Showing posts with label mystery. Show all posts
Showing posts with label mystery. Show all posts

Friday, February 3, 2023

Review & Giveaway: Dark Of Night by Colleen Coble

 

Dark of Night

by Colleen Coble

January 9-February 3, 2023 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

Dark of Night by Colleen Coble cover

The law is about justice—not grace. But perhaps ranger Annie Pederson can find a way to have both.

As if the last few months haven’t been hard enough—complete with threats on her life and the return of her first love, Jon—Annie has to figure out whether or not to believe a woman who claims to be her sister, Sarah, who was abducted twenty-four years ago at age five. Annie’s eight-year-old daughter, Kylie, has plenty of questions about what’s going on in her mother’s life—but there are some stones Annie doesn’t want uncovered.

As Annie grapples with how to heal the gulf between her and her would-be sister and make room in her daughter’s life for Jon, she’s professionally distracted by the case of yet another missing hiker in Michigan’s Upper Peninsula. A woman named Michelle Fraser has now been abducted, and though the woman’s estranged husband is at the top of their suspect list, Annie and her colleagues will need to dig deeper and determine whether these recent mysteries are truly as unrelated as they seem.

In this second novel of bestselling author Colleen Coble’s latest romantic-suspense series, Annie and Jon must fight for the future—and the family—that could once more be theirs.

Book Details:

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Thomas Nelson
Publication Date: January 2023
Number of Pages: 352
ISBN: 0785253742 (ISBN13: 9780785253747)
Series: Annie Pederson #2
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | ChristianBook | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

Should she even be out here alone? Michigan’s U.P. was a whole lotta wilderness. Michelle Fraser’s shoulder blades gave a tingle and made her glance back to see if anyone was following her. No one there. But in spite of seeing no movement in the trees and bushes, she couldn’t discount her gut instinct. She’d been spooked ever since she left the safety of the women’s shelter.

Maybe it was just knowing she was out here with no backup that had her on edge.

The heavy scent of rain hung in the twilight air as she set the last of her wildlife cameras in the crook of a large sugar maple tree. A northern flying squirrel chattered a warning from its nest. The glaucomys sabrinus’s agitation made Michelle pull away in time to avoid being nipped.

Thunder rumbled in the distance, and a spooky mist blew through the forest. The sooner she was out of here, the better. Her last set of cameras hadn’t turned up the elusive mountain lions she’d been searching for, but a hunter in neighboring Ontonagon County had snapped a picture of a large male reclining on a rock. If she could acquire more data, it would aid her research for the magazine article proving mountain lions inhabited the area. And she had to have pictures.

She’d been obsessed with big cats for as long as she could remember. Even the various names held a fascinating mystique: catamount, puma, cougar, mountain lion, panther.

A mosquito landed on her arm, and she swatted it. Her hands came away with a drop of blood on her fingers. Yuck. She wiped the residue on her khaki shorts and turned to go back to her ATV. A sound erupted to her right, and it sounded like either a puma or a woman’s scream. The hair on her neck prickled, and she moved that way.

The scream pealed again, and she removed the lens cap on the camera slung around her neck. Her palms dampened, and her breath came fast. Walking toward danger might not be the smartest thing, but Michelle couldn’t help herself. She yearned to see a puma in the wild in all its power and beauty. Her knees shook as she pulled out a bullhorn from her backpack to frighten away the cat if it sensed her as prey.

Queen pumas would be protecting their litters in June, so she needed to be careful. Her lungs labored as she rushed in that direction. Her black belt in jujitsu wouldn’t do much against the speed and power of a puma. She seized a large branch to make herself seem bigger as she advanced through the forest. Evergreen needles clawed at her arms as she forced her way through a thick stand of white pine.

She paused on the other side and caught the glimmer of water. Lake Superior’s waves lapped at the rocky shore, and she spotted a yellow kayak riding the swells in the shallow surf. A discarded backpack bobbed beside it.

Her sense of unease grew as she observed the scene. Glancing around, she approached the water and snagged the backpack from the lake, then pulled the kayak onto the rocks. Her gut told her someone was in trouble.

Should she call out? If it was wildlife threatening the woman she thought she’d heard, Michelle could scare it off with a flare. But if the attacker was human, she didn’t want to give away her presence and put the woman in greater danger. She scanned the area for bear or cougar scat but found nothing.

The sound of oars slapping the water came from her left, and she ducked back into the shadow of the pines until she could tell the intent of the boaters. Two figures partially shrouded in mist paddled a large canoe around a rocky finger of the shore. The glimpse of broad shoulders through the fog indicated they were probably men. She strained to listen through the sound of the wind and water but couldn’t hear much.

She couldn’t put her finger on why she didn’t want them to see her. Maybe because they were men, and Brandon might have sent them after her.

“I know she ran this way. Trying to get to her kayak, eh.” The man’s heavy Yooper accent carried well over the water.

“Can’t see her through this mist,” the other man said. “I don’t know why I let you talk me into this. Your love life isn’t my business.”

“You owe me. Let’s try on down the shore. There’s a deer trail toward the road she might have tried to take.”

Their voices faded as their canoe moved past. She didn’t get a good look at their faces. Was a woman out there trying to escape an abusive ex? Michelle had seen plenty of that kind of trauma this past year and had experienced abuse personally.

Once they were out of sight, she stepped back into the clearing. “Hello,” she called softly. “Is anyone here? I can help you.”

She walked across the green mossy clearing, searching for a sign of an injured woman. The bushes to her left shivered and rustled, and she stepped closer. “Hello? Do you need help?”

The leaves parted as the mist swirled along the ground, and the pale oval of a woman’s face emerged. Long blonde hair hung in strings along her cheeks, and her eyelids fluttered as though she might faint. Michelle rushed forward and helped the young woman to her feet. She was in her early twenties with a slight build. Mud smeared her khaki shorts and red top, and she was barefoot.

She seemed familiar, and Michelle reached down to touch her forehead. She nearly recoiled at the heat radiating from the young woman. “Wait, aren’t you Grace Mitchell?”

They’d met when Grace first arrived at the shelter, but Michelle hadn’t immediately recognized her with the mud and dirt on her face and hair. The woman’s fever alarmed Michelle. “You’re burning up. We need to get you to a doctor.”

“I-I’ll be fine. Do you have some way out of here?”

“My ATV is this way.” Michelle put her right arm around the woman’s waist and helped her stumble toward the trail. “What are you doing out here?”

Grace paused and wiped the beads of perspiration from her forehead. “I spotted my ex driving past the shelter, and I knew he’d found me. That day we met, you mentioned a remote area you liked with a great camping spot, and I decided to try to find it. You know, hide out until I figured out where to go to get away from Roy. But I stopped by to get camping gear from my parents, and he must have followed me here. He’s out there somewhere. He and a buddy.” Her blue eyes flashed with fear. “I can’t let him find me.”

They reached the ATV, and Michelle got Grace situated, but it was a tight squeeze on the vehicle meant for one person. Michelle got water out of her backpack and helped Grace drink some. She grabbed her phone, too, and took a quick photo of the traumatized girl before she dropped it back into the pack.

Michelle started the machine and pulled out onto the trail back to the cabin where she’d been hiding out. She should have gotten out of here earlier since the weather had caused darkness to fall sooner than expected. It would be slow going on the rough trail with only the headlamps pushing the darkness back a short distance.

After only a few minutes, Michelle realized she’d gotten off the trail. She stopped the machine and looked around. Which way should she go? She consulted her compass and decided to push due west. They’d only gone a few feet when the ground gave out under the machine, and they went flying into the air. When Michelle hit the ground, something in her right leg snapped, and the excruciating pain was instantaneous.

She bit back a scream but couldn’t stop the moan as she pulled her knee to her chest. The swelling was already starting four inches above her ankle, but at least it didn’t appear to be a compound fracture. “I-I’ve broken my leg. Are you all right, Grace?”

When Grace didn’t answer, Michelle felt along the ground until she touched her thigh. “Grace?” She felt up the young woman’s body to her face.

Grace wasn’t breathing. “Oh no,” Michelle whispered. She checked her out in the dark as best as she could. No pulse.

Michelle dragged herself to the machine but it was on its side, and she couldn’t right it with her broken leg. No one would be searching for her out here, so she had to find shelter. But how?

The pain made it hard to think. She froze at the sound of movement in the vegetation. Something big was crashing toward her. A deer? A mountain lion or bear?

A man’s shoulders moved into sight, and his expression sent shivers up her spine. When he reached down to lift her up, the pain intensified in her leg, and her vision went black.

///

Law enforcement ranger Annie Pederson sat at a table by herself in the small interrogation room at the Rock Harbor jail and waited for Taylor Moore to be brought in for questioning. Maybe it was Annie’s imagination, but it seemed as if the beige paint on the walls reeked with the guilt and despair of countless years of interrogations. Even the clean scent of the disinfectant used in the area didn’t dissipate the unpleasantness. She didn’t like this space and wished she could have talked to Taylor at the coffee shop or somewhere more pleasant.

But this meeting might be the end of her lifelong search, so she would have faced even tigers in this place.

The door opened and Taylor entered. Several weeks ago Annie had hired her to help out around the Tremolo Marina and Cabin Resort and with Annie’s eight-year-old daughter, but the woman had been picked up for questioning about the necklace found belonging to a murdered girl. Her claim to be Annie’s sister, Sarah—kidnapped from Tremolo Island twenty-four years ago—had turned Annie’s every thought on its head. According to Taylor’s ID, she was twenty-nine, three years younger than Annie, so that detail matched Sarah.

Annie’s heart squeezed at Taylor’s ducked head and stringy locks. The bright-red hair dye was fading, and glints of her natural blonde color showed through. Her jeans and tee looked like she’d slept in them for days, and the scent of stale perspiration wafted from her.

Taylor glanced up, and Annie bit back a gasp at the defiance gleaming in those vivid blue eyes that matched Annie’s eye color instead of the muddy brown Annie was used to. Jon Dunstan had claimed Taylor was wearing contacts to change her eye color, and it seemed he was right.

Annie had prided herself on her ability to read people in her line of work. She’d always thought she could detect a liar with no problem. Taylor had completely snowed her. After Taylor’s impeccable references, Annie had trusted the woman with her child.

Sheriff Mason Kaleva ambled in behind Taylor. He gestured to the chair across the table from Annie. “Have a seat, Ms. Moore.”

In his forties, his husky form brought solace to Annie. He’d always been there for her and his town, and his kind brown eyes swept over her in a questioning gaze. She gave him a little nod to let him know she was okay.

Taylor’s eyes narrowed. “It’s Ms. Vitanen. Sarah Vitanen.”

A wave of dizziness washed over Annie, and she bit her lip and eyed Taylor closely. “You claim to be my sister, but do you have any proof?”

The chair screeched on the tile floor as Taylor pulled it out before she plopped onto it. “I should have expected you wouldn’t welcome me with open arms. After all, you did nothing to stop my abduction.”

Heat swept up Annie’s neck and lodged in her cheeks. “What could an eight-year-old do to stop an adult? If you’re really Sarah, what was the name of your favorite stuffed animal?”

“Cocoa,” Taylor said without hesitation. “It was a brown kitten. I couldn’t have a real one because Mom was allergic.”

Annie’s eyes widened. She caught her breath as she studied the other woman across the table. “Let me see your left knee.”

Rebellion flashed in Taylor’s blue eyes, and she leaned down to yank up her baggy jeans, then stood with her tanned knee exposed. A faded two-inch scar just below her kneecap matched the one in Annie’s memory. Sarah had gotten snagged on a large metal hook under the dock at the marina. It had taken fifteen stitches to close the wound, and Annie had helped her sister hobble around for several weeks.

But was that proof? Kids had scars from all sorts of things. She wanted to believe her sister was still alive, but was Taylor really Sarah?

Her breath eased from her lips, and Annie couldn’t speak for a long moment. “You really believe you’re Sarah? Did you research all that and make sure the details matched?”

Taylor just stared back at her with that same defiance. In Annie’s dreams, finding Sarah meant a tight embrace and happy tears, but Taylor’s stance with her arms folded across her chest and her jutting chin warned Annie off any displays of affection. Not that she was feeling any warmth toward the other woman in this moment.

When the other woman plopped back in her chair and didn’t answer, Annie licked her lips. “Why didn’t you tell me when you first showed up looking for work? Why the fake name? I’ve been searching for my sister for years.”

“Have you? Have you really?”

Annie glanced at Mason. “Ask him if you don’t believe me.”

Mason shifted his bulky form and nodded. “I’ve been helping Annie search. We’ve sent DNA samples numerous times over the past ten years. Her parents searched for Sarah, and even hired investigators, until their deaths.”

Annie hadn’t known that. Her parents’ business, the Tremolo Marina and Cabin Resort, operated on a shoestring, so they must have taken much needed money to try to find Sarah.

Annie shifted her gaze back to the woman across the table. Taylor twisted a strand of hair around her finger in a coil. Sarah used to do that too. If this was a scam, it was an elaborate one. With all her heart Annie wanted to believe it, but she couldn’t quite accept it. It was so sudden, and the circumstances were bizarre.

Mason cleared his throat. “We’ll need a little more proof. We can get the DNA back in a week or so.”

“I have nothing to hide,” the other woman said.

Annie had spent twenty-four years agonizing over her failure to save Sarah. The guilt had nearly swallowed her alive, though everyone told her she couldn’t have done anything. Until a few days ago, she hadn’t been able to recall much about that awful night. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to remember how she froze in fear when the kidnapper grabbed Sarah.

Annie fingered the scar on her neck where the attacker had wounded her with a knife. She’d been left for dead in the cold waters of Lake Superior, and while logically she knew she was no match for the gruff woman who’d snatched her sister, Annie had struggled to believe it.

“Were any of the things you told me about your life true? Those things you said about your m-mother?”

“I had a rotten life, if that’s what you’re asking. All those things I said about my mother were true. And it was all your fault.”

There was nothing Annie could say to counter that when her own conscience condemned her too. She was only too glad when her boss, Kade Matthews, texted her with a new case. Mason could continue the questioning about the necklace.

***

Excerpt from Dark of Night by Colleen Coble. Copyright 2022 by Colleen Coble. Reproduced with permission from HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved.

 


Author Bio:

Colleen Coble

Colleen Coble is a USA TODAY bestselling author best known for her coastal romantic suspense novels, including The Inn at Ocean's Edge, Twilight at Blueberry Barrens, and the Lavender Tides, Sunset Cove, Hope Beach, and Rock Harbor series.

Connect with Colleen online at:
colleencoble.com
Goodreads
BookBub: @colleencoble
Instagram: @colleencoble
Twitter: @colleencoble
Facebook: colleencoblebooks

 

 My Thoughts:

First, I must say that I'm a Colleen Coble fan - pure and simple. Will that influence my review? Well, possibly, but doubtful. Colleen writes a good story and she can really pull you in. Usually, I will read her books within a couple of days. Not so with this one. I found this one difficult.

Now, this is not in any means a negative review. I give it 5 stars, hands down because it's a great "keep you on the edge of your seat" thriller. So why did I find it difficult? It was the subject and some of the content. I had some interesting reactions to what happened to Michelle and to other characters in the book - especially the children. To get that reaction from me, you know it needed to be a well written and quite realistic story. Yes, this was definitely both for me. 

Lately, I've been somewhat bored with some of the books I have read over the last year. Nothing really grabbed me, and those that did were definitely memorable, but this one, it was more. In fact, in certain places I needed to stop reading and put it aside. That hasn't happened to me in a long, long time. 

I won't get into details, but I will say that the characters were realistic and some really shook me for either their situations or their personalities. 

This book is why I love Colleen's writing. Her stories strike chords with me. She's brilliant and this book proves it!


Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and giveaway entries!

 

 

 

GIVEAWAY:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Harper Collins and Colleen Coble. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

Wednesday, November 23, 2022

Longing is Violet Dusk - Spotlight and #Giveaway

 

 

Longing is Violet Dusk: A Hazel Dean Mystery by Josalyn McAllister

About Longing is Violet Dusk



Longing is Violet Dusk: A Hazel Dean Mystery
Cozy Mystery
2nd in Series
Setting - Georgia
Eburnean Books (September 27, 2022)
Paperback ‏ : ‎ 302 pages
ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 979-8987053201
Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0BDD6J18R


After a stressful foray into crime fighting, Hazel Dean is relieved to resume normality, taking care of her family and book shop--until her ability to see emotions in color pulls her into another crisis.

 

One night at book club, Hazel sees a swirl of jarring purple, blue and black encompass a young mother. Realizing that the woman might be in trouble, Hazel recommends a book that she hopes will provide some comfort and guidance.

 

To her horror, the young mother goes missing the following week. Hazel feels responsible and becomes obsessed with finding her. But the search isn't the only thing Hazel is juggling. She's also trying to help the missing woman's children, evade a young reporter, and deal with the sudden reappearance of an old high school flame.

 

With all of Hazel's efforts, can the missing woman be found before it's too late?

About Josalyn McAllister

Josalyn McAllister is a cozy fiction author whose most recent works include Love Over Easy and Guilt is Midnight Blue. Josalyn started writing character descriptions at the tender age of seven, inspired by the works of LM Montgomery. In her teenage years, she moved on to Newsies fan fiction. Inspired by National Novel Writing Month, she wrote her first novel about a child she mentored in college. She has never stopped writing. Josalyn taught middle school history before deciding she would rather spend time with her own children than other peoples. A restless soul, she has moved all over the country and collected an eclectic array of hobbies. Her writing has a relatable quality that will charm and entertain you.

Author Links

Website
Facebook
GoodReads
Instagram

Purchase Links

Amazon
B&N



TOUR PARTICIPANTS

November 14 – Lady Hawkeye – SPOTLIGHT
November 15 – Sapphyria's Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
November 16 – Literary Gold - SPOTLIGHT
November 17 – Reading Is My SuperPower – REVIEW
November 18 – Ascroft, eh? – CHARACTER INTERVIEW
November 18 – Mythical Books – REVIEW
November 19 – I'm Into Books – SPOTLIGHT
November 19 – Books a Plenty Book Reviews – REVIEW, CHARACTER GUEST POST
November 20 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT
November 21 – Celticlady's Reviews – SPOTLIGHT
November 22 – Maureen's Musings – SPOTLIGHT
November 23 – Just One More Paragraph – AUTHOR GUEST POST
November 24 – THANKSGIVING
November 25 – #BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog - SPOTLIGHT
November 26 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW
November 27 – Guatemala Paula Loves to Read – REVIEW

a Rafflecopter giveaway 

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Saturday, November 19, 2022

Silence Says the Most - Review & #Giveaway

 

 

Silence Says the Most: An Olivia Penn Mystery by Kathleen Bailey

About Silence Says the Most

 

Silence Says the Most: An Olivia Penn Mystery 

Cozy Mystery 2nd in Series 

Setting - Apple Station, Virginia (in the Shenandoah Valley)

Rhino Publishing LLC (October 25, 2022) 

Hardcover ‏ : ‎ 304 pages 

ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 195627006X 

ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-1956270068 

Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B0BGFRZDGK

A heartwarming cozy mystery that celebrates the connections of friends and family with a Gilmore Girls vibe.

Five days before Halloween, fall turns frightful in Apple Station when a child’s drawing entangles Olivia in a murder at a park lake.

Olivia’s hometown is gearing up for its annual Halloween festival, and pumpkins, corn mazes, and autumn vibes are everywhere. All is cozy in the crisp fall air as excitement builds for the costume parade on Friday. A casual Monday lakeside picnic lunch with her forever friend, though, sets off a chain of events that catches Olivia in the wrong place at the wrong time.

When a body is discovered amid an algae bloom under mysterious circumstances, everyone points fingers, but one among them is not telling the truth. The only apparent witness to the crime is a child who doesn’t speak. Motives abound, suspects are plenty, and it’s up to Olivia to discover why the child has implicated her as the key to solving the murder.

Can Olivia unmask the killer before the endangered evidence vanishes, and she becomes the next victim?

If you like small town, cozy mysteries with heart and humor, a charming cast of characters, and a twisty plot that celebrates the connections of friends and family, you’ll love Silence Says the Most, the second book in The Olivia Penn Mystery Series.

About Kathleen Bailey

Kathleen Bailey is the author of The Olivia Penn Mystery Series. She writes mysteries with heart and humor that keep to the traditional and cozy sides of crime. Kathleen has degrees in English, psychology, and physical therapy. She previously worked as a pediatric physical therapist for over twenty years with children who have special needs. She now spends her days obsessively plotting and sleuthing in Virginia where she lives with her husband and adorable feline fur baby. When she is not incognito, she is a member of Sisters in Crime and the James River Writers.

Author Links 

  • Purchase Links
Amazon


My Thoughts:

You've heard the old saying "You can never judge a book by its cover", but in this case, I chose to read this book BECAUSE of its cover. It called to me and demanded that I read it to find out more about the cover. It's a gorgeous cover - autumn trees, a body of water and a dock. 

The cover art did not disappoint me for what was between the covers of the book. As you may have already guessed, the storyline takes place in autumn making it the perfect read for now. It starts out being captivating from the get-go and for me, the story line held my interest all the way through. I could use the cliché stating it was full of twists and turns, but I won't since one would expect a good mystery to have that as well as all the red herrings. 

The storyline was very interesting and there were times I became quite concerned for the main character, Olivia. She's a likeable character that doesn't always make the best decisions (but then who does?) and her normal job has influenced her to not be as careful as she should be. 

I love the whole storyline - the involvement of interesting side characters, beautiful park/forest and interesting small town living. Everything here made this the perfect cozy to read - especially at this time of the year. 

I so want to tell you more about the story and what happened and wow! - I never saw that coming. I want to tell you more about the boy, his mom, the quite interesting neighbor, and...  but I won't. You really need to pick up a copy of this captivating book and read it yourself! 


TOUR PARTICIPANTS 

November 8 – Maureen’s Musings – SPOTLIGHT 

November 9 – Ascroft, eh? – AUTHOR INTERVIEW 

November 10 – Satisfaction for Insatiable Readers – SPOTLIGHT 

November 11 – Reading Is My SuperPower – REVIEW 

November 12 – I'm Into Books – SPOTLIGHT 

November 12 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT 

November 13 – Lady Hawkeye – SPOTLIGHT 

November 14 – #BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog – SPOTLIGHT 

November 15 – Literary Gold – AUTHOR INTERVIEW 

November 16 – Christy's Cozy Corners – REVIEW 

November 17 – Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – AUTHOR INTERVIEW 

November 18 – MJB Reviewers – SPOTLIGHT 

November 19 – Just One More Paragraph – REVIEW 

November 20 – Celticlady's Reviews – SPOTLIGHT 

November 21 – Sapphyria's Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT 

  a Rafflecopter giveaway 


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Tuesday, November 1, 2022

It Came Upon a Midnight Shear - Book Spotlight

 

It Came upon a Midnight Shear (A Riverbank Knitting Mystery) by Allie Pleiter

About It Came upon a Midnight Shear

It Came upon a Midnight Shear (A Riverbank Knitting Mystery) 

Cozy Mystery 3rd in Series 

Setting - Maryland 

Berkley (November 1, 2022) Mass Market Paperback ‏ : ‎ 304 pages 

ISBN-10 ‏ : ‎ 0593201825 ISBN-13 ‏ : ‎ 978-0593201824 

Digital ASIN ‏ : ‎ B09RPVTR4M

 

A murder in her yarn shop’s backyard puts Libby Beckett’s holiday plans on thin ice.…

 

The holiday season looks merry and bright for Libby and her friends at Y.A.R.N. The store is expanding for a holiday boom, and she’s gathered Collinstown’s businesses to decorate a community Christmas tree. Dashing “Gallant Herdsman” Vincenzo Marani arrives to showcase the rare vicuña, whose coat produces the world’s most luxurious yarn. It’s a perfect yuletide—until Libby’s ex-husband, Sterling, turns up in town…and then turns up dead.

 

The murder unravels Libby’s life faster than a hand-knit Christmas stocking. The luxe yarn goes missing, Sterling’s domineering family comes to town, and the vicuña attempt an escape. If Libby can’t stitch up a solution to the case, she may be trading in her knitting needles for a set of handcuffs.

 

About Allie Pleiter

The bestselling author of over fifty titles, Allie Pleiter's twenty-year career has sold 1.6 million books. Allie also coaches on writing productivity and speaks nationally on time management for creatives. Allie is an avid knitter, confirmed coffee junkie and firm believer that “pie makes everything better.” She lives in the suburbs of Chicago with her husband and the world’s most adorable dog.

Author Links Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/alliepleiterauthor/ 
To subscribe to Allie’s newsletter: http://www.alliepleiter.com/subscribe/ 
Purchase Links - Amazon - B&N - Kobo - Author - IndieBound 


TOUR PARTICIPANTS 
  November 1 - Cozy Up With Kathy – REVIEW 
  November 1 - Just One More Paragraph – SPOTLIGHT 
  November 2 - Christy's Cozy Corners – AUTHOR GUEST POST 
  November 2 - Escape With Dollycas Into A Good Book – REVIEW 
  November 3 – FUONLYKNEW – SPOTLIGHT 
  November 3 – Maureen's Musings – SPOTLIGHT 
  November 4 – Literary Gold – SPOTLIGHT 
  November 4 – Sapphyria's Book Reviews – SPOTLIGHT 
  November 5 – Celticlady's Reviews – SPOTLIGHT 
  November 6 – #BRVL Book Review Virginia Lee Blog – SPOTLIGHT 
  November 6 – I'm Into Books – SPOTLIGHT 
  November 7 – Reading Is My SuperPower – REVIEW 
  November 7 – Lady Hawkeye – SPOTLIGHT 
  November 8 – Ascroft, eh? – CHARACTER INTERVIEW 
  November 8 – Satisfaction for Insatiable Readers - SPOTLIGHT 
  November 9 – Novels Alive – REVIEW – SPOTLIGHT 
  November 9 – Hearts & Scribbles – SPOTLIGHT 
  November 9 – Reading, Writing & Stitch-Metic – SPOTLIGHT 
  November 10 – Read Your Writes Book Reviews – CHARACTER GUEST POST 
  November 10 – Elizabeth McKenna - Author – SPOTLIGHT 
  

Have you signed up to be a Tour Host? Click Here to Find Details and Sign Up Today!


 

Saturday, October 22, 2022

A War in Too Many Worlds: Spotlight & Giveaway

A War in Too Many Worlds by Elizabeth Crowens Banner

A War in Too Many Worlds

by Elizabeth Crowens

October 17 - November 11, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A War in Too Many Worlds by Elizabeth Crowens

The Time Traveler Professor

The secret diaries of John Patrick Scott pick up at the close of 1917. British intelligence sends Scott to work undercover in Berlin with his old partner-in-crime, Wendell Mackenzie, as his outside contact in Paris. Back on the Western Front, Scott discovered his ability to see the ghosts of the dead. Unsure if that’s a blessing or a curse, he takes this one-step further, employing spirits in the world of deception and intrigue. As the Russian monarchy crumbles and the Red Baron meets his final match, for Scott, true love is always beyond arm’s reach. His long-lost patrons and paramours, Sophia and Francois Poincaré, resurface but as potential enemies of the Crown.

Arthur Conan Doyle vows to retrieve his stolen time machine from H.G. Wells. Scott is still at odds with Doyle, who still refuses to publicly acknowledge his contributions for ghostwriting Sherlock Holmes, and Doyle encounters Harry Houdini in the most unlikely of places. Get ready for a wild ride.

Time Traveler Professor, Book Three: A War in Too Many Worlds, pairs murder, mayhem and mysticism in a mashup where The Lost World meets The Island of Doctor Moreau. Stay tuned for Book Four, The Story Beyond Time, the final book in this epic series.


Praise for A War in Too Many Worlds:

"You'll find that time stands still as your turn the pages and enjoy the roller-coaster plot, the only disappointment arriving when you reach the final moments of this extraordinary story... and want more."

"Meticulously researched and wholly evocative of its time period; rich detail, immersive atmosphere and clever use of documented Victorian interests in the paranormal give Crowens’s latest novel distinct authenticity. The difficult task of channeling such bold and beloved icons as Doyle, Wells and Houdini is confidently and capably handled. Brimming with specificity, historic flavor and intriguing supernatural fancy, A War in Too Many Worlds is an impressive feat of fact weaving into fiction; sure to please history buffs as well as the more fantastical at heart in equal measure."

Leanna Renee Hieber, award-winning, bestselling author

"Pack your best time-traveling attire, your sense of humor, and your open mind. A War in Too Many Worlds by Elizabeth Crowens, the third book in the Time Traveler Professor series, is a vibrant, explosive treatise on the intersection of magic, science, and spirituality. The book is both a loving nod to an era when magic and science were separated by a hairsbreadth, and a Jungian exploration of time, memory, and mysticism. Though the topics are erudite, the author’s wit and humor combined with karmic twists, musical accompaniment, and a historical who’s who, keep the book moving to its thrilling and unexpected climax. The entire series is highly recommended, and I can’t wait to see what happens next."

Kerry Adrienne, USA Today bestselling author

"This genre-bending trip through time and space offers the same delightfully loopy charm as a Doctor Who episode—but with its own irresistible allure, as if Douglas Adams and Jules Verne collaborated with a little help from Kafka. Crowens jumps effortlessly from the mournful haunts of Berlin during the Great War to the unpredictable travels of H.G. Wells and Arthur Conan Doyle. Exotic—and yet strangely familiar—characters keep popping up to entertain us. However, even among the amusements are laments of lost loves and lost opportunities—along with ghosts (both real and imagined)—all of which elevate the story. Indeed, together with the many fantastic elements, we are moved by the strivings and desires of the all-too-human characters, who will stick with you long after you get to the last page."

R.J. Koreto, author of the Lady Frances Ffolkes and Alice Roosevelt historical mysteries

"Take your favorite elements for a paranormal mystery adventure— from Victorian times into the 20th century, historical (and then some) characters like Conan Doyle, Jung, Houdini, and a few surprises. Add the MacGuffin of a mysterious red book, and you will understand the delights of Elizabeth Crowens’s series featuring the Time Traveling Professor. Things come to a head in the third book in this delightful series. If you need to escape this world for a bit, try the one she has so beautifully built for you."

Jim Freund, host of radio program Hour of the Wolf

Book Details:

Genre: Alternate History / Time Travel
Published by: Atomic Alchemist Productions
Publication Date: August 16th 2021
Number of Pages: 293
ISBN: 9781950384075
Series: Time Traveler Professor, #3
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | The Mysterious Bookshop

Read an excerpt:

CHAPTER 2 CONFESS THE CRIME

Arthur Conan Doyle made a reservation for H.G. Wells to dine with at Simpson’s-in-the-Strand, one of the poshest establishments London had to offer. Both Arthur’s and Wells’s cars pulled up to the curb at the same time. Dressed to the nines, each gentleman appeared as if he were bound for the opera with top hats and the finest of formal wear.

“I almost feel guilty dressing for the occasion.” Wells adjusted his dinner jacket and mumbled that they were tailored for men who were far less pudgy. “Like it’s anti-patriotic to be celebrating while others are in misery.”

“I thought something nutritious at Simpson’s would not be out of place,” Arthur said.

“Didn’t Sherlock Holmes say something like that?

“He mentioned Simpson’s in The Adventure of the Dying Detective. After feigning a fatal illness and starving himself for three days to look the part, he looked forward to breaking his fast by dining here. Rest assured, I planned this so we wouldn’t arrive on their mandatory meat-free day of the week.”

“Oh, how I hate wartime rationing.”

“Agreed. At the beginning of the war, Simpson’s managed to be exempt. In fact, an article in The Times said in an obituary of its head chef, ‘Thomas Davey was a culinary patriot. He commanded a brigade of 100 men, and under his supervision 1,400 pounds of English meat, 300 pounds of turbot, 100 pounds of Scotch salmon, and two wagons full of vegetables were prepared every day.”

Wells added, “P.G. Wodehouse once wrote, ‘The God of Fatted Plenty has the place under his protection.’”

“Come,” Arthur said. “They’re strict in enforcing penalties on latecomers. My hunger is talking, and I’d hate to be turned away due to a ridiculous rule. I’ve been so looking forward to their famed silver trolleys piled high with meats-a-plenty. Allons-y!”

The maître d’ ushered them to a back table where the gentlemen settled in and got comfortable. He returned with menus and apologized for their abbreviated wartime menu. Although food was on his mind, Arthur’s main objective of the evening was to ferret out any information possible whether his theories held water that Wells was the prime suspect in the theft of his time machine.

“Bertie, besides whatever you’re tied up doing for the Ministry of Information, what have you been writing, especially in the realm of fiction?”

Wells took a sip of water and carefully placed his napkin on his lap, his words calculated and deliberate. “My publishers requested I steer clear of controversial politics. They suggested I try my hand at detective stories since yours have been so popular.”

Speechless, Arthur raised a brow.

“No need to worry.” Wells laughed. “You’ll find no competition in my corner. My brain has refused to wrap itself around such a concept divergent from my true nature. Try likening it to a fish trying to swing from trees with a simian’s prehensile tail.”

Arthur took a moment for the scientific analogy to sink in. “Or like Sherlock Holmes insisting on following the advice of a bunch of gypsy fortunetellers?”

Wells nodded. “Pretty much along the same lines. With this bloody war dominating everything in our daily lives, it’s impossible not to speculate about utopian futures and what life should be, or how it would turn out if certain actions were taken. What about you?”

“The political scene doesn’t seem to be my calling. You know... with my unsuccessful attempt at running for a Parliamentary seat in Edinburgh back at the turn of the century. Whether I like it or not, Holmes stocks the larders of my extended family. I have, however, been writing a series of non-fiction books on the history of the Great War. With so many members of my clan putting their lives at stake on the battle lines, I wonder how many more mouths I might have to feed. There’s my brother Innes, my brother-in-law, Malcolm Leckie, a few cousins and, of course, my oldest son, Kingsley, from my first marriage are all serving over there. Maybe Kingsley will make a success of his medical career as opposed to my failed practice in ophthalmology.”

“I’m surprised that your son Kingsley isn’t going to take up the pen like his famous papa.”

“I’ve been fortunate to have received an expositor’s blessing, but as you know, it can be a lonely, difficult, and penurious road.”

“But surely, he wouldn’t be going it alone. He’s got his father’s footsteps he can follow, not to mention his influence.”

“There are others who’d like to take advantage of those favors, and I’ve refrained.”

“Oh, there are?”

On that cue, Arthur changed the subject, not wanting to tread on an unwanted path. “Ah, here’s our waiter. How about a bottle of wine? It’s not often that anyone gets to forget a war is going on. Let’s pick a claret or a hearty pinot noir from Beaune for our carnivorous celebration!”

He looked around at the half-empty dining room in dismay, aware he needed to distract his dinner companion from further inquiry on a subject he wanted to keep secret.

“So few patrons...it’s sad. One would assume Simpson’s was shutting its doors and going out of business,” he said with a sigh and glanced around the room. “I don’t recognize a single soul.”

Wells laughed. “This place will survive after the Martian invasion has obliterated half the population of London.”

The men placed their orders and continued their conversation. As much as pleasantries and small talk were always welcome, Arthur knew he had to stick to an agenda.

“Bertie, have you ever considered writing any sequels to any of your successful pieces of fiction?”

“Surely you don’t expect me to follow up with a happily ever after to Anna Veronica, a story which has summoned nothing but controversy...not to mention my condemnation by the heads of the Fabian Society.”

“Over Amber Reeves, I presume.”

“And others. I’m lucky my wife Jane has the capability to turn off her sensitivity like a spigot. We might have our differences, but she is a good mother to our children, and the resulting firestorm could’ve been even more disastrous. I’m a staunch proponent of feminist free-will and liberation and wholeheartedly have supported the Suffragette Movement, but I resent being branded as a libertine. In the end, the Fabian Society was comprised of socialist idealists with their stuffy Victorian mores.

“Having the financial clout to speak my mind on the page has had its advantages, but I doubt if the full expression of sexual passions is in vogue when the war to end all wars takes precedence. Rebecca West, my darling, has written literary critiques in my defense, but others have not been so forgiving. Maybe it’s an attack —a class war of sorts—that I’ve achieved notoriety and success where others haven’t, and it’s always easier to cut another down than to improve upon one’s own shortcomings. I could come up with plenty of theories. However, with such scathing attacks on Mr. Polly, Togo-Bungay, and The Research Magnificent from several corners, I don’t think the public craves a sequel on the promotion of extramarital sex.”

Breaking out into a sweat, Wells started to grab a gravy-soaked napkin by accident but reached for his handkerchief to wipe off his damp forehead, instead. “Our unfolding history will dictate an encore to Mr. Breitling Sees it Through, and I mentioned it in one of our earlier conversations that I’m concerned my political and technological predictions will bode ill for mankind. Don’t consider it farfetched that our German enemies might’ve raided my garbage and invented weapons of doom and destruction from the outtakes of my manuscripts. We already have tank warfare to answer for after I wrote my story, The Iron Clads.”

“Bertie, you’re making this way too personal. Let’s appeal to the simple, Troglodyte mind and communicate in plain English.” Arthur took a moment to savor the smells of his special-prepared mutton curry. He’d have to choose his words with care—a sensitive topic, to say the least. “I was thinking more along the other end of the spectrum—of capitalizing upon the success of your scientific romances.”

“Like what you did with Professor Challenger in The Poison Belt?” Wells asked.

“Precisely. I’ve even considered writing a third novel in that series. Have one of your heroes go back to the scene of the crime. Ha! Here, I’m speaking in terms of Scotland Yard. Suppose you have Bert Smallways embark upon another aerial adventure in a follow up to A War in the Air. Jules Verne created the Mysterious Island, a sequel to Twenty Thousand Leagues Under the Sea. Why don’t you have hapless Edward Penrick from The Island of Doctor Moreau shipwrecked again? Better yet, have your time traveler return from his journey and fire up his time machine one more time.”

Arthur gave a hard stare, convinced his friend was skirting the subject. His brief silence was broken by the waiter asking if they cared for any dessert.

Wells viewed Arthur with serious concern. “Please don’t be redundant about your friend who has invented a time machine, and you’re inviting me over to try it.”

Alarmed, Arthur gulped down his coffee. “You said the words, not I.”

“Good, because I have no interest,” Wells replied.

A street urchin, clutching a loaf of bread and followed by several irate members of Simpson’s kitchen staff, rushed toward their table just as Arthur was about to elaborate.

“Who do we have here?” Wells asked, surprised but amused at the unexpected interruption.

“He reminds me of one of the Baker Street Irregulars whom Holmes uses as confederates to get information on his suspects.” Arthur added.

The boy’s cap fell on the floor. Arthur bent over and picked it up.

“Alms for the poor?” the waif asked.

“Cute kid,” Arthur said, reaching in his pocket for spare change. The kitchen staff scolded the child and swiped back the bread, but when they noticed his grubby hands caked with grease and soot, they declared it ruined and unfit for their customers and gave it back with disdain. The maître d’ caught up with the gentlemen, accompanied by his security detail, who apologized and escorted the intruder pell-mell out the door.

In the end, Arthur was no further from his objective than whence he started. He still couldn’t prove Wells had stolen his time machine and, to make matters worse, he realized their diminutive beggar was also a sly pickpocket. His wallet, along with his cherished gold timepiece, which he hadn’t secured on a chain, was gone. Wells had to pick up the tab.

***

Excerpt from A War in Too Many Worlds by Elizabeth Crowens. Copyright 2022 by Elizabeth Crowens. Reproduced with permission from Elizabeth Crowens. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Elizabeth Crowens

Currently New York City-based, worked in the entertainment industry in NY and LA for over 25 years. Writing credits include Black Belt, Black Gate, and Sherlock Holmes Mystery magazines, stories in Hell’s Heart and the Bram Stoker Award-nominated A New York State of Fright, and three alternate history/SFF novels. Recipient of the MWA-NY Leo B. Burstein Scholarship, City Artists Corps / New York Foundation of the Arts grant, a Glimmer Train Honorable Mention, an Eric Hoffer First Prize, two Grand Prize and five First Prize Chanticleer Review awards, including a 2022 Grand Prize in the Chanticleer Review Cygnus Awards for Science Fiction for A War in Too Many Worlds.

Catch Up With Elizabeth Crowens:
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Twitter - @ECrowens
Facebook - @thereel.elizabeth.crowens

 

 

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Monday, October 3, 2022

Fallout by Carrie Stuart Parks - Spotlight


Fallout

by Carrie Stuart Parks

September 12 - October 7, 2022 Virtual Book Tour


Synopsis:


Fallout by Carrie Stuart Parks

Her carefully crafted life is about to be demolished.

After a difficult childhood, Samantha Williams craves simplicity: jigsaw puzzles, lectures at the library, and the students she adores in her role as an elementary art teacher in the dusty farming community of LaCrosse, Washington.

But when an SUV crashes into the school where she teaches, her entire world is upended. She manages to keep all of the children safe, but her car isn’t so lucky. Oddly, her purse—containing her driver’s license, credit cards, and other identification—is missing from the wreckage.

After authorities discover that the driver in the school accident was shot seconds before the crash, Samantha quickly becomes entangled in increasingly strange events that have her looking over her shoulder.

Samantha has long tried to forget the tragedy of her past, but the twisting maze she discovers between the murdered driver, a deadly secret government project, and an abandoned town can't be ignored. Those involved are determined to keep these secrets buried, and they’ll use any means necessary to stop Samantha’s search for truth.

Praise for Fallout:

"An intriguing story based on events around a part of Washington. Tight timeline with tons of action. Twists and turns that will keep readers engaged and guessing. I enjoyed this book and recommend it to those who want a whisper of romance included with the mystery."

Book Details:

Genre: Suspense
Published by: Thomas Nelson
Publication Date: September 13th 2022
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 0785239855 (ISBN13: 9780785239857)
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | ChristianBook | Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Prologue

Hanford, Washington
November 23, 1988

The November wind blew across the almost-barren plain, attempting to leach any warmth from the man’s black wool coat. He pulled the woolen balaclava higher on his nose and wished he’d worn goggles. The wind raised icy tears that blurred his vision.

Snow clung to the scant protection offered by basalt outcroppings and meager shrubs.

The moon provided weedy light, enough to avoid the sagebrush and tumbleweeds, but not enough to reveal the ground squirrels’ burrows. He’d fallen twice.

He paused for a moment to check his compass. He figured he’d covered about six of the eight miles. There was little chance he’d be detected. He’d approached the area by boat on the Columbia River, which flowed down the eastern side of the remote facility in South Central Washington State. Though the site was massive—570 square miles—the roads were heavily patrolled. After all, the Hanford Nuclear Reservation was the largest producer of postwar nuclear weapons.

Hanford’s creation of the bomb dropped on Nagasaki, Japan, had provided the turning point in World War II. Afterward, the plant morphed into a Cold War arsenal against the Soviet Union until the last nuclear reactor finally shut down just a year ago.

He’d chosen the date carefully—Wednesday, the day before Thanksgiving. All the staff and workers would have left early in preparation for the holidays. Only a minimal number of employees would be working, and they’d not be inclined to venture into the frigid night.

Though he’d been on the Hanford Site since he’d left the river, his goal was the Hanford Tank Farms. The tanks held 53 million gallons of the highest-level radioactive waste found in the United States. He would be targeting the SY Tank Farm, three double-shelled waste storage units built between 1974 and 1976, located at the 200 West site. The tanks at this location were each capable of holding 1.16 million gallons of nuclear waste.

He shifted the backpack slightly. The bomb, made with C-4, was safe enough from his jostling cross-country run. It took a detonator to set off the explosion, which he’d rig once the materials were in place.

The tanks themselves were built of one-foot-thick reinforced steel and concrete and had been buried under eight feet of dirt, but the hydrogen from the slurry had built up in these particular tanks to dangerous levels. He didn’t need to reach the tanks themselves, only disable the exhaust vent and the temperature thermocouple assembly. He knew no maintenance work was going on around the tanks that might create a spark or heat, so chance of discovery was extremely slim.

He paused for a moment to catch his breath. He’d paddled down the treacherous icy river, then jogged for miles, but his fury fueled his drive. In February of 1986, the Department of Energy had released nineteen thousand pages of documents describing the declassified history of the Hanford operations. Hints of a darker truth were written between the lines, and more evidence came out in the batch of documents released the following year. Everyone else would have missed it, but he’d been able to piece the sequence of events together.

They’d grown rich while he’d been discarded like so much trash.

Now was his time to get even.

He’d use the threat of the bomb to force the acknowledgment of their role and his own innocence. Anything less than the possibility of a Chernobyl-size disaster would lead to a governmental cover up.

A massive press conference. Facts and figures. Undeniable evidence.

In the meantime, he’d personally take care of those directly responsible.

He increased his pace. Soon now.

He knew this part of the facility well.

He found the location he’d identified before, knelt beside the various ports, detectors, and vents, and swiftly assembled the parts according to the bomb-maker’s directions. All that was left was the trigger mechanism. He’d placed it in a secure box inside his backpack.

The box was gone.

He ran his hands over the backpack again. Then again. Then a third time. It was gone. Did I forget to pack it? No. It was here in this backpack when he’d left home.

He broke out in a clammy sweat and rocked back on his heels. How could this have happened? Where had it dropped out? Could it be back in the boat? Somewhere on the ground between here and the river’s edge? Separated from him when he fell?

Calm down. He had a backup. Even if he didn’t find the trigger, all it would take is a reasonable-sized explosion on the surface to start the process.

If it took the rest of his miserable life, he’d carry out his plan. They wouldn’t get away with it. Not this time.

One

September 2015

Bam! Bam! An engine roared, growing louder, closer.

I glanced up from the shading technique I was demonstrating for my elementary-school art class.

A black Suburban was barreling across the parking lot directly at my classroom.

“Run!” I screamed.

The children didn’t hesitate, bolting for the door. I shoved the last boy outside toward the gym just as the Suburban smashed into the side of the building and plowed into the room. The portable classroom moved with a screech. Desks, chairs, books, glass, and chunks of the wall and ceiling exploded in a cacophony of sound and movement. Metal fragments, shattered glass, and hunks of wood pelted me. I found myself outside next to the gym doors, not knowing how I got there. I curled up and covered my head, praying nothing would crash down on me.

Hissssssssss. The stench of an overheated engine and hot rubber made me gag.

The crushed front of the Suburban had shoved the classroom into a covered storage shed before punching through the opposite wall. Fluids hissed and dripped from under the smashed hood, right beside me. The shed had collapsed onto the SUV.

I was shaking so hard I didn’t think I could get my legs to work. The children.

Don’t worry about the children. Someone will help them. Someone will help me. I just needed to stay put. I’m safe here.

But they wouldn’t respond to someone calling to them. I taught them to be cautious.

If I move, the roof will come down on me. I’ll be crushed. Stay put and be safe. Someone will come for me.

But my students are frightened. I need to help them. Heavenly Father, help me.

I placed my hands on the ground. White powder drifted down on my head. Carefully I crawled away from the SUV.

The beam shifted, sliding sideways.

My crawl became a scramble.

The beam shrieked as it slid across the metal desk holding it up.

I plunged, then rolled away.

The roof of the shed slammed against the ground, sending up more dust and powder.

Leaning against the school, I waited until I could catch my breath. The glass in the door to the gym beside me had shattered. I couldn’t see anything of the driver. I slipped through the frame, wincing at the stabs of pain from the hurtled projectiles.

Ahead of me was a second door leading to the front of the school. A quick glance into the gym showed it empty. I was pretty sure the children had raced through both sets of doors, scattered, and found safety. I’d trained my class of first-through-third graders on what to do in case of an emergency or active shooter. The school board had rolled their eyes at me, assuring me that this was covered in the student handbook and that school shootings wouldn’t happen in a sleepy farming community like LaCrosse, Washington, population 330.

I’d finally convinced them. They allowed the drills and the self-defense class I offered on Tuesday evenings.

Fortunately, my art class was an after-school event, and the rest of the school was essentially empty. We met in a portable building because some of the classrooms were under repair for water damage.

I staggered outside. Mr. Parsons, the school maintenance man, rushed over to me.

“Samantha? Sam? Miss Williams? Are you all right? You’re bleeding. What happened?”

“Help me find the children first.”

“They’re fine. They ran as you taught them.” We looked around the manicured lawns in front of the school buildings.

“Olly olly oxen free!” I called out, voice shaking. I cleared my throat and tried again. “Olly olly oxen free!”

Slowly my class emerged from their hiding places. I counted them as they appeared. Please, Lord . . . Five, six, seven, eight . . . nine. All present and accounted for. My stomach tightened on what could have happened, would have happened, if even one of them had paused to ask, Why run?

“Aren’t you supposed to just say ‘all clear’?” Mr. Parsons asked.

“I know the handbook says that, but anyone could access the emergency plans and use them against the children.”

Several of the children had tear streaks running down their faces, but as soon as they caught sight of me, they started to giggle.

“Miss Williams, you’re all white!”

“You have stuff all over you!”

“You should see yourself!”

I looked down. I was indeed covered in a white powder, probably from the recently installed smashed Sheetrock and insulation. “Oh my. It looks like I’ve turned into the magical snowman.”

“Nooo!” The giggles grew louder. “It’s not winter!”

I bent forward to be on eye level with most of them. “Maybe I’ve become Belle, the white Great Pyrenees from Belle and Sebastien?

“That’s a dog.” The giggles became high-pitched laughter.

I grinned at them. “How about Casper, the friendly ghost?”

The kids were now laughing so hard they couldn’t answer for a moment. Finally Bethany gasped out, “You’re not dead.”

Thank You, Lord. I straightened. “Well then, if I’m not a snowman, dog, or ghost, I must be Miss Williams, and you know what that means.” As they eagerly lined up, I said, “‘I am not afraid of storms . . .’”

“‘For I am learning how to sail my ship,’” the children finished.

Leave it to children’s books. As they approached me, each one gave me a sign as to what type of interaction they wanted. Hands out to the side, a hug. Hand held up in the air, a high five. Closed hand, a fist bump. Right hand sideways, a handshake.

They all wanted hugs.

So did I.

Bethany was the last in line. I tried not to hug her the longest. Teachers aren’t supposed to have favorites.

The school buildings rested on a hill facing the town park. The wail of sirens and stream of cars and trucks announced the arrival of help and parents. I moved my small huddle of children around to the front toward the parking lot so their folks could find them. The parents, once reunited with their son or daughter, peppered me with questions.

“What happened?”

“Was anyone hurt?”

“Was that a drunk driver?”

“Are you okay?”

As I stumbled through various versions of “I don’t know,” a deputy from the Whitman County Sheriff’s Department strolled over. He had to be at least six foot three inches tall, with silver hair, thick black eyebrows, and dark brown eyes that looked like they’d ferret out the facts of any case. He smelled of cigarettes. His name tag said R. Adams. “Ma’am. Looks like you were in the building when the accident happened.”

“Yes. Is the driver—”

“Come with me.” He had a slight New York accent. We walked to the gym, then around to the back side where the accident happened. I had to trot to keep up with him.

“Do you know if the driver is okay?”

His long stride covered a lot of ground. “We don’t know yet.”

The raised gravel parking area near the gym was filling with the LaCrosse ambulance, volunteer fire department, and sheriff’s department vehicles. People were rushing around like ants in a disturbed mound. The Suburban was completely buried under the collapsed roof, and a large group of men and women were working to clear the debris.

Deputy Adams led me to the ambulance where an EMT waited. “Are you hurt?”

“I don’t think—”

“You have a cut on your head.” The EMT had me sit while he checked me over.

Deputy Adams kept an eye on the rescue efforts as he pulled out a small notebook. “You got all the children out safely?”

I winced as the EMT removed a sliver of glass from my hairline. “By the grace of God, yes. They’re all on their way home.”

He nodded and gave me a slight smile, softening his face. “Absolutely. How many people were in the SUV?”

“I don’t know.” I told him about what sounded like gunfire and the sound of an engine and getting the children clear of the room. I left out my cowering in the debris.

“Gunfire? Are you sure?”

“It could have been backfire.”

He looked around, then motioned for an officer to come over. They spoke for a few moments before the man left.

I glanced over at the gathered first responders, parents, and neighbors. What if—

“When did you first see the SUV?” Deputy Adams asked.

I pointed. “He, or whoever was driving, must have come up either First or Hill Avenue, crossed this lot, then shot straight into the building.”

A farmer drove up on a John Deere tractor and began lifting larger chunks of rubble with the bucket.

After the deputy took my name, address, and phone number, he handed me a business card. “I’ll be contacting you soon for your statement. You might want to head home as soon as possible. We want to clear the area.” He strolled away.

More people had arrived and pitched in to free the SUV and its occupants. A truck with a Miller Construction sign on the side parked next to us. Men in hard hats, work boots, and lime-green safety vests got out and set to work.

A pregnant woman in her thirties with long, dark hair pulled into a french braid drifted over and hovered nearby. When the EMT finished putting a bandage on my head and moved away, she approached me. “Hi. I’m Mary Thompson. I overheard you talking to that deputy. Do you mind if I ask you a few questions?”

“I guess. You’re a reporter?”

“No. Copywriter for a medical company in Spokane.” She rolled her eyes. “Boooooring. You’re Samantha Williams?”

I nodded.

“Well, Samantha—”

“Call me Sam.”

She grinned. “Sam then. You saved all those children. You’re so brave. I would have been scared out of my mind.”

Warmth burned up my neck and across my cheeks. “I . . . ah . . . so . . . um . . . what brought you to LaCrosse from Spokane?” I stood. “That’s 86.9 miles from here.”

“I was already here.”

An officer started herding the onlookers away from the crash. “Move on, folks. Nothing for you to do here.”

“Come on,” Mary grabbed my elbow and pulled me into the shade under a tree.

My brain was buzzing from the adrenaline and all the activity. “I’m sorry. I’m a little—”

“I bet you are. I guess I should start at the beginning. I’m following the story about the body they found last week. And the one they just found.” She waved her hand at the construction workers.

“Bodies?” I knew I was out of touch with the news. I didn’t own a television, computer, or phone. “What bodies? Wait . . . I’m not sure I want to know.” My legs started to buckle.

“Let me help you.” Mary grabbed my arm and helped me sit on a patch of grass. She sat next to me. “Can I get you something or—”

“No, I’ll be fine. Just a little woozy.”

“Take your time.”

Most of the onlookers had now moved around to the front of the school. With nothing to see, they started wandering back to their homes or cars.

She cleared her throat. “So do you want to talk about what just happened or—”

“No. You go ahead. You said there was a body . . . or was it two? Here at the school?”

“No, of course not. I followed someone to here and . . .” She paused at my expression. “I’m not weird or a stalker.” She twisted her lips. “As you can see, I’m pregnant. The baby’s father, my husband, Mike, disappeared two months ago. I reported it to the police but they’re not doing anything. I mean, he could be dead!”

I blinked at her. “Why would you think that?”

“Mike had—I guess you’d call it a wild streak. He had . . . questionable friends. Some issues with drugs in the past, stuff like that.” She absently rubbed her stomach. “I thought the baby would . . . redirect him.” She looked at me. “He’s a good man, just impulsive. And he’d never leave me. Not now. Not without telling me . . . something.”

I took a deep breath. The shaking threatened to start again. “So you thought one of the bodies—”

“Could be Mike.” She swiped a hand across her eyes. “That deputy.” She pointed to Deputy Adams. “I was told he was the investigator on the case. I’ve been following him around trying to get him to talk to me, but he says it’s an active case and won’t talk about it. I followed him here to the school earlier—he has kids here that he was picking up—and was giving it one last go around.”

“Did you find out anything?”

“No. Not yet.” She reached into her purse and pulled out a leather-bound notebook. “I keep track of everything.” She flipped it open and fanned the pages, displaying a mass of tightly written notes. “I won’t give up until I know for sure.”

***

Excerpt from Fallout by Carrie Stuart Parks. Copyright 2022 by Carrie Stuart Parks. Reproduced with permission from Thomas Nelson. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Carrie Stuart Parks

Carrie Stuart Parks is a Christy, multiple Carol, and Inspy Award–winning author. She was a 2019 finalist in the Daphne du Maurier Award for excellence in mainstream mystery/suspense and has won numerous awards for her fine art as well. An internationally known forensic artist, she travels with her husband, Rick, across the US and Canada teaching courses in forensic art to law-enforcement professionals. The author/illustrator of numerous books on drawing and painting, Carrie continues to create dramatic watercolors from her studio in the mountains of Idaho.

Catch Up With Carrie Stuart Parks:
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Monday, July 16, 2018

Book Review - Fairy Cake Fatality

Fairy Cake Fatality 

(Cake Fairy Mysteries #1)


Fairy Cake Fatality (Cake Fairy Mysteries #1)Author: Sabrina Hartford
Kindle Edition, 321 pages
Published May 16th 2017
ASIN: B072FHDXF3

About the book:

Faye left California to start a new life in England. Things aren’t going well and her new cake shop is close to bankruptcy, but she gets a lucky break when she is chosen to be featured on the town’s popular radio program. Unfortunately, on the day of the recording, a murder occurs and she is the prime suspect! 

She tries to solve the case herself, but each clue she finds only leaves her more confused. To make things worse, she keeps having hallucinations about being a fairy, but these only occur when a certain kitten is around. Or maybe there is something to these visions? Can Faye befriend the kitten and master her fairy past while solving the case? 

My Thoughts:

I'll admit it - I'm a sucker for cats - especially kittens. When I find one that not only mixes kittens with delicious desserts, but makes it the theme of a cozy mystery, it's a must read for me!

"Fairy Cake Fatality" was a fun read with just enough humor, twists and suspense to keep me interested. I enjoyed the main character, Faye, who loves, and I mean LOVES to bake. I'll admit, there were times I wondered if I could actually be smelling those delicious cakes she was baking. Oh the descriptions!  There were times she had a somewhat snarky attitude that I didn't totally appreciate. However, I imagine I would have been as irritated as she was at times if I were in her shoes. I mean - she was questioning things that really weren't making much sense, let alone never being to explain them to anyone else because they'd think she was crazy.

I enjoyed the story line and had flip flopped between who I though was the murderer. Finally, I did figure out who did it, but not much before they were revealed. There was also another character I had a feeling about who they were and did figure that one out - but won't say any more about that. You'll have to read the book to know about that one. I'm not going to give anything away :D

"Fairy Cake Fatality" is a brilliant start to the series. It can be read as a stand alone with a nice wrapped up ending; however, it does have a lead into the next book. And yes - I really want to read the next book because of that lead!

About the Author:

Sabrina Hartford loves solving crimes and baking. So she combines both her passions by writing recipe books and cozy mysteries filled with sweet treats! She lives in SoCal with her darling hubby, her adorable kitten Seamus and her two wonderful children. She has had a variety of jobs in her time, but now, when she's not doing her first love of writing, she enjoys baking, traveling, volunteering and reading books.


I received a copy of this ebook from the author. I was not required to write a positive review, but instead, one that gives my honest opinion.