BLIND DATE by Debbie Ioanna is a new romcom by a new to me author that kept surprising me and making me laugh out loud even in public. This is a lighthearted delight of a story for a short and easy-to-read escape especially in these difficult times.
Jenny is thirty years old and has everything a girl could want. She owns her home has a good job and the best BF ever, Sarah. She even at time likes her rescue cat, Bing Clawsby, who makes it his life’s duty to destroy and surprise.
But Jenny can never find “The One”. Sarah sets her up on a disastrous blind date and then encourages Jenny to try a dating app. Delete. Her mother even attempts to play matchmaker. Escape. Jenny is even finding her sometimes hook-up buddy, not really working out.
Jenny wants the perfect man from work, Zach. When the stars align and Zach finally asks Jenny out, not once, but twice the dates are aborted. Will Jenny get the man of her dreams, or is she destined to be single for the rest of her life?
I did not want this book to end! Jenny is relatable, realistic and I would love to be her friend. Ms. Ioanna has created a lovable main character and a fun set of secondary characters that completely whisked me away from my own life and had me laughing, unlady like snorting and completely entertained.
I highly recommend this romcon and dare you not to laugh!
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About the Author
Debbie is a multi-genre indie author and blogger who was born in Bradford and lives there with her husband, two-year-old daughter and anti-social cat Cleo. When she isn’t busy being a Mum, working for her local council or studying towards her Open University degree, she is busy focusing on her writing career.
Debbie doesn’t write to just one genre as she likes to write about anything. She is currently working on a romantic-comedy series but who knows what she will be working on in the future. As well as writing novels, short stories and blogs for her website, she is also reviewing other works by indie authors. She is passionate about helping other indie authors as she knows it is a hard world to master and getting reviews is a challenge on its own.
Debbie has been a regular attending author at the UK Indie Lit Fest in Bradford for the last few years and will be returning in 2020, as well as attending events in Shipley and Liverpool for the first time.
Debbie began studying with the Open University in 2015, aiming towards a BA Honours in Humanities, focusing on History and Creative Writing which are her two greatest passions. It is a part-time course, due to end in 2021 which Debbie is hoping means she will have more time to write.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for NO ONE SAW by Beverly Long. This is the second police procedural crime thriller featuring Detective A.L. McKittridge.
Below you will find an author Q&A, a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Author Q&A
1. Do you have any favorite authors?
There are authors that I routinely check to see if they have new books available. They include Ann Patchett, Kristin Hannah, and Lee Child.
2. For readers who haven’t tried your books yet, how do you think your editor or loyal readers would describe your books?
The feedback I’ve received from readers is that they enjoy my books because there’s a nice balance between suspense and character development. In TEN DAYS GONE and NO ONE SAW, the focus is the investigation of the crime. But along the way, the reader gets to know the two detectives, A.L. McKittridge and his partner, Rena Morgan.
3. Do your books have to be read in order or can they be read as standalones?
Over the years, I’ve written a number of books that have been branded as a series. However, every book has been written so that it could be read as a standalone. I personally really like to read within a series. I like starting with book one in the series and moving forward. So, that would be my suggestion but it’s not absolutely necessary.
4. Where did the inspiration for this story come from?
I’m not sure inspiration is the right word but I am always interested in the concept of family. What makes a family? What will break a family? What secrets will family keep? How does a family change when new people are added to it? In NO ONE SAW, I wanted to write a story where a family is stretched to its very limits when a child is suddenly missing and family, the people you should lean upon the most in these circumstances, are all suspects.
5. Will there be another book in this series?
That’s the plan. I’m currently working on the third book in the A.L. McKittridge series.
6. How do you maintain continuity in a continuing series? Do you keep charts or anything like that to remember from book to book?
No charts but I keep a list of characters, their relationship to others, as well as any mentions of specific places. I keep too much in my head and I spend too much time rechecking things from previous books in an effort to maintain consistency. I am constantly looking for new ways to be better at this.
7. Do you prefer to extensively plot your stories, or do you write them as they come to you?
I wouldn’t say that I plot extensively, but I certainly have a general idea of where the story is going before I start writing. Because I write suspense and police procedurals, it’s important that my stories unfold in a logical manner. Otherwise, the reader can get frustrated. Thus, that part of the story is pretty well mapped out in advance. The character development is more organic and sometimes I surprise myself at the direction the story takes. For example, when I started writing TEN DAYS GONE, I knew that I needed to give Tess Lyons, the next potential victim, a persuasive reason not to care what happened to her. That was necessary for the storyline to work. I didn’t know what that persuasive reason was going to be until I was almost halfway through the first draft.
8. Which character do you most relate to and why?
I relate to both of the lead characters in different ways. For A.L., his trials with his teenage daughter are fun for me (and perhaps somewhat cathartic) because I’ve had teenage daughters. For Rena, she’s a woman trying to balance work, a husband, and an extended family. She wants to make good decisions about everything. Been there, done that.
9. What has been the defining moment in your career that made you think “Yes, I am now a writer!”?
Early in my career, I sold a couple books but then there was a period of years where I wasn’t able to sell. I didn’t give up. I kept writing. I finished four manuscripts during this time. That’s when I knew for sure. Ultimately, I started selling again and I was very glad I had built up an inventory of work because I was able to meet the demands of a publisher who was very interested in getting my stories into the hands of readers.
10. What advantages or challenges does a writer in your genre face in today’s fiction market?
When writing thrillers and specifically police procedurals, technology and our ever-increasing instant access to data can quickly derail a storyline. No longer can a character realistically remain in the dark too long without the reader impatiently thinking “why not just look that up on your phone?”
11. What can you tell us about your next project?
Detectives A.L. McKittridge and Rena Morgan are back at it. This time it’s personal for A.L. because the murder victim is someone he knows and his father and his Uncle Joe are both suspects.
12. Has quarantine been better or worse for your writing?
Early on during quarantine, I wasn’t writing as much as usual. I spent too much time watching and reading the news. But after a while, I was able to do less of that and get back into a routine of writing every day. I really do miss taking my laptop to a coffee shop and look so forward to the days when I can do that again.
13. What was your last 5 star read?
I had the pleasure of joining a book club several years ago and, as a result, have had the opportunity to read books that would likely not have otherwise made it to my bedside table. For example, I read, Empty Mansions: The Mysterious Life of HUGUETTE CLARK and the Spending of a Great American Fortune by authors Bill Dedman and Paul Clark Newell, Jr. The story was fascinating and so different than anything I normally read.
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Book Summary
Detective team A.L. McKittridge and Rena Morgan are back on their beat after solving the brutal Baywood serial killings, but crime doesn’t rest for long in their small Wisconsin town. In book two of Beverly Long’s electrifying A.L. McKittridge series, NO ONE SAW (MIRA Mass Market Paperback; June 30, 2020; $7.99), a child seemingly vanishes from a day care into thin air and A.L. and Rena must race to bring her home before time runs out.
Baywood police department detective A.L. McKittridge is no stranger to tough cases, but when five-year-old Emma Whitman disappears from her day care, there isn’t a single shred of evidence to go on. There are no witnesses, no trace of where she might have gone. There’s only one thing A.L. and his partner, Rena Morgan, are sure of—somebody is lying.
With the clock ticking, A.L. and Rena discover their instincts are correct: all is not as it seems. The Whitmans are a family with many secrets, and A.L. and Rena must untangle a growing web of lies if they’re going to find the thread that leads them to Emma… before it’s too late.
NO ONE SAW (A.L. McKittridge Book #2) by Beverly Long is the latest police procedural thriller featuring Det. A.L. McKittridge and his partner Det. Rena Morgan of the Baywood, Wisconsin. This book can be read as a standalone as far as the crime plot, but I found that I do want to go back to read the first book and catch-up with the main character’s relationships.
Det. A.L. McKittridge is just back from a long deserve vacation and immediately called in by his partner, Det. Rena Morgan about a missing 5-year-old child from her daycare. The grandmother who dropped her off and the daycare teacher of her class both are credible, but the child is still missing with no witnesses. As the town searches and the clock is ticking, A.L. and Rena start at the beginning with everyone involved and the one thing they are sure of is someone is lying.
I really enjoyed A.L. and Rena and all the characters in their lives. They are characters that I definitely want to follow into future books. (I am going back to read book #1 to fill in more of their personal lives that I missed.) The disappearance is every parents’ nightmare and I felt the emotions and revelations of secrets during the investigation is well done. I felt the final twist that solves the crime was deux ex machina which lowered the satisfaction for me. I did feel this was an easy to read thriller with memorable characters that I found entertaining.
I will be following A.L. and Rena on future adventures.
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Excerpt
One
With a week’s worth of mail in one hand, A.L. McKittridge unlocked his apartment door with the other. Then he dragged his carry-on suitcase inside, almost tripping over Felix, who had uncharacteristically left his spot by the window where the late afternoon sun poured in. He tossed the collection of envelopes and free weekly newspapers onto his kitchen table and bent down to scratch his cat. “You must have missed me,” he said. “Wasn’t Rena nice to you?”
His partner had sent a text every day. Always a picture. Felix eating. Felix taking a dump. Felix giving himself a bath. No messages. Just visual confirmation that all was well while he was off in sunny California, taking a vacation for the first time in four years.
I can take care of your damn cat, she’d insisted. And while he hadn’t wanted to bother her because she’d have plenty to do picking up the slack at work, she was the only one he felt he could ask. His ex-wife Jacqui would have said no. His just turned seventeen-year-old daughter, Traci, would have been willing but he hadn’t liked the idea of her coming round to an empty apartment on her own.
Baywood, Wisconsin—population fifty thousand and change—was generally pretty safe but he didn’t believe in taking chances. Not with Traci’s safety. She’d been back in school for just a week. Her senior year. How the hell was that even possible? College was less than a year away.
No wonder his knees ached. He was getting old.
Or maybe it was flying coach for four hours. But the trip had been worth it. Tess had wanted to see the ocean. Wanted to face her nemesis, she’d claimed. And she’d been a champ. Had stood on the beach where less than a year earlier, she’d almost died after a shark had ripped off a sizable portion of her left arm. Had lifted her pretty face to the wind and stared out into the vast Pacific.
She hadn’t surfed. Said she wasn’t ready for that yet. But he was pretty confident that she’d gotten the closure that she’d been looking for. She’d slept almost the entire flight home, her head resting on A.L.’s shoulder. On the hour-plus drive from Madison to Baywood, she’d been awake but quiet. When he’d dropped her off at her house, she hadn’t asked him in.
He wasn’t offended. He’d have said no anyway. After a week together, they could probably both benefit from a little space. Their relationship was just months old and while the sex was great and the conversation even better, neither of them wanted to screw it up by jumping in too fast or too deep.
Now he had groceries to buy and laundry to do. It was back to work tomorrow. He grabbed the handle of his suitcase and was halfway down the hall when his cell rang. He looked at the number. Rena. Probably wanted to make sure he was home and Felix-watch was over. “McKittridge,” he answered.
“Where are you?”
“Home.”
“Oh, thank God.”
He let go of his suitcase handle. Something was wrong. “What’s up?” he asked.
“We’ve got a missing kid. Five-year-old female. Lakeside Learning Center.”
Missing kid. Fuck. He glanced at his watch. Just after 6:00. That meant they had less than two hours of daylight left. “I’ll be there in ten minutes.”
The Lakeside Learning Center on Oak Avenue had a fancier name than building. It was a two-story building with brown clapboard siding on the first floor and tan vinyl siding on the second. There wasn’t a lake in sight.
The backyard was fenced with something a bit nicer than chain link but not much. Inside the fence was standard playground equipment: several small plastic playhouses, a sandbox on legs and a swing set. The building was located at the end of the block in a mixed-use zone. Across from the front door and on the left were single-person homes. To the right, directly across Wacker Avenue, was a sandwich shop, and kitty-corner was a psychic who could only see the future on Monday, Wednesday and Friday.
A.L. took all this in as he beached his SUV in a no parking zone. Stepped over the yellow tape and made a quick stop to sign in with the cop who was at the door.
everybody who entered and exited the crime scene.
Once he was inside, his first impression was that the inside was much better than the outside. The interior had been gutted, erasing all signs that this had once been the downstairs of a 1960s two-story home. There was a large open space to his right. On the far wall hung a big-screen television and on the wall directly opposite the front door were rows of shelves, four high, stacked with books, games and small toys.
It was painted in a cheery yellow and white and the floor was a light gray tile. There was plenty of natural light coming through the front windows. The hallway he was standing in ran the entire length of the building and ended in a back door.
There was a small office area to his left. The door was open and there was a desk with a couple guest chairs. The space looked no bigger than ten feet by ten feet and was currently empty.
He sent Rena a text. Here.
A door at the far end of the hallway opened and Rena and a woman, middle-aged and white, dressed in khaki pants and a dark green button-down shirt, appeared. Rena waved at him and led the woman in his direction. “This is my partner, Detective McKittridge,” she said to the woman. She looked at A.L. “Alice Quest. Owner and director of Lakeside Learning Center.”
A.L. extended a hand to the woman. She shook it without saying anything.
“If you can excuse us,” Rena said to the woman. “I’d like to take a minute and bring Detective McKittridge up to speed.”
Alice nodded and stepped into the office. She pulled the door shut but not all the way. Rena motioned for A.L. to follow her. She crossed the big room and stopped under the television.
“What do we have?” he asked.
“Emma Whitman is a five-year-old female who has attended Lakeside Learning Center for the last two years. Her grandmother, Elaine Broadstreet, drops her off on Mondays and Wednesdays between 7:15 and 7:30.”
Today was Wednesday. “Did that happen today?”
“I have this secondhand, via her son-in-law who spoke to her minutes before I got here. It did.”
The hair on the back of A.L.’s neck stood up. When Traci had been little, she’d gone to day care. Not at Lakeside Learning Center. Her place had been bigger. “How many kids are here?” he asked.
“Forty. No one younger than three. No one older than five. They have two rooms, twenty kids to a room. Threes and early fours in one room. Older fours and fives in the other. Two staff members in each room. So four teachers. And a cook who works a few hours midday. And then there’s Alice. She fills in when a staff member needs a break or if someone is ill.”
Small operation. That didn’t mean bad. “Where are the other staff?”
“Majority of the kids get picked up by 5:30. According to Alice, she covers the center by herself from 5:30 to 6:00 most days to save on payroll costs. Emma Whitman is generally one of the last ones to be picked up. Everybody else was gone tonight and she’d already locked the outside door around 5:45 when the father pulled up and pounded on the door. At first, she assumed that somebody else had already picked up Emma. But once Troy called his wife and the grandmother, the only other people allowed to pick her up, she called Kara Wiese, one of Emma’s teachers, who said that Emma hadn’t been there all day. That was the first time Alice had thought about the fact that the parents had not reported an absence. She’d been covering for an ill staff member in the classroom that Emma is not assigned to.”
Beverly Long’s writing career has spanned more than two decades and twenty novels, including TEN DAYS GONE, the first book of her A.L. McKittridge series. She writes romantic suspense with sexy heroes and smart heroines. She can often be found with her laptop in a coffee shop with a cafe au lait and anything made with dark chocolate by her side.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Reviews on the Utrecht Murders two book blog tour. UTRECHT SNOW and UTRECHT RAIN by Jonathan Wilkins which introduce the reader to a police investigative team in the city of Utrecht in the central Netherlands.
Below you will find book blurbs, the main cast of characters, my book reviews, an about the author section and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Blurbs
UTRECHT SNOW: Utrecht police inspector Caes Heda leads a team looking into the disappearance of young women. Meanwhile his daughter, Truus, bored with University takes up a job with disgraced former police office Thijs Orman at his Private Detective Agency and finds herself looking for yet another missing girl, this time it’s her bosses own daughter. are they all linked? At the Kroonstraat Police station the team Caes has put together look into the normal run of the mill cases and try to overcome the weather as much as the crime in the city as snow envelopes the streets of Utrecht. We meet twins Freddie and Maaike Meijer who patrol the streets together with colleagues Adrie and Danny. The team is made up by Madelon Verloet and man mountain Ernst Hougewood. Together they investigate car theft, street crime, assault and finally murder. We look at the everyday lives of the police involved, Caes still traumatised after his wifes early death and Truus falling for Maaike.
UTRECHT RAIN: Maaike Meijer is attacked in a senseless outbreak of violence at the Dom Tower in Utrecht. Her brother, Freddie, fights off the assailants, but how is the brutality linked to a series of violent threats, cyber crime and the Dutch Secret Service? Truus Heda continues her work as a private investigator whilst caring for her lover before finding the missing link. As the nightmare unfolds we enter the world of Serbian gangsters and Utrecht Goths and see how Hoofdinspecteur Caes Heda and his overworked team tackle a crime that could consume the city.
CAES HEDA – Hoofdinspecteur (Police Inspector) in charge of Kroonstraat Police Bureau in Utrecht
TRUUS HEDA – 19-year-old daughter of Caes Heda, student at Universiteit, apprentice to Private Investigator Thijs Orman
MADELON VERLOET – Hoofdagent (Detective)
ANDRE VOELMAN – Hoofdagent (Detective)
DANNY MEEUWEN – Surveillant
FREDERIK MEIJER (twin brother to Maaike) – Police Agent
MAAIKE MEIJER (twin sister to Frederik) -Police Agent
ERNST HOEWEGAN – Brigadier
THIJS ORMAN – Particulier Onderzoeks Bureau (Private Investigator), discharged from police force due to drug use, training Truus Heda
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My Book Review
UTRECHT SNOW by Jonathan Wilkins is a police procedural thriller set in Utrecht, Netherlands. I was attracted to the book by the cover and the unique setting. Utrecht is in the central Netherlands and was considered a religious center for centuries. It has a medieval old town, canals, gothic cathedral of St. Martin and a 14th century bell tower. This series is set in present time.
Young women are missing from the Universiteit and Hoofdinspector Caes Heda and his team are on the case. All the girls appear to have nothing in common other than not having family or friends that would raise the alarm at their disappearance.
At the same time, Truus Heda, Caes’ daughter bored with Universiteit, has accepted an apprenticeship with Private Investigator Thijs Orman a disgraced ex-cop. One of the missing girls is Thijs’ daughter, Steer. Which brings the police, Truus and Thijs all together to solve the disappearances.
As capable as Truus believes herself to be, she unknowingly runs into the dangerous killer. Now Caes and his team have to find and save the girls, including his daughter. Will they find them alive?
I did have difficulty at first getting into this story, but I am glad I persevered. There are I feel too many Dutch words used throughout the book to pull in the average reader. I found it authentic and interesting, but I did have to work at accepting this was how it was written. The missing girls and the murders all were paced well, which lead to a good thriller plot.
I do wish this was written as an introductory novella rather than a full-length book because there was too much repetition of Caes dealing with the loss of his wife, Truus’ kickboxing, Maaike’s judo and Truus and Maaike’s relationship. One scene on each would have been enough, but it was repeated excessively. I felt there should have been more attention to the thriller plot and much less on their private lives.
I enjoyed this introduction to a new, unique location and way of policing. The characters are fully fleshed out and the thriller plot was good. I just feel there is too much emphasis on scenes not necessary to the plot and it should be edited down to a novella with more focus. (Check out my next review for Utrecht Rain because I believe it is a much more focused and polished thriller.)
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
UTRECHT RAIN by Jonathan Wilkins is the second police procedural thriller book in the Utrecht Murder series featuring Chief Inspector Caes Heda and his team. This book can easily be read as a standalone.
Maaike’s is attacked while on patrol with her twin by a group all in black and severely beaten before Frederik can get to her.
While she is recuperating with Truus looking after her, Truus is pulled off the street and taken to AIVD headquarters (AIVD is the General Intelligence and Security Service in the Netherlands) and asked to share information regarding a client that Thijs is surveilling.
At the same time Caes and the team are working not one, but two bank robberies pulled off simultaneously with all alarms and CCTV hacked. Each bank had five robbers all in black with bats and guns and they took the exact same amount of money.
All these investigations intertwine and converge with Maaike’s assault, Utrecht Goths, a computer genius and the Serbian mob. Will Caes and his team be able to solve everything in time to save the city?
I really enjoyed this unique look at criminal investigation, life and culture in the Netherlands. This second book in the series is much easier to read than the first with less Dutch, it is more reader friendly. The characters are fully-fleshed out and there is no confusion even if this is the first book you read. The fast pace and intersection of plot point revelations between Caes and his team’s investigation and Truus’ investigation leave you always with a reason to keep turning the pages.
A police procedural thriller from a unique place and culture with characters well worth following.
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About Jonathan Wilkins
Jonathan loves to write. He is a retired teacher, lapsed Waterstones’ bookseller and former Basketball Coach. He taught PE and English for 20 years and coached women’s basketball for over 30 years.
He regularly teaches creative writing workshops in and around Leicester.
Today I am once again posting on the Harlequin Trade Publishing 2020 Summer Reads Historical Fiction Blog Tour. I am very excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE BLACK SWAN OF PARIS by Karen Robards.
Below you will find a book summary, my book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Summary
For fans of The Alice Network and The Lost Girls of Paris comes a thrilling standalone by New York Times bestselling author Karen Robards about a celebrated singer in WWII occupied France who joins the Resistance to save her estranged family from being killed in a German prison.
In Occupied France, the Resistance trembles on the brink of destruction. Its operatives, its secrets, its plans, all will be revealed. One of its leaders, wealthy aristocrat Baron Paul de Rocheford, has been killed in a raid and the surviving members of his cell, including his wife the elegant Baronness Lillian de Rocheford, have been arrested and transported to Germany for interrogation and, inevitably, execution.
Captain Max Ryan, British SOE, is given the job of penetrating the impregnable German prison where the Baroness and the remnants of the cell are being held and tortured. If they can’t be rescued he must kill them before they can give up their secrets.
Max is in Paris, currently living under a cover identity as a show business impresario whose star attraction is Genevieve Dumont. Young, beautiful Genevieve is the toast of Europe, an icon of the glittering entertainment world that the Nazis celebrate so that the arts can be seen to be thriving in the occupied territories under their rule.
What no one knows about Genevieve is that she is Lillian and Paul de Rocheford’s younger daughter. Her feelings toward her family are bitter since they were estranged twelve years ago. But when she finds out from Max just what his new assignment entails, old, long-buried feelings are rekindled and she knows that no matter what she can’t allow her mother to be killed, not by the Nazis and not by Max. She secretly establishes contact with those in the Resistance who can help her. Through them she is able to contact her sister Emmy, and the sisters put aside their estrangement to work together to rescue their mother.
It all hinges on a command performance that Genevieve is to give for a Gestapo General in the Bavarian town where her mother and the others are imprisoned. While Genevieve sings and the show goes on, a daring rescue is underway that involves terrible danger, heartbreaking choices, and the realization that some ties, like the love between a mother and her daughters and between sisters, are forever.
THE BLACK SWAN OF PARIS by Karen Robards is this bestselling author’s first historical fiction book and it pulls you in with a story of estranged family dynamics, loyalty, partisans, spies, intrigue and action. It is a story that features a young internationally acclaimed singer and her perilous life during WWII in Nazi occupied Europe.
Genevieve Dumont is a celebrated cabaret star with a voice and beauty that captivates. In 1944 Paris, Nazis, partisans and spies are everywhere as the Germans prepare for the invasion they know is coming. Genevieve has been both a star and a smokescreen for her manager, Max Bonet. She knows and at times resents how she is being used and she wants to know as little as possible about Max’s secret life, until she overhears about the capture and arrest of Lillian, Baroness de Rocheford.
Genevieve has kept secrets from Max, but now she needs his help to save the baroness, who is her mother. Reunited with her sister, who is working with the SOE, a daring plan is set into motion. Will the little group be able to rescue the baroness directly from the home of the sadistic SS General Claus von Wagner?
I loved this story, but it was a little confusing in the very beginning as all the characters are introduced because the connections and histories are reveled throughout the entire book in flashbacks. Once it started to flow, I was transported back to 1944 occupied Paris. The description of the Nazi opulence contrasted with the deprivation of the Parisians, the sparkle of the cabaret, the partisan spy networks helping to prepare for the invasion, the mistrust and secrets all engage the reader and I was completely engrossed. Genevieve’s story was as tragic as it was triumphant and her entire family’s history kept me turning the pages. Ms. Robards has written historical characters that could walk off the page with a plot that builds to an action filled climax.
I highly recommend this dynamic historical fiction book with a touch of romance!
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Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
May 15, 1944
When the worst thing that could ever happen to you had already happened, nothing that came after really mattered. The resultant state of apathy was almost pleasant, as long as she didn’t allow herself to think about it—any of it—too much.
She was Genevieve Dumont, a singer, a star. Her latest sold-out performance at one of Paris’s great theaters had ended in a five-minute standing ovation less than an hour before. She was acclaimed, admired, celebrated wherever she went. The Nazis loved her.
She was not quite twenty-five years old. Beautiful when, like now, she was dolled up in all her after-show finery. Not in want, not unhappy.
In this time of fear and mass starvation, of worldwide deaths on a scale never seen before in the whole course of human history, that made her lucky. She knew it.
Whom she had been before, what had almost destroyed her—that life belonged to someone else. Most of the time, she didn’t even remember it herself.
She refused to remember it.
A siren screamed to life just meters behind the car she was traveling in. Startled, she sat upright in the back seat, heart lurching as she looked around.
Do they know? Are they after us?
A small knot of fans had been waiting outside the stage door as she’d left. One of them had thrust a program at her, requesting an autograph for Francoise. She’d signed—May your heart always sing, Genevieve Dumont—as previously instructed. What it meant she didn’t know. What she did know was that it meant something: it was a prearranged encounter, and the coded message she’d scribbled down was intended for the Resistance.
And now, mere minutes later, here were the Milice, the despised French police who had long since thrown in their lot with the Nazis, on their tail.
Even as icy jets of fear spurted through her, a pair of police cars followed by a military truck flew by. Running without lights, they appeared as no more than hulking black shapes whose passage rattled the big Citroën that up until then had been alone on the road. A split second later, her driver—his name was Otto Cordier; he worked for Max, her manager—slammed on the brakes. The car jerked to a stop.
“Sacre bleu!” Flying forward, she barely stopped herself from smacking into the back of the front seat by throwing her arms out in front of her. “What’s happening?”
“A raid, I think.” Peering out through the windshield, Otto clutched the steering wheel with both hands. He was an old man, short and wiry with white hair. She could read tension in every line of his body. In front of the car, washed by the pale moonlight that painted the scene in ghostly shades of gray, the cavalcade that had passed them was now blocking the road. A screech of brakes and the throwing of a shadow across the nearest building had her casting a quick look over her shoulder. Another military truck shuddered to a halt, filling the road behind them, stopping it up like a cork in a bottle. Men—German soldiers along with officers of the Milice—spilled out of the stopped vehicles. The ones behind swarmed past the Citroën, and all rushed toward what Genevieve tentatively identified as an apartment building. Six stories tall, it squatted, dark and silent, in its own walled garden.
“Oh, no,” she said. Her fear for herself and Otto subsided, but sympathy for the targets of the raid made her chest feel tight. People who were taken away by the Nazis in the middle of the night seldom came back.
The officers banged on the front door. “Open up! Police!”
It was just after 10:00 p.m. Until the siren had ripped it apart, the silence blanketing the city had been close to absolute. Thanks to the strictly enforced blackout, the streets were as dark and mysterious as the nearby Seine. It had rained earlier in the day, and before the siren the big Citroën had been the noisiest thing around, splashing through puddles as they headed back to the Ritz, where she was staying for the duration of her Paris run.
“If they keep arresting people, soon there will be no one left.” Genevieve’s gaze locked on a contingent of soldiers spreading out around the building, apparently looking for another way in—or for exits they could block. One rattled a gate of tall iron spikes that led into the brick-walled garden. It didn’t open, and he moved on, disappearing around the side of the building. She was able to follow the soldiers’ movements by the torches they carried. Fitted with slotted covers intended to direct their light downward so as to make them invisible to the Allied air-raid pilots whose increasingly frequent forays over Paris aroused both joy and dread in the city’s war-weary citizens, the torches’ bobbing looked like the erratic flitting of fireflies in the dark.
“They’re afraid, and that makes them all the more dangerous.” Otto rolled down his window a crack, the better to hear what was happening as they followed the soldiers’ movements. The earthy scent of the rain mixed with the faint smell of cigarette smoke, which, thanks to Max’s never-ending Gauloises, was a permanent feature of the car. The yellow card that was the pass they needed to be on the streets after curfew, prominently displayed on the windshield, blocked her view of the far side of the building, but she thought soldiers were running that way, too. “They know the Allies are coming. The bombings of the Luftwaffe installations right here in France, the Allied victories on the eastern front—they’re being backed into a corner. They’ll do whatever they must to survive.”
“Open the door, or we will break it down!”
The policeman hammered on the door with his nightstick. The staccato beat echoed through the night. Genevieve shivered, imagining the terror of the people inside.
Thin lines of light appeared in the cracks around some of the thick curtains covering the windows up and down the building as, at a guess, tenants dared to peek out. A woman, old and stooped—there was enough light in the hall behind her to allow Genevieve to see that much—opened the front door.
“Out of the way!”
She was shoved roughly back inside the building as the police and the soldiers stormed in. Her frightened cry changed to a shrill scream that was quickly cut off.
Genevieve’s mouth went dry. She clasped her suddenly cold hands in her lap.
There’s nothing to be done. It was the mantra of her life.
“Can we drive on?” She had learned in a hard school that there was no point in agonizing over what couldn’t be cured. To stay and watch what she knew was coming—the arrest of partisans, who would face immediate execution upon arrival at wherever they would be taken, or, perhaps and arguably worse, civilians, in some combination of women, children, old people, clutching what few belongings they’d managed to grab, marched at gunpoint out of the building and loaded into the trucks for deportation—would tear at her heart for days without helping them at all.
“We’re blocked in.” Otto looked around at her. She didn’t know what he saw in her face, but whatever it was made him grimace and reach for the door handle. “I’ll go see if I can get one of them to move.”
When he exited the car, she let her head drop back to rest against the rolled top of the Citroën’s leather seat, stared at the ceiling and tried not to think about what might be happening to the people in the building. Taking deep breaths, she did her best to block out the muffled shouts and thuds that reached her ears and focused on the physical, which, as a performer, she had experience doing. She was so tired she was limp with it. Her temples throbbed. Her legs ached. Her feet hurt. Her throat—that golden throat that had allowed her to survive—felt tight. Deliberately she relaxed her muscles and tugged the scarf tucked into the neckline of her coat higher to warm herself.
A flash of light in the darkness caught her eye. Her head turned as she sought the source. Looking through the iron bars of the garden gate, she discovered a side door in the building that was slowly, stealthily opening.
“Is anyone else in there? Come out or I’ll shoot.” The volume of the soldiers’ shouts increased exponentially with this new gap in the walls. That guttural threat rang out above others less distinct, and she gathered from what she heard that they were searching the building.
The side door opened wider. Light from inside spilled past a figure slipping out: a girl, tall and thin with dark curly hair, wearing what appeared to be an unbuttoned coat thrown on over nightclothes. In her arms she carried a small child with the same dark, curly hair.
The light went out. The door had closed. Genevieve discovered that she was sitting with her nose all but pressed against the window as she tried to find the girl in the darkness. It took her a second, but then she spotted the now shadowy figure as it fled through the garden toward the gate, trying to escape.
They’ll shoot her if they catch her. The child, too.
The Germans had no mercy for those for whom they came.
The girl reached the gate, paused. A pale hand grabbed a bar. From the metallic rattle that reached her ears, Genevieve thought she must be shoving at the gate, shaking it. She assumed it was locked. In any event, it didn’t open. Then that same hand reached through the bars, along with a too-thin arm, stretching and straining.
Toward what? It was too dark to tell.
With the Citroën stopped in the middle of the narrow street and the garden set back only a meter or so from the front facade of the building, the girl was close enough so that Genevieve could read the desperation in her body language, see the way she kept looking back at the now closed door. The child, who appeared to be around ten months old, seemed to be asleep. The small curly head rested trustingly on the girl’s shoulder.
It wasn’t a conscious decision to leave the car. Genevieve just did it, then realized the risk she was taking when her pumps clickety-clacked on the cobblestones. The sound seemed to tear through the night and sent a lightning bolt of panic through her.
Get back in the car. Her sense of self-preservation screamed it at her, but she didn’t. Shivering at the latent menace of the big military trucks looming so close on either side of the Citroën, the police car parked askew in the street, the light spilling from the still open front door and the sounds of the raid going on inside the building, she kept going, taking care to be quiet now as she darted toward the trapped girl.
You’re putting yourself in danger. You’re putting Otto, Max, everyone in danger. The whole network—
Heart thudding, she reached the gate. Even as she and the girl locked eyes through it, the girl jerked her arm back inside and drew herself up.
The sweet scent of flowers from the garden felt obscene in contrast with the fear and despair she sensed in the girl.
“It’s all right. I’m here to help,” Genevieve whispered. She grasped the gate, pulling, pushing as she spoke. The iron bars were solid and cold and slippery with the moisture that still hung in the air. The gate didn’t budge for her, either. The clanking sound it made as she joggled it against its moorings made her break out in a cold sweat. Darkness enfolded her, but it was leavened by moonlight and she didn’t trust it to keep her safe. After all, she’d seen the girl from the car. All it would take was one sharp-eyed soldier, one policeman to come around a corner, or step out of the building and look her way—and she could be seen, too. Caught. Helping a fugitive escape.
The consequences would be dire. Imprisonment, deportation, even death.
Her pulse raced.
She thought of Max, what he would say.
On the other side of the gate, moonlight touched on wide dark eyes set in a face so thin the bones seemed about to push through the skin. The girl appeared to be about her own age, and she thought she must be the child’s mother. The sleeping child—Genevieve couldn’t tell if it was a girl or a boy—was wearing footed pajamas.
Her heart turned over.
“Oh, thank God. Thank you.” Whispering, too, the girl reached through the bars to touch Genevieve’s arm in gratitude. “There’s a key. In the fountainhead. In the mouth. It unlocks the gate.” She cast another of those lightning glances over her shoulder. Shifting from foot to foot, she could hardly stand still in her agitation. Fear rolled off her in waves. “Hurry. Please.”
Genevieve looked in the direction the girl had been reaching, saw the oval stone of the fountainhead set into the brick near the gate, saw the carved lion’s head in its center with its open mouth from which, presumably, water was meant to pour out. Reaching inside, she probed the cavity, ran her fingers over the worn-smooth stone, then did it again.
“There’s no key,” she said. “It’s not here.”
“It has to be. It has to be!” The girl’s voice rose, trembled. The child’s head moved. The girl made a soothing sound, rocked back and forth, patted the small back, and the child settled down again with a sigh. Watching, a pit yawned in Genevieve’s stomach. Glancing hastily down, she crouched to check the ground beneath the fountainhead, in case the key might have fallen out. It was too dark; she couldn’t see. She ran her hand over the cobblestones. Nothing.
“It’s not—” she began, standing up, only to break off with a swiftly indrawn breath as the door through which the girl had exited flew open. This time, in the rectangle of light, a soldier stood.
“My God.” The girl’s whisper as she turned her head to look was scarcely louder than a breath, but it was so loaded with terror that it made the hair stand up on the back of Genevieve’s neck. “What do I do?”
“Who is out there?” the soldier roared. Pistol ready in his hand, he pointed his torch toward the garden. The light played over a tattered cluster of pink peonies, over overgrown green shrubs, over red tulips thrusting their heads through weeds, as it came their way. “Don’t think to hide from me.”
“Take the baby. Please.” Voice hoarse with dread, the girl thrust the child toward her. Genevieve felt a flutter of panic: if this girl only knew, she would be the last person she would ever trust with her child. But there was no one else, and thus no choice to be made. As a little leg and arm came through the gate, Genevieve reached out to help, taking part and then all of the baby’s weight as between them she and the girl maneuvered the little one through the bars. As their hands touched, she could feel the cold clamminess of the girl’s skin, feel her trembling. With the child no longer clutched in her arms, the dark shape of a six-pointed yellow star on her coat became visible. The true horror of what was happening struck Genevieve like a blow.
The girl whispered, “Her name’s Anna. Anna Katz. Leave word of where I’m to come for her in the fountainhead—”
The light flashed toward them.
“You there, by the gate,” the soldier shouted.
With a gasp, the girl whirled away.
“Halt! Stay where you are!”
Heart in her throat, blood turning to ice, Genevieve whirled away, too, in the opposite direction. Cloaked by night, she ran as lightly as she could for the car, careful to keep her heels from striking the cobblestones, holding the child close to her chest, one hand splayed against short, silky curls. The soft baby smell, the feel of the firm little body against her, triggered such an explosion of emotion that she went briefly light-headed. The panicky flutter in her stomach solidified into a knot—and then the child’s wriggling and soft sounds of discontent brought the present sharply back into focus.
If she cried…
Terror tasted sharp and bitter in Genevieve’s mouth.
“Shh. Shh, Anna,” she crooned desperately. “Shh.”
“I said halt!” The soldier’s roar came as Genevieve reached the car, grabbed the door handle, wrenched the door open—
Bang. The bark of a pistol.
A woman’s piercing cry. The girl’s piercing cry.
No. Genevieve screamed it, but only in her mind. The guilt of running away, of leaving the girl behind, crashed into her like a speeding car.
Blowing his whistle furiously, the soldier ran down the steps. More soldiers burst through the door, following the first one down the steps and out of sight.
Had the girl been shot? Was she dead?
My God, my God. Genevieve’s heart slammed in her chest.
She threw herself and the child into the back seat and—softly, carefully—closed the door. Because she didn’t dare do anything else.
Coward.
The baby started to cry.
Staring out the window in petrified expectation of seeing the soldiers come charging after her at any second, she found herself panting with fear even as she did her best to quiet the now wailing child.
Could anyone hear? Did the soldiers know the girl had been carrying a baby?
If she was caught with the child…
What else could I have done?
Max would say she should have stayed out of it, stayed in the car. That the common good was more important than the plight of any single individual.
Even a terrified girl. Even a baby.
“It’s all right, Anna. I’ve got you safe. Shh.” Settling back in the seat to position the child more comfortably in her arms, she murmured and patted and rocked. Instinctive actions, long forgotten, reemerged in this moment of crisis.
Through the gate she could see the soldiers clustering around something on the ground. The girl, she had little doubt, although the darkness and the garden’s riotous blooms blocked her view. With Anna, quiet now, sprawled against her chest, a delayed reaction set in and she started to shake.
Otto got back into the car.
“They’re going to be moving the truck in front as soon as it’s loaded up.” His voice was gritty with emotion. Anger? Bitterness? “Someone tipped them off that Jews were hiding in the building, and they’re arresting everybody. Once they’re—”
Otto broke off as the child made a sound.
“Shh.” Genevieve patted, rocked. “Shh, shh.”
His face a study in incredulity, Otto leaned around in the seat to look. “Holy hell, is that a baby?”
“Her mother was trapped in the garden. She couldn’t get out.”
Otto shot an alarmed look at the building, where soldiers now marched a line of people, young and old, including a couple of small children clutching adults’ hands, out the front door.
“My God,” he said, sounding appalled. “We’ve got to get—”
Appearing out of seemingly nowhere, a soldier rapped on the driver’s window. With his knuckles, hard.
Oh, no. Please no.
Genevieve’s heart pounded. Her stomach dropped like a rock as she stared at the shadowy figure on the other side of the glass.
We’re going to be arrested. Or shot.
Whipping the scarf out of her neckline, she draped the brightly printed square across her shoulder and over the child.
Otto cranked the window down.
“Papers,” the soldier barked.
Fear formed a hard knot under Genevieve’s breastbone. Despite the night’s chilly temperature, she could feel sweat popping out on her forehead and upper lip. On penalty of arrest, everyone in Occupied France, from the oldest to the youngest, was required to have identity documents readily available at all times. Hers were in her handbag, beside her on the seat.
But Anna had none.
Otto passed his cards to the soldier, who turned his torch on them.
As she picked up her handbag, Genevieve felt Anna stir.
Please, God, don’t let her cry.
“Here.” Quickly she thrust her handbag over the top of the seat to Otto. Anna was squirming now. Genevieve had to grab and secure the scarf from underneath to make sure the baby’s movements didn’t knock it askew.
If the soldier saw her…
Anna whimpered. Muffled by the scarf, the sound wasn’t loud, but its effect on Genevieve was electric. She caught her breath as her heart shot into her throat—and reacted instinctively, as, once upon a time, it had been second nature to do.
She slid the tip of her little finger between Anna’s lips.
The baby responded as babies typically did: she latched on and sucked.
Genevieve felt the world start to slide out of focus. The familiarity of it, the bittersweet memories it evoked, made her dizzy. She had to force herself to stay in the present, to concentrate on this child and this moment to the exclusion of all else.
Otto had handed her identity cards over. The soldier examined them with his torch, then bent closer to the window and looked into the back seat.
She almost expired on the spot.
“Mademoiselle Dumont. It is a pleasure. I have enjoyed your singing very much.”
Anna’s hungry little mouth tugged vigorously at her finger.
“Thank you,” Genevieve said, and smiled.
The soldier smiled back. Then he straightened, handed the papers back and, with a thump on the roof, stepped away from the car. Otto cranked the window up.
The tension inside the car was so thick she could almost physically feel the weight of it.
“Let them through,” the soldier called to someone near the first truck. Now loaded with the unfortunate new prisoners, it was just starting to pull out.
With a wave for the soldier, Otto followed, although far too slowly for Genevieve’s peace of mind. As the car crawled after the truck, she cast a last, quick glance at the garden: she could see nothing, not even soldiers.
Was the girl—Anna’s mother—still there on the ground? Or had she already been taken away?
Was she dead?
Genevieve felt sick to her stomach. But once again, there was nothing to be done.
Acutely aware of the truck’s large side and rear mirrors and what might be able to be seen through them, Genevieve managed to stay upright and keep the baby hidden until the Citroën turned a corner and went its own way.
Then, feeling as though her bones had turned to jelly, she slumped against the door.
Anna gave up on the finger and started to cry, shrill, distressed wails that filled the car. With what felt like the last bit of her strength, Genevieve pushed the scarf away and gathered her up and rocked and patted and crooned to her. Just like she had long ago done with—
Do not think about it.
“Shh, Anna. Shh.”
“That was almost a disaster.” Otto’s voice, tight with reaction, was nonetheless soft for fear of disturbing the quieting child. “What do we do now? You can’t take a baby back to the hotel. Think questions won’t be asked? What do you bet that soldier won’t talk about having met Genevieve Dumont? All it takes is one person to make the connection between the raid and you showing up with a baby and it will ruin us all. It will ruin everything.”
“I know.” Genevieve was limp. “Find Max. He’ll know what to do.”
Karen Robards is the New York Times, USA TODAY and Publishers Weekly bestselling author of more than fifty novels and one novella. She is the winner of six Silver Pen awards and numerous other awards.
I am very excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for Ann Girdharry’s new book – DEADLY SECRETS which is the second book featuring D.I. Grant and his team. It can be easily read as a standalone.
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 long can you get away with murder?
In an idyllic Sussex town, Mr Quinn whispers a secret on his death bed. Hours later the person who cared for Quinn is killed.
Mr Quinn’s secret sets off events unlike anything Detective Grant and Psychologist Ruby Silver have ever seen. A series of deaths follow as a killer tries to cover their twenty-year trail of murder by drowning.
Grant, Silver and the team must track a killer who has been getting away with murder for years.
But when treachery, corruption and secrets from the past are used against Sergeant Tom Delaney, the killer turns their attention to one of Grant’s own…
DEADLY SECRETS by Ann Girdharry is a British police procedural thriller that I was very excited to receive from Bloodhound Books. I read the first book in this series, ‘Deadly Motives’ and loved it. This second book is an absolute edge-of-your-seat page turner and as electrifying as the first. It can be easily read as a standalone, but I know after you read this book and find out how much you love it, you will go back for the first.
This story has DI David Grant and the whole team returning for another investigation which begins with the stabbing death of a young nurse. Nurse Dixon was loved by everyone and yet she was brutally murdered and had her face cut out of a family picture. Criminal Psychologist Ruby Silver is helping the team once again and believes they may be chasing a serial killer as another death occurs which ties these deaths back to a twenty-year-old mystery.
DI Grant, Ruby and the team are tracking a killer who has eluded justice for many years even as they work the cold case of two boys who disappeared. The cold case also is connected to rumors from the past related to DS Tom Delaney father’s suicide.
The team is in a race to figure out how the past and present all tie together to find the killer before a person close to the team is targeted.
I read this book all in one sitting. I could not put it down. Ms. Girdharry has once again brought all her characters to life. They are all realistically heroic and evil. I felt Tom’s past trauma from finding his father’s body and the difficulty it caused in his work in the present was handled with empathy and it gives you more insight into his character. There are several POV ‘s between the past and present and yet I never lost track of who was speaking. The plot kept me glued to the page. There were several times I thought I knew who was responsible, but I was only partially correct because a plot twist or red herring would throw me back into questioning the killer’s identity.
I highly recommend this new intense and absolutely gripping thriller by Ms. Girdharry! I cannot wait to see where the characters go from here.
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Author Bio and Social Media Links
Ann Girdharry is a British, crime thriller author.
She is a trained psychotherapist and worked as a manager in the not-for-profit sector.
Her debut novel, Good Girl Bad Girl, is an ERIC HOFFER BOOK AWARD Finalist 2017 and a READERS’ FAVOURITE Five Star Book.
Here are a few fun facts from Ann Girdharry –
I love to travel and visit different cultures. As an adult, I’ve lived in the USA, Norway, UK and France.
One of my passions is roller blading and another is gardening.
YOU CAN GO HOME NOW by Michael Elias is an exciting new thriller with a female detective on the case of a killer of abusive spouses while simultaneously on her lifelong quest for her personal revenge against the killer of her father.
Homicide Detective Nina Karim is called out to the scene of a murder and finds the body of a man she was searching for who was reported missing by his parents. The parents accuse the wife of the murder. When Nina catches up with the wife, she claims innocence, but refuses to say where she was during the time of the murder.
While investigating the case, Nina discovers other cold cases of murdered spouses all tied to Artemis Shelter for Women. Nina goes undercover in Artemis and finds herself empathizing with the occupants and their stories, because she has a story of her own which fuels her need for revenge, not conventional justice.
This book starts with two chapters that while you do not know it at the time, set up the dual plotlines intertwined through this thriller. For me, Nina was an antihero. She became a cop and lived for revenge knowing she would cross the line when she finds her target. The resolution to her personal revenge plotline was not realistic or believable. Her romance is with a loan shark, Bobby B who dropped out of the police academy which they both attended at the same time. He was useful for pivotal plot points and sex scenes, but I never felt he was fully fleshed out.
Nina’s time in Artemis was the plotline that captured my complete attention. The stories of the women and children pull you in as they did Nina herself. Nina’s empathy for the women leaves her with an ethical dilemma; reveal Artemis’ true mission or not.
I found this to be a gritty, fast paced, revenge thriller story that is more escapism that realism, but it did entertain me.
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About the Author
Michael Elias is an award-winning writer, actor and director who has written film, television, theatre and fiction.
His upcoming novel, You Can Go Home Now, is a timely and addictive psychological thriller featuring a female cop on the hunt for a killer while battling violent secrets of her own. The book will be published by HarperCollins in the U.S. and by Editions du Masque in France in June 2020. He is also the author of The Last Conquistador, published by Open Road Media.
Michael Elias was born and raised in upstate New York, moving to New York City after graduating from St. John’s College in Annapolis to pursue a career in acting. He was a member of the Living Theatre (The Brig) and acted at The Judson Poets Theatre, La MaMa, and Caffé Chino. Elias transitioned to Hollywood and with Frank Shaw wrote the screenplay for The Frisco Kid starring Gene Wilder and Harrison Ford, then Envoyez les Violons with Eve Babitz and began a long partnership with Rich Eustis. Together, they wrote the screenplays for Serial, Young Doctors in Love and created Head of the Class a television series for ABC, partially based on Elias’ experience as a high school teacher in New York City. Elias also worked with Steve Martin, a collaboration that included material for Martin’s comedy albums, network TV specials, and the screenplay for The Jerk.
Elias wrote and directed Showtime’s Lush Life with Forrest Whitaker and Jeff Goldblum. He was nominated for best Director at The Cable Ace Awards that year, and the TV movie has become a jazz film classic. His semi-autobiographical play about a small hotel in upstate New York was directed by Paul Mazursky, ran for four months in Los Angeles, with the LA Weekly naming The Catskill Sonata one of the best ten plays of the year.
