Rose is in her late 70s, living out her golden years at the Autumn Springs Retirement Home.
When one of her friends dies alone in her apartment, Rose isn’t too concerned. Accidents happen, especially at this age!
Then another resident drops dead. And another. With bodies stacking up, Rose can’t help but wonder: are these accidents? Old age? Or something far more sinister?
Together with her best friend, Miller, Rose begins to investigate. The further she digs, the more convinced she becomes: There’s a killer on the loose at Autumn Springs, and if Rose isn’t careful, she may be their next victim.
THE AUTUMN SPRINGS RETIREMENT HOME MASSACRE by Philip Fracassi is a bloody horror story with a touch of paranormal and a serial killer crime thriller mash-up with a feisty elderly female protagonist set in a retirement community in upstate New York. It is a gripping read full of edge-of-your-seat suspense, but not for the squeamish.
Rose DuBois is content living her senior years at the Autumn Springs Retirement Home. She has friends, especially one elderly retired college professor, participates in activities, and can retreat to her own apartment for peaceful solitude. When one of Rose’s girlfriends is found dead in her apartment, it is not considered suspicious for a woman of their age.
But the dead bodies begin to pile up, and Rose and her friends begin to wonder if there is more to their deaths than is being released. Soon, Rose realizes the suspicious deaths are occurring to those in her group who believe there is more going on and the killer is no longer hiding the murders as accidents. With no help from the administration and a skeptical police response, Rose realizes the elderly residents are on their own and if she isn’t careful, she could be the next victim.
Rose is an excellent protagonist for this story because her reactions are believable. She is tenacious, but also scared, and she has a past which affects her actions throughout the story. The murder scenes are graphic, but having read many serial killer books, it did not put me off this story because I was so invested in each character and needed to know who else would fall and if the killer would be discovered and punished. Being older myself, this book does play on many emotions and fears that come with age, from depending on others in our daily lives, safety concerns, and having any family that cares. The plot is full of tension and suspense that continually increases towards a final showdown, and the ending was unexpected and yet foreshadowed throughout. It also took this book out of a crime/mystery classification and put it definitively in the horror/paranormal classification.
I highly recommend this unique horror book and its elderly protagonist.
***
About the Author
Philip Fracassi is the Bram Stoker and British Fantasy Award-nominated author of the novels Don’t Let Them Get You Down, A Child Alone with Strangers, Gothic, and Boys in the Valley. His upcoming books include the novels The Third Rule of Time Travel, The Autumn Springs Retirement Home Massacre, and Sarafina.
Other work includes the story collections No One Is Safe!, Beneath a Pale Sky (named “Best Collection of the Year” by Rue Morgue Magazine and a finalist for the Bram Stoker award), and Behold the Void (named “Best Collection of the Year” by This Is Horror). He is also the author of several novellas, including Sacculina, Shiloh, and Commodore.
Philip’s books have been translated into multiple languages and his stories have been published in numerous magazines and anthologies, including Best Horror of the Year, Nightmare Magazine, Black Static, Southwest Review, Weird Fiction Review, and Interzone.
He has published deluxe editions of his work with respected publishers such as Zagava, Cemetery Dance, Thunderstorm Books, Earthling Publications, and Lividian Press.
As a screenwriter, his feature films have been distributed by Disney and Lifetime, and he currently has several stories in development for film adaptation with major studios. His short story, “Altar”, was made into a feature film by studio A24.
The New York Times calls his work “terrifically scary.”
Philip lives in Los Angeles and is represented by Elizabeth Copps at Copps Literary Services, Circle M + P, and WME.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for RELENTLESS (Kate Preacher Thriller Series Book #1) by Michael Maloof on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a PICT giveaway. Enjoy!
***
Book Description
On the eve of her five-year wedding anniversary, a devastating terrorist attack in Paris thrusts former CIA analyst Kate Preacher into a lethal cat-and-mouse game of kill or be killed…
Kate’s husband, retired Navy SEAL Jake Church, is the right man in the wrong place. Caught in the middle of the Paris attack, Jake’s actions spark an international media storm, drawing unwanted attention and awakening old enemies.
Refusing to let the suspicious attack go unquestioned…or the perpetrators go unpunished, Kate’s lured back into a world of deception and betrayal—a world she thought she had escaped. And as the pieces in a twisted puzzle reveal a shocking global conspiracy, the investigation paints a target on her back.
Is Kate just a pawn in a deadly international plot, or can she outplay a ruthless killer?
RELENTLESS (Kate Preacher Thriller Series Book #1) by Michael Maloof is an explosive international crime thriller and first book in a series featuring a female former CIA agent that had me hooked immediately. I am so glad this is a series because I did not want this story to end.
Former CIA agent Kate Preacher is on the eve of her five-year wedding anniversary with her husband. Jake is a retired SEAL and now heads up a private security firm and is on assignment in Paris, France. Jake is on a Facetime call with Kate when he is suddenly in the middle of a terrorist attack. Jake’s actions cause unwanted media attention and questions of his real purpose at being in that place at that time.
Kate’s suspicion of the attack will not let her sit back and wait for answers. She wants all the perpetrators to pay. What she does not realize is her questions and actions are being followed by friends and foes alike and what she does not know is which is which.
This book pulled me in from page one and at every chapter end, I would say, “just one more”, until it was well into the night and I had finished the book. Kate Preacher is a brilliant, bad ass, and relentless protagonist that I was emotionally attached to the entire book, from her happiness to her depths of despair. (The funeral chapter had me in tears with tissues in full use.) The action is fast paced, realistic, and had me on the edge of my seat throughout. The secondary characters are as fully developed and fleshed out as Kate herself and kept me continually surprised by their actions and motives. The crime plot is intricately intertwined with action, misdirection, and believable situations.
This is an amazing female protagonist forward thriller that I highly recommend!
***
Excerpt
FRIDAY, APRIL 17, THE PRESENT
6:15 AM EDT
UNDISCLOSED LOCATION
Nomad flexed his right wrist, and with the palm of his hand, eased the joystick forward. The motor on his wheelchair hummed, and he maneuvered toward the center of the workstation. This environment was his creation. The height set to accommodate his chair with room beneath to manipulate the joystick. With subtle right or left pressure on the stick, he could navigate the full semicircle desk and jump between clients and projects.
There were traditional keyboards and mice, but the layer of fine dust revealed little use. Nomad’s world was one of proprietary speech recognition technology and the pressure-sensitive controls he designed and added to his chair. His forearms, wrists, fingers, head and voice all served as system navigation and command-and-control interfaces.
A matrix of monitors, stacked three high and eight across, spanned the arc of the desk and formed his window on the outside world. As a C6 quadriplegic, what he lost in physical mobility he regained in the virtual world. He chose the name Nomad for the irony, and believed his world offered freedom, control, and safety.
Nomad scanned the monitors. His building’s security cameras, global news feeds, random engineering musings of a few MIT grads on Slack. Another monitor was hammering away on a client’s file with one of his decryption algorithms. No challengers yet on any of his virtual chess boards, and that brought him to the Frenchman, his favorite opponent.
The central monitor was a live, split-screen camera feed from the Frenchman’s Paris apartment. One feed came from the Frenchman’s laptop, and the other from the camera embedded in the smart TV. It was Nomad’s practice to plant malware on the systems of anyone in his inner circle. What began as a safety protocol became something more, and he watched and lived vicariously through his contact’s living rooms and their digital and social media lives.
Nomad glanced at the camera feed’s system clock. Twelve-fifteen. It was almost time. He hoped the apartment would be empty, but saw Francois scurrying about, preparing for the meeting. Nomad knew it was pointless, but he had to try one more time.
Francois’s laptop rang with Nomad’s encrypted call request. He watched the Frenchman approach the laptop and press cancel. Nomad tried again, and this time he watched Francois accept the call.
“I admire your determination,” Francois began, “but there’s nothing left to discuss.”
“Look, I know how it sounds, but I’m begging you to trust me,” Nomad said. “You need to leave.”
“You ask for trust, but hide in the shadows.”
“Who I am is not important. All you need to know is that your life is in danger.”
“Nonsense,” he said. “For one thing, I know who you are, but rest assured, your secret is safe with me. Why you’ve chosen this life, I will never understand, but that is your business and now you must leave me to mine.”
“Is that a threat?”
“No, no, my friend. You misunderstand,” Francois said. “This is just a promise that I will keep you out of the discussion, but Moore Industries needs to know what you found. They believe the device is impenetrable, exceeding even the capabilities of quantum computing, and with millions relying on this technology, I have no choice. There is no room for debate.”
“You’re missing the point,” Nomad said. “Tens of millions of customers is exactly why Moore will do anything to protect the NanoVault’s reputation.”
“Again with the conspiracy theories,” Francois said. “You watch too much American TV. I am a respected academic meeting with a representative of a major corporation, not the KGB.”
“I pray I’m wrong,” Nomad said.
“Au revoir, my friend.”
“Wait,” Nomad said. “Before you hang up, what makes you think you know who I am?”
“I understand some hackers have a signature, patterns of behavior, code or techniques they use, that help identify the author.”
“Yes, that’s true.”
“So do chess players.”
Nomad heard the knock at the Frenchman’s door. Francois called out to his visitor, and the call ended.
* * *
FRIDAY, APRIL 17
12:17 PM CEST (Central European Summer Time)
PARIS, FRANCE
Francois LeGrande imagined his meeting with the Moore Industries representative. They’ll want to see my research and review my findings. A lucrative offer for my work would be nice, but it would be an honor to receive one of Moore’s Distinguished Fellowships.
Francois rushed to answer the door. He never saw what the masked man pressed into his side, but the effect was immediate. His body convulsed, knees buckled, and his head struck the floor. Next came the duct tape over his mouth and around his wrists and ankles. He lay on the floor of his apartment, dazed and in pain, only half-aware of the large black boot that passed over his face.
Adrenaline surged. His heart raced. He fought to focus his thoughts. Blinked and squinted to clear his vision. He squirmed and wrestled against the restraints. Tried to call out, to scream. Nothing worked. In the futile struggle to free himself, his breathing was rapid and shallow. His vision blurred, and the room spun. Don’t pass out, he thought. Just breathe. Slow down. Listen.
From the hallway, it was difficult to know what the stranger was doing. Was Nomad right? No. Can’t be. If he was here to kill me, I’d be dead already. Then what? What does he want? His head throbbed as he thought back to the fleeting image of opening the door and looking up at the face. There was no face. Just a blur of gray and white rectangles. The man’s ball cap and hoodie obscured any chance of street cameras catching his approach to the building, and the camouflage mask stretched tight from his forehead to his neck prevented facial recognition.
Francois tried to follow the sound of the stranger’s steps. The attic apartment, converted from an 18th-century mansion, was elegant but small. While it suited the Frenchman, it took only moments to explore. He heard the wheels of the office chair as they rolled across the hardwood floor.
He’s in the bedroom.
The bedroom served as his home office. Stacks of books and papers shared his bed, and most of the floor. He pictured the stranger seated at his laptop and cursed his decision to close the connection with Nomad. If he knew, if he saw, he would call the police.
There was an odd sound. An electronic chirp beeping slowly at first, then faster and louder, then slow again. Finally, a solid tone for a moment, then silence.
Francois heard the tones of a cell phone. Too many digits, he thought. Not a local number.
“I have it,”the man said. “No, it has to be tonight. And count yourself lucky I could make this work on short notice.” There was another brief pause and then the call wrapped up. “Yes. Yes. I’ll keep it safe. Now, send me the drop site.”
American, Francois thought, and at that moment, all hope vanished. The businessman he thought might still arrive, might somehow intervene. The man he was expecting was already here. Despair wrapped him in an ice-cold blanket and he trembled. He stopped fighting back the tears and sobbed.
The American dragged Francois down the hallway and into the living room, and the tears gave way to terror when he surveyed the room. A chair from the small kitchen table was in the center. A rope stretched over the ancient oak beam that framed the ridge-line of the apartment’s ceiling, and a noose hung above the chair.
The duct tape muffled his attempts to cry out, and the masked man had little trouble setting the slight Frenchman on the chair. He slipped the noose over Francois’s head and pulled on the rope. Francois stiffened his back, lifted his chin, and gasped for air. The man kept one hand on the rope and the other drew a knife. With a flick and click, the blade locked into place, and in one sudden move he cut the tape binding Francois’s feet. He pulled the slack from the rope and Francois’s only escape from suffocation was to climb up on the chair.
The American tied the rope to the radiator, then stood directly in front of Francois and stared. The mask was disorienting, and Francois found it difficult to focus. He saw a black leather jacket and a gray hoodie. He saw dark blue jeans, and the boots. Large black boots. He could be anyone on the streets of Paris, even one of my students. What is he waiting for? What does he want?
“Let’s talk.”
The words startled him and Francois wobbled atop the wooden kitchen chair. The noose made it difficult to breathe, much less answer questions. When he raised up on the balls of his feet, he could almost take a full breath, but the old chair flexed and creaked when he moved. He knew at any moment it might collapse and he would hang.
“I’m going to remove the duct tape,” the masked man said. “I suggest you remain still. And quiet,” and he gave the rope a slight tug. “Understand?”
Francois nodded, and the stranger ripped the duct tape off the old man’s face. The Frenchman scrunched his eyes, gritted his teeth, and wrinkled his nose. Tears and snot seeped into his mustache. The American balled up the tape and noticed the collection of gray hair.
“Trust me,” he said. “Faster is better.” And then he reached into his jacket, fished out the shiny black device, and held it out for the Frenchman to see.
“Did you crack it?”
Laying in the palm of his glove was a Moore Industries NanoVault. The polished black onyx device, about the size of a woman’s lipstick, was ringed with seven combination dials that controlled access to the device’s unique properties. For the first time since the masked man crashed through his door, Francois thought he understood what was happening. He thinks I’m after the bounty. He thinks I’ve cracked the encryption.
The offer of a bounty, paid in anonymous, untraceable, and tax-free Bitcoins, intrigued cryptographic researchers and enticed the hacker denizens in every corner of the Darknet. Crack the encryption on a Quantum NanoVault, known affectionately as a portable Swiss Bank account, and you’d learn the location of 1,000 Bitcoins. What started as a clever promotional stunt became a worldwide phenomenon when Bitcoin values rose exponentially, and the bounty, still unclaimed, grew to tens of millions of dollars.
“No. No, Monsieur. I assure you, this device is worthless.”
“My client insisted I retrieve this specific device,” he said. “And paid handsomely to recover it immediately. I’d like to know why. What makes this device so valuable?”
“Please. Just take it and go.”
Francois imagined his ordeal might soon be over. He has what he came for. He can just leave.
The American slipped the device back into his pocket and glanced at his watch.
“What’s the combination?”
“It’s not locked.”
“What’s on it?”
“Nothing. I assure you, it’s completely blank,” and Francois nodded toward the laptop. “Go. See for yourself. You will see. It’s empty.”
The American took the device back to the desk, and the NanoVault connected automatically. He returned moments later.
“You’re right, it’s blank,” he said. “But if you’re not using it, why have one?”
“Research,” and Francois nodded toward the back wall. The American turned to see a lifetime of achievement and accolades. Among the faded degrees hanging on the wall were journal clippings, edges curled and fraying, a small shelf of dusty mathematics awards, and a handful of student group photos. Missing was any semblance of a life outside of academia. No wife. No family.
“Then, tell me Professeur,” he said, exaggerating the Frenchman’s academic position. “What makes this device so special?”
“Oh, but it’s not. It’s like any other. Available at any—”
The slap caught him before he could finish.
***
Author Bio
Michael Maloof is the author of the Kate Preacher Thriller Series—Relentless, Unstoppable, and Defiant—known for its global scope, emotional intensity, and hard-won authenticity. His novels draw readers into high-stakes worlds where intelligence, courage, and consequence collide. A lifelong adventurer, Michael has traveled to more than forty countries across six continents, experiences that deeply inform his writing. His real-world pursuits have ranged from gold dredging in Honduras and artifact hunting in Guatemala to acquiring uncut diamonds in Liberia and surviving an elephant charge in Kenya. He has also trained alongside Navy SEALs, Marine Raiders, Army Rangers, Green Berets, and the CIA—firsthand insights that lend his fiction uncommon realism and respect for the craft of service.
Nix’s heart is on permanent lockdown after her mom walked out on her, but she needs a date to her cousin’s engagement party. Anything to put an end to the relentless single-shaming. Can she find someone—preferably smokin’—willing to spend Thanksgiving weekend with her meddling family in a tiny seaside town in the middle of nowhere?
Brock got burned falling for the wrong girl. But his potential promotion to captain hinges on him having a date for the annual firefighters’ gala. Can he convince the entire community that his short fuse is a thing of the past, that he’s ready for a serious new role as a fire hall leader?
They’ve agreed: falling in love is not an option. And soon, they’re fooling everyone. Even themselves.When Brock utterly charms Nix’s hard-to-impress aunt over a cozy breakfast of pancakes and maple syrup, and sparks fly at the fire department dance, the alarm bells start to ring…
NOT ACTUALLY YOURS by Sophie L. Henderson is a contemporary romance with explosive sexual chemistry that returns the reader to Fire House 8 in Van City and this time it is elder Holt brother, Brock’s turn to fall, but it won’t be easy with the ever-evasive Nix. Each book in this connected series features one of three brothers and there is some overlapping of characters, but they are still easily read as standalone romances.
Elementary teacher Nix refuses to involve her heart in any relationship after being deserted by her mother as a small child. When her aunt, who helped raise her, tells her she needs to attend her cousin’s weekend long engagement party, she tells her she has a boyfriend to bring otherwise her aunt threatens to set her up. Now she must ask a favor of the man she is trying to be friends with since he is the brother of her best friend’s boyfriend. But after having had a hot sexual encounter with him three months ago and then ghosting him, she knows it is a big ask.
Firefighter Brock has had terrible luck in the romance department. He would like more than friendship with the hot Nix who he cannot seem to forget, even though she ghosted him. When she needs a date for an engagement party it coincides with his need for a date for an annual firefighters’ gala. They can fake this without involving their hearts, can’t they?
I enjoyed the first Van City book, Play with Fire, but I enjoyed this romance even more. Both Nix and Brock have emotional difficulties from their childhoods to deal with as they are trying to form a healthy relationship between them. Usually, I dislike romances with plots based on non-communication, but Ms. Henderson does a wonderful job of portraying both Nix and Brock as they get things wrong from fear or misunderstanding, have short intervals of running, but also how they decide it is better to talk and they have friends and family who also help. They both delve into their emotions honestly and have character growth throughout the story. This is a contemporary romance with several steamy and explicit sex scenes that I feel fit well with the characters’ personalities.
I highly recommend this steamy contemporary romance that pulled me right in and left me with a smile on my face and a satisfied romantic heart.
***
About the Author
Author Sophie L. Henderson writes heartfelt small-town romance for readers who love slow-burn butterflies, blush-worthy heat, and characters you’ll fall for just as hard as they fall for each other. Her debut PLAY WITH FIRE is out now. NOT ACTUALLY YOURS is coming in May.
Originally from a tiny village in England, Sophie spent seventeen years wrangling jazz hands as a drama teacher before finally listening to the voice in her head (the one telling her to write, not the one asking for another snack). She now lives in Vancouver with her husband, where she’s embraced views of snowcapped mountains, has caught feelings for hockey, and talks to hummingbirds like they’re her best friends.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE LAST FATAL HOUR by Jan Matthews on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a PICT giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
For Leona Gladney, former woman soldier of the Union Army, life goes on despite the echoes of the battlefield in her heart. Now a suffragist and budding socialite in Brooklyn Heights, she yearns for a literary life and family. But her husband’s business partner embezzles their money and disappears.
The society matrons of Brooklyn Heights turn a gimlet eye on Leona after the suspicious death of a wealthy friend. Leona will do anything to find justice for her friend and clear her own name, but she finds only secrets, seances and murder.
Genre: Historical Mystery Published by: Coffee&ink Press Publication Date: April 7, 2026 Number of Pages: 320 ISBN: 9798232470982
***
My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
THE LAST FATAL HOUR by Jan Matthews is an intriguing historical murder mystery and domestic suspense mash-up set post-Civil War in Brooklyn Heights, New York. This book features a female main character attempting to be an amateur sleuth to clear her name and due to blackmail. She was previously a fighting female soldier in disguise during the Civil War who is now struggling with severe PTSD. This is a standalone fictional historical story that is authentic to the era and society it portrays.
Socialite Leona Gladney has attempted to put her past as a soldier in the Union Army and death of her first husband behind her. Remarried and working on personal literary pursuits, she still has dreams and moments of anxiety over her time in the service. Her anxiety is exacerbated by her husband’s business partner disappearing with their company’s funds.
When the robbery and suspicious death of a wealthy friend and matriarch leaves Leona a suspect, she is determined to uncover the real culprit. What she is not prepared for is a tangled web of seances, lies, deception, and murder.
This is an enlightening as well as maddening story of the legal and political struggles women faced in the 19th century intertwined with the intricately plotted chase of a killer. Leona is a strong character that is more than just her heritage and social status, but even as she tries to fulfill her feminine societal duties, she has an entire previous life she has kept from everyone but her grandfather. While her time as a soldier makes her an unusual protagonist, her life is historically possible. The many uses of laudanum especially involving females throughout this story is not only historically accurate, but also sad. While I suspected the outcome, it is still satisfying and once again brings society’s treatment of women to the forefront.
I highly recommend this intriguing historical mystery and domestic suspense mash-up.
***
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
The blot of ink stuck to her finger, tacky like drying blood. Leona scrubbed at it with her handkerchief as the clock chimed two hours after midnight. She capped the inkwell, and while the ink dried on her most recent entry, she organized the copies with ribbons. Blue for Daphne and red for Ruth. With shaking hands, she slipped the copies into stiff cardboard folios and tied them closed. Sighing, she set them on the desk in front of her.
The flames in the hearth beckoned. This wasn’t the first night she’d yearned for obliteration. It wouldn’t come if she gave in to the urge to throw her labor into the fire. Only paper and ink would vanish, leaving the memories behind.
Pen and ink or back to the laudanum.
A grim thought, the grimmest of all.
The words had clawed their way out tonight. She’d begun the memoir of her time as a Union soldier months ago with the hope her drowning spirits would revive once the words dropped to the page. Yet the foreboding crept through her and tightened around her throat as the little study filled with familiar shadows. This old terror had become a second skin, like the tattered and dirty uniform she’d once worn.
Over the monotonous chatter of the rain, the clock ticked away the seconds until her husband came home. Leona moved to the window, pushed aside the heavy velvet curtains, and looked out at night-shrouded Cranberry Street. A lamp glowed in a window across the street. Homesickness for Boston, for life before the war, for herself before the war, settled on her. The wind threw a heavy splash of rain against the window, and she jumped back, letting go of the curtain.
Pacing the study, her restless thoughts rushed on without fatigue. To keep the memories inside only fed the persistent mental return to the battlefield, and the outpouring of words somewhat tamed her tormented soul. She stopped and touched the folio. Work would save her: work, family, friendship, and love. Maybe she’d write a story about two clocks. A natural clock which kept good time and a mad clock that twisted time out of true.
The street door below opened and closed. At last Gil, home safe. She couldn’t even bring herself to scold him for being so late. Leona listened for his footsteps as she crossed the room to tuck the folios into her desk drawer and locked it. She closed the gaslight apertures in the study and turned up the flame on the wall sconces in the drafty hallway so he could find his way. In the bedroom, she shed her dressing gown, stepped out of her slippers, and kicked them under the bed. Gil made his clumsy climb up the stairs. When he stumbled into the room, she pulled the covers back. He fell into bed fully clothed beside her, mumbling and fretful, the sharp ripe scent of whiskey lacing his breath.
She laid her hand on his shoulder. Beneath the cloth of his shirt, his skin was cold and damp. “Rest now, go to sleep,” she whispered.
***
At first light, Leona had dressed in a blue and cream day gown and made her way downstairs for breakfast. The creeping dread of the night before had waned. She rubbed her gritty eyes and yawned again. Mrs. McCarthy poured coffee from the silver pot, the familiar, civilized table a welcome sight. The scent of bacon made her stomach growl.
“Are you well, m’um?”
Leona glanced into the broad face of their cook and housekeeper, a sturdy and mature woman with a comforting Irish burr. She wore her fading blonde hair in a crown around her head.
“I didn’t sleep much.” Leona yawned again behind her fingers.
Gil’s heavy tread on the stairs made them both jump, and Mrs. McCarthy squeaked.
“I’ll bring more breakfast in a jiffy.” She fled through the side door to the kitchen just as Gil ducked through the hall entrance.
Leona rose and smiled at her husband. He’d made a great effort to come down early after returning so late. She accepted his peck on the cheek, poured him coffee and set it between them, wifely mask in place. He glared with bloodshot eyes at the letter in his hand, and her stomach clenched.
“It’s not all bad news, Gil.” She’d read the contents of the letter before leaving it on his desk in his study, as Grandfather had addressed it to both.
He raised his hazel eyes to her. “You recall Henry has absconded with all our funds?” he asked in a sarcastic tone, squinting at the letter, then back at her.
She no longer knew what to say about Gil’s former business partner, Henry Caldwell-Jones. The police were still looking for him. It put the devil in Gil’s eyes to speak of it, so she tried to let it be, not wanting to distress him even more.
“Of course, I remember, Gil. I—”
“And now your grandfather won’t give me a second loan. I’ll have to go back to the bank and ask them again.”
“He only wants to speak with you face to face about our situation,” she said, in her grandfather’s defense. “He’ll help us, Gil. He did offer to speak at the lyceum on his return from Ohio, to help raise funds. It isn’t as if—” Or was it? “We won’t lose the house, will we?”
The muscles in his lean face twitched as Gil fought to hide his disappointment, and her heart broke a little more to witness it. “Your grandfather does not bring in the interest he once did.”
It was true Leona’s grandfather, poet, abolitionist, and Transcendentalist, didn’t bring in the money he used to at readings in New York and Brooklyn, but he didn’t suffer for it.
Gil raked his fingers through his thick, brown hair and opened his mouth. Mrs. McCarthy entered with his breakfast, apparently stopping what he meant to say next. He reached inside the pocket of his trousers and pulled out a small notebook and pencil. Laying them on the table, his frown deepened.
Once Mrs. McCarthy had bustled out again, Leona said, “I could write to Aunt Louisa.” Who was not truly an aunt, but a friend of her mother’s.
He opened the notebook and touched the tip of his tongue to the pencil. “We cannot afford to feed and house a man of Bronson Alcott’s caliber,” he replied with heaviness. He bent his head to the columns of numbers on the pages.
His confidence and spirits were usually high, and it hurt to see him laid so low. She did mean Louisa Alcott herself, not her father Bronson Alcott, as the speaker for the lyceum to draw a crowd. Her novel, Little Women, published two years before, had become hugely popular.
“I’ll sell the lyceum, that should help,” Gil murmured, eyes downcast.
Leona winced. It was where they’d met nearly a year before. At a loss again, she glanced down at her lapel watch—9 o’clock already. She stood and set cups and plates on the tray.
“Let Mrs. McCarthy do that.” His pencil went on calculating their precarious position.
“I don’t mind. I’m off to see Daphne this morning. I won’t be home until the late afternoon.” Taking a deep breath, she dared to ask, not expecting an answer. “How much do we owe?” She blew out her held breath, apprehension biting at her. “Why won’t you tell me how much Henry has stolen?”
“He’s made me a laughingstock.” His handsome lips formed a tight smile, but he didn’t look at her. “Don’t you worry, Leona, leave it to me. This will all be over by Christmas.”
***
On the street, she began to walk, then turned to observe the window where Gil labored, smoke curling from the chimney. The image stayed with her as she made her way to the newsstand around the corner and waited patiently for her turn to buy a paper. The sunny day, though cold, had driven people outdoors, well wrapped in fur-collared coats and wool scarves. Woodsmoke and the sharp tang of the river mingling with the scent of baking bread drifted on the breeze. She chewed on the frustration that he wouldn’t share their financial details with her. It made her more fearful not to know. Though she kept the memoir and chapter stories a secret from him, this was hardly the same.
Passing the newsstand, an article about the new bridge caught her eye so she bought the latest Brooklyn Eagle. The previous summer, the four of them, Henry, his wife Helen, herself, and Gil, had stood at the end of Noble Street to watch the construction of the giant caissons in the naval yard. Though approval of the bridge was a long-foregone conclusion, the article was typical of the Eagle’s awful anti-consolidation fear mongering. The article repeated the claim linking the boroughs would only bring the dregs of Manhattan’s Lower East Side into Brooklyn’s pure white Heights. The wrongness of such an attitude churned her stomach.
Leona folded the paper and tucked it under her arm with the folio, sighing. Who would save the poor of this world from the hatred of the rich? Her spirits drooped lower.
She breathed deep the November air on familiar, tree-lined Remsen Street, where she’d lived for two years before marrying Gil in August. The red door of the brownstone opened, welcoming her in. Timothy, the butler, took her hat and coat. Before he disappeared with them, his eyes met hers with a familiar blue twinkle.
“I’ll tell her you’re here,” he said.
“Thank you.” She inhaled the sweet smell of hothouse roses set in vases along the long hallway and waited for word of her arrival to reach Daphne and her nurse Audrey.
Audrey approached from the depths of the house. Her eyes, though hooded, were a pure delphinium blue, blonde hair pinned tight to her head. She wore a plain uniform of dark gray with long cuffed sleeves and a white apron.
“Mrs. Van Wyn is in the Lavender Room.” With a curt nod, she turned away.
When they first met, Leona and Audrey had often shared tea and conversation, but of late Leona felt nothing but a wall of smothered animosity between them. They hadn’t argued, as such, though she had an idea where the strained relations came from.
“Is she well?” Leona asked.
For a moment, she didn’t think Audrey would answer, but the woman turned toward her again. “She passed a quiet night. The laudanum helps.”
Leona frowned. Audrey flicked a dismissive hand and went on her way.
The introduction of laudanum in Daphne’s life began not long after Leona moved to Cranberry Street with Gil that summer. The spas and cures Daphne’s grandson Benedict and his wife arranged didn’t seem to help anymore. The family hired Audrey, who administered the laudanum, a common enough panacea. Laudanum’s presence always disturbed Leona, and she had protested to the family, but no one listened. Audrey had become cold after this discussion. Leona believed some of Daphne’s pain came from her daily battle with grief. Leona often feared her own grief and the overuse of laudanum, prescribed by a respected doctor in Boston, had killed the child from her previous marriage to Jack Davenport. Poor dead Jack.
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Author Bio
Jan Matthews is an American expat living in the sunshine in Portugal.
She is (finally) retired from HIM and writes historical mysteries from the Middle Ages to World War I. When not writing or drinking coffee and wine in nearby cafes, she knits and crochets for charity and reviews books on her blog.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for 27 (A Jan Norge/Hilda Baker Thriller Book #2) by Stewart Giles on this blog tour.
Below you will find a book blurb, my book review, and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Blurb
27 : A club you definitely do not want to be a member of.
What starts out as a series of seemingly unrelated murders, soon turns into something much darker. A murderer is killing people, based on the causes of death of the members of the mythical 27 Club.
Detectives Jan Norge and Hilda Baker are baffled. Someone is going to a lot of trouble to get the details right, but none of the officers on the team are able to figure out why they’re doing it.
As the body count increases, Jan and Hilda make a breakthrough of sorts in the form of a tragic accident that happened sixteen years ago, But it soon becomes clear that there is more to it than a simple tragic event. The murderer the press is dubbing The 27 Club Killer has another agenda, and with the list of potential victims running into the dozens the pressure is on for Jan and Hilda to stop the most depraved killer either of them has ever come across.
27 (A Jan Norge/Hilda Baker Thriller Book #2) by Stewart Giles is an exciting, fast-paced second book in the new Norge/Baker British police procedural crime thriller series. I have been looking forward to this book to get to know the main characters more intimately and I always know Mr. Giles will give me an intriguing new crime for his protagonists to work. This can be read as a standalone book since it is so early in the series, but the first book, Hakuna Matata is an excellent read, also.
Seemingly unrelated murders are piling up quickly until Detectives Jan Norge and Hilda Baker make the dark connection that the killer is imitating the historical deaths of members of the 27 Club. Discovering the link between the murders is good, but they continue without any indication of stopping as Jan and Hilda work to uncover the why.
I really enjoy this main cast of characters and how they work together. Jan is strait-laced, intelligent and has a strong sense of right and wrong, but he is softened by his backstory and his tripping occasionally over English slang. Hilda is an excellent detective, but she is abrasive and has little to no filter. (I could do with a little less of her bed hopping.) The two do somehow work well together though and make an impressive pair. The plot moves quickly and has several suspects, red-herrings and twists that keep you turning the pages. I was still second guessing the killer right up to the reveal. The integration of the 27 Club history also adds a layer that is very interesting.
As in every Stewart Giles book, you must read and be aware of every sentence right up to the end. While this book has a completed crime plot, the ending has me on pins and needles and I cannot wait for the next book in the series!
I highly recommend this second book in this British police procedural crime thriller.
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Author Bio
After reading English at 3 Universities and graduating from none of them, I set off travelling around the world with my wife, Ann, finally settling in South Africa, where we still live.
In 2014 Ann dropped a rather large speaker on my head and I came up with the idea for a detective series. DS Jason Smith was born. Smith, the first in the series was finished a few months later. 3 years and 8 DS Smith books later, Joffe Books wondered if I would be interested in working with them. As a self-published author, I agreed. However, we decided on a new series – the DC Harriet Taylor: Cornwall series. The Beekeeper was published and soon hit the number one spot in Australia. The second in the series, The Perfect Murder did just as well.
I continued to self-publish the Smith series and Unworthy hit the shelves in 2018 with amazing results. I therefore made the decision to self-publish The Backpacker which is book 3 in the Detective Harriet Taylor series which was published in July 2018. After The Backpacker I had an idea for a totally new start to a series – a collaboration between the Smith and Harriet thrillers and The Enigma was born. It brought together the broody, enigmatic Jason Smith and the more level-headed Harriet Taylor.
The Miranda trilogy is something totally different. A psychological thriller trilogy. It is a real departure from anything else I’ve written before. The Detective Jason Smith series continues to grow. I also have another series featuring an Irish detective who relocated to Guernsey, the Detective Liam O’Reilly series. There are also 3 stand alone novels.
After the worst day in her professional life, burnt-out NICU nurse Daisy Stevens runs to Cape Carolina, North Carolina, looking for a new life—and possibly new romance. On her first day at her “simpler” job, high school baseball coach Mason Thaysden discovers an abandoned baby, sending ripples through the entire tight-knit town of Cape Carolina.
Mason is still struggling to reconcile the scars of the injury that kept him out of the big leagues, stuck in his hometown, and searching for a way out. This newcomer and the child they’ve saved together might be just the motivation he needs to stay put. Sparks fly as Mason acquaints Daisy with Cape Carolina, introducing her to his friends and family, including his batty Aunt Tilley, who is looking for relief from long-buried family secrets and her own fresh start.
But as Daisy becomes increasingly attached to this abandoned child, and begins facing her own demons in the process, a startling discovery is made that threatens to rip the entire town of Cape Carolina apart, placing Daisy, Mason, and Tilley in the center of the storm. In a novel that proves that “Kristy Woodson Harvey is (the) go-to for elevated beach reads” (People), they will each learn that with love, understanding—and a community theater production of Hello, Dolly!—sometimes life conspires to bring us just exactly where we belong.
SUMMER STATE OF MIND by Kristy Woodson Harvey is a Southern women’s fiction novel featuring a multi-generational small town southern coastal family, both by love and/or blood, a romance between two people damaged by previous trauma in their lives, and secrets, both past and present, that could destroy or free all involved. This is a book that you will not want to put down as you ride the waves of family and romantic drama.
Daisy Stevens is a burnt-out big city NICU nurse who decides after a personal traumatic experience to attempt a quieter life in a smaller hospital in Cape Carolina, North Carolina. On her first day on the job, the high school baseball coach and his star pitcher run into the ER with a newborn baby barely clinging to life that he found abandoned in a recycle bin behind the high school. Daisy feels an immediate connection to the baby.
Mason Thaysden is from a large multi-generational family in Cape Carolina. He was on the fast track to become an exceptional college baseball pitcher until a bar fight ended his prospects. After many years just surviving, he is now the local high school baseball coach with a team that could possibly win the state championship with the star pitcher Mason has mentored. While he is happy with the success he has nurtured, he still feels unsatisfied with his life.
Daisy and Mason hit it off immediately, but personal and family life decisions and secrets get in the way. Entangled in everything, past and present, is loveable Aunt Tilley, who lives in the past as much as the present. Will the revelation of the family secret from the past destroy this loving family? And can Mason and Daisy get through all their messy decisions and still be together?
This is such an engrossing story of family, love, secrets, and moral decisions. Aunt Tilley is a wonderfully lovable character that weaves between the past and present family dilemmas. I always enjoy Ms. Harvey’s complexity in her characters and the realism that makes them believable. Both Daisy and Mason have many unresolved issues and the author does not sugar coat them or even resolve them all. The entire multi-generational family is fascinating in its connections by blood and/or love, and I cannot imagine anyone not wanting to be a part of it. Sit down outside with a glass of sweet tea, maybe with a shot of bourbon mixed in, and travel to the North Carolina coast.
I highly recommend this engaging Southern women’s fiction novel.
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About the Author
Kristy Woodson Harvey is the New York Times, USA Today, and Publishers Weekly bestselling author of a dozen novels including Beach House Rules and The Peachtree Bluff Series. A Happier Life is in development for film with MGM/Amazon, The Summer of Songbirds is in development for television with Hulu, and many of her other projects are in various stages of option or development for film and television. Her work has received numerous accolades, including Good Morning America’s Buzz Pick, Southern Living’s Most Anticipated Reads, Katie Couric’s Featured Books, and Joanna Garcia Swisher’s The Happy Place Reads. Kristy is the winner of the Lucy Bramlette Patterson Award for Excellence in Creative Writing and a finalist for the Southern Book Prize.
A Phi Beta Kappa, summa cum laude graduate with Honors of the University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill’s school of journalism, her writing has appeared in numerous publications, including Southern Living, Parade, Traditional Home, USA Today, and many more. She also holds a master’s in English from East Carolina University, with a concentration in multicultural and transnational literature.
Kristy is the cocreator and cohost of the hit weekly web show and podcast Friends & Fiction with fellow New York Times Bestselling authors Mary Kay Andrews, Kristin Harmel, and Patti Callahan Henry, which boasts more than three hundred thousand members. She is also the cofounder of the award-winning interiors site Design Chic, with her mom, Beth Woodson.
She lives on the North Carolina coast with her husband, son, and dog, Salt, where she is (always!) working on her next novel.
