Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SICKNESS ON THE ISLAND (DI Liam O’Reilly Mysteries Book #16) by Stewart Giles on this Books ‘n’ All Promotions Blog 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
When over a dozen people succumb to a sudden sickness on the island, and most of them don’t pull through, Detective Inspector Liam O’Reilly is instantly suspicious.
It doesn’t take long to get to the source of the sudden deaths of so many unconnected victims.
But when the truth about why so many innocent islanders had to perish becomes apparent, O’Reilly finds himself in a predicament, the likes of which he could never have imagined.
The sickness on the Island has its roots in something much deeper, and when O’Reilly finally works out the real reason for the sudden deaths of so many islanders, it’s going to make him question his decision to move to the Island in the first place.
SICKNESS ON THE ISLAND (DI Liam O’Reilly Mysteries Book #16) by Stewart Giles is a twisted mystery/crime thriller/police procedural that was impossible to put down. I have loved this series since book one and even after fifteen more, the main characters still pull me effortlessly into their world and Mr. Giles has me continually guessing about the crime plot suspects and motives as he untangles everything through O’Reilly and his team. I have read all these books in order and while each crime is solved within each book and can standalone, all the characters’ lives have developed and grown over time and story.
DI Liam O’Reilly is having his birthday dinner with family at his favorite island restaurant when a man at the next table falls to the floor dead. The next morning, he discovers there were several other people with the sudden sickness and most died. O’Reilly and his team can find no connection between the dead. O’Reilly is called into CO Johnson’s office and finds himself entwined in a web of lies tied to an old case.
O’Reilly and his team are led in many directions with questions not only involving an old case, but also corruption within their own police department. Then there is a demand for a huge ransom or more islanders will end up dead. Can O’Reilly unravel all the secrets and discover the killer before more islanders die?
This was a nailbiter with so much on the line in a short period of time. Mr. Giles never makes it easy on O’Reilly or the reader. You can always count on O’Reilly to find the solution with help of his team by thinking outside of the box or finding that one elusive clue. He has no care for his own career, but a strong sense of moral justice that he always follows. I love all the characters, and the dialogue is realistic and brings them all to life.
I highly recommend this edge-of-your-seat mystery/crime thriller/police procedural. I also recommend all the other books in the series. They are all well worth the read.
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Author Bio
After reading English at 3 Universities and graduating from none of them, I set off travelling around the world with my wife, Ann, finally settling in South Africa, where we still live.
In 2014 Ann dropped a rather large speaker on my head and I came up with the idea for a detective series. DS Jason Smith was born. Smith, the first in the series was finished a few months later.
3 years and 8 DS Smith books later, Joffe Books wondered if I would be interested in working with them. As a self-published author, I agreed. However, we decided on a new series – the DC Harriet Taylor: Cornwall series.
The Beekeeper was published and soon hit the number one spot in Australia. The second in the series, The Perfect Murder did just as well.
I continued to self-publish the Smith series and Unworthy hit the shelves in 2018 with amazing results. I therefore made the decision to self-publish The Backpacker which is book 3 in the Detective Harriet Taylor series which was published in July 2018.
After The Backpacker I had an idea for a totally new start to a series – a collaboration between the Smith and Harriet thrillers and The Enigma was born. It brought together the broody, enigmatic Jason Smith and the more level-headed Harriet Taylor.
The Miranda trilogy is something totally different. A psychological thriller trilogy. It is a real departure from anything else I’ve written before.
The Detective Jason Smith series continues to grow. I also have another series featuring an Irish detective who relocated to Guernsey, the Detective Liam O’Reilly series. There are also 3 stand alone novels.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review of KILLER TRACKS by Mary Keliikoa on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, and excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
A Misty Pines Mystery
A peaceful retreat. A maze of smoke and murder. Is their remote getaway about to become a death trap?
Sheriff Jax Turner is worried about going off-grid and leaving his young team of deputies behind. But while his getaway with his ex is meant to help them reconnect, Jax is distracted by signs of a break-in at their rented lookout.
After a string of unsettling events and an approaching wildfire turn their isolated retreat into a danger zone, he’s stunned to find a dead body with marks tying it to a killer he put away a decade ago.
Terrified that his attempt at reconciliation has led them both into a fatal setup, Jax rushes back to his estranged wife before she joins the list of victims. But his dedication to serving and protecting could become an Achilles heel as other players join them among the darkening trees.
Can he fight his way out of the woods before the flames of revenge consume everything?
Genre: Police Procedural; Detective and Mystery; Crime Fiction; Suspense Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 30, 2025 Number of Pages: 319 ISBN: 979-8-89820-033-6 (pb)
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
KILLER TRACKS (Misty Pines Mystery Book #3) by Mary Keliikoa is an intense genre mash-up of mystery/crime thriller/police procedural that kept me turning the pages. This is the third book in this series and like most books of this type, the mystery/crime plot is complete and resolved in each book, but the characters’ relationships continue to evolve, and I feel the series is best read in order.
Sheriff Jax Turner has agreed to spend a week away with his FBI agent ex-wife, Abby, to work on their relationship. When they arrive at the remote cabin, they notice things that has Jax’s cop radar on alert. They discover a lone female camper who is hiding something and deal with the sabotage of their vehicle. Jax discovers a dead park ranger and now is desperate to get Abby safely off the mountain as they are chased by not only a killer, but a wildfire.
Meanwhile in Misty Pines, Deputy Rachel Killian is in charge and dealing with an apartment explosion and a dead tenant found in another apartment. As she inspects the body with the new medical examiner, the body has an “X” carved into his chest and the medical examiner realizes this signature is reminiscent of an old serial killer case. Rachel is also dealing with her cold case detective father showing up in Misty Pines unannounced. The more they investigate, they begin to fear for Jax and Abby.
This is a very good story that weaves two crime plots together that come from two different directions and ends with an explosive resolution. There were plenty of twists and surprises and towards the end the suspense kept me on the edge of my seat. While Jax and Abby are both interesting, flawed characters, sometimes I find Abby not sympathetic, but a bit annoying, but not enough to stop reading the series. I find Misty Pines an interesting town and as I get to know more of the secondary characters, it gets even more interesting.
I really enjoyed this gripping crime thriller/mystery, and I am looking forward to more books in the Misty Pines series.
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Excerpt
PROLOGUE
Click. Slide. Clang.
If he never heard that sound again, it’d be far too soon. That, and the sleepless nights under a thread-bare wool blanket that chafed his exposed skin, the looming threat of death… in the yard, the shower, the halls to and from the cafeteria or his cell.
Death and desperation seeped from the pores of this godforsaken place. So thick he could almost taste it. No amount of soap, no amount of ritual, would rid him of the stench that clung to him—though he’d be willing to try.
It was over now. Dying among these second-class men would not be his fate. A man of his intellect, a man far superior to the minions around him, deserved better than what he’d endured these past years.
He’d eagerly reeducate those who believed otherwise. They’d all see it by the time he was through with them, just like those that came before.
Click. Slide. Clang.
A voice echoed off the concrete walls.
“Inmate 22-A-4242. Gather your crap. Time to go.”
He stood, hands to his sides.
“Ready to face the world?”
He remained silent. None would get the satisfaction of his acknowledgement.
The voice continued. “They gave you a goddamn Hail Mary. Bleeding heart liberals anyway. Don’t screw it up.”
He bowed his head to obscure his smirk.
“Right. I know your type. You’re innocent.” The guard continued rambling. “That’s what all you convicts say. ‘I didn’t do it.’ ‘I was framed.’ ‘It’s unconstitutional.’” The guard’s voice dropped to a growl, prickling his skin. “Tell that to the victims and their families. I’d reckon less than one percent of you bastards got a legit claim.”
The guard had forgotten betrayed, of which he surely had been. But he shrugged, not to agree, but to stave off the urge to wrap his hands around the guard’s throat. So close to freedom…
Whether he was innocent or not had no bearing; it had not been among the criteria for the help he’d received. Being wrongfully convicted qualified. According to the junior team that had embraced his cause when he’d written the letter, they agreed that’s what had happened in his case. Even if it took them ten years, he loved a system that allowed more loopholes than the cable-knit sweater Mother had dressed him in for school.
“Sell it to someone else, you psycho,” the guard snapped. “Bet you money. We’ll see you again real soon.”
A jagged smile crossed his face. The guard had part of it correct—but he’d never be back here. Next time, he’d be less gullible.
And he intended to snuff out anything that could hurt him, like the light of every other woman who hadn’t seen his worth.
Chapter One
Some days, it didn’t pay to get out of bed.
Sheriff Jax Turner had experienced more than his fair share of those mornings in the past six years. First, when his daughter Lulu died from leukemia. Then, when his marriage dissolved—more like shattered into a million pieces. Followed by a couple of cases that had tested his limits of trust. They’d destroyed some, too.
Today was different.
Abby Kanekoa, his ex-wife with whom he’d shared the gutting grief of those past years, had offered hope for reconciliation—the chance to glue a few of those pieces back together. It would never be the same without their little girl… but perhaps they could create something new.
Leaving for the mountains just after Labor Day was less than ideal. Though with the tourist season coming to an end in Misty Pines, and Abby due a vacation at the Bureau, it was the best time. Deputy Rachel Killian, his new hire and right hand, was turning out to be as capable as he’d hoped. Applicants for filling the gaps at their station had been sparse. Few, it seemed, wanted to work these days—or work at the often cool and foggy Oregon coast. He’d at least been able to get most of his young crew on full-time payroll, so Rachel had help.
Bottom line, getting away was Abby’s idea. He would not tell her no.
Now to get through the pep talk with the team. The two major events of the past year had allowed them to punch a few notches into their experience belt, but wisdom and reliance on gut instinct were born with time. Leaving them to run Misty Pines without his guidance had his muscles taut.
He entered the sheriff’s office with his duffle flung over his shoulder.
“Oh hon, don’t tell me that’s all you’re taking for the week?” Trudy said. Jax’s long-time secretary, and overall, Team Mother to him and his ragtag group of deputies, lifted the headset off her ears.
He suppressed a smile. “Glad to see your accident hasn’t made you any less opinionated.”
Eight months had passed since the event that had nearly stolen her from him and the team. A warm and fuzzy Trudy would be hard to get used to—he was grateful he didn’t have to learn.
Trudy rested the headset around her neck. “Looks like Abby hasn’t given you any clue about where you’re going.”
“Other than the mountains, not much. I’ve tossed a few essentials in my truck.”
“Like?”
“A good book and a board game.” He smiled. “A couple of bottles of wine.”
She arched her brow.
“What? I’m assuming she’s arranged for us to be at some luxury resort.”
“You think so?”
“Abby likes her massages, saunas, breakfast in bed.” Not to mention time basking on the deck with a steaming cup of coffee. For being a tough no-nonsense woman, and a hell of an FBI agent, she liked the finer things—and she’d earned every damn one of them.
“And what do you like?” Trudy asked.
He chuckled. Not much of what he’d just mentioned. “Roughing it.”
“Hmmm…and she arranged this for the two of you to reconnect?”
His smile faded; he dropped the bag at his feet. “Are we camping?”
Trudy laughed and shook her head. “When it comes to women, you do take a minute to catch up. Might I suggest a few more items?”
“Like a tent?” He’d have to dig it out of his garage, which wouldn’t take long.
“No. But a communication device might come in handy.”
“Abby said something about our phones being off for the week.” He shifted on his feet. “Are you saying we’re headed somewhere with no service?”
She returned to her desk in response.
Of course they were. Several interruptions to his and Abby’s conversations had come from the station over the past months. Too often, when they’d just settled into talk or were on the edge of a sensitive topic. Tourist season was like that every year with the random fender bender, a too-loud party on the beach, a drunken brawl at the pub. Some infraction demanding his attention.
Added to that, Brody had slid his motorcycle on wet pavement and nearly dislocated his shoulder in the spring. Garrett had a few interviews in Portland, one in Seattle. Matt was called in to stock shelves by his boss at the IGA grocery store when they were short staffed, which had become more consistent.
Time with Abby had been the price, although the last time they’d carved out a night together still brought a smile to his face. Maybe this trip signaled her intention of wanting more quality togetherness. That thought alone made having limited phone access worth it regardless of where they went, even as the uneasiness of being out of contact with his crew niggled at him.
He flung the bag back over his shoulder and headed to his office.
The click of claws on the linoleum sounded behind him.
“Boss.” Rachel and Koa, her black lab, came out of the kitchen. “You all set?”
“Almost. Picking Abby up soon for what appears might be a wilderness retreat.”
Rachel laughed. “Don’t look so concerned.”
“I’m not.”
“Uh-huh. That’s why you have a crease between your eyebrows.”
He rubbed the spot. “Guess I’m not fond of surprises.”
“Never have been myself, but I have a feeling you’ll have fun.”
“According to Trudy, I will. Hope Abby does.” It was sweet she’d chosen a place that appealed to him—more imperative if she enjoyed herself. She’d never been one to sleep on the ground.
“Believe me, she did good.”
“Take it you know where we’re headed?”
“Not precisely.”
“How about a hint of what you do know, so I’m better prepared?” Having spent far too much time in the dark, he preferred to be ahead of things these days.
She did a zipping motion in front of her mouth. “I get that it’ll be difficult for you, but try not to worry. The men and I have everything covered.”
He nodded. Letting go of the wheel would never be easy, and in law enforcement things could change quickly. But Rachel was solid, and he trusted her… despite his former partner Jameson not agreeing with him hiring his only daughter. Jax had made the right call; he stood by it. There should be no hesitation about him and Abby taking a week for themselves.
“You’ll get a hold of me if there’s a problem?” he said.
“You won’t have any way…”
“I’m taking the satellite phone.”
Rachel folded her arms over her chest. “Suppose that’s smart after the last trek in the wilderness…”
“Exactly my thought.”
Rachel pursed her lips, likely recalling that day when radio silence had left her and the team wrought with worry as they waited for word on whether Jax and Abby were alive. But Abby should understand his decision, if it came up. Probably better it didn’t.
“Let’s do a briefing before I head out,” he said.
Rachel winked. “The men are waiting for you in the strategy room.”
He chuckled. That’s why there’d been no sign of them when he’d arrived.
In his office, he set his duffle bag on a chair, and retrieved the satellite phone, burying it near the bottom in a T-shirt. Once he checked his email for the tenth time and cleared his desk, he started toward the meeting room, until he heard voices in the reception area.
Trudy was holding open the station’s door. The men were grabbing their gear about to file out, Rachel and Koa behind them.
“What’d I miss?” Jax said.
Koa turned at the sound of his voice, trotting to his side. Jax squatted next to her, draping his arm gently over her back.
“Nothing to worry about, boss,” Rachel said.
“Just a routine traffic revision, chief,” Brody said. “We’ve got it.” He’d gelled down his wispy brown hair today, making him look young. Too young.
“I’ve got forty minutes before…”
“Oh no you don’t, Jax Turner,” Trudy said. “It’s a half-hour drive to Abby, and you will not be late.”
Rachel lifted a brow at her black lab, who promptly returned to her side.
Fine. Jax stood. He’d wanted a team he could rely on, and he had one. So why did he feel left out? “Who’s in need of traffic revision anyway?”
“Fire department,” Trudy said.
“There’s an apartment complex on fire at the edge of town,” Rachel said.
Battalion Chief Mike O’Brien rarely requested assistance. With the remaining tourists eking out the last of their holiday weekend there could be a traffic log, he supposed.
“I’ll go with you,” Jax said.
Rachel held up her hands in a stop gesture. “Please. Get out of here and have a good time.”
Before he could protest, Rachel was out the door and Trudy shut it behind them. Through the glass, Jax watched his team slide into two of the patrol cars.
“You heard your deputy, hon. Get your stuff and head to Abby’s. And don’t come back until you and that saint of a woman have worked everything out.”
Trudy was right. He needed to check his ego. Misty Pines could handle a week without him.
A call came through Trudy’s headset which she tapped to answer. She settled behind her desk as he grabbed his bag, her voice fading as he walked outside.
“Yes, Mrs. Harper. Just a small fire. Nothing to worry about.”
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Author Bio
Eighteen years in the legal field, and an over-active imagination, led Mary Keliikoa to plot murder—novels that is. She is the author of the domestic thriller DON’T ASK, DON’T FOLLOW, the newly released KILLER TRACKS, the third book in the Misty Pines mystery series which is an IPPY Silver and Bronze Award winner, Silver Falchion finalist, and a Foreword Indies award finalist, and the Shamus and CLUE Finalist, and Lefty, Agatha and Anthony nominated “PI Kelly Pruett” mystery series. Her short stories have appeared in Woman’s World and the anthology Peace, Love and Crime.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for MURDER AT THE MOULIN ROUGE (A Blackwell & Watson Time-Travel Mysteries Book #5) by Carol Pouliot 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 Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Paris, 1895. When a cancan dancer at the Moulin Rouge falls to her death from the top of one of Montmartre’s highest staircases, the police dismiss it as an accident. But, Madeleine was one of Toulouse-Lautrec’s favorite models, and the artist is certain she was murdered. Enter Depression-era detective Steven Blackwell and 21st-century journalist Olivia Watson who travel back in time to Paris to hunt down the killer. Before long, they learn that a second dancer—a ballerina and favorite model of painter Edgar Degas—has died. Two dancers dead in two weeks. Two artists grieving. Is the killer targeting young dancers, or, does this case involve the enigmatic Paris art world?
From the moment Steven and Olivia arrive, Steven is out of his element. The small-town cop has no idea what techniques the French police use in 1895. Worse, he has no official status to investigate murder in one of the world’s largest cities. The sleuths soon discover disturbing secrets at the Paris Ballet. And when Olivia insists on going undercover to visit a suspect’s house alone, Steven fears he’s made the biggest mistake of his life.
Travel back in time with Steven and Olivia, as they enter the back-stabbing world of dance in one of the world’s greatest cities. Murder at the Moulin Rouge is their most daring and dangerous case to date.
Genre: Traditional Police Procedural with a Time-Travel Twist; Historical Mystery. Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 23, 2025 Number of Pages: 325
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
MURDER AT THE MOULIN ROUGE (A Blackwell & Watson Time-Travel Mystery) by Carol Pouliot is an intriguing historical mystery as well as a time-travel romance all intertwined with memorable protagonists. This is the fifth book in the series, and they keep getting better and more captivating with each story. I do recommend reading them in order, while the crime plots are completed in each book, the main protagonists, Steven and Olivia’s relationship continues to progress and evolve over the series.
Depression era detective Stephan Blackwell and 21st century journalist Olivia Watson are relaxing after their last adventure, when they are shocked by the appearance of Steven’s deceased artist mother as her younger self asking them to return with her to Paris in 1895 to help her friend, Henri Toulouse-Lautrec. One of his models, Madeleine, from the Moulin Rouge has been murdered, but the Paris detectives have called it an accident. Henri has set Stephen up with a detective friend from the Surete Nationale and the three set out to discover who killed Madeleine.
The sleuths discovered Madeleine started at the Paris Ballet but moved to the Moulin Rouge. They also discover another young ballerina died from poison just a few weeks before. Are the two cases connected? Stephen and Olivia are both trying to uncover a killer while trying to navigate a time where both are trying to fit in.
I always enjoy a trip through time as Olivia helps Stephan with his cases in 1934, but this book takes both to a completely new city and time period, Paris in 1895. The descriptions of the historical artists who inhabited the city at this time and the life of the fictional dancers pulled me in and I felt like I was there. The intricately plotted and paced crime mystery kept me turning the pages and I was very satisfied with the conclusion. The research is evident in the details of the city and inhabitants’ lives. Stephen and Olivia’s relationship continues to grow even with the difficulties of living in different moments in history. I always look forward to getting the next book in this series with its great mix of history, crime mystery, and romance.
I highly recommend this engaging historical mystery/time-travel romance in the Blackwell & Watson Time-Travel Mystery series.
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Excerpt
Chapter One
December 25, 1934
Knightsbridge, New York
“I need you to come to Paris.”
“You need what?” he asked.
Detective Steven Blackwell stared at the younger version of his mother standing in the room that had been her studio. Jaw dropped, eyes like saucers. He could barely speak.
“I need you—and your friend Olivia, if you like—to come to Paris. There’s been a murder and the police aren’t doing anything,” said Evangéline. “I thought I heard a voice a minute ago. Was that Olivia? Why don’t you get her? She’s probably wondering what’s going on.”
In a daze, and feeling like he had no control over his actions, Steven turned away from the vision of his mother and stumbled out into the hallway. He saw Olivia still waiting in the doorway at the end of the hall. Her hand flew to her chest, and she heaved a great sigh. “Oh, my God, you’re okay! What’s going on? I thought I heard voices. Is somebody here?” As he came closer, she noticed the look on his face. “What’s wrong? You look funny.”
“It’s my mother. My mother’s here.”
“What?”
“She looks as real as you do, but she’s young, around our age. She said she needs me to go to Paris. And you should come too.”
“What?” For one terrifying moment, Olivia wondered if a year of grieving had unhinged Steven’s mind. How could his mother be here? Evangéline Neuilly Blackwell died last January.
Steven repeated Evangéline’s instructions. “She said I should come get you.” He held out his hand. Olivia took it and stepped over the threshold into 1934.
They moved slowly down the hall then paused at the doorway to look at each other. Steven squeezed her hand. Olivia nodded. They both took a deep breath then entered Evangéline’s studio.
There in the shadowy room stood a beautiful woman, shoulder-length copper hair shining in the lamplight. She was slender, taller than average, and wore a stunning emerald dress, the kind French women wore to perfection. A wool coat with a fur collar had been thrown over the back of a chair. She held out her hand toward Olivia.
“Hello. I’m Evangéline Neuilly. I’m so happy to meet you.”
Olivia had always wanted to meet Steven’s exotic-sounding mother—a famous French artist—but that possibility had died along with Evangéline. Or so she had thought. Olivia told herself to close her mouth, which had fallen open, and shook the woman’s hand. “Olivia Watson.”
Evangéline looked at Steven. “I can tell you’re surprised to see me. I must not have told you about my ability to time travel. Surely, you wondered why you can? And if your father or I also had that ability?”
“Eh, no. Not really.”
Evangéline rolled her eyes and gave Olivia a look that said, Men, huh?
Olivia couldn’t help grinning.
“Well,” Evangéline opened her arms wide, “here’s the answer to your unasked question. You got it from me.”
Olivia recovered first. “So, Evangéline, you traveled here from…when?”
“1895. And I really need your help. Both of you.” She shook her head and waved her hand back and forth. “I know. I know. You have a lot of questions. Let’s go downstairs and have something to drink. I’ll tell you what has happened.”
They trouped down the stairs and into the living room.
“I know I must have lived in this house for some time and I assume I decorated this room….” Evangéline turned to Steven for confirmation.
“Yes, we lived here about twenty years or so before you….” He swallowed hard.
“Before I died,” she whispered, then patted his hand. “Pauvre chouchou. Poor sweetheart. I’m so sorry. But, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know when. Of course, I have an idea. But not the exact date.” She opened a door in the sideboard. “Bon! A bottle of red.” She handed the wine to Steven.
Still dazed, he opened it and poured a glass for each of them. Evangéline curled up in a leather chair. Steven and Olivia sat facing her on the couch.
His mother took a sip and pursed her lips. “Not bad. So, listen, we must act fast. A young girl has been killed but the police do nothing. They say it was an accident. We know it was not. I want you to find out who killed Madeleine Gervaise.”
His cop’s instincts kicked in, and Steven found himself intrigued. Who was Madeleine Gervaise? How did she die? Why do the police think it was an accident? And what was her connection to Evangéline?
Suddenly, Steven remembered something Sherlock Holmes once said: “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” And with that assurance, he snapped out of his stupor and accepted his mother’s bewildering appearance. He leaned forward.
“All right, let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I can and will go to Paris. Answer these questions.” He ticked them off his fingers. “Why do the police think it was an accident? How do you know it wasn’t? When did this happen?”
Evangéline placed her feet on the floor and mirrored him, ticking her answers off her fingers. Olivia almost laughed at the two of them. Talk about a chip off the old block, as her grandfather used to say. “She fell on one of the tall staircases in Montmartre. The police say she slipped on the ice. My friend Henri knows the human body and how it works. He says the…how do you say ‘marks of black and blue’?”
“Bruises,” Olivia chimed in. “We also say black-and-blue marks.”
“Ah! Bon. Henri says the bruises prove someone pushed her. It happened late Sunday night, early Monday morning. Today is already Wednesday. That is why we must move fast.”
Steven groaned, thinking of the days lost. “Is Henri a doctor?”
“No, an artist. But, believe me, Steven, he knows the body. If Henri says she was pushed, she was pushed.”
“So, again, if we were to do this, how would it work?”
“We must go with all speed. That means we must travel in Olivia’s time in one of those fast aeroplanes. That’s how I got here so quickly.”
“Wait, how do you know about Olivia?”
“Oh, mon Dieu, the questions! It is a long story but if it will help speed this up…last summer, I traveled to 1934, to America, with someone on business that had nothing to do with you or my future. When I was in New York City, I saw a photograph in a newspaper of the painting I’m working on right now. The article said a museum in Chicago had bought it and gave information about me, you, and your father. While my friend was completing his business, I had a couple of days to myself, so I took a train here and came to this house. Naturally, I was curious, so I came in and looked around. You really shouldn’t leave your doors unlocked, you know. Anyway, I saw the photograph of Olivia on your dresser. You have her name and the year 2014 written on the back. I realized you had inherited my ability to time travel and that Olivia also had the gift.” Evangéline blew out her cheeks. “Can we not return to the problem at hand now?”
Steven grinned. “Yeah, okay. You know, I always thought you learned English when you moved here with Dad. You speak really well.”
She rolled her eyes. “As you must know, my father is a professor of English at the Sorbonne. He taught me when I was a child.” She took a drink of her wine. “Now, to our problème…I went through the portal in Paris, from 1895 to Olivia’s time.”
“Why did you go into Olivia’s time?”
“If you keep interrupting me, we will never get anywhere. Just listen.” Evangéline took another drink of wine and went on. “Time is of the essence, as it’s already been almost three days. We must travel into 2014 and go to New York City as quickly as possible. Someone there will help us with what we need. Tomorrow night, we’ll fly to Paris. Once we’re there, we’ll travel back to 1895.”
“You make it sound easy. But I have so many questions,” Steven persisted. “How are we going to pay for all this? How do I get a passport fast enough to fly tomorrow? What about other things we might need?”
His mother tilted her head toward the ceiling and sighed. “You think I have come all this way without a plan? Before I left, Henri gave me a sketch. There’s a man in New York City—you will soon learn we have travel agents in cities all over the world who help us. This man in New York City, a place called Brooklyn, is selling the sketch for me, so we’ll have plenty of money. He’ll make a passport and other documents for you, Steven, just as someone in Paris made mine so I could come here.” Evangéline turned to Olivia. “Do you have a passport? Do you drive an automobile?”
“Yes. And I have a car.”
“Can you take us to New York City tomorrow morning so we can get Steven’s documents and the money to buy our tickets for the aeroplane? We must leave for Paris tomorrow night.”
“Sure. Listen, Evangéline, I’m sorry to hear about your friend Madeleine.”
“Thank you. She was lovely—a dancer and one of Henri’s favorite models. Such a waste.”
“Who is Henri? And why would anybody buy one of his sketches?”
“Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. I think he is well known in your time, Olivia.”
“Toulouse-Lautrec?” Olivia gasped. “He’s a friend of yours?”
“Yes, and he’s now your employer.”
Olivia’s jaw dropped.
Evangéline reached out toward Steven with her empty wineglass then settled back in the chair after he’d refilled it. “Now, let us talk about tomorrow. You must both pack a small bag. Steven, bring any tools or objects you will need to investigate. I don’t know what they might be, but that is most important. When we travel to my Paris in 1895, you can borrow clothes belonging to my friend Théo. He’s away on business right now. His wardrobe is filled with additional items—suits, shirts, collars, and so forth. There’s a cloak and hat as well. Olivia, we’re about the same size. I’m happy to share my clothes with you. I have plenty of skirts and dresses. I have an extra cloak, too. Just bring your personal things.”
Suddenly, Steven realized he had been given a gift. After a long, difficult year of grieving, he had the chance to spend time with the woman who would become his mother. How could he possibly say no?
“I’m sorry, but I have to interrupt again,” Steven said, grinning at Evangéline. “Before it gets too late, I need to call the chief to tell him a family emergency has come up and I need a few days off.” He stood and headed for the phone, then stopped. He turned around and walked back to Evangéline. “I know this is going to be weird for you. You don’t even know me yet. But I have missed you so much!” And he bent down and kissed his mother’s cheek.
***
Author Bio
A former language teacher and business owner, Carol Pouliot writes the acclaimed Blackwell and Watson Time-Travel Mysteries, traditional police procedurals with a seemingly impossible relationship between a Depression-era cop and a 21st-century journalist. With their fast pace and unexpected twists and turns, the books have earned praise from readers and mystery authors. Carol is a founding member of Sleuths and Sidekicks, 4 mystery writers who have banded together to share their love of mysteries, immediate Past President and Program Chair of her Sisters in Crime chapter, and Co-Chair of Murderous March, an online mystery conference. When not writing, Carol can be found packing her suitcase and reaching for her passport for her next travel adventure.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for HOME THIS CHRISTMAS by Sue Roberts on this Bookouture blog tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, the author’s bio, and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!
***
Book Description
Ruby hasn’t been back home since she made the heart-wrenching decision to leave her childhood sweetheart, Nathan, for a career in London. But when she’s invited to judge the charity gingerbread competition, she decides it’s time. And it seems there’s Christmas mischief at work. Because Nathan is joining her as a gingerbread judge.
But it’s clear he would rather she’d stayed away, from his icy silence when they are alone, to the snarky comments and his accusing glare as they prepare for the event with other members of the community. And all Ruby wants to do is get back to London.
Then bad weather leaves her snowed in the village until after Christmas, with nowhere to stay. And things go from bad to worse when she slips on the ice… And falls straight into the arms of Nathan.
The pain of her injured ankle is nothing when, her heart aflutter, Nathan surprises her. As he scoops her up and sweeps her off to the hospital, it seems like the frost between them is finally thawing. But could the magic of Christmas mean a second chance is possible? Or is it too little too late?
HOME THIS CHRISTMAS by Sue Roberts is a heartwarming Christmas women’s fiction/second chance romance mash-up featuring a young woman named Ruby who left her small village and first love behind to chase her dreams of success in London. Now she has attained many of her dreams, a beautiful flat in London and successful career as a food and restaurant critic and another Christmas is just around the corner.
Ruby is happy with her London life, but she is just out of a relationship and at loose ends. She has made plans with her girlfriend for Christmas but then receives a note from her hometown to be a judge for the charity gingerbread competition. She decides to accept and be in and out of the village in one day. When she shows up at the competition, she is surprised to discover her first love, Nathan, is the other judge.
Nathan is even more handsome than Ruby remembered, and she is surprised that their attraction is still strong. As Ruby gets involved in village affairs and makes new friends, she ends up staying longer and the attraction between them only grows. Ruby is afraid that she will have to leave Nathan behind again or can this second chance at romance be strong enough to keep her in the village?
This is an enchanting holiday read. The first half of the story is more focused on Ruby and her career and life in London, while the second half has her in her old hometown and the second chance romance begins to bloom with Nathan. The romance plot is sweet, charming, and believable. We get to see the village through Ruby’s eyes from her memories of her youth and how things have changed in the present. Ms. Roberts does a wonderful job of making the village and all its Christmas activities come to life on the page. This is a wonderful story to escape into over the holidays.
I recommend this delightful holiday HEA genre mash-up.
***
Author Bio
Sue Roberts lives in Lancashire with her long term partner Derek and has had a lifelong love of writing, encouraged by winning a school writing competition at the age of 11.
She always assumed that ‘one day’ she would write a book, always having a busy household and a job, the idea remained firmly on the back burner but never forgotten.
The inspiration for her first novel came to her on a holiday to a Greek village. Her daughters had left home and suddenly the time had come to write that book!
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for CRIME WRITER by Vinnie Hansen on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my mini book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!
***
Book Description
In the peaceful California coast city of Playa Maria, CRIME WRITER ZOEY KOZINSKI joins a local police officer for a ride-along in hopes of breaking through her writer’s block. But during a routine traffic stop, the cop is shot, the victim of a brutal homicide.
Zoey realizes she is the only witness and the number one target on the killer’s hit list. PTSD kicks in, sending her into a tailspin. It doesn’t help that she lives on an illegal cannabis farm and that her estranged mother has just arrived. Even the police officer’s widow points a finger at the writer, claiming she was a distraction, and the police department knew it.
Lurking on the fringes is a man who stopped briefly at the crime. Good Samaritan or sinister suspect? For her safety, Zoey needs to find out.
Genre: Suspense Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 9, 2025 (ebook) Number of Pages: 266 (paperback) ISBN: 979-8-89820-027-5 (paperback)
***
My Mini Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
CRIME WRITER by Vinnie Hansen is an immersive crime thriller where the reader knows who the killer is and what he is doing to cover his tracks, but the interest, twists, and action are all centered around the protagonist, a crime writer and musician named Zoey Kozinski.
The red-headed and feisty Zoey witnesses the murder of the police officer she is doing a ride-along with during a routine traffic stop. The killer knows there is a witness and the drug trafficker he works for tells him he must eliminate her. With PTSD from the incident, the arrival of her estranged mother she has been hiding from, the cop’s widow who blames Zoey and wants revenge, and a man who appeared at the scene of the crime and keeps popping up in her life, Zoey needs to unravel what is happening and who to trust before she ends up dead.
This story starts out appearing to be very straight forward, but the more you learn, the more twisted and anxiety inducing the story becomes. Zoey is interesting and Ms. Hansen’s writing brings her to life with all her problems. The ending was not what I was expecting, but it is satisfying. For me, this was an interesting change in perspective from the usual crime thriller/police procedural mystery.
***
Excerpt
One
Day 1 – early evening
Heat from the Mobile Data Transmitter radiated onto Zoey Kozinski’s arm. The interior of the patrol car cooked, muggy and close. September brought the hottest weather to the central coast of California, anxiety about fires flaring as the oak leaves curled and undergrowth crisped. Thankfully, Officer Austin kept the windows of the patrol car open even as the sun started to set.
“Must be boiling with your vest.”
“Better to sweat than bleed.” Austin’s profile was sharp angles, pointed nose, strong chin.
“How much does that thing weigh?” Zoey already knew, but the officer didn’t seem talkative. She needed to crack the façade and dig out some grist to apply to Officer Horne, the character in her book. Her stalled, barely-started book.
“Six pounds.”
Officer Austin rolled along Scenic Drive, a main thoroughfare through Playa Maria County. Zoey wished they could listen to music, something to go with driving on a sultry evening, maybe Ella Fitzgerald’s “Summertime.” Instead, the police radio spat information, filling awkward silence. Zoey jotted down that a list of stolen cars was tucked on the left side of his dash. She’d chosen a night shift, hoping for a modicum of action but nothing on the radio stirred Austin’s interest.
“How do you feel about ride-alongs?” She flipped her legal pad and the printed-out opening pages of her manuscript winged to the floor. All two of them. A whopping three hundred ten words. She bent down to retrieve them.
“It’s part of our Community Policing.” Austin kept his focus forward. “To increase civilian awareness of what police work entails.”
She didn’t bother to write down the canned response.
Austin must be a rookie to receive the crappy assignment of hauling a ride-along, but he didn’t look like one. Silver highlighted his short hair. Older than her fictional Officer Horne. Her protagonist Horne should be young, freshly free of his training wheels, a more credible character to rush toward a terrible mistake after witnessing the shooting of a fellow officer.
In the margin of the legal pad, she scribbled: A hot-head. Temper=hubris. Too eager to prove himself?
Then she wrote Stan and put a question mark after it. The name of the murdered officer in her manuscript had appeared in a magician’s puff of smoke, typed by her fingers before she was conscious of a choice. Not a common name for guys of her generation, the lost kids born between Generation X and the Millennials. The name had merit—easy to pronounce, but not overly used. Why had it popped into her head?
She slipped her pen through her tangle of red hair and scratched her scalp.
Austin shot her a glance, maybe thinking she didn’t know she was using the ink end.
“Writing off the top of your head?”
She smiled slightly. Witty for a police officer.
He quirked a brow. “Making headlines?” His tone was dry. No smile. Was he being funny or busting her balls?
Zoey tapped the legal pad. Her next question wasn’t on it, but Austin’s age and his quips begged for it.
“What did you do before becoming a law enforcement officer?”
Long fingers curled around the wheel, maneuvering the vehicle through the rush-hour clog of Scenic Drive. He scanned the lanes of traffic and sidewalks long enough that she thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“I was a teacher.”
“Really?” Her voice squeaked with unveiled surprise. Heat rose up her face. With her coloring, there was no playing off a blush. When she was a kid, her Grosse Pointe classmates had pinned her with the nickname Tomato.
“High-school history.” In the parking lot, he’d offered a firm handshake and introduced himself formally as Officer Austin, although he’d added with a trace of humor ‘at your service.’ Over six-feet with ropy muscles, he was a bit old for her, maybe forty-five, but a hottie, nonetheless.
“That’s a strange career trajectory.”
“Not really. In both jobs you deal with a lot of young punks.”
As part of the outreach program, he probably was not supposed to refer to members of the community as punks. She was making progress.
“In policing I bet you have more flexibility about how you deal with punks?”
His lip curled, but he didn’t respond.
“So why the career move?”
“In teaching, the more you work, the less you’re paid,” he said. “Police work offers time-and-a-half for overtime. Ten-hour shifts and four-day work weeks. More money and time for my family.”
“Kids?”
“Three.”
She felt a twinge of disappointment. Her sex life had been reduced to her Magic Wand, and Austin wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so a bit of fantasy had slipped under her normally guarded door. Since she didn’t want a relationship, a hot cop could be the ticket. Married killed that idea.
And three kids! With the world’s exploding population and global climate change, that was self-indulgent. One of her least favorite character flaws—in reality. In fiction, it was a great character flaw.
“My wife’s the one who should have made the career move to cop,” Austin volunteered. “She’s a tiger. Can outshoot me.” He shook his head in admiration.
Another twinge. She had a serious weakness for men who complimented women in absentia.
Zoey touched the cool metal of the AR15 propped in front of the passenger seat. “This is some serious fire power.”
The creases in his uniform lifted infinitesimally, a hint of a shrug. “You should see what they have on the street.”
She ran her finger down her list of questions. Nothing so far had gotten the juices flowing. “What kind of handgun do you carry?”
“Smith & Wesson. Officers with more seniority get Berettas. The most senior officers have Glocks.” Jealousy tinged his voice. “But if you want a better gun, you can buy one. I’m looking at a Glock.”
The crackling voice of dispatch relayed a report of a middle-aged black male dealing drugs in Playa Maria Park.
Austin swung off Scenic onto a street that cut along the seedier edge of downtown, where the homeless population dwarfed the number of university students. He slowed at the park.
Dusk had sifted into darkness, but streetlights illuminated the perimeter of the grass. Young men played basketball in a well-lit court. A lone man leaning against a light pole straightened at the cruiser’s arrival. Austin put the windows up, parked the car, and plucked a wood baton from the base of his door. “Remain in the vehicle.”
Another patrolman rolled up and joined him. She noted details. Suspect’s dreadlocks glisten in bluish light. Tan pants bag around skinny legs.
Austin questioned the man, while the other officer patted him down and dipped into the pockets of his army-fatigue jacket. With the window closed, Zoey sweated.
In the end, the man bumped away and swaggered toward the basketball court.
Talking together, the officers watched him, then turned in the direction of the vehicle. Austin nodded. The other man laughed. They were talking about her. The inside of the cruiser steamed like a sauna. Austin was letting her marinate in a patina of sweat.
Zoey opened the passenger door, which prompted Austin to step toward the cruiser. Before he plopped into his seat, he thunked his baton into its spot.
“I asked the suspect if we could search him and he said no,” he started before Zoey even asked. “But he has a Search Clause.” Austin cleaned his hands with foam sanitizer. “That’s a bargain he made for probation. He relinquished his right to probable cause.”
She scribbled the information. This was good stuff, strengthening her knowledge of the law.
“But you didn’t find anything?”
“Maybe he sold out.”
Dry humor. Deadpan delivery. Her favorite. To curtail a blush, she cast her eyes to the pocket of his door.
“Don’t most officers these days carry whip-batons?”
He gave her a look.
Amazing eyes—way greener than her own. He yanked the baton from its spot and held it across his lap, the top grazing her thigh.
Phallic symbol, for sure. The air inside the car shifted subtly.
“See all those nicks?” he said. “My T.O. gave this to me, said the riff-raff on the street notice the dents. They’re mostly from getting in and out of the car, but hey,” he returned the baton to the door pocket, “they don’t know that.”
He gave his hand a second squirt of the sanitizer. “I tell you one part of this job I don’t like. The grime. You’d have to get up close to appreciate how much that guy . . . how grubby he was.” Austin started the car. “Tell you the truth, I’m more afraid of an accidental needle poke than a gunshot.”
“Was he dealing?”
“I imagine.” Austin put down the windows. Fresh air rushed into the compartment. “He doesn’t have any other means of income.”
The radio called Austin to roust a panhandler near the entrance to the freeway. Civilian complaint. Austin zoomed back up to Scenic. At the intersection before the freeway entrance, he stopped at a red light with the rest of the traffic. The girl panhandling on the median spotted the cruiser, folded her sign, and meandered down the sidewalk.
Austin turned and rolled along the street across from the girl. In spite of a curvaceous figure packed into tight jeans, with her wavy brown hair hitched into pigtails she looked all of fifteen. The girl ignored them.
Zoey twisted toward Austin. “Are you going to stop?”
“She’s not doing anything illegal now. She didn’t even jaywalk.” He sped up. “We got her off the median.”
“Yup. Sure did.” He knew, and she knew, that as soon as they were out of sight, the girl would return to her spot.
How do they negotiate spots? She wrote. First come, first served?
If she asked Austin about the girl—did he know her—what was her story—she sensed he’d blow off the questions. The police department had picked the wrong officer to give ride-alongs. Austin lacked a gregarious, empathetic personality.
Zoey tried to unpack how she’d arrived at this conclusion. Maybe because he’d chosen policing over teaching. Police work had to be more frustrating than high school teaching, certainly less rewarding.
***
Author Bio
A Claymore and Silver Falchion finalist, Vinnie Hansen is the author of the Carol Sabala mystery series, the novels LOSTART STREET, ONE GUN, and CRIME WRITER, as well as over seventy published short works.
She is a member of Mystery Writers of American, Sisters in Crime, and the Short Mystery Fiction Society. A retired high-school English teacher, she lives with her husband and the requisite cat in Santa Cruz, CA.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for MURDER AT THE WEDDING (Modern Midwife Mysteries Book #1) by Christine Knapp 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 Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!
***
Book Description
Birth, death, mayhem, and murder…..
Maeve O’Reilly Kensington loves her job as a nurse-midwife at Creighton Memorial Hospital in the quintessential New England seaside town of Langford. Nothing could bring her more pleasure than helping women usher new life into the world… except possibly having a child of her own with her husband, Will. In the meantime, she’s happy to celebrate the families of those she treats, and content to support her husband in his newly formed catering business.
However when Creighton Memorial’s Chief Obstetrician suddenly drops dead at his daughter’s extravagant wedding reception, catered by Will, Maeve’s two worlds collide in the worst possible way. Suddenly murder is on the menu, and Maeve is desperate to help her husband and find out who killed the doctor.
With the help of her wealthy, acerbic sister Meg and quick-witted Boston Irish mother, Maeve sets out to solve a murder and clear her husband’s name. Can she stay one step ahead of the killer? Or will they strike again… this time closer to home?
Genre: Cozy Mystery Published by: Gemma Halliday Publishing Publication Date: June 10, 2022 Number of Pages: 249 ISBN: 9798835432134 (pbk) Series: Modern Midwife Mystery Series, Book 1
***
My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
MURDER AT THE WEDDING (Modern Midwife Mysteries Book #1) by Christine Knapp is an exciting and intricately plotted start to a new cozy mystery series featuring a nurse-midwife who becomes involved in a murder investigation with her family and friends. This new to me author pulled me into the story, and I was so involved with the clues, crimes, and the entire cast of characters that I read this book completely in one sitting.
Maeve O’Reilly Kensington is a midwife at a New England hospital. She loves her work, her husband, and her family. The head of her OB department’s daughter is getting married, and her husband’s new catering company is handling the reception. Suddenly, the father of the bride collapses and dies after giving his toast to the newlyweds. It was not natural causes.
Maeve is determined to help her husband prove his company or employees were not responsible, and she also wants to find out who killed the doctor. Her police detective brother tells her to stay out of the investigation, but Maeve and her sister Meg are determined to get to the truth. Can she discover the killer before the killer decides she knows too much?
This is a wonderful read with fully developed characters and a perfectly paced cozy mystery plot. Maeve and her family are realistically written with the foibles of any large loving family. Maeve’s family is contrasted well by her rich and snobby in-laws and their family who wish Will would enter the family investment company rather than be a caterer. Maeve’s profession as a midwife is intertwined throughout the story with many different situations she encounters, both emotionally difficult and easy, and all are described with medical details. This is just one of those stories you begin to read, and you become immediately immersed in the characters and plot. I love it when that happens.
I highly recommend this new cozy mystery and cannot wait for the next in the Modern Midwife Mysteries series!
***
Excerpt
The parking lot at St. Andrew’s Episcopal was filled almost to capacity. Despite a recent visit to the car wash, my Jeep looked out of place next to all the Mercedes, BMWs, Range Rovers, Jaguars, and Porsches.
I took out and quickly scanned the engraved linen cream invitation. It read:
Matrimonial Ceremony of
Charlotte Alexis Whitaker
and
Brooks James Hawthorne IV
St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church
Langford, Massachusetts
Saturday, the eighth of June, at two o’clock in the afternoon
As I approached the massive church, I saw all the pink plantings and railings wrapped in white tulle with pink peonies at precise intervals. It was a floral tour de force that must have taken an army of gardeners and florists a few days to accomplish. Inside there were pink roses, peonies, and hydrangeas everywhere. The scene was right out of InStyle Magazine. I wondered, were there any pink flowers left on the East Coast? On the West Coast?
As I squeezed into the last row, a large choir serenaded the full house in the loft above the congregation.
The choir began to sing “My Spirit Sang All Day” as Mrs. Whitaker, resplendent in a strapless, rose silk Carolina Herrera with a vibrant pink cabbage rose behind one ear and a necklace of marble-sized, green South Sea pearls, was ushered to the left front pew. Really? Strapless for the mother of the bride? Well, she does look amazing.
A hush fell over the crowd. The stained-glass doors closed, and the groom and his men filed to the altar.
Did one have to be six feet two, gorgeous, and ripped to be in this wedding party?
As the first strands of Wagner filled the air, the doors opened, and down the aisle came Anastasia Bleeker. She was one of the bride’s four-year-old charges at Miss Bloomfield’s School, where wealthy, pregnant women enrolled their offspring-to-be to claim a coveted spot. Anastasia was wearing a white tulle fairy-tale gown with a dark rose-colored sash. A circle of petite, light pink roses and baby’s breath crowned her chin length, straight, white-blonde hair. She carried a small, white wicker basket in one hand, and with the other, she started to drop pale pink rose petals down the long aisle.
Channeling Lady Di, I thought.
Next came the ring bearer, Barrington Cabot. He was another nursery school trust-fund-baby-in-the-making in white linen shorts and jacket and a head of black, curly hair. Then six breathtaking models, or rather bridesmaids, dressed in rose-colored tulle skirts and pale pink lace wrap blouses, floated down the aisle carrying white and pink hydrangeas wrapped in rose-colored ribbons. They looked like an upscale version of an ad for the United Colors of Benetton.
After a slight pause, the stained-glass doors parted again, and Dr. Whitaker appeared in his morning suit, standing at Charlotte’s right side. She was breathtaking in a Vera Wang white silk ball gown glittering with thousands of tiny seed pearls. A deep rose satin ribbon wrapped around her bouquet of white peonies. Her Belgian lace veil trailed behind her down the aisle.
The ceremony went on amid candlelight, roses, and organ music. It was like being in a dream, albeit a very, very expensive dream.
Finally, vows were exchanged, there were no objections, and Charlotte and Brooks were off to the photo-taking session in a vintage, white Bentley. As they left, the guests milled about outside the church for a bit and then headed to the reception.
Evelyn Greyson, the sixtyish director of Obstetric Nursing, stood at the top of the church stairs as I exited. She was dressed in a powder blue suit with a short jacket with peplum and knee-length, fitted skirt. A pearl necklace, her ever-present pearl brooch, and small pearl stud earrings completed the look. Her graying hair was, as usual, in her trademark chignon.
“Beautiful wedding,” I said.
“Magnificent,” Evelyn replied. “Dr. Whitaker wouldn’t have it any other way. See you at the reception, dear.” And then she strode off to her car.
Evelyn always agreed with everything Dr. Whitaker said and did. She worshipped him. Did she also have an unrequited crush on him?
I quickly greeted a few colleagues but didn’t linger because I wanted to see how Will was doing.
The Country Club was buzzing with activity when I drove through the porte cochère, pulled up to the main entrance, and handed my keys to a valet. The grand foyer was glittering with hundreds of candles and still more massive floral arrangements in blush pink. A string quartet played Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” beside the grand staircase.
Out on the veranda, the wedding party was taking pictures before an expanse of green lawn and brilliant blue sky and sea. It would be a wedding album worthy of its own issue of Town & Country.
Large silver serving trays were circulated among the guests, offering tiny crab cakes topped with dill aioli, mini beef Wellingtons, smoked salmon pinwheels, and tomato and goat cheese on toast points. There were massive silver bowls of fresh shrimp on ice on round marble tables.
“Maeve! Maeve! Over here!” one of the midwives called. Looking around the ballroom, which held table settings for six hundred guests, I saw that the Creighton Memorial staff was on the right side of the room while family and friends were on the left. I waved to the midwives but walked over to the table where Grand, Will’s grandmother, was sitting with Will’s parents, Will’s sister, Eloise, her husband, Taylor, and Will’s younger brother, Teddy.
“Hello, Maeve.” William stood and extended his hand. Never a hug, never a kiss on the cheek, just a handshake.
“Hello, so nice to see you all,” I replied, shaking his hand as I nodded to the table. I saw that Lydia, my mother-in-law, was outfitted in a mint green silk cocktail dress with a large diamond necklace and matching drop earrings. She tilted her head toward me and smiled but said nothing.
“The Country Club is such a perfect wedding venue,” I offered.
“Quite lovely,” she replied.
“You look beautiful, Maeve,” Grand said.
“Thanks, Grand.”
“Sweet dress,” Lydia said.
Sweet dress? What, am I five years old? Lydia was a master of the backhanded compliment, and she was not my biggest fan. Keep it together, Maeve.
Eloise was in a sleeveless, pale green and cream striped dress with an emerald and diamond pendant and earrings. Like mother, like daughter.
“Well,” I said, “enjoy the meal. Will has been creating a masterpiece.” I saw William’s and Lydia’s smiles tighten. They did not respond. They were not pleased with Will’s chosen profession.
“I can’t wait,” Grand said.
I gave a little wave and headed over to find my table.
Scanning the room, I saw my sister, Meg, cross her eyes and raise her wine glass in a mock salute. Meg was the Langford real estate agent of choice for the wealthy and had been invited along with other top business leaders of the town. She knew I had just navigated a minefield with my emotionally distant in-laws. As soon as I reached my table, I quickly sat down and took a long drink of chardonnay.
Herend Chinese Bouquet china in pink, Gorham Newport Scroll sterling, and Baccarat crystal decorated each setting.
My gosh, they’ll have to pat everyone down before they leave.
Murray Alfond, the famed orchestra leader, turned on his mic and said, “Please be seated while the bridal party arrives.”
There was sustained applause as Charlotte and Brooks triumphantly paraded into the ballroom. “The bride and groom will dance to a classic personally chosen by Brooks,” Alfond announced.
“The Very Thought of You” wafted through the room as Charlotte and Brooks took to the floor. They obviously had attended many ballroom dancing classes in preparation for this moment, and they danced impeccably.
Then the entire wedding party sashayed to “Fly Me to the Moon.” It was like watching La La Land. They were all perfectly coiffed, dressed, and ready for filming. Plus, they could dance.
When they were done and returned to their seats, Alfond intoned, “Please bow your heads while Reverend Lucas Mathers says grace.”
The Episcopal pastor of St. Andrew’s, Reverend Mathers, was slightly rotund with flushed pink cheeks. He ran his hand through receding black hair, obviously feeling the weight of this moment. Then he bowed his head.
“Dear Holy Father, thank you for this glorious day! What a wonderful celebration! We ask you to bless Charlotte and Brooks, as well as their families and friends, and we beseech you to grant this special couple a life together that is happy and blessed. We further ask you to bless this fabulous repast and grant your blessings on all present. Amen.”
Gee, that was short. He must be hungry.
A phalanx of waiters served the first course of spring green and white asparagus spears with shaved red onion. As we started in on the delicate vegetables, the best man, Ry Farmington, took the microphone and asked all to raise their glasses in a toast to the couple.
“Brooks has been like a brother to me since our first day at Hollis in Harvard Yard. We’ve seen many adventures together—none of which, out of respect for your patience and his reputation, I will go into here.”
He paused for applause and a few knowing hoots.
“In the words of the Bard,
No sooner met but they looked;
No sooner looked but they loved;
No sooner loved but they sighed;
No sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason;
No sooner knew the reason, but they sought the remedy;
And in these degrees have made a pair of stairs to marriage
Please rise and toast to their lives together.”
Six hundred guests rose and toasted the couple.
Then came truffle-scented tenderloin with dauphinoise potatoes and tender baby carrots. I snuck a look first at the Whitaker table and then at William and Lydia. They all seemed to be enjoying the meal, and I prayed that all the reviews would be excellent.
For dessert, a chocolate mousse with a crème brûlée center was placed at each setting. I knew the wedding cake would be cut and served later.
Just then, the wait staff re-entered the room. They set a Baccarat champagne flute filled with pink champagne at each place. A hush came over the ballroom. Dr. Whitaker was standing at the head table, staring the crowd into silence. Then he picked up his glass and smiled adoringly at Charlotte.
Everyone listened as he gave a long, loving toast to his daughter. Finally, he took a moment to gather his thoughts before saying, “Charlotte, your mother and I found this magnificent champagne in France a few years ago and had it shipped in for your wedding.”
Mrs. Whitaker stared at Dr. Whitaker with a huge Miss America smile.
Dr. Whitaker continued, “Would everyone please rise and toast my lovely daughter Charlotte and her husband, Brooks.” He lifted his crystal flute to his lips and took a sip while beaming at Charlotte.
Immediately, his cheeks turned scarlet, and he started to wheeze. The crystal dropped from his hand and shattered on the ground. He clutched at his throat while making extensive gasping attempts to pull in a breath. Then he went limp and collapsed to the floor. The room erupted into pandemonium.
***
Author Bio
Christine Knapp practiced as a nurse-midwife for many years. A writer of texts and journal articles, she is now thrilled to combine her love of midwifery and mysteries as the author of the Modern Midwife Mysteries. Christine currently narrates books for the visually and print impaired. A dog lover, she lives near Boston.
