Giveaway – The January Corpse by Neil Albert @partnersincr1me

The January Corpse by Neil Albert Banner

The January Corpse

by Neil Albert

January 15-26, 2024 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The January Corpse by Neil Albert

Dave Garrett is a disbarred lawyer eking out a living in Philadelphia as a private eye. At noon on Friday, a law school classmate offers him what looks like a hopeless investigation. Seven years before, a man named Daniel Wilson disappeared. His car was found abandoned with bullet holes and blood, but no body. A hearing is scheduled for Monday on whether Wilson should be declared legally dead. The police have been stumped for seven years. Organized crime warned off the first investigator to look into the case. Over the course of the weekend, the case takes Dave from center city to the coal regions and back, where the story comes to what the critics called “a startling and satisfying conclusion.”

Nominated as a Best First Novel by the Private Eye Writers of America when it first appeared in 1990 and the first of a series of twelve.

Praise for The January Corpse:

“Worthy of a Scott Turow . . . This exceptional first mystery is driven by a baffling plot and comes to a surprise ending that passes the Holmesian test.”
~ Publishers Weekly

“Tantalizing twisted”
~ The New York Times Book Review

“A first rate first novel.”
~ The Boston Globe

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Private Eye
Published by: Onyx
Publication Date: First published January 1990
Number of Pages: 207
ISBN: 9798663201599
Series: Dave Garrett Mystery, #1
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER ONE

FRIDAY, 11:00 A.M.

I couldn’t stand the sight of him but I took his case anyway.

I’d been sitting in the spectator’s section of a courtroom in the basement of the Court of Common Pleas of Philadelphia County. At night the room was used for criminal arraignments, and it showed. Everything in the room was dirty, even the air. I breathed in a mixture of grit, poverty and despair. The bare wooden benches were carved in complex, overlapping swirls of graffiti, initials, gang emblems, and phone numbers. Some people called it street art. I didn’t.

To my left, fifteen feet off the ground, a clock was built into the wall. It was missing its hands and most of the brass numerals, and the few that were left were muddy brown. Not that I cared what time it was; as long as I sat there, waiting to testify, my meter was running.

Today the room was being used by the Family Court for a custody case. This was the second day of trial, and the wife’s attorney was hoping to get me on the stand today. There’s no such thing as a custody case with class. The couple were both doctors, both well respected. Married ten years, two children, both girls, ages four and seven. They had separated two years ago. Each had a condo; his was just south of Society Hill in a newly gentrified neighborhood; hers was on Rittenhouse Square. They both had memberships at the usual country clubs, plus time-shares in Aspen and Jamaica. She drove a BMW and he drove a Benz. It had been amicable at first. Neither one was leaving for someone else; they just didn’t like being married to each other anymore. There was no one stirring it up. Most spouses need encouragement from a third party to get really nasty–a new girlfriend, a mother, a friend, or a lawyer. In the absence of someone to stir the pot, it was very civilized. For a while. Then, while working out a property settlement, her lawyer found that her husband had forgotten to disclose his half-interest in a fast-food franchise–a small matter of half a million dollars. In response, she dropped the blockbuster; she moved to terminate his visitation rights because she claimed he was sexually abusing the seven-year-old. He denied it and countered with a suit for attorney’s fees and punitive damages. The case had started yesterday, was being tried again today, and would probably go on for a good chunk of the next two weeks.

I had very little to say, but the wife’s lawyer wanted me to testify anyway. In a close case, almost anything might make a difference. I’d followed the husband for a week, and the most interesting thing I’d found was that he read Penthouse. Plus, as I was sure his lawyer would point out on cross, Time, Sports Illustrated, Business Week, and The New England Journal of Medicine.

The wife’s attorney, sitting at counsel table, turned to me, pointed to his watch, and shook his head. The cross examination of the wife’s child psychologist was hopelessly bogged down on the question of her credentials, and they weren’t going to reach me that day. The case wasn’t on again until the following Wednesday; I was free till then. I nodded, pointed to my own watch to indicate that my meter was off and headed for the door. My overcoat was already over my arm; no one familiar with the Court of Common Pleas of Philadelphia County leaves their property unattended. There used to be a sign outside the Public Defender’s office: Watch your hat, ass, and overcoat, till somebody stole it.

The corridor was as filthy as the courtroom, but at least there was light. And people–lots of them. The young and shabbily dressed ones were there for misdemeanor criminal or for family law cases. The felony defendants were usually older and better dressed; they’d learned the hard way that making a good impression just might help. The best dressed of all–except for the big-time drug defendants, who put everyone to shame–were the civil trial attorneys. There was big money in personal injury work and large commercial claims, and a lot of it was worn on their backs. My own suit, when it was new, had looked like theirs; now it was dated and worn, and my tie had a small stain. I was dressed well enough for what I did now.

I was nearly to the exit, feeling blasts of cold air as people went in and out, when I heard him call my name. The voice was raspy and nasal. I turned; it was Mark Louchs, a classmate from law school. He practiced with a small firm out in the suburbs. His hairline had receded since I’d last seen him, and he was wearing new, thicker glasses. His skin was red, probably from a recent Caribbean vacation. He smiled, shook my hand, and said he was so glad to see me. It was all too fast and too hearty, and I wondered what he wanted from me.

“Hello, Mark. Going well for you?”

“God, hearings coming out my ears. Clients calling all hours. Can’t get away from it. My accountant–I’m busy as hell–” He stopped himself. “Yeah. Fine. Look, you know how bad I feel about what happened to you. ” His voice trailed off. He’d been a jerk when I needed his help and we both knew it. I said nothing, letting the awkward silence go on. Making him uncomfortable was petty, but that didn’t stop me from enjoying it. When he was nervous, I noticed, his smile was a little lopsided.

When he was certain that I was going to leave him hanging, he went on. “Look, I hear you’re doing investigations now.”

“It’s the closest thing I can do to keep my hand in. And I sure wasn’t going to hang around as somebody’s research assistant.”

“I tried to reach you first thing this morning. They said you were out. ” I hadn’t had time to check my messages, but I just stayed quiet. I liked leaving him under the impression that I was in no hurry to talk to him. Partly because it might give me an advantage in whatever he wanted with me, and partly because it was true.

“Listen, Dave, I’d like you to do me a favor. Are you set up to handle a rush job?”

I do plenty of favors, but not in business. And not for someone who didn’t respond to my request for a letter of support when I’d gone before the Disciplinary Board with my license on the line. I kept my voice disinterested and cautious. “How much a favor, and how much a rush?”

“I need you to do an investigation for a case to be heard this coming Monday at one thirty.”

I carefully gave a low whistle, watching for his reaction. “That gives me just the rest of today and the weekend. Pretty short notice.”

“If you can do it, the fee should be no problem. I’m sure we can agree on an acceptable rate. “

I looked at his suit and at my own. I knew the money would never wind up in a suit. I had too many other bills. But it gave me something to focus on. “Let’s go somewhere and hear about it.”

We put on our overcoats, cut through the perpetual construction around City Hall and wound up at a small bar near Sansom. He found a quiet corner booth and ordered two coffees. Whatever serious lawyers do after five, they don’t drink during the day.

“Ever do a presumption of death hearing!” he asked.

“Fifteen years ago, fresh out of law school, I did a memo for a partner.”

“Familiar with the law?”

“Unless it’s changed. If all you have is a disappearance, no body or other direct proof of death, the passage of seven years without word gives rise to a presumption of death. If the person were alive, the law assumes that someone would have heard from them.”

“I represent the survivors of a man who disappeared under circumstances strongly suggestive of his death. His name is—was–Daniel Wilson. We filed an action to have him declared dead. The hearing is Monday afternoon at one-thirty in Norristown. The insurance company is fighting tooth and nail.”

“What carrier? I do some work for USF&G and for Travelers. I’d hate to get on their bad side. “

“Neither of them. Some one-lung life insurance outfit out of Iowa. Reliant Fidelity Mutual, or something like that.”

“Let’s hear some more. “

“He lived in Philly and had offices in the city and in Norristown. I figured that his office in Norristown gave me enough to get venue in Montgomery County. I don’t come into Philadelphia for trials if I can avoid it. The insurance company won’t offer a nickel, but they don’t care if it’s in Philadelphia or Montgomery County. “

“What kind of office?”

“A law office. Never heard of the guy before this case, though. I made a couple calls to friends from law school, but neither of them knew him. “

“Lawyers aren’t disappearing kinds of people. We’re more like barnacles.”

“Wait till you hear about the disappearance. Just after New Year’s, seven years ago. His sister was in town from LA; they planned to get together. They’re in separate cars, out in the country. Powell Township, Berks County. She finds his car off the road full of bullet holes. Plenty of blood, but no body. Police can’t turn up shit. He was never heard from again.”

It was short notice, but I had no plans for the weekend. It sounded like a break from skip traces and catching thieving employees. And it paid. “The case has been kicking around for months. You didn’t decide to hire an investigator this morning.”

Even in the dimness I could tell he was flustered. “Yeah, you’re right; you’re getting sloppy seconds. The Shreiner Agency was handling it till yesterday. ” I just sat there until he decided to continue. “They were doing all the usual interviews, credit checks, asset checks. They hand-delivered back the file and refunded our retainer. And a letter saying they wouldn’t be able to help any further. “

“Someone warned them off. “

“There could be other reasons.”

“This thing smells to me like organized crime. That’s out of my league. “

“Look, nobody’s asking you to find who killed him, even if he’s dead. We just need to say that there’s no evidence he’s alive. That ought to be easy enough.” He didn’t say the words ‘even for you’, but I heard them.

“Tell that to the Shreiner Agency. “

He finished his coffee. He was anxious to get help, but I was clearly hitting a nerve. “Yes or no?”

I normally worked for a flat fifty dollars an hour. Right then, considering who I’d be working for and whatever had happened to the Shreiner Agency, I wasn’t so sure if I wanted it. “I charge my attorney’s rate–one hundred fifty per hour; two hundred for work outside of business hours, half rate for travel time, plus all expenses.”

“Think you can come up with something for that kind of money?”

“Haven’t the slightest idea. You know how it is. I work by time, not results.”

“That’s a lot of money.”

“And it’s quarter to twelve on Friday.”

He gave me the kind of look I didn’t normally associate with being hired–it was closer to the expression you get when you steal somebody’s parking place. But he grunted something that sounded like “okay” and gave me his business card with his home number on it. And the Shreiner file, too–there was so little of it, he was carrying it in his breast pocket.

“I’ll look this over and do what I can this afternoon. When can I talk to the sister?” I asked.

“Give me your card. She’s in the area. I’ll have her at your office at nine tomorrow morning. “

“Make it seven; I don’t want to lose any time on Saturday. It’s tougher to reach people on Sunday.”

“Okay, but keep me posted, will you? Remember that you’re working under the supervision of an attorney. “

“Right. ” I wanted to tell him that I was working under the supervision of an asshole, but I let it pass.

Philadelphia has mild winters, but early January is no time to linger outside. I needed a quiet place to read. I went to Suburban Station and found an empty bench.

The Shreiner Agency was like the Army: bloated, bureaucratic, and sluggish, and most of its best people moved along after a few years. Yet they were careful and scrupulously honest. That counted for a lot in my business.

The file was only about twenty pages, and most of it was negative information. Daniel Wilson hadn’t voted in his home district since the time of his disappearance. Neither had he started any lawsuits, mortgaged any real estate, filed for bankruptcy, used his credit cards, joined the armed forces, opened any bank accounts, or taken out a marriage license. His driver’s license had expired a year after he disappeared and had never been renewed. At the time of his disappearance he had no points on his license and no criminal record. Since then, there had been no activity in his checking or savings accounts; the balances in each were a few hundred dollars. No income taxes or property taxes had been paid in seven years. None of this distinguished Daniel Wilson from somewhere between ten and fifteen percent of the population. I would need a lot more than this to convince a judge he was dead.

Toward the bottom of the pile I found an interim report by “JBF,” who I knew to be Jonathan Franklin, an investigator I’d worked with before. According to the report, at the time of his disappearance Wilson was thirty years old, short to medium height, wiry build, brown hair and eyes. Paper-clipped to the corner of the first page was a black-and-white wallet-size formal photo of Wilson in a suit and tie. From the date on the back, it was probably his law school graduation portrait. Assuming he graduated at twenty-five, the picture was twelve years old. I had visions of showing it and asking people if they’d ever seen an average-looking guy with glasses and brown hair before. It was a pleasant-looking face; maybe a little bland, but presentable. His cheeks were smooth and pink, and he looked closer to twenty than twenty-five. His glasses weren’t the wire-rimmed ones that were fashionable when I was in college, or the high-tech rimless models the yuppies wore now, but good old-fashioned ones, horn rimmed, with a heavy frame. He had the kind of face clients would trust.

The family background was minimal. Wilson’s father had died when he was a child; his mother was still living and worked cleaning offices in Center City. She lived in the Overbrook section of west Philadelphia. There was one sibling, a sister, Lisa, two years older; a former nurse who now lived in a small town upstate. She’d been living in LA, if I remembered Louchs correctly. I figured her for a loyal daughter who’d moved back east to be close to their mother after Daniel’s death, or disappearance, or whatever it was. Neither Lisa nor Daniel had any children. Neither had ever been married.

Franklin had come up with some more about Wilson’s grade and high school education. Wilson was consistently a superior student; not brilliant, but always near the top of the class. He was seldom absent, hardly ever late with work assignments, and never a discipline problem. Several of his high school classmates had been contacted; they remembered him as serious and hardworking. He played no sports but was active with the school literary magazine and the newspaper: He had a few dates, but no one remembered a steady girlfriend.

Except to tell me that he’d attended Gettysburg College, was secretary of the Photography Club, and obtained a degree in history, the college section was a blank. I wasn’t surprised; in high school everybody knows everybody. But people are too busy in college to know more than a couple of people well. Investigating backgrounds at the college level is usually helpful only if the subject was very well known or if the school was very small. I was reading with only half my attention by then; I was trying to imagine what kind of man was behind that picture. And what was the judge going to make of him. I hoped he wouldn’t decide that Wilson was the kind of loner who would pull up stakes and disappear without a word to anybody.

The next section was hardly more help. After college, three years at Temple Law School, graduating about one-third of the way from the top. He passed the bar on the first try and set up practice in Center City with a classmate, Leo Strasnick. When Wilson disappeared five years later, the partnership already had three associates, with offices in Philadelphia and Norristown. Nice growth.

I rubbed my eyes and looked at my watch. It was nearly one, and this was the only business day before the day of the hearing. The rest of the file would have to wait.

One of the advantages of Suburban Station was plenty of phone booths. My investigation got off on the right foot. Not only was Leo Strasnick available, he agreed to see me at four that afternoon. His office was only a few blocks from the station.

I tried Shreiner’s next.

“Shreiner Security Agency. How may we help you?” She sounded like a recording of herself.

“Mr. Franklin, please.”

“And whom may I say is calling?

“She was good. If my gross ever broke into seven figures, I promised myself I would get a receptionist who talked that well. And to take lessons from her.

“Just say I’m calling regarding the Wilson case. ” I was curious to see if that would be enough to get me through.

“Yeah, this is Jon Franklin,” was all he said, but it was enough. Something was bothering him. His words were unnaturally clipped, and his voice was too loud and too fast.

“Hello, Jon, this is Dave Garrett–“

“You said you were calling about Wilson?”

“Yeah, right,” I said as casually as I could “Remember me, Jon? We worked together on those tools disappearing out of Sun Shipbuilding? I was–“

“I remember. ” Then his voice got softer. “Dave, what do you have to do with this? We’re not in the Wilson case.”

“I’ve just taken it over. ” There was silence on the other end. “I’ve read your report and I assume there’s more than you had time to put in writing. ” More silence. “Look, Jon, the case is coming up Monday, for Christ’s sake. Cut me some slack.”

“You want some advice? Don’t take the case.”

“The lawyer guaranteed payment,” I said, being deliberately stupid. I had a lot of practice at that.

“No amount of money is worth it. ” I’d been expecting him to say that, but he was at the biggest agency in the state a fifteen-year veteran of the Philadelphia police.

“Can we get together somewhere?”

“I’ve told you all you need to know already,” he said, and hung up.”

***

Excerpt from The January Corpse by Neil Albert. Copyright 1990 by Neil Albert. Reproduced with permission from Neil Albert. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Neil Albert

Neil Albert is a trial lawyer in Lancaster, Pennsylvania and this book is based on a real presumption of death hearing. He has completed nine of the projected twelve books in the series and hopes to finish with December within the next two years. His interest in writing mysteries was kindled by reading Ross Macdonald and Neil operates a blog with an in-depth analysis of each of Macdonald’s books, In his younger years he was an avid fox hunter. His best memory is that he hunted for fifteen years and was the only member not be to seriously injured at least once.

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Library Borrow Review – Fool Me Once by Harlan Coben @HarlanCoben

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MY REVIEW

The vibrant red cover for Fool Me Once by Harlan Corben jumps off the shelf, but I have been a fan of Corben’s long before I started blogging, so, when I saw there would be a Netflix series, I had to grab it from the library. I was not disappointed.

Maya’s husband is murdered, but the waters are murky and the mystery is convoluted. Harlan Coben really had me going, but when the mystery was solved and the ending smacked me in the face, I was left speechless. Way to go, Harlan!!!!!!!

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

GOODREADS BLURB

Former special ops pilot Maya, home from the war, sees an unthinkable image captured by her nanny cam while she is at work: her two-year-old daughter playing with Maya’s husband, Joe—who had been brutally murdered two weeks earlier. The provocative question at the heart of the mystery: Can you believe everything you see with your own eyes, even when you desperately want to? To find the answer, Maya must finally come to terms with deep secrets and deceit in her own past before she can face the unbelievable truth about her husband—and herself.

  • Genre: Fiction, Mystery, Suspense, Thriller
  • 392 pages, Kindle Edition
  • First published March 22, 2016 by Dutton

ABOUT HARLAN COBEN

Harlan Coben is a #1 New York Times bestselling author and one of the world’s leading storytellers. His suspense novels are published in forty-five languages and have been number one bestsellers in more than a dozen countries with seventy-five million books in print worldwide.

His books have earned the Edgar, Shamus, and Anthony Awards, and many have been developed into Netflix Original Drama series, including his adaptations of The Stranger, The Innocent, Gone for Good and The Woods. His most recent adaptation for Netflix, Stay Close, premiered on December 31, 2021 and stars Cush Jumbo, James Nesbitt, and Richard Armitage.

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Review – Killer Dead Victim Alive by Michael Geczi @MichaelGeczi

Amazon / Kindle Umlimited / Goodreads

MY REVIEW

I jumped between a three and a four rating for Killer Dead Victim Alive by Michael Geczi. I love serial killers…I mean reading about serial killers. But, that’s not all that drew me to the novel. A good title and the tropical content of the cover spoke to me.

We are on the beach near Santa Monica Pier and what do I spy? Why it’s Keith John Victor, serial killer. What??????

Mollie Granger and Greg Nichols, detectives in the Criminal Investigations Unit of the Santa Monica Police Department are on the case. Keith Victor had killed six people and a missing person, Chrissy Weeks, is attributed to him. Is she deal or alive? We shall see. And we do. She walks into the police department with a story that won’t hold water.

Mollie is hard working, has sharp instincts and is always asking questions. I loved this description from a colleague:

….her pupils were shaped like question marks because her eyes always “”looked like they wanted to now more.”

Her significant other, Gwen Seward, is an African America lawyer specializing in civil rights, while Mollie is a white police officer. Not only are they gay, but they will have to deal with racial differences and how they look at life. Many of Gwen’s clients have been profiled by police and the question remains…are the guilty or innocent?

The biggest question…who killed the serial killer? I quickly discovered who, but the motive remained hidden and I loved how Michael Geczi led me to the answer, step by step.

K J…hmmm. I wonder what part she plays in the abduction of the women and Chrissy. Her super power is being invisible, blending into the scenery, living in the shadows. How sad. Life has not been kind to K J and neither is Michael Geczi.

I love how some criminals think they are smarter than those out to catch them and I’m not sure what narcissistic game Chrissy is playing.

Funny what a small world we live in, with lines crisscrossing our lives, woven into a pattern not easily seen. Was it fate or Karma that brought Keith and Chrissy together?

Killer Dead Victim Alive by Michael Geczi was a wild ride. We got, not just one dysfunctional, dangerous villain, but two. Even when I think I know what’s going on Michael manages to pull a surprise out of his hat.

I didn’t get my hand on the first book in this series of books about serial killers, The Deadly Samaritan, but I hope to be there for the next one. Michael Geczi left the surprise ending open and I love it, so maybe….things are not always as they seem and our time in Santa Monica is not over.

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4 Stars

GOODREADS BLURB

“Killer Dead, Victim Alive””If you’re a fan of Freida McFadden, David Baldacci, or Harlan Coben, you’ll find this book captivating and imaginative.”

The serial killer is dead; the expected seventh victim is alive, and the Santa Monica detectives and the FBI agents are shaking their heads.“Who-done-it” meets “why-done-it.” The A twisty mystery, spiked with psychological and cultural implications, all playing out in sun-drenched Santa Monica.Police Detectives Mollie Granger and Greg Nichols respond to a call near the world-famous pier. A dead male, shot in the forehead at close range, is posed in the sand. He’s Keith Victor, a serial killer who’s murdered six persons and kidnapped a possible seventh, Chrissy Weeks.Meanwhile, six miles away, Weeks walks into a police station, says, “I think you’ve been looking for me,” and claims Victor dropped her off outside an hour earlier. Quite the trick, given the coroner says Victor’s been dead for thirty-six hours. Weeks, a narcissist with a complex backstory, views most people as chess pieces to be played. And she’s playing at mega speed, even though her never-ending lies and moves – some of which backfire – quickly turn her into a suspect from a victim.The case comes at a difficult time for Granger, a middle-class white cop having relationship problems with Gwen Seward, a wealthy African-American civil rights attorney. They’ve drifted apart since the George Floyd murder shined a bright light on their differences and challenges. They’ve even tabled plans for marriage and kids.Granger focuses on Weeks even as she and Seward attempt to repair their relationship. In the process, the detective learns that families, love, truth, and understanding overcome personal and professional challenges and bring unexpected second chances.

  • Genre: Fiction, Serial Killer, Suspense, Thriller
  • 281 pages, Kindle Edition
  • Published November 17, 2023 by Tierra Buena Publishing

ABOUT MICHAEL GECZI (from Amazon)

Former Wall Street Journal, BusinessWeek, Associated Press and Dallas Morning News writer and editor; Wall Street executive; best-selling author; communications/crisis consultant and university instructor (University of Southern California’s Annenberg School for Communication and Journalism). Also author of Futures: The Anti-Inflation Investment. Lives in Scottsdale, Arizona with his wife, Lisa.

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Christmas Thrills – Dashing Through The Fear by Amanda Siegrist @amanda_siegrist

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MY REVIEW

Welcome to Sleighville. Where you are sure to have a holly, jolly time.

Sure, the title for Dashing Through The Fear by Amanda Siegrist gave me that shivery feeling of trepidation, but the cover added the extra ‘dash’. Not just with the content, that gave me a warm, cozy feeling, mixed with fear, but the font was a perfect fit.

I do love small towns, where everyone knows your business. Some of the time it adds a fun element to the story, other times it gives a character others to turn to in times of trouble…and ‘Eve’ will need all the help she can get. First, with a place to live, then a job.

She, literally, runs into Griffith and she will find it hard to avoid him, since he lives next door and is the chief of police of Sleighville. Who would imagine a hunkalicious guy like him would have a pet like Walter., but they are a great fit. Walter is a cat with one eye and half a front paw. Critters add a little something extra to every story, for me.

No one knew why the rental property had such a high turnover rate. Hmmmm…

Eve’s job search is a success, getting hired at Noel’s Cafe. She had worked in a bakery before, so I have a feeling this, along with other things, will be a perfect fit.

Mystery, suspense, thrillers like Dashing Through The Fear by Amanda Siegrist is predictable, but she always manages to create characters that wiggle their way into your heart and a surprise or two along the way. Gaslighting and psychological warfare are only two of things that Eve will have to deal with. There is also the past that she so desperately tried to leave behind. I love how she, eventually, solves the problem. Very nice, Amanda.

I love that we have two mysteries going on at the same time and I didn’t realize it…until Amanda Siegrist showed me, though it was right in front of my face. That’s always a good sign of a well written story., keeping me so busy reading, I forget to try and solve the crime. Actually, those two mysteries apply to Eve, while Griffin has his own issues that hit very close to home. I love that miscommunication never reared it’s ugly head. Will they come together, healing each other? Of course. It wouldn’t be a great romance if they didn’t. I don’t feel like I’m spoiling anything, because it’s pretty easy to figure out in romance novels…unless we don’t have a happy ending and Amanda doesn’t write those. LOL

A fun note – I was reading along…and there was my name, Sherry. It’s always fun to see my name in a novel, even if I am only a minor character. 🙂

Normally, a story like Dashing Through The Fear by Amanda Siegrist is predictable, and, yes, some of it was, but there is a sense that something is coming. It’s just a matter of what and when, keeping a sense of trepidation lurking throughout the pages. Thanks, Amanda, for another very entertaining story.

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4 Stars

GOODREADS BLURB

From USA Today bestselling author Amanda Siegrist comes a brand new series. An intense holiday romantic suspense that will make you swoon and hold you on the edge-of-your-seat until the very end.

Welcome to Sleighville. Where you are sure to have a holly, jolly time.

Running is her only option. He made sure of that. Where better to run to than the last place he’d ever think to look for her. Sleighville. A small, quaint town that celebrates Christmas—every. Single. Day. Just the thought makes her want to puke, but she’s out of options. Nothing prepared her for small-town camaraderie. Everyone knowing everyone and everything. Where she lives, where she works, and worst of all…they know something is off. That she’s not who she claims to be.

Griffin isn’t sure what to make of his new neighbor, but one thing he does he can’t resist a puzzle. She’s skittish, wary, and one of the most beautiful women he’s ever met. It’s not hard to fall for her, which is bad. He has no doubt she’s hiding something—or hiding from something. If only she’d let him in, trust him with her secrets. No amount of Christmas cheer is going to sway her his way, but patience and time might. Problem is, he fears he doesn’t have much time. She’s one step away from running. No doubt not her first time, but he’ll do whatever it takes to make sure she stays right where she is. In his town, and in his arms.

  • Genre: Fiction, Mystery, Suspense, Thriller
  • 236 pages, Kindle Edition
  • Expected publication December 12, 2023
  • Series: A Sleighville Novel, Book I

ABOUT AMANDA SIEGRIST

Amanda Siegrist

Love! Gimme some love and heaps of romance. I have a sappy heart that just loves two people meeting, going through the cycles of a relationship, and ultimately, falling in love. Give me a good book like that and I’m a happy camper:)

I write contemporary and romantic suspense, but I am partial to suspense. I just love a good mystery.

Besides writing, I love baking, crafts, and baseball…oh, and meeting new people. *smiles*

Website  /  Twitter  /  Facebook / Instagram

MY AMANDA SIEGRIST REVIEWS

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Giveaway & Review – Lest She Forget by Lisa Malice @partnersincr1me

Lest She Forget by Lisa Malice Banner

Lest She Forget

by Lisa Malice

November 20 – December 15, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

https://amzn.to/3ubkluc

MY REVIEW

Wow…what an amazing cover. Look at it closely. I love it. And, I love books that have a severe weather event. We are on the road in Virginia and a blizzard is headed Kay’s way. She must get home. She will be better there. The headlights blaze through the rear view window, gaining on her, and…..

She wakes with a name, Kay Smith, but no memory.

I am cynical and immediately suspicious of everyone around her. The doctor, the nurses and the guy who visits the comatose woman in the bed next to hers. Lest She Forget is a romantic suspense novel, so….is he the villain or the hero? They chat, and seeing she is alone, he leaves her his number. I have a feeling she will be using it…soon.

Kay could leave her past behind. Start over. But, we all know the past always catches up to us. Just because you’re paranoid, it doesn’t mean that people aren’t out to get you. She definitely needs to keep that paranoia alive. She is being hunted….again. By who? And why?

As she does her research, a sympathetic hospital clerk shows her concern by sharing all the information she can find about ‘Erin Johnson’. Her research leads her to Nick Costa, the mysterious visitor.

About halfway through, the tension rises and keeps building. The chase is on. The clock is ticking and the body count is rising. I have a revelation and why I didn’t see that coming, I don’t know. Was I so involved in the moment that I didn’t try to predict the outcome? I do love when an author can keep me in the moment.

This is Lisa Malice’s debut novel. With the amazing job she did, the sky’s the limit and I hope to around for her next fabulous story.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

Synopsis:

Haunted by a forgotten past. Hunted by a ruthless killer. No one to save her but herself.

After surviving a car crash, Kay Smith wakes from a coma with amnesia, a battered face, and no one to vouch for her identity. Her psychiatrist is convinced that her memory loss is connected to the horrific flashbacks and nightmares haunting her. As she digs for clues to her past, Kay uncovers a shady character following her every inquiry. Who is he? And what does he want from her?

As Kay’s probes deepen, she realizes that everyone around her has deadly secrets to hide—even her. Emerging memories, guilty suspicions, and headline-screaming murders push Kay to come out of the shadows and choose: will she perpetuate a horrendous lie or risk her life to uncover the truth?

Praise for Lest She Forget:

“Lisa Malice’s debut, Lest She Forget, is filled with twists and turns that will leave you guessing until the very end!”
~ Debra Webb, USA Today Bestseller

“Brimming with intrigue, Lest She Forget takes readers on a dark and twisted journey with surprises around every corner. It’s a thriller that grips you from the first page!”
~ Ellery Kane, award-winning author of the Doctors of Darkness series

“This twisty thriller takes you deep into Kay’s psyche, even as she runs for her life. Whoever you think this woman is, whatever you think she’s seen or done, prepare to be surprised!”
~ Sarah Warburton, author of Once Two Sisters and You Can Never Tell

“Lisa Malice’s psychological thriller Lest She Forget is a tense and twisty debut, an intricately plotted story that grows more and more complex with each new revelation. Don’t even try to guess how this novel ends; just put yourself in Malice’s capable hands and enjoy the ride!”
~ Karen Dionne, author of the #1 international bestseller The Marsh King’s Daughter and The Wicked Sister

“Lisa Malice turns an amnesia story on its head in this twisty, unique tale of intrigue, suspense and unexpected turns. You won’t be able to predict the next chapter, much less the ending.”
~ Lisa Black, NYT bestselling author of the Gardiner & Renner and Locard Institute series

Book Details:

Genre: Psychological Thriller
Published by: CamCat Books
Publication Date: December 2023
Number of Pages: 368
ISBN: 9780744307153 (ISBN10: 0744307155)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | CamCat Books

Read an excerpt:

The loud heavy beat of my heart echoes in my ears, pulsing in sync with the car’s wipers as they furiously slap at the snow alighting the windshield. The frantic rhythm draws me in as I stare ahead into the darkening night and the thick snowflakes swirling in the beams of the headlights. The effect is almost mesmerizing.

My eyelids start to droop. I want nothing more than to sleep, let my mind shut off. Under slumber’s spell, the ache in my heart would subside, the guilt in my soul would vanish, and, if I was lucky, I’d wake up to find that the words I heard earlier today were just part of a gruesome dream, an awful nightmare.

She’s dead.

My chest tightens, my heart races as my thoughts are pulled toward our last moments together. Fraught with suspicion, accusations, anger. My eyes tear up.

It’s your fault.

The words reverberate in my ears as my head starts to throb. How could I have been so stupid and naïve to fall for that man’s lies, his manipulations? If I could go back in time and change everything, fix my mistakes, right a host of wrongs, I would. Things would have turned out differently. Two—no, three—people would still be alive. But there’s no going back. Worse, I see no path forward, at least not one I can live with.

My gaze is drawn to a hazy pair of headlights reflected in the rearview mirror. A chill runs down my spine, even as a bead of sweat trickles down the side of my face. My fingers, clenched atop the steering wheel, go numb as my foot presses down on the accelerator.

“Calm down,” I tell myself. I can’t let fear trick me into imagining what is not there.

I squeeze my eyes shut for a second, then open them again and glance into the side mirror. They’re still there, those headlights, keeping pace with me. I focus on the road in front of me, take a deep breath, and let it out slowly. “Get a grip,” I tell myself. “If he wanted me dead, I wouldn’t have made it this far.”

Staring ahead, a forest of tall pines engulfs the road, blocking out much of the remaining daylight and casting a gloom all around that grows blacker and grimmer with each fleeting moment. But I can’t go back. Not now. I’d have to face the truth, accept my own culpability, surrender myself, my life, my future. I’m not ready to do that.

I turn on the radio and press the scan button, hoping for a distraction. Music pours through the speakers in short clips—Spanish, hard rock, country, polka—and then a soft, familiar melody, its words just on the tip of my tongue.

“. . . I would surrender my soul, if it would bring back yours . . .”

My gut twists with remorse. The pain is cut short as the radio scanner moves to the next station.

“. . . Could you forgive me, if I made it to Heaven . . .”

Tears well up in my eyes as the radio, again, moves on.

“. . . My name won’t be on St. Peter’s list . . .”

A mournful sob erupts from deep inside me. My hands, clutching the steering wheel, suddenly go weak and start to tremble. Those songs, their lyrics—words that never held any personal meaning—now haunt me. It’s as if some cosmic disc jockey knows what I’ve done and doesn’t want—no—won’t let me forget it.

“Please, no more!” I shout.

A woman’s voice pops over the speakers, a news program. “Finally, I sigh, poking the scan button to set the station.

“. . . it’s time for a quick station break, after which we’ll go to a weather update with WCVA’s meteorologist, Alec Bohanan. Our weather team says this blizzard hitting Virginia and much of the East Coast, the first significant snow event of 2017, is a bad one. It could be a killer, so sit tight at home and keep your radio dial tuned to this station . . .”

She’s right. The snow is coming down thicker and heavier with each passing mile. The roads will only get worse. But I need to press on. I must get home. I can think better there. Figure out what options I have left.

My attention is pulled back to the voice on the radio. “When the last segment of The June Jeffries Show returns, we’ll join the Virginia State Police press conference with breaking news on the missing person case of—”

It’s your fault.

The words echo in my ears, pulsing louder and faster with each echo, drowning out the newscaster’s voice. I slam my fist down on the radio’s power button.

Suddenly, flashes of light bounce off the windshield. The muscles in my jaw tighten. My neck stiffens. My hands, locked in a death grip on the steering wheel, grow cold, numb. My gaze darts to the rearview mirror. Unable to look away from the looming vehicle behind me, I throw my left arm up to block its intense beams.

The steering wheel jerks to the right, pitching the passenger-side wheels off the road. I grasp the steering wheel with both hands and pull to the left, but overcorrect. The car careens across the snow-swept blacktop, skids beyond the center line.

When I finally pull the car into the right lane, my heart is pounding, my body trembling, while my grip on the steering wheel goes weak.

***

Excerpt from Lest She Forget by Lisa Malice. Copyright 2023 by Lisa Malice. Reproduced with permission from CamCat Books. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Lisa Malice

Lisa Malice earned her B.S. in psychology at the University of Minnesota, her M.S. and Ph.D. at the Georgia Institute of Technology. Her debut novel, Lest She Forget, a psychological thriller, was a finalist in five unpublished manuscript contests. Lisa is an active member of Sisters in Crime, International Thriller Writers, Mystery Writers of America, and the Authors Guild. A native of Minnesota, Lisa lived in the Atlanta area with her husband for nearly thirty years before moving to the Tampa area in 2019 to enjoy a life of sailing, fishing, and shelling on the Florida Gulf Coast. They have two adult children and a granddog.

Catch Up With Lisa Malice:
www.LisaMalice.com
Goodreads
Instagram – @LisaMaliceAuthor
Twitter/X – @LisaWMalice
Facebook – @LisaMaliceAuthor

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway!

 

 

Enter for a Chance to WIN:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for CamCat Books and Lisa Malice. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

  • You can see my Giveaways HERE.
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  • If you like what you see, why don’t you follow me?
  • Look on the right sidebar and let’ talk.
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Giveaway – Marianne Scott, Best Selling Author @ireadbooktours @MScottauthor44


 

Books Details:

Book Title:  Finding Ruby Draker, Shadows in the Aftermath, Reinhardt, and Underneath the Fireflies by Marianne Scott
Category:  Adult Fiction (18+)
Genre: Mystery / Thriller
Publisher:  Crowe Creations
Release dates:  Re-release 2023
Content Rating:  PG-13. Occasional colloquial language is used in dialog. Nothing that would offend the most discerning reader/s.

Giveaway & Review – Deadly Tides by Mary Keliikoa @partnersincr1me @mary_keliikoa

Deadly Tides by Mary Keliikoa Banner

Deadly Tides

by Mary Keliikoa

October 23 – November 17, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

MY REVIEW

I was drawn into the mystery by the cover for Deadly Tides by Mary Keliikoa. Isn’t it gorgeous? And, the man is silhouetted on the beach. Oh yeah, I’m in.

Abby has a lot on her plate. Her grief over the loss of her daughter to leukemia and her mother’s early onset Alzheimer, at times overwhelms her. It is her job with the FBI that keeps her moving through the days.

Jax is the Sheriff of Misty Pines. When his and Abby’s cases intersect, they struggle to keep their personal lives separate from their professional lives. This is where I feel I missed out by not reading the first book in the series, Hidden Pieces. Does this affect my review? Yes, it did, so keep that in mind.

Abby’s mother had found a shoe…with a severed foot in it and wanted to keep it. I remember seeing TV shows with this as the subject and I even surfed the web to find out more. Do you ever do that? Read something in a novel, then have to do your own research to satisfy your curiosity? That’s a definite plus.

I love when Rachel comes into the picture, with her failed K9 partner, Koa. She wants a job, away from her parents. She is gay and her father thinks he can fix her. I love that Jax supports her and calls out his friend, her father, about his opinions. After all, Jax had lost a daughter, and Jameson still has one, if he would get over being so judgmental. I love a character like Rachel who marches to her own drum and makes the best of a bad situation.

We have lots of suspects…and motives, so solving the mystery is not simple.

I found myself picking up the book and putting it down. Was it too wordy? Too all over the place? Was it me? The pace and tension picked up near the end of the book and that left me with a feeling of satisfaction. I did waiver between a three and a four rating and I think that’s because of my confusion from not reading Book I, Hidden Pieces. So, if you are interested in the series, I highly recommend beginning with Book I.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

Synopsis:

A missing surf legend. Waterlogged clues. Can he trust his gut instincts to end the wave of murder?

Sheriff Jax Turner is learning to live again. Holding tight to the hope of reconciling with his FBI agent ex-wife, the wary man is determined to keep his focus on his coastal Oregon community. And after a concerned brother requests a welfare check, Jax is troubled to find the absent surf shop owner’s tracks lead to a pool of blood.

Now investigating a potential homicide, Turner chases a tip from his former spouse about a severed foot found on the beach. But when a torrent of leads links the victim to a politician’s son, a jealous competitor, and a get-straight program for youth, the steadfast lawman fears layers of lies and secret agendas will keep him from stopping a vicious killer.

Can he unravel the fatal agenda before he’s the next corpse to wash ashore?

If you like flawed heroes, gritty crimes, and dark twists and turns, then you’ll love Deadly Tides, the chilling second book in Mary Keliikoa’s Misty Pines Mystery Series.

 

Praise for Deadly Tides:

“Keliikoa has crafted a page-turning second installment….An intense and satisfying whodunit.”
~ Kirkus Reviews

“In this atmospheric second entry in her Misty Pines series, Mary Keliikoa has crafted a taut, small-town police procedural with a fine cast of compelling characters. Deadly Tides is a marvelously labyrinthine mystery that lays bare the tortured nature of a spirit driven to murder. That alone would be enough to recommend it. But it’s also a poignant exploration of loss and the difficult journey that leads to healing. In the crime genre, that’s a rare and beautiful accomplishment.”
~ William Kent Krueger, author of Fox Creek and This Tender Land

“In Mary Keliikoa’s Deadly Tides, a small seaside town can be murder. A perfect blend of a twisty whodunnit and a heartbreaking examination of loss and love, Deadly Tides is a thrilling continuation of this new series!”
~ Rachel Howzell Hall, best-selling novelist of We Lie Here and These Toxic Things

“Fantastic! A severed foot, a pool of blood, a missing man, and an expanding web of suspects in the small Oregon town of Misty Pines. Sheriff Jax Turner sure has his hands full. Mary Keliikoa’s “Deadly Tides” is as taut as a drum, a real page-turner with a propulsive climax that’ll have you literally holding your breath. Loved it.”
~ Tracy Clark, author of the Cass Raines Chicago Mystery series and the Det. Harriet Foster series

 

Book Details:

Genre: Police Procedural, Psychological Suspense
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: October 2023
Number of Pages: 299
ISBN: 9781685122799 (ISBN10: 1685122795)
Series: Misty Pines Mystery, #2
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads

 

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER 1

Abby Kanekoa rolled through town in her Prius, searching the empty streets and worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. Stonebridge Assisted Living Center had called an hour ago to let her know her mother, Dora Michaels, had walked away. Again.

It was early January on the Oregon coast. There’d been no substantial rainfall for several days. The chilly mist-filled winds had come through that morning, though, and the center couldn’t say exactly when her mother had slipped out their door. Time to put a better lock on that thing. Mom might not be drenched to the bone, but she’d be cold.

Thankfully, this was Abby’s scheduled day off. Not that the FBI didn’t work with her regardless. After her daughter, Lulu, died of leukemia, they’d brought her back to the team as if she’d never left. They understood her bad days. Same since her divorce. Despite what Jax thought about how she’d handled her grief, burying herself in her work and having the support of the Bureau had saved her more than once.

Especially the flex schedule. With her mother’s early onset of Alzheimer’s, it allowed for these occasional searches.

Or not so occasional, as it were. Mom had escaped three times this month.

Greenery and garland from the holidays still clung to the streetlamps on Misty Pines’ main strip. But she had yet to catch a glimmer of her mother’s fiery red hair. At a crawl, Abby glanced inside each of the storefronts. Last time, she’d found her mother at the donut counter picking out an apple fritter.

“Honey’s favorite,” she’d repeated all the way to the car, her hand gripping a white bag full of them.

Abby’s Hawaiian father—“Honey,” as her mother had called him—had treated the family to fritters every Saturday morning since Abby could remember. He’d died twenty years ago, but Abby had continued the tradition with her own family until Lulu died, and it became too painful. Today, the donut shop’s seats and barstools were empty.

On Scholls Ferry Road, kids played on the swings and monkey bars of the elementary school. The time before the donut shop, Abby had found Mom by the cyclone fence, her fingers clenching the metal lattice, watching the kindergarten class play kickball. They both cried as Abby drove her back to the facility. Alzheimer’s had been brutal to her mother, stealing much of her mind. But memories of Lulu were ingrained, even deeper than those of Abby; Dora often gazed at her like they’d never met.

Abby pulled in front of the bookstore, ignoring the pang in her chest. Emily Krueger greeted her from behind the counter, sorting a new shipment of novels with bare-chested men and women in flowing gowns on their covers.

Abby explained the situation.

“I haven’t seen your mom. But I’ll call if I do.” Emily reached a hand across the counter and squeezed Abby’s forearm. Emily had endured the disappearance of her own daughter a few months ago. If anyone understood Abby’s concern, Emily did.

“Thank you. I’m sure she’s just out picking flowers or….” Or what? Where did a sixty-four-year-old woman wander to? What was she looking for when she left the warm confines of the assisted living home into the cool and murky outdoors?

“Maybe she’s folding laundry,” Emily said.

Abby chuckled despite her worry. During the summer, Dora had strolled into the laundromat down the road to fold a stranger’s tighty-whities. But that’s also why fear prickled Abby’s spine now. Dora stuck to the downtown area when she walked off.

Why not this time?

Abby slid back into her car and dialed Trudy at the sheriff’s station.

“No reports about your mom have come in today,” Trudy said.

“You’ll call if one does?”

“Certainly, hon. And I’ll let Jax know.”

Jax. Abby stretched her neck. “Don’t bother him. If needed, I’ll call him later.”

“Uh oh. I thought you two had decided to work on your relationship.”

“We’ve been so busy and….” Abby trailed off. She didn’t have a good reason for why things hadn’t progressed between them, only that she was to blame.

“It’ll work itself out,” Trudy said. “You’ve both been through a lot.”

Abby gnawed on her thumbnail. “Yeah. You’re right.”

“Have you checked the ocean parks?”

“Next on my list.”

Abby accelerated out of town, tension growing in her shoulders. It shouldn’t be so easy for residents to walk out of an assisted living center. In truth, she was more annoyed with herself that Dora had to be there in the first place.

But Abby had to work and couldn’t give her mom the full-time care she needed. Better facilities could be found in Portland, those focused on memory diseases, but they were a couple-hour drive. At least when her mom walked off from Stonebridge, she couldn’t get far, and Abby was close enough to hop in her car to search. She’d been in law enforcement long enough to know those thirty to sixty minutes could make all the difference.

A fact she was being reminded of today and another source of frustration. Abby hadn’t caught the call on her phone when the staff at Stonebridge first reached out this morning. It took three attempts. She’d been in the shower shaving her legs, of all things. As if anyone would notice.

Abby turned into the boat basin. She cruised through the parking lot, noting the fishing boats rocking dockside. She scanned each of them, spotting a crew of fishermen getting ready to brave the bar, but no redheads traversed the area.

Next, she headed out Ocean Drive, turning onto Meddle Road a couple of miles later. The route led to the ocean and was miles from the facility. Too far for Dora to wander? She’d been gone for half a day. If motivated, she could have made it this far. Abby’s hands tightened on the wheel. Thick mist had rolled in and hung in the sky. The temperature had dipped.

She swung her car into the abandoned beach parking lot and got out. Wind whistled past her as she crested the top of the lot and scanned the shore. The sand blasted against her pant legs with hollow pops and stung her face. She lowered the sunglasses from the top of her head onto her eyes and wrapped her jacket tighter as the cool air bit through the thin fabric.

Where are you, Mom?

Seagulls squawked overhead, catching the drafts. A few landed near the surf, arguing over an empty Styrofoam container. Aside from birds, though, the beach was empty. Only rocks stood sentinel offshore, water eddying around them. This was too far south of one of the surfing beaches and too far north of the other. No place to crab or fish here either. Summer had long passed for tourists to visit, except for the random one or two that had lost their way and stumbled upon the place. The local morning beachcombers had already come and gone, likely sipping coffee in front of a warm fire by now.

Abby’s focus drifted to the tree lined cliffs in the distance. Some trees had fallen, catapult and hapless, onto the dunes. Other had come in on the tide. Abby scanned the area for signs of her mother. That’s when she saw the splash of red rising from a row of logs near the sandy ridge.

Whatever was there had hunkered down. Hiding?

Mom. Abby raced down the hill, the soft white sand sucking at her practical flats. She gave up and kicked them aside. Fifty yards farther, she hit the hardpack and sprinted, the wind at her back. As she drew closer, another flash of red provided certainty that it was hair flapping in the wind.

“Mom, is that you?” Abby hollered.

She slowed her pace to a walk as she approached. The woman was dressed in a nightgown and hunched like a turtle with only her back showing. Shaking. Her red hair, streaked in gray, whipped upward. My god. She was whimpering.

Abby’s heart pounded. Her mother must be freezing.

She almost ran again but it was always best to approach Dora in the same manner she’d approach a small child. Or a suspect.

“Mom?” she said again. Still no response. If she was deep in her illness, the word might not register. “Dora?”

Her mother lifted her head. “It’s mine.”

Abby blew out a long, weary sigh. She’d found Dora—alive and talking. That’s what mattered. Slipping out of her jacket, Abby draped it over her mom before sitting on the log next to her.

“You sure came a long way.” Abby gazed out at the water. Relief at finding her mother unharmed whooshed through her like the breeze around them. Her heartbeat found its steady rhythm. “How about we get someplace warm and dry? Pancakes sound good, don’t they? Let’s find some hot pancakes and drench them in real maple syrup. You’d love that, right?”

“Okay. But I want to take it with me. I found it.”

Her mother had probably discovered some unique shell or glass fishing float. Whatever she’d found, she could keep. Abby would help her display it in her room. “Sure, Mom.”

Dora straightened, and Abby’s stomach twisted at the sight of the blood saturating the front of her mother’s white gown.

“Are you okay?” Abby said, her voice inching up.

Then she saw the source of the blood.

In her hands, she held a tennis shoe containing a severed foot.

***

Excerpt from DEADLY TIDES by Mary Keliikoa. Copyright 2023 by Mary Keliikoa. Reproduced with permission from Mary Keliikoa. All rights reserved.

 

Author Bio:

Mary Keliikoa

Eighteen years in the legal field, and an over-active imagination, led Pacific NW native Mary Keliikoa to start writing mystery and suspense. She is the author of the award-winning HIDDEN PIECES and DEADLY TIDES, both part of the Misty Pines mystery series, the PI Kelly Pruett mystery series including the multi-award nominated DERAILED for best debut, and the upcoming stand-alone DON’T ASK, DON’T FOLLOW out Summer of 2024. She’s also had short stories in Woman’s World and the anthology, Peace, Love, and Crime.

Catch Up With Mary:
MaryKeliikoa.com
Goodreads
BookBub – @mary_keliikoa
Instagram – @mary.keliikoa.author
Twitter/X – @mary_keliikoa
Facebook – @Mary.Keliikoa.Author

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway!

 

 

ENTER FOR A CHANCE TO WIN

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Mary Keliikoa. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

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

Giveaway – Girl On Trial by Kathleen Fine @partnersincr1me @kathleenfine

Girl on Trial by Kathleen Fine Banner

Girl on Trial

by Kathleen Fine

October 23 – November 17, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Does doing one bad thing make you a bad person?

Sixteen-year-old Emily Keller, known by the media as Keller the Killer, is accused of causing the deaths of a family of four, including young children. Emily is one of the youngest females to be accused of a crime so heinous, making this the nation’s biggest trial of the year. But what really happened that fateful night—and who’s responsible—is anything but straightforward.

Living in a trailer park in Baltimore with her twin brother and alcoholic mother, Emily’s life hasn’t been easy. She’s had to grow up fast, and like any teen, has made questionable decisions in a desperate attempt to fit in with her peers. Will her mistakes amount to a guilty verdict and a life in prison? It’s up to the jury to decide.

Praise for Girl on Trial:

“Kathleen Fine has written a compassionate, thought-provoking thriller that will have readers asking themselves big questions about redemption while also turning the pages with breathless anticipation. From her opening pages, Fine grabbed my attention and didn’t let go until I closed the book, hardly twenty four hours later. Fine’s story reminds us that everyone has a backstory and that the root of empathy involves discovering the particulars of someone else’s history with an open heart and mind.”
~ Christie Tate, Author of Reese’s Book Club and NYT bestseller GROUP

“In her sharp debut Girl on Trial, Kathleen Fine deftly weaves the past with 16 year-old Emily Keller’s present-day manslaughter trial, allowing readers to put together the puzzle pieces of what really happened the day everyone says Emily killed an entire family. With her vivid characters and a well-developed setting, Fine evokes compassion for people trying their best and reminds us that there’s more to every story than meets the eye. Girl on Trial asks readers to wonder: are we more than our biggest mistake, and does everyone deserve redemption?”
~ Jessie Weaver, author of Live Your Best Lie

“Readers will be on edge as Emily’s decisions lead her to become involved in and vulnerable to dangerous situations… The epilogue brings the roller-coaster ride to a satisfying conclusion…. Gripping, tragic, but ultimately hopeful.”
~ Kirkus

“In Kathleen Fine’s Girl on Trial…interpersonal dynamics are revelatory… reality wars with public perception…a suspenseful thriller in which a maligned teenager is forced to fight for justice.”
~ Foreword Reviews

Book Details:

Genre: YA Contemporary Mystery/Thriller
Published by: CamCat Books
Publication Date: October 2023
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 9780744306835 (ISBN10: 0744306833)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | CamCat Books

Read an excerpt:

Prologue

January 12, 2022
i

“The only reason I come to this meeting is for my weekly caffeine high,” Tiffani with an i admitted. Emily nodded at her friend as she took a sip of her lukewarm, watered-down coffee, a taste she’d gotten used to. A taste she now associated with healing.

“I’m not no strung-out addict or nothin’,” Tiffani continued and then focused on Emily, remembering that Emily, in fact, wasn’t there just for the coffee. “No offense—wasn’t tryin’ to say nothin’ bad about addicts. It’s just they don’t give us caffeine inside, ya know?”

“No offense taken.” Emily smiled as she wrapped both hands around her coffee cup, relaxing her tense shoulders. She’d become used to Tiffani’s candor and had grown to appreciate the woman’s raw honesty. She watched as Tiffani sprinkled some sugar into her undersized paper cup and stirred it with the plastic spoon tied to a container with blue yarn. Tiffani glanced around the room and then untied the yarn, placing the spoon into the pocket of her gray, state-issued sweatpants. Emily bit her lip, debating if she should stop her, but then decided not to. Tiffani was going to do what Tiffani wanted to do—she always did and always would.

“I gnaw on the edges of this enough and it gives me a sorta sharp blade.” She gave Emily a wink as she patted her pocket, keeping the new weapon safe as she took a seat in the circle with the other women.

“One minute, ladies,” the guard announced to the group as the chatter quieted down and the women took their seats in the circle. Emily picked up an NA book from the only empty seat in the circle that Nikki left for her as a placeholder. She sat down in its place, shifting uncomfortably in the metal chair. She moved her eyes toward the group secretary, Darlene, as she flipped through a stack of papers on her lap.

“Hello, I’m an addict and my name is Darlene. Welcome to the Lincoln Juvenile Correctional Center’s group of Narcotics Anonymous. Can we open this meeting with a moment of silence for the addict who still suffers, followed by the serenity prayer?” Emily closed her eyes and took a deep breath as she tried to stop her palms from sweating. She still got anxious even though she’d been attending the meeting every week for the past year. How has it been an entire year? she wondered. So much has happened in only twelve months.

“Is there anyone here attending their first NA meeting or this meeting for the first time?” Darlene asked. “If so, welcome! You’re the most important person here! If you’ve used today, please listen to what’s being said and talk to someone at the break or after the meeting. It costs nothing to belong to this fellowship; you are a member when you say you are. Can someone please read, Who Is an Addict? and What Is Narcotics Anonymous?

“I will,” Chantelle volunteered as she reached across the circle, grabbed the paper from Darlene, and began reading aloud to the group.

“Yo, Em,” Nikki leaned over and whispered in Emily’s ear. “You celebratin’ today?” Emily nodded at her timidly. She didn’t like speaking in front of people even if it was a group of women she trusted.

“You’ll do great,” Nikki whispered as she punched Emily lightly in the arm. Emily peered around the circle to make sure no one was paying attention to Nikki’s whispers. They weren’t supposed to have side conversations during the meeting—the guard would send them out of the room if he caught them.

When Chantelle finished the reading, Darlene thanked her and said, “Now can someone please read Why We Are Here and How It Works?”

Emily watched anxiously as the paper was passed down to Trina. She closed her eyes and listened to Trina’s words, clenching her jaw tightly.

“I used last night,” Nikki muttered so quietly, Emily wasn’t sure if she was meant to hear her. She glanced over at Nikki, who was staring down into her coffee cup shamefully. Nikki had been the first person to introduce herself to Emily at her initial meeting, making her Emily’s OG friend in the group. Emily furrowed her brow and placed her hand on top of Nikki’s. She wished Nikki had told her about the relapse earlier—then she could have had an actual conversation with her about it. She wondered where Nikki could’ve gotten her hands on anything since she’d heard a rumor the guards had been doing weekly bunk checks.

One day at a time, Nikki had told Emily, so many months before when she’d been a broken shell of herself. “One day at a time,” Emily whispered, trying not to let the guard hear their buzzing.

Seeing Emily’s tentative face, Nikki mumbled, “My roommate snuck some smack up her papusa. Had her boyfriend’s kid bring it in when he visited her. Whack, dude. Whack.” She shook her head and rubbed her buzzed hair with her rugged hands. “She’s a bad influence on me. I gotta get a new roommate.”

Emily frowned, aware that there was nothing she could do to help Nikki. Nikki had to want sobriety for herself, just like Emily had wanted it. She squeezed Nikki’s hand tightly and whispered, “Glad you’re here.” As much as Nikki’s relapse upset her, it gave her a tiny bit of strength to share her story. Maybe she could help Nikki even a little bit today by sharing her own struggles.

“No touching,” the guard yelled from across the room, eyeing Nikki and Emily. As if being scolded by a teacher, Emily reddened and instantly pulled her hand away from Nikki’s.

Darlene reached below her chair and lifted a shoebox to her lap. “This group recognizes length of clean time by handing out key tags. If you have one coming to you, please come up and get it. The white one is for anyone with zero to twenty-nine days clean and serene.” Darlene opened the box to reveal a white key tag and dangled it in the air. Nikki glanced at Emily and then hesitantly stood up to collect her tag. The group clapped and whistled wildly as she crossed the circle and took her tag. She gave a couple of the women fist bumps as the group chanted, “What do we do? Keep coming back!” Emily put her fist out as Nikki gave it a bump. She hoped this small gesture, this modest group of women cheering for Nikki, would be the reason she’d quit for good this time.

“The orange one is for thirty days clean and serene.” Emily watched as two women got up, collected their tags, and sat back down. Applause and chanting “What do we do? Keep coming back!” vibrated the room.

As Darlene handed out the tags for two months, three months, and so on, Emily gripped her chair, knowing her turn was coming. Her palms, damp with her sweat, began to slip along the chair’s metal sides.

“The yellow one is for nine months clean and serene,” Darlene announced.

Nikki peered at Emily and nudged her bicep. “Your turn is coming up soon,” she whispered. Emily smiled at her, trying to give the façade of bravery, but she felt anything but brave. What she really wanted to do was run as fast as she could out of the room and into the parking lot.

“The glow-in-the-dark one is for a year clean and serene.” You can do this, Emily thought as she unsteadily stood up and walked toward Darlene. All the women in the room clapped loudly and chanted as she took the tag and went back to her seat, her face flushing with pride.

Darlene placed the box back under her chair and collected the sheets of readings from the women who had read. “Today, Emily is celebrating her one-year anniversary with us. You ready, Em?”

The women’s applause quieted and all eyes turned toward her. Clenching her fists tightly, she felt her beating heart rise to her throat. She scanned the room at the women and girls before her. Addicts, inmates, and friends. My people, Emily thought as she said, “My name is Emily, and I am an addict. This is my story . . .”

1

Trial Day 1: January 7, 2019
i

The alarm on Emily’s phone chimed just as Sophie whispered in her ear, “Wake up, Emawee. Wake up.” She opened her eyes widely, her body covered in sweat, her sheets soaked yet again. “Time to wake up.” She heard Sophie’s whisper get farther away, humming distantly from somewhere in her dreams.

From somewhere in her nightmares.

As she turned off the alarm, she tried to overlook the numerous text messages that’d surfaced from numbers she didn’t recognize.

“Die, killer”

“You’ll pay in hell for what you did.”

“Murderer”

How can people I don’t even know want me dead?

With shaky hands, she deleted the texts as a CNN report popped up on her screen, updating her on the “Trial of the Year,” that was beginning that day:

CNN Breaking News
The Biggest Trial of the Year Begins Today, January 7, 2019. Emily Keller, also known by the media as Keller the Killer, is accused of causing the deaths of four family members, two of them small children. Only 16 years old, Emily is one of the youngest females to be accused of a crime so heinous.

Emily buried her face in her pillow, taking a deep breath. She tried to hold back the habitual tears that were creeping out from the corners of her eyes. I have to be strong today; no crying, she told herself as she rubbed her temples slowly. I need to put on my protective armor, or I’ll never make it through today alive. She reached under her mattress, grabbed her orange pill bottle and gave it a shake, the rattling sound of the tablets comforting her. She poured two pills onto her clammy palm and placed them gently on her tongue. Protective armor.

“Emily?” her brother, Nate, quietly inched open the bedroom door, “You awake? It’s time to start getting ready for court.”

Without looking up at him, she nodded as she rolled out of bed, trying not to think about how wrong the prosecution had the facts and how she could be sent to prison because of it. As she attempted to walk toward the door, her ankle monitor snagged on her lavender bedsheet. She yanked the sheet off in frustration and dragged her feet to the bathroom to prepare for the first day of her new life.

Debbie and Nate were already waiting for her in Debbie’s rumbling Toyota Camry when she stepped out of the trailer.

“It’s your turn for shotgun.” Emily opened the door to the backseat where Nate was already buckled in.

“You can take it today,” he muttered, avoiding eye contact with her.

“I don’t need pity shotgun just because I’m on trial for murder, Nate,” Emily replied curtly as she reluctantly sat down in the front seat. As she buckled her seat belt, she already regretted scolding Nate for doing something kind. I’ll apologize to him later, she told herself. Nate had been up with her until three o’clock that morning, listening to her cry and consoling her. I don’t deserve him, she thought, squeezing her eyes shut.

She rolled down her window and took a deep breath of fresh morning air as her mom lit a Virginia Slim, her hands trembling. “Morning vodka shot hasn’t kicked in yet?” Emily muttered under her breath as she turned on the radio. Or maybe one shot doesn’t cut it anymore, Emily thought.

“What hasn’t kicked in?” Debbie asked as she ashed her cigarette into an empty coke can, oblivious to Emily’s disrespectful comment.

“Coffee hasn’t kicked in yet?” Emily corrected herself as she investigated her face in the cracked side mirror of the car. The face staring back at Emily was swollen from weeks of nonstop crying. Although she’d put on some of her mom’s waterproof mascara, she still looked like someone had run her over with a truck. You’re so repulsive, she thought as she tried to comb her drab chestnut hair with her fingers, squinting at her image through the cracked glass. She wanted to disappear. Sink down into the seat of the car and disappear forever.

As she pinched her upper cheekbones to give her face some color, she glanced at Nate through the corner of the broken mirror, hoping he couldn’t tell she was staring at him through the mosaic lens. Since he had headphones in his ears, she assumed he was listening to a news podcast about the trial. The expression on his face looked like it was straining to stay calm, but she could read his emotions no matter how hard he tried to hide them. When you shared a womb with someone, you knew everything they were feeling.

There was actually supposed to be three of them. Her dad had left when he’d found out Debbie was pregnant with triplets. He’d said since he didn’t want one baby, he definitely didn’t want three. Emily used to sometimes think about how different her life would’ve been if their other brother hadn’t died at birth. Maybe he would’ve punched Tom Swanson for dumping her two years ago since Nate didn’t do a thing about it. Maybe he would’ve taught Emily to throw a football since Nate was anti-athletics.

Maybe he could’ve stopped Emily before she lost herself. Maybe he could’ve stopped this whole situation. Maybe no one would have died.

“Valerie told us to meet her around back when I spoke to her on the phone last night,” Emily directed her mom as they pulled up to the courthouse. Debbie nodded as she navigated her ancient car around to the back of the building, avoiding the crowd hovering at the entrance.

“Shit, look at all of the people,” Nate announced as he stared at the crowd and cameras surrounding the front of the building. No one seemed to notice their rickety car escape past the swell to the rear parking lot. Maybe they were expecting some sort of official-looking black SUV like you see in crime movies and not our pathetic piece of tin, Emily speculated, thinking about how some seniors at her school owned nicer cars than her mom’s. She peeked down at her gray dress and nervously picked little lint balls off it as her mom parked the car.

“You look fine, Em,” Debbie insisted as she opened a mini bottle of vodka from her purse and took a swig, “That dress looks lovely on you.” Debbie had spent her tip money to buy Emily “new” thrift store clothes for the trial. Emily was now pulling at a seam on the edge of the dress, making it unravel.

As she waited for her mom to finish her shot, she felt around for the phone in her purse to make sure it was turned off. She’d turn it on later that night once her mom and Nate were sleeping so she could read through her texts and the news in privacy. That way, if she cried, no one would see her. Strong people don’t cry, she told herself.

“You need a pill?” Debbie asked as she fumbled through the large purse on her lap. The Valium Emily had taken that morning was beginning to set in, and she was starting to feel unreasonably calm.

“I’m good.” Although I’ll need another one soon, she thought. It hurt her too much to live in reality.

Emily’s lawyer, Valerie Anderson, was standing at the back entrance of the building, propping open the heavy metal door with her bright red heel. As Emily stepped out of the car, Valerie waved her hands frantically, “Quick, before they catch on that you’re back here!” she shrieked as she lifted her long, hot pink nails to her mouth.

“We better hurry.” Debbie grabbed Nate’s and Emily’s hands, tugging them toward Valerie.

“Wait,” Emily urged as she struggled to catch up to her petite mom’s gait. Without warning, her black heel wobbled to the side and she stumbled, falling onto the hard concrete. Before she had the chance to assess the damage to her knees, Nate dropped his mom’s hand, grabbed Emily up by the arm, and quickly escorted her to the door. As they approached Valerie, all eyes looked to the blood running down Emily’s knees. Emily was surprised the wounds stung so badly even though the rest of her felt numb.

“We’ll have to find some Band-Aids ASAP before we converse.” Valerie’s heels echoed in the hallway as she led them to their room. Emily slouched over even more than she had been as she followed Valerie, spying the name Keller stuck to a metal door with a yellow Post-it. As they stepped inside, the heavy door slammed behind them with a loud thud.

***

Excerpt from Girl on Trial by Kathleen Fine. Copyright 2023 by Kathleen Fine. Reproduced with permission from Kathleen Fine. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Kathleen Fine

Kathleen Fine received her Master’s in Reading Education from Towson University and Bachelor’s in Elementary Education from University of Maryland, College Park. She is a member of the Maryland Writers Association, International Thriller Writers, and Author’s Guild. When she’s not writing and selling real estate, she enjoys spending time with her family, traveling to the Outer Banks, and of course, reading anything she can get her hands on. She currently lives in Baltimore, Maryland with her husband, three children, and Sussex Spaniel. Her short stories have been published in Litro Magazine, Pen in Hand, The Maryland Writer’s Association Anthology, and in The Indignor Playhouse Anthology. Girl on Trial is her debut novel.

Catch Up With Our Author, Kathleen Fine:
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Instagram – @kathleenfineauthor
Twitter/X – @kathleenfine
Facebook – @fine.kathleen
TikTok – @kathleenfineauthor

 

 

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Giveaway & Review – The Prime Suspense by Lauren Carr @iReadBookTours @TheMysteryLadie

 



Book Details:

Book Title The Prime Suspect (A Sam MacKade PI Mystery) by Lauren Carr
Category:  Adult Fiction (18 +), 430 pages
Genre:  Mystery
Publisher:  Acorn Book Services
Release date:   Oct 26, 2023
Content Rating:  PG-13 (Lauren Carr’s books are murder mysteries, so there are murders involved. Occasionally, a murder will happen on stage. There is sexual content, but always behind closed doors. Some mild swearing (a hell or a damn few and far between). No F-bombs!


The plot is twisted. The characters are full of depth, with many hiding secrets. Mackade’s two dogs and Greyson’s cat are not only smart, but have attitude with a capital A.  I don’t want to spoil anything, so all I am going to say is the cat is the hero who deals with one personal threat.”  Marilyn R. Wilson, Author, Speaker, Book Reviewer, review of THE PRIME SUSPECT

“Lauren Carr is among my favorite mystery writers. She knows how to write a fun tale while keeping readers engaged. … – Amy Campbell, Locks Hooks and Books

“I am, bottom line, amazed at the giant step that places Carr comparable to significant authors whose name slips off our tongues like, for instance, Nora Roberts. Watch this author–she’s moving quickly to where her goals are headed…” – review by Glenda Bixler, Book Readers Heaven

Lauren Carr is a master storyteller who combines the humor of Janet Evanovich and the investigative skills of Patricia Cornwell. She is always at the top of my reading list.” – review by Sherry Fundin, Fundinmental, As Eye See It

MY REVIEW

Lauren Carr has a large cast of characters in her novels and it amazes me how she is able to keep them clear in her mind, and the list in the beginning of her books helps me keep them clear in my mind.

A lone man walking across a deserted campus late at night. Such were the makings of suspense novels.

That was Dr Dermont Lynch’s thoughts as he walked through the deserted campus to his vehicle and was shot and killed. Bryce’s life has never been the same, since many think she was the person who killed him.

Sam MacKade’s mentor had tried to kill him, causing his injury that forced him out of the police force. He became a private eye. He hadn’t let anyone close, except for his canine companions. Will Bryce be the one to open his eyes, his heart and his life to…more?

Dogs, like Gus and Cleo, Dutch Shepherds, are hallmarks of Lauren Carr’s novels. They put many smiles on my face, at times having me laughing out loud. Lauren’s writing and creativity in describing their actions, antics and training add so much delicious goodness and feel good feelings to her stories. Between them and Sam, I think the Sam MacKade series may be my new favorite.

Bryce Greyson is one of the main characters, but her friends, Susan, Erin and Cat play important roles. With so much action and mystery, we have plenty of room for lots of characters.

“Don’t let the cat leave town.”

Bryce’s cat Misha, is a Ninja Cat and I LOVE IT! The whole situation in Bryce’s house, around page 360, was at turns funny, frightening and frustrating. I laughed at the mayhem Misha caused protecting her domain.

The Prime Suspect by Lauren Carr is filled with hours of reading entertainment. We have more than one mystery, danger and suspense, dogs with giant personalities and a ninja cat…oh my…with plenty of villains suspects, thieves and murderers.

Go ahead and pick up a copy of The Prime Suspense by Lauren Carr…and try to put it down. Go ahead. I dare ya. Can’t be done. There is so much going on, so many clues to follow, so many deaths, my head is spinning and I never want it to end.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
5 Stars

Book Description:
Two murders with one common denominator. Both victims betrayed Bryce Greyson. How could she not be the prime suspect?

Four years after Bryce’s cheating husband is gunned down, her boyfriend-stealing former roommate’s remains are found buried under a statue at her alma mater.

Declared the prime suspect by both detectives and the media, Bryce has no choice but to hire someone to clear her name.

Enter Sam MacKade, private eye.

To solve two murders, the former police K-9 officer and his canine partners must sift through the clues and the lies to reveal the true prime suspect.
Buy the Book:
(available for pre-order)
Amazon 
add to goodreads
Meet the Author:

Selling over half a million books worldwide, Lauren Carr is the international best-selling author of the Mac Faraday, Lovers in Crime, Thorny Rose, Chris Matheson Cold Case Mysteries, and Nikki Bryant Cozy Mysteries—thirty titles across five fast-paced mystery series filled with twists and turns!

Book reviewers and readers alike rave about how Lauren Carr seamlessly crosses genres to include mystery, suspense, crime fiction, police procedurals, romance, and humor. 

The owner of Acorn Book Services and iRead Book Tours, Lauren is also a publishing manager, consultant, and virtual book tour coordinator for independent authors.  

Lauren is a popular speaker who has made appearances at schools, youth groups, and author panels at conventions. 

She lives with her husband, and two spoiled rotten German shepherds on a mountain in Harpers Ferry, WV. 

connect with the author:  website ~ amazon facebook ~ instagram ~ twitter 
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Enter the Giveaway:
THE PRIME SUSPECT by Lauren Carr Book Review Tour Giveaway



MY LAUREN CARR REVIEWS

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All About Eve – The Girl From The Basement by Michael B Chikondi #michaelbchikondi #vampires

Amazon / Goodreads

MY REVIEW

Because The Girl From The Basement by Michael B Chikondi is the third book in the Idle Hands series, I am not going to go into specifics and spoil anything for you. I will, however, tell you how much I have enjoyed learning about Michael’s complicated brand of vampires. We have politics, betrayals, killing at the drop of a hat, conspiracy and machinations for power. Sound familiar? Sound human?

Sinjen is a fascinating vampire. Sure, he will kill at the drop of a hat, but he has his own set or morals. I find his neediness funny and sad at the same time.

Sinjen is working with Lord Aster, investigating the rogues, but when he meets Eve, it becomes all about Eve. She is not who or what she appears to be. He has a complicated relationship with Miriam, a human and an order of monks have an extreme dislike for his kind. We have a lot of action and players involved in, but Sinjen is a master at maneuvering around and manipulating others.

Brace yourself for The Girl From The Basement, Book 3 of the Idle Hands series, by Michael B Chikondi. With this series, you will need to begin at the beginning, with Book I, Like Father Like Son.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
4 Stars

GOODREADS BLURB

After the events in the Highlands, Sinjen begins to work with Lord Aster to uncover the truth about the rogues they discovered. As the vampire couple begins to integrate into Nightfall, Sinjen is sent away, in search of the fledgeling who escaped their clutches. By the time he meets Eve Morgan, something is wrong. Either someone got here before him, or Eve might be something abnormal. While he gets to the bottom of it, he finds he has two other problems. Miriam’s safety, and an order of monks with a particular dislike of the undead.

  • Genre: Fiction, Mystery, Paranormal, Supernatural, Suspense, Thriller, Vampires
  • 227 pages, Kindle Edition
  • Published August 20, 2023
  • Series: Idle Hands, #3

ABOUT MICHAEL B CHIKONDI (from Amazon)

Michael B. Chikondi is not to be trusted, but the creature agrees to a meeting in its burrow. We enter with trepidation, given that the thing has no doorbell. As we crawl through the narrow tunnel, gored out by its own teeth, by the texture, we hear what can only be described as a hacking cough.

“Can we approach?” we call.

“No soliciting.” the voice returns.

“You sent for us; you told us to ask you questions. You know, for promotional reasons.”

“Ask.” the dread voice responds.

“Alright, who are you?” we try.

“A creature of mist and shadow, half-mad, I used to go out, I did, and know those…humans. Not now, not since…the pen.”

“You found a pen? That’s why you became a writer?” we ask, now terrified, trying to gauge how fast we can leave the burrow. The photographer has already left us, chewing off his own watch, caught on a tree root.

“Yes, but now…I hunger…”

We are not proud; we turn tail and flee, before it can leave its den. We aren’t paid enough to get a full bio. We can only pray someone buys its books, so that the thing never comes out on its own.

Ed. What the hell is this? This isn’t what we requested. Just some nonsense and an artist’s rendition of what one of my people saw before he contracted rabies? Eh, whatever. Plenty more writers in the sea.

MY MICHAEL B CHIKONDI REVIEWS

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