Today is my turn on the Books n All Promotions Blog Tour and I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for DEAD SORRY (Calladine & Bayliss Mystery Book #11) by Helen H. Durrant.
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
THE PAST COMES BACK TO HAUNT THEM
Twenty-five years ago a schoolgirl was attacked by three bullies in her home where she lived with her grandmother.
Now, the mother of one of those bullies is found murdered on the Hobfield housing estate. Written on the wall in the victim’s blood is the word, “sorry.”
There is a link to the discovery of bones at an old house up in the hills — the home of the teenage girl who was attacked.
Detective Tom Calladine and his partner DS Ruth Bayliss have more than this puzzling case on their hands. Arch-villain Lazarov is threatening Calladine’s granddaughter and a valuable hoard of Celtic gold is coming to a local museum.
The pressure is on, and this time Calladine is cracking . . .
THE DETECTIVES
Tom Calladine is a detective inspector who is devoted to his job. His personal life, however, is not so successful. Having been married and divorced before the age of twenty-one has set a pattern that he finds difficult to escape.
Ruth Bayliss is in her mid-thirties, plain-speaking but loyal. She is balancing her professional life with looking after a small child.
THE SETTING
The fictional village of Leesdon is on the outskirts of an industrial northern English city. There is little work and a lot of crime. The bane of Calladine’s life is the Hobfield housing estate, breeding ground to all that is wrong with the area that he calls home.
DEAD SORRY (Calladine & Bayliss Mystery Book #11) by Helen H. Durrant is a smartly plotted mystery/British police procedural in an ongoing series that I cannot believe I have not read before now. This book can be read as a standalone because the author fills the reader in on the characters’ backstories that are relevant to interactions in previous books.
DI Tom Calladine and DS Ruth Bayliss are called to a brutal murder scene at the crime ridden Hobfield housing estate. When the victim is identified, Ruth realizes it has similarities and family ties to an old case from her school days. As they begin the investigation, Calladine receives a call from an old nemesis who threatens the lives of his daughter and new granddaughter if he interferes in his return to the area.
Calladine and Bayliss need to find out which suspects are tied to which case as more people end up dead or are the two cases somehow tied together?
The author does a great job of mixing in red herrings and twists that continued to surprise me. When I was two thirds of the way through the book, I thought I had it all figured out. NO, I did not. The two main detectives and their whole team make this an enjoyable character read and the two plot lines are expertly paced with a balanced amount of intrigue and surprises. Also, make sure you read to the very last page. (That is all I can say about that.) Time for me to go back and catch up with Calladine and Bayliss from the very beginning.
I can highly recommend this mystery/British police procedural and author!
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Author Bio
Helen is one of the ‘baby boomer’ generation and began writing when she retired from her job at a local college. Born in Edinburgh to an English father and Scottish mother the family settled in a Pennine village between the counties of Lancashire and Yorkshire. It is an environment which has shaped her stories. Writing is a second career and, despite having a bus pass, keeps her busy, and tuned in.
Helen’s children are all grown-up and she has five grandchildren.
THE WOMAN WHO SMASHED CODES: A True Story of Love, Spies, and the Unlikely Heroine Who Outwitted America’s Enemies by Jason Fagone is a literary nonfiction WWII biography novel which brings to light the major contributions of the amazing female half of a married couple who both invented many aspects of the modern science of cryptology.
Elizebeth Smith wanted a job in literature. She is hired by an eccentric millionaire who brings the best minds of 1916 together on a large farm outside of Chicago and tells them to be the best they can be. Elizebeth becomes disillusioned with the project she was hired to work on, but she is intrigued with the young man, William Freidman she meets who is helping with the project.
The two get married and begin working together on breaking coded messages that are brought to them from various government and law enforcement agencies. They soon build a reputation and are instrumental in building the strategic texts for codebreaking that they and others use throughout WWI, Prohibition and WWII while William is in the Army and Elizebeth works for the Coast Guard.
While history hails William’s accomplishments of being a groundbreaker and innovator in cryptology and at breaking the Japanese version of Enigma, there is little praise given to Elizebeth’s own contributions from breaking Prohibition gangsters’ codes to breaking the Enigma code German spies were using all over South America.
This book brings Elizebeth’s accomplishments and contributions to light. Mr. Fagone brings Elizebeth to life from her professional publications and personal writings. I was truly amazed by how her and her husband’s brains worked to decode so many secret code systems without using mathematics or having the use of the just being invented computer. The only problem I had with the book was the inclusion of some codes that were used and/or broken by the duo because while I know some would work to solve the puzzles, it just interrupted the flow of the story for me. Otherwise, Elizebeth’s personality comes alive in this story and her story just leads you to wonder how many other brilliant women have been overlooked by history.
I recommend this literary nonfiction WWII biography of a brilliant mind and woman!
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Author Bio
I’ve written about science, sports, and culture for Wired, GQ, Men’s Journal, Esquire, NewYorker.com, The New York Times Magazine, The Atlantic, Slate, Philadelphia, and the 2011 edition of The Best American Sports Writing. A few years ago, I wrote a book called “Horsemen of the Esophagus,” about competitive eating and the American dream. For the last three years, I’ve been working on my next book, “Ingenious,” which will be published this November. It’s about inventors and cars. I live outside of Philadelphia with my wife and daughter.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours for SOMETHING FISHY (A Kristy Farrell Mystery Book #2) by Lois Schmitt.
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 Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
When attorney Samuel (Sam) Wong goes missing, wildlife magazine reporter Kristy Farrell thinks the disappearance may tie into her latest story concerning twenty acres of prime property that the local aquarium hopes to purchase. Sam works for multi-million dollar land developer Lucien Moray who wants to buy the property for an upscale condominium project. The waterfront community is divided on this issue like the Hatfields and McCoys with environmentalists siding with the aquarium and local business owners lining up behind Moray.
Soon a body is found in a nearby inlet, the aquarium is plagued with accidents, a second murder occurs, and Kristy has a near death encounter with a nine foot bull shark. Kristy investigates the aquarium murders and discovers weak alibis and strong motives.
But ferreting out the murderer isn’t Kristy’s only challenge. Her visiting widowed septuagenarian mother announces her engagement. Kristy suspects her mom’s soon to be husband is not all he appears to be. As Kristy tries find out the truth before her mother ties the knot, she also races the clock to find the aquarium killer before this killer strikes again.
Genre: Cozy Mystery Published by: Encircle Publications Publication Date: July 15th 2019 Number of Pages: 244 ISBN: 1948338793 (ISBN13: 9781948338790) Series: A Kristy Farrell Mystery #2 || Each is a Stand-Alone Novel
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
SOMETHING FISHY (A Kristy Farrell Mystery Book #2) by Lois Schmitt is an amateur sleuth cozy mystery featuring a female wildlife magazine feature writer who never stops asking questions. Even though this is the second book in this series, it is easily read as a standalone.
Kristy Farrell is on assignment working on two articles for the magazine, both centered around the Long Island Clam Cove Aquarium. The first article revolves around the local fight over the use of twenty acres of prime Long Island beach front and the second is a feature on deadly sea animals. Environmentalists want the land to enlarge the scope of the aquarium’s facilities and a rich land developer and local business owners want the land for upscale beachfront condos.
When a body is found floating in the local marina, Kristy and her veterinarian daughter, Abby work to discover the secrets of all the players involved in the race to raise the necessary money to buy the twenty acres. When a second murder occurs, Kristy needs to uncover the motive and killer before anyone else turns up dead and she needs to make her magazine’s deadline.
This is an enjoyable cozy read with entertaining characters, a plot full of red herrings and interesting marine life information interwoven throughout. Besides the primary mystery, you also have personal family intrigue occurring at the same time with Kristy’s mother. Ms. Schmitt was able to bring many story threads together in a satisfying conclusion that had me continually guessing.
I can recommend this amateur sleuth cozy mystery and I hope there are more to come.
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Excerpt
CHAPTERONE
“Something bad happened to Sam. I know it.”
Katie Chandler’s sea green eyes filled with tears. A sea lion trainer at the Clam Shell Cove Aquarium, Katie had been my daughter’s college roommate.
“Maybe Sam worked late and forgot to call,” I said.
Katie shook her head, her chestnut hair flying in the bay breeze. “No. He hasn’t answered my texts or phone calls. I stopped by his house twice too. No one’s home.”
Silence. I tried thinking of something helpful, or at least hopeful, to say.
“I called the police, Mrs. Farrell. The officer said being stood up for a dinner date isn’t enough for a missing persons case—that maybe it was Sam’s way of breaking up.”
I shifted my gaze to the whitecaps on the bay while Katie’s statement sank into my brain. Perhaps the officer was right. I knew from my daughter Abby that the relationship between Katie Chandler and Samuel Wong had hit a rough patch.
The conflict: Katie, who served as executor of her late grandmother’s charitable trust, was donating six million dollars of this money to the aquarium’s expansion project, which included the acquisition of twenty acres of adjacent land. Sam worked as executive assistant to multi-millionaire developer Lucien Moray who wanted to buy the bay front property for luxury condominiums. What started off as friendly bantering between Katie and Sam had escalated into explosive arguments that had become increasingly personal.
But Katie and Sam weren’t the only ones embroiled in this controversy. The community at large had become like the Hatfields and McCoys. Environmentalists wanted the property to go to the aquarium where it would be used for breeding grounds for endangered species, an aquatic animal rehabilitation center, and a research camp for marine scientists. Local business owners sided with Moray, hoping high end condo owners would bolster the area’s economy. I was writing an article on this for Animal Advocate Magazine. That’s why I was at the aquarium today.
Katie continued, “No matter what happened between us, Sam would never stand me up. He’s my fiancé not someone I picked up a few hours ago at a bar. Besides, Sam came around to my point of view. He had it with Lucien Moray. He hadn’t told anyone but me yet, but he was quitting his job at the end of the year.”
“I’ve an interview later this morning with Moray,” I said. “I’ll check around and see what I can find out. Someone in Moray’s office may know Sam’s whereabouts.”
“What if no one does?”
“Let’s take it one step at a time.” I glanced at my watch, then pushed myself off the rock where I’d been sitting, a task that would have been easier if I were ten years younger and twenty pounds lighter. “Speaking of interviews, my appointment with your aquarium director is in five minutes, so I better head inside. I’ll call you tonight.”
Katie sighed. “Thanks. I should get back to my sea lions too. We’ve a show at eleven.” She rose and stretched her small wiry body. “After the show, I’ll stop at Sam’s house again.”
Katie, shoulders slumped, wandered off in the direction of the outdoor sea lion amphitheater. I stood for a moment, inhaling the salt air while watching a seagull dive into the bay and zoom back to the sky with a fish in its mouth. As the autumn wind sent a sudden chill down my spine, I wrapped my arms around my body, thinking back to when Katie and my Abby attended college. Abby often acted impulsively, out of emotion, but Katie had always been levelheaded, never someone to jump to conclusions. What if Sam is really in trouble? The thought nagged at me as I trekked up the sandy beach and stepped into the building that housed the indoor exhibits.
I made my way down a long corridor, surrounded by floor to ceiling glass tanks housing ocean life from around the world. I paused at the shark tank and marveled at the grace and beauty of these fearsome predators gliding silently through the water, causing hardly a ripple. I would be back here soon. In addition to my article on the land expansion, I was writing a story on ocean predators.
I veered down the administration wing. When I came to a door marked DIRECTOR, I glanced again at my watch. Ten-thirty. Right on time. I knocked.
“Enter,” a booming voice responded. I pulled open the door and stepped inside.
Standing in front of me was a man who appeared to be in his mid-fifties. Noting his polished wingtips, sharply creased trousers, navy blazer, crisp white shirt, and perfectly knotted tie, I wished I’d dusted the sand off my shoes.
We stood face to face. Actually, it was more like face to chest. I was only five feet tall and this man towered over me by at least a foot and a half.
“Commander Conrad West,” he said, extending his arm. His handshake was firm and strong. “You must be Kristy Farrell, the reporter from Animal Advocate Magazine.”
Conrad West stood ramrod straight, probably a throw-back from his military training. A former naval commander—the youngest African American to be appointed a commander in the navy’s history—he had started his career as a medical corpsman. He had been director of the Clam Shell Cove Aquarium since his retirement from the navy last year.
He walked behind his desk and positioned himself in a large swivel chair.
“You may sit,” he said, pointing to a straight back chair facing him.
I slid into the chair, suppressing the urge to playfully salute.
He went straight to the point. “I understand you’re writing about the land acquisition. Have you seen our expansion plans?”
“Yes, and they are impressive. But how will the aquarium come up with the money to buy this land?” I asked, fumbling through my bag for my pad and pen. “You’re competing with the bottomless pockets of Lucien Moray.”
Commander West leaned forward, his hands clasped in front, as if praying that what he was about to say would come true. “The current property owner, Stuart Holland, is a business man who’s not about to forgo a profit. But he’s also an active conservationist and a lifelong resident of this area who would like to see the land used in an environmentally friendly manner. He’s kept it vacant until recent financial loses forced him to put it up for sale.”
The Commander leaned back. “There’ll be no bidding war. He set a price—ten million dollars. The land is worth more, but Stuart wants it to go to us, so he set a price he feels we can reach. If we can raise the money by next summer, the land is ours.”
“Ten million is a high goal.”
He nodded. “More than half of the funding will come from a trust set up by Alicia Wilcox Chandler. We also have one million in reserve that we accumulated during the past few years. Of course, we’re still three million short, but our new development officer is planning an aggressive fundraising campaign with—”
A loud knock on the door interrupted the conversation.
Commander West scowled. “Enter.”
A plump woman with a bad case of acne barged into the room. She wore jeans and a light blue shirt with an aquarium patch on the upper left pocket identifying her as Madge.
“Commander,” she said, slightly out of breath. “We have a problem. The sea lion show is in ten minutes, and Katie just ran out.”
“What do you mean she ran out?”
The woman shrugged. “She took a call on her cell phone, then flew out of the amphitheater.
“Didn’t she say anything?” The scowl hadn’t left his face.
The woman paused, furrowing her eyebrows as if deep in thought. “Oh, yeah. But I don’t know if it had to do with why she left.”
“What did she say?” He appeared to be talking through gritted teeth.
“She said two fishermen found a body floating in the inlet.”
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Author Bio
A mystery fan since she read her first Nancy Drew, Lois Schmitt combined a love of mysteries with a love of animals in her series featuring wildlife reporter Kristy Farrell. She is a member of several wildlife and humane organizations as well as Mystery Writers of America. Lois worked for many years as a freelance writer and is the author of Smart Spending, a consumer education book for young people. She previously worked as media spokesperson for a local consumer affairs agency and currently teaches at Nassau Community College on Long Island. Lois lives in Massapequa with her family which includes a 120 pound Bernese Mountain Dog. This dog bears a striking resemblance to Archie, a dog of many breeds who looks like a small bear, featured in her Kristy Farrell Mystery Series. Lois was 2nd runner up for the Killer Nashville Claymore Award for Something Fishy.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours for DEAD TREE TALES by Rush Leaming.
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 Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Set in Charleston, SC, and the surrounding islands, police are called to investigate the poisoning of a much-loved 1000-year-old tree, only to find evidence of a more brutal crime. From there, the story explodes into a fast-paced, multi-character thriller unlike any you’ve ever read.
Not for the faint of heart…“Dead Tree Tales by Rush Leaming is about a lot more than a dead tree. It’s a mystery. It’s a crime story. It’s a thriller. It’s a powerful comment on today’s society and politics… fast-paced, full of action and intrigue… It’s a real page-turner and just a fantastic read.” – Lorraine Cobcroft, Reader’s Favorite
Genre: Crime Thriller Published by: Bridgewood Publication Date: June 8th 2021 Number of Pages: 488 ISBN: 0999745654 (ISBN13: 9780999745656)
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
DEAD TREE TALES by Rush Leaming is a fantastic new mystery/crime thriller that is impossible to put down. Mr. Leaming ties together several crimes which include the arboricide of a 1000-year-old legendary tree with the murder of an unknown young female all with acute observations of today’s political and societal unrest and corruption.
Detectives Charlie Harper and Elena Vasquez of the Charlestown PD are called out to Johns Island to investigate the poisoning of Addison’s Oak nicknamed “The Tree” which has survived for 1000 years. As they survey the area, they also notice blood on the grass and the severed tip of a finger.
As the investigation progresses, it becomes more complex, twisted and leads to a startling climax.
I cannot say enough about how much I enjoyed this book. The author’s observations through the eyes of his two main characters brings Charlestown and the coastal islands to life. Each of the two main detectives are having personal family problems which the author handles with honesty and empathy. The secondary characters are also fully fleshed and add to the depth and realism of the story. All the characters could walk right off the page. The politics and racial tensions are woven throughout and based on current events.
I feel this is one of the most perfectly crafted mix of characterization and plotted mystery/crime thrillers that I have read. I loved it!
I highly recommend this story.
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Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
It was known simply as The Tree; that is what the locals on Johns Island, South Carolina, called it. A Southern live oak born a thousand years ago (some even said fifteen hundred), its gargantuan limbs swirled and stretched as much as two hundred feet in all directions. The lower arms, heavy with age, sometimes sank into the earth only to reemerge. Other branches flailed recklessly in the sky, like some sort of once-screaming kraken turned to wood by an ancient curse.
Generation after generation had protected it. Rising from the center of a former indigo plantation, and now officially known as Addison’s Oak, The Tree had long been a source of pride, even fear, in the surrounding community, as well as James Island, Wadmalaw Island, and the nearby city of Charleston.
But now, The Tree was dying. It was not from natural causes either, not from time, nor gravity, nor the weather.
Someone had killed it.
“Is that a thing?” Detective Charlie Harper asked as he turned his head to look at his partner, Detective Elena Vasquez.
“I think so.” Elena squinted her eyes toward the top of the canopy, the leafy summit shadowed and backlit by the noon sun.
“Arborcide? That’s a thing?” Charlie asked again.
An Asian-American man in his mid-twenties wearing wraparound sunglasses stood next to the two detectives. “Yep. You remember that incident a few years ago in Auburn? Toomer’s Corner. Crazy Alabama fan poisoned the tree there.”
“Yeah,” Charlie said. “But I mean legally. Is it legally a crime to do this?”
“Cops were involved there,” the man said. “The guy went to jail. Has to be something. Why don’t you call them? See what they did.” He pulled a pack of spearmint gum from the front pocket of his jeans and stuffed five pieces in his mouth, noticing Charlie watching him. “Quitting smoking. Nicotine gum makes me dizzy.”
Charlie nodded. “Been there.” Six feet tall, with a closely trimmed beard under bright-blue eyes, he walked around the perimeter of the field.
Salt air swirled around him—they were only a couple of miles from the beach—and Charlie realized it was the first time he had been away from the city and out on the islands in months, maybe even over a year.
Elena Vasquez, an athletic five-ten with shoulder-length black hair bobby-pinned over her ears, stood in front of the young man and opened a new page in the Notes app on her iPhone. “So, you’re the one who called about this?”
“Yes. It took some digging to figure out who to contact. I didn’t know there weren’t any police stations out here.”
“That’s correct.” She typed the date 5/19/2015 at the top of the page. “Closest station is the Island Sheriff’s Patrol on James Island, but they don’t handle things like this. That’s why you got us from the city. And who are you again?”
“Daniel Lee.”
She looked up from her iPhone. “Daniel is a nice name. It’s my son’s name, though we call him Danny. Where are you from, Mr. Lee?”
“I’m originally from Maryland—Chesapeake Bay area—but now I live in Charleston. West Ashley. I’m a Ph.D. candidate at the college.”
“College of Charleston?” Elena asked and continued typing.
“Yes. Environmental science. Teach a couple of undergrad classes as well. And I’m president of the local Sierra Club chapter. Our service project for this year has been public park maintenance and cleanup. I came here a week ago and saw that broken limb—”
“This one?” Charlie pointed at a fat twisted branch about the length of a Greyhound bus lying near the base of the tree.
“Yes.”
“Well . . .” Charlie said. “How do you know it wasn’t lightning or something?”
Daniel went over to Charlie and squatted next to the fallen limb. “There are no burn marks. Lightning would leave those.”
“Maybe it’s just old age. Isn’t this thing like a thousand years old or something?”
“Possibly more. It is rotting,” Daniel said. “But not from old age. See this discoloration? The rust-colored saturation of the stump where it broke?”
Charlie leaned in a little closer. “Yes.”
“That’s from poison, from a lot of poison. And you can see spots like this forming and spreading all around the trunk and on other branches.”
Elena stood beneath The Tree, placing her hand on a dark-orange splotch on the trunk. The gray bark surrounding the stain felt tough and firm, but inside the color spot, it was soft and crumbling. “I see it.”
“It’s like cancer,” Daniel said. “The Tree is not dead yet, but it will be soon. I had the soil tested as well as samples from the broken limb. They came back positive for massive levels of DS190.”
“And that is?” Charlie said.
“A variant of tebuthiuron. A very powerful herbicide. Similar to what was used at Toomer’s Corner. Somebody has been injecting the tree as well as dumping it into the ground. Probably for a few months to reach these levels.”
“Injecting the tree?” Elena said.
Daniel pulled them over to the base of the trunk where a ring of jagged holes stretched just above the ground. “Yes. See these gashes? Somebody has been boring into the trunk, then filling it with DS190.”
Charlie took out a pair of latex gloves and put them on before touching the holes in the trunk. “You’re sure this is intentional?”
“Has to be. This stuff doesn’t just appear on its own. It’s man-made. Someone has been doing this.”
“But why?” Charlie asked.
Daniel held out a hand, palm up. “Thus, the reason the two of you are here.”
Charlie shook his head. “I don’t know about this. We usually work homicide.”
Daniel gestured towards the gashes in the trunk. “You have a murder victim. Or soon will. Right in front of you.”
“But it’s a tree!” Charlie said.
Elena looked up from her phone. “Okay, Mr. Harper. Easy.”
Daniel motioned for them to follow as he walked to the backside of the trunk. “There’s something else.” He came to a stop in a patch of grass ringed with dandelion sprouts and pointed to dark-red streaks spread across the blades. “That’s blood, isn’t it?”
Charlie bent down and touched his gloved hand to one of the blades. “Maybe.” He took out a plastic bag and a Leatherman multitool from his jacket. He pulled apart the hinged scissors, then clipped away about a dozen pieces of grass and dropped them into the bag.
“And another thing,” Daniel said and led Elena to a spot about ten feet away. He pointed to a white card lying in the grass. “I didn’t touch any of this, by the way. I didn’t want to disturb the crime scene . . . I watch a lot of cop shows. I know how that goes.”
“Doesn’t everyone.” Elena squatted down, taking a plastic bag from her jacket. She used tweezers to pick up the card, muddy and frayed at the edges and turned it over to reveal a yellow cat emoji, just the head, whiskers, and a faint smile, printed on the opposite side. There were no words, just the image.
A strong breeze moved through the leaves of the great tree, a sound like rain showers mixed with groaning as the heavy limbs bent in the wind.
Charlie Harper removed his glove and rubbed the edge of his dark-brown beard. Looking at the massive branches, which did seem like the arms of giants, he began to understand why The Tree was such a big deal. “Have to say, it is beautiful here. Can’t believe I’ve been in Charleston four years and never been here. I should bring Amy. She’d love it.”
Daniel looked at Elena for an explanation.
“His daughter,” she said, then turned to Charlie. “You should. My dad brought me here a few times when I was a kid.”
“Well, you better hurry,” Daniel said.
“There’s nothing to stop it?” Elena asked.
“Probably not. I contacted a team of forestry researchers I know from Virginia Tech. They are going to send a team down to look at it, see if anything can be done. I sent a request to the Parks Department to pay for it. If they don’t, Sierra Club will hold a fundraiser.”
Charlie sighed. “Okay. While we decide what to do about this, I’ll call and have some signs and barriers put up to keep the tourists away.”
Elena turned to Daniel. “Thank you for meeting us here. Could you come to our station in the city today or tomorrow to give a formal statement?”
“Sure.”
“Bring copies of the lab work. We gonna find anything when we do a background check on you?”
Daniel shook his head. “No. Just some parking tickets . . . a lot of tickets actually. Parking at the college is a bitch.”
“That it is,” Elena said. “Here is my card if you think of anything else.”
“Thanks,” Daniel said. He stopped a moment as if to say something, then continued toward a white Chevy Volt parked near the road.
Elena looked at Charlie and raised her eyebrows. “So, Mr. Harper, what do you think?”
“Ehh . . . I mean I understand it’s old and rare and special and all that, but it’s a fucking tree. I don’t know anything about trees, do you?”
“No, but . . .”
“But what?”
“I don’t know,” Elena said and looked around the field. “My Spidey-sense tells me there’s more to it than just some weird vandalism.” She took a step forward and winced.
“Back acting up?” Charlie asked.
“A bit,” she said.
“Lunchtime anyway. Let’s take a break. I’m starving. June and I got into it again this morning. Skipped breakfast.”
“Sorry to hear that.” Elena swept a strand of black hair behind her ear. She pointed with her chin down a two-lane road to a crooked sign with a faded image of a pagoda: The Formosa Grill. “Chinese?”
“Sure,” Charlie said.
The two of them began to walk toward their gray Ford Explorer when Charlie saw a flash of white out of the corner of his eye. He stopped and knelt in the grass. He used his Leatherman tool to again pry away several blades.
“What is it?” Elena asked.
Charlie’s head bolted upright, his blue eyes narrowing. “Mr. Lee!” he shouted. He pulled another latex glove from his pocket.
In the parking lot, Daniel climbed out of his car and made his way back to the field. “Yes?”
“Mr. Lee, when was the last time you were here before meeting us today?”
“Yesterday morning,” Daniel said.
Elena knelt next to Charlie, looked into the grass, and let a low whistle escape her lips. She used her phone to take a photo.
Charlie used tweezers to pick up a severed finger. Sliced just below the knuckle, the stump crusted in blood, the flesh covered with red ants, it ended with a sharp green fingernail. He looked at Daniel. “Did you happen to notice this?”
Daniel swallowed hard, turning his face to the side. “No. I did not.”
Charlie put the finger in a plastic bag.
Elena looked at him, her wide brown eyes giving him a knowing shimmer. “You interested in this case now, Mr. Harper?”
Charlie didn’t flinch. He stared at The Tree.
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Author Bio
RUSH LEAMING has done many things including spending 15+ years in film/video production working on such projects as The Lord of the Rings films. His first novel, Don’t Go, Ramanya, a political thriller set in Thailand, was self-published in the fall of 2016 and reached number one on Amazon. His equally successful second novel, entitled The Whole of the Moon, a coming-of-age tale set in the Congo at the end of the Cold War, was published in 2018. His short stories have appeared in Notations, 67 Press, Lightwave, Green Apple, 5k Fiction, and The Electric Eclectic. He has lived in New York City, Los Angeles, Atlanta, Zaire, Thailand, Spain, Greece, England, and Kenya. He currently lives in South Carolina.
I am very excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review on the Harlequin Trade Publishing May Blog Tour for YOU WILL REMEMBER ME by Hannah Mary McKinnon.
Below you will find an author Q&A, a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Author Q&A
Describe YOU WILL REMEMBER ME in three words or fewer?
Twisted, dark, surprising.
· How would you describe your latest book in one (or maybe two) killer sentences?
A twisty tale where the fates of three people intertwine: a man who wakes up on a beach but doesn’t know who or where he is. Lily, who’s searching for her boyfriend, Jack, who went missing after going for a swim, and Maya, who’s also looking for someone–her stepbrother, Ash, who abandoned her and his entire life two years prior. But is the man from the beach Jack, Ash, neither…or both?
· What’s “the story behind the story.” The inspiration for YOU WILL REMEMBER ME. Where were you when the spark came to you?
A few years ago, a man from Toronto vanished from a ski hill in Lake Placid while there on vacation and showed up six days later in Sacramento. He had amnesia and couldn’t remember much, including the cross-country trip he’d made as he’d hitchhiked across the US. Everything worked out for the man in the end and he found his way home, but it made me wonder—what could have gone wrong? That was the genesis for YOU WILL REMEMBER ME.
A while later I had a vivid image in my head—a man waking up on a deserted beach without any recollection of who he was, or what he was doing there. I kept coming back to his story, how he’d arrived on that beach, what he’d do, and how much danger he was in. As I noodled the plot around, I wondered what might happen if he found his way home but had no idea he’d actually left the town years before, and unknowingly walked back into the dragon’s den. That was it. I needed to know what happened next, who was looking for him, and if he’d survive.
· What did you have the most fun with, character or plot?
Hmm…both were tricky. Having multiple point-of-view characters (there are three) is always more complex than having one protagonist as you have to develop the character more quickly. I’d also completely underestimated writing a point-of-view character with amnesia. You can’t give them any backstory or memories, nor can you have scene after scene of somebody telling them about their past. YOU WILL REMEMBER ME was a tricky book to write, but it stretched me as an author.
· Did the story end the way you’d initially thought?
I had three endings in mind, and when I pitched the book to my editor, I asked her, “How dark can I go?” She said, “As dark as you want.” And I did J
· Five facts readers don’t know about the book
1. I set the book in Maine because we visited family in New Brunswick and stayed in Portland on our drive there. It’s a beautiful city and I can’t wait to go back. Newdale and Brookmount (the towns in the book) are fictional – I need to be able to take creative liberties.
2. One of the characters finds a library book, Creep by Jennifer Hillier. Creep propelled me to the dark side of writing suspense, and Jenny and I have become great friends. It’s an homage to her work, and her friendship.
3. One of the characters is originally from Portsmouth—so was my lovely mum.
4. While writing this book, I had a conversation about “could you kill someone using a…” with my husband. He still sleeps with one eye open.
5. I mention Meg White from the White Stripes in the book, and I think she’s a phenomenal drummer!
· Do you have a favorite chapter or scene?
Probably the ending because it’s twisted and hopefully unexpected. My books generally don’t tie up with a cherry on top because that’s the kind of book I like to read (except if I’m reading romance, then it HAS to work out or I’m disappointed)!
· Do you have a favorite character?
They were all interesting to write for many different reasons, predominantly because they’re flawed. Maya was probably the most complex, certainly one of the darkest point-of-view characters I’ve ever written. Although Lily is a sunshine girl, she has her secrets, too, which were fun to explore. As for “the man from the beach,” unearthing him was a longer process, and I kept remining myself that because I knew his history, it didn’t mean he could because of the amnesia.
· What do you hope readers will take away from You Will Remember Me?
I hope I manage to surprise readers, and they keep thinking about the book long after they’ve finished the final page. My main goal is to entertain, to provide people a form of escape and to leave readers satisfied thinking, “I enjoyed that. It was time well spent!”
· How did publishing your first book change your process of writing, if at all?
My novels have definitely become darker–in that sense I’m taking more risks because I’m more confident in my ability to pull it off. With each book my process has also become more streamlined, and, six books in, I feel more in control.
Having said that, self-doubt always, always creeps in, particularly when I’m writing my first “skeleton draft,” which is a first, very loose version nobody will ever see. However, I’ve learned to trust my writing process. If I can get the bones of the story on paper, I’ll add layers and complexity as I go over the novel again and again in preparation for my editor’s eyes. I accept the finer details will come as I work through the story. I’ll figure out plot-holes if I allow myself time to work through them. Just like most people who draw, paint, or write music or books, the first draft will never be my best work. I’m glad I’ve accepted that because it stops me from being overly self-critical when I start a project. I also set myself deadlines and work hard to beat them.
· What’s your favorite part about writing/being an author? What do you find challenging?
I love the camaraderie of the writing community, it’s like nothing I’ve experienced elsewhere. Authors, readers, agents, publishers—we all love books and it’s truly wonderful. In terms of writing, I love the initial anticipation of starting a new book where everything is open, and the only limit is my imagination. I also adore when I get to the editing part and think, “Yeah, I believe I’ve got something here” — that’s always such a rush.
· All of your books are filled with many plot twists and turns. How much of the stories have you mapped out in advance, or does your writing style, take, well, twists and turns as you go along?
I love twists and turns, and the more books I write, the more I plot them. Detailed outlines make me more productive and efficient because I know where I’m headed. That doesn’t necessarily mean I’ll end up at the destination I mapped out though. In The Neighbors, for example, the ending changed quite dramatically as I got closer to finishing my first draft. In Her Secret Son, the final chapters were different because I wasn’t happy with whom I’d planned to kill off. Sister Dear’s and You Will Remember Me’s endings are close to how I’d imagined but more sinister. Having said that, as I write, more twists and turns come up, and that’s another fun part of writing, discovering what your characters will do when you let them loose.
I admire authors who don’t plot or outline at all in advance, but jump right in. If I did that, I think I’d spend an awful lot of time meandering about not getting anywhere, and then fret about my deadlines.
· What is your writing process like?
Very structured, and the more I write, the more I plan. My novels start with an idea—something that pops into my head such as the news story for You Will Remember Me, or a radio segment for Sister Dear—maybe a discussion I overheard. I noodle the thoughts around for a while as the main characters take shape. The next step is to write an outline. I start by jotting down the big picture plot points, which I then use as stepping-stones to build and write the rest of the outline. I fill out personality questionnaires for my main characters to understand them better, and search for photos on the internet to build a gallery I stick on my pin-board. By this point I’m raring to go.
At first, I write a basic manuscript that’s a little over two-thirds of the final word count, then layer and develop until I’m happy calling it a first draft, and send it to my wonderful editor, Emily. That’s when the real editing work begins, which is incredibly exciting because I know the story will become a thousand times better with her expert input.
· What kind of research do you do, and how long do you spend researching before beginning a book?
It depends on the novel. For Time After Time (my debut, a rom com) there were geographical considerations, and, as the novel took place from the 1980s to the 2010s, I had to ensure my references to pop culture were accurate. In The Neighbors, Her Secret Son and Sister Dear, and You Will Remember Me (suspense / psychological thrillers) there were similar geographical issues to consider, but I also had to research legal details. I sought the help from an advisor from child services, a lawyer, a medical examiner, and a police detective, to name but a few. For You Will Remember Me I also had phenomenal input from a paramedic and an ER doctor.
I’m continually amazed how people are so incredibly generous with their time, knowledge and expertise when I call and say, “I’m an author, honest, and I have a few weird questions.” For example, fellow author Bruce Robert Coffin is a retired police detective, and he’s helped me get away with fictional murder multiple times. His input is incredible!
I don’t do a lot of research before I start writing but tend to put placeholders for areas that need fleshing out and go back to them after I’ve finished my first draft. That way I’m not spending hours on facts that don’t make the cut, or getting sidetracked by facts which are interesting, but potentially irrelevant to the story.
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Book Summary
He wakes up on a deserted beach in Maryland, wearing only swim trunks and a gash on his head. He can’t remember who he is. Everything—his identity, his life, his loved ones—has been replaced by a dizzying fog of uncertainty. But returning to his Maine hometown in search of the truth raises more questions than answers.
Lily Reid thinks she knows her boyfriend, Jack. Until he goes missing one night, and her frantic search reveals that he’s been lying to her since they met, desperate to escape a dark past he’d purposely left behind.
Maya Scott has been trying to find her estranged stepbrother, Asher, since he disappeared without a trace. Having him back, missing memory and all, feels like a miracle. But with a mutual history full of devastating secrets, how far will Maya go to ensure she alone takes them to the grave?
YOU WILL REMEMBER ME by Hannah Mary McKinnon is a dark and twisted psychological suspense/thriller that kept me turning the pages well into the night. Having read Sister DearI knew I was in for an exciting read, but this book managed to exceed those expectations.
A man wakes up freezing on a beach in Maryland only wearing swim trunks with no memory. The only thing he does remember is a phone number in Maine which leads him to his hometown and more questions than answers.
Lily Reid is frantic when her boyfriend, Jack goes missing. His truck is found on the beach, but there is no body.
Maya Scott has been trying to find her stepbrother, Asher who has been missing for two years. He disappeared without a trace, but he is now back with no memories. Maya is determined to keep Ash and their mutual secrets at home.
WOW! Each time I would believe I have everything figured out, Ms. McKinnon would reveal another twist that would leave me shocked and wondering where else this plot could go and how much darker it would get. The three main characters kept me constantly on my toes as their secrets were revealed which left me on an emotional pendulum. This is a page turner that does not disappoint and I will definitely be thinking about these characters for quite some time.
I highly recommend this psychological suspense/thriller and this author!
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Excerpt
Chapter 1—The Man from the Beach
Cold. Cold was the first word that came to mind. The first thing I noticed when I woke up. Not a slight, uncomfortable chill to give me the shivers, but a cramp-inducing, iced-to-the-bone kind of frozen. I lay flat on my stomach, my left ear and cheek pressed into the rough, grainy wet ground beneath me, my entire body shaking. As my thoughts attempted to assemble themselves into some form of understandable order, a wave of icy water nipped at my bare toes and ankles, my instincts pulling my feet out of reach.
I had a sudden urge to get up, a primal need to take in my surroundings and assess the danger—was I in danger?—but the throbbing pain deep in my head made the slightest effort to shift anything seem impossible. Lifting a finger would be too much effort, and I acquiesced, allowing myself to lie still for another few freezing seconds as the frigid water crept over the balls of my feet again. When I blinked my eyes open, I was met by a thick, fuzzy darkness enveloping me like a cloak. Where the hell was I? And wherever it was, what was I doing here?
When I lifted my head a fraction of an inch, I could barely make out anything in front of me. There was hardly a noise either, nothing but a gentle, steady rumble in the background, and the cry of a bird somewhere in the distance. I made my brain work its way backward—bird, rumble, sand, water—and the quartet formed the vaguely cohesive image of a beach.
Searching for confirmation, I inhaled the salty, humid air deep into my lungs as another slosh of water took aim at my calves. This time the discomfort was enough to push me to my feet, and I wrapped my arms around my naked torso, my sopping board shorts clinging to my goose-bump-covered thighs. An explosion of pain in my head threatened to send me back to my knees, and I swayed gently, wishing I had something to steady myself with, willing my body to stay upright. As I pressed a hand to the side of my skull, I let out a quiet yelp, and felt along a two-inch gash in my scalp. My eyes had adjusted somewhat to the lack of light, and my fingertips were covered in something dark that smelled of rust. Blood. How had I…?
Another low rumble made me turn around, shuffling slowly in a semicircle. The behemoth effort was rewarded by the sight of a thousand glistening waves dancing under the moonlight like diamonds, the water stretching out and disappearing into the darkness beyond. As my ears tuned in to the rhythmic whoosh of the waves, my mind worked hard to process each scrap of information it took in.
I’m definitely on a beach. It’s nighttime. I’m alone. What am I doing here?
Before I could answer the single question, a thousand others crowded my brain, an incessant string of chatter I couldn’t stop or get away from.
Where is everyone? Never mind them, where am I? Have I been here long? How did I get here? Where was I before? Where are my clothes? What day is it?
My legs buckled. Not because of the unfamiliar surroundings, the cold burrowing its way deeper into my core, or the pain in my head, which had increased tenfold. No. My knees hit the sand with a dull crunch when I realized I couldn’t answer any of the questions because I couldn’t recall anything. Nothing. Not the tiniest of details.
Including my name.
Chapter 2—Lily
A frown settled over my face as I put my phone on the table, pushed the bowl of unfinished berry oatmeal away and stretched out my legs. It was Saturday morning, and I’d been up for ages, too eager—too hopeful—to spend a day at the beach with Jack, but those plans had been a literal wash-out. The start to the summer felt capricious, with this second storm in the last week of June poised to be much worse than the first. I’d convinced myself the weatherwoman had exaggerated or got her forecast completely wrong, but clouds had rolled in overnight anyway. As a result, I’d been unceremoniously woken up at two thirty by a trio of bright lightning, deafening thunderclaps and heavy raindrops pelting against my bedroom window.
At first, I’d pulled my pillow over my head to deafen the noise, and when that didn’t work, I rolled over and stretched out an arm. The spot next to me was empty and cold, and I groaned. Jack hadn’t come over to my place as I’d hoped he would, slipping into bed and pressing his naked body against mine. I’d buried my face back into my pillow and tried to ignore the tinge of disappointment. We hadn’t seen much of each other this past week, both of us too busy with our jobs to spend more than a night together, and I missed him. Jack had called the day before to tell me he’d be working late, finishing the stain on the cabinets he’d labored on for weeks before his boss had to let him go. Apparently expensive custom kitchens weren’t in as high demand in Brookmount, Maryland as originally thought.
“But you got laid off,” I’d said. “It’s your last day. Why do you care?”
“Because I made a commitment. Besides, it’ll help when I need a reference.”
Typical Jack, always keeping his word. He’d bought a lottery ticket once, and the clerk had jokingly asked if he’d give him half of any winnings. Jack had laughed and shaken the man’s hand, and when he won ten bucks on the ticket, had promptly returned to the store, and paid over the share as promised. His loyalty was one of the many things I loved about Jack, although part of me wished he weren’t quite as dedicated to his soon-to-be ex-boss.
“You could come over to my place when you’re done,” I said, smiling slowly. “I’ll leave the key under the umbrella stand. I don’t mind you waking me up gently in the middle of the night…or not so gently.”
Jack laughed softly. The sound was something I’d fallen in love with eighteen months ago after our eyes had met across a crowded bar, the mother of all uninspired first-encounter clichés, except in this case I’d been forced to admit clichés weren’t always a bad thing.
“It’ll be really late, Lily,” he said, his voice deep. His English accent was something of a rarity in our small coastal town, and still capable of making my legs wobble in anticipation of his next words. “I’ll go for a quick swim now, then finish up work. How about I come over in the morning? Around nine? I’ll bring you breakfast in bed.”
“Blueberry pancakes from Patti’s? With extra maple syrup?”
“This time I’ll order three stacks to make sure I get some.”
“Pancakes or sex?” I said, before telling him how much I loved him, and whispering exactly how I’d thank him for waking me with sweet weekend treats. I’d hoped it might change his mind and he’d come over earlier, except it was ten now, and he still hadn’t showed. It was odd. Jack detested being late as much as he loved being early. He often joked they set Greenwich Mean Time by his father’s old watch, which Jack had worn since his dad passed a little over a decade before we’d met, when Jack was only twenty.
I checked my phone again. Jack hadn’t answered either of my calls, another anomaly, but I tried to talk myself into believing he’d worked late into the night to make the final good impression he wanted, and overslept. Maybe there was a line at Patti’s—the restaurant was slammed every weekend—and perhaps his phone was set to silent.
I picked up my bowl and wandered to the kitchen. My place was the smallest of six apartments, a tiny but well-maintained one-bedroom in a building a few miles from the beach, farther than I’d planned, but the closest I could afford. I’d lived there for almost five years, had furnished it with an eclectic assortment of third-hand furniture, my favorite piece a royal blue microfiber sofa I’d bought for fifty bucks, and which Jack swore was the most comfortable thing he’d ever sat on. Whenever he sank down into it and pulled me on top of him with a contented sigh, I’d tease him about what made him happier; the squishy, well-worn cushions, or me.
Hannah Mary McKinnon was born in the UK, grew up in Switzerland and moved to Canada in 2010. After a successful career in recruitment, she quit the corporate world in favor of writing, and is now the author of The Neighbors, Her Secret Son, and Sister Dear. She lives in Oakville, Ontario, with her husband and three sons, and is delighted by her twenty-second commute.
Today I am once again posting on the Harlequin Trade Publishing Beach Reads Summer 2021 Blog Tour. I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for TALK BOOKISH TO ME by Kate Bromley.
Below you will find an author Q&A, a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Author Q&A
Q: Please give the elevator pitch for Talk Bookish to Me.
A: Talk Bookish to Me is a contemporary romantic comedy that follows a bestselling romance novelist with writer’s block who suddenly finds herself inspired when she’s thrown together with her infuriating first love during the week of her best friend’s wedding.
Q: Which came first: the characters or plot line?
A: The characters! I had no idea what I was writing when I first started my manuscript, but I did know that the story was going to be about a quirky romance novelist in NYC who has an unexpected reunion with her college ex-boyfriend that she never forgot.
Q: Why do you love Kara and Ryan and why should readers root for them?
A: I love Kara and Ryan and readers should root for them because they refuse to give up on each other. It would be way easier for both of them to go their separate ways and move on with their lives, but there’s so much chemistry and history and genuine connection between them that no matter what, they just can’t get past it and, deep down, they don’t want to get past it. They also make each other laugh and absolutely light up when they’re together. They challenge each other to grow as people and to become the best versions of themselves, and I think that’s always something worth rooting for.
Q: What was your last 5 star read?
A: Ah, there’s so many! The ones that stick out the most to me at the moment are The Hating Game by Sally Thorne, Simmer Down by Sarah Smith, and The Trouble with Hating You by Sajni Patel.
Q: What is one thing about publishing you wish someone would have told you?
A: That it’s a much longer road than you think. But the good news is, it’s also very much worth it! Once you go from writing your book, to then querying, to then being on submission — there’s a ton of hard work and then a lot of waiting and hoping. And even though the whole process is a very nerve-racking experience, it’s also extremely exciting and you will learn so much about yourself and the publishing industry.
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Book Description
Inspiration can come from the most unlikely—and inconvenient—sources.
Kara Sullivan’s life is full of love—albeit fictional. As a bestselling romance novelist and influential bookstagrammer, she’s fine with getting her happily-ever-after fix between the covers of a book.
But right now? Not only is Kara’s best friend getting married next week—which means big wedding stress—but the deadline for her next novel is looming, and she hasn’t written a single word. The last thing she needs is for her infuriating first love, Ryan Thompson, to suddenly appear in the wedding party. But Ryan’s unexpected arrival sparks a creative awakening in Kara that inspires the steamy historical romance she desperately needs to deliver.
With her wedding duties intensifying, her deadline getting closer by the second and her bills not paying themselves, Kara knows there’s only one way for her to finish her book and to give her characters the ever-after they deserve. But can she embrace the unlikely, ruggedly handsome muse—who pushes every one of her buttons—to save the wedding, her career and, just maybe, write her own happy ending?
TALK BOOKISH TO ME by Kate Bromley is an enjoyable new contemporary rom/com with plenty of romance industry love and a couple that is meant to be, maybe. I was surprised to learn this is the debut novel by this author.
Kara Sullivan is a thirty-year-old bestselling historical romance author who is having a difficult time writing her current romance. With a deadline looming and no inspiration, she is also dealing with being the bride’s maid in her best friend’s wedding. Then the groom shows up with her first true love from college as a groomsman in his party.
Ryan Thompson’s unexpected arrival sparks Kara’s writing. Should she let Ryan, who pushes every one of her buttons back into her life to inspire her romance and just maybe grab a happily ever after for herself this time around?
I loved following Kara’s emotional journey through this rom/com. Her interactions with her family and friends felt believable and the writing flowed through all the ups and downs seamlessly. I enjoyed her defense of the romance industry as she sparred with Ryan. All of their dialogue is witty and realistic. I also enjoyed the inserted portions of the historical romance she was attempting to write.
I write spoiler free reviews, so this next bit is difficult. I was cheering Ryan on until a major plot point. Now, I can say he redeems himself in my opinion in the end because real life is messy and forgiveness is often necessary. I would cry foul in a romance genre book because I hate what he does, but this is a rom/com and does not necessarily follow the same rules.
I enjoyed this debut rom/com, the great characters and will be looking for more from this author.
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Excerpt
One
“Wait, was I supposed to bring a gift?”
I turn my gaze from the floor to the well-dressed man standing beside me. There are only two of us in the elevator, so he must be talking to me.
“I think it’s a matter of personal preference,” I answer. “I’m the maid of honor so I had to be excessive.”
His eyebrows bob up as I adjust my grip on the Great-Dane-sized gift basket I’m carrying. The cellophane wrapping paper crinkles each time I move, echoing through the confined space just loudly enough to keep things weird. Because if everyone isn’t uncomfortable for the entire ride, are you even really in an elevator?
I’m low-key ecstatic when the doors glide open ten seconds later. With my basket now on the cusp of breaking both my arms and my spirit, I beeline it out of there and stride into the rooftop lounge where my best friend is hosting her pre-wedding party, drinking in the scent of heat and champagne as I maneuver through the sea of guests.
Like most maids-of-honor, I flung myself down the Etsy rabbit hole headfirst and ordered an obscene amount of decorations for tonight’s event. Burlap “Mr. & Mrs.” banners dangle from floating shelves behind the bar as twinkle lights weave around the balcony railings like ivy. Lace-trimmed mason jars filled with pink roses sit on every candlelit cocktail table. Cristina and I worked with the tenacity of two matrimonial Spartans to get everything ready this morning, and it’s clear that our blood, sweat and tears were very much worth it.
It’s then that I spot Cristina mingling near the end of the bar. Beautiful, petite and come-hither curvy, I’d hate her if she weren’t one of my favorite people ever. Her caramel hair spills down her back and her white high-low dress sets her apart from the crowd in just the right way—she’s a princess in the forest and we’re her adoring woodland animals. I’m her feisty chipmunk sidekick to my core.
I place my gift on a nearby receiving table and give a little wave when I catch her eye. She’s waiting for me with a huge grin when I arrive at her side.
“Hey, lady!” she says, pulling me in for a hug. “Look at you, rolling in here looking all gorgeous.”
We step apart and I stand up a bit taller. “Why, thank you. I feel pretty good.”
It’s also very possible that Cristina is just so used to me dazzling the world with yoga pants and sweaters every day that my transformation seems more dramatic than it is.
“Were you able to get any writing done this afternoon?” she asks, handing me a glass of champagne from off the mahogany bar top.
I get a twisting knot in my gut at the mention of my writing, or lack thereof. Having been dying a slow literary death for almost a year, I’m never without some stomach-turning sensation for long. The final deadline for my next romance
novel is officially a month away and if I don’t deliver a bestseller by then—
“Okay, you’re making your freak-out face,” Cristina interjects. “I’m sorry, I shouldn’t have brought it up.”
I inhale a shallow breath and force a smile. “It’s fine. I’m good.”
“Let’s switch gears—are you sure it’s not weird that I’m having a pre-wedding party? Was booking the salsa band too much since I’m having one at the wedding, too?”
Beyond grateful for the booming trumpet and bongos that are drowning out my own thoughts, I turn to the corner and find the ten-piece group playing with addictive abandon. Cristina’s relatives, who are essentially non-trained professional salsa dancers, dominate the dance floor, and rightfully so. Cristina’s brother, Edgar, once tried to teach me the basics but I’m fairly confident I looked like a plank of wood that was given the gift of limbs. Cristina recommended dance lessons. Edgar suggested a bottle of aguardiente and prayer.
“The band is amazing,” I say as I swing back around, “and of course people have pre-wedding parties.” I’ve actually never heard of a pre-wedding party. An engagement party, yes. A bachelorette party, absolutely. But what’s going down tonight is basically a casual reception days before the mega-reception.
“Jason and I just have so many people coming in from out of town, plus we wanted the bridal party to get acquainted. We figured a little get-together would be fun.”
“I’m all for it. Who doesn’t want to pre-game for a wedding a week in advance?”
“I know I do,” Cristina says, lifting her own champagne and taking a sip. “Everyone is here except Jason and some groomsmen. Can you believe that creep is late to his own party?”
“Should you really be calling your fiancé a creep?”
“He’s my creep so it’s okay.”
“Valid point.”
“Picture please! Will you girls get together?”
I look to my right and find a teenage boy with wildly curly hair pointing a camera at us. He’s dressed in all black and looks so eager to take our photo that I can’t help but to find him endearing.
“Absolutely! Big smile, Kara.” Cristina throws her arm around my waist and after we withstand an intense flash, the young man is gone before my eyes can readjust. “That was Jason’s cousin, Rob. He wants to be a photographer, so I hired him for the night.”
“That was thoughtful of you,” I say, still recovering from my momentary blindness. “By the way, where is Jason?”
“He’s still at home. Two of his groomsmen are driving up and he wanted to wait for them since, apparently, grown men can’t find their way to a party by themselves.”
“Driving in Manhattan is intimidating. He probably didn’t want them to get lost.”
“Right, because neither of them has GPS? Jason should be here.”
I’m honestly shocked that Jason isn’t here. I love Cristina and Jason both to death but they’re one of those couples that rarely go out socially without each other. Even when I invite Cristina over to my apartment for a wine night, she asks to bring Jason. I’ve always thought it was a bit much, but I guess it works for them.
“Okay, forget everyone else, let’s toast.” I clear my throat and hold up my champagne. “When we were both waitressing at McMahon’s Pub in grad school, I had no idea it would lead to nine amazing years of friendship. Now I’d be lost without you. Here’s to you having a magical night. I’m so glad I’m here to celebrate with you.”
We smile and tap our glasses together, the ding of the crystal echoing my words.
I take a sip and the bubbly drink slips easily down my throat. Still savoring the sweetness, I ask, “So, who are these mystery groomsmen Jason’s waiting for?”
“One is named Beau and I can’t remember the other one. They’re two guys he grew up with when his family lived in North Carolina.”
“North Carolina? I thought Jason was from Texas?”
“He spent most of his life in Texas, but he lived in North Carolina until he was ten. He somehow kept in contact with these two through the years.”
“That’s nice, him staying friends with them for so long.”
“Yeah, it’s adorable, but they still should have gotten their asses here on their own.” Cristina is poised to elaborate when her gaze locks on something across the room. She tries and fails to look annoyed instead of excited.
“I’m guessing the groom has arrived,” I say, glancing over my shoulder. My suspicions are confirmed as I see Jason making his way toward us, smiling at Cristina like a fifth grader saying “cheese” on picture day. He’s tilting his head and everything.
“There she is! There’s my incredibly forgiving future wife.” Jason leans down and kisses Cristina before she can verbally obliterate him. He gives me a quick kiss on the cheek next and then shifts back to his fiancée’s side, sneaking an arm around her waist and pulling her to his hip.
“So, I’m going to go ahead and disregard all the semi-violent text messages you’ve sent me over the past hour. Bearing that in mind, how’s everything going?”
Cristina looks up at him, feigning disinterest. “It’s going great. Since you weren’t here, I talked to several nice men. Turns out, pre-wedding parties are a great place to meet guys.”
“I’m so happy for you.”
“I appreciate that. Four contenders, specifically, really piqued my interest.”
“Are they taller than me?” Jason asks. “Do they make a lot of money?”
“Obviously. They’re way taller and all of them are independently wealthy.”
“Nice. Kara, did you meet these freakishly tall and rich men?”
“I did and spoiler alert, I’m engaged now, too! Double wedding here we come!”
Jason smiles and pulls Cristina in even closer, his gaze holding hers. “I guess this is where being late gets you. I’m sorry I wasn’t here. Do you forgive me?”
“Don’t I always?”
He leans down and gives her another picture-perfect kiss.
It’s official. I’m dying alone. Just putting that out there.
“Now, where are these friends of yours? Oh! Let’s set one of them up with Kara!” Cristina looks at me with a dangerous matchmaker gleam in her eyes.
“Actually, I already mentioned Kara, and one of my buddies said he went to college with her.”
Went to college with me?
Jason looks towards the entrance and waves. “Hey, Ryan! Come over here!”
And then I go catatonic. I can’t move. I stand stock still, looking at Cristina like she sprouted a third arm out of her forehead and it’s giving me the middle finger.
Someone walks past me and a soft breeze ghosts across my overheating skin. I stare in a state of utter disbelief as Ryan Thompson steps into view beside Jason.
“It’s been a while, Sullivan,” he says, his voice as steady and tempting as ever.
My champagne glass falls from my fingers and shatters against the floor.
“Kara?” Cristina’s voice rings with concern as she nudges us away from the broken glass that’s now littered around our feet. She grasps my elbow, but I don’t feel it. She could backhand me across the face with a polo mallet and I wouldn’t feel it. My mind is spiraling, plummeting inwards as I come to grips with the realization that Ryan is standing two feet away from me.
Dressed in a navy suit, a crisp white button-down and brown dress shoes, he’s come a long way from the sweatshirts and jeans that were his unofficial uniform in college. His dirty-blond hair is on the shorter side, but a few wayward strands still fall across his forehead. Ten years ago, I would have reached up and brushed them aside without a thought. Now, my hand curls into a tight, unforgiving fist at my side.
If we were another former couple, seeing each other for the first time in a decade might be a dreamy, serendipitous meet-cute—a Nancy Meyers movie in pre-production. We’d have a few drinks and spend hours reminiscing about old times before picking up right where we left off. It would be comfortable and familiar as anything, like a sip of hot chocolate at Christmas with Nat King Cole crooning on vinyl in the background.
But we are not that kind of former couple, and I’m convinced that if Nat King Cole were here and knew my side of the story, he would grab Ryan by the scruff of his shirt and hold him steady as I roundhouse-kicked him in the throat.
It’s a tough pill to swallow but Ryan looks good. Like, really good. His face is harder than it was when he was twenty-one and the stubble on his chin tells me he hasn’t shaved in a few days, making him seem like he just rolled out of bed. And not rolled out of bed in a dirty way, but in a “I just rolled out of bed and yet I still look ruggedly handsome and you fully want to make out with me” kind of way.
The bastard.
“Ryan,” Cristina says, always the first to jump in, “Jason mentioned that you and Kara went to college together.”
“We did.” His eyes don’t move from mine for even a second. “It’s got to be what, ten years now?”
“Yeah, it’s been a long, long time,” I say quickly, turning to face Cristina. “I think I may have mentioned him before. Remember my friend from North Carolina?”
If someone were to look up “my friend from North Carolina” in the Dictionary of Kara, they would find the following:
My friend from North Carolina (noun): 1. Ryan Thompson. 2. My college boyfriend. 3. My first real boyfriend ever. 4. My first love. 5. Taker of my virginity. 6. Guy who massacred my heart with a rusty sledgehammer and fed the remains to rabid, ravenous dogs.
Cristina is well versed in the dictionary of Kara and recognition washes over her. “No way,” she says, her voice dropping.
“Yes way,” I answer happily, overcompensating.
Now’s it’s Cristina’s turn to panic. “Wow. Okay, wow, what a small world, huh?” She grabs Jason’s hand in an iron grip, making him wince as she blasts an over-the-top smile. “Well, we should give you guys a chance to catch up. My abuelita just got here so Jason and I are going to say hello.”
“Your abuelita died two years ago,” I hiss.
“I know, it’s a miracle. See you two later!” She drags her soon-to-be husband away before he can get a word out.
I watch them go, sailing away like the last lifeboat as I stand on deck with the string quartet, the cheerful Bach melody only further confirming that this ship is going down.
KATE BROMLEY lives in New York City with her husband, son, and her somewhat excessive collection of romance novels (It’s not hoarding if it’s books, right?). She was a preschool teacher for seven years and is now focusing full-time on combining her two great passions – writing swoon-worthy love stories and making people laugh. Talk Bookish to Me is her first novel.
