Giveaway – The Golden Hour Murder by Jeanne Quigley @dollycas

 

The Golden Hour Murder: A Robyn Cavanagh Mystery
by Jeanne Quigley

About The Golden Hour

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The Golden Hour Murder: A Robyn Cavanagh Mystery
Cozy Mystery
2nd in Series
Setting – New York
Independently Published (February 11, 2025)
Print length ‏ : ‎ 271 pages
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0DNXTBRNQ

It’s October and Mother Nature has painted photographer Robyn Cavanagh’s suburban New York hometown in rich colors of red, orange, and gold. Autumn has provided many scenic locales to shoot, but Robyn is happily preoccupied with one particular landscape. She’s landed the biggest job of her flourishing career: a contract to photograph the lush Linden Acres farm.

Her work begins with sunshine-filled days of apple and pumpkin picking and starry nights featuring a spectacular display of glowing jack-o’-lanterns. The merry mood darkens after Robyn discovers the body of Doug Paxton, the estranged husband of a member of the Linden clan.

Robyn can’t look through her camera’s viewfinder without picturing Doug’s body in the Linden pumpkin patch. Along with her friend Will Vonderlin, she plays detective to solve Doug’s murder. Will the killer be caught before the apples and pumpkins are turned into Thanksgiving pies, or will Robyn lose her best client and watch her career fade along with the autumn colors?

About Jeanne Quigley

OLYMPUS DIGITAL CAMERA

Jeanne Quigley is the author of the Veronica Walsh Mysteries and the Robyn Cavanagh Mysteries. Unlike her fictional sleuths, she has never been a soap opera star, accountant, or professional photographer, but she has worked in the music industry, for an educational publisher, and in a county agency. She lives in New York’s historic Hudson Valley.

Website  www.jeannequigley.wordpress.com
Facebook  https://www.facebook.com/jeannemquigley
Instagram https://www.instagram.com/jeannequigleyauthor/

Purchase Links:  Amazon     B&N     Kobo    Apple

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Giveaway – Trap Neuter Die by Sharon Marchisello @dollycas @SLMarchisello


Trap, Neuter, Die: A DeeLo Myer Cat Rescue Mystery
by Sharon Marchisello

About Trap, Neuter, Die

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Trap, Neuter, Die: A DeeLo Myer Cat Rescue Mystery
Cozy Mystery
1st of Series
Setting – Georgia
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Level Best Books (October 29, 2024)
Paperback ‏ : ‎ 286 pages
ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 1685127983
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1685127985
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0DK88W1WQ

DeeLo Myer, newly transplanted from Los Angeles to Pecan Point, Georgia, gets sentenced to forty hours of community service with the local humane society. She’s paired with the judgmental Catherine Foster, a Trap-Neuter-Vaccinate-Return (TNVR) guru who prefers feral cats to people. During DeeLo’s first night on duty, she and Catherine are led by a cat to the strangled body of a local bookstore owner.

The cop who investigates seems less concerned with solving a homicide than with Catherine’s violation of an antiquated animal ordinance rendering TNVR illegal. The following evening, when he arrests Catherine for violating the said ordinance, and then holds her as a suspect in the murder, DeeLo vows to prove Catherine’s innocence and get the ridiculous law changed. How hard could it be? She enlists her boyfriend/boss and the resources of his law office. Her quest for justice and legislative change leads her to high-profile members of the community, some of whom have motives for murder.

About Sharon Marchisello 

Sharon Marchisello is the author of the DeeLo Myer cozy mystery series from Level Best Books, starting with Trap, Neuter, Die (2024). Her two previous mysteries were published by Sunbury Press: Going Home (2014) and Secrets of the Galapagos (2019). She is an active member of Sisters in Crime. She contributed short stories to the anthologies Shhhh…Murder! (Darkhouse Books, 2018) Finally Home (Bienvenue Press, 2019) and Smoking Guns (Wildside Press, 2024). Her personal finance book Live Well, Grow Wealth (2018) was originally published as Live Cheaply, Be Happy, Grow Wealthy, an e-book on Smashwords. Sharon has published travel articles, book reviews, corporate training manuals, and a personal finance blog called Countdown to Financial Fitness. She grew up in Tyler, Texas, and earned her Bachelor of Arts from the University of Houston in French and English. She studied for a year in Tours, France, on a Rotary scholarship and then moved to Los Angeles to pursue her Masters in Professional Writing at the University of Southern California. Retired from a 27-year career with Delta Air Lines, she lives in Peachtree City, Georgia, doing volunteer work for the Fayette Humane Society, the Fayette County Master Gardeners UGA Extension, and the Friends of the Peachtree City Library.

Purchase Links – AmazonB&NGoogle BooksKoboBookshop – 

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$50 GC – Rented Grave by Charles Philipp Martin @partnersincr1me

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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Giveaway – Soft Serve Sleighing by Lena Gregory @dollycas @LenaGregory03

Soft Serve Sleighing (Coffee & Cream Café Mysteries)
by Lena Gregory

About Soft Serve Sleighing

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Soft Serve Sleighing (Coffee & Cream Café Mysteries)
Cozy Mystery
5th in Series
Setting – Long Island, NY
Publisher ‏ : ‎ Gemma Halliday Publishing (January 28, 2025)
Number of Pages – 226
Kindle ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0DLHPWDNT

From author Lena Gregory comes a delightfully delicious cozy mystery…

With most of Eastern Long Island closed down for a blizzard, Danika Delaney and her friends are holed up in her old fashioned malt shop, the Coffee & Cream Café, with ice cream and hot chocolate. However, their plans to wait out the storm in cozy company are interrupted when a popular YouTuber and her two companions show up at the door—they’ve been trapped by the storm, and Dani generously offers to serve them breakfast. But her generosity isn’t rewarded in kind, as the reviewer then tries to extort money from Dani in exchange for a good review! When the storm finally clears, Dani is happy to have seen the last of them.

Or so she thought.

Dani and her friends decide to go sleigh riding the morning after the storm clears, but instead of a winter wonderland, they find the extorting YouTuber…dead! To make matters worse, Dani suddenly finds herself accused of the woman’s murder. Intent on restoring her reputation, Dani sets out to prove she didn’t do it. This is one storm she’s not sure she can weather…

About Lena Gregory

Lena Gregory is the author of the Bay Island Psychic Mysteries, which take place on a small island between the north and south forks of Long Island, New York, the All-Day Breakfast Café Mysteries, which are set on the outskirts of Florida’s Ocala National Forest, the Mini-Meadows Mysteries, set in a community of tiny homes in Central Florida, and the Coffee & Cream Café Mysteries, which take place in a small town on the south shore of eastern Long Island, New York.

Lena grew up in a small town on the south shore of eastern Long Island, but she recently traded in cold, damp, gray winters for the warmth and sunshine of central Florida, where she now lives with her husband, three kids, son-in-law, and four dogs. Her hobbies include spending time with family, reading, and walking. Her love for writing developed when her youngest son was born and didn’t sleep through the night. She works full-time as a writer and a freelance editor and is a member of Sisters in Crime.

Author Links

Purchase Links
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Release Day for What Happened To The Boy by June Summers #JuneSummers #whathappenedtotheboy

Amazon / Goodreads

First off, I want to thank June Summers for the opportunity to read and review What Happened To The Boy. It was the title that first caught my attention and I was sucked in by the cover that jumps out at me. I mean, who doesn’t want to know about a five year old boy after his mother and father are found shot to death in their burned down house.

I guess I would say What Happened To The Boy by June Summers is more mystery than suspense, but there is a sense of danger surrounding the boy and Thin Lizzy. She puts her life on the line to keep him safe.

I love when an author can surprise me and June Summers took me to a place I didn’t see coming. I love it and how she resolved all the issues. I do love a happy ending and she supplied one, so if you are looking for something to wake you up and slap you in the face, then lull you to your happy place, you can’t go wrong adding What Happened To The Boy to your reading list.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

An intense fire destroys the palatial home of a prominent attorney and his wife. After their bodies are removed from the burning house, Sam Nagy is pronounced dead immediately; his wife, Alyssa, succumbs on the way to the hospital. The causes of death are due to bullet wounds—not the fire.
But what happened to their boy?
Thin Lizzy, a dowdy homeless person, who secretly resides nightly at the public library, knows about the boy, but she’s not telling.

  • Genre: Fiction, Mystery
  • Format: 267 pages, Kindle Edition
  • Expected publication: December 11, 2024 by The Wild Rose Press, Inc.

Some say when you’re old, you should be content with what you accomplished in your past and sit back in your rocking chair awaiting your final fate. I, of course, disagree. At the age of seventy-six, I had my first novel, LET FREEDOM RING, published by The Wild Rose Press. Two years later, my second and third novels were released (BEFORE WE FADE AWAY-The Wild Rose Press and A CONFLICT OF TIME-Full Moon Publishing, LLC.) My fourth novel, WHATEVER IT TAKES, was published in F2020 by Moonshine Cove Publishing. My fifth novel, THERE WAS AN OLD WOMAN was published by The Wild Rose Press in 2021, and my sixth novel, AT ROPE’S END, will be published on May 1, 2023 by The Wild Rose Press.

I have been writing for as long as I can remember. I started out writing poetry; some good; many not so good. In my stories, I like to write about ordinary people caught in extraordinary situations. I want the readers to put themselves into the place of the characters and feel what they are feeling and see what they are seeing. I want them to be part of situations beyond their imaginations and to experience things vicariously that are too dangerous or absurd to experience in reality. It would be like living your everyday life, then, BAM, something totally out of your control forces you to take action that you never thought you were capable of doing.

Suspense and mystery with unique circumstances are genres of most of my manuscripts. My first three novels took place in Nawinah, a mythical town near Orlando, Florida. My second two took place in Northeastern Ohio, where I am now spending my retirement years.

While writing, I actually feel myself taking part in the activities of my protagonist. I know what he or she is going to say because I would say the same thing. I know what he or she would do in a situation because I know what I would do. It’s a strange but exhilarating sensation.

Some writers make out extensive outlines and know exactly what each chapter will include. Not me. I wouldn’t be able to write that way. As I alluded, I actually live within my characters. So I don’t know how they would react to a situation until that situation takes place.

  • You can see my Giveaways HERE.
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$20 GC – Final Cut by Marjorie McCown @partnersincr1me @eastlamm

Final Cut by Marjorie McCown Banner

FINAL CUT

by Marjorie McCown

November 18 – December 13, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Final Cut by Marjorie McCown

The Hollywood Mystery Series

 

Every day on the set of a big budget Hollywood movie is full of surprises. But the last thing key costumer Joey Jessop expected to find on the first day of principal photography was the body of a fellow crew member. And she immediately becomes a suspect — not only because she found the body on the beach in Malibu where they’re shooting the movie, but because the victim, second assistant director Courtney Lisle, was seeing Joey’s ex, first assistant director Eli Logan.

When the press takes hold of the story and social media begins to run with it, Joey watches her well-ordered life behind the scenes of the movie business become front and center tabloid fodder. But that isn’t even the worst of it. In addition to her new and unwanted stardom, Joey must also contend with the reckless behavior of the movie’s predatory director and producer, Marcus Pray, who churns out blockbuster hits while subjecting his movie crews to a toxic work environment. As a result, Joey finds herself embattled both personally and professionally.

With tensions building on set and a murder investigation looming over her life and future, Joey takes it upon herself to clear her name. Will she be able to uncover the truth before it’s a wrap?

Praise for Final Cut:

“[A] keen sense of what it’s like to work on a Hollywood production.”
~ Kirkus Reviews

“A fun and unique story . . . Readers will love FINAL CUT.”
~ Cozy Mystery Book Reviews

“Expertly showcases [McCown’s] genuine flair for original and the kind of narrative driven and unexpected plot twists that make for a riveting story.”
~ Midwest Book Review

“Engaging, with twists and turns.”
~ Red Carpet Crash

“A must-read movie mystery packed with juicy details from a Hollywood insider, FINAL CUT gets my nomination for best debut.”
~ Ellen Byron, Agatha and Lefty Award Winner, USA Today bestselling author

FINAL CUT is both an insider look at what it’s like to work on Hollywood’s biggest blockbuster and a surprising, timely mystery about a murder on the set . . . The story is a pop culture lover’s dream. I’m already lining up for the sequel.”
~ Kellye Garrett, Agatha, Anthony, and Lefty Award winning author of Like a Sister

Book Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery
Published by: Crooked Lane Books
Original Publication Date: June 2023
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 9781639107285 (ISBN10: 1639107282)
Series: The Hollywood Mystery Series (Joey Jessop), Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Penguin Random House

Read an excerpt:

JUNE 21 8:10 pm

Joey felt frustrated that she was late getting back to the shoot. By this time, nearly an hour after wrap, most of the movie crew had packed up and gone home after what had been a long, discouraging day. As key costumer, Joey usually started the morning on set, then ended her day at one of the specialty shops that made clothing for the film, or one of a dozen other tasks that went with her job. But tonight was different.

She’d made the long drive back to the shooting location in Malibu because she wanted to talk to Courtney in person, and even though she wasn’t looking forward to the conversation, she wished she’d made it back before wrap. The second AD hadn’t answered her texts, and now Joey worried she’d missed the chance to do timely damage control, to smooth over the tension between them after their flare-up on set earlier that day. The hectic pace of the movie had everybody on edge, but their confrontation could threaten the costume department’s entire working relationship with the assistant directors. If she couldn’t talk to the second AD without starting a fight, it was game over.

Determined not to let that happen, Joey bypassed the wardrobe truck and headed straight to the AD trailer as soon as she got back to location. She’d seen firsthand the problems that came from bad blood between departments.

On one of her first films, the costume supervisor had gotten into a feud with the transportation captain. After that, the wardrobe trailers were permanently parked in base camp Siberia, as far from the actors’ trailers as possible. The time it took to travel those extra yards added up fast when you had to cover them many times each day. Then drivers suddenly became unavailable to do runs of any kind for the costume department, no matter the urgency. That might not sound like a big deal, but transpo can be a lifesaver when you’re up against an impossible deadline by making an important pickup or drop-off when everybody in your department is too slammed with work to do it, which can happen several times a week on a busy film.

Getting on the wrong side of the AD department was even worse. Assistant directors are like air traffic controllers on a movie. Without them, everybody crashes into everybody else, literally and figuratively. Alienate the ADs and you’re just asking for trouble.

The costume department already had enough problems on this movie between the lack of prep time, late casting, and a director with an ego as big as his box office grosses. Making an enemy of the second AD wasn’t an option. The thought sent a shiver through Joey, and she picked up her pace.

When she didn’t find Courtney in the AD trailer, she continued her circuit of the movie’s base camp, asking everyone she passed if they’d seen the second AD.

“She was by the cafe set last I saw her, but that was a while ago,” one of the grips said.

Joey headed for the Paradise Cove Cafe up by the beach. All the actors’ trailers,

nearest the set, were dark and locked up for the night. She tried the back door of the cafe, but that too was secured, so she peered through the windows. A single work light remained on, but there was no sign of anyone inside, the cafe apparently deserted now that the day’s filming was done. The sun was low in the sky, dipping toward the ocean.

The longest day of the year, and that’s exactly what it felt like to Joey.

She’d run out of places to look. Anxiety tugged at her. Her relationship with Courtney was complicated, like it is whenever your ex is dating somebody new. And she needed to be honest with herself about the way her personal feelings may have clouded their interactions.

With daylight dying over the water, she stepped onto the beach, hoping to feel a scrap of the serenity she always found in the natural rhythm of the breaking waves, like a favorite refrain, a golden oldie that just gets better with time.

At the water’s edge, she noticed a pile of clothing, buffeted by the incoming tide scudding across the sand. Her first thought was that one of the extras had abandoned their costume, but that didn’t make any sense. As the sun dropped out of the sky, she took a few steps closer to investigate, at the same time as a larger wave swept aside what she’d taken for coils of kelp swirling around that bundle of fabric.

Horror sliced through Joey like a scalpel; she stumbled and fell to her knees. Courtney Lisle lay motionless in the shallow water at the shoreline as the cold blue Pacific surf washed over her body.

FOURTEEN HOURS EARLIER

Chapter One

The first day of principal photography on a film is always a milestone in production, like opening night in the theater. After working mostly independently of each other for three months or more, all the different departments merge to become one big machine. No matter how many movies you’ve done, every new job is a blank slate. Each time, you ask yourself: Do I have what it takes to climb that mountain again, to create a new world out of whole cloth?

Put up or shut up time.

Joey slept poorly the night before, which was par for the course; but she couldn’t shake the feeling of dread that dropped on her like a net as soon as she opened her eyes that morning. She’d had a bad feeling about this job from the start; she’d nearly passed on the movie for a number of reasons, both personal and professional. But the carrot of working so close to home was finally too tempting to resist.

The costume department had been prepping for months, but the schedule was rushed for a project so large and complex. Lots of special effects, stunts, and complicated costumes; lots of money and reputations on the line. Still, she felt her department was as ready as they could be, and her standards for readiness were high. So she tried to chalk up her misgivings to first day of shooting jitters. Later, she’d wonder if they’d been a premonition.

Just before sunrise, she pulled her car into the crew parking lot, about a mile south of base camp in Malibu. A shuttle van idled, waiting to ferry people to the set. It was empty save for the driver, whose head rested against his seat back. The teamsters were respon- sible for the setup of vehicles and equipment, so that all was ready for the shooting company when they got to work. They were the first in and last out every day, and most of them were expert at grabbing a few winks when they had the chance.

Joey gathered her purse and work satchel, then locked her car and pinned her keys to her waistband. She had keys to the costume offices and storage space for the movie as well as her personal keys, and this was the only sure way to keep them at hand throughout the day without losing them.

She trotted over to the van and pulled the side door open, startling the driver out of his catnap. A grizzled veteran in his late forties, he sat up with a frown until he saw who was climbing into his back seat.

“Joey Jessop! Girl, how you doin’?” A wolfish grin lit his face. “You are lookin’ fine as ever, Sweet Cheeks.”

Pete O’Neill was a relentless lech, and even though he was basically harmless, he could be tiresome, especially first thing in the morning.

“Pete, what a nice surprise,” she said, trying to hide her true feelings. “I didn’t see your name on the crew list.”

“We ran three weeks over on the last job down in Louisiana. Made it back in the nick of time to get on this one. Didn’t want to miss out on a big show in LA, for a change.”

“No kidding,” she said. “This is the first job I’ve booked in the past four years that’s shooting here. I’m thrilled to be sleeping in my own bed for the next six months.”

“You coming off location, too?”

“I’ve been back here prepping this one for a while, but before that I was out of town shooting a Western.”

“How’d that go?” He wiggled his eyebrows. “You meet a lot of hunky cowboys?”

She managed to keep from rolling her eyes. “It was an education.”

“Never done a Western before, huh?” He gave her a knowing look. “Whole different animal.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Joey had been on dozens of location shoots, but the Western was a real eye-opener. From the wild temperature swings in the desert—25 degrees at night to over 100 in the afternoon—to the dust storm that took out their generators one day, or the flash flood that nearly trapped them in a box canyon on another, the experience had given her a fresh appreciation for the comfort of shooting on a studio back lot.

She stifled a yawn. “At least it was fast. Six-week shoot.” “Yeah?” His expression was skeptical. “Who was directing?”

“Clint Eastwood.” She smiled as she pictured the director on set, watching the shot in progress on a handheld monitor. Despite the difficult conditions, Joey enjoyed working with him.

Pete nodded appreciatively. “That man’s a class act, old school Hollywood.”

“Yes, he is,” she said. “A real filmmaker. We could use more like him in the business these days.”

“You got that right.” Pete checked his watch. “I don’t think I’ll be getting any more customers for a while. Crew call’s not for another hour. If you want, I’ll run you up to base camp now.”

“That’d be great.” She slid the door closed. “I can use some quiet time before everybody gets here.”

He dropped the van into gear. They turned north onto the Pacific Coast Highway as a pale watercolor wash of daylight began to spread across the ocean, sketching in the horizon line to the west. Joey took a deep breath, bracing herself for the nonstop activity the next sixteen hours would bring.

“Have you read the script for this one yet?” Pete glanced at her in the rearview mirror.

“Didn’t have much choice,” she said lightly.

“That bad?”

“Not my cup of tea. I’m not a big fan of comic book movies.”

“’Bout all they make around here anymore,” he said, “if you want to earn a decent living.”

“Don’t I know it.”

The screenplay was 125 pages of special effects–driven gobbledygook, but Joey had no doubt it would play well with the movie’s crucial fourteen- to twenty-year-old target audience.

“I heard this one’s about some new superhero.” Pete caught her eye in the mirror again.

“It’s actually the Legion of Phenomenals, based on some underground comics that have a big cult following. Nothing new, but they haven’t been used in any movies so far.”

“Why not just call it that, instead of UMPP?” He was asking about the working title for the movie. “Sounds like a noise you’d make if you got punched in the stomach.”

She couldn’t help smiling. “It’s code for Untitled Marcus Pray Project. You know how paranoid the producers are. They’re trying to keep the fanboys in the dark.”

“Like that’s going to stop them. The director’ll probably be posting pictures on Instagram from the set, and the studio won’t say boo to him.” Pete leaned back to talk to her over his shoulder. “Marcus Pray’s no Eastwood, even if he is a big dog in the business right now. I’m taking care of his trailer, and I got a mile-long list of special stuff that’s gotta be on board for him and his friends.” Pete gave the word a suggestive emphasis.

Marcus Pray was a powerful Hollywood hyphenate, a producer-director with a string of action-adventure blockbusters to his credit. This movie was sure to be another lucrative notch on his belt. Joey hadn’t worked with him before, and some of the stories she’d heard made her think twice before she signed onto this job.

***

Excerpt from FINAL CUT by Marjorie McCown. Copyright 2023 by Marjorie McCown. Reproduced with permission from Marjorie McCown. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Marjorie McCown

Marjorie McCown spent 27 years in Hollywood working on the costumes for movies such as Forrest Gump, Apollo 13, and The Curious Case of Benjamin Button. Her film career provides the inspiration for her Hollywood Mystery series of books that are set behind the scenes in the world of moviemaking and feature key costumer Joey Jessop as the main character. Her cozy murder mystery, FINAL CUT (Crooked Lane Books, June 2023) was chosen as an Amazon Editors’ Pick in the best Mystery, Thriller, and Suspense category. Deadly Pleasures Magazine named FINAL CUT as one of the best cozy mysteries of 2023, and FINAL CUT was also named a Top Pick in the cozy mystery category for the Silver Falchion Award by Killer Nashville. STAR STRUCK, Book #2 in her Hollywood Mystery series published May 7, 2024. Marjorie is a member of Sisters-in-Crime and Mystery Writers of America.

Find out more about Marjorie:
MarjorieMcCown.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @marjoriemccownauthor
Instagram – @marjoriemccownbooks
Twitter/X – @eastlamm
Facebook – @MarjorieMcCownBooks

 

 

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$25 GC – The Rare Books Cozy Mysteries by Daphne Silver @partnersincr1me

The Rare Books Cozy Mysteries by Daphne Silver Banner

THE RARE BOOKS COZY MYSTERIES

by Daphne Silver

November 25, 2024 – January 3, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

 

CRIME AND PARCHMENT

 

Rare books librarian Juniper Blume knows this much… an ancient Celtic manuscript shouldn’t be in a Maryland cemetery. But that’s exactly what her brother-in-law claims.

Last year, Juniper saw the 1,200-year-old Book of Kells in Ireland. She learned how their bejeweled covers were stolen centuries ago, never to be seen again. So how could they have ended up in Rose Mallow, a small Chesapeake Bay town? Being Jewish, the Book of Kells might not be her sacred text, but as a rare books librarian, the ancient book is still sacred to her, making it important to Juniper to find out the truth.

Rose Mallow is the same place where Juniper used to summer with her sister Azalea and their grandmother Zinnia, known as Nana Z. Ever since Nana Z passed away, Juniper’s avoided returning, but her curiosity is greater than her grief, so she heads down in her vintage convertible with her rescue dog Clover.

Juniper discovers that her sister Azalea has transformed their grandmother’s Queen Anne style mansion into the Wildflower Inn, backing up to the Chesapeake Bay. Although Juniper isn’t much of a cook, Azalea has kept their grandmother’s legacy alive, filling the house with the smells of East European Jewish treats, like sweet kugels and tzimmes cake. Will coming back here feel like returning home or fill Juniper with a deeper sorrow? Can she apologize to her sister for not being there when she was needed most?

 

THE TELL-TALE HOMICIDE

 

Rare books librarian Juniper Blume lands her dream job: creating a new museum in her Chesapeake Bay town of Rose Mallow, Maryland. But on her very first day, she makes a shocking discovery – a dead man clutching a book by Edgar Allan Poe, stolen from the collections!

As Juniper gets closer to cracking the coded message hidden inside the book, she realizes someone is desperate to keep its literary secrets buried… even if that means burying her too.

Dressed in her signature vintage style with rescue pup Clover by her side, the fearless bookworm must hunt down the culprit before becoming the next victim. But can she solve the case without jeopardizing a budding romance with her boss, the dashing Leo Calverton? And can she help her sister Azalea perfect their grandmother’s legendary blintz recipe before the Rose Mallow Festival?

A delightfully deadly page-turner, The Tell-Tale Homicide continues the charming Rare Books Cozy Mystery series by Agatha award-winning author Daphne Silver. Fans of Kate Carlisle and Jenn McKinlay will love tagging along with the whip-smart, book-loving Juniper on her adventures.

Series Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery
Published by: Level Best Books
Series:The Rare Books Cozy Mysteries
Series Links: Amazon | Level Best Books

Read an excerpt from Crime and Parchment:

CHAPTER 1

My 1965, robin’s egg blue convertible backfired as I parked in front of the Wildflower Inn. The noise set off Clover barking in the backseat. Not exactly the quiet homecoming I’d hoped for. I jumped out of my Karmann-Ghia – or “KG” as I’d nicknamed her – to check under the hood, hoping I wouldn’t need to get the roadster serviced yet again. No idea where that money would come from.

A screaming, ranting madwoman poured out of a neighboring house. Maybe in her late seventies, she brandished a large umbrella. I dropped the hood to find the umbrella pointing at me. Clover – all twenty pounds of him – jumped out and started growling.

“Easy, boy,” I said.

“You shoot something off, Missy? Here to cause trouble? Because I’m on the board of the Friends of the Rose Mallow Police.” the woman said. She wore a perfectly fitted Mamie Eisenhower pink skirt suit with enormous pearls – straight out of the 1950s. Her white bouffant billowed around her head. She reminded me of a researcher I’d helped earlier that day at the Library of Congress. That woman had been a murder mystery author looking for books about early detectives. This woman looked like she wanted to murder someone – namely me.

Suddenly I remembered her: Cordelia Sullivan. She was my late grandmother’s arch-nemesis. After my Nana Z had moved to Rose Mallow, they’d competed to be the president of almost every board in town. Nana Z had called it a “friendly rivalry to garner the most civic goodwill,” but I don’t think Cordelia saw it that way. To her, the Blume family were – and always would be – outsiders in her perfect Chesapeake Bay town.

“What’s going on?” My sister Azalea appeared on the wraparound porch of the Wildflower Inn. Although I was two years younger at twenty-eight, she looked like my twin, except that her hair was much longer and darker than my slanted bob. She pushed her bangs back and brought a hand up to her forehead when she saw me. “Juniper? What on earth are you doing here?”

“Well, I…” My words faltered. I’d spent the past hour driving and trying to figure out how to tell Azalea about why I’d finally returned, but every time I tested the words out loud, they failed. Clover had listened with confused curiosity before giving up and falling asleep.

“You know there’s a noise ordinance,” Cordelia said as she waved her umbrella around. Clover barked at the offending instrument. However, I think he wanted to play with it more than anything else. Occasional growling aside, he’s not exactly attack dog material.

“Yes, Mrs. Sullivan. Not until 10 p.m., and it’s not even 8 o’clock yet.” Azalea’s exasperated voice led me to suspect that she’d had this conversation more than once.

“Hmph. I plan on taking your ‘halfway house’ to the zoning board. What a travesty to do to our pristine historic district. You know I’m president of the Rose Mallow Historical Society.” Cordelia wagged a finger at my sister. I closed my eyes before rolling them.

“Mama! Mama!” A young bundle of legs and a mop of nearly black hair appeared next to Azalea on the wraparound porch. I couldn’t believe how big Violet had grown. She was almost four years old now.

She latched onto Azalea’s legs and held on tightly. I wanted to run up to my niece and smother her in hugs and kisses, but I wasn’t sure how I’d be received. Clover apparently did too because he took off after her. The little girl squealed with laughter as he covered her in licks.

“Go inside, Vi. It’s past your bedtime,” Azalea said. She turned to us. “I don’t have time for this. As you can see, I have a young child requiring my attention. Plus, I have a house full of guests. Mrs. Sullivan, it sounds like you have a plan in place to handle my zoning and noise issues. I’ll leave you to it. And Juniper, if you’re here, then let’s get you inside.”

Violet ran inside, letting Clover follow. I took that as a positive sign, so I grabbed my suitcase from the trunk and followed quickly, as Cordelia monitored us. Her umbrella remained held out in the air. She reminded me of Don Quixote in pearls.

“You’ve done an incredible job restoring the place,” I said as I walked across the perfectly manicured lawn. Azalea had recently converted Nana Z’s Queen Anne style mansion into a boutique hotel. After so many years away, I hadn’t been sure what to expect.

She eyed me with uncertainty. I could tell she was debating whether to chew me out for not being here for any of the work, let alone the hotel’s grand opening earlier in the spring. But my sister is much better at maturity than I am.

“It’s been a journey. Not an undertaking for the faint of heart. Repairing that turret alone had me almost give up and put up the for sale sign.” Azalea pointed up to the three-story round tower protruding from the side of the house. As a kid, I used to pretend Nana Z’s home was a castle and fought many dragons racing up that tower.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I said ‘Almost,’” she replied with a laugh.

“I love how bright the yellow siding is. I bet that color really pops in the morning against the Chesapeake Bay.” I walked up the stairs to the wraparound, past garden beds bursting with purple coneflowers and Black-Eyed Susans, Maryland’s state flower.

“You know what’s funny is how much I hated canary yellow when we were little. Every time we came here, I’d always wished Nana Z’s house was more like Cordelia Sullivan’s with her dark greens and rich reds. But now that Nana Z’s gone, I couldn’t stand to change it,” Azalea said.

“But it’s such a cheery color. Why would you want something so drab as Cordelia’s place? ” I asked. As a kid, Cordelia’s house had been as scary as the owner. Losing a ball into her yard meant it was never coming back. Neighborhood kids claimed her house was haunted.

Azalea shrugged. “Yeah, the yellow’s growing on me.”

“You kept this mess?” I said when I spotted the clunky clay mezuzah on the doorpost. I’d made the case at Jewish day camp as a kid. Inside was a tiny parchment scroll inscribed with biblical verses in Hebrew. The painted clay design was supposed to be a bunch of zinnias in honor of Nana Z’s first name, but it looked more like a lumpy mud puddle than a bright firework of flowers.

Azalea shrugged with a smile. “Oh, there are a few of my own masterpieces on some of the other doors inside. Maybe I’ll get Violet to make some new ones.”

The inside was as exquisite as the outside. I don’t think my memories did the place justice. The stained glass above the front door also sported Black-Eyed Susans, while those above each window featured a different native wildflower.

Azalea had kept our grandmother’s lush red carpets with ornate gold and white floral patterns. Polished mahogany inset panels gleamed from the walls. A staircase with beautifully carved spindles fed into the large lobby.

On the left was a parlor that Azalea had turned into the registration space. On the right was the library, overflowing with leather-bound books. It was in this room I had discovered my love for stories and books as a child. I wouldn’t have become a rare books librarian at The Library of Congress without Nana Z’s library. I sighed, wishing things were going better there. Nana Z would have been proud of me, but my job had become so difficult since I lost that promotion to Greyson. A little birdie had told me not to expect another chance for a long time, which meant I was stuck with someone Nana Z would have described as a “shlemiel.”

A narrow hallway disappeared between the registration area and the staircase, which led back to the dining room and kitchen. I remembered how those overlooked the back garden, public boardwalk, and the Chesapeake Bay. I could imagine how ornately she’d decorated the upstairs bedrooms.

Clover sniffed at everything in sight. I monitored him, but he was having a grand time exploring. Just not too grand of a time. I tried sending the message to him telepathically. He lifted his nose at me, as if to say, “Who, me?”

“I love that you hung some of Nana Z’s watercolors,” I said. My eyes grew misty as I gazed at her paintings of native flowers, including dwarf crested irises, ironweed, columbine, and, of course, the rose mallow for which the Maryland town was named. I shook my head, pushing the grief down deep.

A teenager hunched over a thick book sat at the registration desk. She had long, bluish-green locs that looked beautiful against her sepia brown skin. Her large glasses were rimmed in a matching turquoise color. She looked up from the book and said, “Sorry, Azalea. Vi got away from me.”

The teen didn’t seem alarmed, but then again, neither did Azalea. I wondered if this happened frequently. Maybe Vi was a regular escape artist. Nana Z would have been pleased. I held back my smile.

“I’m Juniper, Azalea’s sister,” I said to the teen as I extended my hand.

“You have a sister?” she asked Azalea with a look of surprise. Then she recovered, shook my hand, and said, “I’m Keisha Douglass. I’ve been helping Azalea with the Wildflower Inn. But, uh, we’re all booked up tonight.”

“I’ll figure it out,” said Azalea. “Although giving me some sort of a heads up you were finally coming would’ve been nice, Juniper.”

I didn’t know what to say, so I smiled awkwardly. Clover raced over to the desk to check out Keisha. The desk was higher than him, so he couldn’t quite see atop. Fortunately, she came around to pet him. “Oh wow! A dog? We’re allowing dogs now?”

I turned to check with Azalea, who massaged her temples. She breathed deeply but then simply shrugged. Great. Not only had I shown up out of the blue, but I hadn’t checked to make sure pets were allowed. I was pretty sure I knew the root cause of her sudden headache. I smiled sheepishly.

“No worries, Keisha. Clover’s the exception to the no dogs rule. Vi’s fine. I’m going to put her to bed,” Azalea said, as she ushered the bouncing kid down the narrow hallway and turned abruptly right before the kitchen. Unsure of what to do, I followed. There was a small sitting room there, which she had reconfigured into a bedroom. It was a tight space. Azalea caught me staring. “It’s a temporary solution. I’m still working on updating the Carriage House in the back garden. Once I’m finished, Vi and I will move there.”

Vi ran around the room, fighting Azalea’s attempts to return her to bed. My sister paused mid-chase and said, “This may take a bit. You know where the kitchen is. Why don’t you go there, start a kettle of tea, and I’ll meet you there when we’re done? I was getting ready to pull a kugel out of the oven anyway.”

That was my sister, always gently commanding, whether it was an unruly neighbor, an energetic preschooler, or me, the surprise guest. I thought of her like a duck. Above the water, she appeared to be smoothly sailing along, but below, it was a mad fury of management to keep everything afloat.

“A kugel?” I asked with excitement. Nana Z had made plenty of the baked noodle casseroles each summer. Sometimes they were savory, but more often, they were sweet, made with lokshen, or egg noodles, and various cheeses.

Azalea looked pleased. “I’ve been trying to perfect her recipe. You’ll have to tell me what you think.”

I knew immediately she meant Nana Z. As we headed down the hallway, I caught the aroma of the decadent noodle pudding. I could already detect the cinnamon she’d used. My eyes watered slightly at the memories the smell produced.

The kitchen was both familiar and new. No longer was it the 1890s meets 1970s chic that Nana Z had employed. Azalea had replaced most of the yellowed appliances with updated stainless-steel, upgraded the laminate countertops to granite, and removed the harvest gold wallpaper to paint the in vogue “greige” along with a matching subway tile backsplash. Someone had been watching a lot of HGTV. But it was still Nana Z’s kettle on the stovetop, her handcrafted cookie jar on the counter, and a variety of favorite teas in the same cabinet location. Being here felt like being at home, but only if that home had been completely renovated when you weren’t looking.

The view out back remained the same, looking past a blooming garden of blue hydrangeas and the small Carriage House, to the public boardwalk separating the garden from the Chesapeake Bay. On good days, you could make out the shoreline on the Eastern Shore. Being early June, the sun was beginning to set beyond the Bay’s edge, so the view became a Tonalist painting with its atmospheric blues, grays, and browns.

Clover found an embroidered tea towel to play with. I tried pulling it away from him, but he decided that meant the game was afoot. I dug into my suitcase and found his food. I borrowed a couple of low rimmed bowls to fill with his dinner and water. He quickly abandoned the towel for something to eat.

According to the timer, the kugel still had a few minutes left in the oven. I caught the kettle before it whistled and filled up two mugs. Given the abundance of Darjeeling black tea, I assumed it was still Azalea’s favorite and prepped it for both of us. Within a few minutes, she came in, plopped down on an empty seat, and dropped her head to the table. I sat up in alarm, afraid that my cool as nails sister might be about to cry.

***

Excerpt from Crime and Parchment by Daphne Silver. Copyright 2023 by Daphne Silver. Reproduced with permission from Daphne Silver. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Daphne Silver

Daphne Silver is the Agatha Award winning author of the Rare Books Cozy Mystery Series. Her first novel, Crime and Parchment (Level Best Books, 2023), won the Agatha for Best First Mystery Novel. Her latest book, The Tell-Tale Homicide, comes out November 2024 from Level Best Books. She’s worked more than twenty years in museums and symphonies and has the great fortune of being married to a librarian. When she’s not writing, she’s drawing and painting. She lives in Maryland with her family. Although she’s not much of a baker, she won’t ever turn down a sweet lokshen kugel.

Catch Up With Daphne Silver:
www.DaphneSilver.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @daphnesilverbooks
Instagram – @daphnesilverbooks
Facebook – @daphnesilverbooks

 

 

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$20 GC – Color Me Dead by Teresa Trent @partnersincr1me

Color Me Dead by Teresa Trent Banner

COLOR ME DEAD

by Teresa Trent

October 14 – November 8, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Color Me Dead by Teresa Trent

Artist Gabby Wolfe has the ability to see not only the beauty of the living but the despair of the dead. When she returns to her childhood home in Henry Park Colorado, she is forced to bring along her younger brother Mitch. He is on a “break” from college where he was majoring in wine, women, and song. If that isn’t enough they also have Mitch’s rambunctious beagle Luigi along who prefers to spend his days wallowing in junk food. When Gabby draws the death of a young woman before it happens, she knows she must tell someone and risk a new job and her professional credibility. Will she reveal her secret in time to save the woman in the water or will it be too late?

 

 

Book Details:

Genre: Paranormal Cozy Mystery
Published by: Harbor Lane Books
Publication Date: September 24, 2024
Number of Pages: 260
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

We pulled into the driveway of a home nestled into the banks of Lake Henry. The overhanging roof, a dark silver color, provided ample shade on the front porch. As if guarding the home against the outside world, stone pillars stood on either side of the door. I parked my car on the circular drive that made its way through the deep, green lawn. Clarence Bradford’s home was well-kept, and the square corners and functional design reflected a sense of order. The light played between the two pillars, creating stripes on the slats of the porch. Built up on the mountainside, the house almost looked like a natural part of the landscape.

Standing on the porch was a man I recognized from his book covers: Clarence Bradford. He was still quite handsome for his age, and his outfit—a forest-green button-down shirt, blue jeans, and hiking boots—told me every day was casual Friday. His silvery hair augmented his healthy tan.

“You made it.” He took in my cotton flowered tunic, my favorite pair of jeans, and the high tops I was wearing and said, “You are young.”

Maybe the high tops were a little much, but they were my favorite shoes. Even in my late twenties, I still hadn’t shed this style of footwear left over from my teens. Maybe it was the artist in me not conforming to uncomfortable heels that made my knees wobble. Clarence stood next to a tray set with a pitcher of tea and glasses. “You made good time. I was just on a break and decided you might be near and need some iced tea.”

Luigi leaped out of the car first and ran like a maniac around the yard.

“Will he run off?” I asked.

Mitch scowled. “I told you. Luigi is the product of discipline and training. He’ll let off a little steam and then be back to his guard-dog status.” From the wild look in Luigi’s eyes as he tried to bounce off a pine tree, I doubted his strict training included that.

Trying to put Luigi out of my thoughts, I gave an awkward little wave to my new employer. “Hi. I’m Gabby and this is my brother, Mitch.”

My brother walked over and plopped into a chair, grabbed an icy glass, and kicked off his flip-flops. “Excellent, Mr. Bradford.”

“Please, call me Clarence.”

“Clarence then,” he said, downing the tea in almost one gulp. Nothing like a hangover to make you thirsty.

I took a seat in the third chair. The smell of pine trees was so intense around me that it gave me the giddy feeling of Christmas. “You have a beautiful home, Clarence.”

“Yes, it’s where I get all of my inspiration. But, of course, growing up around here you already knew how beautiful it was. If I had to write the Adventure Kid books in the city, I don’t think they’d be any good. Can’t exactly have my little adventurers taking the subway to get to their next escapade.” He refilled Mitch’s glass.

“Working here,” I paused to look around at the towering trees and listen to the birdsong emanating from them, “sounds like paradise. I work in coffee shops a lot myself.”

“Ugh, what a terrible thing. I don’t know how people concentrate in those places,” he said in disgust.

“Earbuds,” I answered.

“Excuse me?” Obviously, Clarence Bradford had no need to block out sound and pump in music.

I pulled my earbuds out of my pocket. “These things.”

“Oh, yes. I see young people wearing them all the time. It’s like they have to have an extension cord wherever they go. Seems kind of ridiculous-looking to me.”

“You’re so right, Clarence,” Mitch said. “What I hate is hearing people’s phone conversations in the store. Do they even know how stupid they look having a heart-to-heart in the middle of the hemorrhoid creams?”

Clarence’s laugh boomed from his chest as he slapped his knee. “I can see you’re going to make this summer interesting, Mitch.”

“Mitch makes every summer interesting,” I added. “We’re renting a house on the other side of the lake, so it will be easy for me to come to work over here.”

“That’s good. Would you like to see where we’ll be working?”

I followed Clarence Bradford to what I thought would be a book-lined study, complete with the smell of cherry tobacco and a roaring fire. Instead, he took me to a room at the back of the house almost entirely encased in windows. There were blinds built into the double panes of glass. Clarence Bradford’s study wasn’t an office at all. It was an air-conditioned room on the lake.

“This is beautiful,” I said, spinning around. “I don’t know how you get any work done here.”

“Oh, but that’s the secret to writing outdoor adventure books for kids. I write them practically outdoors, with the modern conveniences of air conditioning and Internet. It’s my oasis.”

“What a fantastic idea.” The wall facing the windows was lined floor to ceiling with books. As an artist, I appreciated just how much there was to see from Clarence Bradford’s view of Lake Henry.

“Do the people going by in their boats watch you? I mean, do you feel like you don’t have any privacy here?”

“Tinted windows. I can see them, but they can’t see me. Wouldn’t have it any other way.”

The view was stunning, and I also made a mental note that whenever I needed a cigarette, I shouldn’t smoke it within view of this office if I wanted to keep it a secret. As I looked across the lake, the wavy line of the shore caught my eye. It looked like something I had seen before. I stepped closer to the glass.

“Are you a bird-watcher?” Clarence asked.

“Uh, no. I just thought I saw something familiar.”

“Is your house visible from here?”

“No. We’re too far away, and our house is on the other side of the road.”

I glanced back at the shoreline. My shoulders began to feel cold, and I held onto my arms. The vision was trying to come in again. I must be close to whatever it was that was causing the woman with the cold hand to invade my senses.

“I must have the air conditioning up too high in here. You’re shivering,” he said, his eyes never leaving mine.

“No, I’m fine. Really.”

“Of course …” he said but then asked once more, “You’re sure you’re alright, now.”

“Yes.” I turned my back to the window. “This is my first children’s book, so I’m sure I have a lot to learn,” I confessed, changing the subject.

***

Excerpt from Color Me Dead by Teresa Trent. Copyright 2024 by Teresa Trent. Reproduced with permission from Teresa Trent. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Teresa Trent

Teresa Trent started out teaching English, but life and children intervened and she began writing mysteries starting with her Pecan Bayou Cozy Mystery Series. After that, she wrote the Piney Woods and the Swinging Sixties Mystery Series. Color Me Dead is the first book in her new Henry Park Series and while all her other books take place in Texas, this series is set in Colorado, where Teresa grew up. Teresa is also the author of several short stories and is teaching writing at her local library encouraging new writers. Teresa lives in Houston, Texas with her husband and son.

Catch Up With Teresa Trent:
TeresaTrent.com
Books to the Ceiling
Goodreads
BookBub – @TeresaTrent
Instagram – @teresatrent_cozymys
Threads – @teresatrent_cozymys
Twitter/X – @ttrent_cozymys
Facebook – @teresatrentmysterywriter

 

 

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$25 GC Giveaway – Dying For Monet by Claudia Riess @goddessfish @ClaudiaRiess

DYING FOR MONET Claudia Riess

GENRE:  Mystery

BLURB:

Dying for Monet, book 5 of Riess’s art history mystery series, opens on a gala evening auction at Laszlo’s, an upstart auction house in New York City. After a much sought-after Impressionist still life painting is without notice withdrawn from the auction block, its broker is found dead at the foot of an imposing statue in Laszlo’s courtyard. Amateur sleuths Erika Shawn and Harrison Wheatley are once again drawn into an investigation involving an art-related homicide, this time with one sharing an unnerving coincidence with violent crimes occurring abroad.

EXCERPT

Greenwich, Connecticut  January 5, 1927

It was time. The mavericks, all thirty of them represented at the first Impressionist Exhibition in Paris, 1874, had passed away. Not that a clean sweep was essential to the plan, but there was a sense of closure about it, as useless yet gratifying as an account ledger balanced to the penny.

The framed canvases were propped up against the far wall of the living room like hostages awaiting their release. The overstuffed couch with its mesmerizing pattern of exotic birds had been moved into the dining room to clear the wall space for them. The drapes were drawn and the room was bathed in artificial light, yet the paintings seemed to be standing out in the open, beneath the sky. It was the sheer vibrancy of color that created the illusion, Elizabeth Barden thought, as she surveyed the display, guilt creeping into her enjoyment of it. Though there’d been no law against it, it had been criminal to have kept these luminous visions in the dark all these years. If only she hadn’t been bound by a promise!

She remembered her parents sitting her down at the kitchen table in this very home, thirty-three years ago it was, the two of them planting themselves opposite her, looking more grimly serious than she’d ever seen them. She was fourteen years old at the time and not yet settled on what to make of herself, looks and intelligence ratings still torturously pending. She imagined she was about to hear that she’d been adopted or had three months to live. What they told her was less dire, but required a more sustained focus to take in. The paintings would be her legacy, they said, but in order for this to be the case, she must follow their instructions down to the letter. She had to clasp their hands in hers—as good as swearing on the bible—and promise to do so. The mood lightened only once during the interview, and that was when she’d pronounced the artist’s name as if it rhymed with “bonnet.” “Monet,” her mother had corrected, grinning. “Mow the grass. Neigh says the horse.”

The memory did not draw a smile. How could it, when these prisoners stood before her in dutiful formation? How brilliantly they’d persevered without a trace of reproach marring their freshness! And wasn’t it curious, how her gaze seemed to be drawn—and return when it wandered elsewhere— to the still life of a Wedgewood vase teeming with flowers—gladioli, lilies, wildflowers; a riot of color she would hardly call “still.” Not her favorite genre, still life, but she’d felt the same sort of instant affinity to this painting as she’d had with her lover, Jacob, not at all her type, but upon an exchanged look, bound to him body and soul. And of course, in a manner of speaking he, too, like the painting, had been hidden for far too long from the embrace of natural light. She must free him, too, from the dark. She had been intending for a year—what was she thinking, more than a year—to tell her most dear but tiresome husband of her affair and the necessity for a divorce. The imminence of the afternoon’s scheduled eve

nt strengthened her resolve. She would end the secrecy tonight.

Hard to believe that barely one hour from now, unless God or chance intervened, the transaction would be under way. The wealthy young art collector, Lewis Keller, along with the gallery owner who had used his networking skills to nose him out and was serving as broker in the deal, would soon be rapping at the door of the sprawling old ranch-house where Elizabeth had lived all her life, half of it with her husband, Wallace. The gallery owner’s entourage of packers and transporters would be on hand as well. The collector, a bit wet behind the ears, she’d discovered when he’d first come to look over the paintings, had seemed to rely more on the gallery owner’s aesthetic judgment than on his own. Like a pet owner forced by circumstances to give up her precious charge, she hoped that the man to whom she was relinquishing the paintings would treat them with the care they deserved.

Before withdrawing to her room to freshen up, Elizabeth stepped into the kitchen to see how her husband was coming along with the needless crudité platter he was arranging for their guests.

“Ah, Wally,” she said rather sadly, thinking of what was ahead for the poor man tonight, “an unaccompanied champagne toast would have been quite sufficient.”

“I know, Liz, I know,” Wallace said, putting down the knife with which he had been slicing carrots into sticks. “But you must admit, a little gesture of thoughtfulness goes a long away.” He tapped his apron-bibbed chest for emphasis.

“You’re right, dear,” Elizabeth agreed, gritting her teeth at his habit of speaking in aphorisms. The knife was lying on the counter unattended, and she imagined, for an instant as fleeting and pleasant as a sunny landscape striking an Impressionist’s eye, of stabbing him with it.

AUTHOR Bio and Links

Claudia Riess has worked in the editorial departments of The New Yorker and Holt, Rinehart and Winston, and has edited several art history monographs. Stolen Light, the first book in her art history mystery series, was chosen by Vassar’s Latin American history professor for distribution to the college’s people-to-people trips to Cuba.  To Kingdom Come, the fourth, will be added to the syllabus of a survey course on West and Central African Art at a prominent Midwestern university.  Claudia has written a number of articles for Mystery Readers Journal, Women’s National Book Association, the Sisters in Crime Bloodletter, and Mystery Scene magazine.  To read more about Claudia and her work, visit the author’s website.

  • Website: http://www.claudiariessbooks.com
  • Twitter: http://twitter.com/ClaudiaRiess
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  • Pinterest: https://www.pinterest.com/claudiariessbooks/

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$10 GC – Killer Motives by Bonnie Traymore @xpressotours

Killer Motives
Bonnie Traymore
Publication date: April 14th 2022
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Suspense

“A riveting, pulse-pounding, adrenaline rush of a thriller. Do not miss this book!” – Noelle W. Ihli, author of Gray After Dark

Readers’ Favorite 2023 Silver Medal Award Winner, Mystery-Murder
Audiobook Reviewer 2023 Best Mystery Award

Victoria’s life isn’t as perfect as it seems. But with two homicide detectives on her doorstep, it’s about to get a lot worse.

Still reeling from the shocking discovery that her husband is having a passionate affair with his real estate client, Victoria struggles to process the mind-blowing news that Nick’s lover is dead—brutally murdered in cold blood on the very same evening she uncovered the truth.

And now two detectives are on her doorstep, waiting to question both of them. Is she a suspect?

With little hard evidence and no shortage of suspects with “killer motives,” Detectives Jack Stark and Lexi Sanchez are under intense pressure to solve the high-profile murder case that rocks the picturesque village of Tarrytown just as the town is gearing up for the area’s annual Halloween festivities and an influx of tourists.

As Victoria sets out to clear herself and find out the truth, she’s faced with two terrifying possibilities—either her husband is a murderer or someone is out to get them.

Conflicted about her marriage and emotionally raw, she sets out to find the truth about what happened that night.

But does she really want to know?

Perfect for fans of Shari Lapena, Jeneva Rose, Sarah Pekkanen, Kaira Rouda, or Shalini Boland.

Add to Goodreads / Pre-order

EXCERPT:

Victoria was home working off some nervous energy as she put the dishes away and wiped yesterday’s smudges off the white Shaker cabinet doors. Out the kitchen window, the sun sparkled magically on the Hudson River reflecting the scarlet and gold of the fall foliage clinging to its steep banks. Her melancholy mood from the evening before had turned to excitement, bolstered by a bit too much caffeine on an empty stomach and her Alanis jams playing in the background. She had already called her attorney and had an appointment for next week. She would put all that out of mind until then. Today, she had a meeting scheduled at her office at eleven this morning, an important one, and her benefit dinner tonight. It was now half past nine and she needed to get going. She was almost finished emptying the dishwasher in her methodical manner–only a few cups were left–when her cell phone vibrated against the granite island countertop, its dark surface blending in with the stone. She reached over to grab it. There was a text from her husband: It’s an emergency. Call me.

There were also three missed calls from him and a voicemail. Nick was not given to hyperbole. Quite the opposite. He was actually a bit too laid back, never worrying much about anything. He had never sent a text like that before. She called immediately, not bothering to check her voicemail, putting it on speaker as she finished her chores.

“Vic?” His voice was soft, almost apologetic. He didn’t seem hurt or in danger.

“Nick. What is it?” She felt mildly annoyed, already.

“I have something to tell you, and I’m warning you it’s pretty shocking.” Was he actually going to confess about the affair now? Over a cell call? That was totally unlike him.

“I have to get to work, Nick. What’s so urgent?” She was starting to wish she’d ignored his text.

“My client. From the Shady Hill property. The one I went to see last night? The police called me. She was found dead. At her house. This morning.”

Victoria placed the last clean mug on the counter. Dead? A heart attack or something? No. The police wouldn’t call Nick for something like that. There had to be more to it. She picked up the phone and took it off speaker.

“What happened?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“I don’t know, but a homicide detective is meeting me at the house any minute now. They called and wanted to meet with me in person. ‘See if I could shed some light on it,’ was how he put it. Jeff told me to meet them at our house, not at the station.”

“Homicide? She was murdered?” Victoria had to hand it to Nick. This certainly reached the bar of ‘emergency.’

“They didn’t say that, exactly. He said he’d tell me more in person. I don’t know much more than you do at this point. What if I was the last person to see her alive, Vic?” Nick’s voice was shakier now, almost panicky.

“So? You’re certainly not responsible for her death?”

“That’s what Jeff said.”

“What does Jeff have to do with this? You called Jeff before you called me?” She thought that sounded like the actions of a guilty person, reaching out to your attorney friend. But guilty of what?

“He’s an attorney! And he knows her! I told you, remember? They had that law suit going. Let’s not do this now. Please!” His tone was harsher now, devoid of sentimentality. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up. The detective might get there before I do. They’ll probably want to question you too. Tell them I’m on my way. I’d appreciate some support. I’m your husband, Victoria, please try to remember that.” He hung up.

She picked up the mug she’d left on the counter, looking out to the sun’s rays sparkling on the Hudson, her thoughts suspended in the timeless currents of the flowing river. It was all starting to hit her now, just what a disaster this was. The photos that were supposed to liberate her from the marriage were now a liability, potentially placing her at a crime scene. What do detectives look for? Means, motive, and opportunity? She had two out of three for now. Should she be worried? And what about Nick? He was acting strangely last night, and she’d attributed it to a guilty conscience. The affair, she assumed. But could it have been more? She knew Nick wasn’t overtly violent, but anyone could commit murder given the right circumstances. What if the woman had gotten pushy? Demanding? Threatening? How far would Nick go to protect what was his? She needed time to think, consult with an attorney. But she didn’t have the luxury of time.

The gate buzzer sounded, jolting her out of her stupor, and the mug slipped from her hand, shattering into pieces on the travertine tile floor. She quickly picked up the big chunks, but the shards of porcelain would have to wait.


Author Bio:

Bonnie Traymore is the Amazon Bestselling author of seven domestic/psychological thrillers. Her thrillers feature strong but relatable female protagonists who peel back the layers of suburban American life and give readers a peek inside. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time. She’s an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.

Bonnie has a doctorate in United States history and has taught at top independent high schools as well as Columbia University and the University of Hawaii. Originally from the NYC area, she resides in Honolulu with her family.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram


GIVEAWAY!



  • You can see my Giveaways HERE.
  • You can see my Reviews HERE.
  • If you like what you see, why don’t you follow me?
  • Look on the right sidebar and let’ talk.
  • Leave your link in the comments and I will drop by to see what’s shakin’.
  • I am an Amazon affiliate/product images are linked.
  • Thanks for visiting fundinmental!