Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Mini Book Review for THE FRIENDSHIP LIST by Beth Miller on this Bookouture Books-On-Tour blog tour.
Below you will find by book description, my mini book review, the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Wiping away her tears, Kay looks at her old photos, of friends who have come and gone through life’s big moments. But then there’s Rose, her one constant through everything. Now Rose is missing. Does the key to finding her lie in their past?
It should have been the happiest day of Kay’s life. Getting married with her best friend and maid of honour, Rose at her side. But then Rose messages Kay moments before the ceremony, I’m so sorry. I can’t do this. Please don’t look for me. Kay is heartbroken. What could have possibly driven Rose to leave?
Kay doesn’t know a life without Rose in it. They’ve stuck together through thick and thin; getting each other through tough break-ups, the rollercoaster of children and losing Kay’s beloved mum.
Searching through a lifetime of belongings, desperate for clues, Kay finds a box of old photos. As she looks at pictures of them dancing with their friends from years ago, she suddenly wonders whether the key to finding Rose lies in their past. Writing down a list of long-lost friendships, Kay feels certain one of them will know what happened to Rose.
But as Kay begins to uncover a lifetime of memories to help her find her friend, will she also find herself?
THE FRIENDSHIP LIST by Beth Miller is a women’s fiction story about a woman’s search through her long-term friendships and the choices she made throughout her life to keep them or let them go. While the concept had me interested in reading this standalone novel, it turned out to be a mediocre read for me.
Kay is the protagonist the reader follows from her best friend, not showing up for her second wedding through the many years of their friendship to a twist of an ending. For the first few chapters, I had a difficult time liking Kay, from her reactions to Rose not attending her wedding and subsequently being told by Rose not to contact her again. As she goes back through their friendship, there are moments I could relate to in my own friendships over time which kept me reading, but I found it mundane until the revelations regarding her new husband. I was hoping for more, but these characters did not deliver for me.
It is a book that many could relate to regarding long-term friendships, and I liked that it had mature characters. It was written well, but it just did not have the “fall into the story and be swept away” quality for me.
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Author Bio
Beth Miller is the author of four novels, including The Two Hearts of Eliza Bloom and the bestselling The Missing Letters of Mrs Bright. She has also written two non-fiction titles, including For the Love of The Archers. She has worked as a sexual health trainer, a journalist and a psychology lecturer and is now a book coach and creative writing teacher. Beth has a PhD in Psychology, and an advanced diploma in tea-drinking.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SHADOWED WITNESS (The Secrets of Kincaid Book #2) by Angela Carlisle on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, and excerpt from the book, and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
A haunting attack. A killer in the shadows. A protective love.
Murder–that’s what photographer Allye Jessup knows she witnessed as she departed her studio one evening. Waking with bruises on her neck and a foggy memory, she believes she survived an attack, but everyone seems to think she simply sustained a head injury from falling down the stairs outside her studio. Plagued by an undiagnosed health condition, she is torn between the haunting reality of what she may have seen and the possibility that her mind is playing tricks on her.
Without proof the other victim ever existed, Detective Eric Thornton can hardly declare the area a murder scene. Still, he adds Allye’s report to his already full caseload. But when new evidence surfaces to support her claims, Eric must stay one step ahead of a ruthless killer and uncover the truth before the suspect closes in on Allye again.
Genre: Romantic Suspense Published by: Bethany House Publishers Publication Date: July 1, 2025 Number of Pages: 336 ISBN: 9780764242519 (ISBN10: 0764242512) Series: The Secrets of Kincaid, Book 2 (Amazon | Goodreads)
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
SHADOWED WITNESS (The Secrets of Kincaid Book #2) by Angela Carlisle is a fast-paced Christian romantic suspense featuring a female protagonist who does not know if she can believe what she remembers about a murder she witnessed, or did she? This is the second book in the Secrets of Kincaid series, and it can easily be read as a standalone book.
Photographer Allye Jessup has always been a little clumsy, but lately she has had mysterious symptoms that are severely affecting her daily life. As she waits for further testing, she is leaving her office one night and believes she hears something behind her building. She gets off a scream before she is choked into unconsciousness, but when she wakes up, the mayor who finds her believes she just fell down her office stairs and knocked herself out. When she is attacked in her home, the story is so strange that even her friend, one of the town’s detectives, is having trouble believing her.
Detective Eric Thornton wants to believe Allye, but there is no proof at either scene and he is consumed with other cases. When a body surfaces in a shallow grave in the park, it appears to have evidence that proves Allye’s story. Could Allye have seen more than she knows and really be in danger?
This is a page turner full of suspense and unknowns. Allye is dealing with mysterious health issues and does not want her family to worry, so she is bearing the burden alone until she is diagnosed, but it also puts her in even more danger. Eric has his own problems not only with his workload, but with family trauma while growing up. Even with all their personal problems, they feel an attraction and the threats to Allye make Eric more protective. This is a Christian romantic suspense and with Allye’s health issues there are no sex scenes. The suspense is constant and kept me turning the pages. I only guessed part of the crime plot conclusion and the solution to Allye’s health problems was a surprise until it was suggested as a cause.
I recommend this second Christian romantic suspense in this series and look forward to more.
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Excerpt
1
LIGHTS? CHECK.
Camera? Check.
Three bags and a purse? Check.
Allye Jessup looped all four sets of straps over her left shoulder and stepped out of her small second- story photography studio into a warm autumn evening. The sun had just set, but it was still light enough that the dusk- to- dawn light above the landing hadn’t kicked on yet. That wouldn’t last long, especially with the fog already beginning to move in.
Tightly gripping the rail, she started down the metal stairs. She didn’t need another fall, and the way her equilibrium had been off lately, she wasn’t taking any chances. When she was nearly at the bottom, a dull thud sounded from behind the building. Someone stifled a cry. Another thud.
What in the world? Allye hurried down the last few stairs and toward the noise. She slowed before she reached the corner. Fished in her pocket for her phone. She groaned silently. Not there. No telling which bag she’d stuffed it into. Or if she’d left it in her studio. Wouldn’t be the first time.
As she edged toward the back of the building, she heard a louder ka- thump as if something heavy had fallen. The sounds changed to a muted, almost rhythmic thumping. She reached the corner and peered around.
Two men. One standing back in the shadows, watching. The second man delivered another savage kick to something— no, someone— unmoving on the ground. The blow left the fallen man’s head tilted at an unnatural angle. Allye sucked in a breath.
The attacker swung around, chest heaving. Looked her straight in the eyes.
No. Allye pushed off the building and ran, bags flopping against her back and side. Pursuing footfalls pounded the gravel behind her. She didn’t dare look back. She had to get out into the open. Had to—
A heavy weight plowed into her back. She screamed. Tried to catch herself as she went down in a tangle of bags. Pain shot through her knees and wrists, but she pushed herself up. Turned to fight.
Her attacker shoved her against the side of the building. The back of her head bounced against the wall.
She screamed again. A rough hand closed around her throat, cutting off her cry and pinning her against the rough brick. Her hands flew to his, but his grip was like steel. Too tight for another scream. Just loose enough to allow her the slightest bit of oxygen.
“What do we have here?” He studied her, ignoring her strug- gles. He touched her hair, letting a curl wind around his finger, then slide off. His lips curved in a predatory grin. “Pretty little thing, aren’t you?”
A new wave of fear skittered up her spine. She kicked, and the tip of her shoe connected solidly with his shin. He slapped her, then shifted his hold on her throat, lifting so her toes barely touched the ground. Rage glittered in his eyes.
And he started to squeeze.
She clawed at his fingers, his arm. He snatched both her hands in his free one with a grip that threatened to snap her wrists. Her vision darkened, punctuated by pinpricks of light. She tried to kick again, but he was too close and her strength was fading.
Someone shouted— the words garbled by the rushing in her ears. Hope flared.
Her attacker looked to the side, but the force of his grip didn’t diminish.
Lungs feeling ready to burst, she jerked one last time against his hold. He didn’t budge. The glimmer of hope faded.
Allye succumbed to the darkness.
“ALLYE. ALLYE!” A voice penetrated the smothering black hole of unconsciousness. Someone gripped her shoulders and gently shook her. “Are you okay?”
Allye groaned, and her throat rebelled against the sound. Pain. The attack. Panic flooded in.
She clawed her way to the light, ready to fight for her life. But rather than cooperating with her brain, her eyelids fluttered, and her body declined to move at all.
“Allye?” The voice came again, and this time she recognized it. Mayor Jennings. Not the attacker.
The edge of her panic eased. She concentrated her efforts on opening her eyes, and this time, they obeyed. Mayor Jennings leaned over her, his face a picture of concern.
“Oh, thank God, you’re awake! Are you in pain?” “Where . . . is he?” She forced the words out, her throat pro- testing every word.
Confusion etched new lines onto the mayor’s forehead. “Who?” “That man.” Allye planted her elbows in the gravel and gathered her strength to rise. Her first attempt was pitiful, and she let her head fall back against the ground. Ouch. She waited a moment and tried again. She was partially successful, and Mayor Jennings assisted her into a full sitting position. She bit back another groan and straightened her glasses as she focused on regulating her breathing. Everything hurt. Especially her throat. She raised a shaky hand to her neck. “The man . . . choking me.” She could hear the hoarseness in her voice, and every syllable scraped pain- fully across her damaged windpipe.
Mayor Jennings sat back on his heels. “There wasn’t anyone else out here.”
“A man came after me. Choked me because I saw—” The man on the ground. Could he still be alive?
She pushed to her feet. Dizziness washed over her, and her purse swung against her body. She clutched at the staircase rail- ing. Instantly, she felt the mayor’s strong hand cupping her elbow.
“Easy, Allye. You had a hard fall.” She shook her head, making the dizziness worse. She squeezed her eyes shut for a count of ten. “I didn’t fall.”
“You didn’t?” His gaze dropped to her knees, and she glanced down. Despite the harsh shadows cast by the light above the landing, she could make out the shredded mess of her leggings. She blinked and thought back.
“Well, I did fall when he was chasing me,” she corrected. “When who was chasing you?” “The man.” And she needed to see if the other person being beaten had survived— though she wasn’t sure how he could have. She shook off the mayor’s hold and stumbled toward the back of the building. He followed, hovering as if he expected her to collapse at any second.
“There was a man— men— back here,” she explained. “One of them was beating another, and the one on the ground wasn’t moving. I’m not sure he was even still alive.” She rounded the corner and stopped short, nearly losing her balance. Mayor Jennings again reached out to steady her. No one was here now. No attacker. No victim.
She spun in a slow circle, even that motion increasing her dizziness. Had she confused the buildings? She crossed the space between structures and peered into the dimly lit area behind the newspaper office. Only an industrial- size dumpster and empty parking spaces met her gaze. That didn’t match. Again she turned. What she’d seen had definitely been behind her building.
“I need to call 911. Maybe they’ll be able to find trace evidence.” “Allye, you need to go home and rest.” The mayor’s voice was gentle, fatherly. “Or get a doctor to check you out. You fell down the steps.”
“I don’t need a doctor, and I didn’t fall—” “I heard your scream from my office.” He took her arm and led her back the way they’d come. “I came outside immediately and found you at the bottom of the stairs. No one else was around.” “But—” They passed by the stairs, and her other bags lay as if she’d dropped them there. She slowed. “I need to get those.” “Let me get you to my car, then I’ll collect them for you.” “My car’s parked out front. I can drive.” “No.” His tone brooked no debate. “You hit your head and passed out. I am not letting you on the road. It wouldn’t be safe. Besides”— he winked at her—“your mother would never forgive me if something happened to you.”
She tried to muster a smile, but the attempt fell flat. Mayor Jennings and her mom had been dating for the past three months, and Allye still hadn’t quite gotten used to it. She had nothing against the man, who’d been Kincaid’s mayor for well over a de- cade and a member of their church for much longer, or against her mom for exploring the possibility of finding love again. It was just new territory.
When they’d lost Allye’s dad during what would have been his last active- duty tour in Afghanistan eighteen years ago, Julie Jessup had stepped into life as a single mom. In all these years, she’d shown little interest in dating— even after she abruptly entered the empty- nest stage when Allye’s younger brother, Derryck, was killed in a car accident at fifteen. No, she’d just thrown herself more fully into her thriving realty career and spent her free time in volunteer work. Or hovering over her remaining two children as much as they let her.
As they reached the sidewalk, the mayor decisively steered them toward the parking lot on the other side of city hall— and away from her Jetta. Allye glanced over her shoulder. She didn’t want to leave her car here and be stranded at home, but . . . the mayor was probably right about her driving. Regardless of how it came about, she had lost consciousness, and her brain still felt fuzzy. And truth be told, she didn’t have the energy to argue any further. She bit back a sigh and allowed him to lead her to his shiny black Mercedes. He insisted on helping her inside before heading back for her bags.
After hitting the locks, she slumped in the leather passenger seat and watched until he disappeared around the corner of the newspaper office. Could he be right? She replayed the moments before everything went dark. Though her memories weren’t as crisp as normal— or what had been normal until the last couple of months— they were solid. Real.
She frowned. No matter what the mayor thought, she hadn’t fallen down the steps. She’d seen someone getting attacked, and the attacker had chased her— choked her.
So where had everyone gone? And why was she still alive? None of it made any sense. But she knew what she’d seen. Felt. There was another victim out there, and the more she thought about it, the less she believed he’d be found alive. And if that was the case . . . she’d witnessed a murder tonight.
Her stomach flipped as the realization sank in. She needed to call the police, and the sooner the better. She dug in her purse for her phone but again failed to find it. She’d have to search her other bags once Mayor Jennings returned. Or just ask to borrow his phone.
When he rejoined her a moment later, she cleared her throat and grimaced at the pain. “I can’t leave until I call the police. I’m almost positive that was a murder in progress, and at the very least, the man attempted to kill me.” She saw the protest on Mayor Jennings’s face, but before he could voice it, she plowed ahead. “I know you think I just fell, but what will it hurt to have them look?” He sighed and rubbed the skin between his eyes. “How about this? I’ll call the police and have them take a look around. But first let me take care of you. The last thing you need is to be stuck out here while we wait for an available officer to arrive and investigate.”
“But they’ll need my statement.” “If they find anything, yes. And they can follow up with you with any questions they have.”
A wave of fatigue washed over her, making it hard to think. Would an extra ten or twenty minutes make a difference at this point? The men were gone, and she doubted they’d return any- time soon. And though she had no intention of admitting it, she needed to lie down. Holding herself upright was taking nearly all the energy she had left.
“Okay.” Satisfied with her one- word acquiescence, the mayor started the engine. “Am I taking you home or to the ER?”
“Home.” The ER wouldn’t do anything for bruises that she couldn’t do just as well herself, and she had enough medical bills and doctor appointments as it was. She wasn’t going to add one she didn’t need.
They pulled onto the road, and the mayor aimed his car toward her house.
“Now, tell me what you think you saw, so I can give the police an accurate description.”
Allye resisted the urge to correct his use of the word think. “I was coming down from my studio and heard what sounded like someone getting hit behind the building. I went to the corner and looked around and saw three men. One was on the ground like he’d fallen, and another was kicking him.” She swallowed. “I think I made a noise because the attacker looked up and saw me. I tried to run, but . . .”
The mayor stopped at a light and turned to look at her. “And?” “He pushed me down.” She blinked. “Or I fell. I don’t remem- ber now. But when I got up, he grabbed me. Held me against the wall and started choking me. I blacked out. Then you were there.” The light changed, and the mayor returned his attention to the road. “You said you think you saw the attack behind the building. Right or left from the alley?” “Right. And I did see it.” He didn’t respond. Tired as she was, Allye couldn’t let the silence ride for long. “How did you find me?”
“I heard you scream and came looking.” “No, I mean how was I positioned? What did you see?” His fingers tightened on the steering wheel. “When I came around the corner, I saw you face down at the base of the stairs. I turned you over and checked your pulse. Made sure you were breathing.” He wiped his forehead. “You scared me, Allye.”
His concern was comforting, but his statement didn’t make sense. She’d been a couple of yards past the steps when the at- tacker caught up to her. He’d pinned her against the wall, choked her, and . . . what? She had no idea what had happened afterward, but much time couldn’t have passed if the mayor had come look- ing for her when she screamed.
She realized she was holding her throat again. It still hurt, and her voice was becoming weaker the more she talked. Wasn’t that proof of her being attacked?
“I didn’t fall down the steps,” she said quietly. “I passed out because he choked me.”
“Allye”—the mayor sounded weary—“there wasn’t anyone out there with you.”
“Then why is my throat so sore?” Her raspy challenge was pitiful.
“You screamed pretty loud.” He met her eyes for a brief sec- ond before returning his attention to the road. “And that purse you’re carrying looks heavy. When you fell, it could have yanked against your neck.”
She glanced down. She normally carried the bag slung over one shoulder, but the mayor was right. It hung cross- body. She couldn’t remember doing that before leaving her studio. But with the brain fog she’d been fighting the last couple of months, that didn’t mean much. She sighed and lapsed into silence, this time for the rest of the short drive to her duplex.
When they arrived, the mayor insisted on guiding her to the door. She reluctantly agreed, but only because she felt so awful. She unlocked her duplex and allowed him to set her bags just inside.
“Are you feeling up to staying by yourself? I could call your mother for you.”
“No.” Allye forced her aching body straighter. “I’m fine— just sore. Please don’t tell my mom about tonight. I don’t want her to worry.”
The mayor frowned. “If your mom finds out you fell down the steps and I didn’t let her know—”
“She won’t.” Allye forced a grin. “I’m sure not going to tell her, and if we were the only ones there . . .”
His expression didn’t clear. “Okay.” He took her hand. “But only if you promise me you’ll go straight to bed and you’ll be careful on those steps from now on.”
“Deal.” She hadn’t fallen down the stairs, but she would con- tinue to be careful when navigating them.
He patted her hand, then released it and headed for his car. “And, Mayor Jennings?” He turned back to her. “Thank you.” He flashed the smile that had earned him nine- tenths of the vote last election cycle. “I’m always here when you need me.”
Allye closed and locked her door, then limped to a nearby recliner. She hadn’t lied to him exactly. But between the sore- ness and a renewed weight of fatigue, she didn’t have it in her to make it to her bed tonight.
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Author Bio
Angela Carlisle resides in the hills of northern Kentucky and is a member of American Christian Fiction Writers and The Christian PEN. Angela’s debut novel, Secondary Target, was a Parable Weekly top seller and was included in the Library Journal Stars So Far listing. Angela is an editor by day and prefers to spend her free time reading, baking, and drinking ridiculous quantities of hot tea.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for ECHOES ON THE WIND (Maggie O’Shea Romantic Suspense Book #4) by Helaine Mario on this Partner 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 Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
TWO STRONG WOMEN, GENERATIONS APART, CONNECTED BY MUSIC…
In 1943 war-torn France, a young woman on the Night Train to Paris has a chance meeting with two very different men who will change her life, setting in motion a Dual Timeline story that will resonate like ripples on water for generations to come.
Many years later, classical pianist Maggie O’Shea is drawn to Brittany by a long-lost letter from her French grandmother and the stirring music of Chopin, whispering like echoes across the years. But as Maggie discovers the secrets of her past, her life spirals out of control, threatening her upcoming wedding and those she loves.
Set against the backdrop of World War II France, Maggie learns her grandmother’s story, chord by chord, through Chopin’s emotional Preludes. And, in one shocking moment, Maggie’s love story will take a heart-breaking turn that will change her life and echo into her future.
Past and present converge in this haunting tale of loss and sacrifice, friendship and family, courage and survival – and the transcendent power of hope, music and love.
Genre: Romantic Suspense Published by: Suncoast Publishing Publication Date: June 18, 2024 Number of Pages: 364 ISBN: 9781735184975 (ISBN10: 1735184977) Series: A Maggie O’Shea Romantic Suspense, Book 4
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My Mini Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
ECHOES ON THE WIND (Maggie O’Shea Romantic Suspense Book #4) by Helaine Mario is the exciting finale of the Maggie O’Shea series. This story has a dual timeline featuring Maggie in the present and her French grandmother during WWII. I have been waiting for this culmination of love vs. vengeance anxiously and was not disappointed. These books should be read in order because there are over-arching threads throughout the series with Maggie and the other main characters continually evolving.
WOW! I could not put this book down. Not only do you get Maggie in a final showdown ending, but you get the survival story of her grandmother Clair, who was in the French Resistance during WWII written in dual timelines with alternating chapters. The main characters are all fully developed, more so if you have read the entire series, and I feel like they could walk right off the page. This is an extremely emotional book in both timelines, but as in the entire series, family, love, and music, carry the main characters through the worst that is thrown at them.
All the books are intriguing, pull you in, and are worth reading. This series also had me continually listening to the classical music pieces mentioned throughout that Maggie practiced for her concerts, which was a fun reminder of my trips to the Cleveland orchestra when I was younger.
I highly recommend this harrowing romantic suspense/WWII historical fiction mash-up and the entire engaging series!
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Excerpt
OVERTURE
“Like so many things that matter, it began with an accident.” David Ignatius, 12/28/98
NOVEMBER, 1943. THE NIGHT TRAIN TO PARIS
Light and dark.
The bleak November landscape rushed past the train’s window. Black tree branches against the dark night sky, then a sudden flash of light. Then blackness again.
The blackout had claimed the streetlamps and cottage windows. Clair Rousseau stared out the rain-streaked glass, waiting for the next glimpse of light. A lone lantern. Car headlights tilted down, a sliver of gold beyond a cracked curtain. Sheet lightning over distant hills, a glimmer of light on water. But all she saw was the blurred, pale oval of her reflection staring back at her. Dark hair scraped back, framing huge eyes beneath winged brows, sharp cheekbones, the too-wide mouth.
No hint of the emotions flowing through her, except for the deep purple shadows beneath her eyes.
The dim, four-person compartment was cold, and she pulled her coat more tightly around her body. The seat beside her was still empty, thank God. Across from her, two German officers. One asleep, snoring loudly, his hands slack between thick gray-green uniformed knees. The other awake, a Gauloises cigarette clamped between thin lips, a jagged line of white scars marring his left cheek. The narrow fox-like face stared at her through thick round glasses and wreathes of curling blue smoke. His jacket was heavy with insignia, oak leaves, medals. Military Intelligence, she thought with a sudden chill. A high rank, SD or Abwehr. What was he thinking?
The watchful, unblinking eyes made her afraid. Like a snake’s eyes, waiting to strike. She looked away, forcing herself not to reach for her satchel, touch her identity papers for reassurance.
The carriage’s glassed door slid back and forth with an unnerving rattle as the train rocked around a bend. From the hallway came the sharp scent of burning coal, wafting back from the old steam engine several cars ahead. A cloud of steam billowed past the window like sudden fog.
She could feel the vibration beneath her, hear the rumble of the train’s wheels speeding along the tracks. The lonely call of a train whistle, echoing in the night. A quick flare of light, illuminating the rain like silver threads streaming down the window.
Light and dark. Light and dark.
Movement at the edge of her vision. A tall figure appeared in the hallway, beyond the door. Her chest tightened. Would she ever feel safe again?
A sharp crack of thunder, a sudden bright flash lighting her face.
“Mademoiselle Clair?”
Startled, her head came up. The stranger had stopped, was staring into the compartment. Across from her, the watchful German stiffened and slid pale eyes toward the voice.
Be careful.
There was something familiar about the gaunt face, the faint, questioning smile just visible above a thick woolen scarf. She stood quickly, stepping between the German and the carriage door to block the officer’s view.
“Oui,” she said softly, peering into the dim hallway. The man nodded and moved closer. Something about those gentle eyes, the arch of silver brows. Memory surged. Father Jean-Luc.
She flashed him a warning glance for silence and stepped into the train’s narrow corridor, closing the door firmly behind her. “Mon Père, is it really you?”
“Oui, ma petite, c’est moi.” The priest pulled the scarf down to offer a glimpse of his white Roman collar, then lost his smile as he gazed over her shoulder and saw the Germans. “But we cannot talk here. Come with me.”
He slipped a hand beneath her elbow and guided her to the end of the dark passageway, where an open exit door led across shifting metal plates to the train’s next car. She felt the sudden bite of night wind on her face, cold and wet with mist. Here the clatter of the train wheels was loud enough to hide their conversation.
They sheltered just inside the doorway, in the shadows, away from the rain. Outside, the countryside of France rushed by, then disappeared in a billow of black smoke. In the dim corridor, the planes of the priest’s face were lit by a tiny, flickering overhead bulb.
Light and dark. Light and dark.
The priest looked down at her, shook his head. “Little Clair Rousseau,” he murmured. “Now such a beautiful young woman. It’s been – what? – four years since we met? You were just thirteen, I think. Playing the piano in your parents’ apartment. Bach, yes? It was so beautiful, so stirring. I hope you are still playing?”
She shook her head. “You need hope to create music, Père.” She looked back toward her carriage compartment. The hallway was empty. “But I remember that day. The war was coming. You asked us to help you remove the stained-glass windows from Sainte-Chapelle. To save them from the bombing.”
“You were fearless, Clair. I remember watching you, swaying at the top of that impossibly high ladder. The morning light was coming through the stained glass, spilling over you like shimmering jewels. I’ll never forget it. I told myself, Clair means light, she is perfectly named.”
He leaned down. “And I can still see your sister, Elle – too young to help us, biensûr – dancing around the altar.”
Her expression softened. “Elle loved to dance. It was the last happy day I can remember.” She lifted her eyes to his, took a breath. “Paris was another lifetime, Père.”
“You cannot lose hope,” he told her. “The glass pieces are in a safe place. Beauty and goodness cannot be destroyed. You will see the stained-glass windows back in Sainte-Chapelle when the war is over. I know it.”
She shook her head. “I wish I had your faith.”
“God has his plans. There is a reason we’ve met by chance on the night train to Paris.” Concern flashed in his eyes. “But you’ve been in Brittany? Dangerous times for a young woman to be traveling alone, Clair.”
She looked out at the black trees rushing past the doorway, and felt the blackness deep in her heart. “I am alone now, Père.”
“Mon Dieu. What happened?”
“My father knew that war was inevitable. Not long after we saved the glass my parents moved us from Paris to the coast near Saint-Malo to be safe. Such irony. They had no idea how dangerous Brittany would become. And then…”
She could not stop the sudden rush of tears that filled her eyes. “The Gestapo shot my father last year, in a retaliation roundup for an act of sabotage by the Resistance. He was with the Liberty Network, they had bombed a train track. He stepped forward, admitted it, hoping to save the others. But still they took thirty innocent people from our village, murdered them in the square.”
“Oh no, Clair.” The priest made a quick sign of the cross. “I am so sorry. And your mother, your sister?”
“I don’t know, Père. I was studying in Paris, I begged them to come stay with me. But Maman refused. When I returned last month to see them, the house was empty. They were just… gone. The neighbors said the Germans took them, in the night. The mayor was told they were being relocated to Poland.”
The priest paled. “Désolé. I will pray for their souls.”
Anger erupted, spilled out. “Prayers did not help my family! I have no time for prayer now. Or sorrow. Even avenging my father will have to wait. I need all my energy now to find my mother and my sister.”
He bent toward her. “I am afraid you are still too fearless for your own good. Tell me what you’re doing, little one.”
She turned once more to scan the dark hallway, then leaned closer. “I excelled in languages in my lycée studies these last years,” she whispered. “I am fluent in several languages, including German and English. I hope to find a new job, in the Hotel Majestic in Paris, where the German High Command is quartered. Then I will join the Resistance, find a way to get news of Maman and Elle. I must find them!”
He gazed down at her for a long moment, then put a hand on her shoulder.
“Perhaps I know of another way,” he murmured.
The sound of a door opening. Wavering shadows spilled into the train’s corridor. Then the red glow of a cigarette, a spiral of smoke. She froze as the German officer turned toward them.
“Find me at Èglise Saint-Gervais, in the Marais,” the priest whispered quickly. “I am with the Resistance there. You could work with me, we need someone like you to –”
A sudden terrifying screech of metal wheels. Clair felt herself thrown to the floor as the train braked, slammed to a shuddering stop. Stunned, Clair reached out, felt the still body of the priest beside her. “Mon Père…”
Shouts in German in the darkness, the clatter of heavy boots. When she raised her head she saw flashing blue lights against the night sky.
Light and dark. Light and dark.
Copyright June 2020
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Author Bio
Best-selling author Helaine Mario grew up in NYC and is a graduate of Boston University. Now living in Arlington, VA, this mother of two, grandmother of five, and passionate advocate for women’s and children’s issues came to writing later in life. Her first novel, The Lost Concerto, won the Benjamin Franklin Award Silver Medal. Echoes on the Wind is her fifth novel and the fourth in her Maggie O’Shea Classical Music Suspense Series. Royalties from her books go to children’s music and reading programs. Helaine recently lost her husband, Ron, after 57 years together. Her new book echoes with loss, grief, and, ultimately, the healing power of love.
Below you will find a book description, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!
Book Description
What if the Ark of the Covenant isn’t a reference to the chest containing the Ten Commandments God revealed to Moses atop Mount Sinai?
What if it refers to the tomb of an Egyptian pharaoh whose contents would revolutionize religious history?
As ex-Jesuit Scott Larson and adventuress Zady Jones learn, such a discovery can be deadly.
A terrorist attack on the Great Pyramid of Giza ratchets up the tension in Washington, D.C., where President John Jenkins has been impeached for an order declaring the U.S. a Judeo-Christian nation. The terrorists threaten more attacks in Egypt and the U.S. unless their demand is met—and it’s something only Larson and Jones can give them. When the efforts to meet the terrorists’ demand goes awry and Zady’s sister is kidnapped, Larson and Jones race to save her. Along the way, they receive a series of mysterious clues that point to the existence of a shocking historical secret, one that could not only topple Jenkins’ presidency but upend Judeo-Christianity.
The Ignoble Lie
Genre: Political/Religious thriller Published by: Mélange Books Publication Date: May 12, 2025 Number of Pages: 368 ISBN: 979-8886533712 (print) Series: Of Gods & Men, Book 1
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Excerpt
SUNDAY
Chapter 1
Under a spring sunset, the pyramids of Giza stood like pointed stone islands in a timeless sea of desert sand. At the northeast corner of the plateau, several armed guards perched atop camels at the base of the Great Pyramid of Khufu. The leader of the security force nodded as three lean bearded men garbed in long, white robes and carrying cameras and other electronic equipment approached. The trio formed a loose line and then trudged up the massive beige limestone blocks to the main entrance on the north face of the pyramid.
When they stepped inside, the cool air moved slightly like a palm frond breeze fanned by ancient servants. The men could still hear the hum of the generator outside as they made their way down a long, sloping, cramped corridor in the pale glow of the electric lighting. Following the metal conduit from the generator, they began climbing a longer passage. Their stated job was simple: set up the cameras needed to film the contents of the recently discovered room behind the west wall of the King’s Chamber, one of only two known chambers in the vast structure. Official filming by an international team would commence in the morning and the world would soon learn of the contents.
An hour later, one of the men burst out of the pyramid’s entrance covered in blood. Sweat drenched his brow as he bent over, his hands on his knees, trying desperately to suck oxygen into his lungs. Fortunately, the guards were not in sight. After a few moments, he raised himself to a fully standing position and wiped blood from his hands onto his dove-colored djellaba. He looked up at the sky beseechingly. The setting sun was glorious: red, orange, bronze. The scene was somehow new and final: the first sunset and the last. The celestial canvas suddenly looked like an unfolding scroll and for one fleeting moment on that scroll he saw painted what he’d glimpsed in the hidden room.
A golden rectangular chest with two winged lions with human heads on a peaked, shiny lid. Four gold rings were set into the bottom four feet, through which golden poles were placed for carrying. It was—
No, it couldn’t be…
Could it?
It was almost impossible to believe, but what if it was? After all, it looked exactly as it was described in the Torah, though that source couldn’t entirely be trusted.
But if there was even a chance that it was, no matter how small…
At least, that’s what they’d told him. And in the end, that was all that really mattered: what they had told him. Because the money that would go to his family was more than he could ever make in a whole lifetime.
With shaky hands, he fumbled for his cell phone and punched the #1 button.
“Yes?” a voice said after one ring.
“It’s as you feared.”
“Now is the time,” the voice responded.
“Allahu Akbar,” the man whispered and ended the call.
He took a deep breath, the kind a long jumper takes just before the approach, then punched the code on his phone.
He held his breath until the explosive detonated.
Then there was nothing but blackness that stretched into forever.
Excerpt from The Ignoble Lie by Matthew Peters. Copyright 2025 by Matthew Peters. Reproduced with permission from Matthew Peters. All rights reserved.
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Author Bio
Matthew Peters has a B.A. from Vassar College and an M.A., and Ph.D. from Duke University. He is a member of International Thriller Writers and currently resides in North Carolina. He is passionate about exploring religious, political, and socioeconomic issues from a variety of different perspectives and especially values the views put forth by marginalized groups or people. His writing involves a good deal of research, and he is committed to writing plausible novels, in the hope of giving readers food for thought.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE SIDE PROJECT by Laurel Osterkamp on this Book Amplifier Tour.
Below you will find an author Q&A, introduction and synopsis, my book review, an excerpt from the book, and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Author Q&A
Writing Process & Creativity
How did you research your book?
There wasn’t a huge amount of research involved, but I did need to read up on the type of brain tumors teenagers are most likely to get. I’d already spent a lot of time in Bemidji, but I convinced my family that I should take a road trip up to Bemidji on my own, just for the night, so I could walk around taking pictures and imagining my characters’ lives there.
What’s the hardest scene or character you wrote—and why?
The last scene between Rylee and her mother, Summer, was difficult to write because finally, they were being honest with each other and dealing with their grief. It was a challenge to find the right level of emotion and to give each of them their own unique voice.
What’s your favorite compliment you’ve received as a writer?
That’s so hard, because I often forget the compliments I receive, unlike the criticism, which is always tattooed on my brain. But last night I received this message from a huge BookTok influencer, after she finished reading The Side Project: “I just finished! Man, I’m crying happy tears. This was so different… and it was SO good.” I can’t overstate how happy that compliment made me!
Your Writing Life
Do you write every day? What’s your schedule?
Sometimes, if there’s a lot of laundry or grocery shopping to do, I skip writing on Sundays. Otherwise, I write every day, in the afternoon and/or early evening.
Any quirky writing rituals or must-have snacks?
My favorite writing quirk is when my cat, Toffee, snuggles up next to me while I sit on the couch with my laptop. When I get stuck, I’ll pet her and ask for her advice. She always has great ideas!
Behind the Book
Why did you choose this setting/topic?
I’ve always felt that northern settings where they wear a lot of flannel are romantic. When I began writing The Side Project, I’d just finished an MFA program in Creative Writing. I liked the idea of exploring how writers can be sort of snobby toward each other when it comes to writing genre fiction, especially romance. And there’s definitely a stigma when it comes to self-publishing. The Side Project is not self-published, but Rylee is a secret self-published romance author and afraid to let the people in her life know this. So The Side Project is a combination of several topics and settings that are close to my heart.
If your book became a movie, who would star in it?
Winona Ryder (at 23) as Rylee
Andrew Garfield (at 27) as Carson
Jessica Chastain (at 27) as Dana
James Van Der Beek (at 27) as Jack
Which author(s) most inspired you?
This answer is specific to romance writing, but Emily Henry and Carley Fortune inspired me in a huge way. After reading their novels, I was ready to transition from writing women’s fiction to
contemporary romance. I love how they use the expected romance tropes that readers love, but they also write layered stories with complex characters and lyrical prose.
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Introductionand Synopsis
Some stories are never really over. Laurel Osterkamp’s The Side Project explores what happens when unfinished business from the past collides with the emotional messiness of the present—through the lens of two former lovers forced to collaborate creatively.
Ten years after their breakup, Rylee and Carson are thrown back into each other’s orbit—not by chance, but by enrollment in the same graduate fiction workshop. Rylee is still rooted in their hometown, juggling caretaking duties and trying to hold onto the memory of her late father, a novelist who left behind an incomplete manuscript. Carson, now a single dad, is determined to keep things tidy and focused. But when their class assignment turns into a writing partnership—and then a secret “side project”—long-buried feelings begin to surface. Their story becomes as tangled as the fiction they’re writing, and soon they’re forced to ask: is it possible to rewrite a past that never got its ending?
THE SIDE PROJECT by Laurel Osterkamp is a contemporary romance/rom-com that brings realistic characters to the page with all their imperfections and puts them through an emotional upheaval of twists, secrets, and lies interspersed with heartwarming moments of friendship and familial love. This new-to-me author kept me turning the pages.
Rylee dreams of writing a literary novel that her late father would have loved, but her secret is that she loves and writes Regency romances in secret. She was prepared to move to California, but her younger brother is diagnosed with cancer, and she stays to help her mother and brother in her small hometown of Bemidji, MN.
Carson’s plans to attend Harvard and become a doctor came to an end when his girlfriend told him she was pregnant. He has stayed in Bemidji and married, discovered he loves his son and being a father, but he dreams of more.
Rylee is surprised when she attends her first MFA course and Carson is in the classroom. They become writing partners even with Rylee and Carson’s unresolved high school past and start a no-strings fling side project. As their chemistry heats up, so do the complications. Secrets, lies, and hard truths will all come out and difficult decisions must be made.
Rylee and Carson have both lived through life-altering loss and disappointments and when they come together there are still so many secrets and lies between them which become exposed throughout the story and as each one drops, it causes emotional upheaval. I felt the characters in this story were fully developed and the story flowed well and was entertaining as a character driven romance. There are a few sex scenes, but they were not gratuitous, but believable to the story. This novel stretches a few romance genre rules but brings relatable characters to life and still delivers a romance lovers ending.
I recommend this mash-up for a heartwarming weekend read and am looking forward to checking other works by this author.
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Excerpt
I steel myself and step out of my car, determined to keep things businesslike today. The sight of Carson outside raking leaves, ruggedly adorable with Ferris running circles around his feet, does nothing to break my resolve. I tell myself: You’re here to work. Nothing more, nothing less.
“Hey, Rylee.” He grins, pushing up his sleeves. “You’re right in time to hold the leaf bag.”
I don’t have time to respond before a happy splash of black fur races past us, yipping and barking. I laugh, and Carson shakes his head, smiling as well.
“Ferris loves chasing leaves,” Carson says.
Ferris circles us. Running in the autumn wind, his mouth is full of fluttering colors and twigs.
I contemplate Carson’s leaf bag. “The hardest part is always getting in the first few handfuls of leaves. Did you know they have these cardboard insert thingies that keep the bag open?”
Carson holds his rake with one hand. “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah. My dad was excited when he discovered them at the hardware store. It used to be our thing, my dad and I, bagging leaves together.”
“Oh.” Carson’s mouth goes slack, and his eyes pool with sympathy. It’s like he backed over a bunny rabbit by accident. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to bring up old memories.”
I wave off the awkwardness as if I’m shooing away bugs. “No worries. It won’t break me to hold the bag open, and I’ll even push down the leaves as you put them in.” My words come out in a rush. “Where should I put my computer?”
“I’ll put it inside. Do you also want me to take your purse?”
“Sure, thanks.” I hand him both.
He takes them through his front door as a gust of wind threatens to upend Carson’s carefully constructed leaf pile. I snatch up the rake, ready for battle. “You won’t escape me, bitches!” I yell at the flying leaves.
I look over to see Carson on his front stoop, watching my wild efforts like I’m a vaudeville spectacle he can’t quite believe. Embarrassed, I kick at the ground. “I didn’t want all your hard work ruined.”
His expression is serious. “Have you tried positive reinforcement? I’ve found that fallen leaves don’t respond well to punitive measures.”
“Right,” I reply, “because they have nothing to lose. Their fate is inside a garbage bag or being trapped by an uncaring tire. Snow will cover the lucky ones until after the thaw.” I run the rake through the grass at my feet. “Then they’ll get scooped up—along with all the dog poop and candy wrappers the trick-or-treaters leave behind.”
Using his index finger to rub his chin, Carson considers this. “Trick-or-treaters leave behind dog poop?”
“Some of the angry ones do.”
He laughs—and darn if he isn’t cute when he smiles—before saying, “Guess I’d better buy good candy this year.”
“No black licorice or breath mints.” I let out a low groan. “But the worst are those peanut butter-flavored taffies wrapped in orange or black wrappers.”
“Those are the worst. I never ate them.”
“Me neither.”
I hold open the bag, and Carson bends down, scoops up the leaves, and stands very close as he shoves them inside. I’m painfully aware of how his Levis-clad butt looks oh-so-good when he bends over. After the bag is full, he glances up at his tree and down at his yard, thanking me for my help. Then he sort of stands there, gazing at me, and I can’t help but ask. “What?”
“Nothing. Sorry. You’d lose all respect for me if I told you,” he mumbles.
“Now you have to tell me.”
He brushes a leaf from his sleeve. “No, really,” he stammers, “it’s ridiculous.”
I nudge his ankle with my sneaker’s rubber toe. “Try me.”
Rolling his eyes skyward, he asks, “Did you ever read The Majestic Seven? That fantasy about the seven heroes who must save their kingdom?”
“No,” I reply. “But I’ve heard of it. Why?”
Carson’s cheeks turn the slightest bit pink. “I was thinking how you’re like Lady Seraphina.”
My hands fly to either side of my face. “It’s because of my pointy ears, right?”
“What? No.” He blinks in confusion. “Why would you make that connection?”
“Because I saw the trailer for the movie adaptation, and the only female character is an elf. The tips of her ears are like razors.”
“No!” Carson swallows a laugh. “God, no, that’s not what I meant.”
I look him up and down. “Well, what did you mean?”
His voice sounds like a worn vinyl record, smooth in the center but scratched at the edges. “You’re the type of girl who could save the world.”
“You mean ‘woman’ and not ‘girl,’ right?”
“Of course. Sorry.” He releases a self-conscious chuckle. “You’re the kind of woman who could save the world. One hundred percent.”
“Thank you.” Then, feeling that magnetic pull, I drop my gaze to the ground.
He hits his forehead. “God. I’m such an idiot. I promised I’d be professional today, and I’ve already blown it, haven’t I?”
I search for a response. Thankfully, Ferris runs up to me, and I busy myself with petting him. “It’s fine. But I don’t understand. Why would I lose all respect for you?”
“Because you’ll realize I like fantasy novels.”
Kneeling down, I let Ferris nuzzle my shoulder. “Please. As if I didn’t already know? Remember how in high school, you’d check out The Prince of Saturn and slide it into your backpack before anyone could see?”
Carson raises an eyebrow. “Except for you.”
I notice a renegade leaf on my shoulder and brush it off. “That’s right. Because I was also always in the media center after lunch, most likely checking out some gothic romance, which is way more looked down upon than science fiction or fantasy.”
“Yeah, but you weren’t on the hockey team.” He smirks. “If the other players knew about my reading habits, they’d have kicked my ass.”
“So, you tried to pretend you weren’t smart? How’d that work out for you, college boy?”
He opens his mouth to respond but laughs instead. “Hey, you mentioned gothic romance, and that reminds me. I dug your story. A contemporary Charlotte Brontë! It was so original. I don’t have very many revision notes for you, because the story flowed. And I’m worried that if you rework it a lot, you’ll lose that.”
“Thanks, I’m glad you liked it. I liked your story too, and not just because you liked mine.” Shifting my weight, I say, “Should we go inside and get to work?”
He nods. “Yeah. Let’s do that. Follow me.”
At this moment, I’d be happy to follow him anywhere.
***
Author Bio
Laurel Osterkamp is a Minneapolis-based author whose work explores the emotional complexities of love, loss, and personal reinvention. With novels like Beautiful Little Furies (an Amazon #1 bestseller) and Favorite Daughters, she’s become known for creating characters who are flawed, thoughtful, and deeply human. Osterkamp writes contemporary romance and women’s fiction that blends wit with wisdom, heart with humor. Outside of writing, she teaches adult ESL and middle school enrichment, re-watches iconic ’90s television, and contends with a household full of opinionated pets.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE IRISH DAUGHTER (Emerald Isles Book #4) by Daisy O’Shea on this Bookoututre Books-On-Tour 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
Standing on the cliff above the wild Irish sea, Hannah wipes a tear from her eye and thinks about the man she called ‘Da’. She was never his daughter. Hannah has been lied to her whole life by everyone she loved. Will she ever find where she truly belongs?
When warm-hearted Hannah Barry’s father passes away, her life is turned upside down when she discovers he wasn’t her biological father, and the only family she’s ever known are not related to her at all. Now their tiny farmhouse overlooking Roone Bay feels unfamiliar and cold. So when a handsome, dark-haired stranger turns up on her doorstep, his kind eyes and shy smile are a welcome escape.
Justin Sanders is searching for clues about his long-lost grandfather, whose last letter home came addressed from the area. Justin is certain Hannah’s own grandfather is connected to the story somehow, and that the men knew each other years ago. Hannah can’t help but be drawn to Justin and his mystery – they both have a painful past to solve. Will helping Justin lead to the answers about her real family that she desperately longs for?
But Hannah is shocked when nobody in the village will speak of Justin’s grandad. What secret could be so terrible that a whole community turns their back?
Justin’s caring nature makes Hannah feel so safe, and she can’t ignore the way he makes her stomach flip. But when they discover the truth about the events of a tragic evening decades ago, it threatens to tear them apart for good… Can Hannah and Justin find a way to forgive and move forward together? Or will Hannah lose the only real love she’s ever known for good?
THE IRISH DAUGHTER (Emerald Isles Book #4) by Daisy O’Shea is an emotional dual timeline mash-up of romance, mystery, and history that pulled me into the story and kept me turning the pages. This book is easily read as a standalone with a few carryover secondary characters, but the real connection between the stories is that they are all set in Roone Bay, Ireland on the southern coast.
Hannah Barry has dutifully taken care of her alcoholic and dismissive father until his death as she promised her mam on her death bed believing she would inherit their hard-scrabble farm. While the home and farm are not worth much it has been her home since she returned from the hospital at three years of age after recovering from polio. Then her brother returns from America with a will to claim it all.
Justin Sanders is an English doctor who has come to Roone Bay to find where his granddad, Jack, who was stationed there as a Black and Tan in 1920, was buried during the Troubles. Hannah is surprised that no one is willing to talk, so she offers to help.
They work together as both have family secrets and history to be uncovered.
This is an enchanting story of family, love, forgiveness, and discovery. The tissues came out at a time or two. Hannah was such a strong protagonist and Justin was the perfect hero for her. The historical dual timeline tells Jack, Justin’s granddad’s story, in 1920 while he was in Roone Bay and the present-day timeline with Hannah and Justin is set in their present day, but our late 1960’s. The author’s story telling and descriptions made me feel as if I was experiencing each timeline right along with each character.
I have read all the Emerald Isles books, and they are all moving and engrossing. I highly recommend this one, also!
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Author Bio
Sue Lewando was a teacher for several years before migrating to the office environment, where she was PA to the Treasurer of Clarks Shoes, a multi-national company, then, briefly, PA to Susan George, the actress best known for Straw Dogs. Sue had many genre books published (M&B and Virgin), under pseudonyms, and self-publishes her crime thrillers. She was on the committee of the Romantic Novelists’ Association in England, for whom she assessed typescripts. She has been a fiction tutor for the London School of Journalism for twenty years. She has two grown-up children, a happy second marriage, and a bundle of cats and dogs. She moved to West Cork with her husband to undertake a farmhouse refurbishment project, foster their joint passion for playing Irish traditional music, and to invest time in their individual academic projects. She recently completed a Masters in Creative Writing at UCC, taking the opportunity to explore diverse writing genres. She works with the Jeremy Murphy Literary Consultancy in the capacity of typescript analyst, ghostwriter, editor, and online publishing advisor. She loves good commercial fiction, and is a devotee of the Oxford comma.
