$20GC & Book – Diamond Cut by Thomas Cavanaugh @partnersincr1me @tbcavanagh

DIAMOND CUT

by Thomas B. Cavanagh

July 8 – August 2, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Gemstone Series

 

To find a missing girl, Sandy must return to the insidious places she once worked tirelessly to escape

Sandy Corrigan used to be called Diamond. She used to live in an apartment with other girls like her, though she rarely slept there, instead spending her evenings in hotel rooms around Orlando with lonely, unfaithful men. That is, until the incident.

But despite the personal hell she endured, the nightmarish crisis saved her from a life spent in strangers’ beds. Sandy now spends her evenings reading to her six-year-old son, Tyler, and her days working for her brother’ s private investigation business.

Despite severing all ties to her former life, a girl from her past reappears and asks Sandy to investigate the disappearance of a young call girl. Unsure of whether or not the girl is alive, and wary of the past traumas the investigation could bring to the surface, Sandy takes the case. What she doesn’t expect to discover is a sordid web of corruption, sex, and murder, and she soon grows more entangled with each step she takes. Can she survive the horrors she thought she escaped years ago?

Perfect for fans of Sue Grafton and Lisa Gardner!

 

Praise for Diamond Cut:

Diamond Cut is fast-paced and suspenseful, but with humor and heart. You’ll be rooting for Sandy Corrigan with every thrilling turn of the page.”
~ Janet Evanovich, #1 NY Times best-selling author of the Stephanie Plum series

“Thumbs up for Diamond Cut! Thomas B. Cavanagh has given us Sandy Corrigan, an engaging, multi-layered, thoughtful PI with a painful past, one you’ll remember long after you’ve read the last page.”
~ Tracy Clark, author of the Cass Raines and Det. Harriet Foster series, and winner of the 2020 and 2022 Sue Grafton Memorial Award

“Sandy Corrigan is a great protagonist with a truly checkered past. She uses it to her advantage when she gets sucked into the world she thought she had left behind. Diamond Cut is a thought provoking and compelling crime novel set within the world of human trafficking. I highly recommend it.”
~ James O. Born, NY Times best-selling author of Obsessed

Diamond Cut chronicles one woman’s dangerous adventure into her former life as a call girl to find a missing woman, written with a solid understanding of the unique ebb and flow of Florida life.”
~ Lisa Black, NY Times best-selling author of the Locard Institute series

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery / Thriller / Private Eye
Published by: Oceanview Publishing
Publication Date: July 2, 2024
Number of Pages: 322
ISBN: 9781608095964 (ISBN10: 1608095967)
Series: Gemstone Series, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Kobo | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Oceanview Publishing

Read an excerpt:

A diamond with a flaw is worth more than a pebble without imperfections.
Chinese Proverb

Chapter 1

I used to have sex for a living. Now, on a strictly part-time basis, I get paid not to. The guy I was getting paid to not sleep with tonight was a forty-one-year-old married father of two named Jeremy Knox. I had met him once before, two days earlier. Of course, he had no idea he wasn’t getting lucky tonight.

I had been told that he often liked to spend his lunch hour at a local Hooters knock-off called Cheerleaders. The place was wedged between a Chipotle Burrito Kitchen and a Panera Bread on the restaurant row area of University Blvd. out by the University of Central Florida. So, two days ago, I put on a little too much makeup and slipped into a dark suit with a skirt two inches shorter and heels an inch longer than I would normally wear in polite company and headed out to the east side of town. Not that the clientele of Cheerleaders exactly qualified as polite company.

I had been given his photo and background file by a fellow private investigator who had been hired by Jeremy Knox’s wife. It seemed Mrs. Knox suspected Jeremy of fooling around and, if her suspicions were correct, she wanted evidence to take with her into divorce court. I was the bait and Jeremy was the tuna.

At the risk of being immodest, I’m not bad bait. At thirty-one, I’m still plenty young for ol’ Jeremy and can still fill out a tight business suit. I keep in shape and the heels did make my calves look good. My shoulder-length hair is styled simply but tastefully, so that it frames my face without making me look like I’m wearing a helmet. Thankfully, no grey has yet crept into my natural sandy-blonde.

The restaurant was filled with basically two types: college boys from nearby UCF and government contractors from the dozens of training and simulation companies in the adjacent research park. Although I wasn’t the only female customer, it wouldn’t be an exaggeration to say I was in a minority of no more than ten or fifteen percent. So, while it wasn’t completely weird for someone like me to stroll into Cheerleaders at 12:15 on a Tuesday afternoon, I knew I would at least attract a few looks. Fine. That was exactly what I wanted.

I caught a lucky break. Jeremy sat alone at the bar with a menu in his hand. The file said that he often spent his lunch hour here with some buddies from work. But sometimes alone. Fortunately, today the buddies were absent. Sure, if he had been in a group maybe I could have slipped him my number with a “hey, I noticed you, call me” note, but it’s always better to fish for tuna alone, one-on-one. So, I sidled up and took an open seat next to him.

I knew that he noticed me. A girl can tell. I crossed my legs. Damn, my calves did look good. If these heels weren’t such a pain to walk in, I might wear them more often. A buxom co-ed in a tight black t-shirt and nylon shorts delivered him a burger and fries. She handed over a menu and went off to pour me a diet cola. I saw Jeremy try not to check out the waitress’s perky backside. But he just couldn’t help himself. Hell, I could barely help myself. It was an impressive derriere.

“So what’s good in here?” I asked, offering Jeremy my best disarming smile.

“Pardon?” he said, quickly blinking his gaze away from the nylon shorts.

I waved the menu. “What’s good? Any local specialties?” So, I had just intentionally established that I was from out of town and that I was extroverted enough to strike up a conversation with a complete stranger. Plus, with the literally dozens of nearby dining options, I was willing to come into this classy place alone for lunch.

“Well,” Jeremy said. “It’s kind of a wings place. But,”–he leaned over conspiratorially¬– “I prefer the burgers.”

“Thanks for the tip.” I gave him a wink and a smile. “Maybe I’ll just stick with a salad.” They can say whatever they like about not caring. Most guys still expect women to eat salads. I extended my hand to shake. “Hi. I’m Karen.” Of course, my name is not Karen. Not even close.

He took my hand and a smile of unexpected possibility bloomed slowly across his face. “Jeremy.”

“And what do you do, Jeremy?” I asked and plucked a french fry from his plate. Then I smiled and took a bite.

His smile widened at the boldness of my eating off his plate. “Uh, I’m a program manager for Aeron Sim. We build training and simulation systems. Mostly for the military.”

“Well, that sounds pretty cool.” I then proceeded to share the lie that the other P.I. and I had concocted. I was posing as an account manager for an educational software company who was trying to get the university to buy one of my company’s systems. I was only in town through the weekend. I was based in California—as far away from Florida as possible, offering fewer chances of messy entanglements. I suggested that we move from the bar to a table, to which Jeremy eagerly agreed.

I steered him toward an open seat that offered an unobstructed view from the table where my colleague sat discreetly video recording us with a hidden camera. I noticed that he, too, had ordered a burger.

During the course of the next 70 minutes, I managed to make Jeremy feel like the most interesting guy in Orlando, while simultaneously working my way through a surprisingly large Asian chicken salad. I made sure to touch Jeremy on the arm a few times for the camera, laughing at his somewhat lame attempts to be amusing, getting my flirt on. I knew before it was over that I had my tuna on the hook. We parted with a handshake that I held too meaningfully long and an agreement to meet after work the next day for drinks at my hotel. I could just imagine the story he was going to tell Mrs. Knox about having to work late on a deadline or meet with military clients who were visiting from D.C.

So I now found myself sitting in the bar at the nearby Hilton, nursing a club soda and cranberry, waiting for Prince Charming to show up. My P.I. colleague, a guy named Mike Garrity from a competing but friendly agency, sat across the room, hidden camera pointed at me. This time I was wearing a wire to record our conversation in the likely event that Jeremy elected not to exercise his right to remain silent. I took a sip from my drink and spotted Jeremy entering the lobby.

He located me quickly, perhaps even eagerly, and sat across a low cocktail table. He ordered a gin and tonic from a passing waitress and leaned back in his seat, smirking at me.

“Hello again,” I said.

The smirk widened. “This is a nice place. You’re staying here?”

“That’s right.” I sipped from my club soda and cranberry, pretending it was alcoholic. “Are you hungry?”

He smiled wolfishly. “Starving.”

I faked an equally wolfish smile but it felt awkward, like I was contorting my face after biting a lemon. “The restaurant here is pretty good. We could grab a bite.”

“Sure…”

His drink arrived and he downed half of it on the walk across the lobby to the restaurant. We found a seat and I saw Garrity shift his position in the bar to get a better shot of our dinner.

For the second time in two days, I broke bread with this creep. I suppose he was attractive enough. His hair was mostly still dark brown with a few grey flecks sprinkled in. His smile was confident but with an almost charming boyish quality. His clothes were decent, department store Ralph Lauren, with nice patterned socks and a pair of Rockport shoes. But despite his respectable looks, the fact that he was a married father sitting here presumably expecting to bed a stranger just made him odious to me.

As the meal wore on, and he drank three more gin and tonics, all pretense regarding why he was here began to vanish. And I, in turn, began to get more and more anxious about the inevitable trip upstairs. You see, I don’t do hotel rooms. I’ve only been on the inside of a hotel room maybe twice in the last six years and never overnight. I won’t lie on a hotel bed. Never again.

The mere idea of entering a hotel room made me fidgety and, as the meal wound down, I felt my heart rate start to increase, pounding my temples. When we agreed to the job, Garrity had told me that he needed a shot of us entering the hotel room. As soon as the door shut, I could pop back out and make my escape, but video of the two of us entering the room and closing the door was what Mrs. Knox was paying for. So I knew from the beginning how this gig would end. But I thought I could handle it. I’m a professional, right? A professional… That was an unfortunate term to occur to me in this context. The more I thought about the elevator ride up and the long walk down the hall to the room Garrity had booked for the night, the more nauseous I felt. I pushed my half-eaten chicken away and realized that Jeremy was saying something. I forced myself to attend to the job.

“You really are hot, you know,” he said, not quite slurring, but definitely not entirely sober. “But you know that. Hot women always know they’re hot. So no boyfriend back in California? Really?”

I swallowed the golf ball of nerves that was forming in my throat and forced a smile. “Really. Just me and my cat.”

He broke out the devilish grin. “Just you and your cat…So… what kind of pussy do you have?”

Oh brother. This kind of witty banter couldn’t possibly be how he had courted his wife. I looked away so he didn’t catch my eye roll. The thought of the hotel room suddenly squeezed me hard in the stomach. I coughed into my hand, trying not to gag. I felt like I had snakes squirming in my gut. I excused myself to the ladies’ room where I spent four minutes in a bathroom stall, attempting to calm my breathing, preventing myself from hyperventilating. If I blew this gig because of my issue with hotel rooms I might not get paid. Billy was always threatening to fire me. Brother or not, he might finally go through with it. This was my job. My career now. With my background, my options were limited. Plus, I actually liked being a private investigator. I told myself to pull it together.

I splashed some water on my face—I was sweating at my hairline. I felt a bead trickle through my hair at my temple. Then I dried off and fixed my makeup. I took a deep breath and pushed back out into the hotel lobby. I marched up to the table and, before I lost my nerve—or puked—asked “Are you ready to come upstairs now?”

Jeremy paused for just a beat before responding. “I’ve been ready since I met you, baby.”

“Good. Let’s go.”

I turned and start walking. As Jeremy hastily threw some cash on the table for the drinks and dinner, I saw Mike Garrity slide out of his seat in the lobby and head up the stairwell. He had booked a room on the second floor so he could get up there and into position while we waited for the elevator. I hadn’t given him any warning and he was now having to hustle. But I had no choice. I was losing my resolve and had to get this over with before it was completely gone.

Jeremy and I stepped into the elevator and found ourselves alone. He immediately pushed himself up against me and kissed my neck and ear. I let him. I could take his touch for one floor. I have endured much worse for much longer. I sent my mind to the blank white room where I always used to send it, back in the day, and flipped the internal switch that made my insides go dead. It was all way too familiar, too easy to go back to that place in my life. I barely noticed the elevator doors opening.

We stepped out into the hallway and made our way down to the room, passing the vending alcove where Mike Garrity was now positioned with his camera. Jeremy pawed at me all the way down the hallway. I stopped at the door to the room, my heart thudding in my chest at the thought of stepping inside. I couldn’t do it. I needed a moment, I told myself. I needed to summon the courage to open the door. I turned around and leaned back against the door. I robotically put my hands on Jeremy’s hips. I lifted my chin, exposing my neck. We needed to give Mrs. Knox a good show, after all. And Jeremy obliged. He could no longer claim entrapment. He was just a garden variety pig now. He dove in, rubbing his hands up my thighs and over my breasts, kissing my neck from ear to collarbone. He tried to kiss my lips but I turned my head. No kissing on the mouth. Ever.

Despite my anxiety about entering the room, I also felt physically numb. It was almost too easy to make myself feel nothing, to turn my body to stone. Years of practice had made it almost automatic. Like riding a bike, right? I heard Jeremy’s eager breathing in my ear as if it were coming from far away, happening to someone else. Perhaps it was happening to someone else—me, six years ago, eight years ago…. But, no, it was happening now, to me, in this hallway. Jeremy unbuttoned the top of my blouse. That suddenly grounded me in the moment and I forced myself to turn around. He pressed himself against me from behind and grabbed my breasts. I inserted the key card in the door and turned the handle. And then we were across the threshold, the door shutting behind us.

I felt like I was moving underwater, in slow motion. I stopped just inside the room. Jeremy moved past me and continued over to the bed. He sat and leaned back on his elbows. I remained frozen where I was. I knew I needed to turn around now and leave—Garrity had the footage he needed for Mrs. Knox. My work was done. But my feet were frozen to the floor. This hotel room, it was so similar to that one six years ago. It, too, had been a Hilton…

“It’s okay, baby,” Jeremy said. “Don’t be shy. I won’t bite. Unless you like that.”

I had to leave. I had to get out of here. But I couldn’t move. Six years ago…

Jeremy got up from the bed and came over to me. He took my hand and pulled. But I didn’t budge. He pulled a little more insistently.

“Come on, Karen. It’s okay.”

I managed a hoarse whisper. “No…”

Jeremy cocked his head in a vaguely canine way. “No? What do you mean, no? I mean, we both know why we’re here.”

“No…” I reached my other hand for the door handle.

“You’re not gonna get me all the way up here and say no now. Come on. I promise I’ll make it worth your while.” Jeremy pulled my hand even harder.

“No!” I screamed, my vision suddenly colored crimson. A jagged memory of blood everywhere. Blood spraying in a pumping squirt across my naked torso. White sheets a slick shiny red. Warm blood covering my hands, running in rivulets down my forearms.

Jeremy grabbed both of my wrists. “Hey, relax. Shhh. Calm down, you crazy bitch.”

I tried to pull loose, but his grip was too tight. I twisted my arms but he was too strong. He was now pulling me into the room, toward the bed. I could see the bed, covered in blood… No…Not again. Instinctively, I brought my knee up, driving it as hard as I could into his groin. I yanked my arms free and thrust the heel of my right palm up under his chin. I felt his teeth clack together and his head snap back. He stumbled backwards, dazed.

I turned and threw myself out the door and directly into the path of Mike Garrity, who was charging down the hall. He grabbed my arms to steady me.

“Sandra—are you OK?” His eyes were concerned, searching mine for trouble.

I managed a quick nod but was unable to say anything.

We skipped the elevator and headed down the stairs. Five minutes later, Garrity was driving me in his pickup to a nearby Starbucks so I could collect myself. He bought me a water and a decaf latte and we sat at a small round table in the corner for several long minutes before he finally broke the silence.

“I’m sorry,” he said. I looked up at him, unsure of how to respond. “I shouldn’t have made you go into the room with him. I could have gone to the client without that. Even without that, the footage was good. The audio was good. It would have been more than enough.”

“It’s OK,” I said quietly. I didn’t tell him about my issues with hotel rooms, but he probably knew. Garrity knew me then. He was there six years ago as the investigating detective, standing on the blood-soaked carpet, before either one of us had ever considered becoming private investigators. He knows who I am and what I was.

“As soon as I meet with the client and get paid, I’ll send Billy a check for the job. All right?”

I nodded. “All right.”

We sat in semi-amiable silence until our coffees were finished. Then Garrity drove me back to the hotel for my car. We made sure that Jeremy Knox was nowhere around before I slipped out of Garrity’s pickup and into my Honda.

“You gonna be OK?” he asked.

“You know me,” I said, which didn’t answer his question. I kept the radio off and the windows open on the drive downtown to my little 1940s craftsman bungalow. The warm nighttime spring air in my face helped. I imagined it blowing the events of the evening away so I didn’t bring them into my home with me. They didn’t belong there.

Tyler was already in bed when I came in but Laura was up watching Dancing With the Stars on TV.

“How’d everything go?” she asked.

“Y’know. Fine. Do we have any wine?”

“Fine, huh? Yeah. There’s a half bottle of Chardonnay in the fridge.”

I poured myself a full glass. “How was your evening?”

“No problem. Tyler did his homework and we even read a chapter in that mouse book.”

Stuart Little.”

“Right. That’s what I said.”

Laura was ten years older than me but looked twice that. She appeared perpetually worn out, which, in truth, she probably was. She was in the life a lot longer than I was and that lifestyle will definitely chew you up. It certainly chewed her up. It almost literally killed me. Laura’s unkempt brown hair was going noticeably grey but she was unconcerned and made no attempt to hide it. My deal with Laura was free room and board as long as she stayed clean and sober and took care of Tyler whenever I wasn’t around, the occasional evening glass of Chardonnay notwithstanding. My job often had me working weird hours, so I needed to know that Tyler was safe and fed. For the past three and a half years the arrangement had been working out. Knowing Laura as I did, I was keeping my fingers crossed.

I took my wine and tiptoed to Tyler’s room. I quietly opened the door and slipped inside. He was visible in the dull blue glow of the crescent moon nightlight. He was lying in his bed, eyes closed, lips just barely parted. He seemed so motionless that I momentarily panicked and laid my hand on his chest to reassure myself that he was still breathing. His six-year-old chest gently rose and fell, and I felt the tender rhythmic thumping of his heartbeat beneath his ribcage. I brushed a blonde lock of hair away from his face and lightly kissed his cheek.

I crawled across the room and leaned my back against his dresser, pulling my knees tight up against my chest. Sipping my wine in the darkened room, I spent the next thirty minutes gazing silently at the very best thing I have ever done, a truly good thing to have come from a very bad life.

 

Chapter 2

The next morning, I walked Tyler the several blocks to the downtown Catholic school where he was in first grade. I loved that time with him. We held hands when we crossed the brick-lined streets, the dappled morning light peeking through the branches of the tall live oaks that hung over the sidewalks. Tyler wore his little white polo shirt with navy shorts and carried a Spider-Man backpack secured over his shoulders. He told me about what happened the day before or what he was looking forward to that day. Music, art, recess, and science were his favorites this week. He loved his teacher and, as far as I could tell, she loved him back. All his days were filled with wide-eyed possibility and I so envied that. I tried to let just a little rub off on me. But my emotional callouses were so thick. Sometimes I felt like I would never regain any sense of wide-eyed possibility. If anyone could ever bring that back to me, it was Tyler.

Spending that time with Tyler had put me behind schedule. When I finally got into the office, Billy was already there. Billy was always already there. He was smoking, as usual. I made a big show of coughing and waving my hands when I came in.

“You’re late,” he said.

“Good morning to you, too,” I replied.

“Just ‘cause you’re my sister doesn’t mean I won’t fire you.” His usual greeting.

“I know, Billy. But if you do that, who else would ever bring you Munchkins?” I plopped a carton of donut holes down on his desk. He offered a noncommittal grunt, which was how he expressed gratitude. He immediately popped two donut holes into his mouth.

“Did you finish that job for Garrity?” he said through his mouthful of Munchkins.

“Yep.”

“You get the goods?” Another donut hole.

“Yep.”

Another noncommittal grunt. Billy was my older brother by more than six years. His wiry black hair was noticeably thinning and he was carrying forty pounds more than he should, but somehow, he made it work. Although he acted gruff, he had always been there for me and took care of me after everything happened six years ago. Truth be told, he had always taken care of me. He was the only one who had ever taken care of me. He was the one who made sure that Ryan and I were fed, that our clothes were washed, that we went to school most days when Mom was gone or unable to get out of bed.

He was also the one who, a few years ago, encouraged me to get my Florida private investigator CC intern license, which allowed me to work for him under his MA license. He needed the help and I needed a job. I liked to think that it’s worked out well for both of us.

Billy wasn’t flashy and neither was his agency. We operated out of a nondescript office in a low-rent commercial building in a quasi-dodgy part of town. For his whole life, he always wanted to be a P.I. and, to his credit, the success of Class A Investigators was due entirely to him. The secret of his success was that he wasn’t afraid of the grunt work—the worker’s comp cases, the insurance and law firm stuff, process serving, even working the computer databases for hours at a time. And I was happy to take whatever assignments he gave me.

But he had never forced me to do the cheater stings. I did those voluntarily. It was one of the few areas where I could bring some added value to the agency. For as long as I was young enough and my looks held, I could occasionally dangle myself in front of unfaithful men to bring in revenue. It was usually easy money. When I first started doing the cheater stings, I wondered about the ethics of entrapment. But it quickly became clear that in the vast majority of the cases there was a very good reason why the spouse or girlfriend was suspicious. Simply put, their husbands or boyfriends were philandering pigs. And, every once in a while, the guy turned out to be a decent human being and stayed faithful. I was always secretly glad when I got rejected. But, of course, I told myself that it was because he loved his wife and not because he found me unattractive.

Usually, the stings went off without any complication. Last night’s flashback in the hotel room was an anomaly. The room looked so much like that same room six years ago. I hadn’t had an episode like that in a long time. I would need to be more careful next time.

After Billy swallowed what might have been his twelfth donut hole, he tilted his head at me, remembering something. “Hey. You got a call. Before. She wouldn’t leave a message with me. She only wanted your voice mail.”

“OK. Thanks.” I slid behind my desk and punched in the code to access my system voice mail. In another moment, I heard a woman’s recorded voice. Her accent was southern, almost twangy. She spoke haltingly, nervously, like she was looking over her shoulder.

“Hey, Diamond. It’s me. Collette. Collette Green…Y’know, Glitter? Listen, I need to talk to you about somethin’. It’s important. Real important. I’m gonna be at the Florida Mall at lunchtime, around noon. Maybe you can meet me in the food court. I just…I need your help. I don’t know who else to call. Please. OK? I’ll, uh, I’ll see you then. OK. Bye.”

I held the phone receiver frozen against my ear for an extended moment. Hey, Diamond…It had been a long, long time since anyone had called me that and, after my flashback last night, the timing was eerie. Just the mention of that name made my throat go dry. I listened to the message again before deleting it. I remembered Collette Green. We had shared an apartment for a few months with several other girls back in…Jeez, was it seven years ago or eight? She was younger than me by a few years, maybe more than a few. She was a new girl, fresh off the streets. A runaway who had made her way south from Georgia or South Carolina. I thought it might have been an Atlanta suburb. She had acted tough but I knew she was scared. She had asked me a lot of questions. If she was still in the life, she certainly wouldn’t be new anymore.

Billy had me doing filing and employment background check paperwork all morning but I remained distracted by the message. I didn’t know how she found me here, but I supposed it wasn’t that hard. I wasn’t hiding.

Hey, Diamond…

I told myself to ignore it. I had cut ties with all aspects of my former life. I couldn’t meet Collette at the mall. There was nothing she could say that would be good for me. Whatever she wanted to tell me would only be bad, would only bring some ghost from the past back into my new life to haunt me. My life was different now. I had Tyler. I was different now.

But the more I thought about it, the more I wondered if I needed to confront her. To confront what she represented. Last night’s episode had proven that, in some way, I was still not over what happened to me. The blood stains were still there, even if I was the only one who could see them. Maybe facing Collette would help me remove those stains, exorcise my hidden demons.

Or maybe I was just rationalizing my own curiosity. Because, as much as I hated to admit it, I was curious.

Either way, I knew that I would be eating lunch at the Florida Mall food court today.

 

***

 

I spotted her easily. Her hair was darker than I remembered, dyed perhaps a little too black. Unnaturally black. She was picking at some lo mein and looking up occasionally. I remained out of sight for a few minutes, watching her, watching the people who passed by her, wondering if this was some sort of elaborate setup for me. But then I told myself I was being paranoid. A setup by whom? For what reason? I couldn’t think of any. But, nevertheless, I got the sensation that something ominous was waiting for me at that small table with the paper napkins and Styrofoam cup of Diet Coke.

Even from this distance across the food court I could see that she was wearing too much makeup. Her eye shadow was too blue and her lips were too red. She was still pretty, though, under all that makeup. She sipped from her drink and went back to her noodles. I decided that she was probably alone and stepped out from around the corner where I was spying on her. I approached the table.

“Hello, Collette,” I said.

She looked up from her food and offered a shaky smile. “Hey, Diamond.”

“Don’t call me that. That’s not my name.”

She considered me for a brief moment and her face registered concern at making a faux pas. “Sorry. Sandy.” Her accent was dripping with sugary southern syrup. In my hypersensitive mind, I translated her likely sincere apology into It doesn’t matter what I call you. I still know who you are. “Why don’t you have a seat?”

I sat across from her.

“Aren’t you eating?” she asked.

I had no appetite. All desire for food left my body as soon as I heard her message earlier today. “Maybe later,” I said. “So, how are you?”

“Oh, you know. Same old, same old. Still doin’ that thing we do.”

She had included me in the life I left long ago by using the word “we.” I almost corrected her but decided to let it go. I didn’t want to seem overly defensive.

She was probably only in her mid-twenties, but somehow she looked older. At first I couldn’t put my finger on it. It wasn’t her skin, which was almost flawless. No lines at the corners of her mouth. Her hair, while probably dyed, was cut well and looked good. Her clothes—a simple but nice t-shirt and a pair of jeans—looked almost stylish. But then I saw it. Her eyes. Her eyes were old. They were tired and they had seen too much.

“You look good, honey,” she said. “Really.”

“Thanks.” I took a deep breath. “I almost didn’t come.”

“I wondered whether or not you would. But I’m glad you did.”

“Why?”

“Because I need your help.”

And there it was. This was the part that would end up being bad. I didn’t yet know how, but somehow, some way, there would be trouble for me.

“Go on,” I said.

“There’s this new girl, a little Asian thing, I think from Thailand or the Philippines or Vietnam or somewhere. Her online name is Spice but her real name is Naomi. At least that’s what everyone calls her. Naomi Nguyen, which ain’t easy to pronounce, believe you me. But she taught me how to say it right.” I could see that Collette was nervous. She was talking just a bit too quickly, looking down at her food. She tried sipping again from her drink, which was empty. “Anyway, she’s been gone for over a week now and I’m worried. We’re all worried.”

“And…?”

“…and…we need somebody to find her.”

“Me.”

“That’s right.”

I snorted derisively. “You want me to find some poor girl so I can bring her back to a life of prostitution? Hell, if she got away, good for her. And even if I did find her, I’d give her some money and help her to keep going. You’re asking for help from the wrong girl, Collette.”

Collette shook her head. “No, you don’t understand. We’re afraid something happened to her. We’re afraid maybe, you know…”

Ah. I got it now. She thought that this Naomi girl might be dead. I sat back in my seat, feeling like a heavy stone was settling in the pit of my stomach.

“Why do you think that?” I asked, my words careful and deliberate. “How do you know she didn’t just run away? It’s not exactly rare. Lots do.” I looked at her meaningfully, reminding her of her own runaway past.

“Because, she never once talked about it. As far I know, she had nowhere to run to. She left all her stuff. Everything. All her clothes. Her makeup. Jewelry. Her shoes.”

I shrugged. “Wouldn’t be the first time a girl took off, leaving everything behind. Maybe a social worker found her. Maybe getting away was more important than shoes.”

“Yeah. I know. But…” She took another sip from her empty cup. “See, she has this stuffed animal. A rabbit. I swear, she loves this thing like she’s three years old or something. I think maybe her mother gave it to her when she was little. Anyway, she sleeps with it every night. Holds it when she’s on the couch watching TV. There was this one time when she couldn’t find it and she freaked out. And I mean freaked. We finally found it in the dirty laundry but by then she was hysterical, in tears. I mean, she was literally shaking.”

“Okay…” I said, knowing what was coming next. Collette reached down and pulled a dingy stuffed animal from her oversized purse. It was a mottled tan rabbit with floppy arms, legs, and feet. She placed it gingerly on the table, almost as if she might break it. I sighed and lifted it up, squeezing it slightly. “And I suppose you’re going to tell me that she would never leave Mr. Cottontail here behind, right?”

“Yeah. Except his name is Thỏ. That’s what she calls him. I think it means bunny or something.”

I held Thỏ closer and peered into his shiny black button eyes. “I don’t know, Collette…”

“I have money,” she said quickly. “All the girls pitched in. Well, most did. We can pay you.”

“I just…it’s complicated.” I looked across the mall. Of course, at that moment, I happened to see three young Asian tourist girls walking by, shopping bags filled with American goodies. “What about Omar?” I asked. “Is he still around?”

“Yeah… But you know Omar ain’t gonna spend any time or money looking for her. To him, girls come and go. He’s probably already got someone to replace her. And then, there’s what he’ll do to her if he does find her. You remember. He’ll probably make an example out of her. Runnin’ away costs him money and makes him look bad to his partner. We need to find her first, if she can be found.”

I sighed, watching the Asian tourists disappear into a candle store. “I don’t know, Collette…”

“Sandy, please. We need you. You’re the only one who can help. You know we can’t go to the police. Plus…” She took yet another nervous sip from the empty cup, then looked down, avoiding my gaze. “You, of all people, know… The last time we saw her she was heading out to meet a client. But she never came back.” Collette looked up and directly into my eyes. “That could’ve been you, honey. We both know it. And if it had been, you would’ve wanted someone to look for you. To care.”

Collette’s words hit me like a concussive blast. Although I remained still and calm on the outside, inside I was psychically thrown back against a wall. That could’ve been you. She was right, of course. I could have easily disappeared that night six years ago and never been heard from again. Would anyone have cared? I honestly didn’t know. Maybe my brothers. Maybe. Perhaps one or two of the other girls. That was it. But no one would have searched for me. I didn’t think that with any sense of self-pity. It was simply a fact. I would have vanished and faded from everyone’s memory. My existence would have been forgotten like the fading ripples on the surface of a pond. Just another anonymous hooker who vanished. This girl—Naomi—she was alone, probably just a kid, an immigrant, likely brought here illegally for the sole purpose of working the sex trade. Who would know if she simply disappeared? Who would care?

Collette cared enough to offer to pay me to find her. Or least find out what happened to her. To help her, if possible. And if she was in fact already dead, to speak for her and acknowledge her existence by finding out what had happened to her.

Yes, I could’ve been Naomi. Perhaps, in some ways I still was. I gazed again into the black eyes of her rabbit Thỏ. I saw my distorted, twin fish-eye reflections looking back. The toy seemed to be asking me a question, imploring me for an answer.

“Sandy?” Collette said.

“Yes,” I replied. “I’ll do it. Of course I’ll do it.”

 

Chapter 3

 

When I was still in the life, there were between four and six of us living in the apartment at any given time. I never knew for sure how many other apartments Omar had and how many girls, but the rumors were that he had one or two other apartments, each housing the same number of girls as my place. This was where we slept and ate, did laundry, watched reality TV, and pretended like we were sisters. But we all knew we were pretending. This was no sorority. We were just killing time between clients.

Omar managed the girls and a business partner I never met fronted for the customers, marketed us on a password-protected website, and ran the finances. A couple of times a week, Omar would send each of us out to the hotels by the gigantic Orange County Convention Center, or by the attractions, sometimes other places around town, to have paid sex with men from out of town. While we would occasionally get a “date” with a local guy, our clientele was almost always the tourist and convention trade. I spent five and a half years in that apartment and in those hotel rooms, my soul withering a little bit for every day that passed.

I always lived in the “A” place. As long as you looked good and kept clean, stayed away from the hard drugs, and knew how to carry yourself, you were still marketable as an escort to the higher dollar clients served by Omar’s secret partner. You were given an exotic moniker such as “Diamond,” got to live in the nice apartment, and had your dates arranged. You had relative freedom to come and go, as long as you made sure you were always on call for dates. You got to keep a decent chunk of your earnings and could drive one of two shared cars. You could even have a bank account. Your value as a high-end call girl to Omar’s partner protected you. However, as soon as your looks started to go, either through age or crystal meth or something else, you were no longer of value to Omar’s partner and were moved down to the “B” place. Omar owned the girls at the “B” place outright without any partner and put them all on the streets, 365 days a year. They walked up and down Orange Blossom Trail in mini-skirts and stilettos and had to meet $300 a day quotas or they got their faces slapped bloody. The lifespan of the girls in the “B” place was only a few years. Some only a few months. You never wanted to get moved to the “B” place.

The girls who started there, never making the cut to live at the “A” place, were almost all runaways, often underage, and desperate to survive. They were all addicted to something. Omar would find them on the streets and prey on their weaknesses and desperation.

Using different tactics, he recruited girls for his partner, and for the “A” place, by cruising the college bars for coeds looking to make easy money and the strip clubs, where he could convince the occasional stripper to take her skills just a little bit further for the promise of a lot more money. Or, he sometimes found girls for the “A” place through referrals, like he found me. A friend from high school was already part of Omar’s stable and convinced me to give it a try. At that point in my life, having just lost a low-end waitress job and way behind on rent, I felt I had nothing more to lose by trying. Little did I know I would lose my soul.

It was an eerie sense of déjà vu when I crossed the threshold into Collette’s apartment. The apartment was different but the girls looked the same, watching TV in sweatpants and tank tops. I could smell the pot smoke as soon as I stepped in. The joint was gone, but the sweet, herbal aroma remained. The drugs were also around when I lived in an apartment like this, but I tried to stay away from them. I was no angel, but I avoided the really bad stuff. I knew that led to the “B” place.

There were three girls in the living room, two on the couch and one on a cheap lounge chair, watching E! on TV. I think I may have recognized one of them. But maybe not. I might as well have been right back there six years ago, it was so familiar. However, I was different now. Older. And the girls seemed so much younger. They looked up at me warily as Collette escorted me in.

“Girls,” Collette said. “This is Sandy.” The girls said nothing. “Sandy Corrigan,” Collette clarified. “She’s the one I told you about. She’s going to find Naomi.”

This got their attention. I stepped further into the apartment and said hello.

“I need to ask you some questions, okay?” I said and pulled a rickety wooden chair from the equally rickety dinette table into the living room. I pressed the TV remote and shut off the E! channel. “What are your names?”

Two of the girls deferred to the one in the middle, on the couch. She was a little older than the other two, African American, with short, close-cropped hair. A lot of the Black girls wore wigs on the job. Her short hair lent itself to wigs.

“My name’s Midnight,” she said. “This is Sunshine.” She indicated the blonde to her right. “And that’s Nasty,” she said nodding at the brunette on her left.

I chewed the inside of my lip and nodded. “Okay. But I’m interested in your real names. Your human being names.”

They blinked at me for a second before the brunette said, “Melissa.”

“Jordan,” said the blonde.

The one called Midnight narrowed her eyes at me. “You used to hook for Omar back in the day, didn’t you?” I didn’t reply. But my silence answered her question. “That’s right. I heard about you. Yeah, I heard all about you. Did you really cut that dude up like they say?” I remained silent. There was no way I was dredging all that up here for this audience. “Yeah…I definitely heard about that. Before I tell you my real name, my human being name, first you tell me your client name. Your online name.”

Collette held up a hand. “Look, Sandy is here trying to help. You don’t need to give her such—”

“It’s OK,” I said. “Diamond. My name was Diamond. But that’s not who I am anymore.”

“Not who you are anymore?” the one called Midnight said. “Girl, you are who you were and you can’t change that. You think changing a name changes who you are? Just because you quit that name don’t mean that the name quit you. So, what, you think you’re better than us now?”

“No,” I said carefully. She was one of those tough girls, hardened even more by the life she led. How could I explain my new sense of self—the purpose that Tyler’s presence had given me? The self-esteem of a legit job? It was as if before I was some sort of caterpillar and now I was growing my wings. But I couldn’t articulate that here in the “A” place. Instead, I simply said, “I’m just…different now. If you don’t want to tell me your name, fine.”

She considered me for a long beat. “Tonya,” she finally said.

I nodded. “So, Tonya, where do you think Naomi is?”

“Me?” Tonya said. “Damn. The girl ran. She couldn’t take the life. She was always…” She hesitated, reaching for the right word. “…miserable. No—worse. Fragile. Always crying about something.”

I searched the eyes of the other two girls—Melissa and Jordan. “Do you think Naomi ran?” I asked them. There was a long pause, as if they didn’t want to publicly contradict Tonya.

“No,” Melissa finally said.

I held her gaze. “Why not?”

She shrugged. “Just a feeling. Y’know.”

I turned to the blonde. “What about you, Jordan? Do you think she ran?”

Jordan looked sideways at Tonya and then shook her head slightly. Tonya rolled her eyes.

“How well did you know Naomi?” I asked.

“Well, she hardly ever talked to me,” Tonya said. “I think she had a problem with Black people.”

“No she didn’t,” Melissa said. “You just scare her.”

Tonya twisted her lips. She wasn’t buying it.

I turned to Melissa. “Why do you say that?”

“Cause she’s shy. We share a room, so I probably talk to her more than anyone else. She doesn’t know a lot of English. But she tries. She’s quiet and always homesick real bad. I don’t know how old she is, but I doubt if she’s even sixteen. All I know is that she hates being here and she hates tricking.”

“Which is why she ran,” Tonya said. “Hell, she could’ve made good money. Young, pretty Asian girl. Omar tried. He even gave her some presents after her first few dates. To encourage her. Some earrings. A bracelet. I saw Lindsey wearing them the next day.”

“Lindsey?” I asked.

“Another girl,” Collette explained. “Satin. She’s…out right now.” I nodded, understanding that “out” meant with a client.

“That’s ‘cause she didn’t want them,” Melissa said. “She didn’t want anything to do with hooking or Omar.”

“Then why was she here in the first place?” Tonya pressed.

“That’s a good question,” I added.

“I don’t know the whole story. But I think she might have been taken. Kidnapped or sold or something back in Vietnam. One time I think she said something about her father selling her. But her English is bad and I have a hard time with her accent. She said she was told that she had to do whatever Omar said—to have sex with whoever she was told to—or else someone would kill her whole family back in Vietnam. I think she said she had four younger brothers, parents, grandparents. She was really worried. She cries herself to sleep a lot.”

“So that’s why you don’t think she ran,” I said. “Because if she did, she was afraid that her family back home would be killed.”

Melissa nodded. “She was terrified of that.”

We were all silent for a few moments. Even Tonya looked down, contemplating the mental and physical torture Naomi must have been going through. This story shocked even me. When I was still in the life, in a nondescript apartment not too different from this one, the girls were a lot like me. Runaways or drifters. Down on their luck. Girls from broken homes or with drunk or drug-addicted parents. Girls who had been abused—verbally, physically, and sexually. We were all vulnerable and we all found shelter and protection under the care of Omar and his anonymous partner. He preyed on our weaknesses and exploited us, providing the right amount of money at just the right times, sometimes picking certain girls to sleep with himself. He always provided and protected. Except when he was slapping one of us. Like all pimps, he was also controlling and dangerous when he felt disrespected or if he believed that a girl was holding back and not giving the Johns what they wanted. He expected us to perform, to “take care of business,” as he put it, and make money for him and his secret partner who managed the website and arranged the dates.

However, not once in all my years did I ever hear of Omar buying a girl. He found them on the streets himself and became a grotesque sort of father figure/boyfriend/boss. International human trafficking in that way was a new and dangerous low, even for him. And Naomi’s age was younger than I had ever heard for the “A” place. The “B” place was said to have its share of runaway minors but, to my recollection, I and my “roommates” at the time were all over 18. Yet I had no doubts that what Melissa was sharing was true. I just wondered how Omar got connected with the kind of people who operated international underage trafficking rings. He was a local operation. And could this somehow be related to why Naomi disappeared?

“Do you know where she was going the night you last saw her?” I asked.

Shrugs and shakes of heads.

“A client,” Melissa said. “Omar took her out. I think to I-Drive, but I could be wrong. She couldn’t drive so he took her himself.” I-Drive was shorthand for International Drive, the heart of Orlando’s convention Mecca.

“Do you know which hotel?”

“Sorry.”

“Now, Missy,” Collette said. “Tell us what you know. If you care about Naomi, you gotta tell us.”

“I really don’t know.”

“What about Brenda?” Jordan said, cutting her eyes nervously at Tonya.

“Brenda? Be serious, girl,” Tonya said with a dismissive exhale.

“Who’s Brenda?” I asked.

“Brenda Davis. She was Naomi’s roommate before me,” Melissa said. “She got moved down to the ‘B’ place a few weeks ago. She got strung out on meth kinda bad.”

“Bitch was starting to look like a skeleton,” Tonya said. “That won’t do for the ‘A’ place.”

“You think Brenda might know where she is?” I said.

Melissa shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Why do you think that?”

“They used to talk on the phone a lot. She was kinda like a big sister or aunt or something for Naomi when she first got here. Naomi was real broke up when Brenda got moved.”

I leaned forward, elbows on my knees. “You know how I can get in touch with Brenda?”

“I don’t know her number or anything,” Melissa said. “And none of us know where the ‘B’ place is.”

“Ain’t none of us want to know where the ‘B’ place is,” Tonya said.

“So you have no idea how to reach her?”

“You could ask Omar,” Jordan offered.

Tonya looked at her like she just sprouted a third eye. “You’re crazy, girl.”

I had to agree with Tonya on this one. There was no way Omar was going to tell me how to contact Brenda or where the “B” place was. The risk of exposure was too great. Plus, I wasn’t exactly his favorite person. After my own unfortunate situation six years ago, I heard there was a lot of heat brought down on him. While I never gave him up or told the cops anything—I valued my limbs and heartbeat too much—I knew that he had to scramble to move his girls before the cops closed in. It was an expensive pain in the ass for him and he blamed me, regardless of the actual facts of the situation.

“Well,” Collette said hesitantly. “What about the Trail?”

Orange Blossom Trail. Also called the Trail or OBT. Or, more specifically, a relatively short stretch of it running north from Oak Ridge Road up towards Colonial Drive. Orlando’s very own red light district, with seedy strip clubs every other block and low-slung motels boasting hourly rates. That’s where Omar sent his girls from the “B” place to walk the streets.

“You think I would find her there?”

“Where else?” Collette said.

Where else indeed. The four of them gave me a description of Brenda. Medium height, perhaps 5’6”. Brown hair gone flat and stringy with the effects of the crystal meth. A once-shapely figure shrinking to a rail thin husk. Dark sunken eyes. That described half the hookers on OBT. Her online name used to be Misty.

***

Excerpt from Diamond Cut by Thomas B. Cavanagh. Copyright 2024 by Thomas B. Cavanagh. Reproduced with permission from Thomas B. Cavanagh. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Thomas B Cavanagh

Thomas B. Cavanagh is an award-winning crime fiction author whose prior works include Head Games, Prodigal Son, and Murderland. Cavanagh holds a PhD in Texts & Technology from the University of Central Florida and is a graduate of the University of Miami Creative Writing program, where he has been named a distinguished alumnus. Though he now works in higher education, Cavanagh spent many years writing popular children’s television shows for Nickelodeon, The Disney Channel, and elsewhere before teaching at both the undergraduate and graduate level at a number of colleges and universities. Cavanagh is a recipient of the Florida Book Award Gold Medal for popular fiction and was named a Best Novel finalist for the Shamus Award. He lives in Central Florida with his family and two quirky cats.

Catch Up With Thomas B. Cavanagh:
ThomasBCavanagh.com
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Twitter/X – @tbcavanagh

 

 

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Review – One Big Happy Family by Jamie Day #netgalley #onebighappyfamily

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The cover for One Big Happy Family by Jamie Day drew me in. I wasn’t sure it would be mystery enough for me, but I was pleasantly surprised. It had more depth than I originally gave it credit for.

The Bishop Sisters come to the Precipice after the death of their father. Who is going to get what is on their mind. I think most of us have heard how ugly things can get when there’s a lot of money involved, but these sisters have more than money on their mind and someone is determined to bring to the forefront their secrets.

Charley has been working at the Precipice and counts on the paycheck to pay for her Nana and herself. That held a story I never saw coming and I loved it.

We also have a stowaway with a killer story that caught me by surprise.

I will definitely keep my eye out for more from Jamie Day. On the surface her books might seem like light reading, but there is so much more than a colorful cover.

I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of One Big Happy Family by Jamie Day.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

The newest, riveting summer suspense by the author of The Block Party, Jamie Day.

The Precipice is a legendary, family-owned hotel on the rocky coast of Maine. With the recent passing of their father, the Bishop sisters—Iris, Vicki, and Faith—have come for the weekend to claim it. But with a hurricane looming and each of the Bishop sisters harboring dangerous secrets, there’s murder in the air—and not everyone who checks into the Precipice will be checking out.

Each sister wants what is rightfully hers, and in the mix is the Precipe’s nineteen-year-old chambermaid Charley Kelley: smart, resilient, older than her years, and in desperate straits.

The arrival of the Bishop sisters could spell disaster for Charley. Will they close the hotel? Fire her? Discover her habit of pilfering from guests? Or even worse, learn that she’s using a guest room to hide a woman on the run.

With razor-sharp wit, heart, thrills, and twists, Jamie Day delivers a unique brand of SUMMERTIME SUSPENSE.

  • Genre: Contemporary, Fiction, Mystery, Suspense, Thrillerfictio
  • 384 pages, Kindle Edition
  • Expected publication July 16, 2024 by St Martin’s Press
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#booksfromthebacklog Winter’s Journey by Kathryn Meyer Griffith @KathrynG64

Books from the Backlog is a fun way to feature some of those neglected books sitting on your bookshelf unread.  If you are anything like me, you might be surprised by some of the unread books hiding in your stacks.

If you would like to join in, swing by Carole’s Random Life in Books.

Amazon / Audiobook / Goodreads

A woman takes a dangerous journey in an eighteen-wheeler on icy roads while a murderer stalks her. To keep the bank from repossessing her truck and putting her and her daughter on the street, Loretta Brennan takes a treacherous route to Wyoming with a winter storm approaching. She worries if she can make the deadline and navigate the icy roads since her driving partner husband died in an accident the year before. At a truck stop, Loretta meets handsome hitchhiker Sam Emerson, who helps her out of a bind. She feels compelled to return the favor and offers him a ride to Cheyenne. Blizzards, a series of trucker murders, and a sinister truck haunt them along their route. They grow close despite Loretta’s fear that Sam may be aligned with the killer. Is Sam a good man down on his luck or is she falling in love with a murderer?

  • Genre: Fiction, Mystery, Romance, Suspense, Thriller
  • 300 pages, Kindle Edition
  • First published April 4, 2008 by Kathryn Meyer Griffith

Goodreads Ratings: 4.18 120 ratings 27 reviews

I added Winter’s Journey by Kathryn Meyer Griffith to my TBR on 3.14.13. I have read numerous books of hers and loved them, so it’s a no brainer to add all her books to my TBR. My favorites are her dinosaur series, but she has a great variety of stories.

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    Review – On Wahoo Reef by Tim W Jackson @TimWJax

    On Wahoo Reef is the third book in A Blacktip Island series. You can get the entire three book series at a cost of $3.98. Each book can stand alone, but I feel you will be hooked on these Caribbean adventures.

    Amazon / Goodreads

    This is my fourth book by Tim W Jackson and my third visit to the Caribbean and Blacktip Island, and I have enjoyed each and every trip.

    The characters are quirky and lovable, each offering their special something to the story. I loved them all; the good, the bad, and the ugly. They have fun names, like Wally Breight, Smackie Bottoms, Noddy Bolin, Peachy…

    as do the locations, Noboddie’s Inne, Sandy Bottoms Beach Resort, Club Scuba Doo, Going Under Divers.

    The details brought the dive experience to life. I am not a diver myself, but I have enjoyed snorkeling and watching TV shows where I can spend time with those who do.

    Wally Breight gives up his nine to five job and buys into a dive shop. Have you ever thought of throwing caution to the wind and creating a new life for yourself? Well, it’s not all sunshine and rainbows for Wally.

    There is a mystery involved, but mostly it’s Wally struggling to keep his business alive, struggling to keep up with a party girl that caught his eye, and learning some valuable business and life lessons. I laughed as I read along. I smelt the salt air, felt the balmy tropical breeze, dipped my feet in the sand and felt as if I was immersed in the Caribbean life, because of Tim’s ability to paint such a vivid picture I feel as if I am there with Wally.

    I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of On Wahoo Reef by Tim W Jackson.

    Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
    4 Stars

    Northern Exposure meets Margaritaville in this comic Caribbean romp.

    Wally Breight’s a miserable-in-his-job P.R. executive who dreams of escaping to happily-ever-after in the Caribbean. When he stumbles across a run-down scuba diving operation for sale on Blacktip Island, he snaps it up and settles into paradise. But paradise has other ideas. His dive boat’s a lemon. His business partner proves the age of piracy isn’t dead. Scuba guests are scarce. And a free-spirited dive mistress might party him into an early grave. If Wally can’t get a handle on paradise, pronto, he’ll be leaving Blacktip Island faster than a coconut in a hurricane.

    • Genre: Action and Adventure, Comedy and Humor, Fiction, Mystery
    • 249 pages, Kindle Edition
    • Published May 17, 2024 by Devonshire House Press
    • Series: On Wahoo Reef: A Blacktip Island Novel, Book III
    Tim W. Jackson

    Armed with a newly-minted master’s degree in creative writing, former journalist Tim W. Jackson knew he was qualified to be a bartender, a waiter, or to apply to a PhD program. Instead he chose Secret Option D: run off to the Caribbean to work as a scuba instructor by day and write fiction at night. More than a decade later, he still wishes that was half as interesting as it sounds. Or even a quarter . . .

    Jackson is the award-winning author of the literary novel Mangrove Underground and The Blacktip Times humor blog. His second novel, Blacktip Island, is a comic misadventure set in the Caribbean. His “Tales From Blacktip Island” short stories have been published in literary journals worldwide. He is currently concocting his next Blacktip Island novel, The Secret of Rosalita Flats.

    For more insider info, visit his website, www.timwjackson.com, the Blacktip Times (www.blacktipisland.com) or follow him on Facebook (Tim W. Jackson) and Twitter (@timwjax).

    A portion of the proceeds from his stories goes to the Nature Conservancy’s Coral Reef Preservation Fund.

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    Review – And With Blood In Their Eyes by Kevin Cady #kevincadyauthor

    Amazon / KindleUnlimited / Goodreads

    WOW, what a fabulous cover.All I had to do was see the cove”r and know I wanted to read And With Blood In Their Eyes by Keven Cady. I love the blood dripping from the skull, screaming horror is coming your way. AND, I say, “Bring it on!”

    I did follow Kevin into the mountain and there was plenty of horror to be had.

    This is one of those books that I find hard to rate and review. I do like the dark, but I never quite got the urgency of finding out what comes next. I was reading this after a long illness, so that may have something to do with it.

    I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Kevin Cady, so even though I was just getting back into reading and blogging again, this was on the top of my stack of books, waiting to be read. It called to me, and I listened.

    Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
    3 Stars

    A gripping novel by the award-winning Dark Mystery author—Kevin Cady

    Ancient Springs is dying.
    A little girl sees things with blood in their eyes.
    A young boy is left helpless in a storage unit.
    People are disappearing in the mountains west of town.
    And someone is stalking across the country, cutting out people’s eyes and heart.
    No matter how it calls to you, avoid the pikes of Aladiza.
    The only place to run is away.

    • Genre: Fiction, Horror
    • Format: 364 pages, Paperback
    • Published: October 23, 2023 by Independently published
    • Language: English

    A Book Excellence Awards Finalist in 2022. Featured in the Marquis Who’s Who In America Publication in 2023! Kevin lives in Colorado with his wife, Caitlin, and their pup, Saloon. When he’s not writing, you’ll find him in the mountains or at the local concert venues.

    Website

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    Review – Mind Games by Nora Roberts #NetGalley #MindGames #NoraRoberts

    Amazon / Audiobook / Goodreads

    I want to thank NetGalley and St Martin’s Press for the opportunity to read Mind Games by Nora Roberts. I have been reading her work for decades (oops, showing my age a bit).

    The cover of Mind Games looks so adventurous and peaceful, but the story is anything but…and I was pleasantly surprised. I love when an author mixes mystery and suspense with the paranormal and Nora Roberts wove them together seamlessly.

    I never used to be so interested in the romance of a story, but that has changed since I have gotten older. I love romantic suspense and paranormal romance. Nora hid the nail on the head…we have all the romance we could want in Mind Games.

    The villain is a great villain, sufficiently evil and, even though he is locked up in supermax, he manages to haunt Thea. Thea made the mistake of creating an opening, but she was only twelve years old, so we can understand how her need to make the villain pay would override her need to keep a distance from him. He is more dangerous than she knew.

    There’s plenty of fun dialogue, along with the grown up talk. At times, I found myself laughing out loud. Kids are little sponges and pick up those grown up words we wish they would never hear…know what I mean?

    I know the book is a stand alone, not a series, but I grew to care so much about the characters, I would love to visit them again. Nora Roberts brought them to life and I don’t want to see their story end.

    Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
    4 Stars

    The #1 New York Times-bestselling author of Identity presents a suspenseful new novel of tragedy and trauma, love and family, and the evil that awaits.

    As they do each June, the Foxes have driven the winding roads of Appalachia to drop off their children for a two-week stay at their grandmother’s. Here, twelve-year-old Thea can run free and breathe in the smells of pine and fresh bread and Grammie’s handmade candles. But as her parents head back to suburban Virginia, they have no idea they’re about to cross paths with a ticking time bomb.

    Back in Kentucky, Thea and her grandmother Lucy both awaken from the same nightmare. And though the two have never discussed the special kind of sight they share, they know as soon as their tearful eyes meet that something terrible has happened.

    The kids will be staying with Grammie now in Redbud Hollow, and thanks to Thea’s vision, their parents’ killer will spend his life in supermax. Over time, Thea will make friends, build a career, find love. But that ability to see into minds and souls still lurks within her, and though Grammie calls it a gift, it feels more like a curse―because the inmate who shattered her childhood has the same ability. Thea can hear his twisted thoughts and witness his evil acts from miles away. He knows it, and hungers for vengeance. A long, silent battle will be waged between them―and eventually bring them face to face, and head to head…

    • Genre: Contemporary, Fiction, Mystery, Paranormal, Romance, Romantic Suspense, Supernatural, Suspense, Thriller
    • 352 pages, Kindle Edition
    • Expected publication May 21, 2024 by St Marin’s Press
    • Setting: Redbud Hollow, Kentucky (US) Fredericksburg, Virginia (US)

    Nora Roberts is the #1 New York Times bestselling author of more than 200 novels, including Hideaway, Under Currents, Come Sundown, The Awakening, Legacy, and coming in November 2021 — The Becoming — the second book in The Dragon Heart Legacy. She is also the author of the futuristic suspense In Death series written under the pen name J.D. Robb. There are more than 500 million copies of her books in print.

    Website / Facebook / Pinterest / Instagram

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    Books About Books – The Mystery Writer by Sulari Gentill #NetGalley @sularigentill #themysterywriter

    I would like to thank NetGalley and Poisoned Pen Press for the opportunity to read and review The Mystery Writer by Sulari Gentill.

    Amazon / Audiobook / Goodreads

    MY REVIEW

    I read another book by Sulari Gentill that didn’t work for me, but that doesn’t mean I write the author off…and I’m glad I gave her another chance with The Mystery Writer. I love a good conspiracy novel and the mystery grew the more I read. Books about books add another level of interest.

    Theodosia Benton left her career path as an attorney behind and came to the United States, showing up on her brother’s doorstep. She wants to be a writer, but she never anticipated the path she would travel to become successful…and neither did I. I knew there was a conspiracy, but those behind it and the way it unraveled, took me by surprise.

    The characters came from colorful backgrounds and I fell in love with Mac’s wacko family. Sure, they were off the charts, but when it comes to family, they have their backs.

    “…genetic predispostion to lunacy…”

    Theo’s instincts are correct when it comes to Veronica and Day Delos and Associates. To save her brother from being charged with murder, she takes drastic action. The pacing creates a tension that had me racing through the pages

    I want to tell you so much, but I don’t want to spoil the twists and turns hinted at in the synopsis. I will tell you…if you love a conspiracy, a mystery that has you scratching your head, and some danger to keep the thrills coming, you might want to give The Mystery Writer by Suleri Gentill a read.

    Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
    4 Stars

    GOODREADS BLURB

    There’s nothing easier to dismiss than a conspiracy theory―until it turns out to be true When Theodosia Benton abandons her career path as an attorney and shows up on her brother’s doorstep with two suitcases and an unfinished novel, she expects to face a few challenges. Will her brother support her ambition or send her back to finish her degree? What will her parents say when they learn of her decision? Does she even have what it takes to be a successful writer? What Theo never expects is to be drawn into a hidden literary world in which identity is something that can be lost and remade for the sake of an audience. When her mentor, a highly successful author, is brutally murdered, Theo wants the killer to be found and justice to be served. Then the police begin looking at her brother, Gus, as their prime suspect, and Theo does the unthinkable in order to protect him. But the writer has left a trail, a thread out of the labyrinth in the form of a story. Gus finds that thread and follows it, and in his attempt to save his sister he inadvertently threatens the foundations of the labyrinth itself. To protect the carefully constructed narrative, Theo Benton, and everyone looking for her, will have to die.  USA Today bestselling author Sulari Gentill takes readers on a rollercoaster ride in The Mystery Writer , a literary thriller that turns the world of books and authors upside down and where a writer’s voice is a thing to be controlled and weaponized, to the peril of everyone who loves a good story.

    • Genre: Conspiracy, Fiction, Mystery, Suspense, Thriller
    • 352 pages, Kindle Edition
    • Expected publication March 19, 2024 by Poisoned Pen Press

    ABOUT SULARI GENTILL

    Once upon a time, Sulari Gentill was a corporate lawyer serving as a director on public boards, with only a vague disquiet that there was something else she was meant to do. That feeling did not go away until she began to write. And so Sulari became the author of the Rowland Sinclair Mysteries: thus far, ten historical crime novels chronicling the life and adventures of her 1930s Australian gentleman artist, the Hero Trilogy, based on the myths and epics of the ancient world, and the Ned Kelly Award winning Crossing the Lines (published in the US as After She Wrote Hime). In 2014 she collaborated with National Gallery of Victoria to write a short story which was produced in audio to feature in the Fashion Detective Exhibition, and thereafter published by the NGV. IN 2019 Sulari was part of a 4-member delegation of Australian crime writers sponsored by the Australia Council to tour the US as ambassadors of Australian Crime Writing.

    Sulari lives with her husband, Michael, and their boys, Edmund and Atticus, on a small farm in Batlow where she grows French Black Truffles and refers to her writing as “work” so that no one will suggest she get a real job.

    Website / Twitter

    MY SULARI GENTILL REVIEWS

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    Debut Novel – Twenty Seven Minutes by Ashley Tate #twentysevenminutes #NetGalley #ashleytate

    I want to thank NetGalley and Poisoned Pen Press for the opportunity to read Twenty Seven Minutes by Ashley Tate.

    Amazon / Audiobook / Goodreads

    MY REVIEW

    Twenty Seven Minutes by Ashley Tate is her debut novel and one of those stories that I wanted to love. I bounced back and forth, between a three and a four. I always up the rating when that happens.

    My biggest complaint was the repetition. At two thirds of the way through, it became tedious, but, I understand why it was done that way. Shifting from different points of view and past to present and back again, it was inevitable. It never stopped me from having a need to know the ending and did create tension, making me read faster to find out the truth and why it was such a big secret.

    Wyatt became the most intriguing character to me. I loved the twist and my heart broke for June. Through no fault of her own, I feel she suffered the most. I cannot tell you all the whys. You will have to find out for yourself.

    As the truth comes to light and the secrets are revealed, I felt many emotions. Anger at the liars and the ones that chose to cover up. Empathy for June, the one I feel who struggled the most and paid the biggest price. Satisfaction that those who deserve it were haunted by their part in the cover up and the price they paid for keeping their secret for ten long years.

    Karma…

    We have a Conversation with the Author at the end of the book and a Reading Group Guide.

    Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
    4 Stars

    GOODREADS BLURB

    In this stunning and propulsive debut, a town grieves the loss of a young girl—but some fight to keep the truth about her death a secret.

    The question

    For the last ten years, the small, claustrophobic town of West Wilmer has been struggling to understand one thing: Why did it take young Grant Dean twenty-seven minutes to call for help on the fateful night of the car accident that took the life of his beloved sister, Phoebe? If he’d called sooner, she might still be alive.

    The secret

    As the anniversary of Phoebe’s death approaches, Grant is consumed by memories of that night on the bridge and everything he lost: his future, his reputation, his little sister. And the secret he’s been keeping all these years is suffocating him. But he and Phoebe weren’t the only ones in the car that night. Becca was there. She knows what happened—and she will do anything to help Grant keep his secret.

    The truth

    Everyone in West Wilmer remembers Phoebe, but only June remembers that another person was lost that night. Her brother Wyatt has been missing for ten years and now June is alone—no family, no friends. Until someone appears at her door. Someone who may know where Wyatt went all those years ago. Someone who knows what really happened on the bridge that night. Someone who is ready to tell the truth.

    Taking place over three days and culminating in a shocking twist that will leave you breathless, Twenty-Seven Minutes is a gripping story about what happens when grief becomes unbearable, dark secrets are unearthed, and the horrifying truth is revealed.

    • Genre: Fiction, Mystery, Suspense, Thriller
    • 336 pages, Kindle Edition
    • Expected publication January 23, 2024 by Poisoned Pen Press

    ABOUT ASHLEY TATE

    Ashley Tate is a Canadian author. TWENTY-SEVEN MINUTES is her first novel.

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    Giveaway & Review – Cold Pursuit & Cold Threat by Nancy Mehl #partnersincr1me @NancyMehl1

    Bonus Review for Cold Pursuit by Nancy Mehl

    MY REVIEW

    I was excited when I won a copy of Cold Pursuit by Nancy Mehl.

    River and Troy both had nightmares about their run in with a serial killer and their almost death. They left the FBI behind and started their own private investigation firm in Mehlville (HAHAHA).

    Killers are running amok. One is in prison, one is up front and personal, and one is stalking River from the shadows….waiting.

    One story is told and one story is ongoing. I can hardly wait to see what happens in Cold Threat by Nancy Mehl.

    Amazon

    Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos

    4 Stars

    Amazon / Goodreads

    Cold Threat

    by Nancy Mehl

    January 22 – February 2, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

    MY REVIEW

    I’ll start out by saying, I was hooked on the Ryland & St Clair series right out of the gate. Cold Pursuit lured me in, and I am here for the duration of this trilogy, which will be wrapped up in the summer of 2024. So, let’s get to it…

    The Ryland & St Clair series is Christian fiction. With that in mind, the first book was light on the religious angle, but shared River’s doubts, an element of looking and finding…something. In Cold Threat it plays a bigger part.

    I love a great Prologue, and Cold Threat has one. It starts twenty four years previously with a fire, a saved child, and a snowman ornament.

    River Ryland and Troy St Clair have left the FBI behind, and now have their own private investigation firm. Troy’s father calls with an urgent request. He had been the one to save the girl in the Prologue, and the case was never solved. Now, twenty four years later, the arsonist has come to town.

    They discover that the Salt River Strangler had a partner, and, though Joseph Baker is in prison, his accomplice has his sights on River. We will need to solve the arsonist’s case, before we move on to River’s stalker, though he lurks in the background, watching. I love the tension created on every page, knowing of one ongoing danger from the stalker and the urgent need to figure it out and stop the arsonist to keep more lives from being taken.

    We have plenty of suspects to keep me guessing. There is no real romance, but the attraction between River and Troy grows throughout the story. The feelings are there and it’s just a matter of time before they act on them.

    So I am buckling up, getting ready for the conclusion of the the Ryland & St Clair series.

    Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
    4 Stars

    SYNOPSIS

    Twenty years ago, several people were murdered in Des Moines, and the only evidence left behind was a snowman ornament hanging ominously on a tree in the victims’ front lawns. With a suspect behind bars, the killings have come to an end–or so everyone thought. But now crimes with a similar MO are happening in a small Iowa town, and a local detective believes the killer is back and ready to strike again.

    With little time left on the clock before they have another murder on their hands, private investigators River Ryland and Tony St. Clair must work alongside Tony’s detective father to find evidence that will uncover an evil that has survived far too long. As the danger mounts and the suspect closes in, it will take all they have to catch a killer–before he catches one of them.


    Book Details:

    Genre: Suspense
    Published by: Bethany House Publishers
    Publication Date: January 2024
    Number of Pages: 336
    ISBN: 978-0764240461 (ISBN10: 0764240463)
    Series: Ryland & St. Clair, 2
    Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Baker Book House

    Read an excerpt:

    PROLOGUE

    DECEMBER, TWENTY-­FOUR YEARS AGO

    I watched as fire devoured the house as if it were a living, breathing monster, ravenous for death and destruction. It took effort not to smile as I observed the fire department desperately trying to quench the ferocious flames, the firefighters slipping and sliding on the snow and ice. But winter is no match for me. They would lose this fight. The nightmare has just begun. Inside they will find my Christmas offering. Those whom I’d judged and executed. The beast was at my command and would destroy any evidence that could lead to me.

    “It’s perfect,” she whispered. “I love it.”

    I smiled at her. “It was a long time coming.”

    “But you did it. I’m so proud of you.”

    I had to blink away the sudden tears that filled my eyes.

    “Shouldn’t we leave?”

    I nodded. She was right. At some point, the police would arrive and would most certainly look through the people gathered across the street since many times those who set fires like to watch their creations dance and light up the night. They might even take pictures. This was the only time I felt comfortable hanging around for a few minutes—­before anyone had time to scan the crowd. This was important. The first. My debut performance.

    I’d just turned to leave when a couple of police cars pulled up, lights flashing, their blue-and-red beams cutting through the night and the falling snow. I walked down the street, hidden behind a curtain of white. I stopped to watch as they exited their vehicles. The sight only added to my excitement. Two officers approached the fire department chief. As they talked, another officer stood on the sidewalk, staring at the structure that was being consumed. Suddenly, he shouted and pointed up toward the second floor. I had to walk back to see why. I stood behind a tree, trying not to look suspicious. That was when I saw it. A face peering through one of the windows.

    “Oh no,” she said, her voice breaking. “How did you miss her?”

    The officer who’d spotted the unthinkable began to run toward the front door, but two firefighters grabbed him and held him back while another one grabbed a ladder and put it up against the house. It was clearly a child staring at them, her eyes wide with fear. They tried to climb toward her, but it was impossible. The flames from the first floor blocked their way. I felt a wave of anger. She had defiled my righteous mission. I fought to push back my rage. I had no desire to hurt a child. She shouldn’t have hidden from me. I would have kept her safe. I sighed in frustration. This was her fault. Now all of us would have to watch as she died. There wasn’t anything I could do. I felt the urge to leave, but the police were concentrating on her. No one was focused on the crowd, so I risked staying a minute or two longer.

    Suddenly I heard a shout and saw the police officer who’d tried to enter earlier suddenly run toward the compromised house and through the front door before anyone could stop him. What a fool. The monster I’d created was too strong. Now there would be two additional lives sacrificed. This wasn’t my mission. Only the guilty were supposed to die. I consoled myself with the knowledge that the blame was theirs. Not mine.

    “Maybe he’ll get her out,” she said quietly.

    I didn’t respond. I knew she was upset. I couldn’t find the words to tell her that it was too late for both of them.

    Part of the house collapsed on the other side, away from the window where the child still stood. Everyone watched in horror. Two firefighters started to follow the officer into the house, but their chief called them back. It was clear they were frustrated, yet the chief obviously thought it was too dangerous for them to enter. He’d probably already written off the officer and the child.

    “It’s not your fault.”

    “I know,” I said.

    I waited for the rest of the structure to fall, but as we all watched, the unbelievable happened. The police officer ran out of the house, something in his arms wrapped up in a blanket. A firefighter ran over to take the bundle from him as the rest of the building collapsed. The officer fell to the ground. I could see his burns from here. It looked as if the cloth from his shirt had melted to his skin and part of his dark hair had burned away. Now he would always remember this night. I felt no anger toward him. Truthfully, I was relieved that the child had a chance. I’d still accomplished my mission. This was a lesson learned. I had checked out the couple carefully, and I’d watched the house. Hadn’t seen any evidence of a child. Still, I’d missed something important. I would never make this mistake again.

    She sighed with relief. “I’m so glad she’s okay.”

    A thought suddenly struck me. I hadn’t seen the child, but had she seen me? Was she now a liability to my mission? As soon as the thought came, I dismissed it. She’d been hiding. Trying to make sure I couldn’t find her. She would have been too afraid to look at me knowing I might see her too. Besides, she was so young no one would take her seriously anyway. Even if she had caught a glimpse of me, soon I would look very different. I breathed a deep sigh of relief. I was safe.

    The firefighters began treating the girl and the officer until an ambulance roared up. It was time to leave. I pulled my jacket tighter and let the darkness and the dancing flakes shroud me as I slipped away, but not before I glanced at the snowman ornament hanging on the tree planted near the sidewalk.

    As I walked away, I couldn’t help but sing softly, “Frosty the snowman . . .”

    CHAPTER ONE

    DECEMBER, PRESENT DAY

    River Ryland stared at her phone, willing it to ring. Unfortunately, it seemed it didn’t respond well to mental telepathy. The pastor at the church she’d started attending with Tony had taught on faith yesterday. He’d brought up Mark 11:24 and Philippians 4:6. From what she could understand, faith was something you needed before your prayers were answered. As a child, she’d listened to her father preach, but he’d never mentioned anything like that. His sermons had been about sin and judgment. How to stay pure. Which was laughable since he ran off with the church’s secretary and left his daughter, son, and wife behind, humiliated and without any way to survive financially.

    As she continued to eye her phone, she wondered if she should start believing that God would bring more clients to Watson Investigations. Was it okay to have faith for something like that? It was clear that faith was important to God, but she didn’t want to treat Him like some kind of genie in a lamp who would bring her whatever she asked for. What was His will, and what was selfishness? She sighed quietly. Life with God was proving to be interesting.

    She glanced over at her partner, Tony St. Clair, and asked herself the question she’d posed so many times. What was he doing here? She’d had to leave the FBI. Severe PTSD had made it impossible for her to continue working as a behavioral analyst. Tony had been shot by the Salt River Strangler, the serial killer who’d tried to kill her, and was still dealing with some of the aftereffects. Even so, he could have gone back to work. Instead, he talked her into starting this detective agency. They’d only had two cases so far. The results had been positive. One case had to do with teachers at a local high school selling drugs—­something they stumbled across. The teachers were arrested, and the drug trade shut down. No paying client with that one. The other case had been pro bono. They’d solved that too. Thankfully, someone connected with the case—­not their client—­had given them a generous stipend. But how long would that last without some new cases? Was asking herself that question a lack of faith? She really didn’t know the answer.

    Tony’s long legs were crossed, his feet up on his desk. He was leaning back in his chair, writing in a notebook. He reminded her of Benedict Cumberbatch. His curly dark hair was longer than most FBI agents had worn their hair. His long eyelashes sheltered eyes that sometimes looked blue and other times appeared to be gray. Tony was an enigma. A handsome man who never dated. He used to. Before the shooting. There were definitely some women at church who had him in their sights, but he clearly wasn’t interested. Of course, she wasn’t dating either. Didn’t want to. Right now, she just wanted to figure out who God wanted her to be. It was hard to believe He needed a private investigator. She didn’t see that among the gifts listed in the Bible.

    “Okay, God,” River whispered. “I’m asking You to make this agency successful. I thank You for hearing me. And . . .” She gulped. “And I thank You for our new cases.” There. She shook her head. Weird, but Pastor Mason would be proud of her. She jumped when Tony’s phone rang.

    River listened closely. If this was a case . . . Well, Pastor Mason also said something about patience. Surely answers to prayer didn’t happen this quickly. If so, she should have started praying this way a long time ago.

    “Slow down, Dad,” Tony said. “I’m not sure I understand.”

    River was almost relieved that it was Tony’s father. If it actually had been a new case . . . well, it would have freaked her out a little. She began to straighten her desk again, only slightly listening to Tony’s conversation. It seemed to be a little one-­sided.

    Finally, Tony said, “I’ve got to call you back, Dad. Let me talk to River and see what she thinks. You know her mother is ill.” Pause. “All in all, doing pretty good. She has full-­time help now.” Another pause. “Okay. I’ll phone you in a bit.”

    After he hung up, he pulled his feet off his desk and sat up straight in his chair. His blue sweater was the same color as his eyes . . . when they were blue. Why was she paying attention to his eyes? She gave herself a virtual kick in the pants and realized that Tony looked upset.

    “Everything okay?” she asked.

    “No, not really.”

    “Is your dad all right? Your mom?”

    “No,” he said, cutting her off. “They’re fine. And before you ask, my sister’s good too.” He looked away and cleared his throat. Something he did when he was troubled or thinking. Finally, his eyes met hers. “I told you that when my dad was a rookie police officer, before he was promoted to detective, he was badly burned in a fire?”

    She nodded. She remembered the story. It was hard to forget. “He saved a little girl’s life.”

    “Yes. Well, they found two bodies in the house after the fire was put out. The little girl was the granddaughter of the couple. Thank God, Dad got her out in time.”

    “Yeah. Your father’s a hero.”

    Tony smiled. “Don’t say that to him. He won’t put up with it. I also told you that they never found the person responsible?”

    She nodded again, then waited for him to finish. It was obvious what was coming next. She swallowed. Was this just coincidence? Of course, this was Tony’s dad. They couldn’t charge him anything for their services. River should have mentioned in her prayer that they needed a paying case. She didn’t realize God was so literal.

    Trust Me.

    Although she hadn’t heard an audible voice, it was so clear it made her jump.

    Trust Me.

    She swallowed hard. “Uh, he wants us to help him solve a twenty-­year-­old crime?” she said. Why was her voice squeaky? “Why now? I mean, I assume he tried to close this case himself. From what you told me, he’s an excellent detective.”

    “He is, but he’s retiring.”

    “And he wants this solved before he leaves?”

    Tony nodded. “In a way. You see, there were two other similar murders with the same MOs in Des Moines not long after that one. The police arrested someone. Charged him with all three. Dad was never sure they got the right person.”

    “You never told me that.”

    “I never went into details because I thought it was a closed case.”

    “So, your father wants to make certain the case is truly closed before he leaves? It’s still a really cold case. You know how tough they are to solve after so long.”

    “Well, except he says it’s happened again.”

    “In Des Moines?”

    Tony shook his head. “No, up in Burlington, Iowa, where they are now. They moved there years ago because Dad felt it was a better place to live. He was convinced that Des Moines was getting too big. Too dangerous. He wanted a slower-­paced life. A safer place for Mom. Truthfully, I think he had a tough time working in Des Moines. He couldn’t get anyone he worked with to believe they’d arrested the wrong person for those murders.”

    “Wait a minute. So, your dad thinks the killer followed him?”

    He shrugged. “He doesn’t know, although I agree that it seems strange. Look, I know you have questions. I do too. Can you come to Burlington with me so we can write a profile? He wants to see if we can add something to what he has so far.”

    River hesitated a moment.

    “I know you’re thinking about your mom. Sorry. Maybe I shouldn’t have asked. I can go alone. I shouldn’t have put you on the spot.”

    River shook her head. “You’re not. Now that we have Mrs. Weyland, I may be able to come with you.”

    Hannah, the young woman who had come in to help River’s mother during the day, had quit after finding out she was pregnant. She’d recommended her aunt, who had recently lost her husband. Agatha Weyland was sixty-­three years old and had nursed her husband through Alzheimer’s. When Hannah told her she was pregnant and had to leave her job, Mrs. Weyland had begged her to set up an interview with River. At first, she wasn’t sure if it would work since Mrs. Weyland wanted to move in.

    “I just can’t stay in my house anymore,” she’d told River when they talked. “Too many ghosts. Hannah and her husband love the house and they’ve offered to buy it. I was goin’ to move into an apartment, but if you have a spare room . . .” Her hazel eyes had filled with tears, and River had been touched by her. But would she change her mind and quit once she was stronger? She didn’t want Rose to get used to someone and then have her leave. River’s mother was still dealing with Hannah’s quitting. She had loved and trusted the young woman.

    “I’m not lookin’ for anything temporary,” Mrs. Weyland had said as if reading River’s mind. “I intend to take care of your mother until . . . well, until she no longer needs me.”

    This time it was River’s turn for tears.

    “Oh, honey,” the older woman had said, taking River’s hand. “I know what Alzheimer’s is like. I know how to take care of your precious mama. My Harold was a happy man until the day he died. I learned how to go with him wherever he was . . . and how to be whoever he needed me to be. We were happy, and your mother will be happy too. You have my word.”

    River had really wanted to hire Mrs. Weyland, but she was certain Rose wouldn’t give up another one of her rooms. She’d gotten upset when River and Tony had moved her original sewing space to another room even though they set it up exactly the same. They’d moved things around so River could be closer to her mother in case she needed help during the night. Now she’d have to give up her sewing room completely, even though she never used it. River was prepared for a meltdown. But after spending a couple of hours getting to know Mrs. Weyland, Rose had said, “Can’t we just move the things in the sewing room down to the basement, River? Either Agatha could move in there, or you could move into that room, and Agatha could be right next to me.”

    Although she was more than surprised by her mother’s request, she quickly agreed. River moved into the old sewing room, and Mrs. Weyland set herself up next to Rose.

    “Let me talk to Mrs. Weyland,” she told Tony. “She’s barely had time to get to know my mother. She might feel uncomfortable with me leaving town so soon. How long do you think we’ll be gone?”

    “Why don’t we say the rest of the week?” he said. “I think that’s enough time to create a profile. My father’s already put together a murder book, although I’m not sure how much information he’s been able to get his hands on. Hopefully, we’ll at least have some pictures and reports.”

    “Okay, but if Mrs. Weyland or my mother is uncomfortable . . .”

    “I’ll go alone and bring everything back with me.” He frowned. “I’d really like you to talk to my dad. See if he can convince you the cases are related. I know that’s not what we do when we write a profile, so we’ll be using our ace deductive skills as well.”

    River laughed. “I’ll call Mom now, but you might as well plan on going alone. My mother will probably have a conniption fit.”

    “A conniption fit? Where do you get these expressions? I truly think an old lady lives somewhere down deep inside you.”

    River picked up her phone, stuck her tongue out at Tony, and dialed Mrs. Weyland.

    ***

    Excerpt from Cold Threat by Nancy Mehl. Copyright 2024 by Nancy Mehl. Reproduced with permission from Bethany House Publishers. All rights reserved.

     

     

    Author Bio:

    Nancy Mehl

    Nancy Mehl is the author of more than fifty books, a Parable and ECPA bestseller, and the winner of an ACFW Book of the Year Award, a Carol Award, and the Daphne du Maurier Award. She has also been a finalist for the Christy Award. Nancy writes from her home in Missouri, where she lives with her husband, Norman, and their puggle, Watson.

    Catch Up With Nancy Mehl:
    NancyMehl.com
    Goodreads
    BookBub – @NancyMehl
    Twitter/X – @NancyMehl1
    Facebook – @nancy.mehl

     

     

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    Giveaway – Dead Letters by P J Murphy @ireadbooktours

     



    Book Details:

    Book Title:  Dead Letters by P.J. Murphy
    Category:  Adult Fiction (18+), 349 pages
    Genre:  Mystery, Literary Fiction
    Publisher:  P.J. Murphy
    Release date:   May 2023
    Content Rating:  PG-13 +M. The book is not violent, and swearing is infrequent. There are a number of references to ghosts, but the atmosphere is more gothic than scary (with one exception). However, it is a book aimed squarely at adults, with references to depression and mental illness.
    Book Description:

    “If you want to find me, search within these pages.”

    Bestselling author Richard Debden is missing. The only clue: a copy of his unpublished final novel delivered to his ex-girlfriend, Amy. When those closest to Richard reunite for his memorial, Amy turns to Chris, his former best friend, to help unravel the mystery. Could Richard still be alive and in need of their help?

    Richard’s manuscript tells of two abandoned children in wartime Britain, instructed by a shadowy Postmaster to deliver letters to ghosts and release them from their torment. As Chris and Amy delve into the text, they identify parallels between fiction and reality; clues to a trail that leads across the country and – they hope – to Richard.

    But they are not the only interested party. A mysterious society is following them, their motives unclear. Can Chris and Amy unlock the secrets of Dead Letters, or will more sinister forces get there first?

    Dead Letters is the captivating second novel by P.J. Murphy, author of Troubleshot.
    Buy the Book:
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    Meet the Author:

    P.J. Murphy writes novels that introduce unusual and humorous twists to classic genres. If you pick up one of his books, you’re in for an interesting read that never loses its sense of fun. As a writer, P.J. tries to stick to the adage ‘write what you know’, although with the addition, ‘just make sure you exaggerate and distort it beyond all recognition’. He is planning to write a novel about taking a road trip with a parrot. He has never owned a parrot.


    connect with author: website facebook goodreads
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    DEAD LETTERS by P.J. Murphy Spotlight Book Tour Giveaway




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