Today I am very excited to be posting on the Harlequin February 2020 Series Blog Tour. My Feature Post and Book Review is for Debra Webb’s new Intrigue – WITNESS PROTECTION WIDOW.
Below you will find a short author Q&A, a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book and an about the author blurb. Enjoy!
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Debra Webb Author Q&A
1. Did you always want to write for Harlequin?
A: From the moment I read my first Harlequin Intrigue novel, I knew I wanted to write them!
2. Share your favorite memory of reading a Harlequin romance
A: I write romantic suspense so sometimes something light is a great way to relax. My fav memory is of laughing out loud while reading a Stephanie Bond Harlequin romance!
3. What is a recent book you have read that you would recommend?
A: In The Dark by Loreth Anne White
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Book Description
Can the witness protection program keep her identity secret?
After Allison James finally escapes her marriage to a monster, she becomes the star witness in the case against her deceased husband’s powerful crime family.
Now it’s up to US Marshal Jaxson Stevens, Ali’s ex-boyfriend, to keep the WITSEC widow safe. But as the danger escalates and sparks fly, will Jax be able to help Ali escape her ruthless in-laws.
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
WITNESS PROTECTION WIDOW (Winchester, Tennessee Book #5) by Debra Webb is the February 2020 Harlequin Intrigue romantic suspense second chance romance and since it is written by Debra Webb, I knew I would be getting a great story even in this shorter format. I was NOT disappointed. Though this book is part of the Winchester, Tennessee series, it can easily be read as a standalone.
Allison James Armone has been trapped for several years in
an abusive marriage to the son of the head of the Armone crime family. She has
been planning and waiting for her chance to escape. At the weekly meeting between
father and son, Allison witnesses the father shoot the son and kill him.
She makes her escape and becomes the star witness in the
case against her father-in-law. When the US Marshall guarding Allison (aka
Alice Stewart) is involved in an accident, he calls on one of his best friends
in the Marshalls to fill in. It is only a few days until the trial and Ali’s
life is at stake.
US Marshall Jaxon Stevens cannot believe his assignment is
his young foolish mistake in love. Can Jaxon convince Ali he wants and deserves
a second chance even as he works to keep her alive to testify?
Ali is a great heroine. After everything she has been
through, she refuses to back down and wants to testify no matter the danger to
herself. She made a mistake that cost her, but she has come out on the other
side and is strong and determined. I also liked that her main concern is for
Jaxon’s safety and not her own. Jaxon is a strong alpha protective hero, but he
also must come around to understand how Ali got caught up in her marriage and
to understand his own feelings about wanting her back even though he left her
before for his career. There are a lot of emotions and misunderstandings to get
through in this book even as physical danger is just around the corner. My only
concern is Ms. Webb never revealed who changed their travel plans and set them on
the run from the bad guys. Other than that, this is a fast-paced story that
intertwines the suspense and the romance perfectly.
I love sitting down with a Harlequin Intrigue and an author
I enjoy because I know I can be entertained with a romantic suspense that
engrosses me in the story and is a quicker read than a full-sized novel. I
recommend this second chance romantic suspense.
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Excerpt
She shivered. The fire had gone out. She kept on her jacket
while she added logs to the fireplace and kindling to get it started. Within a
couple of minutes, the fire was going. She’d had a fireplace as a kid, so
relearning her way around this one hadn’t been so bad. She went back to the
kitchen and turned on the kettle for tea.
Bob growled low in his throat and stared toward the front door.
She froze. Her phone was in her hip pocket. Her gun was still in
her waistband at the small of her back. This was something else Marshal
Holloway had insisted upon. He’d taught her how to use a handgun. They’d held
many target practices right behind this cabin.
A creak beyond the front door warned that someone was on the
porch. She eased across the room and went to the special peephole that had been
installed. There was one on each side of the cabin, allowing for views all the
way around. A man stood on the porch. He was the typical local cowboy. Jeans
and boots. Hat in his hands. Big truck in the drive. Just like Marshal
Holloway.
But she did not know this man.
“Alice Stewart, if you’re in there, it’s okay for you to open
the door. I’m Sheriff Colt Tanner. Branch sent me.”
Her heart
thudding, she held perfectly still. Branch would never send someone to her without
letting her know first. If for some reason he couldn’t tell her in advance,
they had a protocol for these situations.
She reached back, fingers curled about the butt of her weapon.
Bob moved stealthily toward the door.
“I know you’re concerned about opening the door to a stranger,
but you need to trust me. Branch has been in an accident, and he’s in the
hospital undergoing surgery right now. No matter that his injuries were
serious, he refused to go into surgery until he spoke to me and I assured him I
would look after you, ma’am.”
Worry joined the mixture of fear and dread churning inside her.
She hoped Branch wasn’t hurt too badly. He had a wife and a daughter.
She opened her mouth to ask about his condition, but then she snapped it shut. The man at her door had not said the code word.
***
About the Author
DEBRA WEBB is the award winning, USA Today bestselling author of more than 150 novels, including reader favorites the Faces of Evil, the Colby Agency, and the Shades of Death series. With more than four million books sold in numerous languages and countries, Debra’s love of storytelling goes back to her childhood on a farm in Alabama.
Today is my turn on the Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tour for The Vampire Next Door (The True Story of the Vampire Rapist) 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.
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Book Synopsis:
While he stalked the streets hunting his unsuspecting victims, the residents of a quiet Florida town slept soundly, oblivious to the dark creature in their midst, unaware of the vampire next door.
John Crutchley seemed to be living the American Dream. Good-looking and blessed with a genius level IQ, he had a prestigious, white-collar job at a prominent government defense contractor, where he held top secret security clearance and handled projects for NASA and the Pentagon. To all outward appearances, he was a hard-working, successful family man with a lavish new house, a devoted wife, and a healthy young son.
But he concealed a hidden side of his personality, a dark secret tied to a hunger for blood and the overriding need to kill. As one of the most prolific serial killers in American history, Crutchley committed at least twelve murders, and possibly nearly three dozen. His IQ eclipsed that of Ted Bundy, and his body count may have as well.
Genre: True Crime Published by: RJ Parker Publishing Publication Date: October 11th 2014 Number of Pages: 365 ISBN: 1500909491 (ISBN13: 9781500909499) Purchase Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
The Vampire Next Door: True Story of the Vampire Rapist
and Serial Killer by J.T. Hunter is a true crime story of a serial killer
who was terrifying in his ability to hide his depravity.
John “JB” Crutchley is a good looking man with a genius IQ
and working as an engineer. To his neighbors in Florida, he was a hard-working,
quiet husband, father and neighbor. He was sometimes socially awkward and could
hold a grudge, but these were just looked at as quirks. At one time he even
held a top secret security clearance when he worked on projects for the
Pentagon and NASA.
There was a dark side to JB’s personality that he kept
behind closed doors. He enjoyed bondage, choking and hungered for blood. Women
went missing in areas that JB lived. He was accused of at least twelve murders,
but authorities believe there were many more.
I found this to be a well written true crime novel. Mr.
Hunter writes an account that pulls you right into John Crutchley’s life. His
research flows into a writing style that gives you all the information without
being stark and feeling as though you are just reading an information dump. Mr.
Hunter also does a wonderful job introducing the reader to Crutchley’s victims
and the one woman who got away. At times, this killer reminded me of Ted Bundy
and that made it even more chilling.
This book focuses as much on the victims and law enforcement
officers, as it does the killer and the narrative flows perfectly to tie the
whole story together throughout the book. The ending is not what I was
expecting or hoping for, but this is not fiction and you cannot change the facts.
I highly recommend this true crime book and author. I am
looking forward to checking out more of Mr. Hunter’s work.
***
Book Excerpt
Chapter 2
You were a vampire . . .
Nineteen-year-old Christina Almah was still a virgin, and a bit naïve when it came to matters of sex, but like most teenaged girls on the verge of womanhood, she enjoyed receiving attention from good-looking, romantically inclined men. Yet, even she was surprised when, after a handsome, slightly older man took an interest in her, she found herself traveling all the way across the country to see him again.
Christina first met twenty-two-year-old Carl Von Bane several months earlier while he was visiting a friend near her hometown of Westminster, California. She immediately noticed him when he walked into the Drug Emporium where she had been working for the past year as a clerk, and they had quickly hit it off. His rugged, bad-boy looks and confident disposition combined to render her fully smitten. But the budding romance had barely begun before “Von” returned home to Florida. Their brief time together had passed much too quickly for the love-struck Miss Almah.
Since Von’s departure, they had continued their blossoming relationship by telephone racking up steep long distance bills. All the while, Christina had meticulously saved her meager Drug Emporium pay so that she could afford to purchase a plane ticket to visit him. When Von had called her a few weeks ago, Christina hinted at wanting to see him again by casually mentioning that she had some vacation time that needed to be used. When he suggested that she catch a flight to Florida to visit him, she had immediately agreed. After all, this was not some fly by night infatuation. She thought that she might be in love.
Christina had been counting the days until this trip—a weeklong vacation certain to be a memorable one if for no other reason than the fact that it would be the first time she had ever traveled alone. She booked a direct flight on Eastern Airlines from Los Angeles to Orlando International Airport, and Von had picked her up there nearly a week ago. Since then, she had been staying with Von in his mother’s mobile home at Lot 12 of the Enchanted Lakes Mobile Home Park on Malabar Road, near the eastern edge of the City of Palm Bay in southern Brevard County.
Named for the lush palm trees that lined the bay at the mouth of Turkey Creek, the nearly 100-square-mile Palm Bay had experienced a period of rapid growth in recent years fueled by an influx of retirees, northern transplants, and space industry workers. As part of the “Space Coast,” Palm Bay benefited from its proximity to Cape Canaveral, home to the National Aeronautics and Space Administration’s space shuttle program. To the west of Palm Bay, just past Interstate 95, a vast expanse of swamps and marsh grass stretched beyond the horizon, home to an endless assortment of flora and fauna. Under the blinding gaze of the eternal Florida sun, cold-blooded creatures swam silent and unseen as they had for ages past, ancient predators stalking their unsuspecting prey.
Immediately to the east of Palm Bay sits the Town of Malabar, a small, quiet community only thirteen square miles in size. Its eastern edge meets the Intracoastal Waterway in a subtropical paradise of palm trees, sailboats, and spectacular sunsets. The area’s abundant seafood, perennial sunshine, and constant sea breeze reminded Christina of her favorite parts of California. That familiarity was reassuring. It felt comfortable. She felt safe.
A petite girl standing about five feet, four inches tall and weighing a little less than 110 pounds, Christina was not a beauty queen, but she was not unattractive either. Indeed, her green eyes and brown hair combined in an inviting way that most men found sensual and appealing, and she had enjoyed her fair share of suitors. Although she had shared a few intimate moments with boys in high school, she had never found one with whom she felt comfortable enough to sacrifice her virtue. Still sexually inexperienced, she had the classic Libra traits of compassion, innate gentleness, and a genuine caring for others, traits that were sometimes misconstrued by men. Still, it never dawned on her that Von’s testosterone-driven brain would expect something more than a kiss hello, or that he would interpret her willingness to fly across the country to visit him as a green light for sleeping together. Von had tried to take that next step during her first night in Florida, and when she told him that she was not ready, he had reluctantly played the part of the understanding boyfriend, but he could not wholly hide his irritation and mounting frustration.
Von worked at Gator Chrysler in nearby Melbourne, and he had to leave Christina alone for much of the day. That had been the routine for most of the week, and the excitement of staying with someone in another state had long-since faded away. On this particular morning, she passed some time by listening to a worn down cassette tape of Madonna’s “Like a Virgin” album, popping it into the cherry red Sony Walkman that Von had given her. She played several songs, rewound the tape, and played them again, but after a while she tired of listening to the provocative singer purr about being “touched for the very first time.” She tried watching television after that, but quickly lost interest in the mindless game shows and melodramatic soap operas that dominated the channels. Growing bored, she decided to walk to Melbourne a few miles away to visit several friends that she had met through Von. She would be flying back to California the next morning and wanted to say her good-byes and make the most of her final day of vacation. Wearing blue jeans, sandals, and a black t-shirt with a Harley-Davidson insignia splashed across the front, she left the trailer shorty after 1:00 p.m. It was the twenty-first day of November, 1985.
As she walked out of the entrance of the mobile home park, a light rain began to fall. She could see dark clouds gathering in the distance and a westerly wind promised that they would soon be present. Somewhere beyond the visible horizon, thunder rumbled ominous and angry, its source hidden behind an approaching wall of grey and black clouds.
Christina turned left and started walking faster as the rain increased, heading east on Malabar Road toward U.S. 1 and the Intracoastal. She planned to stop at the Jiffy Mart at the corner of Malabar Road and U.S. 1 to buy a pack of cigarettes before walking north into Melbourne. She had not gone far when a small, light-colored car pulled up beside her.
Behind the wheel of the two-door automobile sat a clean-shaven man wearing a stylish, navy-blue sports coat, a black-and-white striped tie, and a nice pair of dress slacks, not the cheap K-Mart kind, but the higher quality cloth and cut of a more fashionable men’s store. The man looked to be in his late twenties or early thirties. He had loafer style shoes, but he was not wearing them while he drove. Christine thought it slightly odd that the well-dressed man’s bare foot operated the gas and brake pedals, but she gave it no more than a fleeting thought. She had certainly seen much stranger things during her time in Florida. The man’s eyes were concealed behind darkly tinted sunglasses and his face was framed by a mane of medium-length, dirty blonde hair. He had a thin build, and though slightly pale in complexion, his handsome facial features held an undeniable allure. She could not help feeling an attraction to him.
Flashing a broad, inviting smile, he leaned over, rolled down the passenger door window, and greeted her in a friendly, reassuring voice.
“It’s a bit wet today for a walk, isn’t it?” he asked with a wry, disarming smile. “Can I give you a lift?”
Although Christina was initially wary of his invitation, he looked harmless enough and it was the middle of the day in broad daylight in a public place, so she did not wait long before responding.
“Well,” she said, deliberately drawing out her reply as she decided how much to trust the seemingly friendly stranger. “I’m on my way to Melbourne to meet some friends. Are you going anywhere near there?”
“Sure, I have to go that way to get to my office. I just need to stop by my house real quick to pick up a notebook for work, but it’ll only take a minute or two. Go ahead and hop in.”
She hesitated for just a moment, studied her Good Samaritan one last time, and then grabbed the passenger side door handle of the car. As she opened the door, she heard Sting’s new song, “Russians,” playing on the car’s radio.
The country had long since fallen into the depths of the Cold War, and the perpetual threat of nuclear holocaust loomed in the back of most people’s minds like some amorphous boogieman lurking in the shadows. As Christine pulled the door closed, Sting’s voice flowed out of the car’s speakers, echoing what seemed to be the universal mood in America and Western Europe, the growing fear of a nuclear attack by the Russian-controlled Union of Soviet Socialist Republics. The song sought to appeal to the good in what President Reagan dubbed the “Evil Empire,” expressing a desperate hope that the Russian leaders loved their children enough to avoid the horror of a nuclear holocaust.
Suffering from the same state of uneasiness expressed in the song, Christina found herself captivated by the sense of calm that seemed to radiate from the man behind the wheel. They drove for a little while making small talk. While they chatted, she caught a glimpse of the man’s eyes behind his sunglasses. Their azure shade of blue added to the aura of assuredness he projected, and it seemed to Christina that the man’s eyes had the power to peer into her very soul, not in any unsettling way, but in an understanding, comforting manner that disarmed her naturally cautious disposition. He seemed genuinely interested in learning about her, and she was impressed with how articulately he expressed himself. He was charming, witty, and exuded self-confidence, and Christine felt relieved that he seemed to be normal. Some of Von’s friends that she had met were more than a little on the odd side.
After about five minutes, the man turned his car onto a bumpy, dirt road, and then continued on for a few minutes more before exiting onto a gravel driveway obscured by a tall row of hedges. Planted across the inner edge of the yard, the hedges had grown high enough to block a clear view of whatever was behind them. As the car continued down the driveway, a well-kept lawn, dotted sporadically with pine and oak trees, came into view. At the far end of the lawn stood a redbrick, Colonial style house with four white columns framing a large front door painted the same shade of white as the columns. The gravel driveway ended at a double-length carport on the left side of the house. The man pulled into the carport and parked. Two motorcycles stood at the opposite end of the parking area.
“I’ll be right back,” the man told her as he took the key out of the ignition and slipped on his shoes.
He stepped out of the car and walked to the side door of the house, where he paused and glanced back at her.
“Hey, you want to come inside for a drink?”
She smiled politely.
“Oh, no thanks, my friends are expecting me and I don’t want them to worry.”
“Suit yourself,” he said, before unlocking the door and disappearing into the building.
After a few minutes, the man emerged and announced with an embarrassed laugh that the notebook was not in the house after all.
“It must be in the back of the car,” he said, an amused smile spreading across his face as if he had just remembered an irresistibly funny joke.
He walked to the passenger side of the car and opened the door, flashing her the same smug alligator smile. He crawled into the back seat and began looking around, grinning all the while.
Suddenly, the back of Christina’s seat shot forward, slamming her violently against the dashboard. Stunned by the force of the impact and shocked by the unexpected attack, she was barely able to register the sound of something rustling behind her.
Then something brushed against her forehead. Before she could react, her neck jerked back painfully, and she began to choke. Frantically, she reached for her purse, attempting to grab something – anything – to try to defend herself. Her fingers brushed against the top of a can of OFF insect repellant. Desperate, she thought that if she could spray her attacker in his eyes, she might be able to blind him long enough to get away.
But as her fingers closed around the spray can, the man’s voice, angry and powerful, startled her into submission.
Stop it or I’ll kill you!”
As her initial impulse of self-defense gave way to a paralyzing feeling of despair, her hand retreated out of her purse and her arm fell numbly to her side.
Then the rope tightened and everything went black.
***
Author Bio:
J.T. Hunter is an attorney with over fourteen years of experience practicing law, including criminal law and appeals. He has significant training in criminal investigation techniques. He is also a college professor in Florida where his teaching interests focus on the intersection of criminal psychology, law and literature.
I am back again with another post for the Winter 2020 Mystery/Thriller Blog Tour for Harlequin Trade Publishing. I am excited to share my Feature Post and Book Review for The Third To Die (Mobile Response Team Book #1) by Allison Brennan.
Below you will find an author Q&A, an excerpt, my book review, a book summary, a blurb about the author and her social media links. This is a great start to a new series and I cannot wait for the next. Enjoy!
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Author Q&A
Q: Tell us a little about your new release, The Third to Die. What character in the book really spoke to you?
A: THE THIRD TO DIE is the first book in a new series, which is always exciting. I think what I like the most about THE THIRD TO DIE — and the series concept of a mobile FBI task force tackling complex cases in rural and remote areas — is that I can explore some areas that aren’t often written about. With the vast numbers of crime fiction set in New York City, Los Angeles, and the like, I wanted to do something different. (This isn’t to say other authors haven’t — J.A. Jance has a small-town Arizona series and of course Craig Johnson’s Longmire series in Wyoming are two I enjoy.) I like moving the setting from book to book and keeping the core characters — it’s one reason I had Maxine Revere investigate cold cases in places other than where she lived. Because of the nature of the task force, they will be outsiders wherever they go, and need to learn to work together and trust each other.
In THE THIRD TO DIE, a serial killer hits a small community outside Spokane, Washington. The Triple Killer surfaces on March 3rd to take three victims before he disappears for three years. But this time, the FBI is on the case early, and they have the best chance of finding him. If they don’t, a cop will end up dead. The best thing about this story is being able to create an ensemble cast of characters. I love shows like BONES and SVU where you have a lead character or two, but the writers spend a lot of time developing everyone else, so you feel like you’re part of a team. That’s what I’m trying to create with the MRT series.
Matt Costa heads the group, and what I love most about Matt is his ability to be a leader. He’s a workaholic, but he trusts his team to do their job. He’ll listen to everyone, but when he makes a decision he stands by it. Detective Kara Quinn thinks, “He’s an alpha male trying very hard, and failing, to be a beta.”
Dr. Catherine Jones surprised me. I pictured her (somewhat) as a female version of Will Graham from THE RED DRAGON (the book, not the movies!), torn apart by what she’s seen, but unable to leave the job behind even if it destroys her family. Knowing she’s a secondary character in this book, I was surprised that her few scenes had such an impact.
But it was Detective Kara Quinn who really spoke to me. Kara was never supposed to practically take over the book. When I first conceived of the opening, where Kara finds the body, I thought Kara would simply be a witness and that she might investigate on her own and possible even end up a victim herself. But getting into her head, learning about her childhood, watching how she interacts with Matt as well as his team … she intrigued me so much that I hoped she survived (it was iffy there for awhile!) because I wanted to keep writing about her.
Q: You write about some interesting and complex characters in your books. From Investigative reporter Maxine Revere to the Rogan/Kincaid families. What is your favorite type of character to write about?
A: This is a hard question! I like exploring a wide variety of characters, both heroes and villains. I love complex and conflicted characters, like Detective Kara Quinn, who has many strengths and a few weaknesses. I love writing villains and trying to figure out why they do what they do. To me, every great hero has a fatal flaw and every evil villain has a redeeming quality.
Q: How long did it take you to get your rough draft finished on your latest release?
A: Generally, a rough draft — which is usually pretty clean because I edit as I go — takes me 10-12 weeks to write. Because I wrote THE THIRD TO DIE “on spec” — meaning, it wasn’t contracted by a publisher — I had to write between other projects that had deadlines. I wrote three complete books while also writing this book, so it took me a little over a year to finish the rough draft. But it wasn’t really “rough” — because I had to step away for weeks at a time, in order to get back into the story, I re-read and edited what I’d written, then wrote the next few chapters.
Q: For readers who haven’t tried your books yet, how do you think your editor or loyal readers would describe your books?
A: My editor usually tells me that my characters are compelling and I know how to increase the tension through to the climax. My long-time readers usually tell me that they feel like they know my characters and that they can’t put the book down because they have to find out what happens. Most readers say my books are suspenseful. I also hear that my books are “intricately plotted” which makes me chuckle because I don’t plot.
Q: When writing, how do you keep track of timelines, ideas, inspiration and such? By notes on the computer, a notebook perhaps?
A: I’ve tried every method of note-keeping, but little works for me. When I’m writing, I write notes directly into the manuscript either using the comment function or just typing in the text *** NOTE *** so I can easily search the asterisks. During revisions I have a notepad next to me with the key points my editor commented on, so I can keep those in mind while fixing problem scenes. For ideas I have a computer file called IDEAS (original, I know!) that I add to from time to time, but I rarely have used any of the thoughts I’ve jotted here.
Q: In The Third to Die, were there any characters that started off as supporting characters, but then developed into a more prominent character?
A: Detective Kara Quinn, who ended up being my favorite character once I was done writing, I’d intended to be a supporting character but as I got into her head, I liked her so much I kept wanting to go back to her. She became much more important to the story — and, ultimately, the series. Detective Andy Knolls, who was a strong supporting character throughout, was originally supposed to be a much more minor character — just the local cop my FBI agents could tap into for whatever they needed. But once he walked out of the autopsy because he thought he would puke, I realized he was a terrific character and I wanted to explore the character of a small-town cop facing a violent crime he was ill-prepared for.
Q: The Third to Die is the first in a new series from you, called the Mobile Response Team. What made you decide to branch out into another series set in the world of the FBI?
A: I had this idea more than a decade ago. When I participated in the FBI Citizens Academy in 2008, I learned about the Evidence Response Team and how they work within the FBI — basically, they are agents from different squads in one jurisdiction who come together because they have specialized training in order to process and investigate specific types of crimes. One example locally was the Yosemite murders that terrified northern California in 1999, investigated by the Sacramento FBI with crime scenes investigated by the Sacramento ERT. But ERT agents also have their own cases, they’re only pulled together in extraordinary circumstances. So I mentioned an idea to the public information officer about having an ERT unit that worked around the country (rather than in one limited jurisdiction) and he said he didn’t see how it would practically work. I shelved it, but it nagged at me from time to time. Fast forward ten years and the PIO had since retired. He and I were chatting about another book of mine (I call him regularly for research!) and I talked to him again about my idea, but I had tweaked it. I had the concept of a Mobile Response Team to focus on rural and underserved communities, based on reading about some FBI offices that had huge territories and more limited resources (because of size, location, etc.) He thought about it, and said, yeah, he could buy into it, especially since the FBI is working hard on improving its image. So while it’s not an actual FBI task force, it was plausible. So I ran with it.
I love writing crime thrillers. I’m very comfortable writing in the FBI world, maybe because of all the research I’ve done and maybe because I’m interested in the cases they investigate. Because the MRT team moves around, I can explore a multitude of crimes that interest me. With an ensemble cast of characters, I can focus on different characters in each book, hopefully to make them more real to my readers. Matt and Kara will likely lead each book, but like Catherine was a pivotal character in this book, and Michael Harris will be a pivotal character in the second book, I hope to also go deeper into Ryder, Jim, and the rest of the team.
Q: I really enjoy the complex story lines and cases you have in your Lucy Kincaid and Max Revere Books. How much research goes into your stories and is there a particular ‘right from the news headlines’ that catches your interest for a possible storyline?
A: I love research! I read widely and have more than 50 research books on my shelf — forensics, true crime, military, criminal profiling, psychology, police procedures, and more. I have contacts in many professions who I can ask questions. Before I start writing, I have to make sure the set-up works. After that, I research as I write. I participate in “generic” research whenever I have the opportunity–talking to people in interesting professions or going on “field trips” (such as to the morgue to view an autopsy or a ride along with the sheriff’s department)–just to keep my general knowledge about law enforcement up-to-date.
Because I read widely, and keep up-to-date on crime related news, many ‘right from the headlines’ stories catch my eye, but I rarely write about them. It’s usually a couple stories that I see together that give me an idea. Such as reading about a storm that unearths bones might interest me, but then I’ll read an article about a missing person or a mortgage fraud scheme and twist all the articles into one idea that’s completely different from the original stories. I’ve read a lot about human trafficking, and my second MRT book touches on that based very loosely on an article I read about how coyotes go back and forth across the border and the cost to their victims (financial, emotional, physical) coupled with another article I read about an abandoned camp that may or may not have been used for criminal activity, on top of a conversation I had with my brother-in-law, a wildlife biologist, about birds.
Q: What is the hardest part about writing for you?
A: Procrastinating. I get easily distracted, especially when I’m just starting a book. So I guess that means the beginning is hard, hahaha. Once I am deep into the story — somewhere between 100-150 pages — something clicks and then I can’t write fast enough. In fact, I’ve often said that it takes me twice as long to write the first 100 pages than it does to write the last 300 pages!
Q: What do readers have to look forward to in the future from you?
A: After THE THIRD TO DIE, the next Lucy Kincaid book will be out on March 31, where Maxine Revere gets to join Lucy in San Antonio — but with a twist. In CUT AND RUN, Lucy is investigating the cold case and Max is investigating the recent murder. I’m almost done writing the Lucy book that follows — COLD AS ICE (10.27.20) as well as finishing the revisions of the second MRT book (currently untitled) coming out in the spring of 2021. I also have an idea for a trilogy about a female private investigator that I’m super excited about, and I’ll be starting the first draft of the third MRT book this spring. Oh — and there will be two Lucy Kincaid novellas coming this summer!
***
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
Wednesday, March 3
Liberty Lake, Washington
12:09 a.m.
Warm blood covered him.
His arms, up to his elbows, were slick with it. His clothing splattered with it. The knife—the blade that had taken his retribution—hung in his gloved hand by his side.
It was good. Very good.
He was almost done.
The killer stared at the blackness in front of him, his mind as silent and dark as the night. The water lapped gently at the banks of the lake. A faint swish swish swish as it rolled up and back, up and back, in the lightest of breezes.
He breathed in cold air; he exhaled steam.
Calm. Focused.
As the sounds and chill penetrated his subconscious, he moved into action. Staying here with the body would be foolish, even in the middle of the night.
He placed the knife carefully on a waist-high boulder, then removed his clothes. Jacket. Sweater. Undershirt. He stuffed them into a plastic bag. Took off his shoes. Socks. Pants. Boxers. Added them to the bag. He stood naked except for his gloves.
He tied the top of the plastic, then picked up the knife again and stabbed the bag multiple times. With strength that belied his lean frame, he threw the knife into the water. He couldn’t see where it fell; he barely heard the plunk.
Then he placed the bag in the lake and pushed it under, holding it beneath the surface to let the frigid water seep in. When the bag was saturated, he pulled it out and spun himself around as if he were throwing a shot put. He let go and the bag flew, hitting the water with a loud splash.
Even if the police found it—which he doubted they would— the water would destroy any evidence. He’d bought the clothes and shoes, even his underwear, at a discount store in another city, at another time. He’d never worn them before tonight.
Though he didn’t want DNA evidence in the system, it didn’t scare him if the police found something. He didn’t have a record. He’d killed before, many times, and not one person had spoken to him. He was smart—smarter than the cops, and certainly smarter than the victims he’d carefully selected.
Still, he must be cautious. Meticulous. Being smart meant that he couldn’t assume anything. What did his old man use to say?
Assume makes an ass out of you and me…
The killer scowled. He wasn’t doing any of this for his old man, though his father would get the retribution he deserved. He was doing this for himself. His own retribution. He was this close to finishing the elaborate plan he’d conceived years ago.
He could scarcely wait until six days from now, March 9, when his revenge would be complete.
He was saving the guiltiest of them for last.
Still, he hoped his old man would be pleased. Hadn’t he done what his father was too weak to do? Righted the many wrongs that had been done to them. How many times had the old man said these people should suffer? How many times had his father told him these people were fools?
Still, he hoped his old man would be pleased. Hadn’t he done what his father was too weak to do? Righted the many wrongs that had been done to them. How many times had the old man said these people should suffer? How many times had his father told him these people were fools?
Yet his father just let it happen and did nothing about it! Nothing! Because he was weak. He was weak and pathetic and cruel.
Breathe. Focus. All in good time.
All in good time.
The killer took another, smaller plastic bag from his backpack. He removed his wet gloves, put them inside, added a good-sized rock, tied the bag, then threw it into the lake.
Still naked, he shivered in the cold, still air. He wasn’t done.
Do it quick.
He walked into the lake, the water colder than ice. Still, he took several steps forward, his feet sinking into the rough muck at the bottom. When his knees were submersed, he did a shallow dive. His chest scraped a rock, but he was too numb to feel pain. He broke through the surface with a loud scream. He couldn’t breathe; he couldn’t think. His heart pounded in his chest, aching from the icy water.
But he was alive. He was fucking alive!
He went under once more, rubbed his hands briskly over his arms and face in case any blood remained. He would take a hot shower when he returned home, use soap and a towel to remove anything the lake left behind. But for now, this would do.
Twenty seconds in the water was almost too long. He bolted out, coughed, his body shaking so hard he could scarcely think. But he had planned everything well and operated on autopilot.
He pulled a towel from his backpack and dried off as best he could. Stepped into new sweatpants, sweatshirt, and shoes. Pulled on a new pair of gloves. There might be blood on the ATV, but it wasn’t his blood, so he wasn’t concerned.
He took a moment to stare back at the dark, still lake. Then he took one final look at the body splayed faceup. He felt nothing, because she was nothing. Unimportant. Simply a small pawn in a much bigger game. A pawn easily sacrificed.
He hoped his old man would be proud of his work, but he would probably just criticize his son’s process. He’d complain about how he did the job, then open another bottle of booze.
The Third to Die (Mobile Response Team Book #1) by
Allison Brennan is the action packed first book of a new FBI thriller/romantic
suspense series. This book grabs you from page one and does not let up.
LAPD Detective Kara Quinn is exceptional undercover, but
there were some problems with her last case. She is put on leave for two weeks
and returns to her hometown of Liberty Lake to spend time with her grandmother.
While jogging, she discovers a murdered young nurse.
FBI Special Agent in Charge Mathias “Matt” Costa is working
on setting up his new Mobile Response Team. They will travel the country to
help jurisdictions with their special skills. Matt is notified that the murder
in Liberty Lake fits an alert that is set for the Triple Killer. Even though his
team is incomplete, he sets out to work the case.
The Triple Killer is meticulous. He returns every three
years on March third to kill three times. This time, Matt and his team are out
to stop him before he can kill again. Kara cannot stand being off work, so when
she realizes Matt has limited manpower, she volunteers to help. Matt accepts
and the two work against the clock to discover who the Triple Killer is and
stop him before he disappears again.
This book has everything I look for in this genre! An edgy,
individualistic and strong female lead with a hard-outer emotional shell, an
alpha male FBI agent male lead and a group of secondary characters that play an
important part in the plot and will be further fleshed and integrated in future
stories. Ms. Brennan also always gives me an antagonist killer that is smart,
intelligent and scary in their psychopathy.
I love these types of books and this is a definite winner.
Ms. Brennan never disappoints me and I cannot wait for more Mobile Response
Team books!
***
The Third to Die : A Novel
Allison Brennan
On Sale Date: February 4, 2020
9780778309444, 0778309444
Hardcover
$26.99 USD, $33.50 CAD
Fiction / Thrillers / Suspense
464 pages
About the Book
New York Times bestselling author and gifted storyteller Allison Brennan’s new standalone thriller features a troubled female police detective and an ambitious FBI special agent who wind up at the center of a ticking-clock investigation into a diabolical serial killer.
Brennan’s novel will launch a book-a-year series featuring a fabulous cast of recurring characters. It’s the story of a troubled female police detective and an ambitious FBI special agent who wind up at the center of a ticking-clock investigation into a diabolical serial killer; and the bond they forge in this crucible sets the stage for the future books in the series.
Book Summary
Detective Kara Quinn is visiting her hometown of Liberty Lake, Washington, after being placed on administrative leave by the LAPD, when she comes upon the mutilated body of a young nurse during an early morning jog. The manner of death is clearly ritualistic; she calls it in.
Meanwhile back in DC, special agent in charge Mattias Costa is meticulously staffing his newly-minted Mobile Response Team. One of his first recruits is the brilliant FBI forensic psychologist Catherine Jones. When word reaches Matt that the Washington state murder appears to be the work of the Triple Killer–it will be the first case for the MRT. Jones has done the only profile on this serial killer, but she is reluctant to join the unit, still shaken by the death of her sister a year ago under circumstances for which she holds herself responsible. But only she holds the key to understanding the killer’s obsessive pattern–three murder victims, three deep slashes a piece, each three days apart, each series beginning on a March 3rd–3/3, then a three-year hiatus before he strikes again.
This time they have a chance to stop him before he claims another victim strikes, but only if they can figure out who he is and where is is hiding.
***
About the Author
Allison Brennan is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling and award-winning author of three dozen thrillers and numerous short stories. She was nominated for Best Paperback Original Thriller by International Thriller Writers, has had multiple nominations and two Daphne du Maurier Awards, and is a five-time RITA finalist for Best Romantic Suspense. Allison believes life is too short to be bored, so she had five kids. Allison and her family live in Arizona. Visit her at allisonbrennan.com
I am very excited to be once again be posting for the Harlequin Romance & Women’s Fiction Blog Tour for Winter 2020.
This Feature Post and Book Review is for Rebecca Raisin’s new book THE LITTLE BOOKSHOP ON THE SEINE. It is book 2 of her “The Bookshop” series, but can easily be read as a standalone.
Below you will find an author Q&A, and excerpt from the book, my book review, a book summary and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
***
Author Q&A
Q: Have you ever been to Paris? If so, what are some of your favorite Parisian things?
A: I’ve been lucky enough to go Paris four times and do a bit of exploring for the books. It’s my favourite city in the world and if I could up and move I’d do it! I love the bookshops of Paris, particularly the secondhand shops that are dusty and musty and disorderly. You never know what you’ll find and that makes it magical. If you’re in Paris find the Abbey Bookshop, it’s full to bursting with English books and it’s a treasure trove if you have time to hunt! I also love French food – who doesn’t?! My favourite place to eat is the Christian Constant bistros. He has one for every budget and they’re all glorious. If you splurge once, I highly recommend it’s there.
The Ritz is also a must-see, from Bar Hemingway to Salon Proust, it’s an experience like no other walking in the footsteps of those literary greats. Buly 1803 is the most beautiful perfume shop in all the world, it’s like stepping back in time. My favourite is the rose oil… ooh la la. And holding a special place in my heart is Point Zero Paris, the exact centre of the city and a place where magic happens – you’ll have to read the book to find out more…
Q: What authors were/are a huge influence on you as you began writing? Or Now?
A: I have always loved Maeve Binchy and Joanne Harris and the style in which they write. I love Maeve’s ability to write everyday relatable characters, and I love Joanne’s sense of whimsy. I love writing foodie books set in exotic locations and I think I probably fell in love with France through Joanne’s books, they managed to transport me fully and I must’ve reread them a hundred times by now.
Q: What’s some of your favorite novels? What are you currently reading and what’s on your TBR (to be read) list?
A: I loved Me Before You. I cried ugly, ugly tears at that. I must be a sucker for punishment because my all time favourite is The Fault in Our Stars. And also Rohinton Mistry’s A Fine Balance. Three books that you need to read in the privacy of your own home with some cucumber slices to apply after for puffy eyes! I’m currently reading the Seven Sisters series by Lucinda Riley, so a nice change of pace from sobbing my heart out. I love how different each sister is and how you still find common ground with them.
Q: What inspired you to write your The Little Bookshop on the Siene?
A: My love of Paris and its bookshops! And truthfully, I wangled the family there so I could do some ‘research’ which included eating my body weight in macarons and walking until I couldn’t feel my feet anymore and feeling that I was a little bit French on the inside if only the locals could see that!
Q: What theme or message do you hope readers will take away from your book?
A: I hope you do something reckless, something that scares you, jump out of that comfort zone and do that thing you’ve always dreamed of! What’s stopping you – fear, money, work, life? You can make it happen if only you take the plunge! Open yourself to new experiences and people and don’t take the taxi, walk until your feet are numb and find those lost laneways and hidden alleys and see what you find!
Q: What drew you into this particular genre?
A: I love love, but Little Bookshop is also about another kind of love, the love of a place, or a feeling…writing this genre leaves it open to interpretation and anything goes as long you tie it all up at the end in a satisfying way!
Q: If you could sit down with any character in your book, what would you ask them and why?
A: I’d sit down with bookworm Sarah and ask her what she really thought of Luiz… I am still conflicted about that thread and what I could have done but didn’t!
Q: What social media site has been the most helpful in developing your readership?
A: They’ve all been good in different ways but I’d say Facebook is my favourite. I have a great group of people who follow me there and really interact. It’s a nice place to stop and chat and they’re all really lovely. Instagram is good too. I love how creative book bloggers are with their photos, they’re very inspiring to me.
Q: What advice would you give to aspiring or just starting authors out there?
A: I’ve said this before and it’s really this simple. Write every day. I think it was Stephen King who said writing is like a muscle, the more you use it, the stronger it gets and it’s true! Carve out a time and stick to it.
Q: What does the future hold in store for you? Any new books/projects on the horizon?A: I’m currently editing Aria’s Travelling Bookshop, which is about a Van Lifer who sells her wares as she explores France! (Are you detecting a pattern here!?) It’s the follow up to Rosie’s Travelling Tea Shop, which was released last March. Both books are about a different way of living, about having less but gaining more as you go. I’ve loved writing Rosie and Aria!
***
Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
October
With a heavy heart I placed the sign in the display window.
All books 50% off.
If things didn’t pick up soon, it would read Closing down sale. The thought alone was enough to make me shiver. The autumnal sky was awash with purples and smudges of orange, as I stepped outside to survey the display window from the sidewalk.
Star-shaped leaves crunched underfoot. I forced a smile. A sale wouldn’t hurt, and maybe it’d take the bookshop figures from the red into the black—which I so desperately needed. My rent had been hiked up. The owner of the building, a sharp-featured, silver-tongued, forty-something man, had put the pressure on me lately—to pay more, to declutter the shop, claiming the haphazard stacks of books were a fire risk. The additional rent stretched the budget to breaking level. Something had to change.
The phone shrilled, and a grin split my face. It could only be Ridge at this time of the morning. Even after being together almost a year his name still provoked a giggle. It suited him though, the veritable man mountain he was. I’d since met his mom, a sweet, well-spoken lady, who claimed in dulcet tones, that she chose his name well before his famous namesake in The Bold and the Beautiful. In fact, she was adamant about it, and said the TV character Ridge was no match for her son. I had to agree. Sure, they both had chiseled movie star cheekbones, and an intense gaze that made many a woman swoon, but my guy was more than just the sum of his parts—I loved him for his mind, as much as his clichéd six-pack, and broody hotness. And even better, he loved me for me.
He was the hero in my own real-life love story, and due back from Canada the next day. It’d been weeks since I’d seen him, and I ached for him in a way that made me blush.
I dashed inside, and answered the phone, breathlessly. “The Bookshop on the Corner.”
“That’s the voice I know and love,” he said in his rich, husky tone. My heart fluttered, picturing him at the end of the line, his jet-black hair and flirty blue eyes. He simply had to flick me a look loaded with suggestion, and I’d be jelly-legged and lovestruck.
“What are you wearing?” he said.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” I held back a laugh, eager to drag it out. So far our relationship had been more long-distance than anticipated, as he flew around the world reporting on location. The stints apart left an ache in my heart, a numbness to my days. Luckily I had my books, and a sweeping romance or two helped keep the loneliness at bay.
“Tell me or I’ll be forced to Skype you and see for myself.”
Glancing down at my outfit, I grimaced: black tights, a black pencil skirt, and a pilled blue knit sweater, all as old as the hills of Ashford. Not exactly the type of answer Ridge was waiting for, or the way I wanted him to picture me, after so many weeks apart. “Those stockings you like, and…”
His voice returned with a growl. “Those stockings? With the little suspenders?”
I sat back into the chair behind the counter, fussing with my bangs. “The very same.”
He groaned. “You’re killing me. Take a photo…”
“There’s no need. If you’re good, I’ll wear the red ones tomorrow night.” I grinned wickedly. Our reunions were always passionate affairs; he was a hands-on type of guy. Lucky for him, because it took a certain type of man to drag me from the pages of my books. When he was home we didn’t surface until one of us had to go to work. Loving Ridge had been a revelation, especially in the bedroom, where he took things achingly slow, drawing out every second. I flushed with desire for him.
There was a muffled voice and the low buzz of phones ringing. Ridge mumbled to someone before saying, “About tomorrow…” He petered out, regret in each syllable.
I closed my eyes. “You’re not coming, are you?” I tried not to sigh, but it spilled out regardless. The lure of a bigger, better story was too much for him to resist, and lately the gaps between our visits grew wider. I understood his work was important, but I wanted him all to myself. A permanent fixture in the small town I lived in.
He tutted. “I’m sorry, baby. There’s a story breaking in
Indonesia, and I have to go. It’ll only be for a week or two, and then I’ll take some time off.”
Outside, leaves fluttered slowly from the oak tree, swaying softly, until they fell to the ground. I wasn’t the nagging girlfriend sort—times like this though, I was tempted to be. Ridge had said the very same thing the last three times he’d canceled a visit. But invariably someone would call and ask Ridge to head to the next location; any time off would be cut short.
“I understand,” I said, trying to keep my voice bright. Sometimes I felt like I played a never-ending waiting game. Would it always be like this? “Just so you know, I have a very hot date this afternoon.”
He gasped. “You better be talking about a fictional date.” His tone was playful, but underneath there was a touch of jealousy to it. Maybe it was just as hard on him, being apart.
“One very hot book boyfriend…though not as delectable as my real boyfriend—but a stand-in, until he returns.”
“Well, he better not keep you up half the night, or he’ll have me to answer to,” he faux threatened, and then said more seriously, “Things will slow down, Sarah. I want to be with you so much my soul hurts. But right now, while I’m freelance, I have to take whatever comes my way.”
“I know. I just feel a bit lost sometimes. Like someone’s hit pause, and I’m frozen on the spot.” I bit my lip, trying to work out how to explain it. “It’s not just missing you—I do understand about your job—it’s…everything. The bookshop sales dwindling, the rent jacked up, everyone going on about their business, while I’m still the same old Sarah.”
I’d been at this very crossroad when I’d met Ridge, and he’d swept me off my feet, like the ultimate romance hero. For a while that had been enough. After all, wasn’t love always the answer? Romance aside, life was a little stagnant, and I knew it was because of my fear of change. It wasn’t so
much that I had to step from behind the covers of my books, rather plunge, perhaps. Take life by the scruff of the neck and shake it. But how?
“You’ve had a rough few weeks. That’s all. I’ll be back soon, and I’m sure there’s something I can do to make you forget everything…”
My belly flip-flopped at the thought. He would make me forget everything that was outside that bedroom door, but then he’d leave and it would all tumble back.
What exactly was I searching for? My friends were getting married and having babies. Buying houses and redecorating. Starting businesses. My life had stalled. I was an introvert, happiest hiding in the shadows of my shop, reading romances to laze the day away, between serving the odd customer or two—yet, it wasn’t enough. In small-town Connecticut, there wasn’t a lot to do. And life here—calm, peaceful—was fine, but that’s just it, fine wasn’t enough anymore. I had this fear that life was passing me by because I was too timid to take the reins.
It was too hazy a notion of what I was trying to say, even to me. Instead of lumping Ridge with it, I changed tack. “I hope you know, you’re not leaving the house when you get home. Phones will be switched to silent, computers forgotten, and the only time we’re leaving the comfort of bed is when I need sustenance.” A good romp around the bedroom would suffice until I could pinpoint what it was that I wanted.
“How about I sort out the sustenance?” he said, his voice heavy with desire. “And then we’ll never have to leave.”
“Promises, promises,” I said, my breath hitching. I hoped this flash of longing would never wane, the sweet torture of anticipation.
“I have to go, baby. I’ll call you tonight if it’s not too late once I’m in.”
“Definitely call tonight! Otherwise, I can’t guarantee the book boyfriend won’t steal your girlfriend. He’s pretty hot, I’ll have you know.”
“Why am I jealous of a fictional character?” He laughed, a low, sexy sound. “OK, tonight. Love you.”
“Love you too.”
He hung up, leaving me dazed, and a touch lonely knowing that I wouldn’t see him the next day as planned.
I tried to shake the image of Ridge from my mind. If anyone walked in, they’d see the warm blush of my cheeks, and know exactly what I was thinking. Damn the man for being so attractive, and so effortlessly sexy.
Shortly, the sleepy town of Ashford would wake under the gauzy light of October skies. Signs would be flipped to open, stoops swept, locals would amble down the road. Some would step into the bookshop and out of the cold, and spend their morning with hands wrapped around a mug of steaming hot tea, and reading in any one of the cozy nooks around the labyrinth-like shop.
I loved having a place for customers to languish. Comfort was key, and if you had a good book and a hot drink, what else could you possibly need to make your day any brighter? Throw rugs and cushions were littered around seating areas. Coats would be swiftly hung on hooks, a chair found, knitted blankets pulled across knees, and their next hour or two spent, in the most relaxing of ways.
I wandered around the shop, feather duster in hand, tickling the covers, waking them from slumber. I’m sure as soon as my back was turned, the books wiggled and winked at one another, as if they were eager for the day to begin, for fingers of hazy sunlight to filter through and land on them like spotlights, as if saying, here’s the book for you.
Imagine if I had to close up for good, like so many other shops had in recent times? It pained me to think people were missing out on the real-life bookshop experience. Wasn’t it much better when you could step into a dimly lit space, and eke your way around searching for the right novel? You could run a fingertip along the spines, smell that glorious old book scent, flick them open, and unbend a dog-eared page. Read someone else’s notes in the margin, or a highlighted passage, and see why that sentence or metaphor had dazzled the previous owner.
Secondhand books had so much life in them. They’d lived, sometimes in many homes, or maybe just one. They’d been on airplanes, traveled to sunny beaches, or crowded into a backpack and taken high up a mountain where the air thinned.
Some had been held aloft tepid rose-scented baths, and thickened and warped with moisture. Others had childlike scrawls on the acknowledgment page, little fingers looking for a blank space to leave their mark. Then there were the pristine novels, ones that had been read carefully, bookmarks used, almost like their owner barely pried the pages open so loath were they to damage their treasure.
THE LITTLE BOOKSHOP ON THE SEINE by Rebecca Raisin is a new women’s
fiction novel that is the first book in the author’s “The Little Paris Collection”
and the second in “The Bookshop” series. This book is set in Paris during the
holiday season, but it can be enjoyed any time of the year and it can be read
as a standalone.
Small town bookshop owner Sarah Smith is feeling something
is missing from her life. She has all her books that she loves, wonderful
friends and a gorgeous, adventurous, reporter boyfriend, but she feels stagnant.
When her friend and fellow bookstore owner, Sophie offers Sarah the chance to swap
running of each other’s stores for the holidays, she jumps at the chance to be
in Paris for the holidays.
Once Upon a Time has been located on the Seine for
generations and Sophie is enchanted as well as overcome in the city of love. This
small-town American is challenged by the craziness of this new store, the
attitudes of the staff and the separation from her friends and boyfriend.
Will Sarah find the Paris she has dreamed about, or will the
reality destroy her dream?
This is a sweet story of a woman finding her strength within
to grow and blossom in new and challenging surroundings. I love Sarah and her
love of books. Sarah and Ridge’s romance is a subplot that twines in and out of
Sarah’s personal growth. The author takes her through her transition slowly,
but at a believable pace. All the secondary characters play an important role
in Sarah’s adventure and are fully fleshed characters. Paris is beautifully
described and not just the tourist attractions, but the real day-to-day jewels
to be found by those who live there and adventure off the beaten path.
This is an enjoyable read with charming characters, a love
of books and romance and the beautiful setting of Paris.
***
THE LITTLE BOOKSHOP ON THE SEINE
Author: Rebecca Raisin
ISBN: 9781335012500
Publication Date: 1/7/2020
Publisher: HQN Books
Book Summary
It’s The Holiday on the Champs-Élysées in a great big love letter to Paris, charming old bookstores and happily-ever-afters!
When bookshop owner Sarah Smith is offered the opportunity for a job exchange with her Parisian friend Sophie, saying yes is a no-brainer—after all, what kind of romantic would turn down six months in Paris? Sarah is sure she’s in for the experience of a lifetime—days spent surrounded by literature in a gorgeous bookshop, and the chance to watch the snow fall on the Eiffel Tower. Plus, now she can meet up with her journalist boyfriend, Ridge, when his job takes him around the globe.
But her expectations cool faster than her café au lait soon after she lands in the City of Light—she’s a fish out of water in Paris. The customers are rude, her new coworkers suspicious and her relationship with Ridge has been reduced to a long-distance game of phone tag, leaving Sarah to wonder if he’ll ever put her first over his busy career. As Christmas approaches, Sarah is determined to get the shop—and her life—back in order…and make her dreams of a Parisian happily-ever-after come true.
***
Author Bio
Rebecca Raisin is the author of several novels, including the beloved Little Paris series and the Gingerbread Café trilogy, and her short stories have been published in various anthologies and fiction magazines. You can follow Rebecca on Facebook, and at www.rebeccaraisin.com.
Today I am very excited to be included once again on the Harlequin Mystery/Thriller Blog Tour for Winter 2020! This Feature Post and Book Review is for FIRST CUT by Judy Melinek & T.J. Mitchell.
Below you will find an author Q&A with Judy Melinek & T.J. Mitchell, an excerpt from the book, my book review, a book summary and the authors’ biographies and social media links.
I love all of the behind the scenes gritty medical examiner info and tech mixed with the mystery that took several unexpected twists. You are going to want to start this series now on book 1. I am anxiously waiting for the next book in this new series!
***
Author Q&A with Judy Melinek & T.J. Mitchell
Q: Do you plan your books in advance or let them develop as you write?
A:The idea for First Cut was prompted by some of Judy’s actual cases when she worked as a San Francisco medical examiner. She has real experience performing autopsy death investigation, and she also has the imagination to apply that experience to a fictional framework for our forensic detective, Dr. Jessie Teska. Judy invented the story, and together we worked it up as an outline. Then T.J. sat in a room wrestling with words all day—which he loves to do—to produce the first complete manuscript. That’s our inspiration plus perspiration dynamic as co-authors.
Q: What does the act of writing mean to you?
A: It is, and has always been, something we can do together, an important part of our marriage. We’ve collaborated as a creative team since we were in college together many years ago, producing and directing student theater. We’ve also spent twenty years raising our four children, and have always approached parenting as a partnership. We find it easy to work together because we write like we parent: relying on one another, each of us playing to our strengths. It helps that, in our writing process, we have no overlapping skill set!
Q: Have you ever had a character take over a story, and if so, who was it and why?
A: Oh, yes! That’s our heroine, Dr. Jessie Teska. She has elements of Judy in her, and elements of T.J., but Jessie is a distinct individual and a strong-willed one. We’re often surprised and even shocked by the ways she reacts to the situations we put her in. There are times we’ll be writing what we thought was a carefully laid-out scene, and Jessie will take us sideways. She’s coming off T.J.’s fingertips on the the keyboard, both of us watching with mouths agape, saying, “What the hell is she up to?”
Q: Which one of First Cut’s characters was the hardest to write and why?
A: Tommy Teska, Jessie’s brother. He’s a minor character to the book’s plot, but the most important person in Jessie’s life, and he’s a reticent man, downright miserly with his dialogue. Tommy carries such great emotional weight, but it was hard to draw it out of him, especially because so much of his bond to our heroine is in the backstory of First Cut, not in the immediate narrative that lands on the page. We’re now working on the sequel, Cross Cut, and finding that Tommy has more occasion to open up in that story.
Q: Which character in any of your books (First Cut or otherwise) is dearest to you and why?
A: The late Dr. Charles Sidney Hirsch, from our first book, the memoir Working Stiff: Two Years, 262 Bodies, and the Making of a Medical Examiner. Dr. Hirsch is not just a character: He was a real person, Judy’s mentor and a towering figure in the world of forensic pathology. Dr. Hirsch trained Dr. Melinek in her specific field of medicine and imbued in her his passion for it. He was a remarkable man, a great teacher and physician and public servant—a person of uncompromising integrity coupled with great emotional intelligence.
Q: What did you want to be as a child? Was it an author?
A: Judy’s father was a physician, and though she never wanted to follow in his immediate footsteps—he was a psychiatrist—she has always wanted to be another Dr. Melinek. T.J. has always been a writer, but also has theater training and worked in the film industry. As much as we enjoyed authoring the memoir Working Stiff, and as happy as we have been with its success, we are even more thrilled to be detective novelists.
Q: What does a day in the life of Judy Melinek and T.J. Mitchell look like?
A: Judy is a morning person and T.J.’s a night owl, so we split parenting responsibilities. Judy gets the kids off to school and then heads to the morgue, where she performs autopsies in the morning and works with police, district attorneys, and defense lawyers in the afternoon. T.J. takes care of the household and after-school duties. If we work together during the day, it’s usually by email in the late afternoon. T.J. cooks dinner, Judy goes to bed early, and he’s up late—at his most productive writing from nine to midnight or later.
Q: What do you use to inspire you when you get Writer’s Block?
A: We go for a long walk together. Our far corner of San Francisco overlooks the Pacific Ocean, bracketed by cypress trees and blown over with fog, and serves as an inspiring landscape. We explore the edge of the continent and talk out where our characters have been and where they need to get, tossing ideas back and forth until a solution, what to do next on the page, emerges. Getting away for a stroll with our imaginary friends is always a fruitful exercise!
Q: What book would you take with you to a desert island?
A: T.J. would take the Riverside Shakespeare, and Judy would take Poisonous Plants: A Handbook for Doctors, Pharmacists, Toxicologists, Biologists and Veterinarians, Illustrated.
Q: Do you have stories on the back burner that are just waiting to be written?
A: Always! We are inspired by Dr. Melinek’s real-life work, both in the morgue and at crime scenes, in police interrogation rooms, and in courtrooms. Our stories are fiction—genre fiction structured in the noir-detective tradition—but the forensic methods our detective employs and the scientific findings she comes to are drawn from real death investigations.
Q: What has been the hardest thing about publishing? What has been the most fun?
A: The hardest thing is juggling our work schedules to find uninterrupted time together to write. The most fun is meeting and talking to our readers at book events, especially those who have been inspired to go into the field of forensic pathology after reading our work.
Q: What advice would you give budding authors about publishing?
A: It’s all about connectivity. Linking up with other writers, readers, editors, and research experts is a crucial way to get your work accomplished, and to get it out to your audience. Yes, ultimately it’s just you and the keyboard, but in the course of writing your story, you can and should tap into the hive mind, online and in person, for inspiration and help.
Q: What was the last thing you read?
A: Judy last read The Cadaver King and the Country Dentist by Radley Balko and Tucker Carrington, and T.J. last read The Witch Elm by Tana French.
Q: Your top five authors?
A: Judy’s are Atul Gawande, Henry James, Kathy Reichs, Mary Roach, and Oliver Sacks. T.J.’s are Margaret Atwood, Joseph Heller, Ed McBain, Ross Macdonald, and Kurt Vonnegut.
Q: Tell us about what you’re working on now.
A: First Cut is the debut novel in a detective series, and we’ve recently finished the rough draft of Cross Cut, its sequel. We are in the revision phase now, killing our darlings and tightening our tale, working to get the further adventures of Dr. Jessie Teska onto bookshelves next year!
***
Excerpt
PROLOGUE
Los Angeles May
The dead woman on my table had pale blue eyes, long lashes, no mascara. She wore a thin rim of black liner on her lower lids but none on the upper. I inserted the twelve gauge needle just far enough that I could see its beveled tip through the pupil, then pulled the syringe plunger to aspirate a sample of vitreous fluid. That was the first intrusion I made on her corpse during Mary Catherine Walsh’s perfectly ordinary autopsy.
The external examination had been unremarkable. The decedent appeared to be in her midthirties, blond hair with dun roots, five foot four, 144 pounds. After checking her over and noting identifying marks (monochromatic professional tattoo of a Celtic knot on lower left flank, appendectomy scar on abdomen, well-healed stellate scar on right knee), I picked up a scalpel and sliced from each shoulder to the breastbone, and then all the way down her belly. I peeled back the layers of skin and fat on her torso—an ordinary amount, maybe a little on the chubby side—and opened the woman’s chest like a book.
I had made similar Y-incisions on 256 other bodies during my ten months as a forensic pathologist at the Los Angeles County Medical Examiner-Coroner’s Office, and this one was easy. No sign of trauma. Normal liver. Healthy lungs. There was nothing wrong with her heart. The only significant finding was the white, granular material of the gastric contents. In her stomach was a mass of semidigested pills.
When I opened her uterus, I found she’d been pregnant. I measured the fetus’s foot length and estimated its age at twelve weeks. The fetus appeared to have been viable. It was too young to determine sex.
I deposited the organs one by one at the end of the stainless-steel table. I had just cut into her scalp to start on the skull when Matt, the forensic investigator who had collected the body the day before, came in.
“Clean scene,” he reported, depositing the paperwork on my station. “Suicide.”
I asked him where he was going for lunch. Yogurt and a damn salad at his desk, he told me: bad cholesterol and a worried wife. I extended my condolences as he headed back out of the autopsy suite.
I scanned through Matt’s handwriting on the intake sheet and learned that the body had been found, stiff and cold, in a locked and secure room at the Los Angeles Omni hotel. The cleaning staff called the police. The ID came from the name on the credit card used to pay for the room, and was confirmed by fingerprint comparison with her driver’s license thumbprint. A handwritten note lay on the bed stand, a pill bottle in the trash. Nothing else. Matt was right: There was no mystery to the way Mary Walsh had died.
I hit the dictaphone’s toe trigger and pointed my mouth toward the microphone dangling over the table. “The body is identified by a Los Angeles County Medical Examiner’s tag attached to the right great toe, inscribed LACD-03226, Walsh, Mary Catherine…”
I broke the seal on the plastic evidence bag and pulled out the pill bottle. It was labeled OxyContin, a powerful painkiller, and it was empty.
“Accompanying the body is a sealed plastic bag with an empty prescription medication bottle. The name on the prescription label…”
I read the name but didn’t speak it. The hair started standing up on my neck. I looked down at my morning’s work—the splayed body, flecked with gore, the dissected womb tossed on a heap of other organs.
That can’t be, I told myself. It can’t.
On the clipboard underneath the case intake sheet I found a piece of hotel stationery sealed in another evidence bag. It was the suicide note, written in blue ink with a steady feminine hand. I skimmed it—then stopped, and went back.
I read it again.
I heard the clipboard land at my feet. I gripped the raised lip of my autopsy table. I held tight while the floor fell away.
***
My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
FIRST CUT by Judy Melinek & T.J. Mitchell is a
medical thriller/mystery that is the start of a new series featuring San
Francisco’s newest medical examiner, Dr. Jessica Teska.
Dr. Jessica Teska is hoping for a new start in San Francisco
after leaving Los Angeles wondering if she would ever work as a medical
examiner again. She is determined to do her best and prove she is worth this
second chance.
When a suspected overdose case of a young woman leaves
Jessie feeling as though there is something more sinister involved than a
simple overdose, she digs deeper. This case leads to questions that tie it to several
other murder cases. Even as more connections and questions arise, Jessie is
surprised by her superiors’ pushback to close the case as an accident.
As more bodies land in the morgue, Jessie begins to see a web
of connections between drug traffickers, bitcoin, and tech start-ups that may somehow
tie into a RICO trial of a major criminal in federal court. But will her
digging lead to her own body ending up on a slab?
I am so excited to have found a great new series to follow!
I thought I had everything figured out, but I was only partially correct and
the authors were able to throw me with an unexpected surprise twist. I love
when that happens. I also love books that feature medical examiners or CSIs
that get into the nitty-gritty and are knowledgeable enough to teach me new and
unique ways to detect a murder. I had trouble putting this book down because of
the intrigue of learning new things and because of the intricate mystery that
tied everything together in the end. Even as the authors gave Jessie’s past in Los
Angeles to me a bit at a time and gave Jessie love interests and new friends it
never overpowered the mystery plot.
I highly recommend you read First Cut! I am anxiously
awaiting more books in this series!
***
FIRST CUT
Author: Judy Melinek & T.J. Mitchell
ISBN:9781335008305
Publication Date: January 7, 2020
Publisher: Hanover Square Press
Book Summary
Wife and husband duo Dr. Judy Melinek and T.J. Mitchell first enthralled the book world with their runaway bestselling memoir Working Stiff—a fearless account of a young forensic pathologist’s “rookie season” as a NYC medical examiner. This winter, Dr. Melinek, now a prominent forensic pathologist in the Bay Area, once again joins forces with writer T.J. Mitchell to take their first stab at fiction.
The result: FIRST CUT (Hanover Square Press; Hardcover; January 7, 2020; $26.99)—a gritty and compelling crime debut about a hard-nosed San Francisco medical examiner who uncovers a dangerous conspiracy connecting the seedy underbelly of the city’s nefarious opioid traffickers and its ever-shifting terrain of tech startups.
Dr. Jessie Teska has made a chilling discovery. A suspected overdose case contains hints of something more sinister: a drug lord’s attempt at a murderous cover up. As more bodies land on her autopsy table, Jessie uncovers a constellation of deaths that point to an elaborate network of powerful criminals—on both sides of the law—that will do anything to keep things buried. But autopsy means “see for yourself,” and Jessie Teska won’t stop until she’s seen it all—even if it means the next corpse on the slab could be her own.
***
Author Biographies
Judy Melinek was an assistant medical examiner in San Francisco for nine years, and today works as a forensic pathologist in Oakland and as CEO of PathologyExpert Inc. She and T.J. Mitchell met as undergraduates at Harvard, after which she studied medicine and practiced pathology at UCLA. Her training in forensics at the New York City Office of Chief Medical Examiner is the subject of their first book, the memoir Working Stiff: Two Years, 262 Bodies, and the Making of a Medical Examiner.
T.J. Mitchell is a writer with an English degree from Harvard, and worked in the film industry before becoming a full-time stay-at-home dad. He is the New York Times bestselling co-author of Working Stiff: Two Years, 262 Bodies, and the Making of a Medical Examiner with his wife, Judy Melinek.
I am very excited to be included on the Harlequin Romance/Women’s Fiction Blog Tour 2020! This Feature Post and Book Review is for Emily Belden’s new standalone Women’s Fiction release HUSBAND MATERIAL.
Below you will find an author Q&A with Emily Belden, an excerpt from the book, my book review, a book summary and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
***
Author Q&A with Emily Belden
Q: When you begin writing a love story, do you know how you want it to end? Or do you decide as you develop the plot?
A: I generally have an idea of how I want things to wrap up, but what I always struggle with is that final sentence. How do you know you’re REALLY there? I often ready my theoretical last sentence out loud, followed by saying “The End”, and if it feels like it has a certain “ring” to it, then I can shut the laptop. If not, then I know it’s not my stopping point. Wrapping up that final thought with a bow on it is super important. It’s what I want when I read a book, at least.
Q: How was it to write about grief, pain and love for the same character?
A: It was new. That’s really the best word to explain it. HOT MESS has so many autobiographical elements to it (i.e., restaurant industry know-how, dating an addict, etc.) but HUSBAND MATERIAL was all unchartered territory for me. I realized right away that in order to write about the grief of losing a spouse/partner, I had to curate a focus group of real-life women like Charlotte and really learn from them to bring the level of authenticity and nuance needed to successfully write the book.
Q: What type of love stories do you like? Or were there ones you looked to as you began writing Husband Material?
A: I like really unexpected love stories. In today’s literary landscape, there’s certainly a formula that is pretty common. So it’s the books that break or stray from that formula that really do it for me. I like stories where it’s not innately clear who the protagonist is going to end up with. Even with HOT MESS there’s a moment where (I hope) the reader is like “OMG WHAT IS HAPPENING” insofar as Allie’s love story goes. Same with Charlotte in HUSBAND MATERIAL.
Q: Do you prefer to write by planning ahead (ie outlining, etc) or just go with the flow as inspiration hits?
A: I prefer to go with the flow. My general writing pattern is banging out 1-2 chapters at a time and then ending my work with a bulleted list of what I think needs to happen next. That way, when I open up my laptop and start to write the next 1-2 chapters, I’m not totally lost or forgetful of where I left off. It helps me figure out what would make sense in the flow of the pages.
Q: When did you know you wanted to become an author? What are you currently reading and what’s on your TBR list?
A: It’s been my only god-given talent since I was a little kid. It started with really creative letters to Santa or the Tooth Fairy. I won a contest to be a kid reporter for the Chicago Tribune when I was 12 years old and after that, my fate was sealed. I knew I wanted to write at the highest level I could! I am currently reading a book called Lulu’s Cafe by an author who is also repped by my agents, Browne & Miller. I really love it and can picture it as an adorable Hallmark Movie.
Q: What inspired you to write this book?
A: I heard a news story on the TV when I was doing dishes at my (former) home in San Diego. It was about a developer who wanted to buy the land a mausoleum was on so they could tear it down and build luxury condos overlooking the ocean. I thought, how crazy if your loved one’s ashes just got mailed back to you one day and the resting place you thought was final, wasn’t. It wasn’t easy, but turned that general premise into a light-side-of-heavy rom-com.
Q: What theme or message do you hope readers will take away from your book?
A: Over all, that second chances at love take all different forms. You never know the circumstances someone has found themselves in, so be kind. For Charlotte, I intentionally wrote the first few chapters as if she was divorced–talking about her “first marriage”. Then you find out “Oh, sh*t, she’s a widow,” and all the sudden your emotional connection with her changes. I also find it interesting writing about death. We don’t talk about it in society, especially not in contemporary women’s fiction. A tragic, unexpected death is the crux of this book. Let’s dig in!
Q: What drew you into this particular genre?
A: I saw there was room to carve out a spot for someone like me who writes unexpected, voicey, edgy, authentic women’s fiction and so I went full steam ahead with the help of a great agent to make it happen.
Q: If you could sit down with any character in your book, what would you ask them and why?
A: I would sit down with Charlotte. I’ve met the “real life” versions of her when doing my focus groups for research, it would be my honor to meet her. I’d ask her if she wanted to team up and develop a dating app framed around people’s dogs.
Q: What advice would you give to aspiring or just starting authors out there?
A: Be patient. Be patient with the process – success as an author is fluid and can mean many different things. Nothing happens overnight. It’s a process. And be patient with yourself. If you aren’t vibing your writing, don’t put pressure on yourself to tap keys just because you said you were going to do 1,000 words tonight. There are times two weeks go by and I haven’t opened my Word doc once. But then when I am vibing it, I can cruise for 10K words and absolutely rock it. There’s an ebb and flow, for sure.
Q: What does the future hold in store for you? Any new books/projects on the horizon?
A: I am working on a third novel at my own pace right now. I’m very excited about it and just exploring where the plot takes me. I would love to work on a film/TV/podcast adaption of any of my existing works as a next step, too. I also got married nine months ago and am enjoying life with my soulmate, Matt.
***
Excerpt
Well, that’s a first.
And I’m not talking about the fact that I brought a date to a wedding I’m pretty sure didn’t warrant me a plus-one. I’m talking about grabbing a wedding card that just so happened to say “Congrats, Mr. & Mr.” on my way to celebrate the nuptials of the most iconic heterosexual couple since George and Amal. This—and a king-sized KitKat bar from the checkout lane—is what I get for rushing through the greeting card aisle in Target while my Uber driver waited in the loading zone with his f lashers on.
It’s Monica and Danny’s big day. She’s my coworker, whose gorgeous face is constantly lining the glossy pages of Luxe LA magazine. Not only because she’s one of the leading ladies at Forbes’s new favorite company, The Influencer Firm, but because this socialite-turned-CEO is now married to Daniel Jones—head coach of the LA Galaxy, Los Angeles’s professional soccer team. If you’re thinking he must look like a derivative of an American David Beckham, you’re basically there. Let’s just hope their sense of humor is as good as their looks when they see the card I accidentally picked out.
Before I place it on the gift table, I stuff the envelope with a crisp hundred-dollar bill fresh from the ATM. Side note: I think wedding registries are bullshit. Everybody wants an ice cream maker until you have one and never use it, which is why I spring for cold, hard cash instead. I grab a black Sharpie marker from the guest book table, pop the cap off, and attempt to squeeze in a nondescript s after the second “Mr.,” hoping my makeshift, hand-drawn serif font letter doesn’t stick out like a sore thumb. I blow on the fresh ink, then hold the pseudo Pinterest-fail an arm’s length away. That’ll do, I think to myself.
I lift a glass of red wine from a caterer’s tray as if we choreographed the move and check the time on my Apple Watch, which arguably isn’t the most fashionable accessory when dressing for a chic summer wedding. But aside from the fact that it doesn’t quite match my strapless pale yellow cocktail dress, it serves a much greater purpose for me. It keeps my data front and center, right where I want it, not on my phone buried somewhere deep in my purse. Bonus: the band, smack-dab on the middle of my wrist, also covers a tattoo I’ve been meaning to have lasered off.
Other than telling me the time, 7:30 p.m., it also serves up my most recent Tinder notifications. I’ve gotten four new matches since this morning, which isn’t bad for a) a Saturday, since most people do their Tindering while zoning out at work or bored in bed at night; and b) a pushing-thirty New York native whose most recent relationship was the love-hate one with a stubborn last ten pounds. That’s me, by the way. Charlotte Rosen.
Though present and accounted for now, the battle of Tide pen vs. toothpaste stain went on for longer than I intended back at my apartment, causing me to arrive about half an hour late to the cocktail hour. Which means I for sure missed Monica and Dan’s ceremony in its entirety. I, of all people, know that’s rude. I’m someone who is hypersensitive to people’s arrival tendencies (well, to all measurable tendencies, to be honest; more on that later). But I’m sort of glad I missed the I Dos, as there is still something about witnessing the exchange of vows that makes me a little squeamish. I got married five years ago and, well, I’m not married anymore—let’s put it that way.
The good news is that with time, I can feel it’s definitely getting easier to come to things like this. To believe that the couple really will stay together through it all. To believe that there is such a thing as “the one”—even if it may actually be “the other” that I’m looking for this next go-round.
Late as I may be to the wedding party, there are some perks to my delayed arrival. Namely, the line at the bar has died down enough for me to trade up this mediocre red wine for a decent gin and tonic. Another perk? Several fresh platters of bacon-wrapped dates have just descended like UFOs onto the main floor of the venue, which happens to be a barn from the 1800s. Except this is Los Angeles, and there are no barns from the 1800s. So instead, every creaky floorboard, every corroded piece of siding, and every decrepit roof shingle has been sourced from deep in the countryside of southwest Iowa to create the sense that guests are surrounded by rolling fields, fragrant orchard blossoms, and fruiting trees. The reality being that just outside the wooden walls of the coveted, three-year-long-wait-list Oak Mill Barn stands honking, gridlocked traffic on the 405 and an accompanying smog alert.
As I continue to wait for my impromptu wedding date, Chad, to come back from the bathroom, I robotically swipe left on the first three guys who pop up on Bumble, another dating app I’m on, then finally decide to message a guy who looks like a bright-eyed Jason Bateman (you know, pre-Ozark) and is a stockbroker, according to his profile. We end up matching and he asks me for drinks. I vaguely accept. Welcome to dating in LA.
I’ve conducted some research that has shown that after the age of thirty, it becomes exponentially harder to find your future husband. What number constitutes exponentially? I’m not sure yet, but I’m working on narrowing in on that because generalities don’t really cut it for me. Thinking through things logically like this centers me, calms me, and resets me—no matter what life throws my way. All that’s to say, I’m officially in my last good year of dating (and my last year of not having to include a night serum in my skin care regimen), and I’m determined not to wind up with my dog, my roommate, and a few low-maintenance houseplants as my sole life partners.
“Sorry that took so long,” says Chad, returning from the men’s room twenty minutes after leaving. “Did you know the bathroom at this place is an actual outhouse? Thank god it was leg day at the gym—I had to squat over the pot. My quads are burning nice now.”
Confession. I didn’t just bring a date to the wedding, I brought a blind date.
No worries, though. Monica knows how serious I am about the path to Mr. Right and supports the fact that I go on my fair share of dates to get me there quicker. Plus, he isn’t a total stranger; she knows him—or, she met him, rather. He attended her work event last week at the LA County Museum of Art and is supposedly this cute, single real estate something or other. Of course he tried to hit on her and, unlike most beautiful people in Los Angeles, Monica actually copped to being in a committed relationship with Danny. (Who doesn’t like to brag they’re marrying Mr. Galaxy himself?) So she did the next best thing and gave him her single coworker’s Instagram handle and told him to slide into my DMs. It’s a bold move on her part, but I appreciate her quick thinking and commitment to my cause, Operation: Reclassify My Marital Status.
Since Chad first messaged me a week ago, I’ve done my homework on him. And I’m not talking about just your basic cyber stalking. I’m talking about procuring and sifting through real, bona fide data. It’s essentially a version of what I’m paid to do for a living—track down all the “influencers,” people with a lot of fans and followers on the internet, and match them to events we plan for our clients so they can post on social media and boost our clients’ profiles.
Some may think my side-project software, the one that computes how much of a match I am with someone, is a bit…much, but I don’t see it that way at all. I’m on the hunt for a man who is a true match for me—one who won’t just up and leave in the blink of an eye. I left things up to fate once and look how that turned out. I’ll be damned if I do it that way again.
While I studied up on Chad, I conducted a hefty “image search,” yielding about a hundred photos of him that have been uploaded across a variety of social platforms over the years. In real life, I’m pleased to say he checks out. Chad is over six feet tall, tanned, and toned, with coiffed Zac Efron hair that’s on the verge of being described as “a bit extra.” From the shoulders up, he’s an emoji. A walking, talking emoji. But as I step back and admire him in his expertly tailored suit, he looks like a contestant on The Bachelor. In retrospect, Chad is just the right amount of good-looking to complement my physical appearance, which can be described as a made-for-TV version of an otherwise good-looking actress.
“Something to drink, sir?” one of the caterers asks Chad.
“Yes. A spicy margarita. Unless… Wait. Do you make the margarita mix yourselves? Or is it, like, that sugary store-bought crap?”
Eek. I had forgotten my discovery that Chad is a bit of a…wellness guru. I guess so is everyone in LA, but I can’t help but be taken aback when I hear that there are people who actually care about the scientific makeup of margarita mix.
“Fuck it. Too many calories either way,” Chad announces before giving the waitress a chance to answer his question. “I’ll just take a whiskey.”
“Splash of Coke?”
“God, no. So many empty calories.”
With his drink order in, Chad rolls his neck around and pops bones I never knew existed. Then, one by one, the joints in his fingers. The sound makes me a bit queasy but I’m trying to focus on the positive, like his beautiful hazel eyes and the fact that cherry tomatoes and mini mozzarella balls with an injection of balsamic vinegar are the latest and greatest munchie to hit the floor.
Chad turns to me with a smile, his palm connecting with the small of my back. “Should we find our seats? What table are we at?”
Good question, I think to myself. I’m at table six. Chad is…on a fold-up chair we will have to ask a caterer to squeeze between me and Monica’s great-aunt Sally? I kind of forgot to mention to him that I didn’t really get an official okay to bring him tonight.
“Table six,” I say pleasantly with a smile.
“Six is my lucky number. Well, that, and nine, if you know what I mean,” Chad says with a wink accompanied by an actual thumbs-up.
The waitress comes back with his whiskey neat, and he proposes we clink our glasses in a toast to meeting up as we make our way to the table. Still not over the lingering effects of his immature, pervy sixty-nine joke, I reluctantly concede to do the cheers with the perpetual high-schooler.
“So, what did you think of Monica’s event?” I say to break the ice as we take our seats at the luckily empty round table.
“Well, I don’t really know what she does for a living, but she is fine as hell. I mean, that’s why I hit on her last week at the LACMA. Sure, I saw the ring on her finger, but couldn’t resist saying hi to a goddess like her. My god, that woman is something else.”
I nod in agreement. Partly because, yes, Monica Hoang needs her own beauty column in Marie Claire, stat. And partly because I’m too shocked by his crass demeanor to really do or say anything else. Did I say Chad reminded me of a contestant on The Bachelor? I think I meant he reminds me of a guy who gets sent home on night one of The Bachelor.
“She said you’re a real estate…attorney, was it?” I awkwardly segue. “What’s your favorite neighborhood in Los Angeles?”
It sounds like I’m interviewing him for a job, which in a way, I am. But had I known the conversation was going to be like forcefully wringing out a damp rag, just hoping to squeeze out something semidecent, I would have never invited him to join me at the wedding. In fact, I likely wouldn’t have gone through with a date, of any kind, at all. Conversation skills rank high on my list of preferred qualities in a mate. Looks like he’s the exception to the rule that attorneys are good linguists, because my app sure as shit didn’t predict this fail.
So how does my software work, then? Well, it’s all about compatibility. My algorithm is programmed to know what I like and what I’m looking for in the long term. So to see if a guy is a match, I comb through his online profiles, enter the facts I find out about him, and generate a report that indicates how likely he is to be my future husband or how likely we would be to get a divorce, for example. One of the most helpful stats is how likely we are to go on a second date. I’ve determined that anyone scoring above 70 percent means that chances are good we’d go out again. And, well, a second date is the first step to marriage. You get the point. Anyone below a 70, I ignore and move on. Chad pulled a 74, which is a solid C if you’re using a high school grading system. Not stellar, but certainly passable with room for improvement.
As it’s turning out, there’s a lot of room for improvement.
HUSBAND MATERIAL by Emily Belden is a contemporary women’s fiction
story with elements of rom-con and romance genres included. This is a
standalone book that deals with a young widow and how she deals with her life
and those around her.
Five years after the death of her husband, Charlotte Rosen
opens a box that contains the urn and ashes of her late husband who she thought
was in a mausoleum in Pala, California. Suddenly, all her work at avoiding those
who knew of her marriage and rebuilding her life based on mathematical
algorithms is in jeopardy.
The return of Decker’s ashes and a secret to be revealed
about his past are going to force Charlotte out of her controlled bubble of
simple acquaintances, algorithms over emotions and her unresolved grief.
Charlotte took me on an unexpected journey. There were times
Charlotte really annoyed me and yet the author had a way of revealing through another
character or discovery, why she was the way she was. The whole situation of reading
about being a widow at such a young age could feel uncomfortable and did at
times, but I feel Ms. Belden handled Charlotte’s journey with empathy, humor, forgiveness
and love. The secondary cast of characters in this story all start out on the
periphery of Charlotte’s emotional life, but Ms. Belden does a beautiful job of
one-by-one showing Charlotte why and how they should be let in even when her
algorithms disagree.
I enjoyed Charlotte’s journey and Ms. Belden’s writing style,
but I also know this is going to be one of those books that everyone reads
through a differing emotional lens.
***
Husband Material : A Novel
Emily Belden
On Sale Date: December 30, 2019
9781525805981, 1525805983
Trade Paperback
$15.99 USD, $19.99 CAD
Fiction / Romance / Romantic Comedy
304 pages
Summary
Told in Emily Belden’s signature edgy voice, a novel about a young widow’s discovery of her late husband’s secret and her journey toward hope and second-chance love.
Twenty-nine-year-old Charlotte Rosen has a secret: she’s a widow. Ever since the fateful day that leveled her world, Charlotte has worked hard to move forward. Great job at a hot social media analytics company? Check. Roommate with no knowledge of her past? Check. Adorable dog? Check. All the while, she’s faithfully data-crunched her way through life, calculating the probability of risk—so she can avoid it.
Yet Charlotte’s algorithms could never have predicted that her late husband’s ashes would land squarely on her doorstep five years later. Stunned but determined, Charlotte sets out to find meaning in this sudden twist of fate, even if that includes facing her perfectly coiffed, and perfectly difficult, ex-mother-in-law—and her husband’s best friend, who seems to become a fixture at her side whether she likes it or not.
But soon a shocking secret surfaces, forcing Charlotte to answer questions she never knew to ask and to consider the possibility of forgiveness. And when a chance at new love arises, she’ll have to decide once and for all whether to follow the numbers or trust her heart.
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Advance Praise for Husband Material
“Tackling thorny questions of widowhood and dating after trauma, Belden’s second novel is witty, full of heart, and blindingly au courant. Packed with pop-culture references, it will appeal to fans of Sophie Kinsella, Rosie Walsh, and Plum Sykes. Belden writes twists and turns to keep readers hooked.” —Booklist
“Charming.” —Publishers Weekly
“Sensitive, thoughtful, and touching.” —Library Journal
“In this touching, witty, and timely book, Emily Belden deftly explores the complexities of human relationships in our increasingly tech-obsessed world. By turns heartbreaking and laugh-out-loud funny, Husband Material beautifully demonstrates that you can’t reduce love to a bunch of 1s and 0s.”—Kristin Rockaway, author of How To Hack a Heartbreak
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Author Bio
EMILY BELDEN is a journalist, social media marketer, and storyteller. She is the author of the novel Hot Mess and Eightysixed: A Memoir about Unforgettable Men, Mistakes, and Meals. She lives in Chicago. Visit her website at www.emilybelden.com or follow her on Twitter and Instagram, @emilybelden.
