Today is my turn on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour for this well written and paced, atmospheric small town Sheriff/police procedural mystery. I am excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for Elena Taylor’s debut ALL WE BURIED: A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery (A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery Book #1).
Below you will find a book synopsis, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy!
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Synopsis
For fans of Julia Keller and Sheena Kamal, All We Buried disturbs the long-sleeping secrets of a small Washington State mountain town.
Interim sheriff Elizabeth “Bet” Rivers has always had one repeat nightmare: a shadowy figure throwing a suspicious object into her hometown lake in Collier, Washington. For the longest time, she chalked it up to an overactive imagination as a kid. Then the report arrives. In the woods of the Cascade mountain range, right in her jurisdiction, a body floats to the surface of Lake Collier. When the body is extricated and revealed, no one can identify Jane Doe. But someone must know the woman, so why aren’t they coming forward?
Bet has been sitting as the interim sheriff of this tiny town in the ill-fitting shoes of her late father and predecessor. With the nightmare on her heels, Bet decided to build a life for herself in Los Angeles, but now it’s time to confront the tragic history of Collier. The more she learns, the more Bet realizes she doesn’t know the townspeople of Collier as well as she thought, and nothing can prepare her for what she is about to discover.
Genre: Mystery Published by: Crooked Lane Publication Date: April 7, 2020 Number of Pages: 304 ISBN: 1643852914 (ISBN13: 9781643852911) Series: Sheriff Bet Rivers #1 Purchase Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | IndieBound | Goodreads
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
ALL WE BURIED: A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery (A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery Book #1) by Elena Taylor is a well written and paced, atmospheric small town Sheriff/police procedural mystery debut.
Elizabeth “Bet” Rivers has returned home to Collier from L.A. to her small hometown in the mountains of Washington state to follow in her father’s footsteps as Sheriff. Currently the interim Sheriff, she is not certain she wants to stay even as she runs for election against her father’s deputy.
A Washington State professor is studying the dead glacial lake by the abandoned coal mine outside of Collier when he discovers a canvas wrapped body floating in the lake. Bet has never handled a murder investigation, but she is determined to solve this one to prove her worth to the people of her town and herself. This murder is eerily reminiscent of a terrifying dream Bet has had for nearly nineteen years. Was it a dream or a memory she would rather forget?
As Bet digs deeper into the disturbing history around her hometown, two hometown sons have returned at the same time the body turns up. The more Bet digs, the more she learns that she does not know the town people of Collier as well as she believed and she may be the next victim of the dead lake and the ghosts of the old mine.
This is a wonderful mystery read that kept me guessing and turning the pages. I would never have expected a debut to be able to pull me in to not only the mystery and characters, but also the landscape and ecology of the small Cascade mountain town and lake. Bet is a wonderful new lead character that I am looking forward to following into the future. She is realistic and relatable as are the secondary characters. The mysteries from the past and the present are intertwined and paced perfectly in my opinion.
I highly recommend this debut and first in a series mystery!
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Excerpt
ONE
Sheriff Bet Rivers leaned back in her chair and gazed out the office window at the shifting light on Lake Collier. Bright sunlight cast up sparkling diamonds as a late-summer breeze chopped the surface—turquoise-blue and silver. The fragment of a song from her childhood teased her mind—silver, blue, and gold. She hummed the tune under her breath.
Red and yellow leaves turned the maple trees in the park across the street into Jackson Pollock paintings. Hard to believe Labor Day weekend ended tonight. Somehow summer had slipped by and fall had snuck up on her as she tended to her new position.
If she had still been in Los Angeles, she’d have been a detective by now. Instead, she was back in her tiny hometown with a job her father had tricked her into taking.
“I need you to cover for me while I get chemo,” he said. “It’s just for a few months. I’m going to be fine.”
With the detective exam available only once every two years, it meant putting her career on hold. But her father had never asked her for anything; how could she say no?
He never said he would die, turning her “interim sheriff” position into something more permanent.
Her father always knew what cards to play. Competition. Family. Responsibility. Loyalty. Collier. A perfect straight. He’d used them all this time, as if he’d known it would be his last hand. No easy way to extricate herself now, short of gnawing off her own foot.
The sound of instruments tuning up pulled her attention to a trio set up at a bench outside the market across the street. The raised sidewalk and false front of the old building made the perfect backdrop for their performance. Collier relied on tourism for much of its income, and the local musicians encouraged visitors to stay longer and spend more.
A beat of silence followed by a quick intake of breath, the unspoken communication of musicians well attuned to one another, and the trio launched into song.
Church of a different sort. Bet could hear her father’s words. I don’t know if there’s a God, Bet, but I do believe in bluegrass.
The music produced a soundtrack to her grief. The banjo player favored the fingerpicking style of the great Earl Scruggs. Loss etched in the sound of three-part harmony, Earle Rivers’s death still a wound that wouldn’t close.
She recognized the fiddle player. She’d babysat him years ago. It made her feel old. Not yet thirty, she wasn’t, but as the last generation of Lake Collier Riverses, the weight of history fell heavy on her shoulders. In a line of sheriffs stretching back to the town’s founding, she was the bitter end.
Looking down at her desk, Bet eyed the new fly she’d tied. The small, barbless hook would work well for the catch-and-release fishing she did, and the bright yellow and green feathers pleased her. The only thing she’d missed while living in California. Surf fishing wasn’t the same.
I should name it in your memory, Dad. The Earle fly. Her grandfather had named him after Scruggs, but her grandmother added the e because she liked how it looked.
Bet imagined her father’s critical response to her work, the size of the hook too dainty for his memorial.
Bet “spoke” with her father more now, four months after his death, than she’d ever done when he lived. Another burden she carried. The conversations they’d never had. Things she should have asked but didn’t.
She took a deep breath of the dry, pine scent that drifted in through the open windows, filling the room with a heady summer perfume. She should get up and walk around, let the community see she was on the job, but her body felt leaden. And it wasn’t like anyone would notice. She could vanish for hours and it wouldn’t matter to Collier; no one required her attention. Not like they had depended on her father. His death still hung over town like a malaise, her presence an insufficient cure no matter what Earle might have believed when he called her home.
Before her father’s illness, she’d had a plan. First the police academy, then patrol officer, proving she could make it in Los Angeles as a cop. She’d envisioned at least twenty years in LA, moving up the ranks—something with Chief in the title— returning home with a long, impressive career before stepping into Earle’s shoes.
Too late, she’d realized he wouldn’t get better. He’d brought her home for good.
Stretching her arms above her head, she walked her fingers up the wall behind her, tapping to the beat of the music. Anything to shake off the drowsiness brought on by the hot, quiet day and long nights of uneasy sleep.
The coffee stand beckoned from across the street, but the sound of the front door opening and the low, throaty voice of the department’s secretary, Alma, stopped her from voyaging out. A two-pack-a-day smoker for almost forty years, Alma sounded a lot like Lauren Bacall after a night of heavy drinking. She’d given up smoking more than twenty years ago, but even now, as she edged into her seventies, Alma’s voice clung to the roughness like a dying man to a life preserver. Bet hoped the visitor only wanted information about the community and Alma could answer.
No such luck. The efficient clop of Alma’s square-heeled shoes clumped down the scarred floors of the hallway, a counterpoint to another set of feet. Bet brought her hands down off the wall and automatically tucked a wayward curl of her auburn hair back up under her hat before Alma arrived, poking her birdlike head around the wooden frame of the door. Gray hair teased tall, as if that would give her five-foot frame a couple extra inches.
“Bet?” Alma always said her name as though it might not be Bet Rivers sitting behind the enormous sheriff’s desk. Bet assumed Alma wished to find Earle Rivers there. She wondered how long that would last. If Bet threw the upcoming election and fled back to Southern California, leaving her deputy to pick up the reins, maybe everyone would be better off, no matter what her father wanted.
“Yes, Alma?” “I think you’d better listen to what this young man has to say.” The “young man” in question could be anywhere under the age of sixty in Alma’s book, and as he stood out of sight down the hallway, Bet had little to go on.
“Okay,” Bet said.
“I think it’s important.” Alma waited for Bet to show appropriate attention. “Okay.”
“Seems he found a dead body floating in the lake.”
***
CREDIT MARK PERLSTEIN
Author Bio
Elena Taylor lives on the banks of the middle fork of the Snoqualmie River in a town made famous by Twin Peaks. When she’s not writing or working one-on-one with writers as a developmental editor, she can be found hanging out with her husband, dog, and two cats. Her favorite place to be (besides home) is the stables down the road, with her two horses Radar and Jasper.
Today is my turn on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour. I am excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for TORTURED WITH LOVE: The True Crime Romance of the Lonely Hearts Killers by J.T. Hunter.
Below you will find a book synopsis, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Synopsis
What is the price of passion? What is the power of love?
Meet Martha Beck, a young nurse dedicated to healing others, until her own hurting heart lured her down a darker path. Loneliness led her to Raymond Fernandez, but love led her all the way to the electric chair.
This is the tragic story of the Lonely Heart Killers.
Genre: True Crime Published by: JT Hunter Publication Date: May 15th 2020 Number of Pages: 210 ISBN: 9798646112720 Purchase Links:Amazon | Goodreads
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
TORTURED WITH LOVE: The True Crime Romance of the Lonely Hearst Killers by J.T. Hunter is a true crime story of a couple who ranked fourth on Time magazine’s list of Top 10 Crime Duos in U.S. history. Their crime spree occurred in the 1940’s and while it may seem somewhat tame compared to some of our current atrocities, it was the sensation of its time.
Martha Beck was a young nurse and mother in Pensacola, Florida. Divorced and lonely, her best friend encourages her to sign up with a lonely hearts correspondence club which was popular in the 1940’s and 50’s. Her letter is answered by a suave suitor named Ray from New York City.
Raymond “Ray” Fernandez came to America from Spain leaving his wife and four children behind. Having trouble keeping a job, he begins to scam wealthy women he corresponds with through the lonely hearts correspondence clubs. He meets Martha and while he walks away, Martha cannot let him go and will go to any lengths to keep his love.
Ray and Martha set out scamming and then ultimately moving on to murdering the women Ray makes fall in love with him to acquire all their assets. Dubbed by the press as the “Lonely Heart Killers” they are captured and continue to declare their love for each other all the way to the electric chair.
I had never heard of this couple in my true crime reading and was very interested in learning more. I am especially interested in these stories that have a couple committing murders to learn about the psychology of the couple. There are so many variables and I always wonder if they never met, if there would have been no crimes. The period of the 1940’s is brought to life and I found the author did a great job of displaying the differences in our mores and moral judgements then and now. This is the second book I have read by this author and I enjoy his clean and uncluttered style of writing while still providing a story that keeps you turning the pages.
I can highly recommend this true crime book and author!
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Excerpt
ONE
On an otherwise mundane March day, a peculiar piece of paper arrived in Martha Beck’s office mailbox. It came with the usual medical correspondence and junk mail, giving no indication of its importance. Yet, this one particular envelope would change Martha’s life forever.
The envelope arrived on a cool afternoon, the temperature hovering just below 60, the highest it had climbed all day in the Pensacola area of the Florida Panhandle. But Martha was not in the mood to enjoy the weather. She was still down in the dumps about her recently finalized divorce from Alfred Beck, a Pensacola bus driver who had married her when she was six months pregnant with another man’s child. Although she had been separated from Alfred since May 1945, nearly two years earlier, the formal entry of their divorce had the nearly 27-year-old Martha feeling like an old maid doomed to live out the rest of her life alone.
Martha was not unique in that respect in post-World War II America. With well over a million more women than men, the United States population of the mid and late 1940’s left many lonely women in its wake.
A visit from Elizabeth Swanson, one of the nurses she supervised at the Crippled Children’s Home, temporarily distracted Martha from feeling sorry for herself. She considered Elizabeth her closest friend. When Elizabeth knocked on her office door, Martha had just started going through the mail. As the two engaged in the latest gossip and friendly chit-chat, Martha resumed sorting through the assortment of envelopes. The first was an advertisement from a Jacksonville company selling medical equipment. She quickly flipped past it as well as a few other pieces of junk mail until a mysterious envelope caught her eye. It was made of thin, pale-brown paper with the name, Mrs. Martha Jule Beck, typed prominently on the front.
“What’s this?” she asked, the question directed more to herself than her friend.
“What is what?” Elizabeth replied, sipping from a mug of coffee.
“This . . . this odd envelope,” Martha said, holding it up to show her.
“Beat’s me,” Elizabeth remarked coyly. “I wonder who sent you that.”
“I’m sure I don’t know,” Martha remarked, her curiosity now piqued. She turned the envelope over to inspect it further, and seeing nothing hinting at its contents, opened it to find a thin, paper pamphlet inside. It was a promotional mailing and application for the Standard Correspondence Club, one of many “lonely hearts clubs” operating across the country. The return address gave Standard’s location as Grave Lake, Illinois.
LONELY?, the pamphlet asked in large, bold letters, Let us help you findthat certain someone. Join old reliable Club, 50 years of dependable, confidentialservice. Correspondents most everywhere seeking congenial mates, provenresults. Interesting photos, descriptions FREE. There were several pictures of women spaced throughout the page, each next to a testimonial about a happy marriage brought about by contacts made through the club.
“Now why on earth would they send this to me?” Martha wondered aloud, taking a little offense that such a “lovelorn club” would be contacting her.
Elizabeth’s coyness now morphed into a broad grin that spread across her face.
“Now why on earth would they send this to me?” Martha wondered aloud, “I have a confession to make,” Elizabeth said as she started giggling. “I wrote the club and asked them to send you information and an application.”
Martha studied her friend’s face, deciding whether she was serious.
“Whatever for?” she asked in a tone matching the astonishment in her eyes.
Still giggling, Elizabeth moved to a chair closer to Martha and sat down beside her.
“I originally did it as a joke,” she explained, “but the more I thought about it, the more I decided that you should give it a try. Three of my daughters are writing to me that they have met men through this correspondence club, and this is the very same club that I met my husband through thirty years ago. And after all, what do you have to lose?”
Martha rolled her eyes.
“I may be a little lonely,” she acknowledged, “but I’m not THAT desperate.”
She glared with some annoyance at Elizabeth. “I swear, sometimes I really wonder what’s going on in that head of yours.”
Martha tossed the pamphlet onto a pile of papers stacked on the side of her desk and made no more mention of it for the rest of their time together. But the seeds of intrigue had already been planted in her mind.
Later, after Elizabeth had left, Martha retrieved the discarded pamphlet and read it more closely. Part of the pamphlet contained a form asking her to fill out information about herself and write a letter detailing what kind of men she would like to meet. Sitting down at her desk, she carefully completed the form and took her time crafting the letter, being sure to mention how people often commented that she was witty, vivacious, and oozed personality. She also emphasized that she was a trained nurse with her own pleasant apartment. When she was satisfied with what she had written, Martha carefully folded the papers, enclosed $5.00 for the required membership fee, and licked the envelope to seal it. That evening, she dropped it in a mailbox on her way home from work.
*****
Years later, when asked whether she had experienced any misgivings about joining a lonely hearts club, Martha candidly replied, “Yes, as soon as I’d put the letter in the mailbox, I began thinking I’d made a mistake.”
Questioned about what kind of man she hoped to meet through the club, Martha took a little more time before answering.
“Well, I don’t know,” she confessed. “I guess I hadn’t thought about it much.
But I sure didn’t think I’d ever meet anyone like Ray.”
***Excerpt from Tortured With Love by J.T. Hunter. Copyright 2020 by J.T. Hunter. Reproduced with permission from J.T. Hunter. All rights reserved.
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Author Bio
JT Hunter is a true crime writer with over fifteen years of experience as a lawyer, including criminal law and appeals. He also has significant training in criminal investigation techniques. He enjoys being a college professor teaching fiction and nonfiction to his creative writing students.
Today I am sharing on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour. My Feature Post and Book Review is for DERAILED (PI Kelly Pruett Book #1) by Mary Keliikoa.
Below you will find a book synopsis, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Synopsis
A dying wish. A secret world.
Can this grieving investigator stay on the right track?
PI Kelly Pruett is determined to make it on her own. And juggling clients at her late father’s detective agency, a controlling ex, and caring for a deaf daughter was never going to be easy. She takes it as a good sign when a letter left by her dad ties into an unsolved case of a young woman struck by a train.
Hunting down the one person who can prove the mysterious death was not just a drunken accident, Kelly discovers this witness is in no condition to talk. And the closer she gets to the truth the longer her list of sleazy suspects with murderous motives grows. Each clue exposes another layer of the victim’s steamy double life.
Can Kelly pinpoint the murderer, or is she on the fast track to disaster?
Genre: Mystery Published by: Camel Press Publication Date: May 12th 2020 Number of Pages: 232 ISBN: 1603817069 (ISBN13: 9781603817066) Series: PI Kelly Pruett #1 Purchase Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Bookshop | Goodreads
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
DERAILED (P.I. Kelly Pruett Book #1) by Mary Keliikoa is the start of a new female P.I. series by a debut author. This is an intriguing mystery full of characters with secrets and plot twists which take you as well as this inexperienced P.I. down many paths before ultimately discovering the truth.
P.I. Kelly Pruett is trying to make it on her own after her divorce and the death of her father who left her his detective agency. Kelly has always been fascinated with her father’s P.I. work, but has yet to work a major investigation. Kelly is trying to move forward after the death of her father, support herself and her deaf daughter and deal with an ex and mother-in-law who are still much too involved in her life.
A client shows up looking for Kelly’s father, but retains Kelly to investigate the supposed drunken accidental death of her daughter. This is Kelly’s chance to prove to everyone she is capable of taking over her father’s firm. As Kelly investigates the life of the dead woman, nothing is as it first seemed. She had a secret life and the murder of her main suspect leads her further into a web of sleazy characters that all have their own secrets.
Kelly is learning as she goes. She is finding she has more suspects than she anticipated and their many secrets lead to a motive that the killer does not want revealed and is willing to kill again to protect.
This is a cozy P.I. mystery that is intricately plotted with deceitful characters and red herrings that kept me turning the pages as I follow this new P.I. Kelly’s personal life felt realistic and pulled me in with her determination to make her dream work, protect her relationship with her child and hopefully more of her budding relationship with the handsome police officer. I am impressed with this mystery by this debut author and I hope she will continue with many more books in this series.
I recommend this first book in this cozy P.I. mystery series.
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Excerpt
CHAPTER 1
Portland, Oregon has as many parts as the human anatomy. Like the body, some are more attractive than others. My father’s P.I. business that I’d inherited was in what many considered the armpit, the northeast, where pickpockets and drug dealers dotted the narrow streets and spray paint tags of bubble-lettered gang signatures striped the concrete. In other words, home. I’m Kelly Pruett and I couldn’t imagine living anywhere else.
I’d just finished invoicing a client for a skip trace and flicked off the light in the front office my dad and I used to share when a series of taps came from the locked front door. It was three o’clock on a gloomy Friday afternoon. A panhandler looking for a handout or a bathroom was my best guess. Sitting at the desk, I couldn’t tell.
Floyd, my basset hound and the only real man in my life, lifted his droopy eyes to meet mine before flopping his head back down on his bed. No help there.
Another rap, louder this time.
Someone wanted my attention. I retrieved the canister of pepper spray from my purse and opened the door to a woman, her umbrella sheltering her from the late October drizzle. Her angle made it hard to see her face, only the soft curls in her hair and the briefcase hanging from her hand. I slipped the pepper spray into the pocket of my Nike warmup jacket.
“Is Roger Pruett in?” she asked, water droplets splatting the ground.
She hadn’t heard the news and I hadn’t brought myself to update R&K Investigation’s website. I swallowed the lump before it could form and clutch my throat. “No, sorry,” I said. “My dad died earlier this year. I’m his daughter, Kelly.”
“I’m so sorry.” She peered from under the umbrella, her expression pinched. She searched my face for a different answer.
I’d give anything to have one. “What do you need?”
“To hire a P.I. to investigate my daughter’s death. Can you help me?” Her voice cracked.
My stomach fluttered. Process serving, court document searches, and the occasional tedious stakeout had made up the bulk of my fifteen hundred hours of P.I. experience requirement. Not that I wasn’t capable of more. Dad had enjoyed handling cases himself with the plan to train me later. In the year since his death, no one had come knocking, and going through the motions of what I knew how to do well had been hard enough. Now this lady was here for my father’s help. I couldn’t turn her away. I raked my fingers through the top of my shoulder length hair and opened the door. “Come in.”
“Bless you.” She slid her umbrella closed and brushed past me.
After securing the lock, I led her through the small reception area and into my office. A bathroom and another office that substituted for a storage closet were down the long hallway heading to the rear exit. Floyd decided to take interest and lumbered over. With his butt in the air, he stretched at her feet before nearly snuffling my soon-to-be client’s shoe up his nose. She nodded at him before vicious Floyd found his way back to his corner, tail swaying behind him. Guess he approved.
The woman looked in her mid-sixties. She had coiffed hair the color of burnt almonds, high cheekbones, and a prominent nose. She reminded me of my middle school librarian who could get you to shut up with one glance. “Would you like coffee, Ms…?”
“No thank you. It’s Hanson.” She settled in the red vinyl chair across from my dad’s beaten and scarred desk. “Georgette Hanson.”
My skin tingled when she said her name.
“My condolences on your father,” she said.
“Thank you.” Her words were simple, and expected, but her eyes held pain. Having lost her daughter, she clearly could relate.
“How did it happen?” she asked.
I swallowed again. With as many people as I’d had to tell, it should be getting easier. It wasn’t. “Stroke. Were you a former client of my father’s?”
She waved her hand. “Something like that.” She lifted the briefcase to her lap and popped the latch. Her eyes softened. “He was a fine man. You look just like him.”
My confident, broad-shouldered, Welshman father had been quite fit and handsome in his youth. Most of my adult life he’d carried an extra fifty pounds, but that never undermined his strong chin, wise blue eyes, and thick chestnut hair. I’d been blessed with my Dad’s eyes and hair and had my mom’s round chin. But since I’d ballooned a couple of sizes while pregnant with Mitz, I knew which version she thought I resembled. “What were you hoping he could do for you with regards to your daughter?”
“Find out why she’s dead.” Georgette shoved a paper dated a few weeks ago onto the desk and snapped the case lid closed.
A picture of a young woman with a warm smile, a button nose, and long wavy brunette hair sat below the fold on the front page under the headline: WOMAN STRUCK BY MAX TRAIN DIES.
I winced at the thought of her violent end. “I’m sorry. Such a pretty girl.”
“She was perfect.” Georgette pulled off her gloves, her eyes brimming. “The train destroyed that. Do you know what a train does to a hundred-pound woman?” Her voice trembled.
To avoid envisioning the impact, I replaced it with the smiling face of Mitz, my eight-year-old daughter. Which made it worse. If anything ever happened to her… How Georgette wasn’t a puddle on the Formica eluded me. I took a minute to read the story. According to the article, Brooke Hanson fell from the sidewalk into the path of an oncoming MAX train downtown at Ninth and Morrison Street. The police reported alcohol was a contributing factor. “They detained the sole witness who found her, Jay Nightingale. Why?” I set the paper down.
Georgette brushed her hair away from her forehead flashing nails chewed to the quick. “At first, the police thought he had something to do with her fall. He told them he’d seen my Brooke stumble down the sidewalk and teeter on the edge of the curb. Supposedly, he called out the train was coming and she didn’t hear him. He made no effort to get her away from those tracks. When the autopsy showed she’d been drinking, they wrote her death off as an accident, released Mr. Nightingale, and closed the case.”
Their decision couldn’t have been that cut and dry. “How much had she been drinking?”
“You sound like the police.” Georgette lifted her chin and met my gaze. There are many stages to grief. One of them anger, another denial. Georgette straddled both, something I knew plenty about. “Not sure…exactly. You’ll have to check the report.”
I scanned her face for the truth. “You don’t know or you’re afraid to tell me?”
She massaged the palm of her hand with her thumb. “The bartender at the Limbo said she’d had a few before he’d cut her off and asked her to leave. None of that matters because Nightingale’s lying. He had something to do with her fall. He may have even pushed her. At the very least, he knows more than he’s telling.”
My eyebrows raised. The police weren’t perfect, but they had solid procedures in death investigations. They would have explored that angle. “What are you basing that on?”
“My gut.”
A mother’s intuition while undeniable, alone didn’t prove foul play. “Did the MAX operator see Mr. Nightingale next to her at any point?”
“He didn’t even see her because the area wasn’t well lit.”
“Do you have his name?”
“Chris Foley.”
I jotted the information down. “What do the train’s cameras show?”
“There weren’t any. And no passenger statements because the train was done for the night. But Brooke shouldn’t have even been in the vicinity of that train.”
“Where is the Limbo located?”
“Ten blocks from where she was hit.”
A half mile, give or take. “Could she have been heading to catch the MAX to go home?”
“Brooke detested mass transit. The people who ride during the day scared her. She wouldn’t go there at night. Besides, she lived south of town. The train wouldn’t have taken her there.” She sighed. “I’m telling you, she wouldn’t be that far from the bar unless someone…” She closed her eyes.
Georgette talked in circles attempting to make sense of it all, but I had first-hand knowledge of drunk people doing things out of character. Given what she’d described, I could understand why the police had closed the matter. Even so, her devastation gripped my heart. And something had brought her out on this rainy Friday. “What are you holding back, Ms. Hanson? Why do you feel so strongly Mr. Nightingale was involved that you’d come to my dad for help?”
She stared at her hands as if they held the answers. “Brooke had changed in the last year. Become more distant. Not visiting. Missing our weekly calls.” The corner of her mouth turned upward in a sad smile. “We used to go for pie once a month. She loved pie. Apple pie. Cherry pie.” Her smile melted. “One day she was too busy and couldn’t get away. When she did, she didn’t look well. Stressed.”
“Did she say what was bothering her?”
“No. She shut me out, which she’d never done before. Now to have been killed by a train downtown when that Nightingale fellow was close enough to stop it from happening? He’s involved. I can feel it.” She straightened. “Until I know what happened that night, I won’t rest.” Georgette reached into her purse and produced an envelope grasped in her right hand. “Here’s three thousand for you to find the truth. Please say you’ll help me.”
Despite steady work from a few law firms around town, and an adequate divorce settlement, being a single mom often meant more month than money. Georgette was offering twice what I made in a good month of process serving and that would go a long way in taking care of my little girl. Not needing to ever rely on my ex would have been incentive alone, but there was more to it than that.
I’d recognized Georgette’s name the moment she’d said it. At the reading of my dad’s will, his lawyer had handed me a handwritten letter. It was a request from my dad that if a Georgette Hanson ever came to his door asking for help, I should assist and not ask questions why. It had meant nothing at the time. I’d figured it was due to his unending dedication to his clients.
Because Georgette had a connection to my dad in some capacity, that sealed my decision to at least try and help her. While I’d been directed not to ask questions, even he would have needed the obvious one answered before he took her money.
“You said she’d changed. Is there any chance she might have…I mean, was she depressed? Could she have stepped…”
Georgette cut me off. “Stop.” Her eyes grew wide with denial and the damn broke. Tears poured over her cheeks; her shoulders shook, buckling from the weight of her anguish. The anger and determination she’d used as a mask crumbled, and each passing second exposed another layer of her gut-wrenching grief.
I shifted at witnessing her raw emotion, bracing myself against my own around my father, and my thoughts on Mitz. Tears stung my eyes, unsure how to comfort my client when I struggled to do that for myself.
She muffled a wail with the back of her hand and finally drew in deep breaths until the sobs subsided.
I grabbed a box of Kleenex behind me. She already had a handful of tissue ready from her purse. I’d back off the notion of suicide—for the moment. The woman didn’t need any more distress than she’d already endured.
She sniffed hard a couple of times and sopped up her face with the tissue. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be.” I swiped under my eyes with my fingers, gaining control over my thoughts. “I’m not sure I’ll uncover anything new, but I will look for you.”
“Thank you.” She composed herself and stuffed the tissue back in her purse for the next inevitable breakdown.
I handed Georgette one of my dad’s old contracts, explaining my hourly rate, and a couple of authorization forms that might come in handy if requesting any case files was necessary.
She signed her name without bothering to read the fine print. She stood, the vinyl chair screeching against the hardwood floor startling Floyd. Her expression softened. “How old are you?”
“Thirty-two.”
“Brooke was a couple of years older, but pretty, like you and with the same flowing brown hair and kind eyes.” She sniffed. “I came to Roger because he could get to the heart of things. If you’re like him, you’ll find out what happened to my baby.”
I’d never be as good as my dad, but I did possess his mule-like stubbornness to get to the bottom of things. My ex could attest to that. “I’ll do what I can.”
She nodded. “Brooke was a good girl. She loved animals, ran every morning, and worked for the law firm Anderson, Hiefield & Price. She was the head accountant there.” Her face beamed with pride before her chin trembled again, but she held it together.
“It might help if I get a better sense of who she was.” I slid the legal pad to her. “If I could get her address, I’d like to start there.”
Georgette jotted the information down and pushed it back to me. She dug into her purse and produced the key. “I haven’t brought myself to go there yet.”
I gave her a sympathetic smile. “Are there family or friends I should start with?”
“Besides my husband, Chester, there’s just her sister, Hannah, who lives in Seattle. They weren’t close.” Georgette cleared her throat. “She never spoke to me about friends or boyfriends. Honestly, with her work schedule, she didn’t have time for any.”
With my own social life lacking, I related. “Do you have her cell? I’d like to check who she had on speed dial.”
She shook her head. “It wasn’t among her belongings.”
What thirty-something didn’t have their phone glued to them? Unless the impact of the train threw it. Another image I pushed away. I rounded my desk and walked her out of my office.
“Please keep in touch on how the investigation is going,” she said.
I assured her I would. She squeezed my arm to thank me as she left. With a twist of the deadbolt, I rested my shoulder against the door and closed my eyes. Mitz would get hugged a little closer tonight.
At my desk, Floyd trotted over and sat at my feet. He rested his chin on my lap while I added a few more notes. His sixth sense of when I needed him never faltered. I tucked the notes, along with a couple of divorce petitions into my bag to serve in between outings with Mitz.
It was early enough to get to Brooke’s place, about twenty minutes away, and to the grocery store so Mitz and I weren’t eating PB&Js for dinner. The faster I got started and found answers, the sooner Georgette could begin healing. If I was lucky, Brooke’s phone would be sitting on her nightstand waiting to be found.
Before getting up, I pulled the letter from my dad out of the top drawer and unfolded the paper. I traced the ruts in the desk we shared with my finger as I read his words. Georgette’s name was there in black and white. I had wanted to ask her more about how she knew my dad, but he’d been explicit in his request. He was a good man, albeit a tough man that I didn’t question. Nor had I ever felt the need to. It hadn’t been easy for him after my mom died, and we became the Two Musketeers. We may have run out of time for him to teach me everything he knew about being a P.I., but I’d learn as I went. I had no other choice. Helping Georgette was the last thing I could do for him. And I would.
“Ready to boogie, Floyd?” I flicked off the lights and Floyd padded behind me down the narrow hall to the backdoor.
We jogged to my yellow 1980 Triumph Spitfire, a gift from my dad when I graduated. “You know the routine, buddy.” Floyd stretched himself halfway into the car, and with a grunt, I lifted in his other half. He tripped over the manual gearshift and settled into the passenger seat as I slunk behind the wheel. The engine started right up, for a change.
Brooke was a couple of years older than me—far too young to die. Was Nightingale involved in her death? Did he know more than he was telling? Or was he just a helpless bystander who could only watch Brooke fall because she was drunk off her ass? I had a feeling I’d be returning the bulk of Georgette’s money after putting in some legwork. With a case the Portland police had already closed and an eyewitness who’d already been cleared, what other possibility was there?
***
Author Bio
Mary Keliikoa spent the first 18 years of her adult life working around lawyers. Combining her love of all things legal and books, she creates a twisting mystery where justice prevails. She has had a short story published in Woman’s World and is the author of the PI Kelly Pruett Mystery Series.
At home in Washington, she enjoys spending time with her family and her writing companions/fur-kids. When not at home, you can find Mary on a beach on the Big Island where she and her husband recharge. But even under the palm trees and blazing sun she’s plotting her next murder—novel that is.
This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Mary Keliikoa. There will be 2 winners of one (1) Amazon.com Gift Card each. The giveaway begins on September 1, 2020 and runs through October 2, 2020. Void where prohibited.
Today I am sharing on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour. My Feature Post and Book Review is for Diann Mills’ AIRBORNE. Written before the current pandemic, this book is another type of viral nightmare that kept me turning the pages!
Below you will find a book synopsis, my book review, an excerpt from the book, author bio and social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Synopsis
Heather Lawrence’s long-awaited vacation to Salzburg wasn’t supposed to go like this. Mere hours into the transatlantic flight, the Houston FBI agent is awakened when passengers begin exhibiting horrific symptoms of an unknown infection. As the virus quickly spreads and dozens of passengers fall ill, Heather fears she’s witnessing an epidemic similar to ones her estranged husband studies for a living—but this airborne contagion may have been deliberately released.
While Heather remains quarantined with other survivors, she works with her FBI colleagues to identify the person behind this attack. The prime suspect? Dr. Chad Lawrence, an expert in his field . . . and Heather’s husband. The Lawrences’ marriage has been on the rocks since Chad announced his career took precedence over his wife and future family and moved out.
As more victims fall prey days after the initial outbreak, time’s running out to hunt down the killer, one who may be closer to the victims than anyone ever expected.
Genre: Romantic Suspense Published by: Tyndale House Publishers Publication Date: September 8th 2020 Number of Pages: 400 ISBN: 1496427173 (ISBN13: 9781496427175)
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
AIRBORNE by Diann Mills is a Christian romantic suspense/mystery written before the current pandemic, this book is another type of viral nightmare that kept me turning the pages.
Houston FBI agent Heather Lawrence is on a flight alone to a vacation previously planned for herself and her husband to attend the famous Salzburg Music Festival in Germany. Not even over the Atlantic yet, several passengers begin exhibiting horrific viral symptoms of an unknown origin. As Heather helps the flight attendants where she can, she fears she is witnessing a viral epidemic similar to the type her estranged husband studies for a living. As she works to help other passengers, she prays for not only her own safety but that of her unborn child.
Dr. Chad Lawrence is separated from his wife of eight years. When he returned from his last trip with Doctors Without Borders, he announced that his career took precedence over his wife and any future together and that their marriage was over. He moved out and was planning to move to Atlanta for a job with the CDC, but that is now on hold as he is the prime suspect of the FBI in the viral attack on Heather’s plane.
The plane is rerouted to NYC for hospitalization of the sick passengers and all of those not showing symptoms are isolated on an island off the coast. Heather is tasked with discovering who on the plane released the virus and if her estranged husband is involved.
I enjoyed this book’s compelling main characters and the intense study of their relationship. At first, Chad really rubbed me the wrong way until I learned the reason for his actions with Heather. The questioning of beliefs and actions by both Heather and Chad in their relationship felt realistic and had me vested in the resolution. The underlying conflict between Heather’s religious beliefs and her husband’s atheism is woven throughout the story as well as other secondary character’s religious beliefs. The suspense/mystery plot is well paced and builds to a climax that was not a surprise, but was still satisfying.
I enjoyed this story’s main characters and plot and I would recommend it for readers of Christian fiction.
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Excerpt
Chapter One
Houston
Early July
Monday, 6 p.m.
Vacations offered a distraction for those who longed to relax and rejuvenate, but FBI Special Agent Heather Lawrence wrestled with the decision to take an overseas trip alone. Normally she arrived for a flight at IAH eager to embark upon a new adventure. Not this time. Her vacation expectations had bottomed out over four weeks ago after Chad had slammed the door on reconciliation. Was she working through her grief or avoiding the reality of a husband who no longer wanted her?
She waited to board the flight in a designated line at the gate. The hum of voices blended with airport beeps, and announcements swirled around her as though enticing her to join the enthusiasm. In the line beside her, passengers shifted their carry-ons and positioned their mobile devices or paper boarding passes. Ready. Alert. People eager to be on their way.
Heather offered a smile to those nearest her. An adorable little blond boy with an older woman found it hard to stand still. A middle-aged couple held hands. The bald head and pasty skin of the man indicated a medical condition. He stumbled, and the woman reached for him. A robust man held a violin case next to his heart. A twentysomething woman with pink hair and a man behind her with a scruffy beard exchanged a kiss.
Chad used to steal kisses.
If she pinpointed the exact moment when he chose to separate himself from her, she’d say when he returned from a third trip for Doctors Without Borders late last fall. He’d witnessed suffering and cruel deaths that had scarred him. She’d encouraged his desire to help others, not realizing their future would take a backseat. While he drove toward success, their marriage drifted across the lanes and stalled in a rut.
The boarding line moved toward the Jetway. Each step shook her to the core as though she should turn and try to reverse the past seven months. She’d ignored her and Chad’s deteriorating relationship in an effort to make him happy. A huge mistake. But she didn’t intend to add the labels beaten or weak to her dossier.
A cell phone sounded, and a man boarding in front of her stopped to answer it. His shoulders stiffened under a tan sports coat, and he talked in hushed tones. Heather dug her fingers into her palms and forced one foot in front of the other while the man pocketed his cell phone and proceeded into business class.
A flight attendant greeted her, a dark-haired young man wearing a wide smile, relaxed and genuine, an obvious sign he enjoyed his job. She returned the gesture. His black jacket with two rows of silver braid on the sleeves and black trousers were magazine perfect.
Heather walked to a rear aisle seat in business class and hoisted her tote bag into the overhead compartment. Although it held essentials for every emergency in case her luggage was delayed, the bulging piece weighed less than the burden on her heart.
Easing onto her seat, Heather pulled the brochure from her shoulder bag describing Salzburg’s music festival, a celebration of musicians past and present. First a layover in Frankfurt and then on to her destination. She’d rented an apartment for ten days within walking distance of the historical center. The flexibility allowed her to choose her itinerary and cook or dine out. From the online photos, the centuries-old building had just enough updates to be comfortable without damaging its historic charm. She’d have hours to explore Mozart’s roots, museums, the many churches, immerse herself in the culture, and think.
A female passenger, sporting red spiked hair and chin-length hooped earrings, stopped beside her. The woman carried a Venti Starbucks. “Excuse me.” Her German accent a reminder of the destination. “Would you mind holding my coffee while I store my carry-on?”
“Of course.” Heather held the cup while the woman shoved her small suitcase into the overhead bin.
“Sorry for the inconvenience. I wasn’t thinking when I bought the coffee.”
“It smells heavenly.” Heather stood to let the woman pass and then handed her the cup.
“Thank you.” The woman blew on the lid and took a sip. “I’m Mia.”
“I’m Heather.”
“Long flight ahead but soon I’ll be home.” She pointed to Heather’s brochure. “Salzburg?”
“Yes. For a much-needed vacation.”
“I’m from Frankfurt. Really missing my daughter and husband.”
“You’ll see them soon.”
Mia broke into a wide smile. “We’ve done FaceTime and texted, but I want to touch their faces and hug them.”
Heather continued to read the Salzburg brochure to avoid any personal comments from Mia, like whether she was taking a vacation solo. An elderly man wearing a straw fedora and a white mustache sat in the aisle seat across from Heather. He pulled his phone from his pant pocket and used his thumbs on the keyboard like a kid.
Mia placed her coffee on the tray and made a phone call. “Wie geht es meinem kleinen Mädchen?”
Heather translated the German. How is my little girl? The woman’s excitement resonated through every word. Love. Laughter. Priceless commodities that Heather didn’t possess. Yet this trip offered an opportunity to rekindle her faith in God and chart a course for the future.
While the attendants made their way through business class with drink orders, Heather longed to have confirmation she’d made the right decision to take this trip. No one knew of her vacation plans except her parents and Assistant Special Agent in Charge Wade Mitchell in Houston. No one needed to know the why of her trip until she made a few decisions.
Stuffing the Salzburg brochure into her bag, she snatched the aircraft’s information and confirmed the layout for 267 passengers, restrooms, exit doors, in-seat power, on-demand entertainment, and three galleys. She always noted the details of her surroundings, another habit of working so many FBI cases. Always be prepared for the unexpected.
If the trip had been FBI sanctioned, her present circumstances might not hurt so much. How ironic she worked the critical incident response group as a behavior analyst, and she wrestled to understand her own life.
Right on time, the flight attendants took their assigned posts while miniature screens throughout the plane shared the aircraft’s amenities and explained the passenger safety instructions. The captain welcomed them moments before the plane lifted into the clouds.
On her way. No turning back. She prayed for a safe journey and much-needed answers.
Food smells from business class caught her attention, a mix of roasted chicken and beef. Too often of late, she forgot to eat or nothing appealed to her. To shake off the growing negativity, she paid for Wi-Fi and grabbed her phone from her bag. Time to concentrate on something other than herself.
She glanced at the incoming notifications. No texts. Her emails were an anticipated list of senders when she longed for a change of heart from Chad. Sighing, she closed her eyes. Between her job, Chad, and stress, too often she fought for enough pillow time.
Two hours later, she woke from a deep sleep to the sound of a woman’s scream.
Chapter 2
Heather whirled toward the ear-piercing cry behind her. She released her seat belt and rushed back to the economy section. The overhead lights snapped on to reveal the middle-aged couple whom she’d seen at the gate. The panic-stricken woman beside him held a tissue to his nose. Blood dripped beneath her fingers and down her wrist.
Not a muscle moved on the man’s face, and his eyes rolled back into their sockets. Heather approached him in the aisle seat. Before she could speak, the woman gasped, a mix of sobs and a struggle for composure. “Help me. I can’t stop the bleeding.”
Heather used tissues from the woman’s lap to help block the blood flow. “Try to stay calm.”
The woman nodded. “I shouldn’t have let him talk me into this trip. He’s been so weak.”
From the front of the plane, the male flight attendant who’d greeted passengers earlier rushed their way. He carried two kits, one labeled first aid and the other biohazard. A female attendant trailed after him.
“Help is here,” Heather said to the woman. She moved aside for the attendant to administer aid. She prayed the ill man was undergoing a minor problem—an easily resolved issue—and for the woman’s comfort. But his lifeless face showed a grim reality.
“Sir, how do you feel?” Not a sound or movement came from the man. Blood flowed from Heather’s mass of tissues.
The male attendant twisted off the seal of the biohazard kit and searched inside. He drew out a pair of nitrile gloves and wiggled them on. The female attendant opened the first aid kit, ripped into a gauze package, and handed it to the male attendant, who applied it to the man’s nose. She opened the biohazard waste bag to dispose of the soiled materials.
The male attendant captured the woman’s attention. “Ma’am, I’m Nathan. Is this your husband?”
“Yes. He’s very hot.”
Nathan touched the man’s forehead. “How long has he been feverish?”
“He was fine when we boarded. Perhaps over an hour into the flight?” Her sobs subsided to soft cries. “Do something. Blood’s coming from his mouth.”
Heather touched her shoulder with a clean hand. “Take a deep breath.”
“How can I? Roy’s not breathing.”
“That’s his name?” His gentle voice ushered in compassion.
“Yes. I’m Catherine.”
He bent to speak to Roy. “I’m Nathan. Give me a few minutes to administer first aid.” He replaced the gauze on Roy’s nose for the second time and turned to the female flight attendant, who’d paled but didn’t tremble. “Leave the kits. Call the flight deck and tell them what’s happening.”
She rushed to the front of the cabin.
“This is my fault.” Catherine held Roy’s hand. “He finished chemo and radiation for lung cancer, but his doctor hadn’t cleared him for the trip.”
“Catherine,” Nathan said, “I know you’re worried, but try to stay calm. Has he experienced these symptoms before?”
“No.”
A voice spoke over the interphone. “If a licensed medical professional is on board, we have a medical issue. All other passengers, please remain in your seats.”
Within moments, a lean man arrived from the right side of business class carrying a leather case. “I’m a doctor.” Heather stepped back while he examined Roy and spoke to Nathan.
While the doctor stood over Roy with his back to Heather, Nathan turned to her. “We’ve got this handled. Please return—”
“No, please. Let her stay,” Catherine said. “If she doesn’t mind.”
Nathan frowned. “Okay, for the moment. Our manual states we have to keep the aisle clear around the patient.”
“I understand,” Heather said. “I’d be happy to sit with her, and I’m Heather.”
“Miss, if the pilots call our med service on the ground, I’ll need you out of way so we can relay instructions.”
The doctor and Nathan lowered Roy to the aisle and treated him. They blocked Heather’s view of the procedure, but the doctor rummaged for something inside the leather case. For the next ten minutes, she waited for the doctor to reassure passengers of the man’s recovery.
Catherine’s hysteria spun in a cloud of uncertainty that left unchecked often spread panic. She unfastened her seat belt and rose on unstable legs. “Please, tell me my husband is all right.” The female attendant gently urged her back onto the seat.
The doctor eased up from Roy and spoke reassuring words to Catherine. He peeled off his blood-covered gloves and tossed them into the bag. Had Roy succumbed to the lung cancer or a complication?
Nathan walked to a galley area. “Ladies and gentlemen, I am Nathan Howard, your lead flight attendant on board your flight today. We appreciate your concern for the man receiving medical attention. We will transport him to the rear of the cabin, where he’ll be comfortable. A doctor is tending to him, and the medical concern is under control. Thank you.”
Heather supported the airline’s protocol designed to keep everyone from alarm and terror while the crew addressed issues. Yet a few people craned their necks to watch the scene as though it was a morbid form of entertainment more interesting than the recycled movies on the screens in front of them.
Nathan returned to Catherine. “I know you’d like for the young woman to sit with you, but it would be easier for the flight crew and safer for her if we placed an attendant here. Can we do that?”
“I guess.” Catherine’s lips quivered.
Heather bent to speak. “I’m not far.” She understood how Catherine had latched on to her, a stranger, for moral support.
Nathan and the doctor picked Roy up and carried him to the rear. Roy was either unconscious or dead.
The female flight attendant sat in Roy’s seat and held Catherine’s hand. “I’ll stay with you for as long as you like.”
“Can I join my husband?”
“When the doctor is finished, I’ll escort you back.”
Heather returned to her seat—her mind weighed with concern.
“Gott hab Erbarmen,” Mia said.
“Yes, God have mercy.”
“You speak German?”
“A little. Spent a year in Frankfurt when I was in college.”
“The sound of it makes me long for home.” She hesitated. “What’s wrong with the man?”
“His wife said he’d recently completed chemo treatments for lung cancer. I’m sure the doctor is doing all he can. The airline has doctors on the ground, and they’ll consult with the doctor on board. Between them, they’ll figure out what’s best.”
“Do you work for the airlines?”
“No.” Heather smiled. “I’m with the Department of Justice.”
Mia rubbed her palms together. She’d already stated her desire to see her family. “Will the flight be diverted?”
“It depends on lots of factors. The man may just require rest.” Heather wasn’t going to state the excessive blood from Roy’s mouth and nose pointed to his death. By now the doctors at Medi-Pro-Aire, an advisory service for airlines, had been contacted and put in communication with the pilot.
“I read the airline’s cost to emergency divert range from $10,000 to upwards of $200,000,” Mia said.
“I don’t doubt the cost, but with this airline, the safety and welfare of the passengers always come first. They don’t blink at the cost of diversion. It’s on management’s mind post-action.”
“Can the pilots be called to the carpet for making a safety decision?”
“I’m sure their procedure is in place to protect the passengers.” Heather forced comfort into her voice. “We’ll be okay.”
Muffled voices around her prompted alarm.
A man shouted for help. “My wife has a terrible headache.”
A man in business class vomited.
“My son has a fever,” a woman said.
“Please, the man beside me has a nosebleed, and he can’t stop it.”
“What is going on?” Mia whispered. “All these people are suddenly sick. Frighteningly sick.”
Heather wished she had answers while horror played out around her.
“I’m afraid.” Mia’s face turned ashen.
“We have to stay calm.” Heather craved to heed her own advice.
Throughout the plane, people complained of flu-like symptoms. Another person vomited. Heather touched her stomach. A twinge of apprehension crept through her.
Nathan spoke over the interphone. “If you are experiencing physical distress, press your call button. Flight attendants will be in your area soon with damp paper towels. Use these to cover your mouth and the tops of beverages. As always, remain in your seats.”
Heather messaged ASAC Mitchell in Houston with the medical emergency report, including the symptoms.
He responded. The FBI, TSA, CDC, and Medi-Pro-Aire are on it. Are you okay?
Yes. People’s symptoms indicate a serious virus.
The doctor on board has given a similar conclusion.
She trembled as she typed. Looks similar to what Chad described in Africa.
The doctor said the same. Is the man dead?
I think so.
How many others are sick?
Heather surveyed the passengers within her sight and typed. From my seat, I see around ten in business class, and I hear the sick in economy. Will the plane divert?
No decision yet. Keep me posted. You are our eyes.
Beyond what the doctor on board relayed to those on the ground, ASAC Mitchell must believe she held the voice of reason and objectivity. The irony of their interpretation. The viruses were usually zoonotic or caused by insects, and the symptoms created intense suffering. She blinked to clear her head and not ponder the worst.
With panic gripping her in a stranglehold, she imagined what others were feeling. A man questioned why the plane hadn’t landed. A woman bolted to the galley and held her mouth. The man who held the violin marched to the business class restroom but fell face-first and vomited.
The elderly man across the aisle from her coughed. His nose trickled blood.
Heather grabbed tissues from her bag and handed them to him. “Will this help?”
“Tell me this is a nightmare.” He gripped her arm—fiery hot.
***
Author Bio
DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who believes her readers should expect an adventure. She is a storyteller and creates action-packed, suspense-filled novels to thrill readers. Her titles have appeared on the CBA and ECPA bestseller lists; won two Christy Awards; and been finalists for the RITA, Daphne Du Maurier, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol award contests. DiAnn is a founding board member of the American Christian Fiction Writers, a member of Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, Sisters in Crime, and International Thriller Writers. She is the director of the Blue Ridge Mountain Christian Writers Conference, Mountainside Retreats: Marketing, Speakers, Nonfiction, and Novelist with social media specialist Edie Melson where she continues her passion of helping other writers be successful. She speaks to various groups and teaches writing workshops around the country.
This is a rafflecopter giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for DiAnn Mills. There will be 2 winners of one (1) Gift Card each (Amazon or B&N). The giveaway begins on September 1, 2020 and runs through October 2, 2020. Void where prohibited.
Today is my turn to share my Feature Post and Book Review on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour for Carrie Stuart Parks new release – RELATIVE SILENCE. This book pulled me in right from the start and is very difficult to put down.
Below you will find a note from the author, a book synopsis, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links and a Rafflecopter giveway. As always, good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!
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A Note From the Author
Drawing on the Art of Forensics
-Carrie Stuart Parks
When I first started writing fiction, in 2004, it never occurred to me to pen anything other than the career I was already in—forensic art. Although other authors had explored different aspects of this unique field, most notably Iris Johansen’s Eve Duncan series, I knew about it first hand. By definition, forensic art is any art used in law enforcement or legal proceedings. My entrance into this career came in 1981 at the North Idaho Regional Crime Lab in Coeur d’Alene. The crime lab handled physical evidence from the ten northern counties of Idaho, the Department of Fish and Game, ATF, and the FBI. My initial duties were to prepare the court exhibits for trial, measure and diagram crime scenes, and create storyboards for juries. In 1985, I was invited to attend the FBI Academy in Quantico, Virginia, to study composite drawing and image enhancements. In those days, image enhancements meant painting or airbrushing inks or dyes onto photographs. Photoshop wouldn’t be released for another seven years!
I was bitten with the forensic art bug and searched all over for more training. I finally located a class on facial reconstruction taught by Betty Pat Gatliff at the University of South Alabama’s school of Forensic Science. After that I was on my own, finding other artists in the field and studying directly with them.
It was the lack of training in the field and requests from officers to learn about forensic art that made me decide to become a trainer of the subject in 1988. It’s now been over thirty-three years and, with my artist/forensic artist husband, we travel across the US and Canada as the premier courses in the world. What a ride!
Along the way, the cases we’ve worked have provided a rich source of inspiration for my plots. Relative Silence, the latest novel, introduces the reader to age progression when a young mother asks a forensic artist to show her what her long-deceased daughter would look like today. The location, a fictional island off South Carolina’s shore, was chosen because we teach classes in Mount Pleasant, SC, and love the area.
I love hearing from folks about my work and books and invite you to contact me through any of the below methods.
A powerful family with lots of secrets. A forensic artist with his own tragedies. And a hurricane drawing bearing down on their private island.
Fifteen years ago Piper Boone’s only child died in a boating accident, and Piper’s almost perfect life came to an end too. After living through a divorce and losing her job, she retreats to Curlew Island and her childhood home—a secluded mansion for the politically powerful Boone family, who are practically American royalty.
But Piper’s desire to become a recluse is shattered when a mass shooter opens fire and kills three women at a café where Piper is having lunch. The crisis puts her family in the spotlight by dredging up rumors of the so-called Curlew Island Curse, which whispers say has taken the lives of several members of the Boone family, including Piper’s father and sister.
Forensic artist Tucker Landry also survives the shooting and is tasked with the job of sketching a portrait of the shooter with Piper. They forge a bond over their shared love of movies and tragic pasts. But when police discover a connection between the shooting and two more murders on Curlew Island, they face a more terrible lineup of suspects than they could have imagined: Piper’s family.
Unraveling the family’s true history will be the key to Piper’s survival—or her certain death.
Book Details
Genre: Suspense Published by: Thomas Nelson Publication Date: July 14th 2020 Number of Pages: 336 ISBN: 0785226184 (ISBN13: 9780785226185) Purchase Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
RELATIVE SILENCE by Carrie Stuart Parks is a mystery/Christian romantic suspense mash-up that pulls you in from the first page and is extremely difficult to put down. A powerful family that has known several tragic events over the years with the heroine from that family who finally decides to investigate those tragedies after she becomes a target.
Sandpiper “Piper” Boone has been told all her life she comes from the perfect family and tries to live up to that standard. When her young daughter is found dead, her marriage falls apart and she becomes a recluse on the family island compound.
Fifteen years later, forensic artist Tucker Landry is having lunch while waiting to begin his new assignment. A shooter opens fire and Tucker grabs the woman behind him and hits the patio floor. While Piper only receives a small injury, Tucker is shot protecting her as three other women are also killed. When the detective learns of Tucker’s skills, he asks Tucker and Piper to get together to produce a sketch of the shooter.
The authorities believe there is a connection between the shooting and two other murders that occur soon after. Piper and Tucker are in a race to find out who wants to kill Piper to hide long buried family secrets and a hurricane that threatens everyone.
This is a story that ticks off everything I am looking for in these genres; a mystery that keeps me guessing, action, unexpected twists, edge-of-your-seat suspense and a hero and heroine that are realistic and make me cheer for their relationship to have a HEA. Piper and Tucker are wonderful characters that have had terrible pasts that must be overcome as they struggle with the current race to reveal a murderer. I like that the injuries they received throughout the story were believable and they could overcome them or work around them without becoming fantastical super humans. Even with the small number of suspects, I was kept guessing and I always like when that happens. The religious beliefs and faith of the characters was not gratuitous or in your face.
This book is a compelling generational family mystery with a believable romantic suspense. I can highly recommend this story!
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Excerpt
Prologue
Curlew Island, South Carolina
Fifteen years ago
The piercing scream ripped up my spine. I dropped the spatula and spun.
My almost-three-year-old daughter, Dove, stood at the door to the kitchen and held out her favorite toy, a tattered stuffed bunny she’d named Piggy. Piggy’s ear was hanging by a thread with stuffing protruding from the opening.
“Mommy,” she sobbed. “P-P-Piggy’s hurt.”
I turned off the blender. I’d told Mildred, the housekeeper, I was going to make dessert and was elbow-deep in half-whipped meringue for the banana pudding now cooling next to me.
“Come here, Dove, and let Mommy see.”
Still crying, Dove launched herself at me.
I lifted her and checked my watch. No one was at the family’s Curlew Island home at the moment except my husband, Ashlee. He’d said he would look after Dove while I did some cooking. Yet here she was with a damaged toy and in need of comfort, while he, as usual, was absent.
“Sweetheart, Mommy will have to fix Piggy in a little bit. Where’s Daddy?”
She shook her head. Her sobbing settled into hiccups and loud sniffles.
Shifting her to my hip, I caught sight of movement in the foyer. “Ashlee?”
The front door clicked shut.
Still holding Dove, I charged through the house and opened the front door. Ashlee was just climbing into a golf cart, the only transportation on the island. “Just where did you think you were going? You’re supposed to be watching Dove.”
“Don’t give me a hard time, Piper.” His face was pale with beads of sweat on his forehead. “I have an errand to run on the mainland. Mildred can watch Dove.”
“Mildred’s getting groceries and I’m cooking. Take Dove with you. You don’t spend nearly enough time with your only child.”
“Look, Piper, this is important and I don’t—”
“So’s your daughter. Or maybe we should all go to the mainland together if something is that important. Better yet, you finish dessert and I’ll get to play with Dove.” I was heartily tired of Ashlee’s constant racing off to “something important.” His work as head of marketing at the family business, Boone Industries, was stressful and kept him busy, but this was getting ridiculous.
He took out a handkerchief and swabbed his sweaty brow. “N-no. I’ll take her.”
Dove had relaxed against my shoulder. “She’s overdue for her nap, and the boat always puts her fast asleep. Just be sure to put her life jacket on. There are snacks on the boat if she gets hungry.”
Ashlee opened his mouth, then shut it. A vein pounded in his forehead.
“Dove, sweetie,” I said. “Go for a boat ride with your daddy. I’ll take care of Piggy, okay?”
She nodded under my chin and allowed me to hand her over to Ashlee.
“Will you be long?”
“As long as I need to be.” Without another word he got into the cart and drove toward the dock.
The late October day was pleasantly warm, and although Dove wore a white T-shirt and short skirt, she could always crawl under a blanket in the saloon if the boat ride was too cool.
I took poor Piggy back into the kitchen and placed her on the end of the counter, hoping the meringue was salvageable. I topped the banana pudding, stuck the dessert into the oven, set the timer, and moved to Dove’s room to change the sheets. Finishing just as the pudding was ready, I placed it on the counter to cool.
After washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen, I still had laundry to do. How could I be washing more clothes than we’d packed?
Once a year the entire family would gather on the private island for a stockholders’ meeting and retreat, joining the year-round staff. I’d like to say that seeing my family together in this beautiful paradise was a special treat. Unfortunately, I was closer to the housekeeper than to my own mother. At least the beach was sandy, the ocean refreshing, and the house spectacular and spacious. Dove, of course, was perfect. And Ashlee? Back to the laundry.
After shifting a load from the washer to the dryer, I made my way past the workout and sewing room toward the kitchen. Could a rabbit ear be repaired on a sewing machine? Ha! I didn’t even know how to thread a bobbin. I found Mildred in the kitchen, checking a store receipt. “I didn’t know you’d returned. Do you need help with the groceries?”
“Already done.”
“Then I timed my offer perfectly. Do you know how to thread a bobbin?”
“Have you been out in the sun too long?”
“It’s a rabbit-ear question.”
“Next time wear a hat.”
I grinned at the older woman. “To thread a bobbin?”
“You are the oddest child,” she muttered, then nodded at my banana pudding. “But you do make the most beautiful desserts.” We busied ourselves preparing dinner. The stockholders’ meeting was tomorrow, and the remaining members of the family would arrive tonight.
“Strange,” Mildred said after the pot roast had been placed in the oven.
“What?”
“I’d have thought everyone would be here by now.”
I glanced at my watch. Ashlee and Dove had been gone for five hours. Dove would be starving. “I’m sure—”
The phone rang.
“That’s probably them now.” I picked up the receiver. “Boone residence.”
“Piper!” It was my older brother, Tern. “Oh, Piper, I’m . . . I’m at the hospital. It’s Ashlee.”
I squeezed the receiver tighter. “What’s going on? Is Dove okay?”
Tern groaned.
I reached for Mildred. She took my hand, then put her arm around me to keep my knees from buckling. “Tern? Tern!”
Tern didn’t answer. A male voice took over. “Mrs. Piper Yates? This is Officer Stan Gragg of the Marion Inlet Police. There’s been an incident involving your husband. He was attacked on the dock and your family’s yacht was stolen. He’ll be fine, but we’re having the doctor check him out—”
“What about my daughter, Dove?” I tried to keep my voice under control, but the words came out shrill.
“We believe she was still on the boat. I’m afraid she’s missing.”
***
Author Bio
Carrie Stuart Parks is Christy, Carol, and Inspy award-winning author, an award-winning fine artist, and internationally known forensic artist. Along with her husband, Rick, she travels across the US and Canada teaching courses in forensic art to law enforcement as well as civilian participants. She has won numerous awards for career excellence. Carrie is a popular platform speaker, presenting a variety of topics from crime to creativity.
Today is my turn on the Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour. I am excited to be sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE CRUSHING DEPTHS (Coastal Guardians Book #2) by Dani Pettrey.
Below you will find a book synopsis, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author bio and social media links and a Rafflecopter giveaway. Good luck on the Rafflecopter giveaway and enjoy!
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Book Synopsis
When an accident claims the life of an oil-rig worker on the first drilling platform off the North Carolina coast, Coast Guard investigators Rissi Dawson and Mason Rogers are sent to take the case. Tensions surrounding the oil rig are high and the death has everyone on edge. Environmental activists are threatening to do whatever it takes to stop the structure from being completed, while rumors are being whispered about ancient curses surrounding this part of the ocean.
Mounting evidence shows the death may not have been an accident at all. Was he killed by one of the activists or, perhaps more frighteningly, a member of his own crew? Rissi and Mason have to sort through not only a plethora of suspects, but also their own past and attraction to each other.
Just as the case seems like it’ll break open, worse news arrives. A tropical storm has turned their way and soon they’re cut off from any rescue–and right where the killer wants them. It’s a race to discover his identity before he eliminates the threat they pose.
Genre: Inspirational Romantic Suspense Published by: Bethany House Publication Date: June 30th 2020 Number of Pages: 320 ISBN: 0764230859 (ISBN13: 9780764230851) Series: Coastal Guardians #2 Purchase Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | ChristianBook | Goodreads
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
THE CRUSHING DEPTHS (Coastal Guardians Book #2) by Dani Pettrey is an action packed Christian romantic suspense featuring a Coast Guard Investigative Service (CGIS team). This is the second book in the series and can be read as a standalone. The H/h romance is complete in each book with investigative plots that are unique, but the characters evolve and crossover from previous stories.
Coast Guard Investigator Rissi Dawson is a talented profiler and Coast Guard Investigator Mason Rogers is an expert diver. They are sent as partners to investigate the death of an off-shore oil rig worker. Everyone on the rig is on edge because of previous accidents, the death of their coworker and the rumor of Henry’s Curse.
Rissi and Mason also find that there is a ship of environmental activists in the area which is antagonistic towards the oil rig. They are studying migrating manta rays and have vowed to stop the oil rig from destroying the sea.
As evidence mounts, the death of the oil rig crewman looks more like murder. Are the activists willing to go as far as murder to get rid of the oil rig or was it a member from his own crew? Rissi and Mason work their way through the suspects as they also deal with their connection from the past.
I loved that this story took off right from the first chapter and continued at a fast pace in both suspense and romance plots. Rissi and Mason were perfect together and when they reminisced about their shared childhood experiences in the children’s home, it was heartbreaking. I believe this is the first time I have read about Coast Guard Investigators and the author did an excellent job of research and making them come to life. The characters and the plot were believable and realistic with a good balance between the suspense and romance. The characters do pray and express their faith throughout the book, but it is never excessive and is expressed naturally.
I thoroughly enjoyed this H/h, all the team members and the suspense plot kept me guessing right up to ‘The End’. I now want to go back and read the first book in the series. I hope there are many more Coastal Guardian books to come.
***
Excerpt
Chapter One
Late September
Thirty-eight miles off North Carolina’s coast
Greg Barnes clinked along the grated metal steps, his boot heels rasping with each shuffle as he headed topside for a much-needed breath of smoke.
Thrusting the door open with a resounding creak, he stepped out into the night air.
A litany of protestors’ chants mimicked the shrill whining of cicadas.
He glanced at his watch. 1930. Didn’t those eco-nuts ever give it a rest?
As if the cursed rig wasn’t enough—they had the dang relentless protestors going practically day and night.
Exhaling, he rubbed his thumb along the smooth surface of the tarnished gold lighter in his pocket. His tight muscles seized, making his movements stiff. He shook his head. Those people needed to get a life.
Edging around the far corner of the main separator facility, he pressed his back against the structure’s cool outer wall. Generators whirred across from him, finally drowning out the clatter. He scanned his surroundings and exhaled in relief. Finally, alone.
His leg twitched. Just one drag . . . maybe two. It’d been an awful day, and that was the gentleman’s way of putting it.
With unsteady hands, he pulled the plastic-wrapped pack from his shirt pocket.
It crinkled beneath his hold and the sweet scent of tobacco wafted beneath his nose. He tamped the cigarette in his palm and slid it between his cracked lips. Just one drag.
Tugging the lighter from his pocket, he flipped it open, then rolled the pad of his thumb across the ignitor.
A spark flashed and fire roared, hissing over him in a sizzling cascade of torment.
Chapter Two
Wrightsville Beach, North Carolina
Rissi Dawson sat at the long table on Dockside’s waterfront deck, gaping at Mason Rogers. He turned to look at her, his green eyes illuminated in the bright pole lights lining the wooden structural beams. She averted her eyes as heat rushed up her throat, spreading across her cheeks. He’d caught her staring again. Embarrassment drenched her. It’d been three days since his arrival, and she still couldn’t wrap her mind around the fact he was actually sitting next to her.
The boy she’d had the biggest crush on as a teen was back in her life. And on her Coast Guard Investigative Service team.
He handed her the basket of hush puppies the restaurant served instead of bread to start everyone off. His hand brushed hers with the movement, and her heart fluttered. “Thanks,” she said, keeping her gaze fixed on the red basket as she pulled two balls of fried cornmeal from it. She plopped the still-warm puppies onto the round plate to the right of her Coke. Get it together, girl!
The whir of a boat’s motor dropping to an idle sounded over the deck’s edge. A teen jumped out of the white outboard and onto the pier, tying her up to the cleat. Rissi loved living in a place with a boat drive-thru.
Noah raised his glass of iced tea. “Everyone . . .” The team lifted their glasses in response to their boss’s prompting.
Noah dipped his chin. “Welcome, Mason. Happy to have you on board.”
The team clinked their glasses together, even Caleb who sat brooding to her left. Observant as he was, there was no chance he missed the way she looked at Mason. In recent months, he’d developed feelings for her, so it wasn’t surprising he’d bristled at Mason’s arrival—especially after learning she and Mason shared a past, though he didn’t know the half of it. Only that they spent time in a children’s home together for a handful of monthsas teens.
The opening riff of “Sweet Home Alabama” emanated from Noah’s jean pocket. He hitched up as he extracted his phone. “Rowley,” he answered. “Yes?” Standing, he headed down the ramp toward the restaurant’s pier.
“Rockfish tacos,” the waitress said, placing the plate in front of Rissi. The sweet, tropical scent of the mango slaw swirled in the air.
The waitress handed out plate after plate to each of them, setting Noah’s burger at his spot while he continued to pace the pier.
Caleb bit into his Carolina BBQ pork sandwich, the scent of vinegar wafting in the night’s gentle breeze.
Finn Walker did the same with his crab cake sandwich. He and Noah, who was from Maryland, had argued for months over which state had the best crab cake. Finn had been convinced it was North Carolina, right up until Noah had crab cakes flown in fresh from Jimmy’s Famous Seafood in Baltimore. It took two bites for Finn to concede the win.
“Sorry about that, folks,” Noah said, retaking his seat.
“Everything okay?” Emmy Thorton asked. Rissi looked forward to seeing the quirky angel every day at the station.
“Rissi, Mason.” Noah lifted his chin in their direction. “I’ve got an assignment for you.”
Her and Mason? They’d worked a case his first day on the team, but Finn had joined them for most of the investigation. This would be the two of them . . . alone. A mixture of elation and fear sifted through her.
“Great.” Mason set down his lemonade.
“We’ve got a death out on the Dauntless.”
“The offshore oil platform?” Mason asked, swiping a drop of lemonade from his bottom lip.
Stop staring, girl. So he’s jaw-dropping gorgeous. So you share a past. Still, staring is plain rude. Despite not having a mother to teach her, Rissi knew or, at least had come to learn, her manners.
Noah laid his napkin across his lap. “You two need to determine if the death was an accident or if foul play was involved. Helo is leaving from Textra Oil’s copter hub in forty-five. I need you both on it.”
Mason pushed back from the table. “No problem.”
“Great,” Noah said. “You’ll be joining the head of operations, a commercial diver, and the deceased’s replacement on the company copter.”
Rissi took one last bite of her taco before setting it down. She dabbed the corner of her lips with a napkin. “They aren’t wasting any time in replacing the deceased.”
“The deceased’s name is Greg Barnes. I talked to the head of operations, Bob Stanton, and he said they needed to replace him ASAP.”
“Must be an important position.” She reached for her glass and took a final sip.
“You’d think,” Noah said. “But Bob said the main reason they need to replace him fast is they’ve been working with a skeleton crew.”
Mason’s brows pinched as he stood. “Why?”
“Several guys didn’t show up for their three-week rotation transport out,” Noah said, popping a fry in his mouth.
“I know why they didn’t show up for that copter ride out there.” Tom Murphy leaned toward them from his table situated to their right.
“Why?” Mason asked, moving around to the back of Rissi’s chair. He held it out for her as she stood.
She glanced over her shoulder at him and smiled. “Thanks.”
He nodded.
Tom, one of Wrightsville’s most colorful fishermen, crooked his index finger, drawing them in. “That rig’s cursed.”
“Cursed?” Caleb chuckled. “You can’t be serious?”
Tom waggled his finger. “It’s no laughing matter, young man.”
“I’m sure it’s a good story, Tom,” Rissi said. No reason not to be polite. “But I’m afraid we’ve got to catch a copter ride.”
Tom shrugged and turned back to his food. “It’s your lives at stake.”
“What do you mean?” she asked before they passed his table, unable to stem her curiosity.
“You’ll see.” He smiled, his right incisor missing. “Henry’s curse is real.”
“Henry?” Why was she letting herself get sucked into this?
Tom let out a high-pitched chuckle. “Oh, you’ll learn all about Henry.”
“Shall we?” Mason said, gesturing to the wooden ramp leading down to the gravel parking lot.
Excusing themselves, they moved down the ramp. Mason leaned in. He smelled of the ocean and warm spice. He whispered, “Did that guy seriously just cackle?”
She nodded, strangely curious about the old man’s ghost story.
“I thought people only did that on Scooby-Doo.”
She let out a slip of laughter.
“I wouldn’t be laughing,” Tom called after them as they rounded the ramp on his side of the deck. “You two be careful out there, you hear? It’s a dangerous place to be. Just ask the men on board.”
***
Author Bio
Praised by New York Times best-selling author Dee Henderson as “a name to look for in romantic suspense,” Dani Pettrey has sold more than half a million copies of her novels to readers eagerly awaiting the next release. Dani combines the page-turning adrenaline of a thriller with the chemistry and happy-ever-after of a romance.
Her novels stand out for their “wicked pace, snappy dialogue, and likable characters” (Publishers Weekly), “gripping storyline[s],” (RT Book Reviews), and “sizzling undercurrent of romance” (USA Today).
Her Alaskan Courage series and Chesapeake Valor series have received praise from readers and critics alike and have appeared on the CBA, ECPA, Publisher’s Weekly, and Amazon #1 bestseller lists. Dani has also been honored with multiple awards, including the Daphne du Maurier Award, two HOLT Medallions, a Christy Award finalist, two National Readers’ Choice Awards, the Gail Wilson Award of Excellence, and Christian Retailing’s Best Award.
