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.

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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:
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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.
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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.


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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.

Catch Up With Neil Albert:
www.neilalbertauthor.com
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Library Borrow Review – Fool Me Once by Harlan Coben @HarlanCoben

Amazon / Goodreads

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.

Animated Animals. Pictures, Images and Photos
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

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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:

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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.
  • Leave your link in the comments and I will drop by to see what’s shakin’.
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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.