Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for WHAT WOULD JANEAUSTIN DO? by Linda Corbett on this Austenprose PR Blog Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
It’s a truth often acknowledged that when a journalist and Jane Austen fan girl ends up living next door to a cynical but handsome crime writer, romantic sparks will fly!
When Maddy Shaw is told her Dear Jane column has been cancelled she has no choice but to look outside of London’s rental market. That is until she’s left an idyllic country home by the black sheep of the family, long-not-so-lost Cousin Nigel.
But of course, there’s a stipulation… and not only is Maddy made chair of the committee for the annual village literary festival, she also has to put up with bestselling crime author –and romance sceptic – Cameron Massey as her new neighbor.
When Maddy challenges Cameron to write romantic fiction, which he claims is so easy to do, sparks fly both on and off the page…
WHAT WOULD JANE AUSTIN DO? By Linda Corbett is a sweet and entertaining contemporary romance and rom-com mash-up featuring an unemployed journalist and lover of all things Jane Austin and romance and an argumentative crime writer in need of inspiration for a new book and temporary lodging. This is a new to me author who kept me turning the pages and enjoying this English small-town enemies-to-lovers romance.
Maddy Shaw inherits a country manor from the black sheep of her Shaw family, and it could not have come at a better time. She has been let go from her magazine Dear Jane column and needs this windfall, but it has stipulations. Besides having to live in the home, she also must run the annual village literary festival.
Cameron Massey (pen name) is a famous crime writer who is having extensive work done on his home and needs a quiet place to write his next book. Cameron, whose real name is Luke, moves in with Maddy, who is looking for someone to help with the bills and the sparks fly.
This is a cozy romance with plenty of humor and wonderful and quirky small-town characters. Maddy’s love of Jane Austin and romance leads to many spirited debates with a man who does not believe in romance. Her research into her cousin who left her his home was an interesting sub-plot. Ms. Corbett did a great job of moving Cameron’s character from being a grump and only likable for his looks to having a background that wounded him and you slowly begin to see the real caring man underneath the gruff. Buster, Luke’s dog, is endearing and a good buffer as Maddy and Luke open up to each other.
I recommend curling up on the couch and enjoying this heartfelt contemporary romance and rom-com mash-up.
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Author Bio
Linda Corbett lives in Surrey with her husband Andrew and three permanently hungry guinea pigs. As well as being an author, Linda is treasurer and fundraiser for Shine Surrey – a volunteer-led charity that supports individuals and families living with spina bifida and hydrocephalus. For many years she also wrote a regular column for Link, a disability magazine, illustrating the humorous aspects of life with a complex disability and she is a passionate advocate of disability representation in fiction. Love You From A-Z is her first published novel.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for TALULAH’S BACK IN TOWN by Brenda Novak on this HTP Books Romance Blog Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Sometimes the past we leave behind leads us right where we belong.
Talulah Barclay doesn’t like complications. Unfortunately, they seem to love her. Fourteen years after leaving her fiancé at the altar, Talulah returns to her hometown of Coyote Canyon, Montana, to settle her great-aunt’s estate. As she’d feared, her “runaway bride” reputation is waiting right where she left it, and her ex’s best friend, Brant, isn’t about to let her slip by unnoticed.
Brant has always been a loyal friend, but Talulah’s decision to run isn’t the only thing he hasn’t forgotten. He remembers more about Talulah than he cares to admit. Vividly. And it’s increasingly difficult to ignore her now, especially when they find themselves in close quarters. Talulah has no plans to stay in town after she fixes up her aunt’s Victorian farmhouse, even if the unbridled sparks with Brant give her a good reason to linger. Besides, bailing on relationships is kind of her thing. But a lot has changed since Talulah last turned tail—maybe her heart has changed, too?
TALULAH’S BACK IN TOWN (Coyote Canyon Book #1) by Brenda Novak is an enchanting small-town contemporary romance set in Montana featuring a runaway bride returning home after fourteen years. This is the first book in this small-town romance series, and I am looking forward to returning to Coyote Canyon again and again.
Talulah is now a successful partner in a bakery/café in Seattle since leaving her hometown boyfriend at the alter fourteen years ago. She has returned to settle her great aunt’s estate and attend the birth of her new niece only to discover her reputation has not improved. Talulah works hard on her relationship issues and tries to be honest with any man she is involved with, but she also hates confrontation and disappointing people, so her relationships get out of her control, she panics and runs.
Brant is Talulah’s ex-fiancé’s best friend and while he should be the last person to get involved with Talulah, there is now some sort of attraction that was not there before. As Brant and Talulah’s relationship grows it causes problems with not only those who never forgave her for leaving, but also with her business partner back in Seattle.
There are plenty of obstacles, but has Talulah finally found the one?
This is an entertaining romance with a hero and heroine who communicate honestly with each other throughout the story. They discuss feelings, friendships, careers, and finances which you do not normally find in a romance. Since this is the first book in the series, there are many character introductions and connections, but they flowed effortlessly onto the page and became a part of the group without slowing the pace of the story. There are explicit sex scenes, but they are not gratuitous or long. I really enjoyed Brant and Talulah’s romance and I am looking forward to seeing who Ms. Novak will bring together next in Coyote Canyon.
I recommend this small-town contemporary romance.
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Excerpt
One
“Well, if it isn’t the runaway bride.”
Talulah Barclay glanced up to find the reason a shadow had just fallen across her plate. She’d been hoping to ease back into the small community of Coyote Canyon, Montana, without drawing any attention. But Brant Elway, of all people, had happened to come into the café where she was having breakfast and stopped at her booth.
“Of course you’d be the first to bring up my past sins,” she grumbled. They hadn’t seen each other for nearly fourteen years, and he’d certainly changed—filled out what had once been a spare frame, grown a couple of inches, even though he’d been tall to begin with, and taken on a rugged, slightly weathered look from spending so much time outdoors. But she would’ve recognized him anywhere.
The crooked smile that curved his lips suggested he was hardly repentant. “I’m not likely to forget that day. I was the best man, remember?”
She wasn’t likely to forget that day, either. Only bumping into her ex, Charlie Gerhart, would be more cringeworthy.
She felt terrible about what she’d done to Charlie. She also felt terrible that she’d repeated the same mistake with two other men since. Admittedly, jilting her fiancés at the altar hadn’t been among her finest moments, but she’d had every intention of following through—until the panic grew so powerful it simply took over and there was no other way to cope.
It said something that, while she regretted the pain she’d caused others, especially her prospective grooms, she didn’t regret walking out on those weddings. That clearly indicated she’d made the right choice—a little late, perhaps, but better not to make such a huge mistake than try to unravel it later.
She doubted Brant would ever view the situation from that perspective, however. He’d naturally feel defensive of Charlie. He and Charlie had been friends for as long as she could remember. She’d hung out with Charlie’s younger sister, Averil, since kindergarten and could remember seeing Brant over at the Gerhart house way back when she and Averil were in fifth grade, and he and Charlie were in seventh.
Dressed in a soft cotton Elway Ranch T-shirt that stretched slightly at the sleeves to accommodate his biceps, a pair of faded Wranglers and boots that were worn and dirty enough to prove they weren’t just for show, he rested his hands on his narrow hips as he studied her with the cornflower-blue eyes that’d been the subject of so much slumber-party talk when she was growing up. Those eyes were even more startling now that his face was so tanned. Had he lived in Seattle, like her, she’d assume he spent time cultivating that golden glow. But she knew he hadn’t put any effort into his appearance. According to Jane Tanner, another friend who’d hung out with her and Averil—the three of them had been inseparable—Brant’s parents had retired, and he and his three younger brothers had taken over the running of their two-thousand-acre cattle ranch.
“What brings you back to town?” he asked. “You’ve laid low for so long, I thought we’d seen the last of you.”
Pretending that running into him was no more remarkable to her than running into anyone else, she lifted her orange juice to take a sip before returning the glass to the heavily varnished table. “My aunt Phoebe died.”
“That’s the old lady who lived in the farmhouse on Mill Creek Road, right? The one with the blue hair?”
Her great-aunt had been a diminutive woman, only five feet tall and less than a hundred pounds. But she’d had her hair done once a week like clockwork—still used the blue rinse she’d grown fond of in her early twenties when platinum blond had been all the rage—and dressed in her Sunday best, including nylons, whenever she came to town. So she’d stood out. “That’s her.”
“What happened?”
Talulah got the impression he was assessing the changes in her, just as she was assessing the changes in him, and wished she’d put more effort into her appearance today. She didn’t want to come off the worse for wear after what she’d done. But when she’d rolled out of bed, pulled on her yoga pants and a sleeveless knit top and piled her long blond hair on top of her head before coming to the diner for breakfast, she’d assumed she’d be early enough to miss the younger crowd, which included the people she’d rather avoid.
That had proven mostly to be true; except for Brant, almost everyone else in the diner was over sixty. But he worked on a ranch, so he was probably up even before the birds that’d been chirping loudly outside her window, making it impossible for her to sleep another second. “She died of old age. Aunt Phoebe was almost a hundred.”
“I’m sorry to hear you lost her.” He sounded sincere, at least. “Were you close?”
“No, actually, we weren’t,” Talulah admitted. “She never liked me.” Phoebe hadn’t liked children in general—they were too loud, too unruly and too messy. And once Talulah had become a teenager, and her mother had allowed her to quit taking piano lessons from her great-aunt, they’d never really connected, other than seeing each other at various family functions during which Talulah and her sister, Debbie, had gone out of their way to avoid their mother’s crotchety aunt.
His teeth flashed in a wider smile. “Maybe she was a friend of the Gerharts.”
Talulah gave him a dirty look. “So were you. But unfortunately, you’re standing here talking to me.”
He chuckled instead of being offended, which soothed some of her ire. He was willing to take what he was dishing out; she had to respect that.
“I’m more generous than most,” he teased, pressing a hand to his muscular chest. “But if it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one who struggled to get along with your aunt.”
“You knew her personally?” she asked in surprise.
“Not well, but I’ll never forget the day someone had the audacity to honk at her because she was driving at the speed of a horse and buggy down the middle of the highway, holding up traffic for miles.”
“What happened?”
“Once I got around her, I found she was capable of driving a lot faster. She tailgated me to the bank, where she climbed out and swung her purse at me while giving me a piece of her mind for scaring her while she was behind the wheel.”
Talulah had to laugh at the mental picture that created. “You’re the one who honked at her?”
“The bank was about to close.” He gave a low whistle as he rubbed the beard growth on his squarish chin. “But after that, I decided if I was ever in the same situation again, I’d skip the bank.”
Most people in Coyote Canyon probably had a similar story about Aunt Phoebe, maybe more than one. She might’ve been small, but she was mighty and wouldn’t “take any guff,” as she put it, from anyone. “Yeah, well, imagine being a little girl on the receiving end of that sharp tongue. I’d dread my weekly piano lesson and cry whenever my mother left me with her.”
“I’ll have to let Ellen know that,” he said.
Talulah didn’t remember anyone by that name in Coyote Canyon. “Who’s Ellen?”
“I assume you’re staying at your aunt’s place?”
She nodded. “My folks moved to Reno a couple of years after I embarrassed them at the wedding,” she said glumly.
He laughed at her response. “Ellen lives on the property next to you. She and I used to go out now and then, when she first moved to town, and she told me the old lady would knock on her door to complain about everything—the weeds near the fence, trees that were dropping leaves on her side of the property line, the barking of the dogs.”
“But they both live on several acres. How could those small things bother Aunt Phoebe?”
“Exactly Ellen’s point. Heaven forbid she ever decided to have a dinner party and someone parked too close to your aunt’s driveway.”
Talulah found herself more distracted by the mention of his relationship with this Ellen woman than she should’ve been, given that it wasn’t the point of the anecdote. Brant had always been so hard to attract. Most girls she knew had tried to gain his interest, including her own sister, and failed. So she couldn’t help being curious about how he’d come to date her new neighbor—and why and how their relationship had ended. “Sounds like Phoebe.”
A waitress called out to tell Brant hello, and he waved at her before returning his attention to Talulah. “How long will you be in town?”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you running recognizance for my enemies?”
“Just curious.” He winked. “Word will spread fast enough without me.”
“You can assure everyone who cares that it’ll only be for a month or so,” she said. “Until I can clean out my great aunt’s house and put it on the market.”
“If you weren’t close to her, how come you were unlucky enough to get that job?” he asked.
“My parents are in Africa on a mission.”
“For the Church of the Good Shepherd?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t realize they sent people out on organized missions.”
“Sometimes they do, but this one is self-funded, something my dad has wanted to do ever since hearing a particularly rousing sermon.” Talulah wasn’t religious at all—much to the chagrin of her parents. But a good portion of the town belonged to her folks’ evangelical church or one of the other churches in the area.
“What about your sister?” Brant asked. “She can’t help?”
“Debbie’s married and living in Billings. She’s about to have her fourth child any day now.”
He feigned shock. “Married? Fear of commitment doesn’t run in the family, I guess.”
She scowled. “It’s a good thing I didn’t go through with it, Brant. I was only eighteen—way too young.”
“I never said I thought it was a good idea,” he responded.
“If you’ll remember, I made the same argument way back when.”
“How could I ever forget?” They’d always been adversaries. He’d hated the amount of time his best friend had devoted to her, and she’d resented that he was often trying to talk Charlie into playing pool or going hunting or something with him instead. “But let’s be fair. I doubt I’m the only one with commitment issues.” She glanced at his hand. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
“I’ve never left anyone standing at the altar.”
She could tell he was joking, but he’d hit a nerve. “Because you bail out before it even gets that far.”
He seemed to enjoy provoking her. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. I can teach you how, if you want me to.”
“Oh, leave me alone,” she muttered with a shooing motion.
He chuckled but didn’t go. “How much are you hoping to get for your aunt’s house?”
“I have no idea what it’s worth,” she replied. “I live in Washington these days, where prices are a lot different, and haven’t met with a real estate agent yet.”
“You know Charlie’s an agent, right?”
Slumping back against the booth, she sighed. “Here we go again…”
He widened those gorgeous blue eyes of his. “That wasn’t a jab! I just thought you should be aware of it.”
“I’m aware of it, okay? Jane Tanner told me.”
“You still in touch with Jane?”
“We’ve been friends since kindergarten,” she said as if he should’ve taken that for granted. But she’d been equally close to Charlie’s sister, and they hadn’t spoken since Talulah had tried to apologize for what she’d done at the wedding and Averil had told her she never wanted to see her again.
“Maybe it’d help patch things up if you listed your aunt’s house with him,” Brant suggested.
“You’re kidding. I can’t imagine he’d want to see me—not even to make a buck.”
His eyes flicked to the compass tattoo she’d gotten on the inside of her forearm shortly after she’d left Coyote Canyon. “Does he know you’re in town?”
She shrugged. “Jane might’ve told him I was coming. Why?”
He studied her for a long moment. “I have a feeling things are about to get interesting around here. Thanks for breaking the monotony,” he said, and that maddening grin reappeared as he nodded in parting and walked over to the bar, where he took a stool and ordered his breakfast.
Disgruntled, Talulah eyed his back. He’d removed his baseball cap—that was a bit old-fashioned, perhaps, but her parents would certainly approve of his manners—so his hair was matted in places, but he didn’t seem to care. He came off more comfortable in his own skin than any man she’d ever known, which sort of bugged her. She couldn’t say why. He’d always seemed to avoid the foibles that everyone else got caught up in. For a change, she wanted to see him unable to stop himself from falling in love, do something stupid because he couldn’t help it or make a mistake he later regretted.
“Would you like a refill?”
The waitress had approached with a pot of coffee.
Talulah shoved her cup away. “No, thanks. I’m finished.”
“Okay, hon. Let me put this down, and I’ll be right back with your check.”
Leaving twenty-five bucks on the table, more than enough to cover the bill, Talulah got up and walked out.
The last thing she wanted was to run into someone else she knew.
Most of the town had been at that wedding.
Aunt Phoebe’s house was going to take some work. Two stories tall, it was a Victorian farmhouse with a wide front porch, a drawing room/living room off the entry, a music room tucked to the left, a formal dining area in the middle and a tiny kitchen—tiny by today’s standards—at the back, with a mudroom where the “menfolk” could clean up before coming in from the fields at dinner. Probably 2,400 square feet in total, it was divided into thirteen small rooms that were packed with furniture, rugs, decorations, books, lamps and magazines. The attic held objects that’d been handed down for generations, as well as steamer trunks of old clothes, quilts and needlepoint—even a dressmaker’s dummy that’d given Talulah a fright when she first went up to take a look because she’d thought someone was in the attic with her.
The basement held shelf upon shelf of canned goods, a deep freezer full of meat that’d most likely been butchered at a local ranch, which meant there would be certain cuts—like tongue and liver—Talulah would have no idea what to do with, and stacks of old newspapers and various other flotsam Phoebe had collected throughout her long life.
Even if she started right away, it’d take a week or more to sort through everything, and the house wasn’t the most comfortable place to work. The windows, while beautiful with their old-fashioned casings and heavy panes, weren’t energy-efficient. There was hardly any insulation in the attic and no air-conditioning to combat the heat. Typically, summers in Coyote Canyon were quite mild, with temperatures ranging between fifty and ninety degrees, but they were in a heat wave. It was mid-August, the hottest part of the year to begin with, and they were setting records.
A bead of sweat rolled between Talulah’s breasts as she surveyed the basement. Even the coolest part of the house felt stifling. And it was only noon. She couldn’t imagine how Aunt Phoebe had managed in this heat. But her aunt could handle just about anything. She’d had a will of iron and more grit than anyone Talulah had ever met.
“How am I going to get through all this junk—and what am I going to do with it?” Talulah muttered, disheartened by the sheer volume of things her great-aunt had collected over the years.
Her phone vibrated in the pocket of her yoga pants. Pulling it out, she saw that her sister was calling. “Hey,” she answered.
“How’s Coyote Canyon?” Debbie asked.
“I just got in last night, but from what I’ve seen so far, it hasn’t changed much.” The town’s population had stayed at about three thousand since the end of the nineteenth century, when the railroad came to town and Coyote Canyon had its big boom.
She chuckled. “It never does. Bozeman is growing like crazy, though. I read somewhere that it’s the fastest growing town in America. You should see how much it’s changed.”
“No kidding? Who’s moving there?”
“Mostly families, I guess, but enough millennials and nature-lovers to change the whole vibe from Western to trendy.”
Only forty minutes away, Bozeman had been where their parents would take them to buy school clothes and other supplies. But she’d had no reason to go there since she’d left Coyote Canyon. Thanks to the stigma caused by the wedding, she’d tried to forget the whole area. “Did you guys come for Rodeo Days this year?” The week before the Fourth of July, Coyote Canyon held seven days of celebration that included rodeos, a 10K/5K run, a Mountain Man Rendezvous, parades, tractor pulls and bake-offs. Everything culminated in the fireworks of Independence Day.
“No. I wanted to,” Debbie said, “but Scott was under too much pressure at work to take the time, and I didn’t want to try to manage the kids on my own.”
“I’m sorry that Paul and I couldn’t make it.”
“Has something changed I’m not aware of? Are you two together now?”
He’d been trying to get with her since she met him, especially after they started the diner. But it was only recently that she’d gone on the pill and slept with him for the first time. “Not really. We’ve started dating. Sort of.”
“Sort of?” her sister echoed.
“You know how hard it is for me to know when I really like a guy. Anyway, how’ve you been feeling? Any news on the baby?” She asked because she was interested, but she was also eager to change the subject.
“I’m fine,” Debbie said. “Just tired.”
“It shouldn’t be much longer, right?”
“I’m due in a week, and the doctor won’t let me go more than a few days over.”
“Call me as soon as labor starts. I’ll come for the birth.” Billings was only a hundred miles to the east. Part of the reason Talulah had agreed to handle her aunt’s funeral and belongings was because it put her in closer proximity to Debbie. She wanted to be there for the arrival of the new addition, especially since their parents couldn’t be.
“I will. I can’t wait until this pregnancy is over.” She groaned. “I’m getting so uncomfortable.”
“You’ve done this three times before. I’m sure the birth will be routine.”
Maybe not strictly routine. Debbie had developed gestational diabetes, so there was a good chance this child would have to be delivered by Caesarean section. But they were pretending there’d be no complications. Neither of them cared to consider all the things that could go wrong.
“I feel bad that you’re having to take so much time away from the dessert diner,” she said. “Maybe I should drive over for the funeral, at least, and help while I can.”
“Don’t you dare!” Talulah said. “I don’t want you going into labor while you’re here. Your husband, your doctor, everyone and everything you need are there.”
“But I’m just sitting around with my swollen ankles while you deal with everything in that musty house.”
Musty, sweltering house. But Talulah didn’t want to make Debbie feel any guiltier. Besides, her sister wasn’t just sitting around. She was watching her other kids. Talulah could hear them, and the TV, in the background and knew that Debbie would have to bring her young nieces and nephew if she came here. Having them underfoot would only make it harder to get anything done. “The church is stepping in to organize the funeral. You set that up yourself. So you have been involved. Besides, much to our parents’ dismay, you’re the only one giving them grandkids. This is the least I can do for Mom and Dad.”
Debbie laughed. “Have you heard from them?”
“They called last night to make sure I got in okay.”
“How long did the drive take you?”
“Ten hours.”
“Ugh!”
“It wasn’t a big deal. I couldn’t fly—I knew I’d need a car while I was here.” She’d made the trip to Reno several times since her family moved from Coyote Canyon, so she was used to driving even farther. They’d only visited Seattle once, but Talulah had been so busy with college, then culinary school, then working in various restaurants before launching Talulah’s Dessert Diner with Paul, whom she’d met along the way, that she didn’t mind.
“I’m surprised they aren’t coming home for the funeral,” Debbie mused.
Not to mention the birth of their latest grandchild. Talulah thought she could hear the disappointment in her sister’s voice, but Debbie would never complain, especially to a defector like Talulah. Debbie remained as committed to their parents’ faith as they did. “I’m not surprised,” Talulah said. “Africa is so far away, and they’d only have to turn around and go right back. They want to remain focused on their mission, at least until they’re officially released.”
“Aunt Phoebe was so prickly, she and Mom were never very close, anyway,” Debbie added.
That wasn’t strictly true. Phoebe used to have them over for dinner every Sunday, and Carolyn brought Talulah and Debbie over for piano lessons. It was only later that they had a bit of a falling-out and quit talking. Despite that, Talulah guessed their mother felt conflicted about missing her aunt’s funeral. She also understood that Carolyn wasn’t going to change her mind. Choosing her mission over her family was almost a matter of pride; it showcased the level of her belief. “When we visited Aunt Phoebe, and we weren’t there for piano lessons, we had to sit on chairs in the cramped dining room or living room, and she’d snap at us to quit wiggling, remember?”
“That was if she’d let us in the house at all,” Debbie said drily. “She used to tell us to go out front and play.”
“With no toys.”
“She was the sternest person I’ve ever met.”
“She also never threw anything away.”
“She was a hoarder?”
“Kind of. She somehow managed to be fastidious and clean at the same time, so it’s not the type of hoarding you imagine when you hear the word, but it’s so cluttered in here I can barely move from room to room.”
“If it’s that bad, I should come over, after all.”
Talulah blew a wisp of hair that’d fallen from the clip on top of her head away from her mouth. “No, I’ve got it. Really.” There was no way Debbie would survive the heat, not in her condition.
“But you must be feeling some pressure to get back to Seattle,” Debbie said. “You told me you have a line of people every night trying to get into the diner.”
“We do, but Paul’s there.” She couldn’t have taken off for a whole month in any prior year. In the beginning, their business had required too much time, energy and focus—from both of them. She’d come up with the concept and had the name, the website, the logo, the location and the recipes figured out when Paul decided to come on board to help with the capital, credit and muscle required to get the rest of the way. It’d been touch and go for a while, but the place was running smoothly now, following a familiar routine. They had employees they could trust, and with her partner managing the day-to-day details, she wasn’t too worried.
“He doesn’t resent you being gone so long?” Debbie asked.
“He has a family reunion in Iowa at the end of September. Then he’ll be hiking in Europe for three weeks with a couple of friends. So I’ll be returning the favor soon enough.”
“He gets to go to Europe while you have to spend your vacation in Coyote Canyon, attending a funeral and cleaning out a house that was built in the 1800s?”
Talulah didn’t mind the work. It was facing the past and all the people she hadn’t seen or heard from in years that would be difficult. “It’s not a big deal,” she insisted.
“Okay.” There was a slight pause. Then her sister said, “I hate to bring up a sensitive subject, but…what are you going to do when you see Charlie?”
“I don’t know.” She certainly wasn’t looking forward to it.
“It’d be a lot easier if he was married.”
Talulah agreed. If he had a wife, he’d be able to believe she’d saved him for the woman he was really supposed to marry. His family and friends would then be more likely to forgive her, too. But according to Jane, he wasn’t even seeing anyone, so she had no idea how he’d feel toward her. “I ran into Brant,” she volunteered, simply because she knew her sister would be interested.
“How’d he look?”
Too good for the emotional well-being of the women around him. But such an admission would never pass Talulah’s lips. She preferred not to acknowledge his incredible good looks. “Haven’t you seen him fairly recently?” She knew her sister came back to Coyote Canyon occasionally.
“Four or five years ago.”
“He probably hasn’t changed much since then.”
“He married?”
“No.”
“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me. I doubt he’ll ever settle down. What’d he say when he saw you?”
“Just gave me a hard time about Charlie.”
“When I was in high school, I was so disappointed I couldn’t get his attention. Now I’m glad he had no interest in me. He would only have broken my heart.”
“Probably,” Talulah agreed. But, truth be told, she felt sort of bad talking about Brant that way. It was a case of “the pot calling the kettle black,” as her aunt would’ve said. She’d broken her share of hearts, too, and possibly in worse ways, as he’d intimated. But she couldn’t seem to settle down. No matter how hard she tried to force the issue and be more like her sister—to do what her parents expected of her—she wound up having such terrible anxiety attacks she literally had to flee. Maybe Brant had the same problem when it came to making a lifelong commitment. Maybe he was just better at accepting his limitations.
The doorbell rang as her sister finished telling her about little Casey, her three-year-old niece, who’d gotten hold of a pair of scissors and cut her bangs off at the scalp. “That’s probably the woman from the church now,” Talulah said. “I need to go over the funeral with her. I’ll call you later, okay?”
Her sister said goodbye, and Talulah disconnected as she hurried up the narrow, creaking stairs. There was a woman standing on the stoop, all right. But before she pushed open the screen door—the regular door was already standing open because she’d been trying to catch even the slightest breeze—Talulah could see enough to know it wasn’t anyone from the church.
This woman had a cigarette in one hand and a bottle of wine in the other.
Talulah Barclay glanced up to find the reason a shadow had just fallen across her plate. She’d been hoping to ease back into the small community of Coyote Canyon, Montana, without drawing any attention. But Brant Elway, of all people, had happened to come into the café where she was having breakfast and stopped at her booth.
“Of course you’d be the first to bring up my past sins,” she grumbled. They hadn’t seen each other for nearly fourteen years, and he’d certainly changed—filled out what had once been a spare frame, grown a couple of inches, even though he’d been tall to begin with, and taken on a rugged, slightly weathered look from spending so much time outdoors. But she would’ve recognized him anywhere.
The crooked smile that curved his lips suggested he was hardly repentant. “I’m not likely to forget that day. I was the best man, remember?”
She wasn’t likely to forget that day, either. Only bumping into her ex, Charlie Gerhart, would be more cringeworthy.
She felt terrible about what she’d done to Charlie. She also felt terrible that she’d repeated the same mistake with two other men since. Admittedly, jilting her fiancés at the altar hadn’t been among her finest moments, but she’d had every intention of following through—until the panic grew so powerful it simply took over and there was no other way to cope.
It said something that, while she regretted the pain she’d caused others, especially her prospective grooms, she didn’t regret walking out on those weddings. That clearly indicated she’d made the right choice—a little late, perhaps, but better not to make such a huge mistake than try to unravel it later.
She doubted Brant would ever view the situation from that perspective, however. He’d naturally feel defensive of Charlie. He and Charlie had been friends for as long as she could remember. She’d hung out with Charlie’s younger sister, Averil, since kindergarten and could remember seeing Brant over at the Gerhart house way back when she and Averil were in fifth grade, and he and Charlie were in seventh.
Dressed in a soft cotton Elway Ranch T-shirt that stretched slightly at the sleeves to accommodate his biceps, a pair of faded Wranglers and boots that were worn and dirty enough to prove they weren’t just for show, he rested his hands on his narrow hips as he studied her with the cornflower-blue eyes that’d been the subject of so much slumber-party talk when she was growing up. Those eyes were even more startling now that his face was so tanned. Had he lived in Seattle, like her, she’d assume he spent time cultivating that golden glow. But she knew he hadn’t put any effort into his appearance. According to Jane Tanner, another friend who’d hung out with her and Averil—the three of them had been inseparable—Brant’s parents had retired, and he and his three younger brothers had taken over the running of their two-thousand-acre cattle ranch.
“What brings you back to town?” he asked. “You’ve laid low for so long, I thought we’d seen the last of you.”
Pretending that running into him was no more remarkable to her than running into anyone else, she lifted her orange juice to take a sip before returning the glass to the heavily varnished table. “My aunt Phoebe died.”
“That’s the old lady who lived in the farmhouse on Mill Creek Road, right? The one with the blue hair?”
Her great-aunt had been a diminutive woman, only five feet tall and less than a hundred pounds. But she’d had her hair done once a week like clockwork—still used the blue rinse she’d grown fond of in her early twenties when platinum blond had been all the rage—and dressed in her Sunday best, including nylons, whenever she came to town. So she’d stood out. “That’s her.”
“What happened?”
Talulah got the impression he was assessing the changes in her, just as she was assessing the changes in him, and wished she’d put more effort into her appearance today. She didn’t want to come off the worse for wear after what she’d done. But when she’d rolled out of bed, pulled on her yoga pants and a sleeveless knit top and piled her long blond hair on top of her head before coming to the diner for breakfast, she’d assumed she’d be early enough to miss the younger crowd, which included the people she’d rather avoid.
That had proven mostly to be true; except for Brant, almost everyone else in the diner was over sixty. But he worked on a ranch, so he was probably up even before the birds that’d been chirping loudly outside her window, making it impossible for her to sleep another second. “She died of old age. Aunt Phoebe was almost a hundred.”
“I’m sorry to hear you lost her.” He sounded sincere, at least. “Were you close?”
“No, actually, we weren’t,” Talulah admitted. “She never liked me.” Phoebe hadn’t liked children in general—they were too loud, too unruly and too messy. And once Talulah had become a teenager, and her mother had allowed her to quit taking piano lessons from her great-aunt, they’d never really connected, other than seeing each other at various family functions during which Talulah and her sister, Debbie, had gone out of their way to avoid their mother’s crotchety aunt.
His teeth flashed in a wider smile. “Maybe she was a friend of the Gerharts.”
Talulah gave him a dirty look. “So were you. But unfortunately, you’re standing here talking to me.”
He chuckled instead of being offended, which soothed some of her ire. He was willing to take what he was dishing out; she had to respect that.
“I’m more generous than most,” he teased, pressing a hand to his muscular chest. “But if it makes you feel any better, you’re not the only one who struggled to get along with your aunt.”
“You knew her personally?” she asked in surprise.
“Not well, but I’ll never forget the day someone had the audacity to honk at her because she was driving at the speed of a horse and buggy down the middle of the highway, holding up traffic for miles.”
“What happened?”
“Once I got around her, I found she was capable of driving a lot faster. She tailgated me to the bank, where she climbed out and swung her purse at me while giving me a piece of her mind for scaring her while she was behind the wheel.”
Talulah had to laugh at the mental picture that created. “You’re the one who honked at her?”
“The bank was about to close.” He gave a low whistle as he rubbed the beard growth on his squarish chin. “But after that, I decided if I was ever in the same situation again, I’d skip the bank.”
Most people in Coyote Canyon probably had a similar story about Aunt Phoebe, maybe more than one. She might’ve been small, but she was mighty and wouldn’t “take any guff,” as she put it, from anyone. “Yeah, well, imagine being a little girl on the receiving end of that sharp tongue. I’d dread my weekly piano lesson and cry whenever my mother left me with her.”
“I’ll have to let Ellen know that,” he said.
Talulah didn’t remember anyone by that name in Coyote Canyon. “Who’s Ellen?”
“I assume you’re staying at your aunt’s place?”
She nodded. “My folks moved to Reno a couple of years after I embarrassed them at the wedding,” she said glumly.
He laughed at her response. “Ellen lives on the property next to you. She and I used to go out now and then, when she first moved to town, and she told me the old lady would knock on her door to complain about everything—the weeds near the fence, trees that were dropping leaves on her side of the property line, the barking of the dogs.”
“But they both live on several acres. How could those small things bother Aunt Phoebe?”
“Exactly Ellen’s point. Heaven forbid she ever decided to have a dinner party and someone parked too close to your aunt’s driveway.”
Talulah found herself more distracted by the mention of his relationship with this Ellen woman than she should’ve been, given that it wasn’t the point of the anecdote. Brant had always been so hard to attract. Most girls she knew had tried to gain his interest, including her own sister, and failed. So she couldn’t help being curious about how he’d come to date her new neighbor—and why and how their relationship had ended. “Sounds like Phoebe.”
A waitress called out to tell Brant hello, and he waved at her before returning his attention to Talulah. “How long will you be in town?”
She arched an eyebrow at him. “Are you running recognizance for my enemies?”
“Just curious.” He winked. “Word will spread fast enough without me.”
“You can assure everyone who cares that it’ll only be for a month or so,” she said. “Until I can clean out my great aunt’s house and put it on the market.”
“If you weren’t close to her, how come you were unlucky enough to get that job?” he asked.
“My parents are in Africa on a mission.”
“For the Church of the Good Shepherd?”
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t realize they sent people out on organized missions.”
“Sometimes they do, but this one is self-funded, something my dad has wanted to do ever since hearing a particularly rousing sermon.” Talulah wasn’t religious at all—much to the chagrin of her parents. But a good portion of the town belonged to her folks’ evangelical church or one of the other churches in the area.
“What about your sister?” Brant asked. “She can’t help?”
“Debbie’s married and living in Billings. She’s about to have her fourth child any day now.”
He feigned shock. “Married? Fear of commitment doesn’t run in the family, I guess.”
She scowled. “It’s a good thing I didn’t go through with it, Brant. I was only eighteen—way too young.”
“I never said I thought it was a good idea,” he responded.
“If you’ll remember, I made the same argument way back when.”
“How could I ever forget?” They’d always been adversaries. He’d hated the amount of time his best friend had devoted to her, and she’d resented that he was often trying to talk Charlie into playing pool or going hunting or something with him instead. “But let’s be fair. I doubt I’m the only one with commitment issues.” She glanced at his hand. “I don’t see a ring on your finger.”
“I’ve never left anyone standing at the altar.”
She could tell he was joking, but he’d hit a nerve. “Because you bail out before it even gets that far.”
He seemed to enjoy provoking her. “That’s what you’re supposed to do. I can teach you how, if you want me to.”
“Oh, leave me alone,” she muttered with a shooing motion.
He chuckled but didn’t go. “How much are you hoping to get for your aunt’s house?”
“I have no idea what it’s worth,” she replied. “I live in Washington these days, where prices are a lot different, and haven’t met with a real estate agent yet.”
“You know Charlie’s an agent, right?”
Slumping back against the booth, she sighed. “Here we go again…”
He widened those gorgeous blue eyes of his. “That wasn’t a jab! I just thought you should be aware of it.”
“I’m aware of it, okay? Jane Tanner told me.”
“You still in touch with Jane?”
“We’ve been friends since kindergarten,” she said as if he should’ve taken that for granted. But she’d been equally close to Charlie’s sister, and they hadn’t spoken since Talulah had tried to apologize for what she’d done at the wedding and Averil had told her she never wanted to see her again.
“Maybe it’d help patch things up if you listed your aunt’s house with him,” Brant suggested.
“You’re kidding. I can’t imagine he’d want to see me—not even to make a buck.”
His eyes flicked to the compass tattoo she’d gotten on the inside of her forearm shortly after she’d left Coyote Canyon. “Does he know you’re in town?”
She shrugged. “Jane might’ve told him I was coming. Why?”
He studied her for a long moment. “I have a feeling things are about to get interesting around here. Thanks for breaking the monotony,” he said, and that maddening grin reappeared as he nodded in parting and walked over to the bar, where he took a stool and ordered his breakfast.
Disgruntled, Talulah eyed his back. He’d removed his baseball cap—that was a bit old-fashioned, perhaps, but her parents would certainly approve of his manners—so his hair was matted in places, but he didn’t seem to care. He came off more comfortable in his own skin than any man she’d ever known, which sort of bugged her. She couldn’t say why. He’d always seemed to avoid the foibles that everyone else got caught up in. For a change, she wanted to see him unable to stop himself from falling in love, do something stupid because he couldn’t help it or make a mistake he later regretted.
“Would you like a refill?”
The waitress had approached with a pot of coffee.
Talulah shoved her cup away. “No, thanks. I’m finished.”
“Okay, hon. Let me put this down, and I’ll be right back with your check.”
Leaving twenty-five bucks on the table, more than enough to cover the bill, Talulah got up and walked out.
The last thing she wanted was to run into someone else she knew.
New York Times bestselling author Brenda Novak has written over 60 novels. An eight-time Rita nominee, she’s won The National Reader’s Choice, The Bookseller’s Best and other awards. She runs Brenda Novak for the Cure, a charity that has raised more than $2.5 million for diabetes research (her youngest son has this disease). She considers herself lucky to be a mother of five and married to the love of her life.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for ECHO FROM A BAYOU: One Man’s Journey to Hunt Down His Murderer by J. Luke Bennecke on this Partner’s In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
***
Book Description
Murder. Treasure. A supernatural twist.
John Bastian is plunged into a dangerous journey to uncover the truth about his past life after a freak skiing accident unlocks hidden memories. With unshakable visions of a brutal attack, the cursed Lafayette treasure, and a captivating redhead, John searches to find answers and confront the man who murdered him. On a perilous path and with a hurricane fast approaching, John fights for his survival and the safety of those he loves, threats haunting him at every turn.
Will he find redemption, or be consumed by an unquenchable thirst for revenge?
Genre: Suspense Thriller Published by: Jaytech Publishing Publication Date: August 2023 Number of Pages: 400 ISBN: 9780965771559
***
My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
ECHO FROM A BAYOU: One Man’s Journey to Hunt Down His Murder by J. Luke Bennecke is an exciting mix of suspense/action thriller/treasure hunt adventure and reincarnation. This is a standalone story that kept me turning the pages well into the night.
John Bastian awakes after a three-day coma after a skiing accident with memories that are not his own. He learns the memories belong to Jack Bachman from Louisiana who was married to a red-headed beauty.
He is compelled to take a trip to Louisiana to follow his memories, find the red-headed beauty, and find the man who murdered him over a buried treasure. And then there is a hurricane.
This is an intriguing look into reincarnation, betrayal, murder, and true love all combined into an action-adventure thriller. All the characters are fully fleshed and the descriptions of all the locations throughout the story add to believability. I did have a bit of difficulty with the past and present differences if I did not pay attention to the chapter headings, but eventually it all came together. There are plenty of plot twists and surprises throughout.
This is an intriguing thriller and more.
***
Excerpt
Chapter 1
John Bastian
November 8, 2016 – Mammoth Mountain, CA
Never had I seen so many angry trees in one place.
Through a gondola window covered with spider cracks, ominous mountains loomed in the darkened distance. One peak in particular, a white, snowcapped giant, laughed at me with his frozen face and pointed pines, pompous with knowledge he had risen to life, fallen, and rebirthed his dominance over countless millennia.
Ignoring the familiar tug to spiral down another rabbit hole of negativity, I instead envisioned myself racing down a crazy-steep, treeless, triple black diamond slope at the summit of Mammoth Mountain: Huevos Grande.
Passengers continued to pack inside the already-full car, oblivious to our collective need to breathe oxygen, already limited in the high-altitude air that smelled of sweaty gym socks.
“And I don’t see you wearin’ no helmet,” Kevin said.
“Enough about Sonny Bono already, that was a long time ago,” I said, glancing down at Kevin, who, at a foot shorter than me, sported matching black ski pants and jacket with a rainbowcolored voodoo doll embroidered on the back. The snowboarding boots boosted his height by two inches, bringing his height up to five feet five inches.
My closest friend for the last two decades and best man at the wedding of my disaster of a marriage, we’d met at track practice during senior year of high school.
With my last shred of patience wearing thin, I waited with Kevin in the front corner of the room-sized orange cube, near the sliding doors. Skis propped and steadied with one hand, I gave his down-insulated shoulder a friendly punch with the other and said, “Stay positive, man. We need as much optimism as we can handle.”
“Glad you finally gettin’ your head outta them clouds,” Kevin said. “Sooner you forgive Margaret, sooner you can get on with your life, Johnny Jackass.”
“You know I hate it when you call me that.”
“Exactly.”
Two months ago, he’d suggested this trip to some of California’s highest slopes in order to check off the last item on our mid-life crisis bucket list.
One final group of skiers jammed inside, jerking the box that would soon glide us up to the peak of peaks. My heart flopped around inside my chest as I ignored the instinctive urge to go back to our room and down a double bourbon. Instead, I adjusted my black beanie, giving Kevin a forced smile. A tinge of alcohol withdrawal headache pinged my noggin. I dug out two Tylenol gel caps from my inner jacket pocket, popped them into my mouth and swallowed without water.
I tightened my lips and turned my head, glancing through a different gondola window, up to the 11,000-foot peak riddled with wide, white, invincible slopes.
But a shiver crawled up from my legs to my neck, deflating any remnants of confidence.
I tapped open a weather app on my phone. “This might be the last run. That huge storm front’s almost here.”
“Word.”
We both enjoyed the occasional humorous embellishment of stereotypical hip-hop culture, even though Kevin had two masters’ degrees from Berkeley, one in American history and another in theater arts.
After separating from Margaret three years ago, the entire divorce process continually marinated in my head, but I wanted—needed—to lick my mental wounds, get on with my life, and find a new purpose. Hence my agreeing to this trip.
Heads bobbed among the other snow enthusiasts, along with a colorful assortment of mirrored goggles and insulated garments. My height allowed me an unobstructed view of my fellow sardines.
“Think of all the times they said it was supposed to rain back home in Newport Beach,” I said. “Nothing. Just a few drops here and there. Damned drought’s horrible.”
A man with dark, heavy-lidded eyes stood five feet away from us in the rear of the gondola, wearing a baby blue sweater and black jeans. Then for no apparent reason, he started tapping his forehead repeatedly on the gondola wall.
Dude wore no ski jacket.
No ski pants.
Odd.
***
Author Bio
J. Luke Bennecke is a veteran civil engineer with a well-spent career helping people by improving Southern California roadways. He has a civil engineering degree, an MBA, a private pilot’s certificate, and is a partner in an engineering firm. He enjoys philanthropy and awards scholarships annually to high school seniors.
In addition to his debut novel, bestselling and award-winning thriller Civil Terror: Gridlock, Bennecke has written several other novels and screenplays, a creative process he thoroughly enjoys. His second Jake Bendel thriller, Waterborne, was published in 2021 by Black Rose Writing and received several awards. Echo from a Bayou is his latest suspense thriller with a supernatural twist, available now.
Bennecke resides in Southern California with his wife of 32+ years and three spunky cats. In his leisure time he enjoys traveling, playing golf, voiceover acting, and spending time with his grown daughters.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for DEVIL WITHIN: ANathan Parker Detective Novel by James L’Etoile on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
The border is a hostile place with searing heat and venomous serpents. Yet the deadliest predator targets the innocent.
A sniper strikes in the Valley of the Sun and Detective Nathan Parker soon finds a connection between the victims—each of them had a role in an organization founded to help undocumented migrants make the dangerous crossing. Parker discovers no one is exactly who they seem.
There’s the devil you know and then there’s the devil within—when the two collide, no one is safe.
Devil Within is the sequel to the Anthony and Lefty Award nominated Dead Drop.
Genre: Procedural/Thriller Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: July 2023 Number of Pages: 310 Series: The Nathan Parker Detective Series, Book 2
***
My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
DEVIL WITHIN: A Nathan Parker Detective Novel by James L’Etoile is an adrenaline rush of a thriller/ police procedural that is impossible to put down. I loved the first book, Dead Drop, in this series and this follow-up second book is just as gripping from start to finish. I feel that for the reader to really enjoy this book, they should read book one first because all the characters are carried over with continuing storylines.
Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office Detective Nathan Parker is assigned to investigate a series of shootings that are being labeled the Sun Valley Sniper murders. At first, the victims all seem random, but as he digs deeper, he discovers a disturbing connection between the Immigrant Coalition an organization that aides undocumented migrants, a Mexican gang, and the Aryan Nation. Nathan also must deal with the revelation that Estaban Castaneda, the gang leader who killed his partner is back on American soil and has kidnapped his foster son, Miguel.
This is another fantastic thriller/police procedural that kept me on the edge of my seat. All the characters we met in book one are back and just as dynamic and believably crafted. The mysterious Billie is once again integral to Nathan’s investigation and his education on immigrant problems. This multi-layered plot is intricately woven with varying hate groups, Mexican gangs, law enforcement, corrupt politicians, legal and illegal immigrants, human trafficking, and those fighting to aide the immigrants. I was completely surprised by the reveal of the sniper.
I highly recommend this thriller/police procedural and I am looking forward to many more in this series!
***
Excerpt
Chapter One
Nia Saldana didn’t think today would be the day she died. Why would she? She was careful and avoided situations which drew too much attention. She never wanted to be noticed. When you got noticed, it only led to trouble, or worse.
She cursed herself for snooping around her employer’s office as she tidied up. The big man wasn’t who he pretended to be. If others knew what she saw…
Nia fought off anxiety driving home after another twelve-hour day cleaning homes on Camelback Mountain, the upscale enclave in Central Phoenix. Commuter traffic on this section of the 101 loop was a field of brake lights and her hands gripped the wheel, knowing she’d be home after her two girls were asleep. Her sister Sofia never complained when she watched the girls and loved them as if they were her own. Nia regretted every minute away from them, and the envelope of cash on the seat next to her meant she could stop and pick up a little pink box of day-old Mexican pastries for the girls as a sweet surprise.
A job that didn’t require hours away from her girls was a dream. She didn’t dare look for a better-paying job. There was too much at risk for a single, undocumented mother. One wrong move, like getting caught in her employer’s office, and she would join her deported husband in Hermosillo. What would happen to the girls then?
She pushed a worn stuffed animal away from her leg when she caught a sudden blur from the right. A familiar black SUV cut across her path, nearly clipping the front end of her Nissan Sentra. She knew her boss was furious; in a way she’d never seen before. But to chase her on the freeway because of what she’d discovered? Reckless.
A pop caught her attention. Seconds later, the heavy SUV lurched and bumped Nia’s sedan into the left lane, pushing her into the gravel median. A second pop sounded moments before the wheel wrenched from Nia’s hands sending the Sentra into a hard spin to the left until it faced back into the oncoming traffic.
Rubber barked on the asphalt as a semi-truck slammed on its brakes and the trailer jackknifed, a wall of metal rushing toward Nia’s windshield. The Sentra crumpled from the impact of the heavy eighteen-wheeler. The thin metal roof folded in pinning her against the seat. The steering wheel crushed against the driver’s seat, and Nia with it. The pressure against her chest made breathing impossible. If her brother-in-law hadn’t sold the airbag for a few dollars…. Nia glanced at the blood-spattered stuffed animal and pulled it close to her.
Inside her broken passenger side window, Nia watched as the SUV plowed into the metal rails in the center divider without slowing down. The driver slumped over the wheel after his vehicle came to rest. Why? Why did he? The grip on the stuffed animal loosened as she grew cold. The faces of her two young girls were the last images she held while she slipped away.
Chapter Two
Detective Sergeant Nathan Parker weaved his way through the snarl of traffic on the freeway. Phoenix dwellers took it in stride because commute hours meant a sludge across the valley with a daily multi-car pile-up, or a disabled vehicle in the tunnel. None of the usual reasons for traffic meltdowns would justify a Major Crimes detective call out.
Parker’s Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office Ford Explorer was unmarked, but the antenna bristling on the roof and the flashing red and blue lights in the grill gave it away. As he approached, he wasn’t certain what warranted a major crimes investigator. Parker spotted the vehicles spun out in the median, the front end of a compact sedan crumpled under a big rig trailer. No one would survive this one.
Fire engines stopped traffic in the two lanes near the accident. A single lane of cars bled through the remaining gap in the freeway, going slow enough to glimpse the gruesome wreckage.
Deputy Marcus Stone called Parker on his cell phone rather than make the call over the department radio frequency. The call was quick on detail, other than Deputy Stone needed Parker at the scene. Parker’s mind shuffled through the possibilities as he pulled his Explorer to the far left median. He spotted the wrecked SUV on the center divider, twenty yards from the jackknifed semi-truck. A high-profile victim, or an influential Phoenix power player caught in a deadly drunk driving crash? Maybe. Politics was king, even in the desert. The twisted remains of the Nissan underneath the big rig, however, didn’t scream of valley nobility.
Parker spotted deputy Stone near the rear of the Phoenix Metro Fire Department engine. Stone looked gray.
“Marcus.” Stone didn’t take his gaze from the fire crew using an air powered extraction device, sometimes called the Jaws of Life, to peel back the exposed left front quarter panel of the gutted Nissan Sentra . “We’ve got two deceased.” Stone jutted his square jaw at the Nissan. “A young woman. In the SUV against the guardrail, our second victim, a middleaged white male.”
“Looks nasty. Any statements from witnesses about how it happened. Why’d you call me out, anyway? Traffic accidents aren’t usually our thing.” Stone started toward the SUV. “Come with me.” Stone didn’t wait for Parker and made a path around the littered wreckage toward the black SUV. Parker noticed the driver slumped over the wheel after the fire department opened the driver’s door and left him in place. From experience, Parker knew fire crews extracted accident victims from the vehicles and tried to administer lifesaving treatment.
The driver’s razor cut gray hair lay matted in crimson. His skull disappeared in a jagged mess of blood and bone behind his ear.
“He’s been shot. Dammit, this makes three in a month,” Parker said. “That’s why I called you.”
Instinctively, Parker glanced at his surroundings. The freeway sat in the bottom of a wash, with city streets twenty feet above on both sides. An unnatural valley, but a natural killing ground for the Sun Valley Sniper. “Get any ID on this guy?”
Stone held a plastic evidence bag in his hand. Parker hadn’t noticed the deputy gripping the plastic envelope since his arrival.
“Roger Jessup. Local attorney, according to the Arizona Bar card in his wallet.”
“Can’t say I’ve heard of him before. Gives us an angle to look at—you know, the whole disgruntled client thing.”
They both turned at the sound of ripping metal pulled from the Nissan Sentra. Two fire fighters crouched into the passenger compartment, cut the seatbelt, and pulled the driver from the car. They placed her gently on a yellow tarp spread on the gravel shoulder.
“I take it she wasn’t a shooting victim?” Parker said.
“No. The collision with the SUV spun her out and then the big rig finished it. Wrong place, wrong time, poor thing.”
“You call in the Medical Examiner?”
Stone shook his head. “Didn’t know how you would handle it.”
“No problem. While I call the M.E., could you ask the fire crews to set up some tarps to give our victims a bit of respect?”
“On it.” Stone strode off to the closest fire fighter and started pointing at the scene.
Parker approached the Nissan as the fire department crew draped a tarp over the dead woman. Parker saw she was olive skinned, young, perhaps in her early thirties, with dark black hair pulled back in a ponytail. She was attractive, but even in death, she carried signs of stress, lines creasing her forehead, and dark bags under her eyes. Parker dropped to one knee and scanned the passenger compartment. The driver was crushed. If it wasn’t bad enough, Parker spotted a well-loved stuffed animal on the seat.
“Oh man. She’s got kids.”
He reached for her purse and pulled the inexpensive plastic and cardboard handbag from the floorboard. Parker had seen these knockoff items before, carried by women coming over the border. He fished through the purse for a wallet and ID. Nothing. No driver’s license, insurance cards, or credit cards. When he stood, he spotted a blood-stained envelope. When he lifted it from the seat, it held one hundred dollars. No note or message in with the five twenty-dollar bills. The face of the envelope bore a simple inscription: “Nia.”
“Nia, what happened?”
Parker thought deputy Stone might be right. He was about to write it off as another case of a random victim until he found the bullet hole in the Nissan’s front tire. The tire exploded outward on the opposite side of the path of entry. Likely sending the compact sedan into an uncontrolled skid, careening off any vehicles in the next lane.
What were the chances of two cars being shot at in evening commuter traffic?
***Excerpt from Devil Within by James L’Etoile. Copyright 2023 by James L’Etoile. Reproduced with permission from James L’Etoile. All rights reserved.
***
Author Bio
James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novel, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. Black Label earned the Silver Falchion for Best Book by an Attending Author at Killer Nashville and he was nominated for The Bill Crider Award for short fiction. His most recent novel is the Anthony and Lefty Award nominated Dead Drop. Look for Devil Within and Face of Greed, both coming in 2023.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE BEACH HUTMURDERS (The Charity Shop Detective Agency Book #2) by Peter Boland on this Books ‘n’ All Promotions Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
It’s almost summer in Southbourne and the ladies of the Charity Shop Detective Agency are ready for another season of sun, sea and . . . murder.
Amongst the rows of charming brightly painted cabins, an elderly man’s beach hut is set on fire in the middle of the night — while he slept inside.
By day, Fiona, Sue and Daisy volunteer at the Dogs Need Nice Homes charity shop. But, by night, they investigate crimes. And they’re determined to get to the bottom of this murder.
Malcolm Crainey was a bit of an eccentric, but he was harmless really. Who would want to kill him?
The ladies soon uncover a long list of possible suspects. Neighbours who hated Malcolm for refusing to swap huts. Members of the snobby beach hut association who took umbrage with Malcom’s quirky beachcombed cabin decorations.
Then another hut is burned down in the dead of night. Thankfully there was no one asleep inside this time. But the pressure is on — can Fiona, Sue and Daisy find the culprit before the beach hut murderer strikes again?
THE CHARITY SHOP DETECTIVE AGENCY MYSTERIES SERIES:
THE CHARITY SHOP DETECTIVE AGENCY
THE BEACH HUT MURDERS
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
THE BEACH HUT MURDERS (The Charity Shop Detective Agency Book #2) by Peter Boland is an engaging amateur sleuth cozy mystery and the second book in The Charity Shop Detective Agency series. This series features three senior volunteers at the Dogs Need Nice Homes charity shop who also work together to solve murders in the small English town of Southbourne. This book, even though it is the second in the series, is easily read as a standalone.
Summertime in Southbourne has residents looking to cool down on Mudeford Spit. People day trip in to use the beach and there are also several beach huts for those who can afford them. One night a beach hut burns to the ground and the resident is saved, but later dies of smoke inhalation. The Spit’s liaison officer hires the Charity Shop Detectives to find out who committed the arson that led to the death.
As the ladies investigate, there are many leads, but they all lead to dead ends and the CCTV is no help either. When another hut is burned, they are happy to find their new friend was not home, but they are still stuck with no hard evidence. When a third hut burns and almost kills a couple with their two children, the ladies are desperate for a breakthrough and take desperate measures which could end their sideline as detectives.
I enjoyed this outing of the Charity Shop Detectives more than the first. Fiona, Sue, and Daisy are all delightfully quirky and individually unique with just the right skillset when they come together to investigate clues and solve their cases. The secondary characters are just as fun, and the dialogue is witty. I feel the plot is intriguing and well-paced, the red herrings and twists are well placed and kept me guessing throughout. I was surprised by the conclusion and by the epilogue even more so.
I recommend this cozy mystery for an engaging amateur sleuth cozy mystery read.
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Author Bio
After studying to be an architect, Pete realised he wasn’t very good at it. He liked designing buildings, he just couldn’t make them stand up — a big handicap in an industry that’s partial to keeping things upright. So he became an advertising copywriter, the highlight of which was creating an ad featuring Raymond Briggs’ The Snowman. He then tried his hand at writing his own stories and quickly realised there’s no magic formula. You just have to put one word in front of the other (and keep doing that for about six months). It also helps if you can resist the lure of surfing and drinking beer in a garden chair.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for DEADLY DEPTHS by John F. Dobbyn on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
The death by bizarre means of his mentor, Professor Barrington Holmes, draws Mathew Shane into the quest of five archeologists, known to each other as “The Monkey’s Paws”, for an obscure object of unprecedented historic and financial value. The suspected murders of others of the Monkey’s Paws follow their pursuit of five clues found in a packet of five ancient parchments. Shane’s commitment to disprove the police theory of suicide by Professor Holmes carries him to the steamy bayous of New Orleans, the backstreets of Montreal, the sunken wreck of a pirate vessel off Barbados, and the city of Maroon descendants of escaped slaves in Jamaica.
By weaving a thread from the sacrificial rites of the Aztec kingdom before the Spanish conquest of Mexico through the African beliefs of Jamaican Maroons and finally to the ventures of Captain Henry Morgan during the Golden Era of Piracy in his conquest and sacking of Spanish cities on the Spanish Main, Shane reaches a conclusion he could never have anticipated.
Genre: Mystery, Crime Thriller Published by: Oceanview Publishing Publication Date: August 2023 Number of Pages: 320 ISBN: 9781608095483 (ISBN10: 1608095487)
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
DEADLY DEPTHS by John F. Dobbyn is an edge-of-your-seat treasure hunt thriller and intricate crime mystery mash-up novel that kept me turning the pages well into the night. This is a standalone novel that is a great mystery/thriller read and while the author is new to me, he does have other published books I will be checking out in the future.
Law professor Matthew Shane also has a love of archeology from his mentor, well known archeologist, Professor Barrington Holmes. Holmes is found dead at his office desk, and it is determined a suicide, but Matthew knows his mentor would never commit suicide.
His search for the truth leads him to a group of five archeologists, including the deceased Barrington, that call themselves “The Monkey’s Paw”. They were entangled in a mysterious expedition and since their return, they are being killed one by one.
Joining forces with the remaining members of “The Monkey’s Paw” and the help of an enigmatic Turkish antiquities dealer in France, Matthew is on a worldwide chase that may cost him his life, too.
I really loved this story. It is full of surprise twists, red herrings, and treachery. Matthew is determined to discover the truth, no matter the peril. He is an honorable, adventurous, and strong protagonist that is easy to cheer for throughout the hunt. The history of the Aztec artifact everyone wants, and the history of the Maroons of Jamaica were both interesting and well positioned throughout the plot to never interfere with the pace. The plot is well paced, fast and seldom lets up even when the plot goes back in time to the diary of a Welsh privateer. The climax was intense, and it leads to a very satisfying conclusion to both the mystery and the treasure hunt.
I highly recommend this high intensity action-adventure mystery/thriller!
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Excerpt
We arrived at an area of private docks in a town called Oistins. The driver stopped at the base of a wharf that anchored power boats of every size, speed, and description. One power yacht stood out as the choice of the fleet. The Sun Catcher. My guide hustled us both directly to the carpeted gangplank that led on board a vessel that could pass for a floating Ritz Carlton.
The engines were already revving. I was escorted to a padded deck-lounge with maximum view on the foredeck. I had scarcely settled in, when we were slicing through late-afternoon sea-swells that barely caused a rise and fall.
My guide, still in suit and tie, brought me, without either of us asking, a tall, cool, planter’s punch with an ample kick of Mount Gay Rum. For the first moment since Mick O’Flynn told me that someone was asking for me, I made a fully-considered decision. This entire fantasy could easily turn into a disaster that could outstrip New Orleans and Montreal together, but to hell with it. It was just too elating not to accept it at face value – at least for the moment.
My mind was just settling into a comfortable neutral, when I heard footsteps from behind that had more heft than I imagined my guide could produce. I made a move to swing out of the padded deck-chair, when I felt the touch of a hand with authoritative strength on my shoulder. The voice that went with it had the same commanding undertone.
“Stay where you are, Michael. I’ll join you.”
A matching deck-chair was set beside me. I found myself looking up at a shadow against the setting sun that appeared double my bulk and yet compact as an Olympic hammer-thrower. The voice came again. “You’re an interesting study, Michael. I may call you ‘Michael’, right? I should. I probably know more about you than anyone you know. You might have guessed that by now.”
An open hand reached down out of the shadow. I took it. The handshake fit the shaker. It took some seconds for the feeling to come back into mine.
Before I could answer, the voice was coming from the deck-lounge beside me. “No need for coy name games. You know that I’m Wayne Barnes. And you know that I’m one of the, shall we say, associates in that little clique we call the Monkey’s Paws. In fact, your escort here, Emile, tells me it was the mention of my name that swung your decision to get on that plane.”
He nodded to my nearly empty Planter’s Punch. “Another?”
Before I could answer, he gave a slight nod to someone behind us. Before I could say “Yes”, or possibly, but less likely, “No”, a native Bajan in a server’s uniform was at my left taking my empty and handing me a full glass.
I was three good sips into the second glass before I said my first word since coming aboard. I looked over at Wayne. I seemed to have his full focus. His engaging smile seemed to carry a full message of relaxed hospitality, and none of the threatening undercurrents I was scanning for. “You have an interesting way of delivering an invitation, Mr. Barnes”
He raised a hand. “Wayne.”
“’Wayne’ it is. You must have an interesting social life.”
“I do. Do you find it offensive?”
I looked over the bow, past the deepening blue crystal water to the reddening horizon. I felt the soothing caress of the slightly salted ocean breeze. I took one more sip of the most perfectly balanced planters punch of a lifetime, and looked back at Wayne. “Not in the slightest. Yet.”
“Ah yes, ‘yet’.”
“Right. I’m sure this won’t impress you, Wayne, and it’s not a complaint, but I’ve had a week full of enough tragedy to fill a lifetime. Hence the ‘yet’.”
His smile and focused attention remained. “I know more about your week, perhaps, than even you do. But go on.”
The second planter’s punch was having a definitely mollifying effect. “I have no idea what you mean by that last statement, Wayne, so I’ll just pass on. Given that week, and the abrupt transport from hell on earth to . . . paradise on earth, I’d have to be Mrs. Shane’s backward child not to listen for a second shoe to drop.”
The smile expanded. Still no alarms. “Or perhaps you’ve come into a sea-change of good luck, Michael. Why not go with that?”
“Why not indeed? For the moment. Just one question. ”
“Alright. One question. For now. Make it a good one.”
“Oh it is. It’s a beaut. Ecstatic as I am with all this, why the hell am I here?”
That brought a bursting laugh. “I think I’m going to enjoy having you around for a couple of days, Michael. You have an instinct for the jugular. No chipping around the edges. We won’t waste each other’s time.”
“Thank you. But that’s not an answer.”
“No it isn’t.” He looked out to the diminishing sunset. “The only answer I can give you at the moment that would do justice to the question is this. And you’ll just have to live with it for now. You’re here for a quick but depthful education. I think you’ll find it well worth two days of your life. Are you in?”
“Do I have a choice?”
We both looked back at the rapidly diminishing shore-line behind us. “None that comes to mind. Now are you in?”
That brought a smile from me, another healthy sip of the planter’s punch, and a deep breath of the ocean-fresh breeze. “I’m in.”
We chatted through the sunset on far-ranging subjects that had no association whatever with Monkeys Paws, Maroons, murder-suicides – in fact nothing that gave a clue as to why my gracious host had chosen my company over the undoubtedly vast range of his acquaintances. By then, the moon had risen.
At some point, I was aware that the engines had stopped. The splash of two anchors could be heard on either side. The sun had set. The shift from twilight to a darkness, penetrated only by a quarter moon went unnoticed.
I was slowly sipping away at my third or possibly fourth Planter’s Punch, when I became aware of a bobbing light approaching from the port side. Without interrupting the flow of conversation, I noticed that Wayne was following its approach with more than the occasional glance until it reached the side of the yacht.
Within a few minutes, my original guide, still in suit and tie, approached Wayne’s side with an inaudible whisper. I sensed that a bit of steel crept into Wayne’s otherwise conversational tone. “I’ll see him.”
I began to get up to provide privacy. Wayne held my arm in position. “Stay, Michael. Let your education begin.” My guide nodded to someone behind us and lit his path with a small flashlight.
I settled back, as a fiftyish man with narrow, cautious eyes and thinning grey hair that might have last been combed by his mother came up along Wayne’s right side. The loose wrinkles in his ageless cotton suit indicated that he might have been close to six feet, but for a constant stoop as if to pass under an unseen beam. The stoop caused his head to bob and gave him the look of one asking for royal permission to approach.
Wayne’s eyes turned to him. I noticed the stoop of the back became more noticeable. Wayne’s voice was calm and soft, but it commanded his visitor’s full attention. “Do you have it? I assume you wouldn’t be here without it, yes, Yusuf?”
The thin mouth cracked into a smile that conveyed no humor. “Of course. Of course. But perhaps our business . . .”
Wayne nodded toward me. “No fear. Mr. Shayne is here for an education. We shouldn’t deprive him of that, should we?”
The smile on the man’s lips did not match the apprehension in the tiny eyes, but he nodded. “As you say.”
“Then what are you waiting for?”
The man gave a slight glance to either side as if it were the habit of a lifetime. He reached into some deep pocket inside his suitcoat. I noticed a slight but tell-tale hesitation before he slipped out what appeared to be a hard, flat, roundish object, about seven inches across. It was wrapped in several layers of ragged cloth.
He held it until Wayne extended a hand and took it onto his lap. He laid it on the small tray on his stomach. He looked back at the man, who simply forced a smile .
“I assume it all went well?”
“Oh yes, Mr. Barnes. No problems,”
Wayne smiled back. “How I do love to hear those words.”
My eyes were glued to Wayne’s hands as he carefully peeled back one layer of cloth after another. When he turned over the last layer, the object in the shape of a disc sent out instant glints of reflections of the rising moonlight.
I could see Wayne running the tips of his fingers over the entire jagged surface of the disc. He took a flip cigarette lighter out of his pocket, opened it, and lit the flame. When he held it close to the object, I could make out the resemblance of a human face, coarsely pieced together from chips of green stone.
Wayne held it up toward me and ran the flame in front of it.
“Do you recognize it Michael?”
“I’m afraid not.”
He nodded. “Most wouldn’t. Your friend, Professor Holmes, would spot it immediately. The Mayans made death masks to protect their important rulers in their journey to the afterlife. They go back to around 700 A.D.”
“What stones are these? They look like jade.”
“Good spotting. The eyes were made of rare seashells.”
“And I assume valuable?”
He laughed again. “Right to the crux of the issue. Right, Michael.”
He turned the object over and ran his fingers over the back side of it. “One that apparently goes back as far as this, and belonged to the ruler we have in mind, the right collector will pay half a million. Isn’t that right, Yusuf?”
Yusuf’s grin was beginning to become genuine. “Oh yes. Oh yes. And more, as you would know, Mr. Barnes.”
Wayne swung his legs over the deck-lounge toward me. He sat up and very carefully replaced the wrapping that had covered the mask. He stood up and walked toward the man. “And the key to its value is that it is absolutely authentic.”
Wayne looked down at the grinning eyes of Yusuf for several seconds. I think I let out a yell that came from the pit of my stomach when Wayne hurled the wrapped object over side of the yacht, into the pitch blackness that absorbed it with barely a splash.
I thought that the man would crumble to the deck. He barely held his balance. In the blackness of the night, I couldn’t make out his features, but I know to a certainty that every drop of blood left his face.
Wayne called a uniformed attendant.
Before the man moved, Wayne took hold of his arm. I was almost as frozen to the spot as the man. I think we were both certain that he would be following the object into the blackness below.
Wayne held him close enough to speak directly into his ear, but spoke loudly enough, I’m sure, so that I could hear.
“It’s a fake, Yusuf. I’m sure you know that. But you’ll live to do me a service. You’re a delivery boy. Nothing more. I want you to take a message back to Istanbul. I want you to say just this. ‘You had my trust. I give it sparingly, and not twice. Rest assured, we’ll speak of this again.’ Do you have that Yusuf?”
The man had all he could do to nod.
Wayne signaled his attendant. “Take him back.”
The man was escorted, practically carried toward the back of the vessel. In a few minutes, I could see running lights heading away from the yacht.
Wayne sat back down. “What do you think, Michael? One more Planter’s Punch before dinner?”
I could only smile at the abrupt change of tone and subject.
“No? Then shall we go in to dinner. The chef should be prepared by now.”
When he stood up, I saw that he took something from under his deck-lounge. My mouth sprung open when a glint of light from an opening door of the yacht cabin lit up the death mask. I could see amusement in the smile of my host.
“What on earth did you throw overboard?”
“Oh that. I substituted my lap tray in the wrapping for the desk mask. I’ll keep the mask.”
“But if it’s a fake.”
“It is, but a fake by a well-respected forger of these antiquities. It has enough value for that reason alone to pay the expenses I’ve already incurred in acquiring it. Shall we go to dinner?”
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Author Bio
Following graduation from Boston Latin School and Harvard College with a major in Latin and Linguistics, three years on active duty as fighter intercept director in the United States Air Force, graduation from Boston College Law School, three years of practice in civil and criminal trial work, and graduation from Harvard Law School with a Master of Laws degree, I began a career as a Professor of Law at Villanova Law School. Twenty-five years ago I began writing mystery/thriller fiction. I have so far had twenty-five short stories published in Ellery Queen’s Mystery Magazine and Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery magazine, and six mystery thriller novels, the Michael Knight/Lex Devlin series, published by Oceanview Publishing. The second novel, Frame Up, was selected as Foreword Review’s Book of the Year.
