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Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Murder at the Moulin Rouge by Carol Pouliot

MURDER AT THE MOULIN ROUGE

by Carol Pouliot

November 3 – 28, 2025

Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for MURDER AT THE MOULIN ROUGE (A Blackwell & Watson Time-Travel Mysteries Book #5) by Carol Pouliot on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

Paris, 1895. When a cancan dancer at the Moulin Rouge falls to her death from the top of one of Montmartre’s highest staircases, the police dismiss it as an accident. But, Madeleine was one of Toulouse-Lautrec’s favorite models, and the artist is certain she was murdered. Enter Depression-era detective Steven Blackwell and 21^st-century journalist Olivia Watson who travel back in time to Paris to hunt down the killer. Before long, they learn that a second dancer—a ballerina and favorite model of painter Edgar Degas—has died. Two dancers dead in two weeks. Two artists grieving. Is the killer targeting young dancers, or, does this case involve the enigmatic Paris art world?

From the moment Steven and Olivia arrive, Steven is out of his element. The small-town cop has no idea what techniques the French police use in 1895. Worse, he has no official status to investigate murder in one of the world’s largest cities. The sleuths soon discover disturbing secrets at the Paris Ballet. And when Olivia insists on going undercover to visit a suspect’s house alone, Steven fears he’s made the biggest mistake of his life.

Travel back in time with Steven and Olivia, as they enter the back-stabbing world of dance in one of the world’s greatest cities. Murder at the Moulin Rouge is their most daring and dangerous case to date.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/242072783-murder-at-the-moulin-rouge?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=JiTm6J5ZU4&rank=1

Murder at the Moulin Rouge

Genre: Traditional Police Procedural with a Time-Travel Twist; Historical Mystery.
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: September 23, 2025
Number of Pages: 325

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

MURDER AT THE MOULIN ROUGE (A Blackwell & Watson Time-Travel Mystery) by Carol Pouliot is an intriguing historical mystery as well as a time-travel romance all intertwined with memorable protagonists. This is the fifth book in the series, and they keep getting better and more captivating with each story. I do recommend reading them in order, while the crime plots are completed in each book, the main protagonists, Steven and Olivia’s relationship continues to progress and evolve over the series.

Depression era detective Stephan Blackwell and 21^st century journalist Olivia Watson are relaxing after their last adventure, when they are shocked by the appearance of Steven’s deceased artist mother as her younger self asking them to return with her to Paris in 1895 to help her friend, Henri Toulouse-Lautrec. One of his models, Madeleine, from the Moulin Rouge has been murdered, but the Paris detectives have called it an accident. Henri has set Stephen up with a detective friend from the Surete Nationale and the three set out to discover who killed Madeleine.

The sleuths discovered Madeleine started at the Paris Ballet but moved to the Moulin Rouge. They also discover another young ballerina died from poison just a few weeks before. Are the two cases connected? Stephen and Olivia are both trying to uncover a killer while trying to navigate a time where both are trying to fit in.

I always enjoy a trip through time as Olivia helps Stephan with his cases in 1934, but this book takes both to a completely new city and time period, Paris in 1895. The descriptions of the historical artists who inhabited the city at this time and the life of the fictional dancers pulled me in and I felt like I was there. The intricately plotted and paced crime mystery kept me turning the pages and I was very satisfied with the conclusion. The research is evident in the details of the city and inhabitants’ lives. Stephen and Olivia’s relationship continues to grow even with the difficulties of living in different moments in history. I always look forward to getting the next book in this series with its great mix of history, crime mystery, and romance.

I highly recommend this engaging historical mystery/time-travel romance in the Blackwell & Watson Time-Travel Mystery series.

***

Excerpt

Chapter One

December 25, 1934

Knightsbridge, New York

“I need you to come to Paris.”

“You need what?” he asked.

Detective Steven Blackwell stared at the younger version of his mother standing in the room that had been her studio. Jaw dropped, eyes like saucers. He could barely speak.

“I need you—and your friend Olivia, if you like—to come to Paris. There’s been a murder and the police aren’t doing anything,” said Evangéline. “I thought I heard a voice a minute ago. Was that Olivia? Why don’t you get her? She’s probably wondering what’s going on.”

In a daze, and feeling like he had no control over his actions, Steven turned away from the vision of his mother and stumbled out into the hallway. He saw Olivia still waiting in the doorway at the end of the hall. Her hand flew to her chest, and she heaved a great sigh. “Oh, my God, you’re okay! What’s going on? I thought I heard voices. Is somebody here?” As he came closer, she noticed the look on his face. “What’s wrong? You look funny.”

“It’s my mother. My mother’s here.”

“What?”

“She looks as real as you do, but she’s young, around our age. She said she needs me to go to Paris. And you should come too.”

“What?” For one terrifying moment, Olivia wondered if a year of grieving had unhinged Steven’s mind. How could his mother be here? Evangéline Neuilly Blackwell died last January.

Steven repeated Evangéline’s instructions. “She said I should come get you.” He held out his hand. Olivia took it and stepped over the threshold into 1934.

They moved slowly down the hall then paused at the doorway to look at each other. Steven squeezed her hand. Olivia nodded. They both took a deep breath then entered Evangéline’s studio.

There in the shadowy room stood a beautiful woman, shoulder-length copper hair shining in the lamplight. She was slender, taller than average, and wore a stunning emerald dress, the kind French women wore to perfection. A wool coat with a fur collar had been thrown over the back of a chair. She held out her hand toward Olivia.

“Hello. I’m Evangéline Neuilly. I’m so happy to meet you.”

Olivia had always wanted to meet Steven’s exotic-sounding mother—a famous French artist—but that possibility had died along with Evangéline. Or so she had thought. Olivia told herself to close her mouth, which had fallen open, and shook the woman’s hand. “Olivia Watson.”

Evangéline looked at Steven. “I can tell you’re surprised to see me. I must not have told you about my ability to time travel. Surely, you wondered why you can? And if your father or I also had that ability?”

“Eh, no. Not really.”

Evangéline rolled her eyes and gave Olivia a look that said, Men, huh?

Olivia couldn’t help grinning.

“Well,” Evangéline opened her arms wide, “here’s the answer to your unasked question. You got it from me.”

Olivia recovered first. “So, Evangéline, you traveled here from…when?”

“1895. And I really need your help. Both of you.” She shook her head and waved her hand back and forth. “I know. I know. You have a lot of questions. Let’s go downstairs and have something to drink. I’ll tell you what has happened.”

They trouped down the stairs and into the living room.

“I know I must have lived in this house for some time and I assume I decorated this room….” Evangéline turned to Steven for confirmation.

“Yes, we lived here about twenty years or so before you….” He swallowed hard.

“Before I died,” she whispered, then patted his hand. “Pauvre chouchou. Poor sweetheart. I’m so sorry. But, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know when. Of course, I have an idea. But not the exact date.” She opened a door in the sideboard. “Bon! A bottle of red.” She handed the wine to Steven.

Still dazed, he opened it and poured a glass for each of them. Evangéline curled up in a leather chair. Steven and Olivia sat facing her on the couch.

His mother took a sip and pursed her lips. “Not bad. So, listen, we must act fast. A young girl has been killed but the police do nothing. They say it was an accident. We know it was not. I want you to find out who killed Madeleine Gervaise.”

His cop’s instincts kicked in, and Steven found himself intrigued. Who was Madeleine Gervaise? How did she die? Why do the police think it was an accident? And what was her connection to Evangéline?

Suddenly, Steven remembered something Sherlock Holmes once said: “When you have eliminated the impossible, whatever remains, however improbable, must be the truth.” And with that assurance, he snapped out of his stupor and accepted his mother’s bewildering appearance. He leaned forward.

“All right, let’s say, for the sake of argument, that I can and will go to Paris. Answer these questions.” He ticked them off his fingers. “Why do the police think it was an accident? How do you know it wasn’t? When did this happen?”

Evangéline placed her feet on the floor and mirrored him, ticking her answers off her fingers. Olivia almost laughed at the two of them. Talk about a chip off the old block, as her grandfather used to say. “She fell on one of the tall staircases in Montmartre. The police say she slipped on the ice. My friend Henri knows the human body and how it works. He says the…how do you say ‘marks of black and blue’?”

“Bruises,” Olivia chimed in. “We also say black-and-blue marks.”

“Ah! Bon. Henri says the bruises prove someone pushed her. It happened late Sunday night, early Monday morning. Today is already Wednesday. That is why we must move fast.”

Steven groaned, thinking of the days lost. “Is Henri a doctor?”

“No, an artist. But, believe me, Steven, he knows the body. If Henri says she was pushed, she was pushed.”

“So, again, if we were to do this, how would it work?”

“We must go with all speed. That means we must travel in Olivia’s time in one of those fast aeroplanes. That’s how I got here so quickly.”

“Wait, how do you know about Olivia?”

“Oh, mon Dieu, the questions! It is a long story but if it will help speed this up…last summer, I traveled to 1934, to America, with someone on business that had nothing to do with you or my future. When I was in New York City, I saw a photograph in a newspaper of the painting I’m working on right now. The article said a museum in Chicago had bought it and gave information about me, you, and your father. While my friend was completing his business, I had a couple of days to myself, so I took a train here and came to this house. Naturally, I was curious, so I came in and looked around. You really shouldn’t leave your doors unlocked, you know. Anyway, I saw the photograph of Olivia on your dresser. You have her name and the year 2014 written on the back. I realized you had inherited my ability to time travel and that Olivia also had the gift.” Evangéline blew out her cheeks. “Can we not return to the problem at hand now?”

Steven grinned. “Yeah, okay. You know, I always thought you learned English when you moved here with Dad. You speak really well.”

She rolled her eyes. “As you must know, my father is a professor of English at the Sorbonne. He taught me when I was a child.” She took a drink of her wine. “Now, to our problème…I went through the portal in Paris, from 1895 to Olivia’s time.”

“Why did you go into Olivia’s time?”

“If you keep interrupting me, we will never get anywhere. Just listen.” Evangéline took another drink of wine and went on. “Time is of the essence, as it’s already been almost three days. We must travel into 2014 and go to New York City as quickly as possible. Someone there will help us with what we need. Tomorrow night, we’ll fly to Paris. Once we’re there, we’ll travel back to 1895.”

“You make it sound easy. But I have so many questions,” Steven persisted. “How are we going to pay for all this? How do I get a passport fast enough to fly tomorrow? What about other things we might need?”

His mother tilted her head toward the ceiling and sighed. “You think I have come all this way without a plan? Before I left, Henri gave me a sketch. There’s a man in New York City—you will soon learn we have travel agents in cities all over the world who help us. This man in New York City, a place called Brooklyn, is selling the sketch for me, so we’ll have plenty of money. He’ll make a passport and other documents for you, Steven, just as someone in Paris made mine so I could come here.” Evangéline turned to Olivia. “Do you have a passport? Do you drive an automobile?”

“Yes. And I have a car.”

“Can you take us to New York City tomorrow morning so we can get Steven’s documents and the money to buy our tickets for the aeroplane? We must leave for Paris tomorrow night.”

“Sure. Listen, Evangéline, I’m sorry to hear about your friend Madeleine.”

“Thank you. She was lovely—a dancer and one of Henri’s favorite models. Such a waste.”

“Who is Henri? And why would anybody buy one of his sketches?”

“Henri de Toulouse-Lautrec. I think he is well known in your time, Olivia.”

“Toulouse-Lautrec?” Olivia gasped. “He’s a friend of yours?”

“Yes, and he’s now your employer.”

Olivia’s jaw dropped.

Evangéline reached out toward Steven with her empty wineglass then settled back in the chair after he’d refilled it. “Now, let us talk about tomorrow. You must both pack a small bag. Steven, bring any tools or objects you will need to investigate. I don’t know what they might be, but that is most important. When we travel to my Paris in 1895, you can borrow clothes belonging to my friend Théo. He’s away on business right now. His wardrobe is filled with additional items—suits, shirts, collars, and so forth. There’s a cloak and hat as well. Olivia, we’re about the same size. I’m happy to share my clothes with you. I have plenty of skirts and dresses. I have an extra cloak, too. Just bring your personal things.”

Suddenly, Steven realized he had been given a gift. After a long, difficult year of grieving, he had the chance to spend time with the woman who would become his mother. How could he possibly say no?

“I’m sorry, but I have to interrupt again,” Steven said, grinning at Evangéline. “Before it gets too late, I need to call the chief to tell him a family emergency has come up and I need a few days off.” He stood and headed for the phone, then stopped. He turned around and walked back to Evangéline. “I know this is going to be weird for you. You don’t even know me yet. But I have missed you so much!” And he bent down and kissed his mother’s cheek.

***

Author Bio

A former language teacher and business owner, Carol Pouliot writes the acclaimed Blackwell and Watson Time-Travel Mysteries, traditional police procedurals with a seemingly impossible relationship between a Depression-era cop and a 21^st-century journalist. With their fast pace and unexpected twists and turns, the books have earned praise from readers and mystery authors. Carol is a founding member of Sleuths and Sidekicks, 4 mystery writers who have banded together to share their love of mysteries, immediate Past President and Program Chair of her Sisters in Crime chapter, and Co-Chair of Murderous March, an online mystery conference. When not writing, Carol can be found packing her suitcase and reaching for her passport for her next travel adventure.

Social Media Links

www.carolpouliot.com
Sleuths and Sidekicks
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @cpouliot13
Instagram – @carolpouliotmysterywriter
Pinterest – @cpouliot13
Facebook – @WriterCarolPouliot

Purchase Links

Amazon – https://pictbooks.tours/3NsOyxER

BN – https://pictbooks.tours/Qo6UYxwv

BookShop.org – https://pictbooks.tours/vanURNyy

Goodreads – https://pictbooks.tours/lwwWrSX7

BookBub – https://pictbooks.tours/PgZWfR46

Publisher – https://pictbooks.tours/gteCEMSW

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PROMOAMP GIVEAWAY

https://www.promoamp.com/c/murder-at-the-moulin-rouge-carol-pouliot

Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Serves You Right by Orion Gregory

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SERVES YOU RIGHT (Sydney Livingstone Detective Series Book #2) by Orion Gregory on this Book Amplifier Tour for AME.

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, an about the author section and social media. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

In Serves You Right by Orion Gregory, justice becomes personal, and one detective must decide whether the greater threat lies in the shadows—or within her own department.

Sydney Livingstone thought her leap from the spotlight of professional tennis to the badge of a small-town police officer would mean calm, routine, and a sense of purpose. Newly engaged to Enzo and ready to build a new life, she expected quiet days in Walsh County. Instead, a faceless vigilante calling himself The Enforcer launches a brutal campaign against criminals and the justice system itself. With each attack, his reach grows broader, his methods more terrifying. Sydney quickly learns she isn’t just investigating the crimes—she may be one of the targets.

The deeper she digs, the more the boundaries blur between protector and predator. Evidence points toward betrayal within the force, a stalker shadows a fellow officer, and the media descends as fear spreads through the community. Sydney must question her instincts, her colleagues, and the very idea of justice. With the body count rising, the line between truth and deception narrows, and Sydney must race against time to survive a killer who always seems one step ahead.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/237696808-serves-you-right

Amazon: https://amzn.to/4gEGWTZ

***

My Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

SERVES YOU RIGHT (Sydney Livingstone Detective Series Book #2) by Orion Gregory is a twisted crime thriller/police procedural featuring a female detective who was once a pro tennis player and is now a newly minted detective in a small Wayne County department in Northeast Ohio. While this is the second book in the series, it can be easily read as a standalone.

Rookie detective Sydney Livingstone is trying to find her footing not only as a new detective, but also one of only two females in her department. When Sydney makes a mistake that could have cost officers their lives, she is placed on a two-week probation. While out, she is asked by a superior to quietly look into rumors of a vigilante, known as The Enforcer on the dark web.

The Enforcer is a self-proclaimed executioner of those who escape justice in the courts. Sydney is assigned to work to case and finds not only a killer who broadcasts his kills on the dark web but also has hinted at the fact that someone in the Wayne County department assists him. When a detective is murdered, Sydney must work out all the clues and navigate betrayal on the force before the wrong man is charged with The Executioner’s crimes, and she is let go.

This is a fast read with a protagonist who is trying to find her way in a new profession with mainly male colleagues who are not all welcoming. Sydney was portrayed as a regular human being with faults and insecurities and not endowed with superpowers of investigation. The crime plot was well paced and had a multitude of suspects and surprise twists that were solved with good investigative work and not a surprise out of thin air.

I recommend this gripping crime thriller/police procedural and would be interested in reading more in the series.

***

Excerpt

He looked over at Andrea, who was happily finishing a chili dog next to a side of circular, mangled fries. She was saying something about changing the drapes in the front window of her house, but Frank wasn’t listening.

His hamburger looked nauseating. Even the idea of taking a sip of beer made him want to vomit. The smell was now all-encompassing.

A pair of young boys chased each other, darting between tables. One bumped their table, causing some of Frank’s beer to spill.

“Undisciplined brats,” he muttered. “Can you imagine what kind of adults they’re going to be?”

Murderers? Spouse killers?

There goes Sheila again, funneling bullshit into my mind.

“We were all there once,” said Andrea. “Just ignore them.”

Frank smiled, wondering how Andrea wasn’t overcome by the disgusting smell. “You know what, I’m not really hungry,” he said. “I’m going to throw this stuff out.” Distracted by the unpleasant odor, Frank forgot about the possibility he was being followed. He fell into line behind two teenagers who were attempting to shove their trash inside an overflowing receptacle. The park seemed to be growing more crowded by the minute.

The park noises consumed Frank’s thoughts. Ice cream machines revved crazily in a high pitch, barbeque grills hissed louder than usual, and soda machines buzzed. Kids squealed at their parents while nearby game operators hollered at customers to step forward and win prizes.

He glanced upward, noticing hot-air balloons in the distance, moving toward the theme park. They were decorated with bold, contrasting colors. The late afternoon sun cast its light onto them, creating a living rainbow of color in the open air.

Frank’s eyes honed on one particular balloon, a white teardrop with silver accents and a printed logo. Four passengers waved cheerfully at everyone below. He struggled to read all the letters, but his mind was quick to fill in the gaps.

Murderer.

Frank was now trapped by the growing crowd. They jostled him, making it impossible to breathe properly. If he had the military sword that he found in Afghanistan, he could clear a five-foot radius around himself with a 360-degree swing. And what was that stinging sensation near his spine? Had a bee or wasp stung him? Or did someone accidentally jab him with a plastic fork?

But the stinging sensation was less noticeable than the certainty that he was being taunted from the heavens by some bastard who had rented a hot-air balloon. How was that possible? Who would’ve even known he would be at this theme park at this exact time?

Frank saw Andrea walking toward him, carrying a hot-fudge sundae. “Surprise!” she said. “I bought you a little treat. I figured maybe some ice cream would stimulate your appetite.”

Andrea, he thought? Of course. She was the only person who knew they were coming here today. But she would never betray him, would she? Andrea had stood steadfast by his side for two years. Had someone gotten to her? Was she gaslighting him so she could end up with everything? No, that couldn’t be right.

Andrea handed the ice cream to Frank. “Have some,” she said. “It might make you feel better.”

Why wasn’t she looking skyward? Playing coy? Perhaps. But then again, maybe someone else was behind all of this.

Frank let the sundae fall out of his hands. It struck the ground, cracking its plastic container and oozing white and brown onto the concrete.

“Shit, Frank. I just paid seven bucks for that. What the hell are you doing?” “Look up,” said Frank. “That white-and-silver balloon to the west. Tell me what you see.”

“Yeah, I guess it’s nice,” she shrugged. “They all are. Why are you acting so strange?” “Read the message on the balloon,” said Frank. “Tell me what it says.” Andrea squinted, looking upward.

“I don’t understand why it matters, but I’ll give it a go. Um – it appears to be a moving and storage company, I think. Yes, ‘Furderer Moving and Storage.’ Now, why was that important enough to drop your ice cream?”

Furderer. Not Murderer?

Shit. In all the hullabaloo of the last several years, Frank had neglected to update his contact lens prescription.

“Andrea, I am so sorry,” he said. “For some reason, I’m not feeling well.” Perhaps it was the combined smells of the food court, or maybe it was something else. The stinging sensation on his back was now more painful.

“I think I need to find a place to sit.”

Andrea placed her hand on his shoulder and attempted to help him navigate through the tight crowd. In the distance, Frank could see a few vacant seats located around a water fountain. It looked inviting – water spraying upward in a fanning arc, sparkling in the sun’s reflection.

He’d cool off near the fountain. Once he gathered his thoughts, they could leave and resume their romantic getaway. He grabbed Andrea by her outstretched arm and pulled her toward the fountain. When he was only steps away, Frank collided with a distracted man – holding four large translucent cups of beer – coming from the opposite direction. The impact caused the man to lose his balance, sending the cups tumbling out of his hand and onto the ground.

The man turned to Frank, his face red with anger. “Watch where you’re going, asshole!” he shouted. “That’s $36 of beer you spilled. You’re either gonna pay me back or I’m going to kick your ass and take the money out of your wallet myself.” The stinging sensation seemed to be increasing by the second. He tried to focus on the man, but his vision blurred.

The man leaned in, transferring saliva into Frank’s face as he continued his verbal barrage.

Frank understood the most logical solution would be to remain calm and pay the man for the spilled beer, especially after the last two tumultuous years. But between the insult and challenge to his manhood, Frank certainly wasn’t going to back down now.

Frank’s tormentor was about 6’ 2” and would be fortunate to reach 160 pounds. He looked like someone who had experienced a few too many go-rounds with methamphetamines. With Frank’s superior size and strength to go along with his hand-to-hand combat techniques, he knew he’d have this guy on the ground in a matter of seconds, begging for his life.

The man grinned, displaying two missing front teeth. His crooked nose had obviously been broken before. He sported a stained blue ball cap, a heavy-metal T-shirt, and his blue jeans displayed holes in the knees.

Andrea tugged at Frank’s shirt sleeve. “Let’s just go.”

Frank moved closer. “I give you one free shot,” he growled. “From that point on, I’m only defending myself.”

Frank held his hands low. Even a direct shot didn’t really concern him. He’d taken huge punches from some of the top instructors in the area during his martial arts classes. Surely, this guy wouldn’t even come close to matching them.

Frank suddenly was seeing two images of the man in front of him. And then three. The world was rotating around him like a turbo-charged merry-go-round. He no longer was thinking about moving his head at the sight of an incoming fist. He couldn’t focus his vision on any one thing. He could hear Andrea begging him to stop among the chats of a bunch of high school kids who were encouraging the other man to throw a punch. And the stinging pain in his back had become even more intense. He lost all feeling in his legs.

At the same time, the man barreled his head into Frank’s face. He heard laughing from above him. Everything was a blur. And still, there was that stinging sensation in his lower back. He heard Andrea scream. And then, Frank lost consciousness.

***

About the Author

Orion Gregory’s fascination with mysteries and human psychology began when he read his first Agatha Christie novel as a boy. After earning a degree in Communications from Wright State University, he carved out an award-winning career in journalism and advertising, later contributing to a national sports magazine. For 25 years, he balanced his professional life in sales with raising a family alongside his wife, Fran, and coaching tennis—a sport that sharpened his focus and strategy, both qualities he threads into his fiction. Now based in Southwest Ohio, Gregory writes fast-paced thrillers that combine page-turning suspense with emotional depth.

Social Media Links

Website: https://oriongregory.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/orion.gregory.98

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/oriongregorybooks/?hl=en

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/serves-you-right-a-novel-sydney-livingstone-detective-series-by-orion-gregory

Book Tour/Feature Post and Mini Book Review: Crime Writer by Vinnie Hansen

CRIME WRITER

by Vinnie Hansen

September 22 – October 17, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for CRIME WRITER by Vinnie Hansen on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.

Below you will find a book description, my mini book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

In the peaceful California coast city of Playa Maria, CRIME WRITER ZOEY KOZINSKI joins a local police officer for a ride-along in hopes of breaking through her writer’s block. But during a routine traffic stop, the cop is shot, the victim of a brutal homicide.

Zoey realizes she is the only witness and the number one target on the killer’s hit list. PTSD kicks in, sending her into a tailspin. It doesn’t help that she lives on an illegal cannabis farm and that her estranged mother has just arrived. Even the police officer’s widow points a finger at the writer, claiming she was a distraction, and the police department knew it.

Lurking on the fringes is a man who stopped briefly at the crime. Good Samaritan or sinister suspect? For her safety, Zoey needs to find out.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/240145337-crime-writer?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=bguNasUCCB&rank=1

Crime Writer

Genre: Suspense
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: September 9, 2025 (ebook)
Number of Pages: 266 (paperback)
ISBN: 979-8-89820-027-5 (paperback)

***

My Mini Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

CRIME WRITER by Vinnie Hansen is an immersive crime thriller where the reader knows who the killer is and what he is doing to cover his tracks, but the interest, twists, and action are all centered around the protagonist, a crime writer and musician named Zoey Kozinski.

The red-headed and feisty Zoey witnesses the murder of the police officer she is doing a ride-along with during a routine traffic stop. The killer knows there is a witness and the drug trafficker he works for tells him he must eliminate her. With PTSD from the incident, the arrival of her estranged mother she has been hiding from, the cop’s widow who blames Zoey and wants revenge, and a man who appeared at the scene of the crime and keeps popping up in her life, Zoey needs to unravel what is happening and who to trust before she ends up dead.

This story starts out appearing to be very straight forward, but the more you learn, the more twisted and anxiety inducing the story becomes. Zoey is interesting and Ms. Hansen’s writing brings her to life with all her problems. The ending was not what I was expecting, but it is satisfying. For me, this was an interesting change in perspective from the usual crime thriller/police procedural mystery.

***

Excerpt

One

Day 1 – early evening

Heat from the Mobile Data Transmitter radiated onto Zoey Kozinski’s arm. The interior of the patrol car cooked, muggy and close. September brought the hottest weather to the central coast of California, anxiety about fires flaring as the oak leaves curled and undergrowth crisped. Thankfully, Officer Austin kept the windows of the patrol car open even as the sun started to set.

“Must be boiling with your vest.”

“Better to sweat than bleed.” Austin’s profile was sharp angles, pointed nose, strong chin.

“How much does that thing weigh?” Zoey already knew, but the officer didn’t seem talkative. She needed to crack the façade and dig out some grist to apply to Officer Horne, the character in her book. Her stalled, barely-started book.

“Six pounds.”

Officer Austin rolled along Scenic Drive, a main thoroughfare through Playa Maria County. Zoey wished they could listen to music, something to go with driving on a sultry evening, maybe Ella Fitzgerald’s “Summertime.” Instead, the police radio spat information, filling awkward silence. Zoey jotted down that a list of stolen cars was tucked on the left side of his dash. She’d chosen a night shift, hoping for a modicum of action but nothing on the radio stirred Austin’s interest.

“How do you feel about ride-alongs?” She flipped her legal pad and the printed-out opening pages of her manuscript winged to the floor. All two of them. A whopping three hundred ten words. She bent down to retrieve them.

“It’s part of our Community Policing.” Austin kept his focus forward. “To increase civilian awareness of what police work entails.”

She didn’t bother to write down the canned response.

Austin must be a rookie to receive the crappy assignment of hauling a ride-along, but he didn’t look like one. Silver highlighted his short hair. Older than her fictional Officer Horne. Her protagonist Horne should be young, freshly free of his training wheels, a more credible character to rush toward a terrible mistake after witnessing the shooting of a fellow officer.

In the margin of the legal pad, she scribbled: A hot-head. Temper=hubris. Too eager to prove himself?

Then she wrote Stan and put a question mark after it. The name of the murdered officer in her manuscript had appeared in a magician’s puff of smoke, typed by her fingers before she was conscious of a choice. Not a common name for guys of her generation, the lost kids born between Generation X and the Millennials. The name had merit—easy to pronounce, but not overly used. Why had it popped into her head?

She slipped her pen through her tangle of red hair and scratched her scalp.

Austin shot her a glance, maybe thinking she didn’t know she was using the ink end.

“Writing off the top of your head?”

She smiled slightly. Witty for a police officer.

He quirked a brow. “Making headlines?” His tone was dry. No smile. Was he being funny or busting her balls?

Zoey tapped the legal pad. Her next question wasn’t on it, but Austin’s age and his quips begged for it.

“What did you do before becoming a law enforcement officer?”

Long fingers curled around the wheel, maneuvering the vehicle through the rush-hour clog of Scenic Drive. He scanned the lanes of traffic and sidewalks long enough that she thought he wasn’t going to answer.

“I was a teacher.”

“Really?” Her voice squeaked with unveiled surprise. Heat rose up her face. With her coloring, there was no playing off a blush. When she was a kid, her Grosse Pointe classmates had pinned her with the nickname Tomato.

“High-school history.” In the parking lot, he’d offered a firm handshake and introduced himself formally as Officer Austin, although he’d added with a trace of humor ‘at your service.’ Over six-feet with ropy muscles, he was a bit old for her, maybe forty-five, but a hottie, nonetheless.

“That’s a strange career trajectory.”

“Not really. In both jobs you deal with a lot of young punks.”

As part of the outreach program, he probably was not supposed to refer to members of the community as punks. She was making progress.

“In policing I bet you have more flexibility about how you deal with punks?”

His lip curled, but he didn’t respond.

“So why the career move?”

“In teaching, the more you work, the less you’re paid,” he said. “Police work offers time-and-a-half for overtime. Ten-hour shifts and four-day work weeks. More money and time for my family.”

“Kids?”

“Three.”

She felt a twinge of disappointment. Her sex life had been reduced to her Magic Wand, and Austin wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so a bit of fantasy had slipped under her normally guarded door. Since she didn’t want a relationship, a hot cop could be the ticket. Married killed that idea.

And three kids! With the world’s exploding population and global climate change, that was self-indulgent. One of her least favorite character flaws—in reality. In fiction, it was a great character flaw.

“My wife’s the one who should have made the career move to cop,” Austin volunteered. “She’s a tiger. Can outshoot me.” He shook his head in admiration.

Another twinge. She had a serious weakness for men who complimented women in absentia.

Zoey touched the cool metal of the AR15 propped in front of the passenger seat. “This is some serious fire power.”

The creases in his uniform lifted infinitesimally, a hint of a shrug. “You should see what they have on the street.”

She ran her finger down her list of questions. Nothing so far had gotten the juices flowing. “What kind of handgun do you carry?”

“Smith & Wesson. Officers with more seniority get Berettas. The most senior officers have Glocks.” Jealousy tinged his voice. “But if you want a better gun, you can buy one. I’m looking at a Glock.”

The crackling voice of dispatch relayed a report of a middle-aged black male dealing drugs in Playa Maria Park.

Austin swung off Scenic onto a street that cut along the seedier edge of downtown, where the homeless population dwarfed the number of university students. He slowed at the park.

Dusk had sifted into darkness, but streetlights illuminated the perimeter of the grass. Young men played basketball in a well-lit court. A lone man leaning against a light pole straightened at the cruiser’s arrival. Austin put the windows up, parked the car, and plucked a wood baton from the base of his door. “Remain in the vehicle.”

Another patrolman rolled up and joined him. She noted details. Suspect’s dreadlocks glisten in bluish light. Tan pants bag around skinny legs.

Austin questioned the man, while the other officer patted him down and dipped into the pockets of his army-fatigue jacket. With the window closed, Zoey sweated.

In the end, the man bumped away and swaggered toward the basketball court.

Talking together, the officers watched him, then turned in the direction of the vehicle. Austin nodded. The other man laughed. They were talking about her. The inside of the cruiser steamed like a sauna. Austin was letting her marinate in a patina of sweat.

Zoey opened the passenger door, which prompted Austin to step toward the cruiser. Before he plopped into his seat, he thunked his baton into its spot.

“I asked the suspect if we could search him and he said no,” he started before Zoey even asked. “But he has a Search Clause.” Austin cleaned his hands with foam sanitizer. “That’s a bargain he made for probation. He relinquished his right to probable cause.”

She scribbled the information. This was good stuff, strengthening her knowledge of the law.

“But you didn’t find anything?”

“Maybe he sold out.”

Dry humor. Deadpan delivery. Her favorite. To curtail a blush, she cast her eyes to the pocket of his door.

“Don’t most officers these days carry whip-batons?”

He gave her a look.

Amazing eyes—way greener than her own. He yanked the baton from its spot and held it across his lap, the top grazing her thigh.

Phallic symbol, for sure. The air inside the car shifted subtly.

“See all those nicks?” he said. “My T.O. gave this to me, said the riff-raff on the street notice the dents. They’re mostly from getting in and out of the car, but hey,” he returned the baton to the door pocket, “they don’t know that.”

He gave his hand a second squirt of the sanitizer. “I tell you one part of this job I don’t like. The grime. You’d have to get up close to appreciate how much that guy . . . how grubby he was.” Austin started the car. “Tell you the truth, I’m more afraid of an accidental needle poke than a gunshot.”

“Was he dealing?”

“I imagine.” Austin put down the windows. Fresh air rushed into the compartment. “He doesn’t have any other means of income.”

The radio called Austin to roust a panhandler near the entrance to the freeway. Civilian complaint. Austin zoomed back up to Scenic. At the intersection before the freeway entrance, he stopped at a red light with the rest of the traffic. The girl panhandling on the median spotted the cruiser, folded her sign, and meandered down the sidewalk.

Austin turned and rolled along the street across from the girl. In spite of a curvaceous figure packed into tight jeans, with her wavy brown hair hitched into pigtails she looked all of fifteen. The girl ignored them.

Zoey twisted toward Austin. “Are you going to stop?”

“She’s not doing anything illegal now. She didn’t even jaywalk.” He sped up. “We got her off the median.”

“Yup. Sure did.” He knew, and she knew, that as soon as they were out of sight, the girl would return to her spot.

How do they negotiate spots? She wrote. First come, first served?

If she asked Austin about the girl—did he know her—what was her story—she sensed he’d blow off the questions. The police department had picked the wrong officer to give ride-alongs. Austin lacked a gregarious, empathetic personality.

Zoey tried to unpack how she’d arrived at this conclusion. Maybe because he’d chosen policing over teaching. Police work had to be more frustrating than high school teaching, certainly less rewarding.

***

Author Bio

A Claymore and Silver Falchion finalist, Vinnie Hansen is the author of the Carol Sabala mystery series, the novels LOSTART STREET, ONE GUN, and CRIME WRITER, as well as over seventy published short works.

She is a member of Mystery Writers of American, Sisters in Crime, and the Short Mystery Fiction Society. A retired high-school English teacher, she lives with her husband and the requisite cat in Santa Cruz, CA.

Social Media Links

www.vinniehansen.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @vinnie5

Purchase Links

Amazon – https://pictbooks.tours/BbIBvA5Y

Goodreads – https://pictbooks.tours/7Y6wWGfA

PICT Tour Page – https://pictbooks.tours/nmCGXK98

PICT Giveaway Page – https://pictbooks.tours/zVgaCSjk

###

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Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Murder at the Wedding by Christine Knapp

MURDER AT THE WEDDING

by Christine Knapp

September 8 – October 3, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for MURDER AT THE WEDDING (Modern Midwife Mysteries Book #1) by Christine Knapp on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

Birth, death, mayhem, and murder…..

Maeve O’Reilly Kensington loves her job as a nurse-midwife at Creighton Memorial Hospital in the quintessential New England seaside town of Langford. Nothing could bring her more pleasure than helping women usher new life into the world… except possibly having a child of her own with her husband, Will. In the meantime, she’s happy to celebrate the families of those she treats, and content to support her husband in his newly formed catering business.

However when Creighton Memorial’s Chief Obstetrician suddenly drops dead at his daughter’s extravagant wedding reception, catered by Will, Maeve’s two worlds collide in the worst possible way. Suddenly murder is on the menu, and Maeve is desperate to help her husband and find out who killed the doctor.

With the help of her wealthy, acerbic sister Meg and quick-witted Boston Irish mother, Maeve sets out to solve a murder and clear her husband’s name. Can she stay one step ahead of the killer? Or will they strike again… this time closer to home?

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/61719247-murder-at-the-wedding?from_search=true&from_srp=true&qid=2S2asuC83i&rank=2

Murder at the Wedding

Genre: Cozy Mystery
Published by: Gemma Halliday Publishing
Publication Date: June 10, 2022
Number of Pages: 249
ISBN: 9798835432134 (pbk)
Series: Modern Midwife Mystery Series, Book 1

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

MURDER AT THE WEDDING (Modern Midwife Mysteries Book #1) by Christine Knapp is an exciting and intricately plotted start to a new cozy mystery series featuring a nurse-midwife who becomes involved in a murder investigation with her family and friends. This new to me author pulled me into the story, and I was so involved with the clues, crimes, and the entire cast of characters that I read this book completely in one sitting.

Maeve O’Reilly Kensington is a midwife at a New England hospital. She loves her work, her husband, and her family. The head of her OB department’s daughter is getting married, and her husband’s new catering company is handling the reception. Suddenly, the father of the bride collapses and dies after giving his toast to the newlyweds. It was not natural causes.

Maeve is determined to help her husband prove his company or employees were not responsible, and she also wants to find out who killed the doctor. Her police detective brother tells her to stay out of the investigation, but Maeve and her sister Meg are determined to get to the truth. Can she discover the killer before the killer decides she knows too much?

This is a wonderful read with fully developed characters and a perfectly paced cozy mystery plot. Maeve and her family are realistically written with the foibles of any large loving family. Maeve’s family is contrasted well by her rich and snobby in-laws and their family who wish Will would enter the family investment company rather than be a caterer. Maeve’s profession as a midwife is intertwined throughout the story with many different situations she encounters, both emotionally difficult and easy, and all are described with medical details. This is just one of those stories you begin to read, and you become immediately immersed in the characters and plot. I love it when that happens.

I highly recommend this new cozy mystery and cannot wait for the next in the Modern Midwife Mysteries series!

***

Excerpt

The parking lot at St. Andrew’s Episcopal was filled almost to capacity. Despite a recent visit to the car wash, my Jeep looked out of place next to all the Mercedes, BMWs, Range Rovers, Jaguars, and Porsches.

I took out and quickly scanned the engraved linen cream invitation. It read:

Matrimonial Ceremony of

Charlotte Alexis Whitaker

and

Brooks James Hawthorne IV

St. Andrew’s Episcopal Church

Langford, Massachusetts

Saturday, the eighth of June, at two o’clock in the afternoon

As I approached the massive church, I saw all the pink plantings and railings wrapped in white tulle with pink peonies at precise intervals. It was a floral tour de force that must have taken an army of gardeners and florists a few days to accomplish. Inside there were pink roses, peonies, and hydrangeas everywhere. The scene was right out of InStyle Magazine. I wondered, were there any pink flowers left on the East Coast? On the West Coast?

As I squeezed into the last row, a large choir serenaded the full house in the loft above the congregation.

The choir began to sing “My Spirit Sang All Day” as Mrs. Whitaker, resplendent in a strapless, rose silk Carolina Herrera with a vibrant pink cabbage rose behind one ear and a necklace of marble-sized, green South Sea pearls, was ushered to the left front pew. Really? Strapless for the mother of the bride? Well, she does look amazing.

A hush fell over the crowd. The stained-glass doors closed, and the groom and his men filed to the altar.

Did one have to be six feet two, gorgeous, and ripped to be in this wedding party?

As the first strands of Wagner filled the air, the doors opened, and down the aisle came Anastasia Bleeker. She was one of the bride’s four-year-old charges at Miss Bloomfield’s School, where wealthy, pregnant women enrolled their offspring-to-be to claim a coveted spot. Anastasia was wearing a white tulle fairy-tale gown with a dark rose-colored sash. A circle of petite, light pink roses and baby’s breath crowned her chin length, straight, white-blonde hair. She carried a small, white wicker basket in one hand, and with the other, she started to drop pale pink rose petals down the long aisle.

Channeling Lady Di, I thought.

Next came the ring bearer, Barrington Cabot. He was another nursery school trust-fund-baby-in-the-making in white linen shorts and jacket and a head of black, curly hair. Then six breathtaking models, or rather bridesmaids, dressed in rose-colored tulle skirts and pale pink lace wrap blouses, floated down the aisle carrying white and pink hydrangeas wrapped in rose-colored ribbons. They looked like an upscale version of an ad for the United Colors of Benetton.

After a slight pause, the stained-glass doors parted again, and Dr. Whitaker appeared in his morning suit, standing at Charlotte’s right side. She was breathtaking in a Vera Wang white silk ball gown glittering with thousands of tiny seed pearls. A deep rose satin ribbon wrapped around her bouquet of white peonies. Her Belgian lace veil trailed behind her down the aisle.

The ceremony went on amid candlelight, roses, and organ music. It was like being in a dream, albeit a very, very expensive dream.

Finally, vows were exchanged, there were no objections, and Charlotte and Brooks were off to the photo-taking session in a vintage, white Bentley. As they left, the guests milled about outside the church for a bit and then headed to the reception.

Evelyn Greyson, the sixtyish director of Obstetric Nursing, stood at the top of the church stairs as I exited. She was dressed in a powder blue suit with a short jacket with peplum and knee-length, fitted skirt. A pearl necklace, her ever-present pearl brooch, and small pearl stud earrings completed the look. Her graying hair was, as usual, in her trademark chignon.

“Beautiful wedding,” I said.

“Magnificent,” Evelyn replied. “Dr. Whitaker wouldn’t have it any other way. See you at the reception, dear.” And then she strode off to her car.

Evelyn always agreed with everything Dr. Whitaker said and did. She worshipped him. Did she also have an unrequited crush on him?

I quickly greeted a few colleagues but didn’t linger because I wanted to see how Will was doing.

The Country Club was buzzing with activity when I drove through the porte cochère, pulled up to the main entrance, and handed my keys to a valet. The grand foyer was glittering with hundreds of candles and still more massive floral arrangements in blush pink. A string quartet played Pachelbel’s “Canon in D” beside the grand staircase.

Out on the veranda, the wedding party was taking pictures before an expanse of green lawn and brilliant blue sky and sea. It would be a wedding album worthy of its own issue of Town & Country.

Large silver serving trays were circulated among the guests, offering tiny crab cakes topped with dill aioli, mini beef Wellingtons, smoked salmon pinwheels, and tomato and goat cheese on toast points. There were massive silver bowls of fresh shrimp on ice on round marble tables.

“Maeve! Maeve! Over here!” one of the midwives called. Looking around the ballroom, which held table settings for six hundred guests, I saw that the Creighton Memorial staff was on the right side of the room while family and friends were on the left. I waved to the midwives but walked over to the table where Grand, Will’s grandmother, was sitting with Will’s parents, Will’s sister, Eloise, her husband, Taylor, and Will’s younger brother, Teddy.

“Hello, Maeve.” William stood and extended his hand. Never a hug, never a kiss on the cheek, just a handshake.

“Hello, so nice to see you all,” I replied, shaking his hand as I nodded to the table. I saw that Lydia, my mother-in-law, was outfitted in a mint green silk cocktail dress with a large diamond necklace and matching drop earrings. She tilted her head toward me and smiled but said nothing.

“The Country Club is such a perfect wedding venue,” I offered.

“Quite lovely,” she replied.

“You look beautiful, Maeve,” Grand said.

“Thanks, Grand.”

“Sweet dress,” Lydia said.

Sweet dress? What, am I five years old? Lydia was a master of the backhanded compliment, and she was not my biggest fan. Keep it together, Maeve.

Eloise was in a sleeveless, pale green and cream striped dress with an emerald and diamond pendant and earrings. Like mother, like daughter.

“Well,” I said, “enjoy the meal. Will has been creating a masterpiece.” I saw William’s and Lydia’s smiles tighten. They did not respond. They were not pleased with Will’s chosen profession.

“I can’t wait,” Grand said.

I gave a little wave and headed over to find my table.

Scanning the room, I saw my sister, Meg, cross her eyes and raise her wine glass in a mock salute. Meg was the Langford real estate agent of choice for the wealthy and had been invited along with other top business leaders of the town. She knew I had just navigated a minefield with my emotionally distant in-laws. As soon as I reached my table, I quickly sat down and took a long drink of chardonnay.

Herend Chinese Bouquet china in pink, Gorham Newport Scroll sterling, and Baccarat crystal decorated each setting.

My gosh, they’ll have to pat everyone down before they leave.

Murray Alfond, the famed orchestra leader, turned on his mic and said, “Please be seated while the bridal party arrives.”

There was sustained applause as Charlotte and Brooks triumphantly paraded into the ballroom. “The bride and groom will dance to a classic personally chosen by Brooks,” Alfond announced.

“The Very Thought of You” wafted through the room as Charlotte and Brooks took to the floor. They obviously had attended many ballroom dancing classes in preparation for this moment, and they danced impeccably.

Then the entire wedding party sashayed to “Fly Me to the Moon.” It was like watching La La Land. They were all perfectly coiffed, dressed, and ready for filming. Plus, they could dance.

When they were done and returned to their seats, Alfond intoned, “Please bow your heads while Reverend Lucas Mathers says grace.”

The Episcopal pastor of St. Andrew’s, Reverend Mathers, was slightly rotund with flushed pink cheeks. He ran his hand through receding black hair, obviously feeling the weight of this moment. Then he bowed his head.

“Dear Holy Father, thank you for this glorious day! What a wonderful celebration! We ask you to bless Charlotte and Brooks, as well as their families and friends, and we beseech you to grant this special couple a life together that is happy and blessed. We further ask you to bless this fabulous repast and grant your blessings on all present. Amen.”

Gee, that was short. He must be hungry.

A phalanx of waiters served the first course of spring green and white asparagus spears with shaved red onion. As we started in on the delicate vegetables, the best man, Ry Farmington, took the microphone and asked all to raise their glasses in a toast to the couple.

“Brooks has been like a brother to me since our first day at Hollis in Harvard Yard. We’ve seen many adventures together—none of which, out of respect for your patience and his reputation, I will go into here.”

He paused for applause and a few knowing hoots.

“In the words of the Bard,

No sooner met but they looked;

No sooner looked but they loved;

No sooner loved but they sighed;

No sooner sighed but they asked one another the reason;

No sooner knew the reason, but they sought the remedy;

And in these degrees have made a pair of stairs to marriage

Please rise and toast to their lives together.”

Six hundred guests rose and toasted the couple.

Then came truffle-scented tenderloin with dauphinoise potatoes and tender baby carrots. I snuck a look first at the Whitaker table and then at William and Lydia. They all seemed to be enjoying the meal, and I prayed that all the reviews would be excellent.

For dessert, a chocolate mousse with a crème brûlée center was placed at each setting. I knew the wedding cake would be cut and served later.

Just then, the wait staff re-entered the room. They set a Baccarat champagne flute filled with pink champagne at each place. A hush came over the ballroom. Dr. Whitaker was standing at the head table, staring the crowd into silence. Then he picked up his glass and smiled adoringly at Charlotte.

Everyone listened as he gave a long, loving toast to his daughter. Finally, he took a moment to gather his thoughts before saying, “Charlotte, your mother and I found this magnificent champagne in France a few years ago and had it shipped in for your wedding.”

Mrs. Whitaker stared at Dr. Whitaker with a huge Miss America smile.

Dr. Whitaker continued, “Would everyone please rise and toast my lovely daughter Charlotte and her husband, Brooks.” He lifted his crystal flute to his lips and took a sip while beaming at Charlotte.

Immediately, his cheeks turned scarlet, and he started to wheeze. The crystal dropped from his hand and shattered on the ground. He clutched at his throat while making extensive gasping attempts to pull in a breath. Then he went limp and collapsed to the floor. The room erupted into pandemonium.

***

Author Bio

Christine Knapp practiced as a nurse-midwife for many years. A writer of texts and journal articles, she is now thrilled to combine her love of midwifery and mysteries as the author of the Modern Midwife Mysteries. Christine currently narrates books for the visually and print impaired. A dog lover, she lives near Boston.

Catch Up With Christine Knapp

ThoughtfulMidwife.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub – @cwknapp4478
Instagram – @maevecw
Threads – @maevecw
Facebook – @Christine Whelan Knapp
TikTok – @maevecw

Purchase Links

Amazon – https://pictbooks.tours/kAq44F5h

BN – https://pictbooks.tours/1xVcWXw3

BookShop.org – https://pictbooks.tours/d3tCDWIa

Goodreads – https://pictbooks.tours/QPqIkDpq

BookBub – https://pictbooks.tours/Byk1QG20

Gemma Halliday Publishing – https://pictbooks.tours/7kGtfwGx

Modern Midwife Mystery Series Links:

Amazon https://pictbooks.tours/xHgZdDiW

BN https://pictbooks.tours/U8csGI9d

Goodreads https://pictbooks.tours/wGp6eKcT

Audiobooks.com https://pictbooks.tours/nKCYCziV

Gemma Halliday Publishing https://pictbooks.tours/7kGtfwGx

Murder on the Widow’s Walk Book 2

Amazon – https://pictbooks.tours/dIZ0E9PG

BN – https://pictbooks.tours/IFeGIW9f

Goodreads – https://pictbooks.tours/S8K6aIJr

Audiobooks.com https://pictbooks.tours/TeohujSc

Murder on the Books Book 3

Amazon – https://pictbooks.tours/VRXu6w81

BN – https://pictbooks.tours/Q8wmAERK

Goodreads – https://pictbooks.tours/tLcnchQ9

Audiobooks.com https://pictbooks.tours/8rojKUSe

Murder at First Light Book 4

Amazon – https://pictbooks.tours/EJ732ePd

BN – https://pictbooks.tours/gF2Rd7iG

Goodreads – https://pictbooks.tours/vAvWbW6c

Murder on the Green Book 5

Amazon – https://pictbooks.tours/ldh7Wtpt

BN – https://pictbooks.tours/OvE39IE1

Goodreads – https://pictbooks.tours/4rLSUPW

###

PROMOAMP GIVEAWAY

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Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Canyon of Deceit by Diann Mills

CANYON OF DECEIT

by DiAnn Mills

September 8 – October 3, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for CANYON OF DECEIT by DiAnn Mills on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.

Below you will find a book description, my mini book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

When wilderness survival expert Therese Palmer receives a frantic phone call from former colleague Professor Rurik Ivanov, she is shocked by the news that his young daughter, Alina, is missing—and that Rurik wants Therese’s help finding her. She’s sure Rurik hasn’t given her the whole story . . . especially since he refuses to report the kidnapping to the police. Yet with a child’s life hanging in the balance, Therese can’t turn down this mission. She knows the clock is ticking and she can’t do this alone.

Therese reaches out to Texas Ranger Blane Gardner, whom she met seven months ago during one of her training courses in wilderness survival skills. Blane’s specialized training and background with the Crisis Negotiation Unit make him uniquely prepared for this search-and-rescue mission. He agrees to help Therese and to accept Rurik’s terms to keep Alina’s disappearance quiet, and as the two begin working together, Therese is determined the spark growing between them won’t distract from their mission to save Alina.

Traversing deep into the desert of Guadalupe Mountains National Park, Alina’s last known location, Therese and Blane struggle to separate truth from lies within the mix of intel they’re receiving. As they close in on answers that suggest the involvement of Russian organized crime and a high-profile international assassination attempt, they must fight to rescue Alina before she becomes an innocent casualty of a much bigger plot—no matter the risk to their own lives.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/228601396-canyon-of-deceit?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=sjcDT5uSWy&rank=1

Canyon of Deceit

Genre: Romantic Suspense
Published by: Tyndale House Publishers
Publication Date: September 9, 2025
Number of Pages: 352 (pbk)
ISBN: 9781496485151 (ISBN10: 1496485157) pbk

***

My Mini Book Review

RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars

CANYON OF DECEIT by Diann Mills is a suspenseful and intricately plotted Christian romantic suspense/mystery/thriller set in the beautiful and rugged Guadalupe Mountain National Park of New Mexico. The protagonists are Therese Palmer, a wilderness survival expert and Blane Gardner, a Texas Ranger on the hunt for a kidnapped child. This is a standalone story that is tension filled with many surprising twists that kept me on the edge of my seat and turning the pages.

This romantic suspense plot is well paced with physical struggles and obstacles as well as struggles with their faith. What starts as a kidnapping soon turns into a complex web of assassination, murders, and military espionage. Therese and Blane both have traumas in their pasts that lead to their beliefs, but heartfelt, honest conversations occur between the action as both come to care for each other. Therese lives her faith, and she is clear with Blane that she will not compromise her beliefs even for a relationship, but she is not preaching at him. Blane is the protagonist on a spiritual journey in this story. This is a Christian romantic suspense so there are no sex scenes.

I recommend this exciting, well written Christian romantic suspense.

***

Excerpt

Chapter One

New Caney, Texas

October, Thursday, Current Day

Therese

The shrill ring of my mobile phone jolted me awake at 2:00 a.m., a haunting prompt that emergencies seldom emerged in daylight. Someone had ventured into the wilderness and needed me to lead a rescue mission. My skills of trekking over precarious terrain to find victims who suffered from physical injuries, dehydration, starvation, or all three, kept me on alert. At times I viewed my life like a Star Trek tagline, “Where no man has gone before.”

I grabbed the phone off my nightstand. Unidentified caller. “Hello?”

“Ms. Palmer, this is Professor Rurik Ivanov from Houston Leonard University. We met nearly a year ago. You taught a course in wilderness survival as an adjunct professor.”

I captured a mental image of the Russian man—gray-blue eyes, stone-gray hair, angular face. “Yes, sir. How can I help you?”

“I apologize for the hour, but I’m in a desperate situation.”

The angst in his voice zapped me into guarded mode, especially when I barely knew the man. I snapped on my bedside lamp. “Are you all right?”

“No, ma’am, which is why I’m calling you. Do you remember my wife and daughter?”

“I met them both at a faculty dinner last Christmas. A lovely family.”

“My wife was murdered today, and kidnappers have taken my daughter.”

I inhaled sharply, and alarm for the professor’s family fired hot from the soles of my feet. “Daria? Alina? What happened?”

“A man called me late this afternoon while I prepared to leave for home. He said he’d taken Alina. Then he sent a link to a video showing my wife’s execution—”

He stopped abruptly, his final words drumming into my senses. The seconds ticked by, and I waited.

“I watched Daria grab her chest and struggle . . . The blood rushed from her precious body—my dear Daria’s life gone forever.” He grappled again to control his tear-filled voice. “He said they would release Alina unharmed if I paid three million dollars. They’d call with instructions. When the man hung up, I hurried home thinking it had to be a terrible mistake or someone had used AI to generate the video. On the way, I phoned Daria and the call went to voice mail. I also redialed the man who’d contacted me. The phone rang repeatedly, but the number offered no way to leave a message. I contacted Alina’s school and learned Daria had picked her up before noon.

“At home, reality rooted. A lamp and a table in the living room lay in pieces. Daria would have fought hard, but there were no signs of blood. I didn’t recognize the place in the video where they killed her. I even checked for geotag information on the clip, but it had been stripped. I later clicked on the link . . . the video had disappeared.”

I ached for his loss. “What do the police say?”

Silence answered me, then Rurik finally said, “Contacting them is impossible. The man warned me against telling anyone who works in law enforcement, or I’d never see Alina again.” He sobbed into the phone. “Please, give me a moment.”

“Take all the time you need.”

The professor taught Russian language and literature at Leonard University and was highly respected and liked among faculty and students. I’d enjoyed our occasional chats, and he’d observed some of my classes. What had he done to upset the wrong people?

“Thank you. I can talk now,” he said. “I have no idea where the killers have taken Daria’s body or how to find Alina. Neither do I suspect anyone.”

I willed my pulse to slow. “Professor, the police are trained in handling confidential matters and how to find who is responsible. They have families and understand what you’re going through.”

“And endanger my daughter?” Panic throbbed in his ragged voice.

“I’m sorry.” My grief over losing Kate many years ago surfaced raw and bleeding. “Are you alone?”

“Yes. At home.”

“Are there family or friends who can stay with you?”

“My family is in Russia, and I do not trust anyone.”

“You could very well be in danger too.”

“My welfare is unimportant.”

“Who are these people, and why has your family been victimized?”

“I have no idea. The man refused to identify himself, but he did say ‘we.’ Maybe he thinks I have money or believes I have done something criminal to my country or to the US.”

What was he not telling me? I tossed off my blanket and stood in my bedroom, shivering, not from the cold but the horror of this unfolding story. “Professor Ivanov, I’m confused. Why call me? This is a job for the police or the FBI.”

“I cannot risk my daughter’s life. You are my only hope to find Alina. You have the skills to get her back.”

I ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m a wilderness-survival specialist, nothing more. I’m not equipped to carry out a hostage negotiation without backup, which is another reason you need to involve the authorities.” More questions bolted into my mental space like a landslide. “How would I find her?”

“That’s where I can help you. Alina has GPS trackers hidden in her shoes. Not even Daria knew about them.”

“Why would you track your young daughter?”

“Alina’s biological mother died when she was a baby, and I’ve been consumed with protecting my daughter ever since. I checked my phone app and learned at one thirty this afternoon, Alina was taken to a private landing strip west of Houston. I called there, and a woman who worked in the small office said no one had filed a flight plan. But she made a mistake. The tracker had stopped registering.” He coughed and asked me to wait while he got a glass of water.

A connection at Harris County Office of Homeland Security & Emergency Management popped into my consciousness. They had the technology to confirm the date and time a plane took to the skies and where it landed.

“I’m better. I apologize for my lack of control,” the professor said. “My app showed tracking again near an abandoned airstrip in a remote area south of Hobbs, New Mexico. The tracking indicated ground-speed movement for two and a half hours to a section on the north side of Guadalupe Mountains National Park called Dog Canyon. That’s where the tracking ended, and I’ve detected nothing since. I assume the kidnappers parked the vehicle and proceeded on foot with Alina. Research shows the area is off-grid. Ms. Palmer, did they remove her shoes? How would they expect her to walk in bare feet?”

My thoughts trailed to the worst possible scenario. Why take Alina to a remote location unless they planned to dispose of her body there? Another argument lay with logic. Why go to the expense of transporting a kidnap victim there when they had the ability to dispose of her body in their backyard? A morbid idea, except true. Whatever the reason, they risked exposure from security cameras until they reached an off-grid area.

“I can’t stress enough how the authorities have technology and skills to find Alina. They can unravel valid threats and comprehend the danger of taking your story to the media.”

“The man who called me said they’d be watching my every move. I bought a burner phone tonight to call you.”

His anguish rippled through me, interfering with my ability to think clearly. “What about the ransom?”

“I can liquidate assets here and in Russia to meet their demands, but the statistics on kidnappers returning my Alina alive are not good. Perhaps they would accept what I can put together now. I’m sorry . . . I wish I had an answer. Why harm an eight-year-old little girl?”

“I have empathy for your grief.” Daria’s lovely face and the white-blonde-haired little girl refused to leave me alone. “Although I could lead you into Dog Canyon, I have no idea how to pull her out of the clutches of dangerous men. You’d need armed law enforcement and possibly a negotiator.”

“That would draw attention. I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

“Money is not the issue, Professor—”

“Alina means more to me than anything else in this world. What is love but to take ownership of a problem and do all I can to stop those men?”

“What if I fail?” The terror of not finding his daughter alive resurrected an echo from the past that had shaped my career.

“Can you live with yourself if you don’t try?”

Unaware, he’d pressed my weakest button. “I’ll hear you out. But I don’t believe you’ve given me the whole story, and I need the truth before I risk my life.”

“I’ve . . . I’ve given you all of it.”“You’ve stated what you want me to know. What have you done or not done in this tragedy that Daria is dead, Alina is missing, and you can’t go to the police?

***

Author Bio

DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who invites her readers to step into stories where suspense meets adventure and romance warms the heart. Known for crafting unforgettable characters tangled in unpredictable plots, DiAnn believes every breath we take unfolds a story waiting to be told—so why not make it thrilling?

Her novels have consistently landed on bestseller lists including CBA, ECPA, and Publishers Weekly, and have won prestigious awards such as the Christy, Selah, Golden Scroll, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol awards.

DiAnn is a founding board member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Conference Advisor for the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers. She actively participates in Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, the Jerry Jenkins Writers Guild, and International Thriller Writers, DiAnn passionately invests in helping fellow authors succeed through mentoring, book coaching, and editing. She travels nationwide speaking and teaching engaging writing workshops.

A proud coffee snob who roasts her own beans, DiAnn also enjoys diving into good books, experimenting in the kitchen, and unabashedly spoiling her grandchildren—whom she insists are the smartest kids in the universe. She and her husband make their home under the sunny skies of Houston, Texas.

Connect with DiAnn online for behind-the-scenes glimpses, writing tips, and lively discussions:

diannmills.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads – @DiAnnMills
BookBub – @DiAnnMills
Instagram – @diannmillsauthor
Facebook – @DiAnnMills
YouTube – @DiAnnMills

Purchase Links

Amazon – https://pictbooks.tours/5OiauHgC
BN – https://pictbooks.tours/t22v7vq9
BookShop.org – https://pictbooks.tours/ZqAcvqV1
Goodreads – https://pictbooks.tours/IPmuq7uw
BookBub – https://pictbooks.tours/fXyo8W1N
Tyndale – https://pictbooks.tours/YawvortH
Walmart- https://pictbooks.tours/krJB00lS

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Book Tour/Feature Post and Book Review: Sins of the Father by James L’Etoile

SINS OF THE FATHER

by James L’Etoile

August 4 – 29, 2025

Virtual Book Tour

Hi, everyone!

Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SINS OF THE FATHER (A Detective Nathan Parker Novel Book #4) by James L’Etoile on this Partners In Crime Book Tour.

Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!

***

Book Description

Detective Nathan Parker discovers an unidentified man tossed to his death from an airplane is connected to the emergence of a new criminal organization, Red Dawn, when a secretive Joint Terrorism Task Force appears in Phoenix. The leader of the Task Force coerces Parker to support their efforts or his ex-coyote friend, Billie Carson, could face federal charges for supporting a terrorist organization. With Billie’s freedom in jeopardy, Parker agrees and one-by-one, people associated with the Task Force are picked off. When a target close to Parker is attacked, and the Task Force leader vanishes, Parker seeks help from an unusual ally to expose Red Dawn’s mastermind. Familiar foes, lies, secrets, and a father’s sin converge in a deadly standoff.

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/235376868-sins-of-the-father?ac=1&from_search=true&qid=amRRrM9UwQ&rank=1

Sins of the Father

Genre: Thriller; Police Procedural
Published by: Level Best Books
Publication Date: July 15, 2025
Number of Pages: 320
ISBN: 978-1-68512-992-7
Series: The Detective Nathan Parker Novels, Book 4

***

My Book Review

RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars

SINS OF THE FATHER (A Detective Nathan Parker Novel Book #4) by James L’Etoile is an action-packed police procedural crime thriller and another great addition to this series. The series follows Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office Detective Nathan Parker, his co-workers, family, and friends as they deal with immigrants, cartels, gangs and drugs on both sides of the border. While each book has a main crime plot which is unique to that book, I feel the books should be read in order for character continuity and because of some carryover antagonists from prior books.

A new criminal organization, Red Dawn, is attacking the cartels over the border and has moved to killing FBI Terrorism Task Force members and innocents in Nathan’s jurisdiction. Nathan gets pulled into the investigation by the Task Force’s leader by applying legal pressure on his friend, Billie. While every clue in this investigation leads to Red Dawn, it also has Nathan believing it ties to his past with Esteban Castaneda, the vicious leader of the Los Muertos gang, but he is in solitaire in the Federal Colorado Supermax.

With several dead bodies and one of his own shot and fighting for his life, Nathan and his team are finding more questions than answers. With an unrelenting pace, danger all around them, and twists that continually change the direction of the investigation, Nathan and his team must discover the truth before any more people die.

I always look forward to a new Nathan Parker crime thriller. Nathan, his friends, coworkers, and adopted family are all fully developed and interesting. The information the reader receives through the character of Billie is informative and thought-provoking as she just wants to help people no matter who they are or their legal status. The locations on both sides of the border are all brought to life with Mr. L’Etoile’s descriptive and well researched writing. The crime plots could come right out of the current news cycles and have many layers, twists, and surprises that keep the reader turning the pages. I never quite get the entire picture before the resolution, which I enjoy.

I highly recommend this gripping crime thriller and cannot wait for more!

***

Excerpt

Chapter One

Death to a ten-year-old is a pause in a video game. It’s temporary. A momentary setback until you’re back into the game again. At their age, the boys of Boy Scout Troop 116 thought they were immortal. Or they did until they got their first glimpse of human remains.

Ken Dryden stood on the brakes, sending the fifteen-passenger van into a skid on the hard-packed desert road. A flock of eight turkey vultures pecked and tore hunks of flesh from their prey. The enormous birds didn’t budge at the approach of the speeding white passenger van. Only one bothered to look up with a flap of meat hanging from its curved beak.

The birds ignored a loud burst from the van’s horn. Dryden unbuckled and turned to the eight boys in the back. “Stay here.”

Dryden and the assistant scoutmaster, Bill Cope stepped from the van and approached the circle of birds.

“Must’ve found themselves a coyote or something,” Cope said. “Why you insist we take this road? It’s in the middle of—”

“This can’t be…” Dryden trailed off and crept toward the flock of scavengers.

“Whatever they found, they sure don’t want to give it up,” Dryden said as he waved his arms trying to chase the birds off the road.”

“Don’t blame them. Pickings are probably a bit thin out here.”

From behind, a high-pitched voice called out. “Oh, cool. What did they kill?”

Dryden turned and three ten-year-old boys stood a few feet away gawking at the feeding frenzy on the hardscrabble dirt road.

“I told you guys to wait in the van.”

“What did they find?” The tallest boy asked.

“Probably a coyote or something run over on the road, Chase.”

“There’s no tracks in the dirt but ours,” Chase said.

The birds fought and squawked at one another, tearing bits of flesh out from the beaks of weaker birds in the flock. Wings flared and cupped over the remains, claiming them.

“Mr. Dryden? What’s that?” Chase asked.

“What?”

“That,” the boy said with a trembling finger, pointing toward the largest vulture with a torn hunk of flesh hanging from its red beak.

Dryden followed the boy’s line of sight and under the bird’s talons were the remains. He felt sick when he saw it. A brown work boot. Coyotes didn’t wear boots.

“Oh my God.”

“Is it a dead person? Chase said.

“Back to the van boys,” Cope said.

“But—”

“Now!” Dryden barked the order, and the three scouts scurried back to the van.

“Why did you take us on this back road to begin with? What do we do now?” Cope asked Dryden. The two adult supervisors of this scout troop stood at the desert crossroads.

Cope pulled out his cell phone. “No signal out here. We need to call 911.”

Dryden looked back to the van and all eight boys pressed up against the windows gawking at the human remains as the carrion birds devoured their treasure.

“We gotta get them outta here,” Dryden said.

He charged the birds, and most of them backed away. Dryden got a good look at what lay in the desert crossroads—a man, twisted, mangled, and broken. Huge swaths of flesh torn away by the feeding birds. Dryden’s shoulders drooped at the sight—a dead man left in the crossroads.

“I’ll try and keep them away. Drive the boys back out to Quartzite. Call 911. I’ll wait.”

“You wanna stay out here? In this heat?” Cope said.

“It’s early, the heat won’t top out for a couple of hours. I’ll take my pack and all the water we can spare. I’ll be fine. There’s a little shade over there under that Palo Verde.”

Tall, dry creosote brush and a few taller gangly green Palo Verde trees and Saguaro cactus lined the crossroads

“You sure? It’s not like you can help that guy?”

“Whoever he is, he doesn’t deserve to get eaten by these feathered desert rats either. How would you feel if it was someone you knew?”

Dryden retrieved his day pack and two canteens from the van.

“Guys, Mr. Cope is going to take you out. He’ll stop in Quartzite for a pee break.”

“I’ll stay with you, Mr. Dryden,” Chase said.

“Everyone’s going with Mr. Cope.”

A sigh of disappointment filled the back of the van. Dryden knew Chase’s mother was going to meltdown over her precious offspring’s exposure to the dark fringes of life. He figured the Scottsdale socialite would spirit her son away to a resort in Sedona for a crystal bath and chakra realignment.

Dryden hefted his pack and slung the canteens over his shoulder while the van cut a three-point turn and returned in the direction they came.

Once the dust and engine noise died down, all that remained was the breeze cutting through the dried brush and the cackling of the vultures fighting over their prize.

Setting his pack down, Dryden broke off a creosote branch and swung it in front of him forcing the birds away from the remains. Reluctantly, the birds gave up and hopped to the other side of the crossroads.

Dryden closed in on the dead man and grimaced at the mess the vultures made. Unrecognizable. Legs twisted and folded under the body, with a boot sticking out at an impossible angle. No way Chase would earn his first aid merit badge here.

The arms were flayed out over his broken head.

“Oh God.”

Dryden noted the wrists bound with zip ties. This wasn’t a lost hiker. This was a murder victim.

He snatched his cell phone and tried calling Cope to warn him, but the screen reminded him there was no cell signal out here. He shot a series of photos of the dead man, figuring the police would want to see what they found before the vultures could finish it off.

Dryden backed off into the shade and moved out when the vultures grew brave enough to advance. Back and forth for an hour until Dryden spotted a dust trail.

It was too soon for Cope to have summoned help. Quartzite was more than an hour away and the authorities would need time to respond after Cope called them. And this dust plume was coming from the other direction and building fast.

A dead man. Murdered. Alone in the desert. Only a twinge of relief. It wasn’t someone he knew. He knew what that kind of loss felt like and felt guilty about feeling thankful. The dust plume was coming in fast and there was the faint whine of an ATV engine—high pitched and loud.

Dryden snatched his pack and blended into the brush along a game trail, hoping he didn’t encounter an unfriendly javelina. Fifty feet from the road, he hunched down as a green ATV tore into the crossroads and skidded to a stop a few feet away from the body.

Two men stepped from the six-wheel ATV, and one used a bulky satellite phone. After a quick call, the two men donned gloves and picked up the remains, tossing them into the rear cargo compartment of the ATV. They weren’t gentle about it—they were hurried. They needed several trips to gather the bits and pieces.

Once they finished loading the dead man, they sped off in the direction they came from.

Dryden waited until the dust plume died down before he stepped out from his hiding place. He approached the spot in the center of the crossroads where the body had been. There was little to prove a life ended there. The red dirt was marked by a dark circle—what Dryden believed was blood. A single human finger was left behind by the men on the ATV.

A second trail of dust appeared on the horizon in the direction Cope and the boys used on their way out.

Dryden sank back into the brush again until the Black and Yellow Maricopa County Sheriff’s Office SUV pulled to a stop near the intersection.

He couldn’t stop thinking about the finger. Had they left the finger by mistake, or was it a message?

***

Author Bio

James L’Etoile uses his twenty-nine years behind bars as an influence in his award-winning novels, short stories, and screenplays. He is a former associate warden in a maximum-security prison, a hostage negotiator, and director of California’s state parole system. His novels have been shortlisted or awarded the Lefty, Anthony, Silver Falchion, and the Public Safety Writers Award. River of Lies, Served Cold, and Sins of the Father are his most recent novels. Look for Illusion of Truth coming soon.

Social Media Links

Website: https://jamesletoile.com/

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/james.letoile

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authorjamesletoile/

Bluesky: https://bsky.app/profile/jamesletoile.bsky.social

BookBub: https://www.bookbub.com/books/sins-of-the-father-a-detective-nathan-parker-novel-by-james-l-etoile

Purchase Links

Amazon: https://pictbooks.tours/9mTcPYeg

Goodreads: https://pictbooks.tours/LPTBlXux

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KINGSUMO GIVEAWAY

https://www.promoamp.com/c/sins-of-the-father-james-letoile