In the English language, there are a few, very special words that can function as nouns, verbs, adjectives, and adverbs. One word goes further, creating new words from old.
That word is JACK.
The brandy distilled from hard cider was the first applejack, the word now synonymous with a children’s cereal. There is the nefarious one-eyed jack of playing card fame. Animals from the jackdaw to the jackrabbit to the elusive jackalope roam all the ranges. There are the ever growing number of people named Jack, birth named or nicknamed, heroes to villains. The way the word “jack” is used in the English language is truly unique, inventive, and too numerous for us to count.
For your puzzle solving pleasure, Mysteries to Die For presents: Things That Go Jack in the Night.
Pepper jack cheese. Lumberjack. Wolfman Jack. Jack be Nimble. One-eyed Jack. Jackass. Jacking Off. Jackalope. Jack-in-the-box. Jackknife. Jackpot. Audio jack.
Twelve stories arranged for you to deduce the truth. Twelve “jacks” that should definitely not be taken at face value. It’s a race between you and the detective to find the killer amid the jack in the night.
TG Wolff and Jack Wolff co-host the podcast Mysteries to Die For. This storytelling podcast combines with original music to put you in the heart of a mystery. All stories are structured to challenge you to beat the detective to the solution. Each season, authors craft whodunnit mysteries around a theme.
Season 6: Things that Go Jack in the Night features: KM Rockwood, Chuck Brownman, Nikki Knight, Ed Teja, Erica Obey, Kyra Jacobs, Ken Harris, Susan Wingate, TG Wolff, and Jack Wolff.
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I must confess, it was the tropical cover that made me pause and check out the book. Then, the blurb mentions that it is based ‘somewhat on bizarrely true events’, I had to read it.
I have not read any of the previous books in the series and I don’t feel like it impacted my enjoyment of Tropical Scandal, though I always recommend beginning at the beginning, if you can. It helps to keep from stumbling over references to earlier books.
The descriptive writing made it easy to visualize the intriguing characters. The storyline is in depth, convoluted, twisting and turning, keeping me reading, because there was no way this was going to be an easy mystery for me to solve. I don’t read a lot of legal thrillers, but David Myles Robinson led me through the investigation and court proceedings, step by step.
Greed runs rampant. Flawed characters abound. Some I cared for, others I think get their just desserts. All in all, I enjoyed my time in Hawaii and would love to visit again.
I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Tropical Scandal by David Myles Robinson.
3 Stars
BOOK BLURB
When Pancho McMartin, Honolulu’s top criminal defense attorney, takes on the case of Dayton Kalama, a young drug dealer accused of murdering his grandmother (tutu), Pancho is faced with a daunting amount of evidence pointing squarely at Dayton. But as Pancho, together with his private investigator, Drew Tulafono, gradually pull back the layers of deceit, they begin to uncover hints at what is beginning to look like the biggest scandal ever to hit Hawaii’s legal community. This book is pure fiction, but is inspired by true, scandalous events which shook Honolulu’s legal community to its core.
Amazon: https://amzn.to/482xd4X
Book Excerpt
I was surprised when my current lover, Padma Dasari, asked me to meet with Isaac Goldblum, a legendary Hawaii trial attorney who, now in his eighties, was an alcoholic still representing clients. I had made known my intolerance for those attorneys who fell prey to addiction
yet refused help—all while still accepting clients. They were walking malpractice cases who risked everything they’d worked for in their own lives—not to mention the lives of their
clients—by living and working as functional drunks or addicts.
Being a trial attorney was stressful. Being a criminal defense trial attorney was particularly stressful. Aside from the relatively rare innocent defendant, our customer base was composed of criminals who, generally speaking, were not the warmest and fuzziest people to deal with day in and day out.
Whether they were guilty or innocent, their lives were in our hands—a situation only the most jaded and burned-out counsel didn’t find stressful.
My surprise didn’t arise from the fact that Padma knew Goldblum. She was the former medical examiner for the city and county of Honolulu, and just as I had cross-examined her many times in her capacity as coroner, so had Goldblum. My surprise arose from the fact that Padma knew Goldblum had been one of my early heroes. He was most famous for having won an acquittal for two Hawaiian teenagers who had been charged with the murder of a prominent haole (Caucasian) businessman. The public outcry against the Hawaiian kids had been reminiscent of the uproar in the Deep South when young black men were charged with the rape of white women. It was scary. Goldblum was vilified for taking the case.
As he later said in an interview for the Honolulu Advertiser, he knew that anything short of proving who the real killer was would fall on deaf ears. His cross-examination of the
businessman’s administrative assistant, who’d been having an affair with the dead man’s wife and who ultimately confessed to the murder, was nothing short of brilliant.
I had shared my early hero worship of Goldblum with Padma, but I had also made it clear that I now harbored a healthy dose of contempt for the man, who seemed intent on destroying his own legacy. At the time, Padma had not tried to defend Goldblum.
We were enjoying a quiet Saturday afternoon at Padma’s Kahala Beach condo when she broached the subject of my meeting with Goldblum. “He lives here, in the next building,”
she said. “He’s invited us to stop by for a cocktail at about four.”
I stared out from her oceanfront lanai at the tranquil ocean.
The palm fronds on the coconut trees fronting the beach barely twitched. One lone puff of a cumulous cloud hovered in the bright blue sky.
“Why?” I asked. “Why would I want to go have a drink with a drunk who should have put himself on inactive status years ago?”
Padma stared back at me with her piercing dark eyes. I half expected her to admonish me for being too judgmental—a trait I seemed to have developed in recent years. “Isaac asked to
meet with you. We know each other from court, and he knows I live in this building, and he knows we’re in a relationship. I think he came to me rather than you because he knows—or at
least suspects—that you aren’t much of an admirer of his.”
Padma had been born in India and had done volunteer work as a doctor in Bangladesh, but she had lived and worked in the United States for most of her adult life. Nonetheless, she
still retained the remnants of an accent, which was melodic and soothing. No doubt she was a calming influence on many people grieving the loss of a loved one. She had been instrumental in
helping my mother in New Mexico get through the early stages of the loss of my father. Just the tone of her voice seemed to take the wind out of my judgmental sails.
“Okay, but do you know why he wants to meet?”
She gave a small shake of her head. “Something about a case. That’s all I know.” She paused for a beat. “Look, I know he’s a drunk and you hate the fact that he’s still going to court, but you have to admit: drunk or sober, the man knows the law and probably still has pretty good instincts. I doubt he would ask to meet with you if he didn’t think it was important.”
I resisted the temptation to make a snide remark and instead looked at my watch. It was three-thirty in the afternoon. “Why’d you wait until now to tell me about this?”
Padma’s beautiful brown face broke into a mischievous grin. “So you wouldn’t have time to obsess about it.”
I laughed. “Jesus, Padma. We’re not even married and you play me like a fiddle.”
“I love the fiddle,” was her only retort.
About the Author
David Myles Robinson has always had a passion for writing. During the late 1960’s and early 1970’s, while in college, Robinson worked as a free-lance writer for several magazines and was a staff writer for a weekly minority newspaper in Pasadena, California. Upon graduating from San Francisco State University, he attended the University of San Francisco School of Law. It was there that he met his wife, Marcia Waldorf. In 1975 the two moved to Honolulu, Hawaii and began practicing law. Robinson became a trial lawyer and Waldorf eventually became a Circuit Court judge.
Upon retiring in 2010, Robinson completed his first novel, Unplayable Lie. He has since published eight more novels.
The Tiger Temple by Steven Moore was so much more than I anticipated. Sure, I saw the blurb that mentioned Clive Cussler and I have read many books by Clive, so I thought The Tiger Temple would be a good fit. At times, I felt like I was on an adventure with Indiana Jones.
It all begins when a young girl is kidnapped by a vicious crime lord, Jago. As the story unfolds, it becomes even more disturbing. The trafficking of the endangered Sumatran tiger is deplorable. It’s hard to come up with words to describe the senseless killing.
Hiram is friends with the family and by their side every step of the way, as the try to locate Ayu and rescue her. Ayu is a courageous, young girl who fights to survive, . She is dropped in a pit, left to drown when the rain begins to fill it. Besides the rain storm, we have a volcano about to erupt. I love when an author gives an innocent, sweet child a starring role. It sure does tug at the heartstrings, as if the senseless killing of the Sumatran tigers isn’t enough.
Steven Moore gets his ideas from his travels and experiences around the world. It shows in the details his writing provides, with vivid characters and surroundings that make me feel like I am a part of the adventure. An adventure that shares the good and bad of humanity. One family member makes the ultimate sacrifice, and I think Steven Moore handled the situation in the best way possible.
It took me reading The Tiger Temple and Hiram Kane to get me engrossed in the series. Sure, the blurb caught my attention, along with the vibrant red of the cover, but it was the story itself that drew me deeper and deeper into Hiram Kane’s adventure.
The disgust I felt over the graphic details of the trafficking of the Sumatran tiger and it’s ‘parts’ was very disturbing. We know these things go on today and maybe Steven Moore’s story can help in some way.
4 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
A betrayed criminal. A kidnapped child. A deadly race against time.
On the Island of the Gods, expedition leader Hiram Kane is on holiday after a long season guiding in the Peruvian Andes.
When a good friend’s greed leads him to betray Bali’s most notorious gangster, their peaceful community is left shell-shocked after the six-year-old daughter of its leader gets kidnapped in a vicious and violent raid.
What follows is a whirlwind race across the paradise island to rescue the girl before ‘The Rooster’ takes his sadistic revenge, and with the waking giant of volcanic Mt. Agung threatening to destroy them all, Kane risks everything to prevent a devastating tragedy.
The Tiger Temple is the exciting new prequal to the Hiram Kane adventure series. For fans of Russell Blake and Clive Cussler, Steven Moore’s action thriller will leave you breathless.
Genre: Action and Adventure, Fiction, Mystery, Suspense, Thriller
372 pages, Kindle Edition
First published December 20, 2017 by Condor Publishing
Series: Hiram Kane Adventure
ABOUT STEVE MOORE
Englishman Steven Moore grew up by the seaside, thus his first true joy was the great outdoors. His innate love of travel and a degree in anthropology, archaeology, and art history help inform his fiction writing. Steven also loves painting, photography, and both playing and watching sport.
The travel bug bit the now perpetual nomad early, and to date Steven has lived and worked on five continents, and visited almost sixty countries. Steven combines an age-old writing adage; Write what you know, with his own mantra; Write where you know, and sets most of his novels in places in which he has either lived or spent an extended period of time.
When not on the road with his writer wife Leslie, San Miguel de Allende in Mexico is home, which they share with their rescue cats Ernest Hemingway and F Scott Fitzgerald (Ernie and Fitz).
A lifelong love of food, wine, and beer have demanded a new-found love of yoga and hiking in order to fend off the imminent arrival of middle age.
I got what I expected when I cracked open The Broken Bridge: A Succulent Sleuth Cozy Mystery (Succulent Sleuth Series Book 1) by Iris March. While there was nothing earth shattering about the story, it is well written, with fun characters, and some eco friendly gardening tips that add a little bit extra to the story.
We are at Patty’s Plant Place (try saying that three times fast), an eco friendly garden center. The twins, Molly and May, and their cousin, Shannon, inherited it from their grandparents. May is the numbers person with an outgoing personality. Molly is more of an introvert and loved playing with the plants. Shannon only stops by to complain.
The Broken Bridge is a pretty laid back cozy mystery. We do have a little bit of danger and the kitty that makes it’s home at the garden center. We have characters that can’t help but put their nose where others don’t want them to be, and people who aren’t what they appear to be.
If you are looking for an easy reading, laid back mystery, The Broken Bridge by Iris March may be fore you. I have another book by Iris March, The Story That Made Us Stronger, that I will be starting very soon.
I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of The Broken Bridge by Iris March.
3 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
An abandoned backpack. A damaged walking stick. A broken bridge. What happened on the Buckeye Trail?
Succulent-savvy sleuth, Molly Green spends her day tending her eco-friendly garden center, inherited from her beloved grandmother. She wants nothing more than to nurture her nursery and share her plant passion with the world. When a hiker goes missing on the Buckeye Trail that runs behind the garden center and a bridge on the trail is damaged, the police suspect foul play. As clues mount up, Molly fears she may know who is to blame, perhaps someone in her own family. To make matters worse, Molly must navigate the inconvenient appearance of a loquacious colleague, pulling her from her path to uncover the mystery of the broken bridge. Can she discover what really happened that day on the trail? Or will the spikes and thorns surrounding this mystery take Molly out as well? Find out in the first book of the Succulent Sleuth Cozy Mystery series, The Broken Bridge.
Genre: Cozy Mystery, Fiction, Mystery Series
218 pages, ebook
Published May 24, 2022 by Wandering Ginkgo Press
Series: Succulent Sleuth
ABOUT IRIS MARCH (from Amazon)
Iris March has a reputation for killing house plants and now she’s killing people off in books? Coincidence? Perhaps not. Iris has spent two decades working in the sustainability field and is usually either reading a book or on a trail. She lives in Ohio with her husband, son, and three cats. Learn more about upcoming books and sign up for her newsletter at irismarchbooks.com.
I was so excited when I won hardcover, signed copies of The Disposables, The Squandered, and The Heartless, and a signed paperback of The Scorned by David Putnam.
Today, I am going to share The Disposables in the Bruno Johnson Thriller series by David Putnam.
I have read the Bruno Johnson series out of order, but now I am back with the first book in the series, The Disposables by David Putnam. David’s personal life bleeds into his fiction in a realistic fashion. His characters not only walk the Thin Blue Line, they cross it…repeatedly. Bad Boy Bruno Johnson is a disgraced Los Angeles policeman, recently released from prison for murder. He is constantly amazed to have a girlfriend like Maria, who only sees the good in him. Neither one can turn their back on the abused and neglected children that enter their lives. I love the lengths these characters will go to do the right thing. Vigilante justice is something I can understand, even though, if everyone took the law into their own hands, we would be back in the Wild West. I don’t have Book II, The Replacements on hand, so I will be skipping to Book III, The Squandered.
I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of The Disposables by David Putnam.
4 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
Bruno Johnson, a tough street cop, member of the elite violent crime task force, feared by the bad guys, admired by the good, finds his life derailed when a personal tragedy forces him to break the law. Now he’s an ex-con and his life on parole is not going well. He is hassled by the police at every opportunity and to make matters even more difficult, his former partner, Robby Wicks, now a high-ranking detective, bullies him into helping solve a high profile crime – unofficially, of course. Meantime, Bruno’s girlfriend, Marie, brings out the good, the real Bruno, and even though they veer totally outside the law, he and Marie dedicate themselves to saving abused children, creating a type of underground railroad for neglected kids at risk, disposable kids. What they must do is perilous they step far outside the law, battling a warped justice system and Bruno’s former partner, with his own evil agenda.
Genres: Action and Adventure, Fiction, Mystery, Suspense, Thriller, Vigilante
272 pages, Hardcover
First published April 26, 2014 by Oceanview Publishing
Series: Bruno Johnson #1
ABOUT DAVID PUTNAM
Best-selling author David Putnam comes from a family of law enforcement. During his career, he did it all: worked in narcotics, served on FBI-sponsored violent crimes teams, and was cross-sworn as a US Marshall, pursuing murder suspects and bank robbers in Arizona, Nevada, and California. Putnam did two tours on the San Bernardino County Sheriff’s SWAT team. He also has experience in criminal intelligence and internal affairs and has supervised corrections, patrol, and a detective bureau. In Hawaii, Putnam was a member of the real-life Hawaii Five O, serving as Special Agent for the Attorney General investigating smuggling and white-collar crimes.
Putnam lives in Southern California with his wife, Mary.
The Body in the Back Garden (A Crescent Cove Mystery)by Mark Waddell
About The Body in the Garden
The Body in the Back Garden (A Crescent Cove Mystery) Queer Cozy (“Quozy”) Mystery 1st in Series Setting – The fictional town of Crescent Cove on Vancouver Island, Canada Crooked Lane Books (August 22, 2023) Hardcover : 272 pages ISBN-10 : 1639104402 ISBN-13 : 978-1639104406 Digital ASIN : B0BN582M9W
In this queer cozy series debut perfect for fans of Ellen Byron and Ellery Adams, Luke Tremblay is about to discover that Crescent Cove has more than its fair share of secrets…and some might be deadlier than others.
Crescent Cove, a small hamlet on Vancouver Island, is the last place out-of-work investigative journalist Luke Tremblay ever wanted to see again. He used to spend summers here, until his family learned that he was gay and rejected him. Now, following his aunt’s sudden death, he’s inherited her entire estate, including her seaside cottage and the antiques shop she ran for forty years in Crescent Cove. Luke plans to sell everything and head back to Toronto as soon as he can…but Crescent Cove isn’t done with him just yet.
When a stranger starts making wild claims about Luke’s aunt, Luke sends him packing. The next morning, though, Luke discovers that the stranger has returned, and now he’s lying dead in the back garden. To make matters worse, the officer leading the investigation is a handsome Mountie with a chip on his shoulder who seems convinced that Luke is the culprit. If he wants to prove his innocence and leave this town once and for all, Luke will have to use all his skills as a journalist to investigate the colorful locals while coming to terms with his own painful past.
There are secrets buried in Crescent Cove, and the more Luke digs, the more he fears they might change the town forever.
Excerpt from The Body in the Back Garden
The drive back to the cottage took no more than five minutes, and when I got there, I found a Jeep Wrangler with RCMP markings waiting for me. My heart sank. I really didn’t want a third encounter with the police today.
With some reluctance, I trudged around the side of the cottage and found Jack Munro waiting for me, brawny arms folded across his tactical vest as he gazed out at the sea. My heart sank even further, but also fluttered a little as well. I had no idea how to behave around him now that I knew he was my old friend.
As I approached, shoes crunching on the stone path, he turned to face me. I paused. Jack looked mad. His square jaw was clenched and his eyebrows were drawn downwards in a fierce glower.
Uh oh.
“We need to talk,” he informed me, and I nodded jerkily after a moment’s hesitation.
“Sure. Okay. Do you want to come inside?”
With a shake of his head, Jack then advanced towards me until he was close enough that I had to look up into his face. “I want to know why you lied to me.”
I had to work moisture back into my mouth before I could reply. “What do you mean?”
“I spoke with Aleesha Perkins.” At my blank stare, he added, “Her mom runs the greengrocers in town. She delivered some groceries here yesterday.”
Oh yeah. I nodded again, mutely.
“Aleesha claims that she witnessed you assault Joel Mackenzie and then threaten him.” Jack’s resonant baritone was tight with anger. “Is that true?”
“I wouldn’t say assault, exactly,” I hedged. “I did push him, that’s true.”
“She says you pushed him off the front porch and that he landed on his back on the ground.”
“Uh. Yes.” Jack’s eyes narrowed and I added hurriedly, “But he provoked me. He called my aunt a thief and said she got what was coming to her. I…I got upset and pushed him harder than I intended.”
“And then threatened him.”
“No!” I protested. “No, I just told him that if he came back here he’d regret it.” I paused. “Okay. That sounds bad, I admit. But I didn’t mean anything by it. It wasn’t a threat.”
Jack said nothing. His features, familiar and yet not, were completely blank.
On a rising tide of panic, I reached out involuntarily and grasped his forearm. “Jack, please. Please believe me. I did not kill Joel Mackenzie. I didn’t see him again until I found his body this morning. I know how this looks, but…”
Jack stepped back from me, breaking my hold on his arm. “You assaulted and threatened a man who later turned up dead on your property, Luke.” His voice was cool now, dispassionate. “And you have no alibi for last night. How this looks is extremely bad for you.”
My feeling of panic increased as I stared up at him. “But you know me. You know I would never—”
He cut me off with brutal finality. “I used to know you. I’m not sure I do anymore.”
I had no response to that. There was nothing left to say. My panic slowly subsided, leaving hurt and fear in its wake.
A deep silence fell between us. Waves crashed in the distance and gulls screeched overhead. “Is there anything else you want to tell me?” he finally asked. “Because if there is anything, you need to tell me now.”
I shook my head once. “There isn’t anything,” I said, barely able to speak through the tightness in my throat.
He nodded without taking his eyes off me. “I strongly advise you to stay put here at the cottage while we continue our investigation.”
I said nothing, and after a long pause Jack brushed past me as he headed back to his Jeep. I watched him go with something close to despair.
I was now the only suspect in a murder, and the person in charge of investigating that murder clearly disliked me. I wanted to trust that Jack would figure out who the killer was rather than pin this on me, but given our recent interactions, that seemed far from certain. If I didn’t want to end up in prison, there was only one option left.
I needed to solve this myself.
About Mark Waddell
Mark is originally from Calgary, Alberta, and grew up on the cold, windswept Prairies of western Canada. Fleeing southward, he earned a Ph.D. in the history of science, medicine, and technology from the Johns Hopkins University and then worked as a professor at Michigan State University for fifteen years. Finally, he persuaded his amazing husband to move to Vancouver Island, where they now live. When he’s not writing stories about murderous Canadians, he plays the viola in the Civic Orchestra of Victoria, walks his dogs along the seashore, and thinks up interesting ways to kill people.
Diamond. One name for a woman who is faking it until she makes it. And she will make it. At least that’s what she’s telling herself.
Dr. Robin Ransom is a therapist to first responders, cops, and spies. She has a problem. She is being blackmailed via email by a nameless, faceless crook. Things go from bad to worse when the neighbor who helped deal with the threat is found dead and her newest patient tries water boarding her for information on the enigmatic Blue Devil. With no good options, she makes a desperate attempt at escape.
Diamond is a former CIA agent turned widow turned somebody whose services are most definitely not for hire. As she is struggling to figure out what is next for her, an intriguing case falls practically in her lap. From a video gaming Beastmaster in Michigan, to a suicide bomber in Virginia, to a psychiatric conference in the south of France, Diamond jumps in with her usual flair for destruction and chaos. But Fate isn’t satisfied, pushing Diamond into a position where it is either her or the person she cares for most.
Irish found me a hot therapist. To show my appreciation, I wouldn’t kill him.
Just maim him a little.
“Odd doesn’t begin to describe it.” I put my hands out to him. “So, what do you say?”
“Why don’t we leave those as is for now.” He leaned against the bathroom doorframe and gestured with a hand toward the couch. “You’re early.”
“I shouldn’t be here at all.” I went to the couch because I couldn’t stay bent over his moving boxes. “Call me Diamond, all the cool kids do. I don’t need to be here.”
“We should be able to wrap this up quickly then. No point in kicking a dead horse, now is there?”
“Exactly, I’m glad we—wait, are you insinuating that I’m a lost cause?”
“No, no, of course not. It’s a metaphor. It’s one of those parts of speech you Americans endlessly bastardize without understanding its linguistic origins. You, for example, have closed your mind to therapy. Ergo, your mind is a dead horse. Any attempt on my part to alter, change, or inform your perceptions is a waste of energy much in the same way of kicking a dead horse to get it to move. In short, no matter how hard I kick you, you are not going anywhere.”
I stood, flashing my charming smile. “There is a difference between being dead and playing dead. The first is confining, the latter liberating. As for kicking me, well, I wouldn’t want you to strain yourself. I understand your limitations. After all, those who can, do. Those who can’t, hang diplomas on the wall.”
He pulled his long body from its reclined position. “Are you suggesting I’m a fraud?”
“Not at all. I’m suggesting you’re a failure. Being a failure is not the same as being a fraud. It’s not your fault. Being ordinary is a handicap that can be overcome with delusions of grandeur and copious amounts of whiskey.”
“And you’re extraordinary? Please. I’ve met pigeons more unique than you. Look at yourself. Where do you shop? NYPD Blue wardrobe surplus?”
I rolled my eyes. “Elton John called and asked you return the shirt you stole.”
He crossed his arms over his chest. “Smart. Vicious. Enjoys a good fight. Thinks she’s unique when she is of the buy one, get two free variety. Poor baby. Life didn’t live up to your expectations?”
I mimicked his position. Well, I tried to, zip ties cramped my style. I settled for resting my hands on my hip. “That’s a mirror you’re looking in. Don’t be too hard on yourself. You’re not the only one who ekes out a living getting people to pay you for your attention. At least you get to keep your pants on.”
“Silk pants on. Only the best. When did the nightmares start?”
“I…”
“Don’t bother denying it. The circles under your eyes and lack of witty repartee are classic signs of sleep deprivation. How long has it been since you slept through the night? A month? Six months? Tell me about the nightmares.”
“I don’t have nightmares,” I snapped. “I don’t dream at all.” Immediately, I knew I had lost. I’d revealed too much. “And if I did, I could handle it.”
He sat down at his desk, pulling a few sheets of paper in front of him. He slashed across the top with a green pen. “Goodbye, Lucy Nutcase. Hello, Diamond.” He scribbled my name, then looked up. “Last name.”
“Tiara,” I said sarcastically, and the bastard wrote it.
He began reading. “Dead husband. Hmm. Hmm. Car chase. Pyrotechnics. Hmm. Baseball?”
“You had to be there.” I left the couch to creep up on his desk. The page was filled with printed text and comments in the same green ink.
Reckless.
Rash.(Doesn’t that mean the same thing?)
No regard for life.
Suicidal tendencies.
He looked up, pinning me with his gaze. “Care to talk about it?”
“No.”
“Fine. I don’t have time anyway.” He bent to a box behind the desk and began unpacking. “If you don’t have the stomach to deal with your issues, then you might as well kill yourself. Do it quickly and leave the air for the rest of us.”
I…He…Did he really? “You can’t tell people to kill themselves. That’s malpractice.”
He stacked books on the glass desktop. “Sue me. Oh wait, you’re gonna be dead. Haunt me. I’ve always wanted a pet ghost.”
“Maybe I have a good reason to want to die.”
“You’re taking up air.”
“Maybe I—”
“Bloody hell,” he said sharply. He turned, crossed the room in three long strides, and spun me toward the door. “I don’t have time for this. Out with you.”
I sidestepped right. “I thought I had an hour.”
“Had. Past tense.” He grasped my shoulders and steered me left again. “Your time is up.”
I planted a boot on the wall. “Oh no, it isn’t.”
“Yes, it is.” He put his shoulder into it, sweeping my leg, and sending me tumbling into the hallway. “Take two aspirin and don’t call me in the morning.”
Door slam.
“What the fuck?” I sprang to my feet and tried the door. It was locked from the inside. I pounded on the fucking beige panels. “Open. Up.” It’s not that I wanted back in, ’cause I did not want to talk to Dr. Robin Ransom, but nobody turns Diamond out like a cat at night. “I’m not through talking to you!”
“Yes, you are,” Ransom said, his voice muffled by an inch and a half of engineered wood. “Bloody nutter.”
“Bloody nutter? I’ll show him who’s nutters.” I would just circle around to the reception room and kick his ass with my hands tied together. Now, to get back. The hallway was a one-way trip to a staircase, which opened onto the parking lot. Irish was sitting in his SUV with the motor running, windows up. I kicked his door, startling the self-proclaimed super spy.
He shoved the door open and got in my face. “What the hell are you doing here? You still have forty-five minutes.”
“Your therapist is psycho. What did you expect from someone named Robin? Cut me loose. Now. I’m going to kick his ass using number eighteen.”
Irish pulled a knife from his pocket. “Hold still. You cut yourself. How hard were you pulling? And what do you mean ‘he’? Ransom is a she.”
“I shouldn’t have had to pull at all. And Ransom is definitely a he. A hot he, as if you didn’t know.”
“She’s a she.” He cut through the zip tie. “I know a woman when I see one.”
An unnatural noise drew our attention to the second floor. A woman was awkwardly climbing over one of the balconies. Her hands were bound behind her back and tape covered her mouth.
“We can’t get to her in time,” Irish said. Both of us saw the resolve in the woman’s face. She was gonna jump.
***
Excerpt from Psycho Therapy by TG Wolff. Copyright 2023 by TG Wolff. Reproduced with permission from TG Wolff. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
TG Wolff writes mysteries for people who love to solve puzzles. Her books feature characters in situations mirroring the complexities of real life and real people, balanced with a healthy dose of entertainment. TG Wolff co-host Mysteries to Die For podcast with her son, Jack Wolff. She holds a Master’s Degree in Civil Engineering and is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime.
Murder in Trastevere: A Roman Holiday Mysteryby Jen Collins Moore
About Murder in Trastevere
Murder in Trastevere: A Roman Holiday Mystery Cozy Mystery 2nd in Series Setting – Rome, Italy Level Best Books (May 18, 2023) Paperback : 286 pages ISBN-10 : 1685123384 ISBN-13 : 978-1685123383 Digital ASIN : B0C13DRJQN
After a decade dominating the expat scene in Rome, Faye Masters has had enough beautiful art, delicious food, and bureaucratic nonsense to last a lifetime. She’s just about decided to pack up and head home when a rival drops dead at one of Faye’s famous cocktail parties. Rumors fly that Faye was the intended target, but the police think Faye might just be an attention-seeking poisoner.
Faye refuses to let the cloud of suspicion stop her from completing a self-imposed 25-picture Caravaggio Challenge. Or keep her from assisting friends Maggie White and Thomas Evans on their painting tours of Rome. But when the leads fizzle out and a series of accidents hit close to home, Faye accepts her own life is on the line. She must search for a killer while keeping up appearances at some of Rome’s most iconic sights.
About Jen Collins Moore
Jen Collins Moore transports readers to Rome in the Roman Holiday Mysteries. Her short fiction has appeared in Mystery Weekly and Masthead: The Best New England Crime Stories. She is president of Sisters in Crime Chicagoland and a founding member of Sleuths and Sidekicks. A transplanted New Englander, she lives in Chicago with her husband and two boys.
Win a Taste of Italy Gift Basket. Review my newest book Murder in Trastevere on Amazon, Barnes & Noble, or Goodreads for a chance to win a Taste of Italy gift basket. Just click “I Reviewed It!” at https://www.jennifercollinsmoore.com/. Want to enter the contest and not write a review? No problem. Just email me here. US Only.
Teddy Aarons is a nomad, using her bartending skills as an excuse to move to a new luxury resort with each change of the season. But when she finds herself stuck on the remote island of Mahina Cay, she finds refuge in the quirky little Township of Crooked Cove.
Crooked Cove is a village of expatriates from various countries, and the people are welcoming, but she only intends to stay long enough to make the money to get off the island and back to her real life.. However, when one of the village’s most distinguished citizens turns up dead, it’s up to her to either solve the case or become a permanent resident of the slammer!
With her new friend Jasmine at her side, Teddy will do whatever it takes to shake out the truth and stir up the real killer to clear her name. Will she manage to keep herself out of lockup, or will she end up under the influence of the Mahina Cay Prison?
EXCERPT
Excerpt One:
“So, you were saying that the boat just left without you, huh?” Hawk spread more butter on his hot pancakes.
“Well, to be fair, they warned everyone when we debarked that if we went off on our own that the ship would not wait for us. I should have started back to the port long before I did. Maybe I would have at least been in Maradiaga before the ATV broke down.” Teddy shrugged and shoved a forkful of scrambled eggs into her mouth.
It was nine in the morning, and the restaurant was empty except for Teddy and Hawk, and the two of them sat at the bar having breakfast.
“Well, you’re welcome to use my office to call the cruise line and try to make arrangements. The phone in your room will make you enter a credit card number to call long distance, and that cell phone you’re carryin’ won’t get a signal around here.”
“Really? No cell phone signal?” She was shocked.
Hawk laughed. “No, you might find a sweet spot around the lake, but I wouldn’t bet my life on it. We don’t carry cell phones around here. Some folks got a satellite phone, but they are darn expensive.”
“Wow. We really are off the beaten path down here, huh?”
“You got that right,” Hawk agreed.
“So, do you ever sleep? You were working when I left last night and you’re already here this morning,” Teddy told Hawk as he refilled her coffee.
“I’ll have plenty of time to sleep when I’m dead,” Hawk joked. “For now, there is too much living to do. Besides that, we are down one waitress because of maternity leave, and my bartender ran off two months ago with a traveling theater group from Canada.”
Teddy laughed. “My goodness, you do have staffing problems!”
“It ain’t all that bad, we manage…Where’re you from, Teddy? I think I can hear a little southern twang in your voice.”
“I grew up in Florida, but I haven’t lived there since I was eighteen, well, except for a few months at a time.”
He took a bite of his pancakes to mask a spark of triumph. “What do you do for work?” he asked absently.
“Actually, I’m a bartender,” she looked at him out of the side of her eyes.
AUTHOR Bio and Links:
Carly Wayne first discovered her love of storytelling as a child when she would create alternate endings for all of her favorite fairy tales. As she grew, her fascination developed into a passion for writing about the characters and worlds she imagined.
Now, Carly has returned to her ancestral home deep in the woods of Jacksonville, Florida, not too far from the ocean. She fills her days pursuing her bliss by writing, creating, and exploring nature.
Carly holds Bachelor’s and Master’s degrees in Psychology.
Ancient Crete, 1450 BC. In a world of Goddess worship, sacred snakes and sacrifice, human jealousy, resentment, and betrayal still run wild . . .
When her sister Arge drops to the floor in convulsions and dies at her wedding, fifteen-year-old Martis, a young poet and bull leaper in training, is certain she was murdered. The prime suspect is the groom, Saurus, from the Greek mainland, but when Arge’s shade visits Martis, swearing Saurus is not the murderer, Martis vows to uncover the truth.
As Martis begins asking questions, she discovers that while Arge may have had no secrets, many of the people around her certainly do.
Praise for In the Shadow of the Bull:
“This complex, character-driven mystery is loaded with fascinating historical details” ~ Kirkus Reviews
Book Details:
Genre: Historical Mystery Published by: Severn House Publication Date: July 2023 Number of Pages: 224 ISBN: 9781448310869 (ISBN10: 1448310865) Series: An Ancient Crete Mystery (#1) Book Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookShop.org | Goodreads | Severn House
Read an excerpt:
Saurus was clad, not in a colorful loincloth, nor in the robe Cretan men wore for certain rituals, but in his leather armor. His wavy black hair spilled over his shoulders, un-oiled. And he carried his weapons, long knives in their scabbards, at his waist. His one attendant, his friend Kabya, stood behind him, dressed in like manner. Gasps of condemnation sounded through the crowd.
‘Does he think he’s going to fight someone,’ Mother said in angry disapproval.
Saurus looked around at the crowd, his eyes narrowed, and then he lifted his chin defiantly. Although I didn’t like him, I recognized his uncertainty. He knew we despised him and his barbarous ways.
When Saurus had first come to the palace, I’d been prepared to accept him. He knew my mother’s brother and had come with news of him. Like my uncle, Saurus was also a trader. At least he said he was, and we welcomed him into the house.
My dislike dated from that first day, before I knew he would take Arge from us. He examined me and my sisters with careless lechery. I’d just come from acrobatics and wore a boy’s loincloth. As his gaze swept over me, I shuddered with a strange prickly hot feeling. And then he dismissed me with a quick, indifferent turn of his head. Then the flush that burned through me was one of anger.
Despite my feelings, and his awkward broken Cretan, he’d quickly charmed all my sisters. And although Mother frequently eyed him with reserve, I saw them laughing together more than once.
At first, he’d spread his easy compliments among all my sisters – though I was invisible to him – but soon he paid more and more attention to Arge. A knot of worry formed on my mother’s forehead.
Several months after Saurus’s arrival, Arge announced she planned to marry him.
There was Arge now, in front of the mound of ash left by previous sacrifices. Against the deep purple of her jacket, her skin looked deathly pale. She’d pressed her mouth into a long thin line. Was she regretting her decision now? I looked up at the sky, so dark the stars spangled the expanse with flecks of silver, and sent another fervent prayer heavenward – ‘Please, Lady of the Animals and of Childbirth, stop this marriage. I will offer you all the honey from my bees.’
The High Priestess with her nine attendants suddenly appeared from the shadows, stepping through the trees into the torchlight. Their eyes sparkled and one of the attendants stumbled. They were drunk on the sacred liquor, a mixture of beer, wine, fermented honey and herbs. The priestesses wore the sacral knot tied at the nape of their necks, above the tight jackets. to show they were in service to Her who gave us life. Some of them wore doves on their heads, live doves tied to the headdress by the feet, for love. Three of the women carried baskets.
Instead of a dove, the High Priestess carried snakes in her headdress, living snakes that coiled as high as they could from the bindings, flicking their tongues and hissing. Snakes to promote fertility in this new marriage.
As the High Priestess approached the altar, a soft moan of anticipation whispered from the crowd. The goats began struggling even harder against their bonds as they caught the scent of the snakes. The Priestess, who did not seem to notice the throng of people standing on the other side of the altar of ash and bone, turned to the first attendant. She took away the lid and removed the large heavy snake from the basket to coil it around her waist. The remaining two baskets yielded additional snakes. Chanting sonorously, she allowed the snakes to twine up her arms.
I could not repress a tremor of remembered fear and my mother glanced at me. Only nine at Opis’s wedding, I’d been so terrified by the snakes that Arge had had to carry me from the ceremony. I looked at Arge now. Her expression was fixed in a grimace of pain.
Suddenly she fell to the floor, writhing in convulsions and spilling bloody vomit from her mouth.
For several seconds no one moved. The Priestess’s chant continued, then lurched to a stop mid-syllable. Pandemonium erupted. Screaming, Mother ran to her daughter and fell to her knees beside her. After a moment of frozen disbelief, Opis and Nuia followed at a run. I couldn’t move. I stared in horror at Arge’s body lying on the stones. What had I done? I’d pleaded with the Goddess to halt the wedding and She had. But why this way? Why kill Arge, the sweetest and most unassuming of all women? Raising my face to the sky, I began to sob. The stars in the sky blurred together into streaks of silver. ‘Why?’ I asked the Goddess. ‘Why?’
This was my fault: the Goddess had answered my prayers.
***
Excerpt from In the Shadow of the Bull by Eleanor Kuhns. Copyright 2023 by Eleanor Kuhns. Reproduced with permission from Eleanor Kuhns. All rights reserved.
Author Bio:
Eleanor Kuhns is the 2011 winner of the Minotaur/Mystery Writers of America first mystery prize for A Simple Murder. That was the first in the Will Rees series. She went on to write ten more. In the Shadow of the Bull is the first in the Ancient Crete Mystery series.
