I believe this is my first novel by Ann Cleeves and I would like to thank NetGalley and Minotaur Books for the opportunity to read and review The Long Call.
I love the cover for The Long Call by Ann Cleeves and am always on the lookout for a good mystery. That being said, I really wanted to love this, but…
Maggie loved talking to her friend but one day he didn’t show up. And so her mystery begins and she wants answers.
The characters are gay, lesbian, mentally challenged…
Everything, good and bad, centers around the Woodyard, a community center.
It held no tension or suspense for me. I couldn’t get excited by the story or the writing but I am curious…so I will read on. I know a police procedural is not as exciting as a thriller, but I would put down The Long Call, read something else, come back to it, put it down…well, you get the picture. I was bored and my mind kept drifting.
I did finish it and because I had to know the ending, I gave it 3 stars, for satisfying my curiosity.
I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of The Long Call by Ann Cleeves.
3 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
For the first time in 20 years, Ann Cleeves—international bestselling and award-winning author of the Vera and Shetland series, both of which are hit TV shows—embarks on a gripping new series.
In North Devon, where two rivers converge and run into the sea, Detective Matthew Venn stands outside the church as his father’s funeral takes place. Once loved and cherished, the day Matthew left the strict evangelical community he grew up in, he lost his family too.
Now, as he turns and walks away again, he receives a
call from one of his team. A body has been found on the beach nearby: a
man with a tattoo of an albatross on his neck, stabbed to death.
The
case calls Matthew back into the community he thought he had left
behind, as deadly secrets hidden at its heart are revealed, and his past
and present collide.
An astonishing new novel told with
compassion and searing insight, The Long Call will captivate fans of
Vera and Shetland, as well as new readers.
ABOUT ANN CLEEVES
Ann is the author of the books
behind ITV’s VERA, now in it’s third series, and the BBC’s SHETLAND,
which will be aired in December 2012. Ann’s DI Vera Stanhope series of
books is set in Northumberland and features the well loved detective
along with her partner Joe Ashworth. Ann’s Shetland series bring us DI
Jimmy Perez, investigating in the mysterious, dark, and beautiful
Shetland Islands…
Ann grew up in the country, first in
Herefordshire, then in North Devon. Her father was a village school
teacher. After dropping out of university she took a number of temporary
jobs – child care officer, women’s refuge leader, bird observatory
cook, auxiliary coastguard – before going back to college and training
to be a probation officer.
While she was cooking in the Bird
Observatory on Fair Isle, she met her husband Tim, a visiting
ornithologist. She was attracted less by the ornithology than the bottle
of malt whisky she saw in his rucksack when she showed him his room.
Soon after they married, Tim was appointed as warden of Hilbre, a tiny
tidal island nature reserve in the Dee Estuary. They were the only
residents, there was no mains electricity or water and access to the
mainland was at low tide across the shore. If a person’s not heavily
into birds – and Ann isn’t – there’s not much to do on Hilbre and that
was when she started writing. Her first series of crime novels features
the elderly naturalist, George Palmer-Jones. A couple of these books are
seriously dreadful.
In 1987 Tim, Ann and their two daughters
moved to Northumberland and the north east provides the inspiration for
many of her subsequent titles. The girls have both taken up with Geordie
lads. In the autumn of 2006, Ann and Tim finally achieved their
ambition of moving back to the North East.
For the National Year
of Reading, Ann was made reader-in-residence for three library
authorities. It came as a revelation that it was possible to get paid
for talking to readers about books! She went on to set up reading groups
in prisons as part of the Inside Books project, became Cheltenham
Literature Festival’s first reader-in-residence and still enjoys working
with libraries. Ann Cleeves on stage at the Duncan Lawrie Dagger awards ceremony
Ann’s
short film for Border TV, Catching Birds, won a Royal Television
Society Award. She has twice been short listed for a CWA Dagger Award –
once for her short story The Plater, and the following year for the
Dagger in the Library award.
In 2006 Ann Cleeves was the first
winner of the prestigious Duncan Lawrie Dagger Award of the Crime
Writers’ Association for Raven Black, the first volume of her Shetland
Quartet. The Duncan Lawrie Dagger replaces the CWA’s Gold Dagger award,
and the winner receives £20,000, making it the world’s largest award for
crime fiction.
Ann’s success was announced at the 2006 Dagger
Awards ceremony at the Waldorf Hilton, in London’s Aldwych, on Thursday
29 June 2006. She said: “I have never won anything before in my life, so
it was a complete shock – but lovely of course.. The evening was
relatively relaxing because I’d lost my voice and knew that even if the
unexpected happened there was physically no way I could utter a word. So
I wouldn’t have to give a speech. My editor was deputed to do it!”
The
judging panel consisted of Geoff Bradley (non-voting Chair), Lyn Brown
MP (a committee member on the London Libraries service), Frances Gray
(an academic who writes about and teaches courses on modern crime
fiction), Heather O’Donoghue (academic, linguist, crime fiction reviewer
for The Times Literary Supplement, and keen reader of all crime
fiction) and Barry Forshaw (reviewer and editor of Crime Time magazine).
Ann’s
books have been translated into sixteen languages. She’s a bestseller
in Scandinavia and Germany. Her novels sell widely and to critical
acclaim in the United States. Raven Black was shortlisted for the Martin
Beck award for best translated crime novel in Sweden in 200
FBI agent Brock McGovern is going back to a place that holds bad memories. He had been arrested for murder and his young love had been swept away.
Three women are missing and it is his job to find out why. Is there a curse waiting to deal him a dose of justice….or a murderer waiting to be caught?
The History Tree…I love trees. I don’t know why, but anything about them makes me curious and a tree with a cursed history…well, I gotta know.
This is a convoluted mystery that spans decades. All the players are together again and I am crossing them off my bad list, one by one.
Heather doesn’t make it easy as she sends me off on one false trail after another…and I am happy to go down those trails…all the way to the end.
I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Tangled Threat by Heather Graham.
4 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
A body hanging from the infamous History Tree unraveled their teenage love. Now Maura Antrim is again tangled up with Brock McGovern. Twelve years later, they’re back where that murder occurred—where Brock had been arrested and then released, where Maura had run, too scared to stand by his side. But with two women missing, and Brock now an FBI agent, Maura is determined to help. Together, they’ll have to confront a threat that never died and see if their passion has withstood the test of time.
New York Times and USA Today best-selling author Heather Graham
majored in theater arts at the University of South Florida. After a
stint of several years in dinner theater, back-up vocals, and
bartending, she stayed home after the birth of her third child and began
to write, working on short horror stories and romances. After some
trial and error, she sold her first book, WHEN NEXT WE LOVE, in 1982 and
since then, she has written over one hundred novels and novellas
including category, romantic suspense, historical romance, vampire
fiction, time travel, occult, and Christmas holiday fare. She wrote the
launch books for the Dell’s Ecstasy Supreme line, Silhouette’s Shadows,
and for Harlequin’s mainstream fiction imprint, Mira Books.
Heather was a founding member of the Florida Romance Writers chapter
of RWA and, since 1999, has hosted the Romantic Times Vampire Ball, with
all revenues going directly to children’s charity.
She is pleased to have been published in approximately twenty
languages, and to have been honored with awards frorn Waldenbooks. B.
Dalton, Georgia Romance Writers, Affaire de Coeur, Romantic Times, and
more. She has had books selected for the Doubleday Book Club and the
Literary Guild, and has been quoted, interviewed, or featured in such
publications as The Nation, Redbook, People, and USA Today and appeared
on many newscasts including local television and Entertainment Tonight.
Heather loves travel and anything have to do with the water, and is a
certitified scuba diver. Married since high school graduation and the
mother of five, her greatest love in life remains her family, but she
also believes her career has been an incredible gift, and she is
grateful every day to be doing something that she loves so very much for
a living.Website / Facebook / Twitter / YouTube
I’ll never so no to a Kathy Reichs novel, so when I saw this while browsing NetGalley, I grabbed it. But, it was a long time ago. I downloaded it on 7.1.14. ‘hanging my head in shame’ Thanks so much to NetGalley and Random House Publishing. Soooo here we go.
Anique Pomerleau. The monster. The only one who ever got away.
And she’s back, so the chase is one and this time Temperance is determined to get her. She would need the help of her lost love, Andrew Ryan. He had vanished, when his daughter died. Would he come back to help her? Could she even find him?
I love that she calls her cat Bird. Love those funny little bits with my murder and danger.
Missing girls are a trigger for me. I want to see the ‘hero’ catch the villain and I don’t care how they do and whether it’s dead or alive.
Tempe had come face to face with her before and lost. I don’t think she will this time. Kathy Reichs always spins a tale that engulfs me in the danger and fear for the characters. She confounds me, leading me down a dark path of questions and answers. She has never disappointed me.
I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Bones Never Lie by Kathy Reichs.
4 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
In the acclaimed
author’s thrilling new novel, Brennan is at the top of her game in a
battle of wits against the most monstrous adversary she has ever
encountered.
Unexpectedly called in to the Charlotte PD’s Cold
Case Unit, Dr. Temperance Brennan wonders why she’s been asked to meet
with a homicide cop who’s a long way from his own jurisdiction. The
shocking answer: Two child murders, separated by thousands of miles,
have one thing in common – the killer. Years ago, Anique Pomerleau
kidnapped and murdered a string of girls in Canada, then narrowly eluded
capture. It was a devastating defeat for her pursuers, Brennan and
police detective Andrew Ryan. Now, as if summoned from their nightmares,
Pomerleau has resurfaced in the United States, linked to victims in
Vermont and North Carolina. When another child is snatched, the reign of
terror promises to continue – unless Brennan can rise to the challenge
and make good on her second chance to stop a psychopath.
But
Brennan will have to draw her bitter ex-partner out of exile, keep the
local police and feds from one another’s throats, and face more than
just her own demons as she stalks the deadliest of predators into the
darkest depths of madness.
In Bones Never Lie, Kathy Reichs never fails to satisfy readers looking for psychological suspense that’s more than skin-deep.
ABOUT KATHY REICHS
Kathy
Reichs is a forensic anthropologist for the Office of the Chief Medical
Examiner, State of North Carolina, and for the Laboratoire des Sciences
Judiciaires et de Médecine Légale for the province of Quebec. She is
one of only fifty forensic anthropologists certified by the American
Board of Forensic Anthropology and is on the Board of Directors of the
American Academy of Forensic Sciences. A professor of anthropology at
The University of North Carolina at Charlotte, Dr. Reichs is a native of
Chicago, where she received her Ph.D. at Northwestern. She now divides
her time between Charlotte and Montreal and is a frequent expert witness
in criminal trials.
Genre: Hard-boiled Crime Thriller Published by: Spotted Mule Press Publication Date: July 9, 2019 Number of Pages: 347 ISBN: 978-0-9983294-2-0 Series: An Ed Earl Burch Novel; 2 Purchase Links:Purchase Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
Read an excerpt:
Burch slipped through a thick snarl of gawkers, glad-handers, gossips and genuine mourners going nowhere fast in the vestibule of Sartell’s Funeral Home, nodding and smiling like the prodigal returned to the paternal table.
To ease his passage toward the chapel where Bart Hulett’s charred corpse was surely hidden in a closed casket, he patted the passing shoulder, shook the hand thrust his way and mouthed the “good to see you” to the stranger’s face that smiled in mistaken recognition. Baptist reflexes from a long-ago boyhood, handy for the preacher, pol or low-rent peeper — remnants of an endless string of God Box Sundays he’d rather forget.
The chapel was packed and the well-mannered buzz of polite stage whispers filled the room, triggering another Baptist flashback — the hushed sanctuary conversations of the flock anticipating the opening chords of a Sunday service first hymn.
Ten rows of hard-backed dark wooden pews flanked each side of a center aisle leading to a low lacquered plywood platform topped by a glossy Texas pecan wood casket with burnished brass lugs and fixtures. Two blown-up photographs in fluted gilt frames faced the mourners, standing guard at each end of the casket — a colorized, wartime portrait of a young Bart Hulett in Marine dress blues and visored white cover at the foot; a candid of Hulett and his blonde wife on horseback at the head, their smiling faces goldened by the setting sun.
Behind the pews, five rows of equally unforgiving aluminum folding chairs, all sporting the durable silver-gray institutional enamel common to the breed, stood as ready reserve for the overflow of mourners. The pews were filled and a butt claimed every chair — a testament to Bart Hulett’s standing as a fallen civic leader and member of one of the founding families of Cuervo County.
No cushions in pew or chair. Comfort wasn’t on the dance card in this part of West Texas. The land was too stark, harsh and demanding, intolerant of those seeking a soft life of leisure. And Baptists damned dancing as a sin and kept those pews rock hard so you’d stay wide awake for the preacher’s fiery reminder about the brimstone wages of sin.
Dark blue carpet covered what Burch’s knees told him was a concrete floor. Flocked, deep-red fabric lined the walls, brightened by a line of wall sconces trimmed in shiny brass that reflected the dimmed light from electric candles. Two brass candelabras hung from the ceiling, bathing the chapel in a warm, yellow glow. Heavy, burgundy velour drapes lined the front wall and flanked the rear entrance and the opening to a sitting room to the left of the casket.
The total effect was meant to be plush, somber and churchly, yet welcoming. Don’t fear death. It comes to us all. Just a part of the great circle of life and God’s eternal plan. Let us gather together and celebrate the days on earth of this great man who has left us for his final reward.
But Burch wasn’t buying the undertaker’s refried Baptist bill of fare. To his eye, the drapes, the wall covering and the brass light fixtures looked more like the lush trappings of a high-dollar whorehouse than a church, an old-timey sin palace that packaged purchased pleasure in a luxury wrapper. All that was missing was a line of near-naked whores for the choosing and a piano man in a bowler hat and gartered shirt sleeves, tickling the ivories while chomping a cigar.
Nothing more honest than a fifty-dollar blow job from a working girl who knows her trade.
Nothing more bitter than the cynical heresy of a backslidden Baptist sinner.
Nothing more useless than a de-frocked cop still ready to call out the hypocrisy of a church he thought was just a dot in his rearview mirror.
Burch cold-cocked his bitter musings and wiped the smirk off his face. He grabbed a corner at the rear of the room and continued his chapel observations. He tried to settle into the old routine. Relax. Watch and wait. Keep the eyes moving and let it come to you. Don’t force it.
But the watcher’s mantra wasn’t working.
Couldn’t shake the feeling that eyes had been on him while he juked and doubled back through town earlier in the day and that eyes were on him now. Couldn’t blame the demons for this. He was still cool and calm from that special cocktail he served himself before leaving the ranch. That meant the sixth sense was real, not a figment of his nightmares. And he was far too old a dog to ignore it.
Burch took a deep breath and let it out slow, just like he did at the rifle range before squeezing off the next round. His heartbeat slowed. He felt himself relax. The uneasy feeling was still there, but it was a small sliver of edginess. Do the job. Watch and wait. Keep the eyes moving. Let it come to you.
From the chapel entrance, a thick line of mourners broke toward the right rear corner of the room and angled along the wall opposite Burch before bending again to crowd the closed casket, leading to a small knot of Hulett family members standing next to the photo of Bart and his dead wife.
Stella Rae was playing the head of household role, reaching across her body to shake hands with her left because her right was burned, bandaged and hanging loose at her side, the white tape and pinkish gauze riding below the rolled-back cuff of a navy cowgirl shirt with white piping and a bright red cactus blossom on each yoke.
She was wearing Wranglers too new to be faded and pointy-toed lizard-skin boots the color of peanut brittle, her dark blonde hair swept back from her oval face and touching her shoulders. The warm light from the candelabras picked up the slight rose tint of her olive skin and the flash of white from her smile.
A beautiful woman putting on a brave front. A woman custom-made to be looked at with lustful intent. Burch didn’t need imagination to mentally undress Stella Rae Hulett. He had seen her at her carnal best while staring through the telephoto lens of a camera as she fucked her lover in a dimly lit motel room. He had his own highlight reel of her taut body stored in his brainpan.
But his mind was on the charred chain in the bed of Gyp Hulett’s pickup, his eyes locked on the bandaged hand dangling at her side. How’d you really burn your hand, missy? Where were you when your daddy died?
Jason Powell stood behind her, looming over her right shoulder, the protective hand of a lover on her upper arm as he nodded to each mourner paying respect as Stella Rae shook their hand. Gotta give the guitar picker some credit. Looks like he’s in it for the long haul.
To Stella’s right stood a young man in jeans, boots and a red brocade vest over a crisp, white shirt and a bolo with a silver and onyx slide. His round face was pale and pockmarked, his hair black and wiry. Burch guessed he was looking at Jimmy Carl Hulett, Bart Hulett’s only son.
Jimmy Carl looked like a sawed-off version of his ancient cousin, Gyp, minus the gunsight stare, the wolf smile and the Browning Hi-Power on the hip. Which was another way of saying the boy had more than a few dollops of bad outlaw blood running through his veins, but none of the lethal menace.
The younger Hulett looked uncomfortable shaking the hands of mourners, his eyes shifting but always downcast, his head nodding with a nervous jerk, the overhead glow highlighting a slight sheen of sweat on his forehead. Between handshakes, he wiped his hawk’s beak nose with a dark blue bandana.
He looked like a man who needed a drink.
Or a spike of Mexican Brown.
Burch knew the look. Saw it a thousand times as a Dallas street cop. Telltales of a junkie. A loser. A Hulett in name only. A weak link who would sell his soul for his next fix. Or sell out his daddy. How bad are you hooked, boy? Who has his claws in you besides your dealer? Malo Garza? Needle Burnet? Or another player to be named later?
Burch tucked these questions into his mental deck and resumed scanning the crowd, ignoring that edgy sliver, keeping a slight smile on his face — just a prodigal looking for old friends and neighbors. Damned tedious work, standing in the corner of a whorehouse chapel, watching and waiting, working a cop’s most hackneyed routine — hitting the victim’s funeral.
His feet and knees started to ache. Never cut it walking a beat again. He ignored the pain and kept his eyes moving. He wasn’t expecting a lightning flash of sudden insight or the appearance of a beady-eyed suspect wearing their guilt like a gaudy neon sign. That only happened on Murder, She Wrote and Angela Lansbury didn’t fit in with this West Texas crowd.
Burch was looking for smaller stuff. Dribs and drabs. A pattern. A sense of how people caught up in a case fit together — or didn’t. A loose thread. An odd moment. A step out of line or time.
A facial tic or look. Like a Hulett with the junkie’s sniffles.
A mismatch. Like a beautiful woman with a burned and bandaged right hand.
A shard. Anything that caused his cop instincts to tingle, triggering questions he needed to ask. He found two. Small kernels, granted, but grist for the mill.
He kept his eyes moving, looking for more of something he wouldn’t know until he saw it. Minutes dragged by, grinding like a gearbox with sand in it. The line of mourners grew shorter. The pain moved up to the small of his back.
The sliver grew into a sharp stab of warning. Eyes were on him. Felt rather than seen. He shifted his gaze to his right, keeping his head still. Across the center aisle, at the near end of the last row of chairs, a gaunt brown face with thin black hair turned to face the front of the chapel. Before the turn, Burch saw intense, dark eyes studying him — the watcher being watched.
Both knew the other was there so Burch took his time studying the man’s profile. Thin, bony nose, hair brushed back dry from a receding widow’s peak, black suit with an open-collar white dress shirt. The man quit pretending he hadn’t been made, turning to look at Burch with a slight smile and close-set eyes that flashed a predatory interest.
Burch returned the stare with the dead-eyed look of a cop and burned an image for his memory bank.
Who are you, friend? Another Garza hitter? Jesus, Burch, that isn’t what the narcos call their gunsels. Get your head out of the 1940s. Sicario — that’s it.
What about it, friend? You another of Malo’s sicarios? Or are you outside talent? Maybe that specialist Bustamante talked about. Maybe a freelancer working for Malo’s competition. Or the Bryte Brothers.
You the eyes I feel watchin’ me? Why the sudden interest? Those two shooters I smoked friends of yours?
Movement up front caught Burch’s attention. Gyp Hulett, hat in hand and wearing a black frock coat straight out of the 1890s that wasn’t in the truck cab during the ride to town, parting the sitting room drapes. The old outlaw walked up to his younger cousins in a bow-legged stride, whispering to each, then beckoning them to follow him as he retraced his steps.
Burch glanced back toward the gaunt Mexican. Gone. A sucker’s play if he followed. Burch slid out of his corner perch and along the back row of chairs to get a better look at the sitting room entrance. Gyp parted the drapes to let Stella Rae and Jimmy Carl enter.
Through the opening, Burch could see Boelcke standing next to a tall man with a thick, dark moustache, an inverted V above a stern, downturned mouth, echoed by thick eyebrows. He had ramrod straight posture and was wearing a tailored, dark gray suit, a pearl gray shirt and a black tie. Black hair in a conservative businessman’s cut, light brown skin and an aquiline nose gave him the look of a criollo, the New World Spaniards who ripped the land of their birth away from the mother country.
Malo Garza, paying his respects in private. Gyp Hulett swept the drapes closed as he ducked into the room. Burch braced himself for the bark of a Browning Hi-Power he hoped he wouldn’t hear and marveled at the high hypocrisy of Garza showing up at the funeral of a man he wanted dead.
Took balls and brass to do that. Matched by a restraint Burch didn’t know Gyp Hulett had.
“Bet you’d like to be a fly on the wall in that room.”
For a split second, Burch thought he was hearing the voice of Wynn Moore’s ghost. Then he looked to his right and met the sad, brown eyes of Cuervo County Chief Deputy Elroy Jesus “Sudden” Doggett.
“Wouldn’t mind that one bit. Imagine it’s quite the show. Lots of polite words of sorrow and respect. Lots of posturing. Lots of restraint. Have to be considerin’ one man in there would like to kill the other.”
“That would be your client, right? The ever-popular Gyp Hulett, gringo gangster of the Trans-Pecos.”
“Can’t tell you who I’m working for, Deputy. You know that’s confidential.”
Doggett’s eyes went from sad to flat annoyed and his voice took on a metallic edge.
“That ain’t no secret, hoss. Not to me or anybody else who matters around here, including the other big
mule in that room. And that man probably wants to kill you.”
“Malo Garza? The man don’t even know me.”
“That’s a point in your favor. If he did know you, he’d put you out of your misery right now.”
“A big dog like him? He’s got more important things to worry about than lil’ ol’ me.”
“You don’t know Malo Garza. Anybody pokin’ his nose anywhere near his business draws his personal interest. And believe you me, that ain’t healthy.”
“Ol’ Malo might find me a tad hard to kill. I tend to shoot back. If he wants a piece of me, he’ll have to get in line.”
Doggett paused. His eyes turned sad again. When he spoke, the edge was gone from his voice.
“Listen to us — two guys talkin’ about killin’ at a great man’s funeral. Let’s step outside for a smoke and a
talk.”
“Unless this is the type of talk that follows an arrest, I’d rather stay here and watch the floor show.”
Doggett chuckled.
“Don’t have that kind of talk in mind right now, although the man I work for just might. This’ll be a private chat between you and me.”
“Thought we had a meeting tomorrow. You are the hombre that had that trustee give Lawyer Boelcke that invitation to Guerrero’s, right?”
“Right. Things change. Come ahead on. I’ll have you back for the next act. It’s one you won’t want to miss. Star of the show. Blue Willingham, shedding crocodile tears for Bart Hulett. He won’t show up until Garza’s done paying his respects.”
Nothing like dancing the West Texas waltz with bent lawmen, lupine outlaws, patrician drug lords, gaunt killers and Baptist undertakers with bordello tastes.
Jim Nesbitt is the author of three hard-boiled Texas crime thrillers that feature battered but dogged Dallas PI Ed Earl Burch — THE LAST SECOND CHANCE, a Silver Falchion finalist; THE RIGHT WRONG NUMBER, an Underground Book Reviews “Top Pick”; and his latest, THE BEST LOUSY CHOICE.
Nesbitt was a journalist for more than 30 years, serving as a reporter, editor and roving national correspondent for newspapers and wire services in Alabama, Florida, Texas, Georgia, North Carolina, South Carolina and Washington, D.C. He chased hurricanes, earthquakes, plane wrecks, presidential candidates, wildfires, rodeo cowboys, migrant field hands, neo-Nazis and nuns with an eye for the telling detail and an ear for the voice of the people who give life to a story.
His stories have appeared in newspapers across the country and in magazines such as Cigar Aficionado and American Cowboy. He is a lapsed horseman, pilot, hunter and saloon sport with a keen appreciation for old guns, vintage cars and trucks, good cigars, aged whiskey and a well-told story.
Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaways!
Giveaway:
This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Jim Nesbitt. There will be 2 winners of one (1) Amazon.com Gift Card each. The giveaway begins on August 1, 2019 and runs through September 2, 2019. Void where prohibited.
I have a lot of books by Willow Rose that I have gotten for free, and I think it is high time I started showing my appreciation and writing some reviews. I LOVE her work and eagerly pick up every book I see from her.
I picked it up for free on Amazon on 8.27.12 and finished reading it on 12.27.15.
Once I began, I knew I wouldn’t be able to quit until the last word was read.
Rebecca Franck gave up her big time journalistic career for her daughter and moved back home to live with her father. Big city to small town.
BUT be careful…what you do now can come back and bit you in the ass. The past never forgets.
I love serial killers…well…ya know…I mean…stories. LOL
As I read, my disgust and loathing grows (this is at 72%) I didn’t catch the murderer right away due to Willow Rose’s misdirection and red herrings. Love it.
Fantastic job Willow and all I can say is GIVE ME MORE!!!!
5 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
Another serious page-turner from Scandinavian Mystery Fiction.
Once you start One, Two … He is coming for you – there is absolutely no turning back.
Set in the Danish coastal town of Karrebaeksminde, journalist Rebekka Franck returns to her hometown with her six year old daughter. She is trying to escape her ex-husband and starting a new life for her and her daughter, when the small sleepy town experiences a murder. One of the kingdoms wealthiest men is brutally murdered in his summer residence in Karrebaeksminde. While Rebekka Franck and her punk photographer Sune try to cover the story for the local newspaper another murder happens on a high society rich man. Now Rebekka Franck realizes that the drowsy little kingdom of Denmark has gotten its first serial killer and soon a series of dark secrets – long buried but not forgotten – will see the day of light.
ABOUT WILLOW ROSE
TheQueen of Scream aka Willow Rose is a #1 Amazon Best-selling Author
and an Amazon ALL-star Author of more than 60 novels.
She writes Mystery, Thriller, Paranormal, Romance, Suspense, Horror,
Supernatural thrillers, and Fantasy.
Willow’s books are fast-paced, nail-biting pageturners with twists you won’t
see coming. Several of her books have reached the Kindle top 10 of
ALL books in the US, UK, and Canada. She has sold more than three
million books.
Willow lives on Florida’s Space Coast with her husband and two daughters.
When she is not writing or reading, you will find her surfing and
watch the dolphins play in the waves of the Atlantic Ocean.
Website * Facebook * Twitter * Bookbub * Amazon * Goodreads
The Whisper Man by Alex North has such a creepy cool cover and blurb, I couldn’t resist snagging a copy from Net Galley. My thanks go out to Celadon Books for the opportunity to read and review The Whisper Man.
I don’t know who did the cover, but they did a fabulous job. The Whisper Man is due to be released 8.20.19 and is available for preorder.
Looking at the cover for The Whisper Man by Alex North, I anticipated a nail biting, spine tingling suspense thriller, and I was not disappointed.
As I get to know Jake, Tom Kennedy’s son, better, I can tell he will be a special child. And his dad… Jake and Tom’s relationship is realistic, their feelings and struggles as they try to put their life back together are sad, yet hopeful.
They both need a fresh start after the loss, a new town, a new house. The house called to Jake and I wondered why. It had personality, but is there more to the story? Alex North’s description of the house makes me feel as if it is alive, waiting for the right people to come home.
I am trying to figure out what is going on with Jake, but Alex North keeps me in the dark. When I find out, I love it. I wonder why I didn’t think of that. I love when, in hindsight, things are so obvious, yet an author strings me along, making me wonder.
The killer…The Whisper Man…is s creepy because of the ease with which he lures the children in.
Pete, the lead investigator, has a history with The Whisper Man. I quickly came to care for this flawed character. He’s not a young hunk, but he does go to the gym and works hard at keeping himself in shape. He keeps his mind and his body occupied. He can also whip up a delicious meal.
At 70%…Hmmm… Got my imagination going with the dialogue and Jake’s thoughts. There has been a subtle threat of danger lurking on every page and I am waiting…sometimes the waiting and the ideas of what is to come is worse than what really happens. Will that be the case?
I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of The Whisper Man by Alex North.
4 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
In this dark,
suspenseful thriller, Alex North weaves a multi-generational tale of
suspense, as a father and son are caught in the crosshairs of an
investigation to catch a serial killer preying on a small town.
After
the sudden death of his wife, Tom Kennedy believes a fresh start will
help him and his young son Jake heal. A new beginning, a new house, a
new town. Featherbank.
But the town has a dark past. Twenty years
ago, a serial killer abducted and murdered five residents. Until Frank
Carter was finally caught, he was nicknamed “The Whisper Man,” for he
would lure his victims out by whispering at their windows at night.
Just
as Tom and Jake settle into their new home, a young boy vanishes. His
disappearance bears an unnerving resemblance to Frank Carter’s crimes,
reigniting old rumors that he preyed with an accomplice. Now, detectives
Amanda Beck and Pete Willis must find the boy before it is too late,
even if that means Pete has to revisit his great foe in prison: The
Whisper Man.
And then Jake begins acting strangely. He hears a whispering at his window…
ABOUT ALEX NORTH (from Amazon)
Alex North was born in Leeds, England, where
he now lives with his wife and son. He studied Philosophy at Leeds
University and prior to becoming a writer, he worked there in their
sociology department.
Piper and Samantha are in heaven. Well, close. After winning a contest to raise the most money for human trafficking awareness and prevention, Piper and Sam are rewarded with a long weekend at the O Heavenly Day Spa. When mysterious notes start appearing everywhere, things get uncomfortable. When spa treatments go awry it is starting to get dangerous. A threatening message in Piper’s closet convinces Piper and Sam that they have to find out who is behind all of these disasters before someone gets hurt. Is it Broussard the stuffy concierge? Gladys, the sweet old lady who decided to join them for the weekend? When the smoke alarms go off and the spa erupts into panic, the chaos separates the friends and Piper stumbles into trouble. Will her friends be able to help her in time?
About the Author
Katherine Brown is a Texas girl, a lover of books, and a weaver of words. Her first official publication was of two children’s books in 2017, which has now grown into five books of the School is Scary series; however, she likes to think her career as a writer started when she sold her parents newsletters of articles about school and poetry for fifty cents per copy as a pre-teen. Married to a wonderful husband and mom of a smart, spunky stepdaughter, Katherine enjoys spending time with family and reading as many new books as she can get her hands on. Her YA series, the Ooey Gooey Bakery Mystery series, is ramping up in 2019 with book 1 released in March and book 2 was released June 1, 2019.
Shell and her two furry sidekicks must cat-ch a killer to save their pet shop
Crishell “Shell” McMillan sees the cancellation of her TV series as a blessing in disguise. The former actress can now take over her late aunt’s pet shop, the Purr N’ Bark, and do something she loves.
While getting the shop ready for re-opening, Shell is asked to loan her aunt’s Cary Grant posters to the local museum for an exhibit. She finds the prospect exciting—until a museum board member, who had a long-standing feud with Shell’s aunt, votes against it. When she discovers the board member dead in the museum, Shell becomes suspect number one. Can she, her Siamese cat Kahlua, and her new sidekick—her aunt’s Persian Purrday—find the real culprit, or will her latest career go up in kitty litter?
EXCERPT
For a second I just stared, and then I raised my arm, took some skin between my thumb and forefinger, and pinched myself hard.
“Ow!” I cried. Well, that settled that. I wasn’t dreaming, or
hallucinating. He was really here, along with a large black suitcase propped up
against my front door.
Gary tripped down my porch steps and ran over to stand in front of
me. “There you are,” he said, waggling his finger. “For a second there, I
thought that guy at the gas station gave me directions to the wrong house.”
I fisted a hand on my hip and shot him a stony stare. “Gary, what
are you doing here?”
His lips drooped down almost immediately into a hangdog expression.
“Gee, thanks a lot. I fly cross-country and drive all this way and that’s the
greeting I get? I told you I was coming, remember?” When I didn’t answer, he
persisted, “I kept asking you what was wrong, and you kept avoiding the issue,
so I said I’d come on out and see for myself.”
I pushed the heel of my hand through my hair. “You did say that,
but I didn’t think you really meant it.”
His arms enveloped me in a gigantic bear hug. “Oh, come on, Shell.
What sort of co-star would I be if I deserted you in your time of need?” He
pulled back a bit to study me. “This is your time of need, right? I mean,
something’s up. I could hear it in your voice.”
“I’m fine, Gary. You didn’t have to uproot your life and come all
the way out here to check on me.”
He spread his arms wide. “Hey, you decided to uproot your life and
change careers. I guess that dark store in town with the re-opening sign on it
is yours?”
“You guess right. I’d hoped to be getting the store and its stock
ready for a grand re-opening, but instead …”
“Yeah, I know.” He reached out and give my hand a squeeze. “That’s
why you could use my help. After all, right now I’ve got nothing else to do,
other than sign up for unemployment.”
The note of disappointment in his tone was unmistakable. “What
happened? They didn’t go for the reboot?”
“To quote the producers exactly, ‘That show just isn’t worth spit
without Shell Marlowe.’ Or similar words to that effect.”
I remembered Max’s words and a pang of guilt arrowed through me.
“That’s not true and you know it.”
“Yeah, well, it seems they were gearing the show more toward the
male audience, and not the action end of it, if you get my meaning.”
I wrinkled my nose. “Then I’m glad I turned it down, although I’m
sorry it didn’t work out for you. You’ll get something else, Gary, but only if
you go back to L.A. and start auditioning.”
“I’m not so sure.” He plopped down on my bottom step and cupped his
chin in one hand. “I had a lot of time to think on the plane ride out here.
Series tv is getting to be a rat race, and I’m not as young as I used to be.
Maybe I should try something different, maybe Broadway, or Off Broadway.”
I laughed. “You’re considering a play? I thought you always said
theater was for people who couldn’t make it in Hollywood.”
He grinned sheepishly. “I did say that, didn’t I? Well, maybe I’ve
had a change of heart. Look, I didn’t come all the way out here to talk about
me. What’s going on with you, Shell?”
I looked down at the ground. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Oh, yes, you do.” He leaned over so that his nose was only about
an inch away from mine. “I could hear it in your voice when we spoke on the
phone. You sounded just like you did when Pat left you.”
I raised my gaze to his and thrust my jaw out. “I most certainly
did not. And I left Patrick, no matter what he told you.”
“Whatever.” Gary folded his arms over his chest and stood, one foot
tapping impatiently on the concrete. “Are you going to tell me what’s up with
you, or not?”
I folded my own arms over my chest. “Not.”
“Okay, then, I suppose I’ll have to guess.” He put a finger to his
lips, closed his eyes, and then popped them wide open. “Aha, I have it.” He
pointed his finger dramatically in the air. “You must be the actress they
suspect of murdering the local termagant.”
“Wow, is that a fifty-dollar word or what? I’m impressed. And just
where did you hear this juicy bit of news?”
He grinned. “It’s the main topic of conversation at the gas station
out on the highway. It’s a veritable hotbed of local gossip.” His expression
sobered and he reached out and gripped my hand. “Is it true?”
“Is what true? That I murdered the local termagant or that I’m
suspected of doing so?”
“Very funny.”
He looked so upset that I sighed. “Yes, it’s true. That I’m on the
suspect list, not that I did the deed—although I had a public argument with the
woman the day before her death.”
Gary let out a low whistle. “Sounds like you could use a friend.” I
glanced over at his suitcase, and he added, “If it’s inconvenient, I can always
find a hotel near here. I’m not leaving, Shell.”
My expression softened. “I know you’re not, and it’s not
inconvenient. Come on, grab your suitcase. I’ll make you a cup of java and fill
you in.”
∞
I showed Gary to one of the guest bedrooms and left him to
unpack and freshen up. I went into the kitchen and put on a fresh pot of
coffee, then pulled out the wheels of cheddar and Brie I’d purchased at the
General Store along with some crackers, arranged them on a tray, and set it on
the table. I’d just poured us each a steaming mug when Gary reappeared. His
hair was damp from a quick shower, and he’d changed into comfortable
sweatpants. He eased himself into one of the chairs and sniffed the air.
“Um, what’s that, Kahlua-flavored coffee? You wouldn’t happen to
have the real thing to add to it, would you? I didn’t drink on the plane, and
I’m overdue.”
Gary had an aversion to air travel, so the mere fact he’d stepped
on a plane to come to my aid was quite something, indeed. I opened one of the
bottom cabinets and pulled out a bottle of Kahlua. I added a generous amount to
both our mugs and then sat down across from him, my hands wrapped around my
mug. We sat for a few minutes, sipping in silence, and then Gary set down his
mug.
“Care to fill me in on what’s going down here now? What was that
public argument about that’s got you on the suspect list?”
I explained all about the museum board vote and the supposed feud
between Amelia and my aunt that I believed to be behind Amelia’s crusade. I
also recounted my meetings with the other three board members and Garrett
Knute. Gary listened intently and when I’d finished, ran his finger around the
rim of his cup.
“Sounds to me like you might have painted a target on yourself,” he
said grimly.
I bit down on my lower lip. “Funny. Josh hinted at pretty much the
same thing.”
Gary’s eyes widened a bit. “Josh?”
Heat seared my cheeks and I ducked my head. “Detective Bloodgood.
He’s investigating the murder.”
“I see. And are you often on a first-name basis with detectives
investigating you for murder?”
“We’d met briefly before all this mess. His sister’s dog ran into
me in the park. I had no idea he was a detective.”
“Of course not.” He let out a low chuckle. “And what does this
Detective Bloodgood look like? I’m betting he’s not paunchy with gray hair,
like most of the detectives on tv.”
I narrowed my eyes. “No, he’s not.”
“So?” Gary persisted as I remained silent. “Is he as good-looking
as me?”
I made a face at him. “No one’s as good-looking as you, Gary,
except maybe Hugh Jackman. I’ve already had to assure some of the local women
that marvelous head of hair is all yours.”
He reached up to give his hair a swift pat and laughed. “Nice try
at a diversion, but I’m still interested in a description of your Detective
Bloodgood.”
“He’s not my Detective Bloodgood,” I protested. “Besides, I have a
new man in my life.”
Gary almost dropped his mug. “You do?”
“Absolutely. I was worried he and Kahlua might not get along, but
they seem to have effected a truce.”
Gary’s brows drew together. “Kahlua? Your cat? Why wouldn’t he get
along with your cat? Is he allergic?”
“No, far from it.”
I lapsed into silence, and Gary’s frown deepened. “So, details
Shell. What does this fellow look like?”
I put my finger to my lips. “He’s very hairy,” I said at last.
Gary gave me a puzzled stare. “He’s hairy? You hate facial
hair … or was that just so I’d shave the beard I grew for season six?”
“You look better clean shaven anyway. I did you and all your female
fans a favor.” I inclined my head toward the doorway. “Here he is now. Come
here, Purrday, and say hello to Gary. He’s going to be staying with us awhile.”
Purrday glided into the kitchen and hopped up on the vacant chair
next to Gary. He cocked his head to one side and blinked at him. “Merow.”
Gary stared at Purrday and then burst into laughter. “Oho, another
cat, eh?”
“He belonged to Aunt Tillie. I couldn’t turn him away.”
Gary bounced both eyebrows at me. “Just be careful this doesn’t
start a trend, Shell. I’d hate to see you become the neighborhood crazy cat
lady.” He reached out his hand. Purrday sniffed at the tips of his fingers,
then his pink tongue darted out and gave them a quick lick. “Friendly fellow.
Lots friendlier than Kahlua. She usually hisses at me.”
“She doesn’t like your cologne. You’ve got Purrday’s stamp of
approval, at least.”
Gary selected a piece of cheddar and started to put it on a cracker
when the cheese slid from his fingers and landed—plop!—on the floor. Purrday eyed the cheese, then cocked his head
at Gary.
“Okay if I let him have it? It fell on the floor.”
“Go ahead, but you’d better practice your whoops, I knocked it on the floor routine. For such a good actor,
that was beneath you.”
Gary’s eyes widened. “Shell! I’m shocked! You think I did that on
purpose?”
I laughed right at him. “I know you did. You would never drop a
piece of anything edible on the floor.”
He raised both hands. “Okay, I’m guilty. But Purrday appreciates
it, don’t you, boy?”
Purrday didn’t answer. He’d already snatched the bit of cheddar in
his paws and was nibbling happily at it.
Gary turned back to me. “Well, now that I’ve met the main man in
your life, let’s get back to number two. Your detective.”
“Let’s not and say we did.” I rose and walked over to the cabinet
and pulled out the bottle of Kahlua. “Refill?”
He held out his mug. “Sure. And don’t bother with the coffee this
time.”
Once I’d refilled both mugs with Kahlua we adjourned to the parlor,
leaving Purrday happily noshing on his cheese. Feline Kahlua was stretched out
across the top of the loveseat. She lifted her head, took one look at Gary, let
out a loud hiss, and promptly vanished up the stairs.
“Great to see you again too,” Gary called after her retreating
form. He looked over his shoulder at me. “Some things never change.” He plopped
down on the brocaded sofa and I sat on the loveseat across from him. “Let’s
think of this logically,” he said. “You said most of the people in Fox Hollow
hated this woman, Amelia?”
“So I’ve heard.”
“Okay.” He leaned back against the sofa cushions, his eyes slitted
in thought. “First things first. Who might have hated her enough to do her in?”
“Well, there are the aforementioned board members: Larry Peabody,
Andy McHardy, and Ginnifer Rubin. And Garrett Knute is hiding something as
well. I heard him say, ‘over my dead body.’ And Amelia was determined he
shouldn’t get his hands on that envelope.”
“Hm.” Gary laced his hands behind his neck. “That definitely piques
my interest. Anyone else?”
“I saw Amelia arguing with a woman in the park. Olivia thinks it
might have been Londra Lewis, who works at the museum as the administrator.
Amelia disliked her because of her loyalty to the museum director, Mazie
Madison.” I tapped the edge of my mug. “Olivia said that Mazie was no angel
when it came to Amelia either. Then there’s the mayor.”
“Oho, the mayor, eh?” Gary bounced his eyebrows. “You just can’t
trust those public officials.”
“It might be nothing, but Amelia might have something on one or
both of the mayor’s kids, I’m not sure. And Garrett Knute mentioned this guy,
Melvin Feller, but so far I haven’t been able to make a concrete connection
between him and Amelia. And Garrett said half the town hated the woman, so who
knows who else might have a motive.” I paused. “Then there’s the editor of the
town paper, Quentin Watson. He’s a smarmy little weasel who’s already printed
two less-than-flattering snippets about me in his paper because I wouldn’t give
him an interview. Lord knows what his relationship with
Amelia was.”
“Well, there doesn’t appear to be a dearth of suspects,” Gary said
wryly. “And the reason you’re at the top is …?”
“I’m not even sure I’m at the top. Josh—I mean, Detective
Bloodgood—told me I was a person of interest, primarily because I argued with
the deceased in public.”
Gary gave a short laugh. “Well, person of interest is better than
suspect, if you ask me. Now, what we have to do is systematically go through all
of those people and determine which of them had the best motive for wanting
Amelia dead.”
“No doubt J—the detective is doing that already.”
Gary shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe not. In any case, our considering
it can’t hurt, right? I mean, after all, the sooner this gets cleared up, the
sooner you can open up your little store.”
Purrday ambled into the parlor just then, batting the button
between his paws. I reached down to retrieve it.
“It looks like one of Aunt Matilda’s buttons. Where he got it from
is a mystery.”
“It probably just fell off something. You know cats. They can be
real scavengers. Remember when Kahlua had a stash of all your rhinestone pins?”
I started to reply when the doorbell rang. I excused myself and
went to answer it, and my eyes widened in surprise when I saw Josh on my front
stoop. His lips were slashed into a straight line, and he had his cop face on.
“Mind if I come in?” he asked. “Something’s turned up, and I need
to speak to you about it.”
I pushed the door wide and motioned for him to enter. As he stepped
into the foyer, Gary emerged from the parlor. The two men started then stood
and stared at each other.
I cleared my throat. “Detective Josh
Bloodgood, may I introduce my former co-star—”
Josh waved his hand. “I know who he is.” He turned back to Gary.
“Gary Presser, right? Or should I say Douglas Doolittle?”
Gary beamed and held out his hand. “Ah, you’ve watched our show?”
“When my schedule permitted.”
Josh took Gary’s hand and Gary pumped it up and down. “Always happy
to meet a fan. I take it you’re Josh the detective?”
“That would be me.” He released Gary’s hand and shoved his deep
into the pockets of the light khaki jacket he wore. “It might be best,” he
said, with a meaningful look at me, “if we discussed my news in private.”
“Not necessary,” Gary said breezily. He stepped right up to me and
slipped one arm around my shoulders in a protective gesture. “I came out here
to Fox Hollow to help Shell, so …” He paused and looked expectantly at me.
I sighed and turned to Josh. “Anything you have to say you can say
in front of Gary. It won’t go any further.”
Josh frowned. “Okay, then,” he said at last. He reached into the
inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a small plastic bag, in which rested
a slip of paper. “My men did a thorough sweep of the murder scene, and we found
this under the desk near the body.”
He held the baggie out to me. I took it. Inside was a note printed
in block letters:
I’VE DISCOVERED YOUR LITTLE SECRET. UNLESS YOU WANT ME TO
EXPOSE YOU, I SUGGEST WE TALK.
“S”
I read the note twice and then looked at Josh, puzzled. “I’m sorry.
I don’t get it.”
His gaze bored into mine. “Did you write that?”
I took a couple of deep breaths before I answered. “Absolutely not.
For one thing, I don’t print that neatly, and I’ve never seen this before in my
life.”
He turned the bag over in his hand. “Then you weren’t planning to
expose Amelia? The purpose of that meeting wasn’t blackmail?”
I stared at him, shocked, and drew myself up to my full height.
“Definitely not,” I snapped. “I would never blackmail anyone in my life.
Besides, I don’t know anything I could have blackmailed her with.”
“That’s true,” Gary interjected. “Shell is one of the most honest
people I know.”
I gestured toward the note. “Evidently someone wanted you to think
otherwise.”
Josh scratched absently at his jaw. “We dusted it for prints, and
the only ones we found were Amelia’s. Obviously, whoever wrote it must have
worn gloves.”
“What in the world could I have been going to expose about her?” I
asked. “I didn’t know the woman.”
“Well, you were going around asking people if they were being
blackmailed by her,” put in Josh. “And you accused Garrett Knute of having a
secret.”
“That’s true, but they’re legitimate concerns,” I declared.
“Well, it seems pretty obvious to me,” said Gary. Josh and I both
turned toward him.
“What does?” asked Josh.
Gary spread his hands. “This murder was no accident. Someone
planned it out carefully, and decided to use Shell as a scapegoat. Think about
it. The photograph Shell gave her was clutched in her cold, dead hand plus this
note, conveniently signed by “S”?” He jabbed his finger at Josh’s face. “And
your job, my friend, is to find out who would do such a thing.”
“I agree,” Josh said grimly. He turned to me. “For what it’s worth,
Shell, I don’t think you killed Amelia. But it sure does look as if someone
wants us to think you might have.”
I shuddered. The thought that someone might deliberately have set
me up as a murderer was not an appealing one. “If I could take back speaking to
those people, I would, in a heartbeat. But I can’t. What happens now?”
“What happens is you keep your mouth shut and keep a low profile
while I work on finding out just who did kill Amelia,” Josh said softly. He
looked as if he wanted to say more, but instead just nodded curtly to both Gary
and me and then turned and exited out my front door.
I set my lips. Now I was more determined than ever to do some
digging on my own. Someone had used me to get Amelia alone at the museum and
kill her. Someone had planned it with malice aforethought, and I was betting it
was someone I’d met, someone I’d spoken with.
I wouldn’t feel safe until I found out who.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
While Toni Lotempio
does not commit – or solve – murders in real life, she has no trouble
doing it on paper. Her lifelong love of mysteries began early on when
she was introduced to her first Nancy Drew mystery at age 10 – The
Secret in the Old Attic. She and her cat pen the Nick and Nora mystery
series from Berkley Prime Crime and the Cat Rescue series from Crooked
Lane. Her latest, the Pet Shop Mysteries, makes its debut August 8 with
The Time for Murder is Meow.
This is one of those books that a romance between the two main characters cannot be, yet there is something there…something between them…and I am sticking with the Frank Renzi series until I find out how Susan Fleet is going to end it.
Susan Fleet supplies plenty of action. Natalie is a thief, but if she has to, she will kill to save herself. She finds herself in the UK, forced to be a call girl, a whore, a thief, stealing paintings for her lover to sell. How in the hell did she ever get herself into this situation? And how is she going to get out?
Frank Renzi has his own life, and it has made it a full one, but there is still Natalie.
Natalie’s rough life does not excuse what she does, but I do feel for her. i understand her motivation. Even making a bad choice can be better than letting someone make the choice for you.
Will she run forever? Will she ever be able to stop running?
The ending was a surprise and I loved it!
I voluntarily reviewed a free copy of Natalie’s Art by Susan Fleet.
5 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
ART HEISTS, MURDER and REVENGE! In 1990 two robbers stole paintings worth $500 million from the Isabella Stewart Gardner Museum in Boston. Twenty years later, a ruthless man plans to steal several more. He forces Natalie to help him, but after the heist he intends to kill her. Not only that, NOPD Detective Frank Renzi is hot on her trail. Will Natalie escape? Don’t miss the explosive showdown between Frank and Natalie. Feathered Quill Book Awards named Natalie’s Revenge Best Mystery of 2014. Natalie’s Art is the thrilling sequel
ABOUT SUSAN FLEET
Music & Mayhem is my game. Started my trumpet career in my teens, got into the mayhem later. My print journalist father taught me how to play pool in the police station. Maybe that’s how I discovered my dark side.
After
gigging on trumpet in the Boston area for many years (while teaching at
Brown University and Berklee College of Music), I moved to New Orleans,
which became the setting for my crime thrillers. Scroll down and check
the video trailers for DIVA and ABSOLUTION.
I survived Katrina, but moved back to Boston in 2010. On my website I post profiles of women musicians and just began a blog, DARK DEEDS, about serial killers, stalkers and domestic homicides. Please come visit!!
Books from the Backlog is a fun way to feature some of those
neglected books sitting on your bookshelf unread. If you are anything
like me, you might be surprised by some of the unread books hiding in
your stacks.
The books I have been sharing for the Backlog post are from the documents on my Kindle. I am trying to read through them so I can delete them. Some have been hanging around for a very long time, others not so much.
This week, I’m sharing Lynda Filler’s Code Raven: Prequel, a thriller novella. Love that cover…and whenever I see a crow it gets my mind working…something evil this way comes.
I don’t know when I downloaded it or where I got it from, but the Code Raven: Prequel was released 7.16.18.
The Code Raven: Prequel is a wild and amazing introduction to a thrilling series and I found the characters to be unique, fascinating, and highly skilled.
4 Stars
GOODREADS BLURB
The world’s most elusive billionaire. A brain trust that cannot be controlled. A warrior and a patriot. After
the brutal murder of Luke Raven’s wife and seven-year-old daughter,
Luke disappears for several months. When he returns, get ready for the
non-stop action of Luke, Luci, Zach, RB, Maggs, and a cast of
unforgettable characters who form the Raven Group. Discover the
secretive life of billionaire Luke Raven, how he made his fortunes, and
where his true loyalties lie. The Code Raven Series is a page-turner, an action-packed adventure. This is where it all began.
“The author’s style is reminiscent of CLIVE CUSSLER, LEE CHILDS or BALDACCI.” N. Huff
Cozy Mystery
1st in Series
Independently Published (March 1, 2019)
Paperback: 280 pages
ISBN-10: 1733725806
ISBN-13: 978-1733725804
Digital ASIN: B07P1P5N2K
