Today is my turn on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour for this well written and paced, atmospheric small town Sheriff/police procedural mystery. I am excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for Elena Taylor’s debut ALL WE BURIED: A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery (A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery Book #1).
Below you will find a book synopsis, 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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Synopsis
For fans of Julia Keller and Sheena Kamal, All We Buried disturbs the long-sleeping secrets of a small Washington State mountain town.
Interim sheriff Elizabeth “Bet” Rivers has always had one repeat nightmare: a shadowy figure throwing a suspicious object into her hometown lake in Collier, Washington. For the longest time, she chalked it up to an overactive imagination as a kid. Then the report arrives. In the woods of the Cascade mountain range, right in her jurisdiction, a body floats to the surface of Lake Collier. When the body is extricated and revealed, no one can identify Jane Doe. But someone must know the woman, so why aren’t they coming forward?
Bet has been sitting as the interim sheriff of this tiny town in the ill-fitting shoes of her late father and predecessor. With the nightmare on her heels, Bet decided to build a life for herself in Los Angeles, but now it’s time to confront the tragic history of Collier. The more she learns, the more Bet realizes she doesn’t know the townspeople of Collier as well as she thought, and nothing can prepare her for what she is about to discover.
Genre: Mystery Published by: Crooked Lane Publication Date: April 7, 2020 Number of Pages: 304 ISBN: 1643852914 (ISBN13: 9781643852911) Series: Sheriff Bet Rivers #1 Purchase Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | IndieBound | Goodreads
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
ALL WE BURIED: A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery (A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery Book #1) by Elena Taylor is a well written and paced, atmospheric small town Sheriff/police procedural mystery debut.
Elizabeth “Bet” Rivers has returned home to Collier from L.A. to her small hometown in the mountains of Washington state to follow in her father’s footsteps as Sheriff. Currently the interim Sheriff, she is not certain she wants to stay even as she runs for election against her father’s deputy.
A Washington State professor is studying the dead glacial lake by the abandoned coal mine outside of Collier when he discovers a canvas wrapped body floating in the lake. Bet has never handled a murder investigation, but she is determined to solve this one to prove her worth to the people of her town and herself. This murder is eerily reminiscent of a terrifying dream Bet has had for nearly nineteen years. Was it a dream or a memory she would rather forget?
As Bet digs deeper into the disturbing history around her hometown, two hometown sons have returned at the same time the body turns up. The more Bet digs, the more she learns that she does not know the town people of Collier as well as she believed and she may be the next victim of the dead lake and the ghosts of the old mine.
This is a wonderful mystery read that kept me guessing and turning the pages. I would never have expected a debut to be able to pull me in to not only the mystery and characters, but also the landscape and ecology of the small Cascade mountain town and lake. Bet is a wonderful new lead character that I am looking forward to following into the future. She is realistic and relatable as are the secondary characters. The mysteries from the past and the present are intertwined and paced perfectly in my opinion.
I highly recommend this debut and first in a series mystery!
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Excerpt
ONE
Sheriff Bet Rivers leaned back in her chair and gazed out the office window at the shifting light on Lake Collier. Bright sunlight cast up sparkling diamonds as a late-summer breeze chopped the surface—turquoise-blue and silver. The fragment of a song from her childhood teased her mind—silver, blue, and gold. She hummed the tune under her breath.
Red and yellow leaves turned the maple trees in the park across the street into Jackson Pollock paintings. Hard to believe Labor Day weekend ended tonight. Somehow summer had slipped by and fall had snuck up on her as she tended to her new position.
If she had still been in Los Angeles, she’d have been a detective by now. Instead, she was back in her tiny hometown with a job her father had tricked her into taking.
“I need you to cover for me while I get chemo,” he said. “It’s just for a few months. I’m going to be fine.”
With the detective exam available only once every two years, it meant putting her career on hold. But her father had never asked her for anything; how could she say no?
He never said he would die, turning her “interim sheriff” position into something more permanent.
Her father always knew what cards to play. Competition. Family. Responsibility. Loyalty. Collier. A perfect straight. He’d used them all this time, as if he’d known it would be his last hand. No easy way to extricate herself now, short of gnawing off her own foot.
The sound of instruments tuning up pulled her attention to a trio set up at a bench outside the market across the street. The raised sidewalk and false front of the old building made the perfect backdrop for their performance. Collier relied on tourism for much of its income, and the local musicians encouraged visitors to stay longer and spend more.
A beat of silence followed by a quick intake of breath, the unspoken communication of musicians well attuned to one another, and the trio launched into song.
Church of a different sort. Bet could hear her father’s words. I don’t know if there’s a God, Bet, but I do believe in bluegrass.
The music produced a soundtrack to her grief. The banjo player favored the fingerpicking style of the great Earl Scruggs. Loss etched in the sound of three-part harmony, Earle Rivers’s death still a wound that wouldn’t close.
She recognized the fiddle player. She’d babysat him years ago. It made her feel old. Not yet thirty, she wasn’t, but as the last generation of Lake Collier Riverses, the weight of history fell heavy on her shoulders. In a line of sheriffs stretching back to the town’s founding, she was the bitter end.
Looking down at her desk, Bet eyed the new fly she’d tied. The small, barbless hook would work well for the catch-and-release fishing she did, and the bright yellow and green feathers pleased her. The only thing she’d missed while living in California. Surf fishing wasn’t the same.
I should name it in your memory, Dad. The Earle fly. Her grandfather had named him after Scruggs, but her grandmother added the e because she liked how it looked.
Bet imagined her father’s critical response to her work, the size of the hook too dainty for his memorial.
Bet “spoke” with her father more now, four months after his death, than she’d ever done when he lived. Another burden she carried. The conversations they’d never had. Things she should have asked but didn’t.
She took a deep breath of the dry, pine scent that drifted in through the open windows, filling the room with a heady summer perfume. She should get up and walk around, let the community see she was on the job, but her body felt leaden. And it wasn’t like anyone would notice. She could vanish for hours and it wouldn’t matter to Collier; no one required her attention. Not like they had depended on her father. His death still hung over town like a malaise, her presence an insufficient cure no matter what Earle might have believed when he called her home.
Before her father’s illness, she’d had a plan. First the police academy, then patrol officer, proving she could make it in Los Angeles as a cop. She’d envisioned at least twenty years in LA, moving up the ranks—something with Chief in the title— returning home with a long, impressive career before stepping into Earle’s shoes.
Too late, she’d realized he wouldn’t get better. He’d brought her home for good.
Stretching her arms above her head, she walked her fingers up the wall behind her, tapping to the beat of the music. Anything to shake off the drowsiness brought on by the hot, quiet day and long nights of uneasy sleep.
The coffee stand beckoned from across the street, but the sound of the front door opening and the low, throaty voice of the department’s secretary, Alma, stopped her from voyaging out. A two-pack-a-day smoker for almost forty years, Alma sounded a lot like Lauren Bacall after a night of heavy drinking. She’d given up smoking more than twenty years ago, but even now, as she edged into her seventies, Alma’s voice clung to the roughness like a dying man to a life preserver. Bet hoped the visitor only wanted information about the community and Alma could answer.
No such luck. The efficient clop of Alma’s square-heeled shoes clumped down the scarred floors of the hallway, a counterpoint to another set of feet. Bet brought her hands down off the wall and automatically tucked a wayward curl of her auburn hair back up under her hat before Alma arrived, poking her birdlike head around the wooden frame of the door. Gray hair teased tall, as if that would give her five-foot frame a couple extra inches.
“Bet?” Alma always said her name as though it might not be Bet Rivers sitting behind the enormous sheriff’s desk. Bet assumed Alma wished to find Earle Rivers there. She wondered how long that would last. If Bet threw the upcoming election and fled back to Southern California, leaving her deputy to pick up the reins, maybe everyone would be better off, no matter what her father wanted.
“Yes, Alma?” “I think you’d better listen to what this young man has to say.” The “young man” in question could be anywhere under the age of sixty in Alma’s book, and as he stood out of sight down the hallway, Bet had little to go on.
“Okay,” Bet said.
“I think it’s important.” Alma waited for Bet to show appropriate attention. “Okay.”
“Seems he found a dead body floating in the lake.”
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CREDIT MARK PERLSTEIN
Author Bio
Elena Taylor lives on the banks of the middle fork of the Snoqualmie River in a town made famous by Twin Peaks. When she’s not writing or working one-on-one with writers as a developmental editor, she can be found hanging out with her husband, dog, and two cats. Her favorite place to be (besides home) is the stables down the road, with her two horses Radar and Jasper.
Today I am sharing on the Blackthorn Tours Blog Tour for a new unique post-apocalyptic horror/suspense book. My Feature Post and Book Review is for Jacy Morris’ THE DROP.
Below you will find a book blurb, my book review, the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Blurb
How many hearts can a song touch? How many ears can it reach? How many people can it kill?
When popular boy band Whoa-Town releases their latest album, no one thinks anything of it. They certainly don’t think that the world will be changed forever. After an apocalyptic disease sweeps the world, it becomes clear that the music of this seemingly innocuous boy band had something to do with it, but how?
Katherine Maddox, her life irrevocably changed by a disease dubbed The Drop, sets out to find out how and why, to prevent something like The Drop from ever happening again.
THE DROP by Jacy Morris is a new unique post-apocalyptic horror/suspense book. This new to me author grabbed my twisted-sense-of-humor interest with the premise of a boy band triggering a worldwide pandemic with drop of their new album and surprised me with a thought provoking, intense page turner that I found difficult to put down.
Katherine is a young journalist who is chasing the story of the origin of the Drop so that it can never happen again. Her investigation is laid out in a series of news reports, chatroom conversations, pod casts and in-person interviews.
The three time periods laid out in the book are post-Drop, pre-Drop and during the Drop. With the story investigated out of order to the events. While I normally find the out of order timeline difficult to follow, the author has laid each nugget of information to carry you through the different sections and build the tension and suspense in an easy to comprehend style.
This is a book that is difficult to give you any more information from it without giving away surprise twists that are learned throughout Katherine’s investigation. The ending left an impression and I believe everyone who reads this book will be sharing.
I highly recommend this story and I am looking forward to other readers opinions!
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Author Bio
Jacy Morris is a Native American author born in 1979 in Virginia. He is a registered member of the Confederated Tribes of Siletz. At the age of ten he was transplanted to Portland, Oregon, where he developed a love for punk rock and horror movies, both of which tend to find their way into his writing. Under the pseudonym The Vocabulariast, he was the writer/owner/CEO of the website MovieCynics.com from 2007-2014. He graduated from Portland State University with a Masters in Education. He has been an English and social studies teacher in Portland, Oregon since 2005.
His first film, All Hell Breaks Loose has a cult following. His second film, entitled The Cemetery People is now in post-production.
He has written several books, including the “This Rotten World” series, The Pied Piper of Hamelin, Killing the Cult, and “The Enemies of Our Ancestors” series. The Abbey was his first book under his real name. In between drinking beer and watching horror movies and hockey, he is currently working on the following books: An Unorthodox Cure, and the fourth chapter of This Rotten World.
Today is my turn on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour. I am excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for TORTURED WITH LOVE: The True Crime Romance of the Lonely Hearts Killers by J.T. Hunter.
Below you will find a book synopsis, 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 Synopsis
What is the price of passion? What is the power of love?
Meet Martha Beck, a young nurse dedicated to healing others, until her own hurting heart lured her down a darker path. Loneliness led her to Raymond Fernandez, but love led her all the way to the electric chair.
This is the tragic story of the Lonely Heart Killers.
Genre: True Crime Published by: JT Hunter Publication Date: May 15th 2020 Number of Pages: 210 ISBN: 9798646112720 Purchase Links:Amazon | Goodreads
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
TORTURED WITH LOVE: The True Crime Romance of the Lonely Hearst Killers by J.T. Hunter is a true crime story of a couple who ranked fourth on Time magazine’s list of Top 10 Crime Duos in U.S. history. Their crime spree occurred in the 1940’s and while it may seem somewhat tame compared to some of our current atrocities, it was the sensation of its time.
Martha Beck was a young nurse and mother in Pensacola, Florida. Divorced and lonely, her best friend encourages her to sign up with a lonely hearts correspondence club which was popular in the 1940’s and 50’s. Her letter is answered by a suave suitor named Ray from New York City.
Raymond “Ray” Fernandez came to America from Spain leaving his wife and four children behind. Having trouble keeping a job, he begins to scam wealthy women he corresponds with through the lonely hearts correspondence clubs. He meets Martha and while he walks away, Martha cannot let him go and will go to any lengths to keep his love.
Ray and Martha set out scamming and then ultimately moving on to murdering the women Ray makes fall in love with him to acquire all their assets. Dubbed by the press as the “Lonely Heart Killers” they are captured and continue to declare their love for each other all the way to the electric chair.
I had never heard of this couple in my true crime reading and was very interested in learning more. I am especially interested in these stories that have a couple committing murders to learn about the psychology of the couple. There are so many variables and I always wonder if they never met, if there would have been no crimes. The period of the 1940’s is brought to life and I found the author did a great job of displaying the differences in our mores and moral judgements then and now. This is the second book I have read by this author and I enjoy his clean and uncluttered style of writing while still providing a story that keeps you turning the pages.
I can highly recommend this true crime book and author!
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Excerpt
ONE
On an otherwise mundane March day, a peculiar piece of paper arrived in Martha Beck’s office mailbox. It came with the usual medical correspondence and junk mail, giving no indication of its importance. Yet, this one particular envelope would change Martha’s life forever.
The envelope arrived on a cool afternoon, the temperature hovering just below 60, the highest it had climbed all day in the Pensacola area of the Florida Panhandle. But Martha was not in the mood to enjoy the weather. She was still down in the dumps about her recently finalized divorce from Alfred Beck, a Pensacola bus driver who had married her when she was six months pregnant with another man’s child. Although she had been separated from Alfred since May 1945, nearly two years earlier, the formal entry of their divorce had the nearly 27-year-old Martha feeling like an old maid doomed to live out the rest of her life alone.
Martha was not unique in that respect in post-World War II America. With well over a million more women than men, the United States population of the mid and late 1940’s left many lonely women in its wake.
A visit from Elizabeth Swanson, one of the nurses she supervised at the Crippled Children’s Home, temporarily distracted Martha from feeling sorry for herself. She considered Elizabeth her closest friend. When Elizabeth knocked on her office door, Martha had just started going through the mail. As the two engaged in the latest gossip and friendly chit-chat, Martha resumed sorting through the assortment of envelopes. The first was an advertisement from a Jacksonville company selling medical equipment. She quickly flipped past it as well as a few other pieces of junk mail until a mysterious envelope caught her eye. It was made of thin, pale-brown paper with the name, Mrs. Martha Jule Beck, typed prominently on the front.
“What’s this?” she asked, the question directed more to herself than her friend.
“What is what?” Elizabeth replied, sipping from a mug of coffee.
“This . . . this odd envelope,” Martha said, holding it up to show her.
“Beat’s me,” Elizabeth remarked coyly. “I wonder who sent you that.”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Martha remarked, her curiosity now piqued. She turned the envelope over to inspect it further, and seeing nothing hinting at its contents, opened it to find a thin, paper pamphlet inside. It was a promotional mailing and application for the Standard Correspondence Club, one of many “lonely hearts clubs” operating across the country. The return address gave Standard’s location as Grave Lake, Illinois.
LONELY?, the pamphlet asked in large, bold letters, Let us help you findthat certain someone. Join old reliable Club, 50 years of dependable, confidentialservice. Correspondents most everywhere seeking congenial mates, provenresults. Interesting photos, descriptions FREE. There were several pictures of women spaced throughout the page, each next to a testimonial about a happy marriage brought about by contacts made through the club.
“Now why on earth would they send this to me?” Martha wondered aloud, taking a little offense that such a “lovelorn club” would be contacting her.
Elizabeth’s coyness now morphed into a broad grin that spread across her face.
“Now why on earth would they send this to me?” Martha wondered aloud, “I have a confession to make,” Elizabeth said as she started giggling. “I wrote the club and asked them to send you information and an application.”
Martha studied her friend’s face, deciding whether she was serious.
“Whatever for?” she asked in a tone matching the astonishment in her eyes.
Still giggling, Elizabeth moved to a chair closer to Martha and sat down beside her.
“I originally did it as a joke,” she explained, “but the more I thought about it, the more I decided that you should give it a try. Three of my daughters are writing to me that they have met men through this correspondence club, and this is the very same club that I met my husband through thirty years ago. And after all, what do you have to lose?”
Martha rolled her eyes.
“I may be a little lonely,” she acknowledged, “but I’m not THAT desperate.”
She glared with some annoyance at Elizabeth. “I swear, sometimes I really wonder what’s going on in that head of yours.”
Martha tossed the pamphlet onto a pile of papers stacked on the side of her desk and made no more mention of it for the rest of their time together. But the seeds of intrigue had already been planted in her mind.
Later, after Elizabeth had left, Martha retrieved the discarded pamphlet and read it more closely. Part of the pamphlet contained a form asking her to fill out information about herself and write a letter detailing what kind of men she would like to meet. Sitting down at her desk, she carefully completed the form and took her time crafting the letter, being sure to mention how people often commented that she was witty, vivacious, and oozed personality. She also emphasized that she was a trained nurse with her own pleasant apartment. When she was satisfied with what she had written, Martha carefully folded the papers, enclosed $5.00 for the required membership fee, and licked the envelope to seal it. That evening, she dropped it in a mailbox on her way home from work.
*****
Years later, when asked whether she had experienced any misgivings about joining a lonely hearts club, Martha candidly replied, “Yes, as soon as I’d put the letter in the mailbox, I began thinking I’d made a mistake.”
Questioned about what kind of man she hoped to meet through the club, Martha took a little more time before answering.
“Well, I don’t know,” she confessed. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it much.
But I sure didn’t think I’d ever meet anyone like Ray.”
***Excerpt from Tortured With Love by J.T. Hunter. Copyright 2020 by J.T. Hunter. Reproduced with permission from J.T. Hunter. All rights reserved.
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Author Bio
JT Hunter is a true crime writer with over fifteen years of experience as a lawyer, including criminal law and appeals. He also has significant training in criminal investigation techniques. He enjoys being a college professor teaching fiction and nonfiction to his creative writing students.
Today I am sharing on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour. My Feature Post and Book Review is for DERAILED (PI Kelly Pruett Book #1) by Mary Keliikoa.
Below you will find a book synopsis, 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 Synopsis
A dying wish. A secret world.
Can this grieving investigator stay on the right track?
PI Kelly Pruett is determined to make it on her own. And juggling clients at her late father’s detective agency, a controlling ex, and caring for a deaf daughter was never going to be easy. She takes it as a good sign when a letter left by her dad ties into an unsolved case of a young woman struck by a train.
Hunting down the one person who can prove the mysterious death was not just a drunken accident, Kelly discovers this witness is in no condition to talk. And the closer she gets to the truth the longer her list of sleazy suspects with murderous motives grows. Each clue exposes another layer of the victim’s steamy double life.
Can Kelly pinpoint the murderer, or is she on the fast track to disaster?
Genre: Mystery Published by: Camel Press Publication Date: May 12th 2020 Number of Pages: 232 ISBN: 1603817069 (ISBN13: 9781603817066) Series: PI Kelly Pruett #1 Purchase Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Bookshop | Goodreads
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
DERAILED (P.I. Kelly Pruett Book #1) by Mary Keliikoa is the start of a new female P.I. series by a debut author. This is an intriguing mystery full of characters with secrets and plot twists which take you as well as this inexperienced P.I. down many paths before ultimately discovering the truth.
P.I. Kelly Pruett is trying to make it on her own after her divorce and the death of her father who left her his detective agency. Kelly has always been fascinated with her father’s P.I. work, but has yet to work a major investigation. Kelly is trying to move forward after the death of her father, support herself and her deaf daughter and deal with an ex and mother-in-law who are still much too involved in her life.
A client shows up looking for Kelly’s father, but retains Kelly to investigate the supposed drunken accidental death of her daughter. This is Kelly’s chance to prove to everyone she is capable of taking over her father’s firm. As Kelly investigates the life of the dead woman, nothing is as it first seemed. She had a secret life and the murder of her main suspect leads her further into a web of sleazy characters that all have their own secrets.
Kelly is learning as she goes. She is finding she has more suspects than she anticipated and their many secrets lead to a motive that the killer does not want revealed and is willing to kill again to protect.
This is a cozy P.I. mystery that is intricately plotted with deceitful characters and red herrings that kept me turning the pages as I follow this new P.I. Kelly’s personal life felt realistic and pulled me in with her determination to make her dream work, protect her relationship with her child and hopefully more of her budding relationship with the handsome police officer. I am impressed with this mystery by this debut author and I hope she will continue with many more books in this series.
I recommend this first book in this cozy P.I. mystery series.
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Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Portland, Oregon has as many parts as the human anatomy. Like the body, some are more attractive than others. My father’s P.I. business that I’d inherited was in what many considered the armpit, the northeast, where pickpockets and drug dealers dotted the narrow streets and spray paint tags of bubble-lettered gang signatures striped the concrete. In other words, home. I’m Kelly Pruett and I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
I’d just finished invoicing a client for a skip trace and flicked off the light in the front office my dad and I used to share when a series of taps came from the locked front door. It was three o’clock on a gloomy Friday afternoon. A panhandler looking for a handout or a bathroom was my best guess. Sitting at the desk, I couldn’t tell.
Floyd, my basset hound and the only real man in my life, lifted his droopy eyes to meet mine before flopping his head back down on his bed. No help there.
Another rap, louder this time.
Someone wanted my attention. I retrieved the canister of pepper spray from my purse and opened the door to a woman, her umbrella sheltering her from the late October drizzle. Her angle made it hard to see her face, only the soft curls in her hair and the briefcase hanging from her hand. I slipped the pepper spray into the pocket of my Nike warmup jacket.
“Is Roger Pruett in?” she asked, water droplets splatting the ground.
She hadn’t heard the news and I hadn’t brought myself to update R&K Investigation’s website. I swallowed the lump before it could form and clutch my throat. “No, sorry,” I said. “My dad died earlier this year. I’m his daughter, Kelly.”
“I’m so sorry.” She peered from under the umbrella, her expression pinched. She searched my face for a different answer.
I’d give anything to have one. “What do you need?”
“To hire a P.I. to investigate my daughter’s death. Can you help me?” Her voice cracked.
My stomach fluttered. Process serving, court document searches, and the occasional tedious stakeout had made up the bulk of my fifteen hundred hours of P.I. experience requirement. Not that I wasn’t capable of more. Dad had enjoyed handling cases himself with the plan to train me later. In the year since his death, no one had come knocking, and going through the motions of what I knew how to do well had been hard enough. Now this lady was here for my father’s help. I couldn’t turn her away. I raked my fingers through the top of my shoulder length hair and opened the door. “Come in.”
“Bless you.” She slid her umbrella closed and brushed past me.
After securing the lock, I led her through the small reception area and into my office. A bathroom and another office that substituted for a storage closet were down the long hallway heading to the rear exit. Floyd decided to take interest and lumbered over. With his butt in the air, he stretched at her feet before nearly snuffling my soon-to-be client’s shoe up his nose. She nodded at him before vicious Floyd found his way back to his corner, tail swaying behind him. Guess he approved.
The woman looked in her mid-sixties. She had coiffed hair the color of burnt almonds, high cheekbones, and a prominent nose. She reminded me of my middle school librarian who could get you to shut up with one glance. “Would you like coffee, Ms…?”
“No thank you. It’s Hanson.” She settled in the red vinyl chair across from my dad’s beaten and scarred desk. “Georgette Hanson.”
My skin tingled when she said her name.
“My condolences on your father,” she said.
“Thank you.” Her words were simple, and expected, but her eyes held pain. Having lost her daughter, she clearly could relate.
“How did it happen?” she asked.
I swallowed again. With as many people as I’d had to tell, it should be getting easier. It wasn’t. “Stroke. Were you a former client of my father’s?”
She waved her hand. “Something like that.” She lifted the briefcase to her lap and popped the latch. Her eyes softened. “He was a fine man. You look just like him.”
My confident, broad-shouldered, Welshman father had been quite fit and handsome in his youth. Most of my adult life he’d carried an extra fifty pounds, but that never undermined his strong chin, wise blue eyes, and thick chestnut hair. I’d been blessed with my Dad’s eyes and hair and had my mom’s round chin. But since I’d ballooned a couple of sizes while pregnant with Mitz, I knew which version she thought I resembled. “What were you hoping he could do for you with regards to your daughter?”
“Find out why she’s dead.” Georgette shoved a paper dated a few weeks ago onto the desk and snapped the case lid closed.
A picture of a young woman with a warm smile, a button nose, and long wavy brunette hair sat below the fold on the front page under the headline: WOMAN STRUCK BY MAX TRAIN DIES.
I winced at the thought of her violent end. “I’m sorry. Such a pretty girl.”
“She was perfect.” Georgette pulled off her gloves, her eyes brimming. “The train destroyed that. Do you know what a train does to a hundred-pound woman?” Her voice trembled.
To avoid envisioning the impact, I replaced it with the smiling face of Mitz, my eight-year-old daughter. Which made it worse. If anything ever happened to her… How Georgette wasn’t a puddle on the Formica eluded me. I took a minute to read the story. According to the article, Brooke Hanson fell from the sidewalk into the path of an oncoming MAX train downtown at Ninth and Morrison Street. The police reported alcohol was a contributing factor. “They detained the sole witness who found her, Jay Nightingale. Why?” I set the paper down.
Georgette brushed her hair away from her forehead flashing nails chewed to the quick. “At first, the police thought he had something to do with her fall. He told them he’d seen my Brooke stumble down the sidewalk and teeter on the edge of the curb. Supposedly, he called out the train was coming and she didn’t hear him. He made no effort to get her away from those tracks. When the autopsy showed she’d been drinking, they wrote her death off as an accident, released Mr. Nightingale, and closed the case.”
Their decision couldn’t have been that cut and dry. “How much had she been drinking?”
“You sound like the police.” Georgette lifted her chin and met my gaze. There are many stages to grief. One of them anger, another denial. Georgette straddled both, something I knew plenty about. “Not sure…exactly. You’ll have to check the report.”
I scanned her face for the truth. “You don’t know or you’re afraid to tell me?”
She massaged the palm of her hand with her thumb. “The bartender at the Limbo said she’d had a few before he’d cut her off and asked her to leave. None of that matters because Nightingale’s lying. He had something to do with her fall. He may have even pushed her. At the very least, he knows more than he’s telling.”
My eyebrows raised. The police weren’t perfect, but they had solid procedures in death investigations. They would have explored that angle. “What are you basing that on?”
“My gut.”
A mother’s intuition while undeniable, alone didn’t prove foul play. “Did the MAX operator see Mr. Nightingale next to her at any point?”
“He didn’t even see her because the area wasn’t well lit.”
“Do you have his name?”
“Chris Foley.”
I jotted the information down. “What do the train’s cameras show?”
“There weren’t any. And no passenger statements because the train was done for the night. But Brooke shouldn’t have even been in the vicinity of that train.”
“Where is the Limbo located?”
“Ten blocks from where she was hit.”
A half mile, give or take. “Could she have been heading to catch the MAX to go home?”
“Brooke detested mass transit. The people who ride during the day scared her. She wouldn’t go there at night. Besides, she lived south of town. The train wouldn’t have taken her there.” She sighed. “I’m telling you, she wouldn’t be that far from the bar unless someone…” She closed her eyes.
Georgette talked in circles attempting to make sense of it all, but I had first-hand knowledge of drunk people doing things out of character. Given what she’d described, I could understand why the police had closed the matter. Even so, her devastation gripped my heart. And something had brought her out on this rainy Friday. “What are you holding back, Ms. Hanson? Why do you feel so strongly Mr. Nightingale was involved that you’d come to my dad for help?”
She stared at her hands as if they held the answers. “Brooke had changed in the last year. Become more distant. Not visiting. Missing our weekly calls.” The corner of her mouth turned upward in a sad smile. “We used to go for pie once a month. She loved pie. Apple pie. Cherry pie.” Her smile melted. “One day she was too busy and couldn’t get away. When she did, she didn’t look well. Stressed.”
“Did she say what was bothering her?”
“No. She shut me out, which she’d never done before. Now to have been killed by a train downtown when that Nightingale fellow was close enough to stop it from happening? He’s involved. I can feel it.” She straightened. “Until I know what happened that night, I won’t rest.” Georgette reached into her purse and produced an envelope grasped in her right hand. “Here’s three thousand for you to find the truth. Please say you’ll help me.”
Despite steady work from a few law firms around town, and an adequate divorce settlement, being a single mom often meant more month than money. Georgette was offering twice what I made in a good month of process serving and that would go a long way in taking care of my little girl. Not needing to ever rely on my ex would have been incentive alone, but there was more to it than that.
I’d recognized Georgette’s name the moment she’d said it. At the reading of my dad’s will, his lawyer had handed me a handwritten letter. It was a request from my dad that if a Georgette Hanson ever came to his door asking for help, I should assist and not ask questions why. It had meant nothing at the time. I’d figured it was due to his unending dedication to his clients.
Because Georgette had a connection to my dad in some capacity, that sealed my decision to at least try and help her. While I’d been directed not to ask questions, even he would have needed the obvious one answered before he took her money.
“You said she’d changed. Is there any chance she might have…I mean, was she depressed? Could she have stepped…”
Georgette cut me off. “Stop.” Her eyes grew wide with denial and the damn broke. Tears poured over her cheeks; her shoulders shook, buckling from the weight of her anguish. The anger and determination she’d used as a mask crumbled, and each passing second exposed another layer of her gut-wrenching grief.
I shifted at witnessing her raw emotion, bracing myself against my own around my father, and my thoughts on Mitz. Tears stung my eyes, unsure how to comfort my client when I struggled to do that for myself.
She muffled a wail with the back of her hand and finally drew in deep breaths until the sobs subsided.
I grabbed a box of Kleenex behind me. She already had a handful of tissue ready from her purse. I’d back off the notion of suicide—for the moment. The woman didn’t need any more distress than she’d already endured.
She sniffed hard a couple of times and sopped up her face with the tissue. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I swiped under my eyes with my fingers, gaining control over my thoughts. “I’m not sure I’ll uncover anything new, but I will look for you.”
“Thank you.” She composed herself and stuffed the tissue back in her purse for the next inevitable breakdown.
I handed Georgette one of my dad’s old contracts, explaining my hourly rate, and a couple of authorization forms that might come in handy if requesting any case files was necessary.
She signed her name without bothering to read the fine print. She stood, the vinyl chair screeching against the hardwood floor startling Floyd. Her expression softened. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Brooke was a couple of years older, but pretty, like you and with the same flowing brown hair and kind eyes.” She sniffed. “I came to Roger because he could get to the heart of things. If you’re like him, you’ll find out what happened to my baby.”
I’d never be as good as my dad, but I did possess his mule-like stubbornness to get to the bottom of things. My ex could attest to that. “I’ll do what I can.”
She nodded. “Brooke was a good girl. She loved animals, ran every morning, and worked for the law firm Anderson, Hiefield & Price. She was the head accountant there.” Her face beamed with pride before her chin trembled again, but she held it together.
“It might help if I get a better sense of who she was.” I slid the legal pad to her. “If I could get her address, I’d like to start there.”
Georgette jotted the information down and pushed it back to me. She dug into her purse and produced the key. “I haven’t brought myself to go there yet.”
I gave her a sympathetic smile. “Are there family or friends I should start with?”
“Besides my husband, Chester, there’s just her sister, Hannah, who lives in Seattle. They weren’t close.” Georgette cleared her throat. “She never spoke to me about friends or boyfriends. Honestly, with her work schedule, she didn’t have time for any.”
With my own social life lacking, I related. “Do you have her cell? I’d like to check who she had on speed dial.”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t among her belongings.”
What thirty-something didn’t have their phone glued to them? Unless the impact of the train threw it. Another image I pushed away. I rounded my desk and walked her out of my office.
“Please keep in touch on how the investigation is going,” she said.
I assured her I would. She squeezed my arm to thank me as she left. With a twist of the deadbolt, I rested my shoulder against the door and closed my eyes. Mitz would get hugged a little closer tonight.
At my desk, Floyd trotted over and sat at my feet. He rested his chin on my lap while I added a few more notes. His sixth sense of when I needed him never faltered. I tucked the notes, along with a couple of divorce petitions into my bag to serve in between outings with Mitz.
It was early enough to get to Brooke’s place, about twenty minutes away, and to the grocery store so Mitz and I weren’t eating PB&Js for dinner. The faster I got started and found answers, the sooner Georgette could begin healing. If I was lucky, Brooke’s phone would be sitting on her nightstand waiting to be found.
Before getting up, I pulled the letter from my dad out of the top drawer and unfolded the paper. I traced the ruts in the desk we shared with my finger as I read his words. Georgette’s name was there in black and white. I had wanted to ask her more about how she knew my dad, but he’d been explicit in his request. He was a good man, albeit a tough man that I didn’t question. Nor had I ever felt the need to. It hadn’t been easy for him after my mom died, and we became the Two Musketeers. We may have run out of time for him to teach me everything he knew about being a P.I., but I’d learn as I went. I had no other choice. Helping Georgette was the last thing I could do for him. And I would.
“Ready to boogie, Floyd?” I flicked off the lights and Floyd padded behind me down the narrow hall to the backdoor.
We jogged to my yellow 1980 Triumph Spitfire, a gift from my dad when I graduated. “You know the routine, buddy.” Floyd stretched himself halfway into the car, and with a grunt, I lifted in his other half. He tripped over the manual gearshift and settled into the passenger seat as I slunk behind the wheel. The engine started right up, for a change.
Brooke was a couple of years older than me—far too young to die. Was Nightingale involved in her death? Did he know more than he was telling? Or was he just a helpless bystander who could only watch Brooke fall because she was drunk off her ass? I had a feeling I’d be returning the bulk of Georgette’s money after putting in some legwork. With a case the Portland police had already closed and an eyewitness who’d already been cleared, what other possibility was there?
***
Author Bio
Mary Keliikoa spent the first 18 years of her adult life working around lawyers. Combining her love of all things legal and books, she creates a twisting mystery where justice prevails. She has had a short story published in Woman’s World and is the author of the PI Kelly Pruett Mystery Series.
At home in Washington, she enjoys spending time with her family and her writing companions/fur-kids. When not at home, you can find Mary on a beach on the Big Island where she and her husband recharge. But even under the palm trees and blazing sun she’s plotting her next murder—novel that is.
This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Mary Keliikoa. There will be 2 winners of one (1) Amazon.com Gift Card each. The giveaway begins on September 1, 2020 and runs through October 2, 2020. Void where prohibited.
Today I am sharing on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour. My Feature Post and Book Review is for Diann Mills’ AIRBORNE. Written before the current pandemic, this book is another type of viral nightmare that kept me turning the pages!
Below you will find a book synopsis, my book review, an excerpt from the book, author bio and social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy!
***
Book Synopsis
Heather Lawrence’s long-awaited vacation to Salzburg wasn’t supposed to go like this. Mere hours into the transatlantic flight, the Houston FBI agent is awakened when passengers begin exhibiting horrific symptoms of an unknown infection. As the virus quickly spreads and dozens of passengers fall ill, Heather fears she’s witnessing an epidemic similar to ones her estranged husband studies for a living—but this airborne contagion may have been deliberately released.
While Heather remains quarantined with other survivors, she works with her FBI colleagues to identify the person behind this attack. The prime suspect? Dr. Chad Lawrence, an expert in his field . . . and Heather’s husband. The Lawrences’ marriage has been on the rocks since Chad announced his career took precedence over his wife and future family and moved out.
As more victims fall prey days after the initial outbreak, time’s running out to hunt down the killer, one who may be closer to the victims than anyone ever expected.
Genre: Romantic Suspense Published by: Tyndale House Publishers Publication Date: September 8th 2020 Number of Pages: 400 ISBN: 1496427173 (ISBN13: 9781496427175)
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
AIRBORNE by Diann Mills is a Christian romantic suspense/mystery written before the current pandemic, this book is another type of viral nightmare that kept me turning the pages.
Houston FBI agent Heather Lawrence is on a flight alone to a vacation previously planned for herself and her husband to attend the famous Salzburg Music Festival in Germany. Not even over the Atlantic yet, several passengers begin exhibiting horrific viral symptoms of an unknown origin. As Heather helps the flight attendants where she can, she fears she is witnessing a viral epidemic similar to the type her estranged husband studies for a living. As she works to help other passengers, she prays for not only her own safety but that of her unborn child.
Dr. Chad Lawrence is separated from his wife of eight years. When he returned from his last trip with Doctors Without Borders, he announced that his career took precedence over his wife and any future together and that their marriage was over. He moved out and was planning to move to Atlanta for a job with the CDC, but that is now on hold as he is the prime suspect of the FBI in the viral attack on Heather’s plane.
The plane is rerouted to NYC for hospitalization of the sick passengers and all of those not showing symptoms are isolated on an island off the coast. Heather is tasked with discovering who on the plane released the virus and if her estranged husband is involved.
I enjoyed this book’s compelling main characters and the intense study of their relationship. At first, Chad really rubbed me the wrong way until I learned the reason for his actions with Heather. The questioning of beliefs and actions by both Heather and Chad in their relationship felt realistic and had me vested in the resolution. The underlying conflict between Heather’s religious beliefs and her husband’s atheism is woven throughout the story as well as other secondary character’s religious beliefs. The suspense/mystery plot is well paced and builds to a climax that was not a surprise, but was still satisfying.
I enjoyed this story’s main characters and plot and I would recommend it for readers of Christian fiction.
***
Excerpt
Chapter One
Houston
Early July
Monday, 6 p.m.
Vacations offered a distraction for those who longed to relax and rejuvenate, but FBI Special Agent Heather Lawrence wrestled with the decision to take an overseas trip alone. Normally she arrived for a flight at IAH eager to embark upon a new adventure. Not this time. Her vacation expectations had bottomed out over four weeks ago after Chad had slammed the door on reconciliation. Was she working through her grief or avoiding the reality of a husband who no longer wanted her?
She waited to board the flight in a designated line at the gate. The hum of voices blended with airport beeps, and announcements swirled around her as though enticing her to join the enthusiasm. In the line beside her, passengers shifted their carry-ons and positioned their mobile devices or paper boarding passes. Ready. Alert. People eager to be on their way.
Heather offered a smile to those nearest her. An adorable little blond boy with an older woman found it hard to stand still. A middle-aged couple held hands. The bald head and pasty skin of the man indicated a medical condition. He stumbled, and the woman reached for him. A robust man held a violin case next to his heart. A twentysomething woman with pink hair and a man behind her with a scruffy beard exchanged a kiss.
Chad used to steal kisses.
If she pinpointed the exact moment when he chose to separate himself from her, she’d say when he returned from a third trip for Doctors Without Borders late last fall. He’d witnessed suffering and cruel deaths that had scarred him. She’d encouraged his desire to help others, not realizing their future would take a backseat. While he drove toward success, their marriage drifted across the lanes and stalled in a rut.
The boarding line moved toward the Jetway. Each step shook her to the core as though she should turn and try to reverse the past seven months. She’d ignored her and Chad’s deteriorating relationship in an effort to make him happy. A huge mistake. But she didn’t intend to add the labels beaten or weak to her dossier.
A cell phone sounded, and a man boarding in front of her stopped to answer it. His shoulders stiffened under a tan sports coat, and he talked in hushed tones. Heather dug her fingers into her palms and forced one foot in front of the other while the man pocketed his cell phone and proceeded into business class.
A flight attendant greeted her, a dark-haired young man wearing a wide smile, relaxed and genuine, an obvious sign he enjoyed his job. She returned the gesture. His black jacket with two rows of silver braid on the sleeves and black trousers were magazine perfect.
Heather walked to a rear aisle seat in business class and hoisted her tote bag into the overhead compartment. Although it held essentials for every emergency in case her luggage was delayed, the bulging piece weighed less than the burden on her heart.
Easing onto her seat, Heather pulled the brochure from her shoulder bag describing Salzburg’s music festival, a celebration of musicians past and present. First a layover in Frankfurt and then on to her destination. She’d rented an apartment for ten days within walking distance of the historical center. The flexibility allowed her to choose her itinerary and cook or dine out. From the online photos, the centuries-old building had just enough updates to be comfortable without damaging its historic charm. She’d have hours to explore Mozart’s roots, museums, the many churches, immerse herself in the culture, and think.
A female passenger, sporting red spiked hair and chin-length hooped earrings, stopped beside her. The woman carried a Venti Starbucks. “Excuse me.” Her German accent a reminder of the destination. “Would you mind holding my coffee while I store my carry-on?”
“Of course.” Heather held the cup while the woman shoved her small suitcase into the overhead bin.
“Sorry for the inconvenience. I wasn’t thinking when I bought the coffee.”
“It smells heavenly.” Heather stood to let the woman pass and then handed her the cup.
“Thank you.” The woman blew on the lid and took a sip. “I’m Mia.”
“I’m Heather.”
“Long flight ahead but soon I’ll be home.” She pointed to Heather’s brochure. “Salzburg?”
“Yes. For a much-needed vacation.”
“I’m from Frankfurt. Really missing my daughter and husband.”
“You’ll see them soon.”
Mia broke into a wide smile. “We’ve done FaceTime and texted, but I want to touch their faces and hug them.”
Heather continued to read the Salzburg brochure to avoid any personal comments from Mia, like whether she was taking a vacation solo. An elderly man wearing a straw fedora and a white mustache sat in the aisle seat across from Heather. He pulled his phone from his pant pocket and used his thumbs on the keyboard like a kid.
Mia placed her coffee on the tray and made a phone call. “Wie geht es meinem kleinen Mädchen?”
Heather translated the German. How is my little girl? The woman’s excitement resonated through every word. Love. Laughter. Priceless commodities that Heather didn’t possess. Yet this trip offered an opportunity to rekindle her faith in God and chart a course for the future.
While the attendants made their way through business class with drink orders, Heather longed to have confirmation she’d made the right decision to take this trip. No one knew of her vacation plans except her parents and Assistant Special Agent in Charge Wade Mitchell in Houston. No one needed to know the why of her trip until she made a few decisions.
Stuffing the Salzburg brochure into her bag, she snatched the aircraft’s information and confirmed the layout for 267 passengers, restrooms, exit doors, in-seat power, on-demand entertainment, and three galleys. She always noted the details of her surroundings, another habit of working so many FBI cases. Always be prepared for the unexpected.
If the trip had been FBI sanctioned, her present circumstances might not hurt so much. How ironic she worked the critical incident response group as a behavior analyst, and she wrestled to understand her own life.
Right on time, the flight attendants took their assigned posts while miniature screens throughout the plane shared the aircraft’s amenities and explained the passenger safety instructions. The captain welcomed them moments before the plane lifted into the clouds.
On her way. No turning back. She prayed for a safe journey and much-needed answers.
Food smells from business class caught her attention, a mix of roasted chicken and beef. Too often of late, she forgot to eat or nothing appealed to her. To shake off the growing negativity, she paid for Wi-Fi and grabbed her phone from her bag. Time to concentrate on something other than herself.
She glanced at the incoming notifications. No texts. Her emails were an anticipated list of senders when she longed for a change of heart from Chad. Sighing, she closed her eyes. Between her job, Chad, and stress, too often she fought for enough pillow time.
Two hours later, she woke from a deep sleep to the sound of a woman’s scream.
Chapter 2
Heather whirled toward the ear-piercing cry behind her. She released her seat belt and rushed back to the economy section. The overhead lights snapped on to reveal the middle-aged couple whom she’d seen at the gate. The panic-stricken woman beside him held a tissue to his nose. Blood dripped beneath her fingers and down her wrist.
Not a muscle moved on the man’s face, and his eyes rolled back into their sockets. Heather approached him in the aisle seat. Before she could speak, the woman gasped, a mix of sobs and a struggle for composure. “Help me. I can’t stop the bleeding.”
Heather used tissues from the woman’s lap to help block the blood flow. “Try to stay calm.”
The woman nodded. “I shouldn’t have let him talk me into this trip. He’s been so weak.”
From the front of the plane, the male flight attendant who’d greeted passengers earlier rushed their way. He carried two kits, one labeled first aid and the other biohazard. A female attendant trailed after him.
“Help is here,” Heather said to the woman. She moved aside for the attendant to administer aid. She prayed the ill man was undergoing a minor problem—an easily resolved issue—and for the woman’s comfort. But his lifeless face showed a grim reality.
“Sir, how do you feel?” Not a sound or movement came from the man. Blood flowed from Heather’s mass of tissues.
The male attendant twisted off the seal of the biohazard kit and searched inside. He drew out a pair of nitrile gloves and wiggled them on. The female attendant opened the first aid kit, ripped into a gauze package, and handed it to the male attendant, who applied it to the man’s nose. She opened the biohazard waste bag to dispose of the soiled materials.
The male attendant captured the woman’s attention. “Ma’am, I’m Nathan. Is this your husband?”
“Yes. He’s very hot.”
Nathan touched the man’s forehead. “How long has he been feverish?”
“He was fine when we boarded. Perhaps over an hour into the flight?” Her sobs subsided to soft cries. “Do something. Blood’s coming from his mouth.”
Heather touched her shoulder with a clean hand. “Take a deep breath.”
“How can I? Roy’s not breathing.”
“That’s his name?” His gentle voice ushered in compassion.
“Yes. I’m Catherine.”
He bent to speak to Roy. “I’m Nathan. Give me a few minutes to administer first aid.” He replaced the gauze on Roy’s nose for the second time and turned to the female flight attendant, who’d paled but didn’t tremble. “Leave the kits. Call the flight deck and tell them what’s happening.”
She rushed to the front of the cabin.
“This is my fault.” Catherine held Roy’s hand. “He finished chemo and radiation for lung cancer, but his doctor hadn’t cleared him for the trip.”
“Catherine,” Nathan said, “I know you’re worried, but try to stay calm. Has he experienced these symptoms before?”
“No.”
A voice spoke over the interphone. “If a licensed medical professional is on board, we have a medical issue. All other passengers, please remain in your seats.”
Within moments, a lean man arrived from the right side of business class carrying a leather case. “I’m a doctor.” Heather stepped back while he examined Roy and spoke to Nathan.
While the doctor stood over Roy with his back to Heather, Nathan turned to her. “We’ve got this handled. Please return—”
“No, please. Let her stay,” Catherine said. “If she doesn’t mind.”
Nathan frowned. “Okay, for the moment. Our manual states we have to keep the aisle clear around the patient.”
“I understand,” Heather said. “I’d be happy to sit with her, and I’m Heather.”
“Miss, if the pilots call our med service on the ground, I’ll need you out of way so we can relay instructions.”
The doctor and Nathan lowered Roy to the aisle and treated him. They blocked Heather’s view of the procedure, but the doctor rummaged for something inside the leather case. For the next ten minutes, she waited for the doctor to reassure passengers of the man’s recovery.
Catherine’s hysteria spun in a cloud of uncertainty that left unchecked often spread panic. She unfastened her seat belt and rose on unstable legs. “Please, tell me my husband is all right.” The female attendant gently urged her back onto the seat.
The doctor eased up from Roy and spoke reassuring words to Catherine. He peeled off his blood-covered gloves and tossed them into the bag. Had Roy succumbed to the lung cancer or a complication?
Nathan walked to a galley area. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Nathan Howard, your lead flight attendant on board your flight today. We appreciate your concern for the man receiving medical attention. We will transport him to the rear of the cabin, where he’ll be comfortable. A doctor is tending to him, and the medical concern is under control. Thank you.”
Heather supported the airline’s protocol designed to keep everyone from alarm and terror while the crew addressed issues. Yet a few people craned their necks to watch the scene as though it was a morbid form of entertainment more interesting than the recycled movies on the screens in front of them.
Nathan returned to Catherine. “I know you’d like for the young woman to sit with you, but it would be easier for the flight crew and safer for her if we placed an attendant here. Can we do that?”
“I guess.” Catherine’s lips quivered.
Heather bent to speak. “I’m not far.” She understood how Catherine had latched on to her, a stranger, for moral support.
Nathan and the doctor picked Roy up and carried him to the rear. Roy was either unconscious or dead.
The female flight attendant sat in Roy’s seat and held Catherine’s hand. “I’ll stay with you for as long as you like.”
“Can I join my husband?”
“When the doctor is finished, I’ll escort you back.”
Heather returned to her seat—her mind weighed with concern.
“Gott hab Erbarmen,” Mia said.
“Yes, God have mercy.”
“You speak German?”
“A little. Spent a year in Frankfurt when I was in college.”
“The sound of it makes me long for home.” She hesitated. “What’s wrong with the man?”
“His wife said he’d recently completed chemo treatments for lung cancer. I’m sure the doctor is doing all he can. The airline has doctors on the ground, and they’ll consult with the doctor on board. Between them, they’ll figure out what’s best.”
“Do you work for the airlines?”
“No.” Heather smiled. “I’m with the Department of Justice.”
Mia rubbed her palms together. She’d already stated her desire to see her family. “Will the flight be diverted?”
“It depends on lots of factors. The man may just require rest.” Heather wasn’t going to state the excessive blood from Roy’s mouth and nose pointed to his death. By now the doctors at Medi-Pro-Aire, an advisory service for airlines, had been contacted and put in communication with the pilot.
“I read the airline’s cost to emergency divert range from $10,000 to upwards of $200,000,” Mia said.
“I don’t doubt the cost, but with this airline, the safety and welfare of the passengers always come first. They don’t blink at the cost of diversion. It’s on management’s mind post-action.”
“Can the pilots be called to the carpet for making a safety decision?”
“I’m sure their procedure is in place to protect the passengers.” Heather forced comfort into her voice. “We’ll be okay.”
Muffled voices around her prompted alarm.
A man shouted for help. “My wife has a terrible headache.”
A man in business class vomited.
“My son has a fever,” a woman said.
“Please, the man beside me has a nosebleed, and he can’t stop it.”
“What is going on?” Mia whispered. “All these people are suddenly sick. Frighteningly sick.”
Heather wished she had answers while horror played out around her.
“I’m afraid.” Mia’s face turned ashen.
“We have to stay calm.” Heather craved to heed her own advice.
Throughout the plane, people complained of flu-like symptoms. Another person vomited. Heather touched her stomach. A twinge of apprehension crept through her.
Nathan spoke over the interphone. “If you are experiencing physical distress, press your call button. Flight attendants will be in your area soon with damp paper towels. Use these to cover your mouth and the tops of beverages. As always, remain in your seats.”
Heather messaged ASAC Mitchell in Houston with the medical emergency report, including the symptoms.
He responded. The FBI, TSA, CDC, and Medi-Pro-Aire are on it. Are you okay?
Yes. People’s symptoms indicate a serious virus.
The doctor on board has given a similar conclusion.
She trembled as she typed. Looks similar to what Chad described in Africa.
The doctor said the same. Is the man dead?
I think so.
How many others are sick?
Heather surveyed the passengers within her sight and typed. From my seat, I see around ten in business class, and I hear the sick in economy. Will the plane divert?
No decision yet. Keep me posted. You are our eyes.
Beyond what the doctor on board relayed to those on the ground, ASAC Mitchell must believe she held the voice of reason and objectivity. The irony of their interpretation. The viruses were usually zoonotic or caused by insects, and the symptoms created intense suffering. She blinked to clear her head and not ponder the worst.
With panic gripping her in a stranglehold, she imagined what others were feeling. A man questioned why the plane hadn’t landed. A woman bolted to the galley and held her mouth. The man who held the violin marched to the business class restroom but fell face-first and vomited.
The elderly man across the aisle from her coughed. His nose trickled blood.
Heather grabbed tissues from her bag and handed them to him. “Will this help?”
“Tell me this is a nightmare.” He gripped her arm—fiery hot.
***
Author Bio
DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who believes her readers should expect an adventure. She is a storyteller and creates action-packed, suspense-filled novels to thrill readers. Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists; won two Christy Awards; and been finalists for the RITA, Daphne Du Maurier, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol award contests. DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, a member of Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers. She is the director of the Blue Ridge Mountain Christian Writers Conference, Mountainside Retreats: Marketing, Speakers, Nonfiction, and Novelist with social media specialist Edie Melson where she continues her passion of helping other writers be successful. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country.
This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for DiAnn Mills. There will be 2 winners of one (1) Gift Card each (Amazon or B&N). The giveaway begins on September 1, 2020 and runs through October 2, 2020. Void where prohibited.
Today I am excited to share my Feature Post and Book Review on the Blog Tour for THE LIBRARY MURDERS by M.R. Mackenzie.
Below you will find a book description, my book review and the author’s bio. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Alyssa Clark is about to find out that reading really can be murder.
She thought her new job in Thornhill Library would be safe and uneventful. Boring, even. But on her first day at work, a masked gunman storms into the building and blows away every member of staff on duty. Alyssa barely escapes with her life.
The police are satisfied they’ve got their man, but Davy, Alyssa’s colleague and the only other survivor of the massacre, is convinced the real killer is still at large. Alyssa – trying to move on with her life while dealing with traumatic flashbacks and the unwanted advances of an obsessive ex – is sceptical. However, when she stumbles across damning evidence of a cover-up, she agrees to join forces with Davy to help track down the real culprit.
But in her pursuit of the truth, will she find the closure she desperately craves… or provoke the wrath of a killer with unfinished business on his mind?
If you like twists, turns and compelling, conflicted characters, you’ll love this gripping new mystery from the McIlvanney Prize-nominated author of In the Silence.
THE LIBRARY MURDERS by M.R. Mackenzie is a murder mystery that begins with a graphic murder of librarians in a small satellite library in Glasgow and then becomes a twisted search for the murderer by two of the survivors. This is a new to me author who was able to immerse me in his narrative and I did not put it down until “The End”.
Alyssa Clark is late for her first day on her new job at the Thornhill Library. As she and her new colleagues are behind the main desk a masked man dressed all in black walks right up to the desk and proceeds to shoot everyone. Alyssa and one other, Davy survive the nightmare.
Davy is not satisfied when the police arrest a down and out patron of the library. He has the gun when taken down weeks later, but he swears it is not his. When he tells Alyssa about his doubts, she finds it difficult to believe until she finds some damning evidence of a cover-up. The two begin to work to uncover the real murderer.
This book surprised me, not only with the revelation of the murderer, but also with the multiple revelations about Alyssa’s past and the reasons for her prickly and off-putting personality. Usually I have difficulty with a book which has a protagonist that I do not like, but Mr. Mackenzie deftly kept me interested in why she is the way she is as well as spinning the twists and turns of the murder mystery around her and Davy. This book is as much a study of human interactions with others and the repercussions as well as a deftly plotted murder mystery.
I highly recommend this mystery and look forward to more from this author!
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Author Bio
M.R. Mackenzie was born and lives in Glasgow, Scotland. He studied at Glasgow University and has an MA in English and a PhD in Film Studies.
In addition to writing, he works as a Blu-ray/DVD producer and has overseen releases of films by a number of acclaimed directors, among them Dario Argento, Joe Dante, Hideo Nakata and Jacques Tourneur. Writing as Michael Mackenzie, he has contributed chapters to books on cult cinema and regularly provides video essays and liner notes for new releases of celebrated films. He used to work in a library, before leaving to spend more time with books.
In 2019, his first novel, In the Silence, was shortlisted for the Bloody Scotland Scottish Crime Debut of the Year and longlisted for the McIlvanney Prize.
Author Website: https://www.mrmackenzieauthor.com
Praise for M.R. Mackenzie
‘Writes with precision and passion’ – Caro Ramsay
‘Brings a fresh new voice to the field of Tartan Noir’ – James Oswald
‘Up there with the best contemporary authors working today’ – David B. Lyons
