Category Archives: Excerpt

Giveaway – Devious Web by Shelley Grandy @partnersincr1me

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Devious Web by Shelley Grandy Banner

DEVIOUS WEB

by Shelley Grandy

February 17 – March 14, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Devious Web by Shelley Grandy

Gone Girl‘s twists, The Social Network’s scheming, and Agatha Christie’s detective sleuthing coalesce in this suspenseful mystery fiction novel set in Toronto in a mid-pandemic business environment.

When Tom Oliver, a successful Canadian entrepreneur, is offered millions from a Silicon Valley company for his data analytics business, he believes his only challenges as he considers the offer will be deciding on next steps for his company and reconciling with his aloof wife. What could possibly go wrong?

Things escalate quickly when Tom is targeted by an unknown perpetrator and his inner circle of family and colleagues comes under scrutiny. Tom’s friend, homicide detective Jason Liu, strives to keep Tom safe while he investigates to find the truth. Who would want to murder a well-liked tech CEO at the top of his game, and why? A progression of intriguing plot twists takes this bingeworthy thriller through business, politics, social media, interpersonal relationships, and even equestrian scenarios. When the dust has settled literally motivations become clear, and Tom discovers that while some relationships are worthy of long-term investment, others have expiration dates.

Praise for Devious Web:

“Writing with aplomb about a corporate world she clearly knows, Shelley Grandy has come up with a pulse-pounding psychological thriller and whodunit, with political overtones, that fully captivates. She keeps you guessing until the very end, making this an impossible book to put down.”
~ Jude Berman, author of The Die

“A truly captivating read! Shelley Grandy weaves together a web of suspense and intrigue in Devious Web, leaving readers spellbound until the final page. With its engaging plot and well-drawn characters, this book is a thrilling must-read for any lover of suspense fiction.”
~ Kelley Keehn, best-selling author of Talk Money to Me and Rich Girl, Broke Girl

“A thrilling and well-crafted read that will captivate fans of tech-driven mysteries.”
~ Publishers Weekly BookLife Reviews

“Shelley Grandy builds a complex story packed with twists and turns. Tension, characters, and connections are so well-constructed that even savvy murder mystery readers won’t see many of these developments coming.”
~ Midwest Book Review

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller
Published by: SparkPress
Publication Date: October 15, 2024
Number of Pages: 272
ISBN: 9781684632749 (ISBN10: 1684632749)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | BookBub | Simon & Schuster

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

TOM AND LAWRENCE—JULY 29, 2021

The pandemic had not been kind to Lawrence Cameron, at least not to his waistline. As The Big Guy strode across the restaurant to join him for dinner, Tom could easily see that Lawrence had packed on a few more pounds while working from home. Toronto’s legendary finance guru and media commentator had earned his nickname for his investing prowess, but now the term was even more suitable for the six-foot-two-inch, 250-pound influencer.

When Tom stood to greet him at their table, Lawrence gave him his usual whack on the back and the now customary COVID-19 elbow bump. Even though Tom had played football in high school and was himself six feet tall, he always felt dwarfed by his main investor and personal mentor. Maybe it was also because of the gap in experience between them, as Lawrence was twenty years older.

“Tom, how’s my favorite entrepreneur doing?” Lawrence asked while settling into the comfortable leather banquette reserved especially for him by the manager of ONE, the see-and-be-seen restaurant adjacent to the Hazelton Hotel in Toronto’s upscale Yorkville enclave.

“Good, thanks, Lawrence, but crazy busy with all that’s going on with the business, as you can imagine,” Tom responded.

“No doubt. And I bet you never thought that seven years in, you would have brought Pellucid so far!” Lawrence said.

Tom agreed as he reflected on how truly surreal it was that the data analytics software company he had founded— Pellucid—was valued at over US $200 million, and a Silicon Valley company was now proposing an acquisition.

To have hit that milestone at the age of thirty-eight is honestly mind-blowing, Tom thought.

“I’m looking forward to hearing your updates today, Tom, but given that Grace just put me on a no-frills diet, I’m definitely ready to dive into this menu before we get started,” Lawrence joked.

Tom smiled, knowing that Lawrence’s second wife, Grace, did her best to keep her husband’s life—and his weight—balanced. He knew Lawrence would be eyeing the restaurant’s signature lobster spoons as an appetizer and something carb-heavy and definitely not on Grace’s diet plan for the main course.

While Lawrence ordered for them, Tom admired the contemporary styling of the chic restaurant.

It’s the little things everyone missed during the restrictions of the pandemic, like being able to get together with friends or enjoying this kind of ambience, Tom thought.

Yorkville, with its high-end boutiques and elegant hotels and restaurants, was where Toronto’s elite dined and shopped. It wasn’t part of Tom’s typical day-to-day, but he and his wife, Miriam, sometimes had drinks at ONE’s expansive bar because the art gallery she curated was just around the corner.

After the waiter had filled their glasses with a Chianti Classico wine, Lawrence leaned forward and spoke quietly so other diners wouldn’t overhear.

“So, what about the acquisition? What’s the latest from Crystal Clere?” he asked.

Tom confided that the California artificial intelligence company’s CEO had confirmed he would be offering US $250 million in cash and stock to acquire Pellucid. The next step would be for Tom to receive a letter of intent formalizing the offer, and then Pellucid’s board would have until September 15—about six weeks—to decide whether to approve the sale.

“I’m open to the offer, which is certainly substantial, but I still feel a bit reluctant, Lawrence. I always envisioned taking Pellucid to an IPO on the TSX and Nasdaq myself. On the other hand, it’s hard to turn down a huge payout from a well-established company like Crystal Clere that’s a great fit for our software,” Tom said.

“Not only that, Tom, but as they say, timing is everything. The pandemic has shown you never know what kind of economic climate you might encounter just when you’re ready to take the company public. Sometimes it’s good to take a profit and focus on the next opportunity,” Lawrence said, as he nodded to acknowledge a couple of people passing by their table who obviously recognized the Big Guy from media interviews.

“That’s a great point, especially after everything we’ve seen over the last year, from market volatility to the January 6 insurrection,” Tom agreed. “It definitely creates a more opportunistic mindset.”

“And of course, I wouldn’t object if my investment in Pellucid netted out to a nice-sized return,” Lawrence quipped.

“Ha, I’m sure!” Tom replied. “Well, for now, Winston is earning his CFO pay and then some, working through the due diligence to address all the financials, and Crystal Clere’s CEO and I are in discussions ensuring we’re well aligned. But so far, I can say that I like what I see. And that’s important because if we sell, they’ll probably want me and possibly a couple of my senior team to commit to working for a year or so as part of Crystal Clere.”

“Yes, it’s pretty standard for the acquiring company to want at least the CEO to stay on for continuity,” Lawrence agreed. “Overall, you’ve got this, Tom. Working through the process, making sure you have all the information up front, and doing the due diligence is the right approach. Then when you have all the facts and feel comfortable, I’m sure it will be easier to make your final decision. And, of course, whatever direction you decide to take, the board of directors must be onside with it as well.”

Tom nodded agreement as Lawrence twirled some of his impressively presented main-course seafood linguini onto his fork.

“Okay, so fill me in on Patrick,” Lawrence said. “I know you were having some issues with him last time we talked. How did that net out?”

Tom sighed. It had been a tough situation to manage. Five years before, Tom had met Patrick McGowan at the stable where they both boarded horses and had soon hired Patrick to be his business development manager. The two men were close in age but had vastly different personalities. While Patrick’s Irish flair and direct manner with prospects had proven helpful in building the business, his proclivity for partying had created problems.

Tom shared with Lawrence that he’d had no choice but to fire Patrick and, after a contentious final meeting with him, he suspected their friendship had been permanently shattered.

“That’s unfortunate, Tom,” Lawrence said. “But eventually Patrick’s shenanigans would have attracted attention and reflected badly on Pellucid. I know you hate being tough on people, but didn’t he lose an investor for you when he missed a key meeting?”

Tom indicated that had indeed been the last straw and agreed he had run out of options when it came to keeping Patrick on his payroll.

The two men lingered over coffee and liqueurs while reviewing Pellucid’s latest quarterly results, upcoming sales pipeline, and the company’s case study currently in development at Tom’s father-in-law’s business in North Carolina, one of Tom’s biggest early-stage clients.

“Are you staying here in Yorkville tonight or at your place?” Tom asked as he and Lawrence concluded their business.

“Next door at the Hazelton,” Lawrence replied. “Grace and I have been living up north at the cottage during the pandemic, and I’m more comfortable playing tourist here in Yorkville rather than rattling around our big house in Rosedale without Grace.”

Tom chuckled at Lawrence’s candor and, as always, admired the close relationship Lawrence had with his wife. The two men parted ways, with Lawrence going to the bar for a final nightcap before turning in and Tom heading for home.

***

Excerpt from Devious Web by Shelley Grandy. Copyright 2024 by Shelley Grandy. Reproduced with permission from Shelley Grandy. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Shelley Grandy

Shelley Grandy is a Canadian communications professional whose journalism degree from Ottawa’s Carleton University fueled a career that started in newspapers and progressed to a high-tech company, Nortel. She subsequently founded Grandy Public Relations Inc. and has supported tech sector clients in Ontario and Quebec for the past fifteen years. You can find her at the boarding stable with her horses, Chancey and Briosa. Shelley lives in Trenton, Ontario, Canada, with husband Roy, Husky dog Luka, and cat Otto, and within spoiling distance of her granddaughters, Emilia and Olivia Oulds.

Catch Up With Shelley Grandy:
www.ShelleyGrandy.com
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$25 GC – Red Ultimatum by Edwin D Fuller & Gary Grossman @xpressotours

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Red Ultimatum
Edwin D. Fuller, Gary Grossman
(The Red Hotel, #4)
Publication date: February 25th 2025
Genres: Adult, Thriller

A former U.S. President’s plane is brought down in the Atlantic. Revolutionary forces attack Cairo. The U.S. Secretary of State is kidnapped in Panama. A North Korean ballistic missile submarine tracks toward America’s West Coast. A sleeper cell spy awakens in the halls of Congress. A woman assassin takes aim on the Washington Mall. Behind it all is Russian President Nicolai Gorshkov who has mastered the ability to walk between the raindrops and not get wet. Until… China determines that Gorshkov’s policies are endangering its global initiatives… until Beijing issues Gorshkov a defiant ultimatum… until Dan Reilly, hotel executive/CIA freelancer, and friend of the Secretary of State, reads the moves on the international political chessboard and picks up the pieces. The non-stop action plays out on Air, Land, and Sea. Yet, with so many geo-political threads being tugged simultaneously, will the Russian leader succeed getting another step closer to rebuilding the old Soviet Empire in his image? (https://redhotelseries.com/)

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / Kobo

—

EXCERPT:

ATHENS, GREECE

“I saw you die!”

“You saw me fall off the building.”

“Yes, and you died! I saw it happen. The explosion from below. The fireball that swept up. Your last look. I’ve relived that moment every day since. Oh my God, Marnie, I was there. I saw it all.”

“And I’m here with you, Dan.” “You’re not. You can’t be.”

“I am and we can be together again.”

She reached out to him. Dan Reilly stepped back and stared. She was wearing the same dress, green blouse, and leather jacket she had worn that day in Stockholm; the day Marnie Babbitt returned to his hotel room seemingly regretful; wishing things were different; wanting to make them so.

“You loved me, Dan,” the brunette said softly. “You can love me again. Tonight. Here in Athens.”

Dan Reilly stopped retreating. Yes, he thought. Here. Athens.

He looked at the surroundings. Nighttime traffic was flowing along Adrianou Street. Horns honked. Couples walked arm-in-arm. Tourists window-shopped. Everything was normal until the woman he had desperately loved, the woman who had betrayed him stepped out of the shadows in front of him and into the light of a street lamp.

Dan Reilly had just concluded a successful business meeting at Kuzina, one of Athens’ most celebrated restaurants that boasted a magnificent view of The Temple of Hephaestus, the Agora, and the Acropolis. He had come to discuss the final terms for his company’s acquisition of a luxury hotel property currently owned by a Greek billionaire. It would take lawyers months to solidify the terms, but atop the restaurant’s Tarazza, with the golden glow of the Acropolis backlighting them, Reilly and the seller toasted to their relationship with a final glass of Ouzo.

It had been a good night for the International President of Kensington Royal Hotel Corporation. As he had walked along the cobblestones on Adrianou, Marnie Babbitt was not on his mind, but suddenly she was there alive and vibrant as ever. Her beauty took his breath away. Her voice was as soft and lilting as the last whispers in his ear.

Or the last lies, he thought.

“No lies, Dan,” she said as if reading his mind. “This time it will be different.”

At first, Reilly had felt immobile. Then he was drawn to her.

She reached out to him and stroked his cheek. Her touch was as present as ever. The light gave her an almost ethereal glow. She looked longingly into his eyes and proved she was alive with a lingering, deep kiss. Then she said, “Is that the kiss of a dead woman?”

Her tongue, her scent, and her breath were just as he remembered.

Just as he missed. So was the quickening of his heartbeat.

He withdrew and looked into her brown eyes. They were so bright and inviting.

“You missed me. I know you did.” She smiled and took a step back into the shadows. “Come with, Dan.”

The sounds of the city faded away. Gone were the car horns and sirens, people talking, dogs barking, car doors slamming, and footsteps on the sidewalk. Everything around him blurred. There was just Marnie and him. He felt his desire for her grow. Then he thought of Yibing Cheng, the woman now in his life.

“But—”

“It’s all right my darling. I know that there’s someone else. But I’m back. You want me.”

More thoughts from his head. How did she know? “You want us to be together again.”

“Marnie, I saw…

“You saw what we wanted you to see.”

She leaned forward and kissed him again. She felt him. He responded. “Now I’m here. To be with you.”

He withdrew.

“Don’t you want that, Dan? Don’t you want me?” “Marnie…”

“Yes.”

“Marnie,” he said again. “Yes, my love.”

“But you’re—”

She suddenly laughed. Her brown eyes went black.

Maybe it was the Ouzo, but all he initially felt was a prick in his stomach. Then he looked down. There was the hand that he had loved caressing. But now it held the black handle of a Russian Kizlyar Spetsnaz Special Forces knife.

He brought his eyes up to hers. She smiled cruelly, waited a moment, and then twisted the 6.5-inch blade and sliced upwards.

Reilly tried to speak. He couldn’t. He felt his legs crumble, but Marnie Babbitt’s grip on the knife kept him on his feet. She twisted again.

“Why?” Reilly silently gurgled.

“Because this is the way it should have ended.”

Marnie’s words confused him. He grabbed her hand with his. Blood soaked them both.

Should have ended?

Reilly tried to pull out the knife, but she was stronger. Life began to leave him.

With a sickly sweet laugh, she repeated, “This is the way it should have ended. You, not me.”

Should…have…ended. The words were familiar. He’d heard them before. Many times before.

“No!” Reilly shouted in full-throated defiance. “This is not how it should end! And…you…are… dead!”

“What?”

“You’re dead,” he shouted. “You’re dead!” “No, Dan. No! It’s all right.”

He was shaking violently. “Dan!”

Dan Reilly bolted upright. He automatically grabbed his stomach. It was wet, but from sweat, not blood. And the woman whose concerned voice was cutting through his dream belonged to Yibing Cheng.

“Dan, Dan, it’s okay. You’re here with me. Yibing.”

Reilly slowly collected his thoughts. Yibing turned on a night light and faced the man she’d been seeing for just a few months. They were in Athens, but he was not on the street bleeding. But he had had nights like this—in Paris, Washington, and where Reilly and Yibing had first met, Beijing.

“Your dream again?” she asked. He gathered his thoughts.

“Yes, except this time it was here. Outside our restaurant last night.

The street—”

“I’m so sorry,” Yibing said pulling him close to her naked body.

What did she do?”

“At least she didn’t throw me into a woodchipper this time,” Reilly replied lightly. “No plastic bag over my head. No fall from a cliff.” He rubbed his gut. “But she was pretty good with a knife, even for a dream.”

Reilly knew what was going on. Shrinks might call it PTSD. He saw it more as a combination of guilt over the fact that he failed to recognize Marnie Babbitt was a Russian plant and guilt that he couldn’t save her the moment he realized she wanted out. It was all manifesting itself in very vivid revenge dreams. But it was not paranoia.

There was more that wasn’t in his dream world. Dan Reilly had seen drones out his window after he and Yibing had returned from Beijing. He’d spotted people following them. And they were not his people. Not Yibing’s either.

For now, he viewed the tails and eavesdropping as intimidation. Russian or possibly Chinese. But it could get worse. It likely would get worse and not because he was an international hotel executive. It was his moonlighting. Dan Reilly had deep ties with officers at the CIA and even deeper ties with the United States Secretary of State.


Author Bio:

ED FULLER is CEO of Laguna Strategic Advisors, a global consortium providing business consulting services worldwide. He has served on business and charitable boards during his 40-year career with Marriott International where he was chief marketing officer followed by 22 years as president and managing director of Marriott International. Under his management, the international division grew from 16 to 550 hotels in 73 countries with 80,000 associates and sales of $8 billion. Upon retirement, Fuller has served on five university boards and taught as adjunct professor for MBA and undergraduate students. He blogged for Forbes and other tourism and lodging industry media. His book, You Can’t Lead with Your Feet on the Desk, has been printed in English, Japanese and Chinese. Fuller served as captain in the U.S. Army, stationed in Germany and Vietnam and received the Bronze Star and the Army Commendation medals. He and Gary Grossman are co-authors of the Red Hotel series, including the 2018 thriller Red Hotel and the 2021 release, Red Deception, soon to be followed by Red Chaos.

Gary Grossman is author of the bestselling political thrillers EXECUTIVE ACTIONS,EXECUTIVE TREASON, EXECUTIVE COMMAND, and EXECUTIVE FORCE; a geological thriller that spans 4 billions years, OLD EARTH; and with co-author Ed Fuller, RED HOTEL, RED CHAOS, and RED DECEPTION. Grossman has also written two acclaimed non-fiction books covering pop culture and television history: SUPERMAN: SERIAL TO CEREAL and SATURDAY MORNING TV.

He is an Emmy Award-winning network television producer, a print and television journalist, a novelist and a film and TV historian. His career has included stints producing for NBC News, CNN, ABC, CBS, NBC, Fox, PBS and 40 cable networks.

Grossman has produced more than 10,000 series episodes and specials through his TV production company Weller/Grossman Productions, and earned numerous awards including the prestigious Governor’s Emmy Award for a USA Network production and an Emmy for Best Informational series with the production of “Wolfgang Puck” for Food Network. Their documentary “Beyond the Da Vinci Code” (History Channel) earned two national Emmy nominations. In all, Grossman has received 14 Emmy nominations.

Grossman earned a Bachelors Degree in Communications from Emerson College in Boston and a Master’s Degree in Urban Affairs from Boston University.

He began his broadcasting career as a rock disc jockey at WHUC, in Hudson, New York. He worked at Boston television station, WBZ; joined The Boston Globe as a special contributor, and then became the television critic and media columnist at The Boston Herald American. His freelance articles have appeared in The New York Times and numerous magazines. He taught journalism and media at Emerson College, Boston University, USC and now Loyola Marymount University’s Graduate School of Film and Television.

Grossman helped formulate, program and launch television cable networks including HGTV, National Geographic Channel, and The Africa Channel.

Grossman has served on the Emerson College Board of Trustees where he chaired the Academic Affairs Committee. He is also a member of the Boston University Metropolitan College Advisory Board. For four years he was chair of the Government Affairs Committee for the Caucus for Television Producers, Directors & Writers, a Hollywood-based media activist group. He is member of The International Thriller Writers Association.


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Giveaway – The Karma Factor by Thomas Lane @partnersincr1me

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The Karma Factor by Thomas Lane Banner

THE KARMA FACTOR

by Thomas Lane

February 10 – March 7, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Karma Factor by Thomas Lane

NYPD Detective James Early wanted out. Taking his death wish into a tenement on the Lower east side, he stepped into a hail of machine-gun fire…and waited. But the bullets never arrived. Somehow they had been “diverted” and his life saved. Now he had to find out why.

Ricochetting between the mountains of Tibet, the streets of New York City and the haunted corridors of past lives, Early attempts to track down this mystery. A devastating truth from his previous lifetime awaits him. At its core lies a pure and innocent love that led to carnage and death.

In the process of discovery, however, Early mysteriously gains access to a database of past lives (the Akashic Records), and begins to understand the submerged element that underlies the human condition—the godfather of change. Karma.

Infused with this new awareness, Early hits the streets—this time “awakened” to the deeper layers. Immediately, he is flung into the frantic hunt for an unknown assassin who has declared a private war on America and has already killed seven times.

While the combined forces of the NYPD, FBI and Interpol comb the streets looking for clues, James Early follows the twisting light.

In the end, it will come down to a wild card: The Karma Factor

Praise for The Karma Factor:

“The Karma Factor not only delivers on all its IOUs—it provides ample food for thought as to how we live our lives and our connection to the cosmos.”
~ Joey Madia, Into the Outer Realms

“Demonstrating remarkable literary talent, Thomas Lane transcends the troubled police detective trope by incorporating elements of Eastern philosophy, predestination and reincarnation in this fast-paced thriller. In the tradition of The DaVinci Code and Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance, Lane’s debut novel The Karma Factor is entertaining and thought-provoking; introducing readers to characters and concepts that are not often given center stage in Western culture…”
~ BOOKTRIB

“Tom Lane has written a powerful story of inner transformation and outer suspense and heroism that will have you turning pages, inspiring you to understand your own life within a new cosmic framework. I couldn’t put it down.”
~ Robert Thurman, Professor Emeritus of Tibetan Buddhism, Translator for the Dalai Lama and Author of Wisdom Is Bliss

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery, Supernatural Thriller, Visionary Fiction, Metaphysical Thriller
Published by: Waterside Productions
Publication Date: November 1, 2022
Number of Pages: 352
ISBN: 1958848212 (ISBN-13: 978-1958848210)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

In times of crisis, James Early often found himself listening to the background noise of the city, the churning mantra of Manhattan that drifted up from the streets below. Somehow all those harsh single notes—the honking horns, the squealing brakes—could blend together and end up sounding restful, like the wash of the sea.

But tonight, watching her put her clothes back on, the air was charged and full of static. He had his reasons, but he hated himself for causing her this moment.

Lit only by the flickering light from the fireplace, Kelli Girard stood with her back to him, pulling on her skirt. Usually, after being together, getting dressed was a graceful act, a physical celebration of her womanhood. But on this evening, her motions were clipped and terse. Right then, the world was an ugly place. On top of everything else, she broke another nail fighting with the buttons on her blouse. She spoke without looking up.

“Come on, Early. This stinks. Throw me a bone here. Say something that makes sense.” Balancing on one foot, she leaned down and slipped on a high heel. “You won’t even give me the satisfaction of a cliché. There’s no ‘other woman.’ You’re not doing the ‘you deserve better’ bit. Nothing. Just—bang! It’s over. And you can’t even tell me why?”

She stood up and smoothed down her clothes. “But I’ll tell you how it feels. Like you’ve had your little fling with the secretary. And now it’s time to toss her back into the general pool where she belongs. Cold, Early. Really cold.”

He remained silent, compulsively rubbing his forehead, pushing back a clump of grey-tinged dark hair. In truth, there was too much to say, but words would trivialize it. And it had nothing to do with her, nothing to do with anything he understood. All he knew was that his mind was finally giving way. The hostile voices and images were crowding him out. And he couldn’t access the language to describe it…

Early finally stood up. At thirty-eight years old and driven, he was still lean and muscular. A hybrid of Irish and Jewish ancestry, his thin, sculpted face seemed overwhelmed by a collection of strong irregular features. Growing up in Brooklyn and living the daily warfare of the streets had deepened and darkened the effect, giving him an intense, somewhat brooding presence. As he turned toward her, his expression remained cloaked.

“You’re making it worse. This was never about the big love. We knew that from the start. We’re friends, remember? Let’s leave it there before we regret the whole thing.”

She turned away from him, almost fiercely, then checked herself and sighed. “What’s the use? You’ve got everyone else duped. I hear the talk. By day, the great legendary cop—intuitive, ballsy. Down at the station, a James Early hunch is considered gospel. And, on top of all that, he’s a regular good guy. Nothing but hard work and ‘go team, go.’”

She squinted at him in the semidarkness. “But after hours? Well, strange things come out to play. Guy’s got a flip side. He’s doing women, liquor, God knows what else. And here’s the sad part. He’s working hard at it, but the bad boy thing doesn’t fit him. Doesn’t fit him at all.”

She paused, retrieved her earrings from the bedside table, and jammed them into her purse. “So who’s James Early? The jury’s absolutely still out.”

Early grabbed her by the shoulders. “Listen. I’m bone-tired, and I’m not right. I have nightmares, vicious ones. I wake up sweating, with no memories—just worn out. And the pressure never quits, never gives me a day off. Right now, all I want to do is go sit on a beach somewhere and forget. But I can’t. And there’s no room . . . no room for anything else until I sort it all out.”

He slackened his grip. “I can’t care if you don’t understand. I’m just asking you not to take it personally.”

His words slapped her quiet. For a moment, she stopped her barrage and actually studied him. It had only been five months ago, but no, this was not the same man she had flirted with in a Soho bar. The sharp features seemed worn down, the grey-green eyes colder, more distant. Even his skin looked paler, drawn more tightly across his cheekbones. With his guard down, her sometimes-lover did seem ten years older and running very rough.

“Hey Early, it’s the twentieth century. You feel messed up—you see somebody. There are medications that—”

“Zombies and junkies. No thanks. I’ll take my chances.” He mustered his best smile. “I just need to regroup. I’ll get through it. People do it every day.”

Kelli resumed her packing. Wadding up her negligee into a ball, she tossed it unceremoniously into her overnight bag. “I thought I got in there,” she said softly, “but I swear there’s an electric fence around you.”

He shrugged. It was true –– he avoided real intimacy. It was all about sex and liquor–– mind numbing sensation and quick routes to oblivion that had gotten hm through the nights. Now even that wasn’t working.

The flames in the fireplace had softened into embers—a steady orange sheen bathing the room. As Kelly zipped up her bag, Early slipped on his underwear and trousers, then got her coat from the closet. Taking her arm, he navigated her around the chaos on the cluttered floor. Her traditional comment about the maid’s night off went unspoken. At the door, he put his arm around her waist. His six feet towered above her diminutive frame.

“It’s better for both of us this way. I mean it.” He rested a hand on her shoulder. “Please take care of yourself.”

“Whatever.” She fixed her collar. “I’m not going to hold my breath, but if you need or want . . . hell, just a friend, call me.”

She leaned up against him and gave him a girlish kiss on the cheek. Turning quickly, she disappeared down the stairs into the darkness of the lower landing.

When he could no longer hear the click of her heels, he closed the door softly, then sagged against it, exhausted from his efforts. It was getting harder and harder to hold the surface together while the foundation was breaking into pieces…

He willed himself upright and into the living room, where he collapsed into the armchair in front of the fireplace. Alone now, the fire hissed and danced quietly before him.

His eyes scrutinized the small studio apartment. He was struck by its sadness, struck by the pervading sense of loneliness. The room was inhabited, yes, but not lived in. It hadn’t always been that way.

When, as a rookie cop, he had first moved in, he had commanded the space. Within months, he had turned it into a bastion of discipline and masculine aesthetics: dark wood and brick and things in their rightful places. As his condition worsened, however, things unraveled. Chaos was an easy mistress. Now, from the unmade bed to a floor strewn with empty bottles, pizza boxes, and newspapers, no sense of home was being articulated. Maybe it never would again.

Early leaned over and pulled his .38 revolver from the shoulder holster on the end table. It felt like a touchstone; the weight, the cold metal in his hand oddly soothing. The cylinder spun effortlessly beneath his fingertips. Round and round. He lifted it to his ear and smiled obliquely. Chamber music.

With the heel of his hand, he brought the spinning cylinder to an abrupt halt, then unloaded a single bullet. Turning it around between his thumb and index finger, Early examined it carefully. Sexy. A jewel of death.

Rotating the chamber slowly, he emptied the rest of the ammo into his hand until all six bullets lay nestled in his palm. They were asleep now. A family. At peace in their snug metal jackets. Then, as if feeding them to a wild animal, he began to toss the bullets, one by one, into the fireplace.

“Here’s one for the sickos. One for the cop killers.”

Then two more.

“For all the scumbag lawyers, corrupt politicos. You’re the worse. You keep it all going. You’re supposed to know better.”

Without warning, the first slug hit meltdown and exploded, sending a shower of shattered brick from inside the chimney down onto the flaming logs. The second and third followed quickly as ash and smoke belched into the room.

Early’s face remained impassive as he fingered the last two shells. He isolated one.

“For all of you. Your crap. Not mine anymore.”

The next eruption came moments later, kicking out a fireball onto his carpet. A chunk of metal whizzed past his ear and tore into the wallpaper on the opposite wall.

The hallway outside filled with the sudden cacophony of rattling deadbolts sliding and doors flinging open and people yelling. Early ignored the commotion. Unaware of the silent tears on his cheek, he leaned closer to the pit of swirling sparks and ashes, the last bullet resting in the middle of his open hand.

“And this one, James Early, is for you. You and all your ghosts. You’re broken. Don’t know how to fix yourself.”

A furious knocking at his door startled him back to reality.

“Hey! Hey in there! Early, you all right?”

Disoriented, the detective looked around. Caustic smoke swirled around the room. Live coals glowed on the carpet and from the side of the armchair. He stared down at the bullet still cupped in his palm. It seemed out of focus. Surreal.

The knocking came again, this time louder.

But now the sounds were far away, in someone else’s bad movie. Placing the final bullet back into his revolver, he adjusted the chamber. When he needed it, it would be there.

Slowly and deliberately, Early got up, went to his closet, and finished dressing. His plainclothes uniform never varied: white shirt, tie, black shoes. Beneath the grey sports jacket, his revolver and holster pressed against his ribs.

Trench coat under his arm, he crawled through the window and stepped out onto the fire escape. The sudden shift was abrasive. A sharp April wind lashed at his face. A massive city roared below.

Hands gripping the railing, he leaned out into the night. All around, the inky skyline peaked and plunged. Above, the stars shone like dull silver—cold, eternal nails hammered into the night sky.

As the wail of a siren grew closer, Early descended, zigzagging his way down to Seventy-Eighth Street.

One thing was obvious. Whatever forces were conspiring, whatever madness was overtaking him, it was about to hit critical mass.

***

Excerpt from The Karma Factor by Thomas Lane. Copyright 2022 by Thomas Lane. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Lane. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Born and raised in Connecticut, Thomas Lane is a multi-dimensional creative drawn to spaces where art, spirit, and social justice intersect. He is the author of The Artists’ Manifesto–– a tribute to the power of the Arts, its value to a society that has forgotten the precious nature of life.

In addition to a book of poetry, screenplays and paintings, he recently recorded a CD of his songs, entitled Hotel Earth under the stage name, Trakker.

Politically active since his teens, Thomas subsequently created The Helen Hudson Foundation, a charitable organization focused on social issues –– including homelessness, racism, and the environment. He currently lives with his wife in Rhode Island.

Catch Up With Thomas Lane:
www.ThomasLane.com
Amazon Author Profile
Instagram – @thomaslane494
YouTube – @thomaslane2402
Facebook – @musicwordimage

 

 

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$10 GC – Bye Bye Blackbird by Elizabeth Crowens @partnersincr1me @ECrowens

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BYE BYE BLACKBIRD

by Elizabeth Crowens

February 17 – March 14, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Bye Bye Blackbird by Elizabeth Crowens

A BABS NORMAN HOLLYWOOD MYSTERY

 

In the summer of 1941, Hollywood heats up again when Humphrey Bogart arrives right after a female corpse with a dead bird stuffed inside her overcoat topples into the office of B. Norman Investigations. While filming The Maltese Falcon, Bogie found a mysterious ancient Egyptian hawk artifact on his doorstep containing a mummified black bird. Someone with dark intentions threatens the main cast, one by one, leaving dead birds, from crows to falcons, as their calling cards.

While more murders pile up, jeopardizing the film from being finished, Bogie hires private eyes Babs Norman and Guy Brandt, infuriating his volatile third wife, Mayo Methot, or Sluggy, as she’s known in some circles. Unraveling the personal lives of Mary Astor, John Huston, Sydney Greenstreet, Elisha Cook, Jr., Peter Lorre, and Jack L. Warner in their quirky, humorous way, the PIs turn the underbelly of Tinseltown upside down to stop the crazed killer from claiming another victim.

Praise for Bye Bye Blackbird:

“No author can seamlessly blend Hollywood history with and engaging mystery yarn better than Elizabeth Crowens. It’s a jaunty tale that could have been lifted from a Warner Bros. screenplay with all the principals from the studio’s famed stock company: The Maltese Falcon, Bogie, Mary Astor, Greenstreet, John Huston, and Jack L. Warner. Fasten your seatbelts for a wild ride through 1940s Hollywood!”
~ Alan K. Rode, film historian and author, Michael Curtiz: A Life in Film

“Crowens does it again with Bye Bye Blackbird. Babs, Brandt, and Bogart make this rocking novel the stuff dreams are made of.”
~ Reed Farrel Coleman. New York Times bestselling author of Blind to Midnight

“It’s like someone shook a movie projector and out tumbled Humphrey Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre, and a duo from a struggling PI agency bringing all the lighthearted fun of a 1940’s Hollywood mystery. That someone is Elizabeth Crowens.”
~ Tom Straw, New York Times and USA Today bestselling author

“A creative twist on The Maltese Falcon: Dead birds show up on doorsteps. Humphrey Bogart assumes the role of a real-life Sam Spade, and two young PIs rescue every oddball animal as they investigate. Even the mogul of a major movie studio is no match for a wisecracking myna bird who sounds like a Warner Brothers cartoon. If you’re a fan of Turner Classic Movies and the Golden Age of Hollywood, Bye Bye Blackbird will be sure to entertain.”
~ Robert Dugoni, New York Times bestselling author of The Tracy Crosswhite Mystery Series

“An office full of lost pets, a strange dame drops dead in the doorway, and Bogie appears with a knock-off Egyptian hawk … while shooting The Maltese Falcon. Thus begins the wild ride of Elizabeth Crowens’ Bye Bye Blackbird. Babs and Guy, the heroes of Hounds of the Hollywood Baskervilles, continue in this welcome, hilarious and worthy sequel that I can only describe as The Thin Man meets ‘hardboiled’ with both tongues firmly in cheek. Famous names, Hollywood haunts, and a crime I dare you to solve, make this well worth your time. As a lover of Old Hollywood, I loved this book!”
~ Jon Lindstrom, USA Today bestselling author of Hollywood Hustle, 4-time Emmy© nominee, award-winning filmmaker, and veteran actor known for True Detective, Bosch, and General Hospital.

“Elizabeth Crowens’ Bye Bye Blackbird is a welcome addition to the Babs Norman Hollywood Mystery series. Set during the Golden Age of Hollywood and brimming with depictions of its personalities, Crowens succeeds in bringing Old Hollywood to life and offering readers another thoroughly entertaining installment to this series.”
~ Annette Bochenek, Ph.D., author of the Hometowns to Hollywood series

“A delectable mystery set in the Golden Age of Hollywood, Elizabeth Crowens Bye Bye Blackbird is a fantastic addition to her Babs Norman series with a treat of a cast featuring Bogart, Mary Astor, Peter Lorre and other screen legends from the era brought to stunning life.”
~ Lee Matthew Goldberg, award-nominated author of The Great Gimmelmans and The Mentor

Bye Bye Blackbird Trailer:

Book Details:

Genre: Golden Age of Hollywood Private Investigator novel with satire
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: January 28, 2025
Number of Pages: 340
Series: Babs Norman Golden Age of Hollywood Mystery, Book 2 | Each is a Stand-Alone Mystery
Book Links: Amazon | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Look at the Birdie!

Hollywood 1941

On Friday, July 4th, only the most essential, dedicated, or insane Los Angelenos punched the clock. Established businesses that usually stayed open closed early that afternoon. For the fledgling ones, like the young private detectives at B. Norman Investigations, there would be no weenie roasts, barbeques, or national holiday celebrations. Death would soon follow. Every electric fan they owned hummed its own tune. Between the fan blades whirring and the cats purring, panting dogs, who could qualify as hotdogs, an injured pelican with its wing in a sling, and their janitor’s wisecracking myna bird, the whole kit and caboodle at Hollywood Boulevard and N. Sycamore resembled a cross between the Humane Society and the Griffith Park Zoo.

Guy Brandt, more detective-partner than secretary, manned the desk upfront. On top of it: a shoebox of magazine clippings, scissors, and a stack of The Times and Herald-Examiner. He undid one more button on his clammy, sweat-stained shirt, flung his tie onto their hat rack, and took a swig of his warm Nehi orange soda, already flat. He hoped to find new clients from newspaper leads but wasn’t getting anywhere. Babs Norman, who always had every pin curl in place, patted off her sticky forehead with a handkerchief. Way beyond a simple touch-up with powder and fresh lipstick, only a masterful makeup wizard, like Perc Westmore, could bring new life to this wilted flower.

“Wouldn’t it be fine and dandy if we could afford to run an ad at least once a week saying that we’re private detectives, specializing in discreet celebrity cases?” she asked.

An adventurous kitten, who strayed from the pack, latched on to Guy’s sock and started to climb his leg. “Maybe we should ask if we can put a note in the downstairs lobby that we’re also a pet adoption service.” He unhooked its claws, returning him to his mama.

“You think that would pay off our debts?”

“Do you always have to sound like a broken record?” An Irish Wolfhound, in need of a bath, sauntered in from the doorway between the two offices. He went up to Guy and plopped his oversized, hairy head into his lap. “Dog days not agreeing with you, Sir Henry?” After rubbing the furry beast’s head, he went to their icebox and plopped chunks of ice in the various water bowls scattered around both rooms. Several prostrated cats laid on their backs, trying to find coolness on the linoleum floor.

From under his pile of clippings, he fished out a copy of Black Mask. Babs, with a wooden clothespin clamping her nostrils shut and carrying an odiferous box of shredded newspapers, walked into his office and stopped short when she caught him reading the pulp. “You think we’re going to find our next client from detective fiction? We need another high-profile case like when we rescued Asta, so MGM could go into production on their next Thin Man film. They paid us an unheard-of amount of money…until you lost it all.”

“Stop being such a sourpuss.” He refused to give her eye contact.

“Do you think I’m enjoying spending time in our stifling office? I’d rather be at the beach with the man of my dreams.” Her inflection had a hint of sarcasm.

“Who’s the lucky fella?”

She went over to their monstrous dog and kissed him on the nose. “Looks like it’s you, Sir Henry of the Baskervilles. Instead of my frog prince, you’re my dog prince. Ah, you’re such a good boy.” She stared at the bulldog in the corner. “But we really need to paper-train Bruno.”

Their adopted bulldog whined. “You hurt his feelings,” Guy said. “Give him a good scratch behind his ears and apologize.”

She scowled. “I’ll give him two more weeks, and it’ll be your job to train him. Otherwise, he can go back to Wiggins, and I don’t care if one of his kids breaks out in hives.” She headed out the door to dump the litter.

* * *

“Our phone rang twice while you were out,” Guy said. “But Wiggins’ stupid bird answered before I could.”

“Hello, sucker!” the myna bird cackled. “Down for the count…1…2…3. Knocked him in the kisser, didn’t ya?”

“By the time I picked up the receiver, whoever it was hung up,” he explained.

“It’s hard to believe a bird can be so smart,” Babs muttered.

“Smart-mouthed is more like it,” he said. “Sounds like Jimmy Cagney, who he’s named after. Maybe we should let him earn his keep. The bird can impersonate him at parties.”

Babs stared at the troublemaker. “The person on the other end probably thought it was a prank.” She looked around the room. “Keep it up and…I got a lot of hungry cats and canines who wouldn’t mind a bowlful of myna bird stew.”

Wiggins, the building janitor, propped their front door open, causing their ginger tomcat to disappear into the hallway faster than gunfire. “My wife said the same. What are the two of ya doing here on Independence Day? With the tenants gone, I heard yer bickering all the way in the basement. Sounded like a married couple in divorce court. How did ya get in?”

“We had an extra set of keys,” Guy said.

Wiggins planted his hands on his hips. “More like makin’ a copy of my set while my back was turned. There’s no foolin’ me. Come on now. Who’ll be the first to confess?”

Both detectives buried their noses in their newspapers.

“All right, if none of ya willin’ to come clean, why aren’t you out having fun?”

“Paying our overdue office rent is my idea of fun,” Babs replied.

Wiggins looked confused. Guy explained, “We’re hurting. Nothing but small potatoes since retrieving our dognapped canine stars.”

“We might be forced to move out, if we don’t land a decent case,” said Babs. “I’m not looking forward to setting up shop at my house.”

Wiggins inhaled but choked. “You make sure you keep this place spic-and-span. If your neighbors start belly achin’…”

From inside his desk, Guy took out a sardine from its wax paper wrapping and tossed it to their pelican.

“Sniff…sniff… If you don’t get rid of this stench,” Wiggins continued, “my boss’ll make sure he throws you out on your arse.”

She plucked a bottle of cheap toilet water from her purse and spritzed the room. “Better now?”

Wiggins pointed toward the exit. “Goin’ after that mouser. Left the back door open to the alley downstairs. He’s liable to slip out and get lost forever.”

Babs handed her partner a feather duster. “Do something.” Then she returned to her lair with a stack of discarded tabloids to make fresh litter and to do her own skewed interpretation of housekeeping.

Guy reset their wall clock, which was a few hours behind the last time they had a power outage, and gave the reception area the minimal once-over by removing accumulated grime from the top of file cabinets. He was just about to straighten the frame displaying his private investigator’s license, when out of the side of his eye, he noticed a shadow. A large, irregular object leaned against the pebbled glass window of their front door. At first he paid it no mind and continued his cleanup crusade.

When minutes passed and it hadn’t budged, he called out just above a whisper, “Do you mind coming over? Make it quick, but be quiet.”

A startled canary flew out their open transom as Babs breezed toward the front. Guy pointed to the silhouetted figure. “I tidied up, like you asked, but don’t recall hearing anyone approach. This thing…it appeared out of nowhere and hasn’t moved since.”

Babs called out to see if it was Wiggins, but whomever it was didn’t respond. She inquired again. “The door is open. Come on in. We’re too hot and tired for practical jokes.”

With a nod, she gave Guy the go-ahead to open the door, but when he did, a young woman they’d never seen before, wearing a hat and an oversized coat despite the heatwave, fell face-forward onto the floor.

“The casting office is on the fourth floor,” Babs said, until she realized the lady hadn’t moved or said a word. Horrified, she squealed and froze in place.

Guy, also shaking, reached for the phone and called Wiggins’ downstairs office. His voice broke up. “Come up—pronto!”

As soon as he put down the receiver, she demanded he call the cops. Without thinking, she leapt up on a wooden chair as if she’d seen a mouse. Her legs wobbled, and she continued to holler.

Wiggins returned, heaving as if he had skipped waiting for the elevator and sprinted up the stairs. He had the missing tomcat draped over his shoulders. “Heard screams echoing down the hallway. You better keep better tabs on your tabbies. What the blarney did ya think was so important—Holy moly! Mary, Mother of God!”

Guy poked the stranger with his feather duster. Not having any luck, Wiggins, who was bigger than the two detectives combined, got a firm toehold with his work boots and rolled her onto her back. All three stared at the stiff.

“Oh, she’s dead alright,” Wiggins assured them. “Ever seen her before?”

Both PIs shook their heads. Guy tiptoed around the corpse and closed the front door. Wiggins fended off their curious menagerie.

“Something dark and…fea-ther-y is protruding from her coat. Like she was trying to conceal whatever she was carrying.” Babs wrinkled her nose. “Smells like she or someone else doused her with…men’s cologne. Not flowery enough to be one a lady would wear. Wiggins, how do you think she got in?”

“Through the back-alley door, I suppose, ’cause I locked the front. Could’ve snuck in and been here a while. Maybe passed out in a stairwell while my back was turned and crawled up to your floor before she expired.”

Guy paced the room and checked the clock. “The cops seem to be taking their time.” He pulled a flask from his file cabinet and took a swig. He offered some to Babs, but she declined.

Wiggins wrested the flask out of Guy’s hand and finished it to the last drop. “Sure as hell, this would have to happen on a holiday when the police are short-staffed.” He took a swatter from off the wall and clobbered a pesky fly that landed on the stranger’s ear. Babs trembled.

“She can feel it no more than if you were all doped up at the dentist,” Wiggins said.

Babs commented that the police could examine the body. She wasn’t touching it.

Guy suggested to Wiggins to wait for the cops downstairs. “They’ll need you to unlock the building.”

Keeping his distance, Guy asked, “Babs, how do you think she died?”

“I don’t know, and I don’t care.” She made it clear she wasn’t even interested in slipping on gloves to search for an ID.

He suggested that this could be the lead they’ve been looking for. She didn’t see it that way. “This is no way to spend a holiday. Let the police and the medical examiner do their jobs. They’ve expressed they don’t want us meddling in their homicide cases, anyway. I just want her out of here.”

Soon, they heard footsteps and the sound of crunching paper. She took for granted the cops had arrived. “Come in. It’s unlocked.”

She and her partner didn’t make a move until the front door creaked open.

Instead of the police, Humphrey Bogart stood there holding a parcel haphazardly wrapped in brown paper and twine. “I called twice. Assumed you had an answering service to leave a message. Dialed the right number, but someone with a peculiar voice like a Warner Brothers cartoon picked up. When I tried to explain my predicament, he mocked me and cracked a few jokes. Figured I better stop over.”

“How did you get into our building?” Guy asked.

“Your janitor recognized me. When I asked to see you, he figured I was harmless. He said he was waiting for—” Babs interrupted his train of thought. Still standing on the chair, she covered her eyes with one hand and pointed to the floor without making a sound. Bogie backed up. The blood drained from his face. “Whoa! Guess he wasn’t kidding when he said he was expecting the cops.”

A black cat jumped on top of the victim and started making biscuits. “Oh, no, you don’t.” Guy bent down to throw him off.

“Wh-a-a-t happened?” Bogie’s words came out choppy.

Babs regained her voice, which, at first, came out in squeaks. “Not sure. What brings you here?”

“I’m looking for a private investigator. You came highly recommended as some of the best private dicks in town.”

Babs flushed. She preferred a more ladylike elucidation. With no further introductions needed, she ushered Bogart into her office, and Guy followed, grabbing a notepad off his desk. Even though she hated staring at the corpse, she kept her door open to keep an eye out for the police. She kept reminding herself to take deep breaths and not to panic.

“Do you mind clearing your desk?” Bogie held out his parcel. “I’d like to show you what I found on my doorstep this morning.”

With one fell swoop of her arm, the papers went into a spare box, which Babs said she’d sort through later. Bogart put his parcel down on her desk and fanned out his jacket.

“I guess we can skip formalities when the weather beats us into submission. Mind if I take this off?” His shirt was soaked. “This has been one of those days where I’ve felt like an omelet slapped on the Devil’s griddle.”

Babs identified his mysterious object as a museum replica of an ancient Egyptian canopic jar of Horus, the Hawk, the offspring of Isis and Osiris.

“This is much smaller and lighter than the falcon prop in our movie. Ours is about forty-seven pounds of lead. If you dropped it, you could break someone’s toe.” Bogie lifted its lid and revealed a mummified object. Taking special care, he unwrapped its gauze, stained but far from looking ancient, to reveal a sizable dead crow.

“I have no idea what this is supposed to symbolize, but now it looks like I’ve got competition from what’s in your front room as to which gives me the worst case of the heebie-jeebies,” Bogie remarked.

Guy pulled the privacy shades down on the pebbled glass windows on the walls and door separating the front office from her inner sanctum. “One would presume to find a dead falcon, not a raven, considering you’re in the middle of production for The Maltese Falcon.”

* * *

Excerpt from Bye Bye Blackbird by Elizabeth Crowens. Copyright 2025 by Elizabeth Crowens. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Crowens. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Elizabeth Crowens

Elizabeth Crowens is bi-coastal between Los Angeles and New York. For over thirty years, she has worn many hats in the entertainment industry, contributed stories to Black Belt, Black Gate, Sherlock Holmes Mystery Magazines, Hell’s Heart, and the Bram Stoker-nominated A New York State of Fright, and has a popular Caption Contest on Facebook.

Awards include: Leo B. Burstein Scholarship from the MWA-NY Chapter, New York Foundation of the Arts grant to publish the anthology New York: Give Me Your Best or Your Worst (no longer in print), Eric Hoffer Award, Glimmer Train Awards Honorable Mention, Killer Nashville Claymore Award Finalist, two Grand prize, six First prize, and multiple Finalist Chanticleer Awards. Crowens writes multi-genre alternate history and historical Hollywood mysteries.

Catch Up With Elizabeth Crowens:
www.ElizabethCrowens.com
Amazon Author Profile
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BookBub – @ecrowens
Instagram – @crowens_author
LinkedIn
X – @ECrowens
BlueSky – @elizabethcrowens.bsky.social
Facebook – @thereel.elizabeth.crowens

 

 

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$15 GC – Water Grave by Mitchell S Karnes @partnersincr1me

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WATER GRAVE

by Mitchell S. Karnes

February 2-28, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Water Grave by Mitchell S. Karnes

DETECTIVE ABBEY RHODES

 

When a young pastor is found dead at the bottom of his baptistery, detective Abbey Rhodes must search in the one place she swore never to return…the church.

Fledgling Homicide detective Abbey Rhodes investigates the murder of a young East Nashville pastor found dead in the bottom of his own church baptistery. Paired with Sam Tidwell, an apathetic, aging detective just biding his time until retirement, Abbey must convince her partner the obvious suspect is not the real murderer. Then, she must overcome her own deep prejudice against churches and a dark secret that anchors her to a painful past. As Abbey and Sam discover the pastor’s plans to eliminate the church’s corruptive elements and implement a new vision, they realize their list of suspects multiplies and includes church leaders whom the young pastor considered friends. The case of the Water Grave triggers painful memories and pushes Abbey to her breaking point.

Book Details:

Genre: Christian Crime/Mystery
Published by: WordCrafts Press
Publication Date: January 29, 2025
Number of Pages: 280
ISBN: 978-1962218-69-6
Series: An Abbey Rhodes Mystery, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | WordCrafts Press

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One

Monday, October 23, 9:15 am – Living Water Church

Mark Ripley rushed into the baptistery changing room, slammed the door, and locked the handle. He scanned the room for his phone.

A loud thud reverberated through the tiny room as the entire doorframe shook. Mark searched under the towels. Another thud accompanied by the sound of cracking wood. He found the phone and glanced down at his lock screen, a picture of his wife and two children. He held the phone to his face to unlock it. Before he could dial 911, the frame splintered, and the door swung open. Realizing there was nowhere to run, Mark turned and tried to talk through the situation.

The wooden club struck the right side of his head with such violence that Mark spun sideways and toppled into the open clothes rack, dragging several white baptismal robes down with him. His phone flew from his limp hand and bounced off the wall, sliding into the opposite corner of the eight-by-eight changing room. It rested beneath the small bench.

His attacker nudged him with his foot. A few moments passed, and he nudged him again. Mark moaned. He touched his right cheek and temple, the source of his pain, and felt the warmth of his own blood. The man watched as Mark pushed up on all fours. The pastor’s only thoughts were his phone and 911. Before he could move, the man swung the club again, landing a solid blow to Mark’s back. The young pastor collapsed like a pile of soaking wet towels.

 

Chapter Two

Tuesday, October 24, 9:41 am – Living Water Church

Sergeant McNally’s assignment of Detective Tidwell as my mentor frustrated me to no end. A detective who, like water, took the path of least resistance.

He snapped his fingers in front of my face, “Hey Rhodes, which way?”

“Sorry, Detective. It’s just past Riverside at the bottom of the hill.”

“What did I say about formalities? Save that for the brass. Just call me Tidwell or Sam.”

“Yes, Detective.” It came out before I could catch it.

“It’s bad enough you look like a little girl; don’t act like one.”

I hate when they do that! Ironic. When I was twelve, everyone thought I was older and treated me as such. Now at twenty-four, I looked like an overdeveloped twelve-year-old.

Detective Tidwell loosened his tie and unbuttoned the top button of his shirt. He stroked the salt and pepper beard which gave him a distinguished look and glanced down the road. He had a deep sorrow that added ten years to his appearance. I suppose we were a chronological paradox. “Church murder…that’s bad luck.”

“What do you mean?” Maybe he had a bad experience too.

“Nothing good ever comes from it,” he said.

I caught sight of the steeple and rubbed a sudden chill from my arms. I hated churches and church people.

It was a traditional small church building in the shape of an L with a one-story sanctuary connected to the two-story educational wing at the base of the L, just like so many small churches I’d seen as a kid.

When we pulled into the driveway, Detective Tidwell said, “Remember, just follow my lead. You got something to say, say it; otherwise, just observe.” As soon as he got out of the car, he straightened his tie and buttoned the first button of his suit coat. “If it’s too much, Rhodes, get some air.” He walked through the front doors and let them shut behind him.

I wanted to say, “This wasn’t my first homicide, and I’m pretty sure it won’t be my last,” but nothing came out. I stood there staring at the closed wooden double doors.

As I entered the tiny four-foot-deep foyer of the small church, my partner made the introductions, saying, “Detectives Tidwell and Rhodes.” I stared through the open double doors of the tiny foyer, fixated on the wooden cross on the far wall at the opposite end of the sanctuary. A Metro officer greeted us and printed our names and titles in the crime scene logbook.

He directed us to Officer Lee, the lead officer, who extended his hand to Detective Tidwell. Tidwell shook his hand then ducked under the crime scene tape dividing the foyer from the sanctuary. He glanced around the fifty-by-one-hundred-foot box of a room and walked down the center aisle. Officer Lee brought him up to speed.

I listened from the foyer as he recited the particulars of the crime scene from his memory and notes. He pointed to the baptistery which was situated behind a wall on the sanctuary stage and could be seen through an arched open space that began about chest high and ended two feet from the twenty-foot-high ceiling. Detective Tidwell walked across the hardwood-floored stage and stopped halfway between the pulpit and the baptistery window. He turned and listened to the rest of Officer Lee’s report. “Officers Hernandez and Smith are mapping out the crime scene and taking photos. Officer Grant has the church leaders spread out in the fellowship hall. CSI is on the way.” He pointed to the baptistery. “Our vic’s at the bottom.”

I stood frozen at the entrance of the sanctuary. My eyes locked on the wooden cross hung at the back wall of the baptistery, powerless to turn away. I stood there like an idiot, holding the crime tape in my hands. The officer behind me asked, “Hey, Rhodes, How’s the new gig?”

“Still learning where I fit in,” I muttered. “For now, I’m just the shadow.” I pointed to Detective Tidwell. “He’s the lead.”

The moment I said it, Detective Tidwell turned and said, “Hey, Rhodes, can we move on, or would you rather stay there and socialize?”

I rolled my eyes as I ducked under the tape. As I forced myself down the center aisle, I counted thirteen rows of pews. The décor was a mix of old and new. New ceiling, but old fixtures. Stained glass windows on the side walls, each depicting a scene from Jesus’s life, with a can light pointed at each one. A modest stage with drums, keyboard, guitars, and a baby grand in the opposite corner. Classic baptistery in the center behind the pulpit…a clear, acrylic pulpit. Nice.

Detective Tidwell stepped up to the fourteen-inch-tall baptistery glass set in the bottom of the window. He looked down into the water. “That’s something you don’t see every day.”

At five-six, I had to stand on my tiptoes to see over the glass window that allowed a view from the pews. I could hear the pump churning and noticed a slight movement in the water’s surface. A man’s body lay at the bottom, traces of a dark fluid seeping from the vic’s mouth and nose. The body was already releasing liquids as it decomposed. “Do we know who he is?” I asked.

“The pastor, Mark Ripley. Thirty-three-year-old white male, married, father of two.”

Detective Tidwell stared at the body. “Family been notified?”

“Not yet.” Officer Lee flipped through his notes. “According to Faith Jones, the church secretary, the pastor’s wife and kids are on their way back from St. Louis.”

“Any witnesses?” Detective Tidwell asked.

“No, but the church leaders all have theories as to his death. He was discovered when they arrived for their Tuesday morning leadership meeting.”

“How many leaders?” Detective Tidwell asked.

Officer Lee looked through his notes. “Twelve.”

“That explains all the vehicles,” I said. “Who called it in?”

“Owen Jenkins, the Men’s Ministry leader.” Lee led us out of the sanctuary to a small hallway at the side of the stage that led to the main hall of the educational building. From there we turned left to the doors of the changing rooms, one for men, and one for women. The door to the women’s side was cracked, and the frame shattered.

I scanned the room before entering. Something didn’t fit. “Why are the stairs and floor wet? The body’s been there at least a day.”

“According to Owen Jenkins, he saw the body and ran back to the church office to call 911. While he was doing that, the secretary and youth minister entered the church through the sanctuary doors. Noticing the baptistery light on, the secretary went up on the stage to turn it off. That’s when she saw the body and screamed. The youth minister took it upon himself to check the body, believing the pastor was still alive. Owen Jenkins heard the commotion, came back to the sanctuary. As soon as he noticed the youth minister in the water, he yelled for him to get out.” Officer Lee closed his notebook. “We taped it off the moment we arrived.”

“What an idiot!” Detective Tidwell snapped.

The officer smiled faintly and read another note. “The youth minister’s name is Jonathan Williams.”

Detective Tidwell pinched the bridge of his nose. “You’re telling me a well-intentioned staff member compromised our crime scene?” Tidwell didn’t like complications. They took more time.

I recorded detailed notes in my book. “I’m sure prints won’t help anyway. A church this size probably doesn’t clean back here often.” Turning to Officer Lee, I asked, “Did someone take pictures anyway?” Officer Lee nodded. “What about a sketched diagram with measurements?” He nodded again. Standard procedure. These were officers of East Precinct. They were trained well.

“Officers Hernandez and Smith will get those down to Homicide as soon as they’re finished.”

“Smell that? Bleach.” I looked at the remains of the door and frame where someone had broken through. “Looks like someone tried to clean up.” After donning sanitary booties and Nitrile gloves, we entered the crime scene, doing our best to preserve the integrity of the remaining evidence. I knelt by the stairs and pointed to a seam where the vinyl flooring met the rubber treads of the steps leading up to the baptistery. “There’s blood here.”

Detective Tidwell knelt beside me. “Here too. Look in the grooves of the stairs.”

“Sloppy job. Must have been in a hurry.”

Detective Tidwell turned to Officer Lee. “Could you see if there’s a janitor’s closet somewhere? If so, look for a looped-end string mop. If so, bag it. We’ll have the lab check it for blood and prints on the handle.”

“More here,” I announced, holding out a white robe with spots of blood on the sleeve. “Do we have any Luminal so we can check the whole room?”

Detective Tidwell said, “CSI will.” He called out for Officer Smith to take photos of the blood stains.

Detective Tidwell’s phone rang. He answered it and listened. He lowered the phone from his ear and said, “CSI is pulling in now. If you don’t mind, have them spray the room and light it up.”

“Will do, Detective. Anything else?”

“If you have anyone to spare, I’d like to have them canvass the immediate neighborhood to see if anyone saw cars coming or going between their last church service and this morning.”

Detective Tidwell sighed and asked, “Now, where are those witnesses?”

***

Excerpt from Water Grave by Mitchell S. Karnes. Copyright 2025 by Mitchell S. Karnes. Reproduced with permission from Mitchell S. Karnes. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Mitchell S. Karnes

MITCHELL S. KARNES is a husband, father of seven, and grandfather of ten. Mitchell uses his experience and insights as a minister, counselor, and educator to write and speak on challenging issues and concerns with an ever-growing audience. He has published six novels, three short stories, a one-act play, and numerous Bible study lessons.

Through two separate battles against Non-Hodgkin’s Lymphoma, God has given Mitchell a new perspective on life that challenges him to create stories to entertain audiences and call them to action. Mitchell’s mission is to reach and reconcile those disillusioned with God and His church and to inspire the church to live out the love of Christ Jesus in a broken and hurting world.

Catch Up With Mitchell S. Karnes:
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Giveaway – Bone Pendant Girls by Terry S Friedman @partnersincr1me @tfried44

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Bone Pendant Girls by Terry S. Friedman Banner

BONE PENDANT GIRLS

by Terry S. Friedman

February 10 – March 7, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

BONE PENDANT GIRLS by Terry S. Friedman

THE ANDI WYNDHAM SERIES

 

Beware the Fisherman.

Andi Wyndham has communicated with spirits since she was a kid. When a bone pendant carved into the likeness of a girl’s face calls to her at a gem show in Pennsylvania, she can’t resist buying it and a sister piece. When she discovers the girls are missing runaways and the pendants are made of human bone, Andi is drawn into a mystery that will force her to confront her gifts, her guilt, and the ghosts haunting her.

Pendant Girls Mariah and Bennie urge Andi to find a man they call “Fisherman,” a master of disguise. Teaming up with a handsome private eye and a South Carolina sheriff, Andi must find the girls’ bodies and put their souls to rest, before the Fisherman casts his deadly net to trap Andi.

Praise for Bone Pendant Girls:

“Beautifully written, Friedman’s lyrical style will lure you in and scare you senseless.”
~ Annette Dashofy, USA Bestselling author of the Zoe Chambers Mysteries

“Friedman’s fast-paced thriller is both heart-pounding and heart-wrenching.”
~ Starred review Library Journal, March 1, 2024

“Full of paranormal twists, Bone Pendant Girls is a supernatural thriller about trust and acceptance.”
~ Foreword Reviews

“This supernatural thriller provides an enjoyable wrinkle in narration. The audiobook doesn’t feature a single narrator voicing all characters or a full cast with an individual narrator voicing each character. . . . Together, the three narrators provide enlightening perspectives on the hunt at the heart of this chilling production.”
~ D.E.M. © AudioFile 2024, Portland, Maine [Published: MAY 2024]

Book Details:

Genre: Paranormal Thriller, Suspense, Mystery, Southern
Published by: CamCat Books
Publication Date: February 25, 2025
Number of Pages: 496
ISBN: 9780744307931 (ISBN10: 0744307937)
Series: Andi Wyndham, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | CamCat Books | Goodreads | Audible

Read an excerpt:

Ginkgo leaves drifted down like butterfly wings outside the gem show. They made a yellow carpet on the walkway to the boarding school’s gymnasium. Within the swirling leaves, Andi heard a voice. Hollow metallic vowels rustled like leaves in gutters. Consonants scratched and thumped like animals trapped in heating ducts. When the frantic skittering of syllables merged into words, a ghostly plea slipped into her consciousness. Trapped . . . help.

“You’ll find your way to the Other Side,” Andi whispered.

Some days, the spirits refused to leave her in peace. Turning off spirits’ voices was like trying to keep a snake in a bird cage. The Shadows had been with her since she was four. Her mother had sent those spirits to watch over her. But the voice she heard today was not the Shadows. They rarely spoke.

Please . . . help.

Andi opened the door. “I’m not the one to help you,” she told the young voice. “I attract bad men.”

The ticket ladies took her money and stamped her hand. She scanned from one end of the gymnasium to the other. So many vendors. Where to start. Left past the fossils to a station called P&S Lapidary. They always had unique pieces.

Please . . . ma’am. The whisper had a faint Southern lilt.

“Aw come on. Hijack someone else’s head. Go see my ex-husband. Convince him to give me all his money.” Andi looked left and right to make sure no one had heard. No need to worry. Odds were good that at least one other person in the crowd talked to herself.

Andi made her way through thirty stations. Through bargain-bound women rummaging in bins of clearance beads, through vendors taking orders to set stones, through miles of bead strands, she searched for the perfect happy, shiny piece. Twice around the gym, and that whispering voice drilled its way into her conscience again.

Please . . . buy . . . me.

Cripes! The urgency of that sweet young voice. She heaved a sigh. “Hope you’re not expensive. Where are you?” Her feet ached and the place was stifling hot. “Where?”

Over here!

She couldn’t see a damn thing through the shoppers lined up two people deep at the stations. Up on her toes, down, from foot to foot, sideways. A tiring, annoying dance. Andi shivered despite the stuffy gymnasium.

Here!

Easing her way through the shoppers, she peered into a glass display case. Malachite beads, a red coral branch necklace, two strands of ringed freshwater pearls, and one pendant with a cameo-style face etched in bone.

The vendor with a bolo tie looked like her ninth grade geography teacher. “Let me open that for you. The face pendants are going fast. Only two left.” He lifted the hinged glass cover.

Me! A loud whisper from the carved pendant with a girl’s face.

Andi looked intently at it. Like most cameos, the face was a side profile. Tendrils of the girl’s curly hair escaped an upswept hairdo, framing her face. At first, she appeared to be asleep. Then the girl’s face turned and studied her too, eyes blinking as if she’d just awakened. Andi shivered. In the spirit world she’d inherited from her mother, voices whispered. Images in jewelry didn’t move.

What now? She spoke silently. Subconscious to subconscious.

Hurry, ma’am! Buy . . .

A woman who reeked of Chanel No. 5 snatched the face pendant from the case.

“Excuse me,” Andi said. “I came here to buy that piece. It called to me.” There now, she’d admitted she was crazy. She gave a lopsided grin and a shrug. “Please could I have it?”

“Sorry, hon. I got here first.” A condescending glance at Andi, and the lady wrapped her bratwurst fingers around the pendant.

“Not to worry, ladies,” the seller told them. “I have another like this.” He pushed the tablecloth aside, reached under the table, and pulled out a second pendant. “It’s stunning with Namibian Pietersite accents. I could let you have it for the same price.”

No . . . me. An adamant voice.

“I don’t want the other pendant,” Andi said. “I came here for the one in her hand.” At the next booth, a woman holding a jade jar stopped talking and stared at her. Andi blushed, knowing she sounded like a petulant child.

Suddenly, Chanel Lady gasped. “Ouch! Awful thing cut me. It has sharp edges.” A thin line of blood welled on her finger, and she dropped the pendant as if it had bitten her.

Andi caught it before it hit the floor. The silver bezel felt ice-cold. A young girl’s eyes gazed up at her and blinked. Thanks, ma’am.

She stared at the pendant. Her mother had warned about spirits attaching to people. If spirits attached, she’d said, terrible things could happen.

Chanel Lady cradled the darker pendant. Not a word was uttered from it. Maybe the tea-stained piece believed in being seen and not heard. Its bone face was younger. Pietersite in the top bezel had chatoyancy, a luminous quality. Thin wavy splotches of browns, blacks, reds, and yellows swirled through the dark stone like tiny ice crystals in frozen latte.

“Yes. I like this one better. Excellent quality Pietersite,” Chanel Lady said.

“If you don’t mind, I’ll take her payment first.” The seller probably wanted to send the woman to another station before she started a fight with his customers.

“No problem. Is this ivory?” Andi asked. Whether vendors called it mammoth bone or not, elephants didn’t deserve to be slaughtered for jewelry.

“Absolutely not. Wouldn’t sell it if it was. Cow bone,” he assured her.

A triumphant smirk aimed at Andi, and Chanel Lady made her way through the crowd. Subduing an impulse to give her the middle finger, Andi turned back to the pendant. She studied the heart-shaped face, turned it over and winced at the tiny price sticker. Was she insane? Andi couldn’t afford that; she’d lost her teaching job.

“I’ll need your address and email.” The seller handed her a clipboard.

She’d fought over it and won, no changing her mind now. While he charged her credit card, Andi filled out the information for his mailing list. Then she weaved through the shoppers to find a quiet corner by the concessions stand.

What the hell. The pendant was a dose of credit card therapy. Unzipping the plastic sleeve, she lifted the piece by the bail. Two bezels set in silver. One disk held labradorite, a luminous blue stone with black veins, and in the second bezel, a face carved in bone. She shifted it in her palm, studying the details. Had light played with the image, making it look like the girl moved? It would warm at the touch of her skin.

Once more around the gym, and she left the show, slogging through the field toward her car, wondering how a whispering girl had convinced her to buy a pricey pendant. Yet, she had a sense that something other than her credit card bill had changed.

***

Excerpt from Bone Pendant Girls by Terry S. Friedman. Copyright 2024 by Terry S. Friedman. Reproduced with permission from Terry S. Friedman. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Terry S. Friedman

Terry Friedman is a writer and a rockhound. Her novel, BONE PENDANT GIRLS, a paranormal thriller, was published by CamCat January 30, 2024.

Terry began her writing career freelancing for a small newspaper outside Philadelphia. While raising her daughters Jessica and Chelie in West Chester, PA, she taught English for decades and traveled abroad with students. Terry earned an M.F.A. from Wilkes University and also graduated from the FBI Citizens Academy. Thirteen of her fiction and non-fiction pieces have been published, and she co-edited Delaware Valley Mystery Writers’ short stories anthology. DEATH KNELL V.

She is an award-winning author. In 2022 the Southeastern Writers Association awarded her first place in their writing contest for her humor piece, second place for BONE PENDANT GIRLS in a fiction category, and an honorable mention for THE BANSHEE’S WAIL, an unpublished Irish novel. She is a Killer Nashville Claymore Finalist in the Supernatural category.

A Pennwriters Board member and a member of Sisters in Crime, she currently writes thrillers from coastal South Carolina. Terry has traveled the world from Fiji to Delphi and brings to her writing a solid respect for things that go bump in the night.

Catch Up With Terry S. Friedman:
www.TerryFriedmanAuthor.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads – @tfried44
BookBub – @tfried44
Instagram – @wineandreeses
Threads – @wineandreeses
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BlueSky – @tfried44
Facebook – @TerrySFriedmanAuthor

 

 

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$20 GC – Can’t Help Falling In Love by Mariah Ankenman @xpressotours @mariahankenman

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Can’t Help Falling In Love
Mariah Ankenman
Publication date: February 13th 2025
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

Growing up with three brothers, Charlie Jackson had to be tough. Some might call her the B word, but she simply defends those who need it. Unfortunately, not everyone sees her protection as defense. Like the judge who ordered her to take anger management classes after she messed up her jerk ex’s car. Not a problem, a few months pretending to listen to a bunch of people talk about accessing feelings should go down as smooth as the vodka her family makes at their distillery.

Luc Woolf knows all about harboring anger at the world. Growing up with a father who liked the bottle more than his family, he suffered his fair share of rage. But he gave up that emotion long ago when he realized anger did nothing but make a person miserable. These days, he keeps a cool head and helps others process their emotions as a therapist. However, when he volunteers to moderate an anger management course, he meets the one person who tests his careful control, Charlie Jackson.

The two couldn’t be more at odds, but they can’t deny the scorching heat between them. This bad girl wants to show this good boy how much fun breaking the rules can be. After all, opposites attract. But when the struggles of real life interrupt their fun times, will their differences pull them apart or bond them together?

Goodreads / Amazon / Barnes & Noble / iBooks

—

EXCERPT:

Luc Woolf sat at the table, a smart-ass grin ticking up the corner of his mouth. “We have to stop meeting like this.”

The smooth, deep voice washed over her like silk. She would not laugh at his ridiculous attempt at humor. But damn it all, she felt the curve of her lips as a smile she couldn’t seem to stop, turned them up.

“Damn small towns.”

He chuckled. “I thought you owned a bar?”

“I do.”

“But you’re a server on the side?” He tilted his head. “There a large abolition following in Kismet I’m not aware of?”

“No. The distillery does great. So great in fact that we expanded into a restaurant. One of the servers had an emergency and needed her shift covered.”

Dark brows rose. “And the boss filled in?”

“We’re a family run establishment.” She shrugged. “It’s what you do when your family needs help. You help.”

Something passed through his eyes. Respect. She had no idea why, but it made a warm fuzzy feeling rise in her stomach. Luc seemed to understand and even applaud her actions of the evening. Stupid. She didn’t give a rat’s ass what he thought.

Then why was her heart suddenly racing?

“So,” he grabbed his menu again, breaking the moment. “What’s good here?”

“Everything. And I don’t just say that because I co-own the joint. Our chef is amazing. What do you like?”

“I’m not picky.”

He said that, but they were half an hour away from Denver. Hipster central. Trends took off like wildfire in the city and spread like the plague to the small tourists’ towns like Kismet. Currently they’d had to accommodate for everything from Paleo to gluten free patrons. She had no problem catering to a customer who had a food allergy, but she really hated the bandwagon eaters who fussed and complained because they were strictly gluten free and then ordered a piece of cheesecake with graham cracker crust.

“No allergies? No weird fad diets?”

“Do I look like I do fad diets?” He arched one eyebrow.

No, he did not. In fact, the man looked like he ate steel for breakfast and iron for dinner. A dark V-neck sweater clung tight to his chest revealing just a hint of chest hair. The sleeves were pushed up past his elbows, revealing tightly muscled forearms. Damn, had she ever found forearms sexy before? She did tonight.

“A meat and potatoes kind of guy?” Her mouth felt too dry. She swallowed, trying for the life of her to find some saliva. “Our steak is amazing, but if you prefer fish, we have a great salmon with dill sauce.”

He held the menu in his fingers, but his gaze focused on her. “It all sounds amazing.”

Her breath caught in her throat, brain blanking. How did this guy render her speechless with just a look? It wasn’t fair. No one should be that sexy.

“Um, yeah. It is.” Clever Charlie. “What can I bring you?”

He placed the menu at the edge of the table, eyes never leaving hers. “You pick.”

“What?”

“You own the place. You know what’s best. You pick something for me.”

Shaking herself out of whatever weird fog she’d been in, she laughed. “You want me to pick your meal.” He nodded. Licking her lips, she placed her hand on the table and leaned down. “How do you know I won’t poison you?”

He wasn’t exactly her favorite person, and she’d made no bones about it. He leaned toward her until they were inches apart. She could smell the sharp mint of his breath, feel its warmth on her lips and cheeks. Her blood began to heat, heart racing in her chest. This was ridiculous! She should not react this way to a man who’d done nothing but annoy the crap out of her since the moment she ran into him.

“You do need me to sign off on your anger management course. If I suddenly die after eating at an establishment you own it might look pretty sketchy to the judge,” he said the words in a teasing tone, the dimple in his cheek catching her eye at his wide grin.

Laughter bubbled out of her. “True. Plus, it’d be a shame to poison all that sexy.”

The moment the words left her mouth she wanted to shove them back in.

Surprise lifted his brow. “You think I’m sexy?”

Embarrassment flooded her, so she did what she always did when she felt insecure. She pushed away from the table, crossing her arms over her chest, and brought out her trademark sarcasm. “Don’t fish for compliments. You own a damn mirror.”

He grinned, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not so bad yourself, Charlie.”


Author Bio:

Bestselling author Mariah Ankenman lives in the beautiful Rocky Mountains with her two rambunctious children and loving spouse who is her own personal spell checker when her dyslexia gets the best of her.

Mariah loves to lose herself in a world of words. Her favorite thing about writing is when she can make someone’s day a little brighter with one of her books. To learn more about Mariah and her books visit her website www.mariahankenman.com

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / X


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$15 GC – Perfectly Polished by Lynne Hancock Pearson @xpressotours

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Perfectly Polished
Lynne Hancock Pearson
(Keeney Builds, #2)
Publication date: February 10th 2025
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

He made good on his promise to call. She refused to answer.

Facing an embarrassing divorce and fighting against her controlling mother, Fiona doesn’t have time for the broody ex-con, despite toe-curling kisses that still star in her dreams.

Surprise doesn’t begin to describe her reaction when he appears in her company’s boardroom months later. And ignores her.

Tomas tells himself he’s no longer interested in the tightly wound executive. But he can’t stop wondering if she’s all right. Can’t stop wanting to pick up the pieces. Can’t stop thinking about how perfect she felt in his arms.

Defying her mother, Fiona gives Tomas a chance, and they connect over their shared dream of building affordable housing. The community rallies around them, but not everyone is on board, and roadblocks are thrown up to challenge their plan and their relationship.

Can they build something solid despite threats to their foundation? Is permanent even possible when family differences turn ugly?

Perfectly Polished is a small-town, opposites-attract romance between a burly builder who grunts more than he speaks and a polished professional who has never known love.

Goodreads / Amazon

—

EXCERPT:

Forty-five minutes.

Fiona Han discreetly turned off the alarm on her smart watch. It wasn’t that she was having a bad time, these were nice people. But they were people who knew far too much about her, and she was ready for this day to be over. With a small smile, she said, “I called an uber. Hilary, thanks for inviting me. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“I’ll drive you home.”

Fiona blinked and stared at Tomas Alvarado. “Umm… Thanks, but I’m fine.” She waved her phone at him and put it into her purse.

He stood and looked down at her. “I’ll drive you home.”

Eep!

She did not want to make a scene. He didn’t give off the axe-murderer vibe, and her friends were grinning at her like he was perfectly safe, but the man unnerved her.

Marcia Ortiz, a woman in her mid-fifties, and best friend to Fiona’s mother in law Iris, touched her hand. “You’ll be fine,” she murmured.

Fiona rose, tucked her purse under her arm and followed Tomas to the stairs leading from Hilary’s deck to the driveway. She glanced back at Marcia, who winked at her.

Eep!

Descending the stairs, she was aware of the man behind her. It seemed that for the past two weeks, Tomas had been at her back, without saying a word. Reaching the driveway, she faced three white pick-up trucks bearing the logo for Keeney Building Supplies, the company Iris owned. With a hand to her elbow, Tomas guided her to the one in the middle, distinguishable from the others by the rosary hanging from the rearview mirror, and opened the passenger door. Fiona eyed the distance up to the seat of the truck, then down at her pencil skirt and heels. Then she was up. Tomas placed her gently on the seat and reached around to buckle the seat belt.

“I’m not a child!” She glared up at him.

He met her eyes fully for the very first time. “I know you’re not.” He closed the door and walked around the hood of the truck.

Walk was the wrong word. Tomas prowled like a predator. Did that make her his prey?

He climbed behind the wheel, his presence taking up all the air in the truck. Fiona wanted to open the window, to breathe, perhaps to crawl out.

Placing a large hand on the back of her seat, he ignored her as he turned to back out of the driveway. She could smell him. If she turned her head, ever so slightly, she could brush up against his hand and rub his scent all over her. Where had that thought come from? Fiona shook her head and stared forward.

“I live on Dunlop Street,” she told him.

“I know.” Tomas met her eyes in the rearview mirror. “I changed the locks on your doors last week.”

“Right,” she said in a small voice. To keep the douche canoe of her soon to be ex-husband out. Her eyes got big. “I haven’t paid you yet! I’m so sorry, I forgot all about it. I can write you a cheque when we get to the house. It’s just –”

“It’s taken care of.”

“Oh.” Tomas worked for her mother-in-law. Iris must have had him do it. “Thank you.”

He drove in silence.

Not knowing how to converse with someone who clearly didn’t like to talk, she leaned her head back, and closed her eyes.

She awoke to see Tomas scouring the word ‘cunt’ off her garage door.

Fiona threw herself from the truck, stumbling as she hit the ground. She righted herself and flew around the hood of the truck. Tomas whirled and grimaced.

“Ohmygod. Ohmygod. Ohmygod,” she chanted, pacing back and forth in front of the garage. Scrawled in dripping red paint, each capital letter was at least two feet high.

Eddie.

He’d chosen a public and humiliating way to get back at her.

Author Bio:

Lynne Hancock Pearson writes fun, flirty, feel-good fiction that simmers at low heat. Set in the Pacific Northwest, they are stories of people finding their way, even if it takes a while to get there.

She lives near Seattle with two and a half finicky felines and one long-suffering husband. She is a left-handed middle child who grew up in the Great White North and is a proud member of the Métis Nation of Canada.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram


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$25 GC – The Ballad Of The Great Value Boys by Ken Harris @partnersincr1me @KAHFiction

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The Ballad of the Great Value Boys by Ken Harris Banner

THE BALLAD OF THE GREAT VALUE BOYS

by Ken Harris

February 10 – March 7, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Ballad of the Great Value Boys by Ken Harris

FROM THE CASE FILES OF STEVE ROCKFISH

 

Private Investigators Steve Rockfish and Jawnie McGee’s loyalty is tested when they are called upon to rescue a friend whose plan to grift a local Militia goes awry. The ruse rebrands expiring MREs as Q-Rations, focuses on fear, and targets those with an anti-government mindset.

Rockfish and McGee arrive in the dilapidated steel town of Grindsville and are quick to realize the Penn Forest Patriots are more than weekend LARPers. The partner’s investigation uncovers a devious plot to light the fuse on a series of domestic terrorism events and throw the country into chaos.

The lack of a timely response by Federal Law Enforcement swiftly constitutes an emergency on Rockfish and McGee’s part. The plot forces them to empty their analytical and investigative skill sets across two states in an attempt to mitigate the threat. Can they prevent the terror cell from igniting the next insurrection and running out the clock on America’s democracy?

Praise for The Ballad of the Great Value Boys:

“Steve Rockfish is back and kicking militia ass. In fact, the whole crew is back, busting balls as they solve crimes and track down the bad guys. The wisecracks fly fast and furious. So do the twists and turns. The bad guys are badder, the danger more dangerous, and every character as endearing as they are dysfunctional. I couldn’t turn the pages fast enough.”
~ Haris Orkin, award-winning author of The James Flynn Escapades

“Prepare for twists, turns, and more than a few laugh-out loud moments in this rollercoaster of a thriller that pits wise-cracking private investigator Steve Rockfish and his band of unlikely cohorts against a right-wing extremist militia group with a dangerous agenda.”
~ Patti Liszkay, author of The Equal and Opposite Reactions Trilogy

“Great gobs of serious yet hilarious crime-solving by Steve and Jawnie, along with their cast of friends ranging from dependable to what-the-hell-now crazy. Absolutely a fun ride! But I warn you, you’ll want to read the entire series tonight.”
~ Val Conrad, author of The Julie Madigan Thriller Series

Book Details:

Genre: Crime Fiction
Published by: Black Rose Writing
Publication Date: February 6, 2025
Number of Pages: 350
ISBN: 9781685135539 (ISBN10: 1685135536)
Series: From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish series, Book 4
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Black Rose Writing

Read an excerpt:

You’ve reached Rockfish & McGee, Investigative Specialists. At the tone, leave your name and message. Someone will get back to you at our earliest convenience. [Beep]

“Steve, why don’t you ever answer your cell? I’m in deep shit here and you are my one call. Grindsville. Somewhere in Pennsylvania, heading west. The locals have me locked up on a trumped-up charge. You gotta believe me, Steve. I didn’t do a damn thing…”

The partners stood around Lynn’s desk and listened to the voicemail, left the previous evening. Their administrative assistant had heard Raffi’s plea for help first, and immediately reached out to Rockfish and Jawnie to advise of a friend of the office’s predicament.

“I’m guessing you didn’t pick up his call yesterday?” Jawnie said, with a perturbed look on her face.

“Would you want to talk to Raffi every time he calls?” Rockfish said, raising his own eyebrows. “Plus, I didn’t know it was him. The notification came up, Unknown Caller, and I forwarded it to the office line. I assumed it was spam, figured we’d listen and handle it on Monday. And well, here we are. Plus, I didn’t want to mute the television. It was that new Marvel movie, Hawkgirl Takes Topeka.”

“DC Universe, but I totally get where you’re coming from,” Jawnie said with a grin. “Too bad it wasn’t a scammer halfway around the world calling regarding our Medicare benefits.”

“If I was his only call, then he’s expecting me to come up there and bail him out. Where the hell is Grindsville, anyway?”

“Central Pennsylvania, Boss,” Lynn said. She glanced up from her computer at Jawnie and Rockfish, standing on the other side. “Two hours east of Pittsburgh. What do you think he did?”

“You heard as much of that rambling message as I did. Lord knows what type of scheme he had in mind and was trying to run on the rural bumpkins,” Rockfish said. He stepped back into the office’s bullpen area before slumping into his favorite recliner. This is the last damn thing I need today. The Andrist case keeps raising its ugly head and I don’t have the time to handle two problem children at once. Where is my morning coffee?

“Steve, you know as well as I do Raffi’s voicemail changes with each money-making opportunity,” Jawnie said. He hadn’t noticed she followed him and had taken up her normal seat on the couch, laptop open and at the ready. “Might as well dial and listen. It might give you a leg up on what you’re facing in Grindsville. Assuming you’re going and someone powered down his phone. It’s probably in an evidence storage locker. The call should go straight to voicemail. If you’re considering following up on this.”

“You know as well as I do, I can’t leave him hanging,” Rockfish said. “Google says it’s anywhere between three and four hours to get there as the Lana flies. If I can get out of here before noon, I might have him sprung before dinner.” He shifted his body in the chair and turned toward Lynn’s desk. “Lynn, let’s hear it.”

“Speed dial four on speaker. Gimme a sec.”

Rockfish and Jawnie got up and stood around Lynn’s desk. They both leaned across and listened as the number rang once and rolled over to voicemail.

“Hello, you’ve reached the desk of Raphael Pérez, President of Patriot Meals on American Made Wheels. Please visit our website, www.Q-Rations.biz for orders and to view our FAQ. Please leave a message and a true patriot will get back to you shortly. God Bless.”

“He’s catering to the insurrectionists, isn’t he?” Jawnie said. The concern in her face was clear, and Rockfish wasn’t sure how to answer. He chose his words carefully. Raffi was a friend.

What am I going to tell her she already doesn’t know? The guy will do practically anything to make a buck, no matter the gray area involved. Social, political or moral issue be damned. That’s Raffi.

“Jawnie, we’ve all got parts of us that aren’t the most desirable. Hell, look at me. Who the fuck in their right mind would want to be associated with me?”

“Are you implying I’m not in my right mind?”

“Yeah, me too,” Lynn said. “Shots fired, Steve.”

Rockfish walked back to his chair and stood behind it, elbows resting on the back. “That’s damn well not what I meant, and you both know it.”

Both women cracked smiles, and Rockfish relaxed for a minute before continuing.

“We all know he straddles that line, but I’ve known him longer than either of you two. The man’s in it for the money. Nothing more, nothing less. Let me go figure out what kind of mess he’s gotten himself into and we can revisit adjusting his moral compass when I get back.”

Rockfish poured himself a cup of coffee. I’ll need more than this tonight after I sweet-talk his ass out of jail. Might as well stop at the liquor store before making the drive. Hotel bar drinks are on the expensive side. Shop for a happy ending and will it into existence.

“I’m headed back to my office. Try to figure out my next couple of moves and exactly what he was doing up in the middle of nowhere.” He turned and walked down the short hallway to his private office.

Once out of the sight of prying eyes, Rockfish finished constructing his homemade Irish coffee and turned on his monitor. I need to figure this mess out. The sooner the better. Patriot Meals on American Wheels and something about rations. Since the Porbeagle case, Raffi usually focused his semi-legitimate business opportunities on the bumpkins he felt he could run circles around intelligence-wise. Especially should any part of his half-assed plans go sideways. Only makes sense he zeroed on those who continue to celebrate January 6th. Best to start researching with his website and gather what I can.

Rockfish picked up his desk phone and dialed Raffi’s cell again. He jotted down the URL on a pink Post-it and stuck it to the bottom of his monitor. I need to talk to Lynn. We need good old-fashioned yellow ones. At least for me.

His fingers tapped out the web address and Rockfish paused as his pinky hovered over the return key. Do I really want to know? Can’t I drive up there with a credit card and pay the fine or whatever percentage of his bail the bondsman requires? You should know this already. The less you know about the man’s shenanigans, the better. No chance of being sucked into the Raffi vortex.

Curiosity won out and the Q-Rations.biz website filled the screen.

In the years since Jawnie had arrived on scene, Rockfish now had more experience with the Information Super Highway. While he wasn’t on her level, even he had to question the design of Raffi’s cracker-jack website. Looks like a site a middle school kid made in 1998. I can almost hear the dial-up modem noise.

The top of the page read Q-Rations against a black background, the letters alternating between red, white, and blue. The image flickered every couple of seconds. How many patriots had visited the site with full intentions to buy this shit but suffered a seizure before navigating to their shopping cart? Under the image was the slogan from the voicemail, Patriot Meals on American Made Wheels. What really caught Rockfish’s attention was the picture directly to the right of the bit of jingoism. Raffi stood at attention, dressed in what Rockfish thought was George C. Scott’s uniform from the opening scene in Patton. His right hand cocked and saluting.

The set of balls on this guy, but give him credit, he knows his audience. Pander to them until they open their wallets and then turn the grift up a few more notches.

The rest of the site’s front page laid out a story full of fear mongering and catered to the benefits of hoarding Q-Rations. Each meal would be priceless once Hillary Clinton, the newly appointed Biden Gun-Czar, came a knocking on your door. Think the supply chain is fucked six ways to Sunday now? Wait until George Soros declares martial law. Repackaged MREs? How did he come up with this idea? Rockfish imagined the interest and rising demand. He wondered where Raffi would or had gotten his supply from. He ain’t cooking and packaging this shit in the basement of his townhome.

The rest of the page detailed the different options of Q-Rations available for purchase, but Rockfish had seen and read enough. He moved his mouse over to the top of the browser and printed the page, before hollering down the hallway to where Lynn and Jawnie continued to talk.

“Lynn, can you use that webcrawly thing and download me a copy of Raffi’s entire website?” Rockfish said. “Chuck it on a USB along with the prison voicemail, and I’ll take it with me. I’m not sure what kind of internet I’ll have out in the mountains of West Central Pennsylvania.”

“Gotcha, Boss. I’m on it,” Lynn said.

“You’re a lifesaver.” Rockfish smiled to himself and heard a light knock. He glanced up to see Jawnie standing in the open doorway.

“You’re going this alone? There’s something to be said about going lone wolf in that area of the country, if you know what I mean. Plus, I don’t have the time to find a good-looking shot for when the milk container people call for your missing person picture.”

“I get it, but he’s my friend, and occasional support to this office,” Rockfish said with a shrug. “Listen, I’ll run up there, grab a hotel, pay his fine and come back with him riding shotgun in the morning. Worst case, it’s bail money instead of a fine, but at least he’ll be back on the street and owe me one.”

Jawnie shifted her weight from one leg to the other and leaned against the door frame with her arms crossed. Rockfish understood his reasoning, hadn’t fully sold his partner on the trip. In fact, Rockfish had lost count of exactly how many favors Raffi currently owed him.

“I can see you still don’t think it’s a grand plan. But if you come, who’s going to stay here and handle Andrist? I mean, I love he keeps hiring us, but that man is a handful and I can’t, in good faith, ask Lynn to deal with him on an almost daily basis.” Rockfish saw this line of reasoning was an easier sell by Jawnie’s nod and expression.

“He is our best client at the moment,” Jawnie said. “Best paying, too.”

“Coddle him. Hold his meetings at arm’s length. Do whatever you need. I’ll be back before noon tomorrow and be on my phone at all times,” Rockfish said. He stood up and grabbed his messenger bag and laptop.

“You’re leaving right this instant?”

“Yeah, I need to swing by Bass Pro Shops and pick up a few camo shirts, knit hat and a jacket. It’ll be pretty cold up there and I’ll blend in better. In small towns like this, the natives are restless. Just tryin’ to prevent any kind of run-in.”

“Better grab one of Mack’s old trucker hats and by all means, don’t shave,” Jawnie said and stepped back out of the doorway.

Rockfish paused and held out his fist and Jawnie bumped it. He picked up the USB from Lynn on his way out the door and auto-started Lana before stepping out into the February cold.

***

Excerpt from The Ballad of the Great Value Boys by Ken Harris. Copyright 2025 by Ken Harris. Reproduced with permission from Ken Harris. All rights reserved.

 

Don’t Miss The Other Case Files of Steve Rockfish

The Pine Barrens Stratagem by Ken Harris See You Next Tuesday by Ken Harris A Bad Bout of the Yips by Ken Harris
Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads


 

Author Bio:

Ken Harris

Ken Harris retired from the FBI, after thirty-two years, as a cybersecurity executive. With over three decades writing intelligence products for senior Government officials, Ken provides unique perspectives on the conventional fast-paced crime thriller. He is the author of the “From the Case Files of Steve Rockfish” series. He spends days with his wife Nicolita, and two Labradors, Shady and Chalupa Batman. Evenings are spent playing Walkabout Mini Golf and cheering on Philadelphia sports. Ken firmly believes Pink Floyd, Irish whiskey and a Montecristo cigar are the only muses necessary. He is a native of New Jersey and currently resides in Virginia’s Northern Neck.

Catch Up With Ken Harris:
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Facebook – @kah623

 

 

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$25 GC – Bad Guy by Ana Diamond @goddessfish @AuthorDiamond

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Ana Diamond will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN gift card to a randomly drawn winner. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.



Luke Daniels has done his fair share of bad things. But when the FBI offers him a deal in exchange for infiltrating the local Mafia’s infamous Costa Crew, Luke has no choice but to accept the challenge.

Beautiful, smart and tough, Sophia Costa wants out of the Crew. Appointed boss by her brother after he’s sent to prison, she wants no part in the murder, deceit and secrecy typical of Mafia life.

Just as things heat up between Luke and Sophia, a mysterious hitman targets Sophia, and Luke’s handler starts to wonder if Luke is up for the task.

As the lovers face the possibility of losing everything in order to be together, the line between loyalty and betrayal blur.


Read an Excerpt

At the entrance, a burly guy with a pug nose and dressed in a long black trench coat scanned the bar, like he was looking for someone. Kid turned toward the other end of the bar, signaling to a guy wearing a black fedora, who then promptly disappeared into the back room.

Pug Nose took notice of Kid’s intervention and barreled toward him with gritted teeth. But before he could get his hands on Kid, Luke elbowed him right in the center of his face. He fell back, clutching his bloody nose, while Luke continued the onslaught until he sensed surrender. Then he jumped off him while the others in the crowd lifted Pug Nose off the floor. Blood ran down his face and soaked his shirt. The room fell quiet as the sound of stilettos clicking on the floor became louder by the second.

Luke shook off the pain in his knuckles as he watched the dark-haired beauty approach.

She stopped and stared at Pug Nose’s injuries, quickly glanced at Luke, then back at Pug Nose. “Take this message back to your boss. We’re not afraid of you and if you come back, we’ll kill you one by one.” She nodded at her crew to take Pug Nose away, then turned to Luke.

A nervous tickle made him clear his throat as she stared up at him with deep sapphire-colored eyes. He couldn’t imagine what role she played in this dirty game full of thugs and thieves.

“I have to personally thank you for stepping in for Kid. What’s your name, Fighter?” she asked with a tiny smirk on her full red lips.

“Luke Daniels. May I ask who you are?”

“My name is Sophia Costa. I’m the boss.”

About the Author: When Ana Diamond isn’t writing about tough gals finding love in unexpected places, she’s at work by day in the medical field. She writes romantic mystery novels with feisty strong women and alluring men who can’t resist them. Her books are fast paced, entertaining and heartfelt all at once.

Ana is a 2020 Tara Contest Finalist for Body Conscious and 2015 Melody of Love contest finalist. She lives in New York with her husband, two children and two needy but wildly entertaining kitty cats.

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