”
“No,” she said. “I mean, not yet.”

He sat back. “What would you like me to do?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” she asked, her voice breaking for the first time.

“You’d like me to find him?”

“Yes.”

It sounded more like a question.

He said, “I can do that.”

“My son is a sweet boy. He likes art—painting. If something’s happened to him, I’m not sure what I’d do.”

Blu had a hunch the real reason she was here was about to surface.

She said, “Mr. Kincaid told me you made the men who took his daughter pay for their sins.”

“You think someone did something to your son?”

Folding her arms across her chest, she said, “I hope not.”

Blu shook his head. “Anything that may or may not have happened in Mexico was a by-product of the goal of the job, which was to get his daughter back.” It was a true statement, but not really the truth.

Cynthia Rhodes reached into her pocketbook, removed a check, and handed it to Blu.

Chapter Two

The amount written in neat, precise cursive would do a lot more than just pay his property tax for the year. He handed the check back, trying hard not to show any reluctance to do so. “I don’t take on blood jobs.” Another true statement which wasn’t the truth.

Sometimes they ended up that way—bloody.

Her eyes were wide. “But you’re my last hope.”

Blu laced his fingers together and placed his hands on the desk. “That makes me feel all warm and fuzzy.” With a slight head jerk, he motioned to her driver. “Why not send trigger-happy Rick, here?”

Blu already knew the answer. The man was mostly show. He appeared to be in shape. But he did not have a killer’s gaze.

She looked at her driver who shifted his weight between his feet as if he were nervous.

Holding a hand up, Blu said, “You don’t want to have things too close to home. I understand. Better to hire some schmuck and make him do the heavy lifting.”

“You’re mistaken,” she said. “I heard you were the best.”

“I am the best,” he said. “Can’t you tell by the crowds of folks lining up for my services?”

With a smile breaking the tension in the lines of her face, she said, “Adam also said you had an odd sense of humor.”

Blu didn’t know what to say, so he kept quiet. Filling voids in conversation only gave away too much.

Cynthia Rhodes filled in the void for him. “If it isn’t enough money, I’ll double it.”

The Kincaid job had netted enough to keep Carraway Investigations solvent for three years, with only a modest contribution from an insurance or surveillance job here and there. And lately, some day laboring. The offer in front of him was eerily similar. Of course, Blu and his partner, a biker and fellow Ranger named Mick Crome, had barely made it out of Mexico alive with Jennifer Kincaid. Blu was three years wiser now, and he enjoyed the cliché “getting older by the minute” more than the one about “being worm food.”

He ignored one of his golden rules: Decisions made under duress were usually tainted. “Okay. I’ll look into it. But if all you want is a trigger puller, I’m out.”
And then he lied to himself about it not being because he needed the money.

After Cynthia Rhodes signed a standard, boiler-plate contract, which had jammed Blu’s ancient printer twice in the process, and gave him a picture of her son, she and her driver left. Happy to be working again, Blu headed into town, taking the decade-old photo of Jeremy Rhodes with him, the most recent one his mother had. It showed a good-looking, normal kid with clear eyes and a boyish smile and dimples.

The drive into Charleston gave Blu time to think. A few things about this new job already bothered him. First: Cynthia Rhodes, the kid’s supposed mother, didn’t have a current picture of her son. Second: For all he knew, Jeremy could be trying to run away from dear old mom.

Cynthia Rhodes had no idea where her son was and couldn’t remember the last time she’d seen or spoken with him. When Blu asked about drug use, she seemed flippant. All she knew was Jeremy had gone to the College of Charleston and majored in Liberal Arts, graduating two years ago.

Frankly, if it weren’t for the money and his lack of it, Blu wouldn’t have been so eager to take the job. The fact she’d doubled the offer erased any hesitation he might have had.

When he turned onto King Street, he found a parking spot at a meter in front of Willie’s Music Shop. He put some change in the meter and walked inside. His friend Willie Day had owned and run the place since the eighties, weathering Hurricane Hugo and urban blight. Willie always seemed to know what was going on no matter what Blu asked about. After Willie had passed on to the other side not too long after 9/11, his daughter took over, running the store during the city’s current rejuvenation. And, like her father, she had connections all over town.

Billie Day stood beside a wall display of Fender guitars, talking to a very early twenty-something white male. A black tank top and a short crop of hair exposed Billie’s light brown arms and neck. Her jeans accentuated curves that always put Blu in a good mood. She gave him a slight nod but kept her main focus on the customer.

Blu rotated his sunglasses to the top of his head and pretended to browse while he waited for Billie to make the sale. Desert Storm had done a number on his hearing, but he distinctly heard the sum “thousand even” and silently congratulated Billie.

After the kid had paid and walked out with his purchase protected in a nice case she’d talked him into buying, Billie walked over to Blu.

With hands on nice hips, she said, “What can I help you with?”

What she said was a little more formal than Blu had been looking for in a greeting. Apparently, Billie was more than a little pissed at him for not calling. It had been six months, right about the time his tax situation derailed him.

He said, “Hi, Billie.”

“Hi, Billie? Is that what you’re going with?”

“Um—”

She put a finger to his lips. “Don’t even try to dig yourself out of this one, Blu.”

He looked into powerful, deep brown eyes and almost winced.

Her gaze lightened. “Why didn’t you just tell me your tax troubles?”

Blu looked down. He should have assumed she knew.

She lifted his chin. “Friends help each other. They don’t shut each other out.”

“It’s my problem to fix,” he said.

“But it doesn’t have to be, baby. You made it so.”

A lot of thoughts ran through his stubborn head. Like how someone five years his junior had it so much more together than he did. And how someone could care about him so much after all these years.

He said, “I’ve got another job now. A good one. Hell, the retainer alone is enough to pay off Charleston County and then some.”

“You’ve got a job now, huh? Is that why you’re here?”

“Not the only reason.”

She patted his chest. “Before we get to that, you’ve got to make this up to me.”

“I—”

With a nudge from her hip, she said, “I don’t want to hear excuses. I want you to take me out and treat me proper. Everything has a price. My price for being ignored is a date. Take it or leave it.”

He’d always loved this woman. The timing was never right. He’d come back from the war all screwed up and she’d just turned eighteen—bad timing.

By the time he’d gotten his head screwed back on straight, she was twenty. And he married someone else—bad timing.

When he’d been about to get a divorce, his wife turned up pregnant. They stuck it out another five years before ending it just in time for Billie to marry someone—bad timing.

And then Billie divorced, she and Blu were set to be together, and his money problems started—bad timing.

But now he had this new job, his money problems abated, and she was still available. He just hoped he wouldn’t mess it up this time. So, in answer to her request for a date as restitution for him being a complete moron, he said, “Okay. I’ll take it.”

“Good,” she said. “Pick me up at eight.”

He thought about going ahead and asking her if she knew Jeremy Rhodes, but he decided not to push his luck. She wasn’t his only source, just his favorite.

He smiled and gave her a peck on the cheek.

She said, “Are you going to call Crome?”

Chapter Three

Blu stepped out of the music store and onto the broken sidewalk of upper King Street. The nice shops had been encroaching this direction for some time and had almost made it. Willie’s Music had always been a novelty. Now it was a novelty on prime real estate. And Billie had politely turned down several decent offers to sell. Blu couldn’t blame her. The business held its own, and she liked what she did.

Her asking if he was going to call Crome meant she was more than a little concerned about the job.

Mick Crome, his sometime business partner, had vanished with his half of what was left of the fee after expenses from the payout of the Kincaid job. The last Blu heard, Crome had ridden his Harley all the way down to Key West and hadn’t come up for air since. And not a day went by that Blu didn’t think about his friend.

He’d give Crome a day or two. The guy had a knack for showing up at the right time. If he hadn’t returned to Charleston by then and things got out of hand, Blu would make a few calls.

The picture Cynthia Rhodes gave him of her son didn’t help as he would have to assimilate what Jeremy looked like now, most likely factoring in extensive drug use as an age agent.

What he needed was a current picture, at least one more current than ten years. Because he’d let his cell phone plan expire when he ran out of money, he bought a prepaid “burner” phone at a drug store. The teenage girl who rang up his purchase helped him set it up and he gave her a five-dollar tip.

Using the cigarette lighter in the Land Cruiser to power the phone, he dialed a number from memory.

It went to voicemail.

When prompted to leave a message, he said, “Gladys, this is Blu Carraway. I know it’s been a while, but I could use a favor. Call me when you can.” He left the burner’s number and closed the phone.

With that accomplished, some theme music was required. He selected a cassette and loaded it in the Land Cruiser’s tape deck. After a moment, the bass riff from “The Waiting Room” by the punk band Fugazi played through the speakers—what a band.
The phone vibrated on his leg. He turned down the music volume and answered the call.

Gladys said, “Certainly has been a while, Mr. Blu Carraway. What lowlife are you after now?”

 

Ten years ago, about the same time the picture of Jeremy Rhodes was taken, Blu intervened in a domestic abuse situation. Gladys found him through a friend and tried to hire him. Apparently, none of the other local private investigators would bother to talk with her, much less take her job. At the time, her husband was taking out his frustrations for being a bakery delivery man on Gladys. When Blu found out she worked at the DMV, he handled the job pro bono, figuring the connection was worth it. In the end, a police investigation confirmed her husband had died while trying to beat her again—a clear case of self-defense as far as anyone was concerned. Blu didn’t lose any sleep over it when the police found the knife sticking out of the man’s neck with Gladys’ prints on it. In Blu’s mind, any man who struck a woman in anger deserved no less. Gladys had done the deed, but only after Blu suggested she already had enough evidence to prove self-defense. He’d been a stone’s throw away when it happened, which most likely also encouraged and empowered the woman to take action.
And Gladys, with her connection to every licensed driver and registered vehicle in the state of South Carolina, had indeed proved helpful. The Driver’s Privacy Protection Act of ’92 protected a driver’s information from getting outside the appropriate government agencies. But it didn’t apply to licensed PI’s like Blu who had a wide range of access. Through experience, Blu found an inside source usually trumped his own sleuthing skills. With her abusive husband gone, Gladys’ life had changed dramatically for the better. He knew she would happily keep returning the favor.

He said, “I need a photo of someone.”

“Let me get something to write with.” A pause, then, “Okay, shoot.”

He gave the name and approximate age of Jeremy Rhodes.

She said, “I get off work in two hours. Buy me a milkshake at the Chick-fil-A down the street.”

“You got it.” He ended the call.

With time to kill, Blu had two things in mind. One was to research exactly who Cynthia Rhodes was. And the second was to squeeze in a workout at the gym. His first stop was the local library where he signed onto a computer and looked up his new client. Normally he would have done this before accepting the job, but her check was awfully big.

Cynthia Rhodes was indeed a Charleston socialite. She managed a charitable organization named Lowcountry Second Chances and booked fundraisers all year long.

A major benefactor for the charity was a shelter in North Charleston.

Once divorced, her ex-husband being one Jack Rhodes who had passed away five years ago from a heart attack, Jeremy was their only child. Jack had been a big deal in lowcountry real estate up until his passing.

Jeremy Rhodes, unlike his mother, had done a good job of flying under the radar. There was quite a bit on both of his parents on the web, but nothing about him except a few notifications of past showings of his artwork at some of the local coffee shops.
Being a private investigator wasn’t in and of itself difficult work. Blu felt he had to keep his mind sharp and be able to think on his feet. And he had sources providing a lot of what kept him ahead of things. But it was also physical—he had to stay in shape. Quitting smoking, or at least switching to vapor, had several benefits, one being he could no longer afford it anymore anyway. And it also helped him breathe better during workouts.

With the preliminary research complete, Blu went to the gym. He kept a bag of gym clothes and gear in his truck, because he never knew when he’d get the opportunity. While his cardio had gotten a lot better since he switched to vapor, he still preferred the weights and got a good hour set in. Even with his money troubles, the gym membership would have been one of the last things to go.

Gladys faced a pink-colored milkshake in a booth in the restaurant when Blu sat across from her. A lot of people spent a lot of money to fight against looking their age. Gladys was not one of them. Past fifty, she had thick strawberry-framed glasses, gray hair, and a healthy dose of paunch. She had a few more years before she’d have her time in with the state and she could retire on a full ride. When that happened, Blu would need another source. Gladys made it easier than having to deal with a lot of red tape, even though he also knew a lot of cops.

She sipped from the straw and slid a nine-by-twelve-inch envelope to him. Her short, plump body was mostly hidden by the table. “They know me here. I told them you’d be paying. You gotta go to the counter.”

Blu stood, went to the counter, ordered a sweet tea, and paid for their drinks. He got his tea, sat across from Gladys again, picked up the envelope, and slipped out two sheets of paper, one an enlarged driver’s license picture and the other a vehicle registration for a late model Volkswagen Jetta. Listed was the South Battery address on the business card his mother had given Blu.

Gladys remained quiet.

Unlike the clean-cut boy in the photo Cynthia had given him, in this picture Jeremy Rhodes had black hair shaved on one side of his head with the length on top combed over to the other like an upside down mop. It contrasted with pale white skin like his mother’s—obviously not a beach dweller. He also had quite a few piercings: ears, nose, eyebrows, and both cheeks.

Blu pushed the photo back into the envelope. “Thanks.”

“Kid looks like a degenerate, you ask me.”

He hadn’t asked her, but let it go. “How’s your mom?” Last time he spoke with her, she was in the hospital.

“Dead.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

Gladys nodded but didn’t reply. Aside from the results of her lethargic and static lifestyle, she really did look much different from when she first walked into his office. Her usual grumpy demeanor aside, he knew she’d become a new woman, quite content with who she was. With her newfound freedom from the abusive husband came what he’d observed to be inner strength.

She said, “One more thing. I checked around. The car’s in impound. Been there a week.”

“Thanks,” he said, “Anything I can do for you?”

She finished another round of slurping, licked her lips, and swallowed. “Nah. I’m good.”

Blu slid out of the booth and was ready to roll when she said, “They got good sandwiches here.”

His first thought was she didn’t want to eat alone. Even though he wanted to get back to the job, he said, “Why don’t we get something to eat? I’m buying.”

She smiled for the first time. “Okay by me.”

After they ate chicken sandwiches and waffle fries, and he listened to her complain about her sister, Blu left the ray of sunshine that was Gladys and drove back into the city.

He wanted to check out the kid’s car, and he knew someone who would give him access, but it was too late in the day. First thing in the morning, he’d make a call.
The feeling Cynthia Rhodes wasn’t telling him everything weighed heavy on him. Gladys had said Jeremy Rhodes looked like a degenerate. It wasn’t his call to make, but Blu wouldn’t hire the kid to pick shells on the beach, much less do anything requiring responsibility. If he was alive, what was the kid doing for money? It wasn’t as if he’d ever had to work for anything.

At suppertime, still an hour before he had to leave to meet Billie, Blu filled the water trough for the horses with a garden hose. His grandfather had made the first mistake a long time ago when he gave one of the animals an apple. Since then, the herd of Carolina Marsh Tackeys, a breed indigenous to the lowcountry, had slowly become family, and caring for them had grown from a novelty to a chore. His father and Cuban mother had continued the practice while they lived there as well. The horses still fed mostly on the vegetation of the property and took care of themselves, the exception being when it froze. During the one week a year it got frigid in the lowcountry, Blu bought a few bales of hay to carry them through. Trying to get them into a barn would be a waste of time. They’d sooner trample him than be corralled.
By the time he finished and put the water hose away, he heard tires on the crushed shell drive.

“Twice in one day,” he said to no one in particular.

He didn’t know how prophetic the statement really was until he watched Cynthia Rhodes’ shiny black Mercedes cut between the trees and pull up next to his old Land Cruiser, as before.

The driver got out of the Mercedes but didn’t open the rear door. Instead, he marched toward Blu. Same dark suit and tie and bright white shirt. He wore sunglasses, just like Blu. It looked like Trigger Rick had come alone this time.
Dink and Doofus kept their distance.

When Trigger Rick got close, Blu said, “Howdy.”

The man didn’t look happy. But then again, he didn’t look happy the first time Blu had met him either. “Howdy yourself, Carraway.” He thumb-pointed to himself. “I could do the job. I’m not sure why Cynthia thought she needed the help of some washed- up dick who hasn’t had a real job in three years.”

Blu didn’t reply. What was there to say?

Trigger Rick continued. “The reason I’m here is because Cynthia wanted a way to be in contact with you.” He reached into his jacket pocket and handed over a smartphone.

“I don’t like those things,” Blu lied. More like he couldn’t afford a smartphone. The service plans required monthly payments, something he hadn’t been in a financial position to commit to in a while.

“Like I care.’”

Blu held it out for the driver to take back. “Still, I can’t accept it.”

“You can and you will.” He retreated to the car. “You think I’m going to go back and tell Cynthia I didn’t give it to you?”

Blu watched the man start the car, turn around, and drive away. Then he looked down at the phone in his hand. It was a nice iPhone.

While he was examining it, the device vibrated in his hands. He almost dropped it.

The name “Cynthia Rhodes” displayed on the screen.

Blu touched the green answer button and held it up to his ear.

“Mr. Carraway?” It was her voice.

“Yes.”

“Good. I hope you don’t think me presumptuous, but I wanted to make sure we had a way of communicating.”

Blu watched as Dink, Doofus, and a mare named Molly Mae drank from the trough. He said, “I appreciate the gesture, but I can’t accept this.”

“I insist.”

“What I mean is I need to get myself one for my business anyway.”

“Consider it a part of our deal and a bonus afterward. It’s unlocked, and I’ve paid forward enough to last the rest of the year.”

He realized he wouldn’t have to worry about getting the landline reconnected. It showed several bars of coverage even on his own slice of paradise located forty minutes away from anywhere else.

She said, “I also managed to get the last four digits to spell out ‘blue.’”

“Oh.”

“That’s okay, isn’t it?” she asked. “I mean, you can use it as a marketing gimmick if you want. You know, like ‘don’t feel blue, call Blue.’”

He wondered how long she’d worked on that one. Hopefully not too long. He decided not to correct her spelling of his name. “I really appreciate the gesture, Ms. Rhodes.”

“Call me Cynthia.”

Her driver had called her Cynthia. How close were they?

He didn’t mention that either. Instead, he said, “Okay. And you can call me Blu.”

“Good.”

“Cynthia?”

“Yes?”

“How long has your driver been working for you?”

“Rick? Around two years. Why?”

If Blu handled this poorly, it could jeopardize being able to continue calling her Cynthia. He said, “Why isn’t he looking for your son? I can tell he believes he’s capable.”

After a pause, she said, “Mr. Carraway. That is precisely why I hired you.”

The call ended.

And Blu wondered if he could still call her Cynthia.

***
Excerpt from In It For The Money by David Burnsworth. Copyright © 2017 by David Burnsworth. Reproduced with permission from David Burnsworth. All rights reserved.

Purchase Links:  Amazon   | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Interview & Spotlight: CAT GOT YOUR SECRETS by Julie Chase

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As part of a Blog Tour organized by Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours, I am happy to have Julie Chase as my guest as she celebrates the release of Cat Got Your Secrets, the latest addition to her Kitty Couture Mystery series.

Interview

Welcome, Julie.  I think the best place to start would be to tell us a little about yourself. 

JulieALindsey2Sure! I’m Julie Anne Lindsey, a writer-mom who stays home with her three busy kids, ages 9, 11 & 14. My children are growing up so fast in every way. My youngest is in 4th grade tomorrow and my oldest started high school last week.

Also, I write the Kitty Couture series as Julie Chase, but it’s a pen name for the project, and I write lots of other things as myself. Beginning April 2018, I will write romantic suspense for Harlequin Intrigue.

What sparked the idea to write this novel?

The Kitty Couture series was inspired by a trip to New Orleans in 2015. I fell in love with the city and wanted a reason to go back as often as possible. Once I climbed aboard a street car and got off in the Garden District, I knew that was where my next novel/series belonged. It’s an enchanting place. Since I can’t take the whole world with me physically when I visit, I figured a great novel set on those streets is just as good.

How long did it take you to write?

I wrote Cat Got Your Secrets in about 28 days. Though, the writing only began after 7-10 days of extensive plotting and detailed outlining. Once I understood all the pieces and how they would fit together, I began writing one chapter a day. Twenty-eight days/chapters later, I’d finished. I normally take 2 days at the end to reread my work, then huzzah! A novel. The entire process is more like six weeks, but I have it down to a science which helps me meet deadlines and know with confidence when I can turn something in or begin a new project. For this reason, I’m a huge advocate of outlining.

What book are you reading right now?

Right now I’m reading Protection Detail by Julie Miller, it’s a romantic suspense from Harlequin Intrigue, and I’m also reading the first in the Outlander series for my book club. In addition, my high schooler and I are listening to the YA novel, Smoke & Bone, on audio disk during the hefty 45 minute commute to his new nerd school – I’m super proud of my over-achieving offspring. They talk about math the way I talk about books.

Is there anything you would like to say to your readers that my readers might want to know about you or your series?

Only that this series is near and dear to my heart and has been so much fun to write. I’ve fallen in love with each character, and had plans to see them live on for years, having new and exciting adventures in New Orleans. However, the industry is what it is, and I’m not in control of the series duration. I have my finger crossed that the publisher will ask for more tales of Lacy and her crew, but at the moment, it looks like this will be my final installment. It’s something I haven’t mentioned before because it breaks my heart to share, but unless something changes, Cat Got Your Secrets is the final Kitty Couture Mystery.

About Cat Got Your Secrets

cgys-colored-cover-2017-1-4Lacy Marie Crocker has settled into a comfortable groove back home in New Orleans, and with Valentine’s Day right around the corner, she’s busier than ever running a thriving pet boutique, helping her mother organize the upcoming National Pet Pageant, and untangling her complicated love life. But when delivering a king-sized order of dreidel-shaped doggy biscuits for a Saint Berdoodle’s bark-mitzvah, Lacy stumbles into yet another murder scene—and the last person to see the victim alive was her own father.

It’s up to Lacy to clear her dad’s name from the suspect list before Detective Jack Oliver has to cage him for good. But just when she starts pawing at the truth, she receives a threatening letter from a mysterious blackmailer bent on silencing her with her own secrets. And Lacy’s not the only one with bones in her closet.

Giveaway

Click to enter a Rafflecopter giveaway for a chance to win a paperback set of books 1 & 2 in the Kitty Couture series and a themed wallet filled with mardi gras beads.

About the Author

Julie Chase is a mystery-loving pet enthusiast who hopes to make readers smile. She lives in rural Ohio with her husband and three spunky children. Julie is a member of the International Thriller Writers, Romance Writers of America, and Sisters in Crime. She is represented by Jill Marsal of Marsal Lyon Literary Agency. Julie also writes as Julie Anne Lindsey. Learn more about Julie Anne Lindsey here.

Purchase Links:  Amazon     B&N     BAM!    IndieBound

POW/MIA Day & Excerpt: EVER THE PATRIOT

Today, September 15, is National POW/MIA Recognition Day in the U.S. – a time to set aside some time to learn about our nation’s former POWs and missing servicemen,  and to honor those who continue to protect our freedom.

Cover_EverPatriotI didn’t find out that my father, Vincent J. Riccio, had been a Prisoner of War in World War II until I was in high school. He didn’t seem to think it was all that important. In his words, “Not a big deal.” Almost 50 years passed before he would share his story with us, and only then after he began having nightmares and flashbacks. His story revealed to me a side of him that I had never known – a glimpse into what he was like as a young soldier – fun-loving, level headed, and resourceful.

Following his death, his words were transcribed into a short memoir –  Ever the Patriot that recounts his experiences in the U.S. Army Air Corps as an Instrument Technician, Aviation Cadet, and Flight Engineer in World War II.  He  served as flight engineer and top turret gunner in the 335th squadron (95th Bomb Group). When their B-17 was hit on Nov 5, 1944 on a bombing, he parachuted out and landed in Germany near Trippstadt. He was almost killed at least three times before reaching Stalag Luft IV, and he was on the forced march from Stalag Luft IV until Fallingbostel (Stalag XIB).

In honor of National POW/MIA Recognition Day, Ever the Patriot can be downloaded from Amazon free on September 15 and 16, 2017.

Read an excerpt about the Forced March:

On the morning of February 6, 1945, they came around hollering in German to get out – fast. We all fell out and they marched us out. Each man was given one Red Cross package.

They marched us out of the compound that day in a column of threes; we didn’t know why. Our compound was the first one to leave.

They started us walking down the road. All day long we walked, until that night just before dark we came to a farm with a big barn. It was one of those communal farms. There must have been two or three thousand of us. They herded us into the barn and then closed the door. That’s it. You’re there for the night.

The next morning right at sun up, they shook us loose, got us outside, and we started walking again. This was in February, it was freezing cold. I guess just the walking kept us from freezing to death. For me, this “short hike” went on for more than 60 days. After the war, they called it the Black Hunger March, because the only food you got was the food you could scrounge. Every once in a while you got a steamed potato that had been steamed to feed the cattle. If we happened to be passing a farm that was doing that.

The German guards walked right alongside us. For the most part, they were not mean, they were not horrible. When you couldn’t walk anymore, the dogs would get you up and you would walk some more.

After a few days, the buddy system took over. Three men who marched together looked out for each other. My buddies were a cowboy from Utah named J.P. Red and a fellow from New York named Jack Gray. Whatever we could scrounge we shared.

I think everybody was sick. Everybody in the entire column had diarrhea or dysentery, or whatever you want to call it. The only time you were allowed to move to the side of the road was to “squat and squirt,” and when you did, it was complete with blood and everything else.

The days were pretty much all the same. Every night we wound up in a barn on a different farm. The day to remember in our march along the North Sea in the dead of winter was February 13th. On February 13th we started walking at daylight and marched through an area called Swinemünde. We crossed bridges and country roads, always away from people and towns. We marched all day long. Then it started to get dark and there’s no farm or barn in sight. All of a sudden they stopped the column near a big field, and they said, “here tonight.” They posted the guards around us, and wherever you fell is where you spent the night.

We woke up in the morning – it’s a wonder we all woke up – we woke up covered with snow. It had started to snow during the night. The only reason we didn’t freeze to death is that we were all laying down so close together, almost one on top of the other. Our body heat saved us. Anyway, we got through that night and they marched us off.

Some of the guards were sympathetic but could do nothing. They too were tired from marching alongside us. I must have looked real bad because one guard shared his ration with me, which I shared with my buddies.

We were having a scenic tour of northern Germany along the North Sea. There is one thing that I remember about the march that lifted our spirits. We had never gone through a town. Eventually, after about 30-40 days, I don’t remember exactly when, I think around the middle of March, we could see a town or village in front of us. We were coming to a more populated area, and the road we were on was going right though this town. We hadn’t had to do that yet.

As we got close to the town, someone from up front passed the word back – We march through town at attention. We all figured that when we walk through the town, and they know we are all flyers, we’re going to catch hell. So somebody up front had passed the word: we march through like soldiers.

As we approached the town, you could see the column start to straighten out – I have to tell you, I was proud to be an American. We were a ragged looking bunch, marching through at attention like soldiers. Nothing happened as we passed through town. The townspeople just stared at us.

By the end of March, the weather was better but most of us were not. The worst part was trying to walk with swollen feet. The guys who weren’t in as bad shape helped the others. Two men helped me because my both my feet and ankles were blown up like balloons. I was down to around 85 pounds and I felt awful.

Eventually, in early April, they stopped us at a different POW camp – Stalag XIB Fallingbostel. This was an old camp, originally a British Reprisal camp. This particular camp had all the British colonials that were captured at Dunkirk, and they had been there for three and a half years.

When they marched us all in, the British and South Africans came out and brought the two dozen or so of us who couldn’t walk any more into their barracks. The South African POWs took care of us. There was this Sergeant from Johannesburg who I called Sergeant Red because he had this big red beard. He brought me in and put me on his bunk, and then had the medics take a look at my feet.

Back before the march, I had sewed into the lining of my great coat as many packs of cigarettes as I could scrounge or barter for while I was in camp. I still had quite a few left. Cigarettes were never a problem, if you wanted to barter with a farmer, you could give him a cigarette for a carrot or two.

I pulled cigarettes out of my coat and passed them around to the British soldiers, which they appreciated because they hadn’t had any cigarettes in a long time.

The rest of the guys in our column were outside in a tent, and a few days later the word was the boys are marching out again. Sergeant Red said, “You aren’t going, you’re staying right here.” There were about two dozen of us Americans that the British wouldn’t let go because we would never have made it. They hid us until the rest of the column had moved out.

Review: LIES SHE TOLD by Cate Holahan

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As part of a Blog Tour organized by Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours, I recently read Lies She Told, an engaging psychological thriller by Kim Davis.

Description

LiesSheTold_old-692x1024Sometimes the truth is darker than fiction.

Liza Cole has thirty days to write the thriller that could put her back on the bestseller list. In the meantime, she’s struggling to start a family with her husband, who is distracted by the disappearance of his best friend, Nick. With stresses weighing her down in both her professional and her personal lives, Liza escapes into writing her latest heroine, Beth.

Beth is a new mother who suspects her husband is cheating on her while she’s home alone caring for their newborn. Angry and betrayed, she sets out to catch him in the act and make him pay for shattering the illusion of their perfect life. But before she realizes it, she’s tossing the body of her husband’s mistress into the East River.

Then the lines between fiction and reality begin to blur. Nick’s body is dragged from the same river and Liza’s husband is arrested for his murder. Before her deadline is up, Liza will have to face up to the truths about the people around her, including herself. If she doesn’t, the end of her heroine’s story could be the end of her own.

My Review

This was a unique and intriguing read that starts out by following two distinct storylines with the point of view switching between Liza (the writer) and Beth (her made-up character).  The book starts out slowly as you become acquainted with the players, but the pace picks up quickly as both Liza and Beth find themselves in complicated situations.  Both characters were well developed. It was easy to identify with Liza’s yearning to be a mother and with Beth’s distress at the state of her marriage. The partial mirroring of the two plots – Liza’s story and the story she was writing – led to a blurring of the line between reality and fiction. The path to the story’s resolution was peppered with suspense and twists that kept me turning the pages.  It was an enjoyable read, however the ending didn’t feel “right” to me – not so much in terms of the killer’s identity but more in that the factors that led to the killer’s actions seemed a bit far-fetched to me.

FTC Disclosure:   I received a complimentary ARC of this book. This has not affected the content of my review in any way.

Giveaway

Click to enter a Rafflecopter giveaway for a chance to win a print copy of Lies She Told.

About the Author

Holahan-Author-Photo-Credit-Martin-Bentsen-240x300-Copy-240x300Cate Holahan, author of the acclaimed psychological suspense novel The Widower’s Wife, is an award-winning journalist and a former television producer. She currently lives in New Jersey with her husband and two children.

Author Links:

Purchase Links:    Amazon B&N

Review: SEEING RED by Sandra Brown

Nothing like a good thriller to keep me up way past my bedtime.  Seeing Red by Sandra Brown did just that.

41ws6iggcglDescription (from Amazon)

Kerra Bailey is a TV journalist hot on the trail of a story guaranteed to skyrocket her career to new heights. Twenty-five years ago, Major Franklin Trapper became a national icon when he was photographed leading a handful of survivors to safety after the bombing of a Dallas hotel. For years, he gave frequent speeches and interviews but then suddenly dropped out of the public eye, shunning all media. Now Kerra is willing to use any means necessary to get an exclusive with the Major–even if she has to secure an introduction from his estranged son, former ATF agent John Trapper.

Still seething over his break with both the ATF and his father, Trapper wants no association with the bombing or the Major. Yet Kerra’s hints that there’s more to the story rouse Trapper’s interest despite himself. And when the interview goes catastrophically awry–with unknown assailants targeting not only the Major, but also Kerra–Trapper realizes he needs her under wraps if he’s going to track down the gunmen . . . and finally discover who was responsible for the Dallas bombing.

Kerra is wary of a man so charming one moment and dangerous the next, and she knows Trapper is withholding evidence from his ATF investigation into the bombing. But having no one else to trust and enemies lurking closer than they know, Kerra and Trapper join forces to expose a sinuous network of lies and conspiracy–and uncover who would want a national hero dead.

My Review

The author weaves a well written and intriguing tale of suspense rooted in events that took the place when both of  the main characters were children, and which impacted on each of them in different ways.  Trapper’s fascination with the bombing drives him to seek answers about the persons behind the tragedy which brought about so much change in his life.  With “The Major” refusing interview requests, Kerra reaches out to his estranged son for help in obtaining access to the hero.  The result is a reluctant partnership of sorts between the two as they search for answers to difficult questions.

I found both Trapper and Kerra to be interesting and well developed characters.  The intricate plot has an abundance of twists and turns a real page-turner  with non-stop action and elements of romantic suspense and sexual tension.  Although the sexual tension enhanced the story, in my opinion, the explicit descriptions of their intimate physical interactions were somewhat gratuitous and detracted from the story.

Content Advisory:  If you are offended by strong language and explicit graphic sex, this book is not for you.

FTC Disclosure:  I received an advance review copy of this book and have voluntarily chosen to share my honest review. 

Book Blast: MURDER SHE FLOATS by Rachael Stapleton

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As part of a Blog Blast organized by Great Escapes Virtual Book Tours, today’s post turns the spotlight on  Murder She Floats, a new cozy mystery by  Rachael Stapleton.

Description

MurdersheFloat_finalIt’s the end of the summer and Journalist Penelope Trubble has returned home to help her father with the Private Eye business. With a contest prize of ten thousand dollars on the line, the town is full of summer vacationers on the hunt for the rare 1913 Liberty Head nickel that was lost to Bohemian Lake over fifty years ago. With the help of spitfire local, Eve Berns and Cody Lumos, the town’s handsome new detective, amateur sleuth Lucky Penny takes the bait and goes diving for the story behind the legend of the million dollar coin. Unfortunately, her dive turns up more bodies than missing treasure. The deeper she digs, the more secrets she finds hidden in the sand, but will she be buried along with them?

Giveaway

Click to enter a Rafflecopter giveaway for a chance to win an autographed copy of The Temple of Indra’s Witch.

About The Author

Concert-PicRachael Stapleton lives in a Second Empire Victorian home with her husband and two children in Ontario, Canada and enjoys writing in the comforts of aged wood and arched dormers.

Author Links:
Webpage     Blog    Facebook   @RaquelleJaxson 
Amazon     GoodReads 

Purchase Link:  Amazon

Review: A TIME TO LAUGH by Rose Verde

I recently had the pleasure of reading Rose Verde’s A Time to Laugh. It’s an enjoyable sweet romance set in Alaska.

Description

51v-sw1bivlIzzy Davies needs to make a decision within a matter of weeks. With emotions running high at home, she decides to take a little trip to North Pole, Alaska for some time away. Her first day and she becomes friends with a little girl.

Widower, Luke Marshall receives his Christmas wish—a coveted promotion as the hotel manager, but that means searching for a new babysitter for his daughter. Someone who can accommodate his work schedule, and plan the best Christmas his little girl could ever dream of.

When he asks Izzy to take up the temporary job, she agrees but too late she finds out her heart couldn’t stay uninvolved. But she fears that when he finds out about her secrets, there’d be no future for them.

My Review

This short novella features a young woman at a critical crossroads, who is thrown off balance when Luke and his delightful daughter come into her life.  The author does a nice job in conveying Izzy’s emotions as she becomes more and more attached to the girl and her relationship with Luke evolves. As in any good romance, Luke and Izzy face hurdles before they can find happiness. Set in Alaska at Christmas time and ending on a hopeful note, the story is sure to please fans of clean Christian romance.  An enjoyable light read.

FTC Disclosure:  I received an advance review copy of this book without obligation and have voluntarily chosen to share my honest review.