Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for FROZEN LIVES (Coroner’s Daughter Mysteries Book #4) by Jennifer Graeser Dornbush on this Partner’s-In-Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway.
***
Book Description
Chicago surgeon Emily Hartford has never quite shaken off the dust of her hometown in Michigan. She may be a professional success and have a princely boyfriend in the Windy City, but she can’t seem to let go of being “the coroner’s daughter” from Freeport.
Once again, she finds herself pulled back upstate during a wintery late March when Jeremiah, the eleven year-old son of her best friend, Jo, goes missing on the frigid shores of Lake Michigan. Emily immediately joins the search for the boy.
To everyone’s relief, Jeremiah turns up days later, alive and unharmed. But tensions remain high, and suspicions of every sort continue to grow. Jeremiah’s account of his abduction doesn’t add up and Emily worries about Jo’s unraveling marriage. Jeremiah’s recovery, it turns out, is not the end of their terrifying tale. It’s only the beginning …
For moving among them is a devious, malevolent force. Sowing panic while seeking to fulfill his own twisted needs, this wolf in sheep’s clothing leaves a trail of rack and ruin, negligent to the damages in his wake … and the bodies he leaves behind.
Emily solidifies her role as coroner’s daughter when she puzzles out this madman’s chilling machinations. Risking everything dear to her, Emily goes the icy distance to end his killing spree.
Genre: thriller, suspense, female detective Published by: Blackstone Publishing Publication Date: October 29, 2024 Number of Pages: 350 ISBN: 9798212638364 Series: The Coroner’s Daughter Mysteries, 4
***
My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
FROZEN LIVES (Coroner’s Daughter Mysteries Book #4) by Jennifer Graeser Dornbush is an edge-of-your-seat crime thriller/amateur sleuth mystery featuring Chicago surgeon Emily Hartford who gets pulled back to her small hometown of Freeport, Michigan when her best friend and son go missing. This is easily read as a standalone crime thriller and the author does a great job of intertwining Emily’s life from the previous books, so I never felt lost with her current relationships.
Emily is happy sharing a surgical practice in Chicago with her boyfriend, but she just cannot let go of her smalltown roots and all of her friends in Freeport, Michigan. She receives a call for help when her best friend Jo’s son, Jeremiah, goes missing. He is discovered a few days later unharmed, but the man who took him is still free. With accusations only ramping up the tensions in Jo’s crumbling marriage, Emily feels the need to support her friend.
As they all try to get back to a normal routine, no one knows the danger has not passed them by and it is about to become a race to find a twisted kidnapper and rescue Emily’s friends from a possible watery grave.
I could not put this book down and I am surprised that I had not read any of this series previously. If you have not either, this is a good book to jump in on because the author does a great job of giving the reader enough of Emily’s past and relationships so as not to be confusing. That said, I will be going back to read the previous three books because I enjoyed the author’s fast paced crime plot and hope the other three are just as interesting and well written. Even knowing who the kidnapper/killer is does not distract from the increasing tension and emotional involvement as the book races to a climax. I am excited to read the next book now that Emily has accepted the role she was born to have and to see what happens with her surprise personal ending.
I highly recommend this crime thriller/amateur sleuth mystery and look forward to reading more in this series.
***
Author Bio
The television or movie screen is the closest most people will ever come to witnessing the forensic world. But Jennifer Dornbush was raised in it. As the daughter of a small-town medical examiner whose office was in their home. There were body parts in the fridge. She investigated her first fatality, an airplane crash, when she was 8 years old. Picking up pieces of skull with her father who simply saw it as an anatomy lesson. The first of many coroner lessons she experienced over two decades.
After exploring journalism and high school teaching, Jennifer turned seriously to screenwriting where she began to connect her coroner world to her writing. She sought out a degree at the Forensic Science Academy in Los Angeles to gain more forensic training and earned a unique kinship with LA’s top CSIs, fingerprint specialists, DNA scientists, and detectives.
To share her love of forensics with the writing world, she authored the top selling non-fiction authoritative book, Forensic Speak, used by not only by show-runners and writers, but also crime investigators and law enforcement. She created an Amazon top selling mystery novel series, The Coroner’s Daughter, which she is currently developing as a series for TV. Her crime thriller, Hole in the Woods, is currently optioned for screen. She is a contributor to mystery anthologies, Hotel California and Thriller. She has also penned two true crime books.
As a screenwriter Jennifer wrote the theatrically released film and novel, God Bless the Broken Road (2018), adapted a popular YA novel to script, and sold a children’s show. She is currently developing TV drama series and feature films with various productions companies. As a forensic consultant, she is frequently asked to consult with TV writers on shows such as: Bull, Conviction, Hawaii Five-O, Leverage, Suits, and Rectify. She teaches screenwriting and mentors aspiring writers.
Jennifer is a member of the Writers’ Guild of America, Sisters in Crime, Mystery Writers of America, International Thriller Writers, Crime Writers Association, & the FBI Citizen’s Academy Alumni.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for A SCANDAL IN MAYFAIR (A Lily Adler Mystery Book #5) by Katharine Schellman on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!
***
Book Description
Sometimes danger lurks in plain sight, and in the cutthroat London Season socialite Lily Adler must race against time to catch a killer.
London, 1817. The London Season is beginning once more, and Lily Adler’s return to her home on Half Moon Street feels different this year. No longer a recent widow, she has a life and friends waiting for her. Lily also has new responsibilities in the form of her protégée Amelia, the sister of her longtime friend Jack Hartley, who is escaping her own brush with scandal and murder.
It doesn’t take long for Lily’s growing reputation as a lady of quality who can discreetly find what is missing or solve what is puzzling to bring a desperate young woman to her doorstep. But helping her means unraveling a tangled web of family secrets. Soon, a missing will, a dead body and the threat of blackmail leave Lily facing danger every way she turns.
The glittering society of Mayfair conceals many secrets, and the back alleys of London hide even more. Lily Adler will need to find the connection between them quickly if she wants to stop a killer before it’s too late.
Genre: Historical Cozy Mystery Published by: Crooked Lane Books Publication Date: August 20, 2024 Number of Pages: 320 ISBN: 9781639108411 (ISBN10: 1639108416) Series: A Lily Adler Mystery, Book #5 | Each is a Stand Alone
***
My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
A SCANDAL IN MAYFAIR (A Lily Adler Mystery Book #3) by Katharine Schellman is another intricately plotted and engaging amateur sleuth historical mystery featuring Lily Adler, a lady of quality who discretely solves mysteries with the help of a few friends among polite society. These books can be read as mystery standalones, but Lily and her friend’s personal and social lives continually evolve in each story.
The 1817 London Season is about to begin, and Lily Adler has returned to her home on Half Moon Street. This year Lily is returning to London with an established life and friends waiting besides the added responsibilities of mentoring Amelia, the sister of her longtime friend, Jack Hartley.
Lily receives a letter asking for her services from a young lady seeking help discovering the truth of her deceased father’s will. When Lily meets with the lady, she is shocked when the lady and her fiancé wish her to steal the will from her uncle. With the threat of blackmail, Lily, with the help of her friends, seeks out the will, only to discover a dead body. With a tangled web of lies and dead bodies, Lily faces danger once again as she seeks the truth.
I love Lily and this entire series! She is an intelligent, strong and independent protagonist. She is a widow conforming to society’s norms while also carrying on in her pursuit of delicate inquiries. Her personal life is certainly more exciting now with the return of Jack and the clearing of misunderstandings and emotional fears. All the secondary characters are as entertaining, intriguing, and fully developed as Lily. The mystery plot in this book starts out a little slow, but there is a lot to set up for all the different threads to be able to come together in the end. I always enjoy these Lily Adler books and look forward to the next.
I highly recommend this amateur sleuth historical mystery as well as the entire series!
***
Excerpt
“You are Mrs. Adler? You do not look anything like I expected,” the young woman said bluntly. “I thought that someone who offers such investigations would be . . . more dramatic, I suppose. But you are very nearly plain. Well, not plain,” she added apologetically, looking Lily over once more. “Your gown is beautifully made, I must say, and you are very elegant—a tall figure helps with that, I suppose.” She sighed, glancing down at her own figure, which was of average height and rather waiflike. “But I thought you
would be more glamorous. Is it not a glamorous occupation that you have?”
“Hardly an occupation,” Lily said firmly. Miss Forrest was not wrong; with unremarkable coloring and looks only just on the pretty side of average, elegant was the best descriptor Lily could hope for from an impartial observer. But it still rankled to be sized up so bluntly. “And not a genteel one, if it were. Besides, I think what you have heard of are discreet inquiries for those who need them. A dramatic or imposing appearance would hardly serve that purpose.”
“Oh, indeed. That does make sense.” The girl’s eyes were wide as she nodded along. “That is what Mrs. Mannering said—that you were the soul of discretion. I am so hoping it is true, believe me. My predicament is dreadful, and it would become even worse were it to be
widely known and discussed.”
“That is often the case, especially in town,” Lily said, but her eyes narrowed as she spoke. The Mannerings’ daughter had disappeared one night, leaving no trace of where she might have gone, and they had been beside themselves when Lily arrived for tea with a mutual
friend. She knew Mrs. Mannering to be a loose-tongued woman, so rather than offering to help directly, she had presented them with one of her cards and suggested that her “acquaintance” might track down their daughter.
The daughter had been located—she had become so fed up with her parents’ matrimonial ambitions that she had run away to the home of her aunt—and the Mannerings had never known that it was Lily herself who had found her.
“So it was Mrs. Mannering who suggested you contact the lady of quality?” On the one hand, Mrs. Mannering loved to gossip. On the other hand, sharing such a story about her own daughter would hardly reflect well on her, even if that daughter was now well married. And Lily had no interest in assisting someone who began with lying to her.
“Yes,” the young woman said, nodding.
Lily waited silently, her brows rising just a hair.
“No . . .” Miss Forrest stretched the word out hesitantly, biting her lip as she looked away. “That is to say, not exactly. Mrs. Mannering mentioned that someone had assisted them with a sort of inquiry—she made it sound dreadfully dramatic, which is why I thought—well, and she showed my cousin, who is my companion, and me the lady of quality’s card over tea. And I was already so worried, and in need of help, that I—I took it.” The final words came out in a rush, and the girl looked suddenly both deflated and relieved. “I stole it, I suppose. And then I wrote because I so desperately needed someone to help me. Can you?” She raised her eyes hopefully to Lily’s.
“Perhaps,” Lily said. “Though beginning with a falsehood does not bode well.” Miss Forrest’s face fell, and she looked like nothing so much as a scolded puppy. Lily sighed. “Tell me what it is you need assistance with.” She glanced at Clive and added coldly, “And how you come into it, sir. Then I shall make up my mind.”
Miss Sarah Forrest sat up very straight. “I need your assistance to escape my uncle. I fear he has stolen all the money my father intended for me to inherit.” Her mouth and hands both trembled, and she clasped her fingers together tightly to keep them still. “He says it is for my own good that he controls my inheritance. But I do not believe my father would do such a thing. And now, because he has kept my independence from me, my uncle is preventing me from marrying in order to keep me dependent on him, perhaps forever.”
Lily sat back against the bench. She glanced at Clive. “And that is where you come into it, I suppose?”
He, still standing, bowed. “I have asked Miss Forrest to marry me, yes. We met during the winter and were instantly in sympathy with each other.”
“Mr. Clive’s family is from Suffolk, and his property is there too, of course.” Miss Forrest said, holding out her hand to her suitor. “But he felt so dreadfully isolated that he came to London last winter.”
“I had not recalled that your family was from Suffolk,” Lily said, her eyes fixed on Clive. Her hands were clenched into fists by her sides; she took a deep breath, trying to relax them. “How forgetful of me.”
“No matter,” Miss Forrest went on, not noticing Lily’s tone. Clive’s sideways glance, however, said he had not missed it. “Such a handsome, charming young man is much better suited to life in town, do you not think?”
“My dear Sarah is too kind to me,” Clive said gallantly, taking the hand she held out to him, giving her a warm smile as he pressed it between his. “And I am fortunate indeed that she is. She is the love of my life.”
“So Miss Forrest said in her letter,” Lily said a little more cynically than she intended. But it was impossible to keep a completely straight face as she watched their romantic interlude, or as she remembered the melodramatic turns of phrase the young woman had employed.
“Yes.” Miss Forrest smiled at her sweetheart, showing no hesitation or embarrassment over her elevated prose. “He is a most dashing, wonderful young man. Though I hardly need tell you that,” she added earnestly, turning back to Lily, “as you are already acquainted.”
They were acquainted. And when Lily had met him in her aunt’s small Hampshire village, he was a cardsharp and a bookmaker, accepted into more elevated circles than the ones into which he had been born because nearly every young man with pretensions to dissipation owed him money. No one had trusted him, but no one could risk offending him either. He knew it, and he despised those around him even as he needed them in turn.
Once or twice, Lily had thought she saw a hint of the more admirable man he might have become had he chosen a different path. But if there was, he had not bothered to cultivate it. And he had made no secret of his plan, during that brief week of their acquaintance, to use his ill-gotten income to one day place himself in the role of a gentleman and improve his lot in life.
It seemed he had succeeded. Or would have, if Miss Forrest’s inheritance had not disappeared.
“But it seems this dashing, wonderful young man will not marry you without your inheritance?” Lily asked.
That prompted a scowl from Miss Forrest. “I know what you are thinking, ma’am. But you are wrong. My dear Mr. Clive has some money of his own. The problem we face is that my uncle will not give his consent.”
“How old are you, Miss Forrest?” Lily asked, glancing sideways at Clive.
“I am not yet two-and-twenty,” Miss Forrest said sitting up very straight, as though to look as mature and worldly as possible.
“Then you are legally able to marry, even without your uncle’s consent,” Lily said pragmatically. “If it is not a question of needing your inheritance, why not simply do so?”
Clive sighed. “Because—”
But Miss Forrest broke in. “Just because he is not marrying me for my money does not mean we’ve no need of something to live on,” she said, the irritation plain in her voice. She gave Lily a look up and down. “You will forgive me for saying, ma’am, but you look like you are no stranger to comfort. Is it so wrong that we might wish for the same in our own lives?”
Lily wanted to argue the point, but it was a reasonable one. Or it would have been, were it not for what she knew of the gentleman in question. “Very well,” she said, inclining her head. “I merely wish to know all the facts of the situation.”
“And if I had come to you for marriage advice, your interference might be warranted,” Miss Forrest snapped, her cheeks going splotchy with irritation. “But I did not.”
“Sarah,” Clive said before Lily could reply. When she glanced at him, his smile was firmly in place, but there was a cynical edge to it. “It is a mark of her good character that she asks such questions. Mrs. Adler does not know me as you do.”
Miss Forrest took a deep breath, reining in her emotions once more. “I suppose. But my uncle’s refusing his consent only proves my concern is warranted.” She clasped her book tightly against her midsection, as though it were a shield she could hide behind. “Even if my father did change his will, whatever inheritance my uncle is currently steward of would pass from Uncle Forrest’s control to that of my husband if I marry. What other reason could he have for refusing his consent if not to keep control of those funds?”
“Skepticism of your suitor, perhaps?” Lily murmured.
“But we have never met,” Clive put in. “He has refused to do so.”
“Which is also suspicious!” Miss Forrest declared.
Lily glanced around. Miss Forrest’s emphatic tones had drawn curious stares from the couples strolling nearby. One of the women glanced at them several times, though she had not stopped talking to the man with her. A feeling of unease settled in Lily’s stomach. She
thought she recognized the woman, though she could not put a name to the face.
She needed to leave this conversation as soon as possible.
“Well,” she said, tapping the tips of her fingers together, “you tell an interesting story.”
Miss Forrest met Lily’s eyes; her own, for the first time, were wide and sober. “I know it sounds like something out of a novel. But it is the truth. All I want is to reclaim the independence that should be mine.”
“Then you would be best served by speaking to your father’s solicitor,” Lily said briskly. “He would be able to assist you in understanding how your father left things, I’ve no doubt.”
The young lady scowled, her cheeks flushing red. “I do not know who his solicitor was. And for obvious reasons, I cannot ask my uncle for the name.”
“Then what is it you are hoping I will do?” Lily said. “I am one woman, Miss Forrest. I cannot retrieve your money for you.”
“I know that. But my uncle will have a copy of my father’s will in his house, and I think I know where it would be.” The girl leaned forward, her breath coming quickly and her hands trembling once more. “I want to hire you to steal it for me so I can prove what he has done.”
***
Author Bio
Katharine Schellman is a former actor and one-time political consultant. These days, she writes the Regency-set Lily Adler Mysteries and Jazz Age Nightingale Mysteries. Her books have been praised in outlets from Library Journal to The New York Times, with reviewers calling them “worthy of Agatha Christie or Rex Stout” (Library Journal). Katharine writes in the mountains of Virginia, where she lives with her husband, children, and the many houseplants she keeps accidentally murdering.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for IN THE PALE LIGHT by Wesley Smith on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!
***
Book Description
When Clay Graham and his family are found slain in the parking lot of his struggling business, the police suspect Clay’s troublemaker brother, Terry. Terry claims he was drunk the night of the murders and passed out at home. With little evidence against Terry to make an arrest, the case soon goes cold.
Shunned from the community, harassed by the locals who believe he’s a murderer, and suffering from an undiagnosed illness, Terry lives alone on his farm, punishing himself for his past indiscretions.
Then Pennsylvania State Police Trooper Henry Miller, who has ties to the town and the Graham murders, shows up with newly discovered evidence that kick-starts the case all over again.
Now, before his illness kills him, Terry sets out, battling against small-town secrets and old grudges, racing against time to stay one step ahead of both the State Police and his own impending death, to finally find out what really happened to his family and hopefully prove himself and innocent man –if he is one.
Genre: Crime Thriller Published by: Watertower Hill Publishing Publication Date: August 13, 2024
***
My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
IN THE PALE LIGHT by Westley Smith is an intense vigilante cold case crime thriller with a man accused of killing his brother’s family racing against his terminal illness and law enforcement to discover the truth. Make sure you set aside a block of time to read this race-against-time thriller because if you are like me, you will not be able to put it down until the final revelation.
Terry Graham is known around town as a drunkard and troublemaker with a terrible temper. When his brother, brother’s wife, and daughter are found shot to death outside their business, everyone believes Terry is responsible, but there is no proof. Shunned in his small hometown for nine years, the case has gone cold until a pair of detectives from the State Police Major Crimes Unit take over this investigation and begin asking questions again.
Pennsylvania State Trooper Henry Miller is back in town with newly discovered evidence to investigate the Graham case that he was the first patrol officer on the scene on the day of the murder. Miller has always had questions about this murder case and now he hopes to find the truth, but Terry seems to have discovered something also and is beating him to people he wants to question.
With Terry barely ahead of the detectives, he is racing against time to discover the truth behind the murders and prove himself innocent.
This book has a protagonist that is not lovable, and has a terrible temper, but you end up cheering him on to find the truth before he succumbs to his illness. Every new discovery had me rethinking the crime; not only who but why. The crime thriller plot is fast-paced and full of twists and surprises. The tension builds to a crescendo that had me reading well past my bedtime.
I highly recommend this engrossing vigilante cold case crime thriller!
***
Excerpt
December 25th, 2015
The emergency lights from the Hickory Falls Sheriff’s Department Ford Interceptor flashed across the snow when it pulled into the Graham Video store parking lot. The sheet of white should have been untouched by tires at 6:45 a.m., and the snow-covered green Jetta, sitting in the far left-hand corner of the parking lot should not have been there. Two different sets of tire tracks cut through the pristine snow. One set belonged to the Jetta. The other set made a large circle in the snow before making its way back toward Main Street.
The officer brought the SUV to a stop about five feet from the Jetta; its headlights bathed the car in the frigid darkness. Unable to see past the Jetta’s frosted snow-covered windows, a building sense of unease began to crawl over him, tightening the flesh to his bones.
The officer’s shift had been easy that night. He had not responded to any emergency calls, nor had he had to pull anyone over. A Christmas miracle itself. But all that had changed fifteen minutes ago while he was patrolling Broke Run Road, when Sheriff Will Daniel’s voice came over the radio.
“Call just came in. We got a report of shots fired at the Graham Video store. Caller says they saw a man running across the parking lot, carrying what appeared to be a shotgun. The suspect reportedly got into the passenger side of a blue sedan before it took off with two others inside. Need you to check it out,” Daniel had said.
Why the hell is the sheriff in at this hour? the officer had wondered. Shouldn’t Susan be on the call desk? And what’s going on at the Graham Video store?
Now on scene, with the first cracks of gray sky beginning to materialize through the night horizon, he radioed back into the station.
“I’m at the Graham Video store. I’ve located a V-dub Jetta. It’s an early 2000s model. No sign of anyone else, including the reported blue sedan. Though there are two sets of tire tracks in the snow, indicating another vehicle was present.” He glanced at the video store’s entrance. There were no broken windows and no ajar door to indicate a robbery had occurred. The place appeared buttoned up tight. “No signs of a break-in, Sheriff. Getting out to inspect the vehicle.”
“Ten-four,” Sheriff Daniel’s voice came back over the line. “Proceed with caution.”
Again, the officer thought it was strange that the sheriff was in at that hour, and on Christmas morning. Where was Susan Green? She usually worked the overnight shift; she should still have been at the station, working the dispatch desk. Still, the officer knew, she could have gone home for any number of reasons—the holiday, the storm, or maybe a family member had fallen –ill—and the sheriff had filled in for her. Pushing the thought from his mind, the officer returned to the pressing matter at hand.
Stay focused.Stay sharp.
Stepping from the SUV, the blowing snow and driving wind bit at the officer’s exposed skin, penetrated his clothes. Zipping his jacket up to his chin, he started toward the car, trudging through the shin-deep snow.
As he neared the Jetta, pelted with snow and ice so hard it stung, he noticed a set of footprints leading away from the passenger-side door toward the second set of tire tracks before vanishing. The tracks were nearly filled in with fresh powder, but it was unmistakable what they were. He assumed this was where the person had gotten into the second car—an old blue sedan. Looking back to the Jetta, he saw something smeared along the top of the passenger-side door. Whatever it was had frozen to a hard, ruby-colored substance.
He eased in for a closer look.
Blood!
Frozen blood.
A strange tightness gripped the base of the officer’s neck as if Death had wrapped a cold, boney hand around him and begun to squeeze. His heart rate quickened. He placed his right hand on his sidearm and identified himself.
“This is the Hickory Falls Sheriff’s Department. If there’s anyone inside the vehicle, would you please step out?”
There was no reply. The car was dead still. The only sound across the parking lot was the howling wind and the ice pebbles hitting the closest metal lamp post.
Not wanting to disturb what he believed to be blood on the passenger-side door, the officer lumbered through the deepening snow, around the front of the Jetta, to the driver’s side. Reaching down, he took hold of the handle and pulled.
The driver’s side door was locked.
He took a deep breath of cold air, sending what felt like ice daggers into his lungs as he tried to steel himself for what he might find inside. His teeth began to chatter, and an internal shudder tremored in his core and quickly expanded to the rest of his body.
“I’m asking anyone inside to identify themselves and step out.” He waited, but when no one replied, he said, “If you do not comply, I will be forced to inspect the vehicle. Last warning.”
Silence.
No movement came from within. The car’s stillness bothered him—like it was dead. But that was impossible. Cars could not be deceased like humans or animals. So why was he getting the dreaded feeling that death emanated from it?
Placing his gloved hand on the window, he brushed the light dusting of snow away and bent down to look inside.
The officer recoiled at what he saw or who he saw staring back at him. His feet slipped out from under him, and he went down onto his backside, hard. Snow kicked up when he hit the ground, and for a moment he was cocooned in falling white powder, protected from what he had seen.
But when the snow settled, the officer was again gazing at the driver’s-side door of the Jetta. There, he saw a man’s pale face pressed against the glass, the muscles twisted and tightened in agony. His eyes were open and locked directly on the officer with a vacant, lifeless stare, pleading with him, even in death, to save him.
Too late. I’m too late to save you.
The officer shot to his feet; snow fell off his uniform in large patchy clumps. And though the temperature was in the teens, he felt sweat break out across his back and forehead.
Moving gingerly toward the Jetta again, the officer realized he knew the dead man looking back at him.
Clay Graham—the owner of the Graham Video store.
He removed his Maglite from his belt and turned it on. Bending, he shone the beam through the ice-crusted driver’s-side window and began to scan the car’s interior.
That’s when he saw them.
He pressed a gloved hand over his lips, suppressing the scream that wanted to leap from his throat at the horrific sight of carnage and death inside the Jetta.
It wasn’t just Clay Graham dead inside the car but also his wife, Claire, and their teenage daughter, Sidney.
***
Author Bio
Westley Smith had his first short story, Off to War, published when he was just sixteen.
He is, more recently, the author of two horror novels, Along Came the Tricksters and All Hallows Eve, as well as the thriller Some Kind of Truth. His short fiction has been published in various magazines and websites. Wes lives with his wife and two dogs in the beautiful woodlands of southern Pennsylvania–the perfect place to hide a body.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for A COLD, COLD WORLD (Sheriff Bet Rivers Book #2) by Elena Taylor on this Partners ‘n’ Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!
***
Book Description
A female sheriff tries to fill her late father’s boots and be the sheriff her small Washington State mountain town needs as a deadly snow storm engulfs the town, in this dark, twisty mystery.
The world felt pure. Nature made the location pristine again, hiding the scene from prying eyes. As if no one had died there at all.
In the months since Bet Rivers solved her first murder investigation and secured the sheriff’s seat in Collier, she’s remained determined to keep her town safe. With a massive snowstorm looming, it’s more important than ever that she stays vigilant.
When Bet gets a call that a family of tourists has stumbled across a teen injured in a snowmobile accident on a mountain ridge, she braves the storm to investigate. However, once she arrives at the scene of the accident it’s clear to Bet that the teen is not injured; he’s dead. And has been for some time . . .
Investigating a possible homicide is hard enough, but with the worst snowstorm the valley has seen in years threatening the safety of her town, not to mention the integrity of her crime scenes – as they seem to be mounting up as well – Bet has to move fast to uncover the complicated truth and prove that she’s worthy of keeping her father’s badge.
Genre: Police Procedural, Mystery Published by: Severn House Publication Date: August 6, 2024 Number of Pages: 256 ISBN: 9781448314065 (ISBN10: 1448314062) Series: A Sheriff Bet Rivers Mystery, Book 2 | Each is a Stand-Alone Mystery
***
My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
A COLD, COLD WORLD (Sheriff Bet Rivers Book #2) by Elena Taylor is an intricately plotted small town sheriff procedural crime thriller and the second book in the intriguing Sheriff Bet Rivers series. This book can be read as a standalone, but I felt both books are great reads, and I feel you would enjoy the first in the series, All We Buried, too.
Sheriff Bet Rivers is now the duly elected sheriff in place of her deceased father in her small hometown in Collier, a Cascade Mountain valley in Washington state. With a massive snowstorm looming, Bet receives a call that a family of tourists discovered a snowmobile accident with a teen victim. Bet finds the teen is not only dead but shows signs of having been dead for some time. As she investigates, she is called about a break-in at a summer cabin that appears to be a crime scene. Is it related to her dead teen even though the cabin is in a different area of the valley?
With a major storm over the valley and multiple crime scenes, Bet is stretched thin. She is doubting her ability to fill her father’s shoes as this complicated case has surprises with every piece of evidence uncovered.
Bet is a wonderful protagonist who is dogged in her pursuit of justice, but still worries that she is not up to the responsibility of being the sheriff her father was in her hometown. With this complicated case, she proves that she is. I was happy to reconnect with Alma, who runs the sheriff’s office and Bet’s deputy, Clayton. The team is great together and now with the addition of Deputy Kane, I will be looking forward to reading how they all work together in future stories. The crime plot is intricately twisted and kept me on the edge-of-my-seat. The blizzard adds to the threat level throughout, and Ms. Taylor’s descriptions of the wind and snow had me shivering even though it is the middle of summer as I read this.
I highly recommend this crime thriller and look forward to many more books in this series featuring Bet and her team in the future.
***
Excerpt
ONE
Bet Rivers sat in the sheriff’s station and watched the radar on her computer screen turn a darker and darker blue. Snow headed for the little town of Collier and keeping everyone safe was her responsibility. Bet’s advancement to sheriff had taken place less than a year ago, but the name Rivers had followed ‘Sheriff’ all the way back to the founding of the town. None of the previous Sheriff Rivers, her father included, ever failed the community, and she didn’t plan to be the first. With her father’s death last fall, Collier residents were the closest thing she had to family.
The valley Bet protected sat high in the Cascade Mountain Range of Washington State. Winter storms often dropped a couple inches of snow at once, a situation Collier could handle, and winter had been relatively mild so far. February, however, was shaping up into something else.
This morning, nearby Lake Collier – a dark and dangerous body of water the locals respected from a safe distance – started freezing completely over for the first time in years.
Bet couldn’t remember such a large storm ever bearing down on the valley. The weather was determined to test her in ways that patrolling the streets of Los Angeles and her short stint as sheriff had not yet done.
Clicking off the weather radar screen and opening another file, Bet read over her severe winter storm checklist. Snowplow – ready to go. Volunteers with tractors and trucks with snowplow attachments – set. The community center would be open twenty-four hours a day in case the town’s power went out and people needed a warm place to go. Donna, the elementary school nurse, was on hand for minor health emergencies. She would be staying at the center twenty-four seven until the storm passed.
Most residents owned generators and a lot of people used fireplaces for heat, but the community center provided a central location for anyone in trouble.
Nothing like living in an isolated mountain valley to make folks respect what Mother Nature hurled at them – and rely on each other, rather than the outside world. A lot of people would look to the sheriff as a leader. She couldn’t let them down.
Bet turned her attention to the pile of pink ‘while you were out’ notes that Alma still loved to use rather than sending information to Bet digitally. Alma was much more than an office manager, but she also fought certain modern conveniences.
Most of the notes were mundane issues that Alma could handle, but the last in the pile was a call from Jamie Garcia, a local reporter trying to get back into Bet’s good graces after an incident a few months ago had cost her Bet’s trust.
Wants to chat about the possibility of an increase in drug use in the area, the note read. Specifically – meth.
That would definitely have to wait. It crossed Bet’s mind that Jamie might exaggerate the situation just to have reason to touch base with her, but Bet taped it to the computer monitor to follow up on after the storm passed. Her valley didn’t have the kind of drug problems as many other communities, and Bet wanted to see it stay that way. If Jamie had any information on a rise in illegal activity, that could be useful.
The rest of the notes she would return to Alma to deal with. Right now, weathering the tempest would take all of Bet’s resources.
Bringing up the radar one more time, Bet’s stomach clenched as she tracked the monster storm. What if she made a decision during this event that hurt her entire community? Confidence didn’t make responsibility lighter to bear, and the hot, sunny streets of Los Angeles hadn’t prepared her for one thousand residents slowly buried under several feet of snow. They were a long way from the plowed highways and larger cities with fully functional hospitals.
Bet was the first line of defense against disaster.
She was also likely the last line of defense. Once they were snowed in, she couldn’t bring help in from the outside.
A year ago, she had been poised to take the detective’s exam in Los Angeles. Her goal was a long and successful career in the nation’s largest police force. But events outside her control got in the way, and now she was back in Collier, trying to fill her father’s large, all-too-recently vacated shoes.
She faced a once-in-a-century storm with her lone deputy, a septuagenarian secretary, and one very big dog.
Her first instinct was to talk to her father, but his death prevented her from ever gaining new insight into his expertise. Her second instinct was to contact Sergeant Magdalena Carrera. Maggie had mentored Bet during her time at the LAPD.
‘We chicas need to stick together,’ she’d said to Bet early on in her career, back when Bet still called her sergeant.
But as good as Maggie was at her job, Bet doubted she’d have much advice about facing a blizzard.
‘It’s up to us, Schweitzer,’ Bet said to the Anatolian shepherd sitting in her doorway. ‘As long as no one has a heart attack after the storm hits, we’ll be fine.’ Schweitzer had a look on his face like he knew what was coming. He always could read her mood, not to mention the weather, and he’d been edgy all morning.
She had learned to read his mood too, and right now it wasn’t good.
‘It’s going to be all right, Schweitz.’ It surprised her to realize she believed her own words. She could handle this.
Lakers – residents proudly took the nickname from their mysterious lake – could hunker down in their valley and survive on their own. Everyone in town knew that if snow blocked them in and a helicopter couldn’t fly, they had no access to a hospital. But Donna was good at her job too. Plus, it would only be for a couple of days.
The phone on her desk rang, jarring her from her thoughts.
As long as the ring didn’t herald an emergency, everything would be fine.
Bet rolled out in her black and white on the long teardrop of road that circled the valley. She didn’t turn on her siren; there wasn’t anyone on the loop to warn of her approach and the sound felt too loud, like a scream into the colorless void. The emergency lights on top of her SUV stained the white unmarked fields of snow on either side red, then blue, then red again, like blood streaking the ground. Her studded tires roared on the hard-packed snow, the surface easy to navigate – at least for now.
The drive to Jeb Pearson’s place took less than twenty minutes, even with the worsening conditions. Pearson’s Ranch sat at the end of the valley farthest from the lake and the town center. The ranch occupied an area the locals called the ‘Train Yard’, though that name didn’t show up on any official maps.
Long ago, the roundhouse for the Colliers’ private railway perched there at the end of the tracks. The roundhouse was a huge, wedge-shaped brick structure, like one third of a pie with the tips of the slices bitten off. It was built to house the big steam engines owned by the Colliers. The facility could hold five engines, each pulled inside through giant glass and iron doors. Engines could be parked and serviced inside the roundhouse, while an enormous turntable sat out front to spin the engines around, sending them down different tracks in order to pass each other in opposite directions.
It was unlikely the Colliers ever housed five engines up here all at once, but they owned other mines around the state and had used engines in other places. It must have been reassuring to know that if they ever needed to, they could bring their assets up here, protected in their high-elevation fiefdom.
Jeb used the property as a summer camp for boys who struggled with drug and alcohol addictions and guesthouses for snow adventure enthusiasts during the winter. Jeb lived there year-round, with a giant Newfoundland dog named Grizzly, a half a dozen horses, and one mini donkey named Dolly that helped him rehabilitate the boys.
Bet pulled up in front of the roundhouse. The cabins and other outbuildings stretched away from where she parked, with the barn the farthest from the road. The pastures were empty with the storm bearing down, the animals all safely tucked away in their stalls. Jeb stood out front with two bundled figures that must have been the father and son who were currently staying at his place. A third member of their party, the mother, was nowhere to be seen.
Bet got out of her vehicle and walked over to where two of Jeb’s snowmobiles were parked, running and ready to go. Layers of winter clothing padded Jeb’s wiry form, his face ruddy in the arctic wind.
‘What have we got, Jeb?’
‘Mark and Julia Crews and their son Jeremy came across what looks to be a solo wreck up on Iron Horse Ridge. They didn’t have any details about the driver’s condition, so I’m not sure what we’re looking at. The parents wanted to protect their son and got him out of there before he could see anything gruesome. These two came down to get me while Mrs Crews stayed with the injured rider.’
Bet nodded to the man standing a few feet away. Only part of his face was visible through the balaclava he wore. His eyes looked haunted.
‘You did the right thing,’ she said to him. ‘If the driver’s got a spinal injury, you could have done more damage than good trying to bring them down.’ She didn’t add that if the driver was dead there was nothing to be done except locate the next of kin.
‘Thanks, Sheriff,’ Mark Crews said, his voice shaky. ‘That was—’
Emotion cut off the man’s words. He reached for his son and pulled him close. The boy didn’t resist, but he also didn’t hug his father back. Bet considered checking the boy for shock, but guessed he was just a teen being a teen.
She gave Mark a nod and hoped the accident victim survived the wait – otherwise Mark Crews would always wonder if he should have made a different choice.
The father got his emotions under control and turned his attention back to Bet. ‘Please get my wife Julia down safely.’
Jeremy might be shocky, but the two people up on the ridge were her priority.
‘Always prioritize,’ Maggie said to Bet on a regular basis. ‘Don’t get caught up trying to fix everything at once. Fix the big things first.’
Her father would have agreed. His voice no longer took precedence in her mind, but his teachings never left her.
Bet promised to take care of Julia Crews and walked over to straddle the closest snowmobile. Pulling on the helmet she’d brought, she tucked her auburn curls out of the way before closing the face shield. Bet admired the Crews family for helping a stranger as the ominous storm bore down on the area. It must be terrifying to know Mrs Crews waited up on the ridge as the weather closed in. Bet was impressed the family put their own safety in jeopardy for someone they didn’t know. Not everyone would do that. It would have been easy enough to pretend they never found the accident, leaving the driver alone in the snow.
Jeb hopped on the other snowmobile, which was already set up to tow the Snowbulance – a small, enclosed trailer with a stretcher mounted inside. Bet made eye contact with Jeb to confirm she was ready, and they took off with him in the lead. Search-and-rescue was Jeb’s specialty, and he knew the terrain better than she did.
Her father Earle always said a good leader knew when to follow. Like most of her father’s advice, Bet knew it was true even if her instinct was never to admit someone else was the right person for a job she could do. In her defense, her father never faced life in law enforcement as a woman.
Maggie always said, ‘Never let a man think he’s got control. If you hand control over, he’ll never give it up.’
Bet wasn’t her father, but she wasn’t a patrol officer in LA, either. Sometimes neither Maggie’s nor her father’s advice was any help to her at all.
Not far from the ranch, Jeb turned off the main road and started up a forest service road that went west and north into the mountains. The turnoff wasn’t obvious, so it was interesting that the Crews had found that particular trail.
Snowmobiling was a popular sport in Collier and a lot of people used these forest service roads for trails, even the ones that were officially closed to traffic because there were no funds for maintenance. Without anyone to police the extensive system, the locals used them as their own private playground.
The roads connected in a complex web throughout the area. The injured teen could have arrived at the ridge from any direction. The forest was riddled with paths that the forest service no longer had the money or workforce to keep up, but people and animals kept cleared. In a lot of ways, the community benefited from the interlopers who cleared the roads, because that provided fire access into their local forest, which would otherwise become impassable through neglect.
If the brunt of the storm held off long enough for them to locate the scene of the accident and get the injured teen down the mountain before the conditions worsened, everything should still be all right.
Bet kept her focus on Jeb’s sled as they rode up the hill. The road turned dark as they got farther into the trees and the cloud cover grew almost black. She was glad for the headlight and someone she trusted to follow. At least in this moment, her father’s advice was right.
If only the injured rider survived the wait.
***
CREDIT MARK PERLSTEIN
Author Bio
Elena Taylor spent several years working in theater as a playwright, director, designer, and educator before turning her storytelling skills to fiction. Her first series, the Eddie Shoes Mysteries, written under the name Elena Hartwell, introduced a quirky mother/daughter crime fighting duo.
With the Bet Rivers Mysteries, Elena returns to her dramatic roots and brings readers much more serious and atmospheric novels. The series introduces Collier, Washington, with its dark and mysterious lake, tough-as-nails residents, and newly appointed sheriff with her sidekick Schweitzer, an Anatolian Shepherd.
Elena is also a senior editor with Allegory Editing, a developmental editing house, where she works one-on-one with writers to shape and polish manuscripts, short stories, and plays. If you’d like to work with Elena, visit www.allegoryediting.com.
Her favorite place to be is at Paradise, the property she and her hubby own south of Spokane, Washington. They live with their horses, dogs, and cats. Elena holds a B.A. from the University of San Diego, a M.Ed. from the University of Washington, Tacoma, and a Ph.D. from the University of Georgia.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE GARDEN GIRLS (FBI: Strange Crimes Unit Book #3) by Jessica R. Patch on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!
***
Book Description
On a remote Outer Banks island, a serial killer collects his prized specimens. And to stop him, an FBI agent must confront his own twisted past.
FBI agent Tiberius Granger has seen his share of darkness. But a new case sets him on edge. It’s not just the macabre way both victims—found posed in front of lighthouses—are tattooed with flowers that match their names. There’s also the unsettling connection to the woman Ty once loved and to the shadowy cult they both risked everything to escape.
Bexley Hemmingway’s sister has gone missing, and she’ll do anything to find her—including teaming up with Ty. That may prove a mistake, and not just because Ty doesn’t know he’s the father of her teenaged son. It seems the killer is taunting Ty, drawing everyone close to him into deeper danger.
As the slashing winds and rain of a deadly hurricane approach the coast of North Carolina, the search leads Ty and Bex to an island that hides a grisly secret. But in his quest for the truth, Ty has ignored the fact that this time, he’s not just the hunter. Every move has been orchestrated by a killer into a perfect storm of terror, and they will need all their skills to survive…
Genre: Christian Psychological Thriller Published by: Love Inspired Trade Publication Date: April 23, 2024 Number of Pages: 367 ISBN: 9781335463074 (ISBN10: 1335463070) Series: FBI: Strange Crimes Unit, Book 3 || Each is a Stand-Alone Novel
***
My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
THE GARDEN GIRLS (FBI: Strange Crimes Unit Book #3) by Jessica R. Patch is a chilling and suspenseful romantic suspense/serial killer crime thriller. This is the third book in the FBI: Strange Crimes series, but it can easily be read as a standalone thriller. Each book focuses on a different member of the team, and I have read all of them.
FBI Agent Tiberius “Ty” Granger is the religious studies and cult expert on the southeastern area’s unit of the Strange Crimes. His past, in which he grew up in the darkness of a religious cult, is the reason he chases these monsters. He is a grown man who diverts people from truly understanding him with juvenile humor and song lyrics. The current case has Tiberius being personally lured to the Outer Banks by a serial killer collecting girls for his garden.
Bexley “Bex” Hemmingway’s sister has gone missing. Ty discovers the girl he loved, and her sister are alive, and it is her sister that is missing, but Bexley has an even bigger secret. Before they were separated by the cult, Bexley was pregnant. Now the serial killer is personally taunting Ty and placing everyone he cares about in danger.
With a hurricane on the way, Ty and Bex are about to discover a terrible secret on a private island. This serial killer has been plotting for a long time to get Ty into his world and destroy him.
I find Ms. Patch’s serial killer crime plots to be extremely well written and plotted. In this book, and the two previous ones in this series, I found it difficult to put them down. The killers are truly terrifying. The killers are dark and gritty, but interspersed with their depravity is the friendship, closeness and sometime humor of the Strange Crimes team as they work the clues. This is a Christian romantic suspense series and while I appreciated the author not cheating by solving every problem with just a prayer, I did feel at times the proselytizing was a bit too heavy for my taste, and that is present in all three books. Others who are more into the religious aspects of Christian fiction may not agree with me and that is their right. There is violence in these books, but they are serial killer crime thrillers and that is to be expected.
The characters of the Strange Crime Unit are all fully developed and engaging. With each book you discover more of what makes each individual click and why they do what they do. I enjoyed meeting all the members of the team and I find the crime plots make for a very edge-of-your-seat thrilling read.
***
Excerpt
Prologue The Garden Girls
Sharp claws scrape along my neck.
Back and forth.
Back and forth.
Buzzing fills the room, and I strain to open my eyes but they’re like molasses, thick and sticky and slow-moving. My stomach jumps and the room shifts as my blurred vision registers red walls and coffee-colored concrete. I inhale a hint of bleach and incense with a spicy note as I shift to survey the rest of the room, but my muscles ripple like languid water.
The air-conditioner kicks on, and the cold air raises chills across my naked body.
I’m…naked. A fist squeezes my lungs as panic rips through my system. My memories are disjointed.
Where am I? How did I arrive here?
What is happening to me? What has already happened? Shoe soles click on the floor and silence my questions.
I am not alone. Or…I wasn’t. The door closes with a quiet click.
Get up. Move. Run!
Gripping the sides of a massage table, I roll off, and my bare feet hit cool flooring. The walls close in and shift, and my stomach roils. Something is wrong. Off.
Floor-to-ceiling mirrors cover an entire wall, and my breath catches as reality comes into view.
Pink flower buds wend through a vine of black along my neck and upper back.
Confusion clouds my senses, and I stand cemented in place gawking at the angry red skin, sore and tender and smeared with glossy petroleum jelly.
A tight knot grows in my throat, and tears stab with heated force against the backs of my eyes.
I have to get out of here.
Behind me, I spot a twin bed with luxurious sheets and a thick white comforter as well as tattooing equipment. My hands tremble. Am I in a tattoo parlor? Why is a bed in here?
Lying on the floor next to the bed is an old iron cuff attached to a thick, heavy chain that is anchored to the wall.
Why is that in here and where are my clothes?
I snatch the downy comforter and drape it over my exposed body.
Run. Run. Run!
I open the door but have no clue which way to go or where he is or how long until he finds and cuffs me to that bed.
I’ve been trapped before at the hands of a vicious predator. Old memories surface and spur me across the carpeted flooring. The hall veers left. My eyes begin to adjust to the darkness as I flee to safety—no.
To a dead end.
Defeat leaches like muddy water into my soul, and my chest aches. The only choice is to turn around.
But he’s in that direction.
Sweat slicks down my temples and spine, springing up through my pores like an underground fountain as I return the way I came.
I see what might be a crack in the wall. Light seeps in from the other side. As I approach, I discover it’s a door made to look like part of the wall. I swallow hard and guide my fingers along the smooth wood until I feel a lever. I push it and the door releases, but it takes some grit to open it enough for me to slide through.
I expect some kind of lair or dungeon or God knows what—a wall with torture devices and cages—but it’s not.
It’s a living room with wall-to-wall windows overlooking dark water.
Where is he?
I suck in a breath as creaking registers on the stairs. There’s nowhere to hide, and the comforter is bulky and will easily give me away. I have no option but to ditch it in the corner. I can’t dwell on modesty.
Outside.
I dart toward the sliding glass door, silently slide it open and slip out into the warm night air before scrambling to the edge of the balcony. I crouch to make myself small, like when I was a child and needed to obscure myself.
Maybe he doesn’t realize I’m gone, but then it hits me.
I didn’t shut the secret door concealing the other rooms.
A sob bubbles to the surface as I shake uncontrollably like I’ve woken from anesthesia. The ground is far below me. I’d die or break my legs, maybe my spine. But I’d rather die than go back to that room.
To that chain.
To more tattoo needles.
To him.
I draw up my knees and wait, pray. Hope.
When the door doesn’t open, I scoot across the deck, the raw wood digging into tender flesh, but I need to see if the coast is clear.
What if he’s standing at the door, waiting? Watching?
I hear something and freeze.
One Mississippi. Two Mississippi…I count silently until I reach Twenty Mississippi and scoot again.
I can’t be sure if he’s nearby. If he is, deep in the marrow of my bones, I know the kinds of things that await me. I know what evil men can do. I’ve seen it. Experienced it.
Finally, I muster the courage to peep through the door. The room is empty and dimly lit from the one glowing lamp. I creep inside; my brain is fuzzy and spins.
No footsteps. Only bulging shadows in the corners.
I slither across the Berber carpet and inhale the newness. A set of stairs is on the other side of the open living concept. About ten feet of space isn’t occupied with furniture which means when I make a run for it, and he enters the room, I’ll have no cover.
If he doesn’t and I make it downstairs, he could still be waiting for me.
I try to form a defense plan, but my brain might as well be sludge. Making my move, more out of my flight response than logic, I army-crawl across the open space to the stairs.
Two sets of six. I practically roll down the first set and pause.
He’s not there at the small landing.
Six more to go.
This time I move slower, ignoring the adrenaline shouting sprint. I can’t. He could be waiting and I need to listen.
One…two…three…four…five…six. I pause again at the bottom of the stairs.
No light befriends me on the ground floor. Only darkness—and darkness is never a friend. Darkness is deceptive, offering false security. Nothing good transpires in darkness. It’s not a refuge to hide. But a place to be found. In the dark, I can’t see my predator, but I know he’s lurking.
The door is five feet away to freedom, and I sprint for it.
Hope blooms in my chest.
I mutter a prayer as I run. Three feet left.
Two.
Thank God, I’m here. I twist the knob.
It’s locked.
A cry cracks loose inside me, but I hold it down and fumble with the dead bolt.
Shuffling sounds across tile.
Closer. Closer.
I manage to turn the dead bolt and pull on the door, but it sticks.
He’s coming. The clicks are methodic, slow and measured as if he’s in no hurry. Like he knows I can’t escape. It’s a game.
Please. Please. Come on!
The door opens and I slip out, forcing myself to stay calm in case my mind is playing tricks on me and it’s not him. This time, I make sure to close the door behind me. The air is balmy and the wind rustles through the grass.
The briny sea air washes over my tongue and the marsh grass swishes as I dart down a private boardwalk that leads…I don’t know where. I only know to run and eat up the ground and create distance between me and the house of horror. Between me and him.
Thick walls of clouds block the moonlight.
A door slams. Then I hear something.
Thwupt. Thwupt. Thwupt.
He’s dragging something across the boardwalk. I dare not turn to look.
He’s coming.
Slow and methodical. Silent. Only the awful dragging noise.
Nothing comes into view but marshland and water surrounded by clusters of trees. Alligators lie in wait. I can’t remember how I know this. There are snakes and snapping turtles too.
But he’s behind me.
Plopping noises in the water draw my attention, and I freeze. What is it? Will it approach me or prey on me if I enter too?
I can’t risk staying on the boardwalk. I ease myself into the icy depths and it steals my breath. Slime oozes over my feet, and I sink into mire. Murky water reaches my waist, sending a shock along my abdomen, but I can’t gasp. Instead, I push through the grass and hope the stirring due to my movement won’t alert him of my location.
Sharp twigs and rocks gouge into the bottom of my feet, and I crunch my bottom lip to keep from crying. Marsh grass appears soft at a glance, but it’s strong and sharp like knitting needles and stabs into my flesh and tender places where I’ve been tattooed in flowers.
Ahead is a patch of dense trees that would conceal me even in daylight. A huge splash sends ripples only a few feet away, startling resting birds to flight. Now I know what’s been causing the dragging noise.
A canoe.
He’s cutting through the narrow channels and at an advantage.
I can’t stop now. I push through the mud, which tries to hold me captive, and toward the dense thicket of trees. I finagle my way inside, but it’s like camping in a thorn bush, and nettles rip my flesh. A quiet cry escapes my throat, and I cover my mouth.
Did he hear me? Does he know I’m here?
I shiver in the water, my teeth chattering as something lightweight drops onto the crown of my head and skitters into the thick layers before I can catch it.
I squeeze my eyes shut and clench my jaw to muffle a scream. What hideous legged creature is creeping through my hair?
What swims unseen below my waist?
Plop. Plop. Plop.
Fish, alligators, snakes…him?
“Daaaah, daaaah, dah daaaah,” his rich buttery tone sings. It echoes through the wetland and sweeps over my skin like icy talons. “I’ve got all night,” he continues singing. “I’ll take my time.” I cup my hands over my mouth to silence my chattering teeth. He’s close. So close. “I’ll find you. There’s nowhere to hide,” he belts out as if we’re in a Broadway show. His voice is magical and terrifying. “You belong to meeeee…You want only meee…”
I can’t stay here. He’ll find me. I work as silently as possible out of the thicket and away from the concentration of his voice. I hoist myself onto the wooden boardwalk because he believes I’m in the water. Rushing is out of the question. He’ll hear my footfalls. Slow and steady is about all I can muster anyway. My legs might as well be licorice sticks.
He’s still singing and slicing an oar through the water as I forge ahead, quickening my steps by a small measure until I finally reach the end of the boardwalk and am on dry ground. In the woods.
The woods mean I’ll find a road at the clearing. Help will drive by, and I’ll flag it down to freedom.
I wait a beat while my eyes adjust to greater darkness. The trees loom overhead, and the ground is mushy and mixed with sand. I stub my toe, tripping over roots jutting out, but press on. There’s a path and I follow it. Bike path maybe?
My feet are cut and bleeding and my head pounds. The path curves, then straightens out, and I halt.
Not a road.
Not freedom.
Before me is a long stretch of beach littered with driftwood and shells that cut into my feet. Beyond the beach is the endless sea. No homes. Only wetland to my back and the sea everywhere else.
I have no boat. No canoe. Nothing to propel me to freedom.
I’m on a private island, and I finally remember how I arrived.
***
Author Bio
Publishers Weekly Bestselling Author, Jessica R. Patch is known for her dry wit and signature twists whether she’s penned a romantic suspense, a cold case thriller, or a small-town romance. When she’s not getting into fictional mischief with her characters, you can find her cozy on the couch in her mid-south home reading books by some of her favorite authors, watching movies with her family, and collecting recipes to amazing dishes she’ll probably never cook. Sign up for her newsletter “Patched In” at www.jessicarpatch.com and receive a FREE short thriller exclusive to subscribers. Jessica is represented by Rachel Kent of Books & Such Literary Management.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review of MIA by John Lansing on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio, the author’s social media links and a Kingsumo giveaway. Good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!
***
Book Description
Mia, is the origin story of retired inspector Jack Bertolino as a young undercover, NYPD narco-busting detective and his relationship with Mia, his confidential informant.
Mia, a former Miss Colombia, has the kind of beauty that can make a grown man contemplate leaving his wife, his job, and his kids. She’s a complex character, with a painful backstory, who signs on with Jack to help him infiltrate, and take down, a heavy hitter in the Colombian drug trade. Mia has ice water in her veins and is already responsible for delivering large amounts of cocaine, and millions of the cartels cash into the government’s coffers.
This is Jack and Mia’s story. How Mia became a confidential informant, her evolving relationship with Jack, and how the life and death case they break wide open becomes the prequel to The Devil’s Necktie.
Genre: Crime Thriller Published by: White Street Press/ Karen Hunter Publishing Publication Date: June 4th, 2024 Number of Pages: 252 ISBN: 979-8-89456-000-7 (Print) | 979-8-89456-899-7 (Digital) Series: The Jack Bertolino Series, Prequel
***
My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
MIA by John Lansing is the action-packed origin story for the Jack Bertolino action/thriller series. This is the first book I have read in this series, and I am happy it was this one. Not only is this story an exciting thriller, but I cannot wait to continue with more books in the series now. I will be going into book one, The Devil’s Necktie, with even more knowledge of the main protagonist’s history.
NYPD detective Jack Bertolino heads up a special narcotics task force working to shut down all Columbian drug cartel cocaine from reaching the streets of NY and Miami. During this operation, Jack is introduced to the beautiful ex-Miss Columbia, Mia, who will be their confidential informant. Mia will do anything to bring down the Columbian cartel that has emotionally and physically harmed her in the past. The operation goes well, and Jack and Mia go their separate ways, but Jack has promised Mia to always protect her if she needs it.
Five years later, Mia is in danger and reaches out to Jack for help and when Jack makes a promise, he delivers.
This is an exciting, action-packed thriller that moves at a fast pace throughout. This story had me on the edge of my seat with the escalating tension of Mia being undercover and the violence of the cartel members. The law enforcement procedural plotline is well paced and interesting. Jack is a protagonist with a strict set of morals and while he is a workaholic, he still believes in family and loves his wife and son. The ending of this series prequel is sad and disturbing, but leaves you wanting to grab the first book in the series right away.
I highly recommend this prequel to the Jack Bertolino thriller series, and it is a great way to start the entire series which I will be doing.
***
Excerpt
Jack Bertolino’s early morning shower gave up the ghost long before he swiped his long-term pass to gain entry to the Staten Island Ferry. Once he landed in the City, he headed for Tango 23’s base of operations. There he picked up his NYPD plain-wrap sedan. The ninety-degree temperature, wetted by ninety-five degree humidity, made a mockery of the air conditioner in the Ford Crown Vic as it crawled through commuter traffic headed for LaGuardia. The air was thick, the stench of exhaust on the Grand Central Parkway overwhelmed as Jack dodged a pothole, rattled into the airport parking lot and came to an engine-clicking stop next to DEA agent Kenny Ortega’s government issue.
The joint narcotics task force case was in its sixth month. Jack had agreed to meet a few old friends and a new confidential informant who had arrived from Miami via Colombia. This CI claimed to be able to provide entry into the inner workings of Manuel Alvarez’s illicit drug operation.
Alvarez, a notorious Colombian trafficker, had been on Jack’s radar for more than a year. Alvarez was responsible for importing a thousand keys of cocaine into Miami on a monthly basis, and the poison
was dripping into New York City. Jack wanted Alvarez’s head on a pike.
At thirty-eight, Jack was already a lieutenant, the boss of the narco-rangers called Tango 23. His crew had great success shutting down drug and money-laundering cells in the five boroughs, piling millions of dollars of the cartel’s money into the city’s coffers.
Jack was a handsome, unpretentious man with thick dark hair he wore brushed back. Creases on his striking face were a roadmap of years exposed to the elements doing undercover narcotics work on the streets of New York City.
As he stepped out of the car, a hot gust of wind blew grit into Jack’s eyes and mouth. It also blasted the long hair of a young woman exiting the passenger side of Ortega’s vehicle, obscuring her face. The deafening sound of a wide-body jet thundered overhead as Jack spit and wiped his stinging eyes.
The woman hand-combed strands of blonde away from her face. When Jack’s vision cleared, he was momentarily stopped in his tracks. The woman was drop-dead gorgeous.
He nodded to Sal Traina, a member of the Tango group, and shook the hand of Mia Ferrero as Ortega made the introductions. Mia, an ex-Miss Colombia, was the confidential informant. Kenny Ortega, the Miami-based DEA agent, was Jack’s partner on the drug task force.
Nick Aprea, a detective from the LAPD narcotics division, had flown in from Los Angeles, where a large quantity of the illicit drugs ended up. He ducked low as he slid out of the back seat, wearing a black leather jacket in the New York heat, and led with a wolfish grin as he proffered a hand the size of a baseball glove. “Jack, good to be back in business.” Aprea was tall, hard, and took life as it came. He had arrived with serious skin in the game. A few years back, his partner had been gut-shot in an Alvarez–Delgado operation. Nick had put fifteen hundred keys of coke on the table, and his partner had been put in an early grave. When Jack invited him to the party, Nick jumped at the chance to deliver some retribution.
Mia signed on to the joint operation between the NYPD, Miami DEA, and LAPD to infiltrate Manuel Alvarez’s operation and help put away a
heavy hitter for the Colombian cartel. She was a proven commodity, already wealthy from delivering large quantities of cocaine and cash to the United States government’s coffers in their ongoing war on drugs. The Feds had a formula in place for paying informants. The bigger the bust, the larger the payoff. A nice way to fatten your wallet, an easy way to die.
Mia started playing Jack—who had a reputation of being a straight arrow—from the moment she touched down at LaGuardia Airport. She’d been summoned for a meeting downtown, organized to get a feel for the principals, define the case, and plan a strategy.
It was time to roll. Sal was sitting in the passenger seat of Jack’s car when Mia rapped on the window. Sal slid out, and Mia stepped in seconds before Jack pulled out of the lot.
“I hope you don’t mind. It was so crowded in the other car,” she said.
Jack wasn’t thrilled. “It’s okay,” he said, always careful when spending time with a CI. First of all, rules and parameters of the relationship had to be set in place, until the informant was proven trustworthy. Too many things could go wrong. Jack was career building and didn’t need any bullshit slowing him down. He had a line in the sand when dealing with informants, and although he always treated them with respect, sharing his personal life was a nonstarter.
Mia started talking rapid fire. Her English was lightly accented but flawless, and Jack chalked her excited banter to nerves.
“I wasn’t supposed to fly first class, but I used my frequent-flyer miles, and thank God because the plane was full, and I was in the air for so many hours. Should I call you Jack or Mr. Bertolino?”
“Lieutenant works.”
“Oh, very formal. It’s so hot in here,” Mia play-whined, and undid the second button on her blouse as she turned to face Jack. “Are you a by-the-numbers kind of guy?”
“Something like that.”
“I know a lot of Italians in Medellín. Not a formal one in the mix. Very sexy though, Italians in general, don’t you think?”
—
Jack kept his eyes trained on the traffic. “Never given it much thought.”
“Oh, I have. Very much so.”
Jack wasn’t going there. He hoped Mia would lose herself in the approaching view of the New York skyline and stop talking. Instead, she seemed content to stare at Jack who was growing increasingly uncomfortable, but didn’t want to get off on the wrong foot with a woman who could break his case wide open.
“And the police in general, what do they call it? Mucho testosterone. You can’t hide it, Jack—I mean, Lieutenant.” Mia’s smile was sly, and Jack kept his eyes on the road, not wanting the conversation to get out of hand.
“Your nose,” she said knowingly, “that must have hurt.”
Jack had a bump on his otherwise straight Roman nose. It was a gift from a crack dealer named Trey, who he traded punches with outside the Red Hook projects in Brooklyn. Trey went to jail, and Jack had a reminder every morning when he shaved to keep his right fist higher and jab with his left.
“Do you like sex on the beach?” Jack hoped she was talking about the cocktail and didn’t respond. “What about sex in the car?” Mia said and ran a manicured nail down his thigh. “I love giving blow jobs, I mean, giving oral sex.”
Jack shot a look in the rearview mirror, tried to remain stoic, but he was getting hot under the collar. He was doing sixty and Kenny Ortega’s car was tight on his bumper. Jack glanced in the rearview again, and saw the men in the trailing car laughing.
He’d had enough. He signaled and pulled the wheel hard to the right, sending Mia sliding against the passenger door. As horns around him started blaring, he skidded to a tire-screeching stop on the shoulder of the Brooklyn–Queens Expressway. He was followed by Ortega, Nick, and a few other smirking detectives in the second car.
Jack knew he’d been set up. He picked up the radio and raised Ortega. “Get this woman out of my car.”
Mia feigned being hurt. “Is it something I said?” Over the intercom, Ortega and his crew were howling. Mia jumped out of Jack’s car, her
face split into a sultry grin, and she winked. “Just having some fun, Lieutenant.”
Jack was the only one on the crew not laughing. He pulled back into traffic, riding solo, and dialed his home number.
Jeanine answered on the second ring. “Are you all right, Jack?”
“Huh?”
“An afternoon call. It’s usually bad news.”
“Oh, no, not today. Just wanted to hear your voice.”
“Hmmm, okay… Good.” Jeannine could read Jack’s mood and wasn’t buying it.
Jack started to relax, the earth rotating back on its axis. “Actually, I just made a pickup at LaGuardia, had a moment.”
“Okay. Are you going to make it home for dinner?”
“Don’t wait on me. We have a TAC meeting, breaking in a new informant. You know how that goes.”
Jeannine knew all too well what that meant. And Jack was hit with the familiar chill on the other end of the line. “Okay, Jack. Your son’s asking what happened to his father.”
“Tell him I miss him.”
“Tell him yourself, Jack,” Jeannine said quietly before hanging up the phone.
Jack stifled his growing anger, fully aware that he was an absentee father. From his point of view, he was building a secure life for his family, and they all had to make sacrifices. It was a team effort. He knew he was being defensive, but he also knew what it took to rise through the ranks of the NYPD.
Jack snapped out of it when Kenny beeped his horn and rocketed past in the fast lane. He rolled his eyes, slightly amused as Mia, sitting in the back seat, nailed him with a look that was purely X-rated.
Excerpt from MIA by John Lansing. Copyright 2024 by John Lansing. Reproduced with permission from John Lansing. All rights reserved.
***
Author Bio
John Lansing is the author of six thrillers featuring Jack Bertolino—The Devil’s Necktie, Blond Cargo, Dead Is Dead, The Fourth Gunman, 25 to Life, and MIA—as well as the true-crime non-fiction book Good Cop Bad Money, written with former NYPD Inspector Glen Morisano. He has been a writer and supervising producer on Walker, Texas Ranger, the co-executive producer of the ABC series Scoundrels, and co-wrote two MOWs for CBS. The Devil’s Necktie is in development at Andria Litto’s Amuse Entertainment, with Barbara DeFina attached as a producer.
A native of Long Island, John now resides in Los Angeles.
