Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for NEVER FALL AGAIN (Gossamer Falls Book #1) by Lynn H. Blackburn 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!
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Book Description
Landry Hutton has spent three years rebuilding her life behind the secure gates of The Haven, an exclusive resort on the outskirts of Gossamer Falls, North Carolina. As the artist-in-residence, and with her pottery prized by The Haven’s guests, Landry is finally ready to settle in permanently. She wants to give her daughter, Eliza, a safe home to grow up in and hires former Marine Callum Shaw to handle the construction.
Cal grew up in Gossamer Falls and always knew he would someday join his family’s business. He longs for a family of his own but has almost given up on that ever happening. Landry is funny, gifted, and everything Cal could ever want in a partner, but he vows to keep his distance. Landry has a daughter and a past. Cal has been down that road before and barely survived when the woman he loved left, taking her two sons with her. He can’t bear to lose like that again.
Before construction on the house can begin, Landry’s pottery is destroyed in a suspicious fire. It soon becomes clear that Landry and Eliza are in grave danger–but because of whom? But, after losing one relationship, he is hesitant to try again.
Genre: Romantic Suspense Published by: Revell Publication Date: March 12, 2024 Number of Pages: 352 ISBN: 9780800745363 (ISBN10: 0800745361) Series: Gossamer Falls, Book 1
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
NEVER FALL AGAIN (Gossamer Falls Book #1) by Lynn H. Blackburn is a wonderful start to a new Christian romantic suspense series. Set in small-town Gossamer Falls, North Carolina, this story features a slow burn romance with a focus on second chances, trust, and personal peril. This is a new-to-me author, and I am definitely going to check out her other books.
Landry Hutton is determined to give her five-year-old daughter, Eliza, a safe life after a not so happy marriage where she learns to be very hesitant around religious men. She has rebuilt her life as an artist -in-residence for the last three years at The Haven, an exclusive resort, and her pottery is prized by all. Landry is ready to have a home built for her and Eliza when her pottery shop goes up in flames. It is arson.
Callum “Cal” Shaw is a former Marine and now works with his two brothers in their construction company. When he is hired by Landry to build her home, he discovers Landry is everything he wants, but he keeps his distance due to his past. Before he starts work on her home, the pottery shop is destroyed. It becomes clear that Landry and Eliza are in danger, but from whom? Can Callum protect Landry and Eliza without becoming even more involved in their lives?
This is a fantastic Christian romantic suspense that has a slow burn romance, two individuals trying to fight their attraction due to their pasts, a suspense plot that builds to an exciting resolution, and a faith focus that does not overpower. The author does an excellent job of introducing us to the main characters in Gossamer Falls that will be the focus of future books without going to in depth and losing focus from this book’s plot line. I was also very happy with the inclusion of Cal’s golden retriever, Maisey, who is instinctively an emotional support dog without formal training. This story exceeded every one of my expectations and I cannot wait for the next in the series.
I highly recommend this Christian romantic suspense!
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Excerpt
They passed several offices before they reached an open door.
“Maisy. Stay.” That same deep voice from the intercom floated to the hallway.
“Oooh! A dog!” Eliza dashed into the room.
Her little sprite was fast and already halfway across the office before Landry realized what was happening. “Eliza, wait!” Fortunately, she stopped at Landry’s words.
“I know, Mommy. Never touch a dog without permission. I just want to see.”
Eliza turned her big brown eyes toward the man who had come around his desk and knelt beside a dog now quivering with excitement.
The man—Callum Shaw, she assumed—met her daughter’s eyes and said, “Your mom’s right. You can’t ever rush at a dog, even dogs as gentle as this big baby. But if it’s okay with your mom . . .”
His eyes, which were as blue as the Carolina sky, now met hers. There was humor and gentleness. And shadows. Something dark flitted across his gaze. But then he blinked and it was gone.
Landry nodded her permission, and he turned all his attention back to her daughter. “This is Maisy. She’s a golden retriever. She’s three years old. She loves long walks in the woods, sunbathing, peanut butter, and belly rubs.” He demonstrated the belly rub. Maisy melted under his touch, and Eliza crept closer. “You can pet her. Maisy doesn’t bite my friends.”
Eliza dropped to her knees beside Callum and held out her hand toward Maisy’s nose.
Maisy took a quick sniff and rewarded Eliza’s good behavior with a lick. Callum stayed where he was until it was clear to everyone that Eliza and Maisy were set, then he rose to his feet and extended a hand. “Ms. Hutton.”
“Landry. Please.”
“Landry. A pleasure.”
Landry kept the contact brief. “Sorry, my hands are rough.” She turned them palms up. “Hazards of the job.”
Why had she said that? What did it matter if her hands were a bit on the crispy side? She didn’t have to prove anything to this man. Embarrassment crept across her and burst through her pores, heating her neck and face, and now she had no idea what to do with her hands. Should she put them down? Tuck them behind her back?
Callum glanced at her hands and turned his own up. “Same here.” He heaved a dramatic sigh. “It’s to my eternal despair that I’ll never land that hand modeling contract I’ve always hoped for.”
His easy humor made it automatic to tease him back. “Well, there’s always ditch digging.”
“Good point. If this construction gig doesn’t work out, I’ll have something to fall back on.” Callum turned his attention to Eliza. “And I gather your name is Eliza?”
She giggled with the abandon unique to happy children. “That’s right, but sometimes Mommy calls me Liza or ZaZa, but never Lizzy because that’s too close to Landry, and it gets confusing.”
Landry tried to keep a straight face as Eliza parroted what she’d heard Landry say too many times to count.
“It’s a pleasure, Ms. Eliza.” Callum pressed a hand to his chest. “I’m Cal Shaw. I’ll answer to Callum, but not LumLum because”— he dropped his voice to a stage whisper—“that’s just not dignified.”
Eliza’s laughter filled the room. Bronwyn hadn’t been wrong about Cal Shaw. He was very good with children. Even now, he kept his attention on Eliza. “Are you good here with Maisy while your mom and I talk?”
“Yes, sir.”
Cal grabbed a legal pad and pen from his desk and took the chair opposite the one he directed Landry to sit in. From their seats, they could both see Eliza and Maisy.
She waited for him to start the conversation, but maybe she was supposed to go first?
“She’s a beau—”
“Land—”
They both stopped talking, and his smile seemed genuine as he nodded to her. “Please. Go ahead.”
“I was going to say your dog is beautiful.” She willed her body to stop flushing scarlet, but it refused to cooperate. She didn’t have to see herself to know that her face, neck, chest, and even her feet were on fire. This was why she did best behind the walls of The Haven. She could interact with the patrons there with minimal difficulty. But put her out in public, and she became a tongue-tied, socially inept disaster.
Cal’s grin held mischief, and he leaned toward her. “If all goes as planned, she’ll be pregnant soon. I bet Eliza would love a puppy for Christmas.” His voice was cajoling and teasing, but at least he had the good sense to keep it too low for Eliza to hear.
He winked in a way that was friendly and not flirtatious, and Landry understood why Bronwyn liked him so much. He leaned back and in a normal voice said, “I gathered from your conversation with Carla that you’re going to build nearby.”
“Yes. I have three acres on the edge of Pierce land.” She watched him carefully as she spoke and was unsurprised when his grip tightened on the pen at her words.
“How long have you lived in Gossamer Falls?”
“Long enough to know the Pierce and Quinn families don’t get along.”
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Author Bio
Lynn H. Blackburn is the award-winning author of Unknown Threat, Malicious Intent, and Under Fire, as well as the Dive Team Investigations series. She loves writing swoon-worthy Southern suspense because her childhood fantasy was to become a spy, but her grown-up reality is that she’s a huge chicken and would have been caught on her first mission. She prefers to live vicariously through her characters by putting them into terrifying situations while she sits at home in her pajamas. She lives in Simpsonville, South Carolina, with her true love, Brian, and their three children.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for STRUCK DEAD (A Forensic Instincts Novel Book #10) by Andrea Kane 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!
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Book Description
The fragile line between life and death… Families that will never be the same…
When a tragic hit-and-run takes the life of a hardworking family man, multi-millionaire Christopher Hillington becomes the prime suspect, and the whole city of New York alights with speculation as to what happened.
But before the NYPD can establish Hillington’s guilt, he himself is brutally murdered in his own home. As he lays dying, he scrawls the name Casey Woods with his own blood, and the Forensic Instincts team is drawn into a complex mystery that has placed its president in the sights of a desperate killer.
A millionaire’s life is full of secrets and suspects. So as the baffled NYPD investigates Casey for the murder, and the body-count ratchets up, Casey herself becomes another potential victim. The FI team’s hardcore investigation has them twisting and turning through suspects and secrets, where the stakes intensify―and so does the collateral damage. As Casey and the team get closer to finding the killer, the unthinkable happens, and the life of one of FI’s own hangs in the blood-stained balance.
They say dead men tell no tales, but blood doesn’t lie. Peeling back layer after layer of deception, the team will cross whatever lines are necessary to solve the case, get justice for the families, and make their team whole again…unless the relentless killer gets to them first.
Genre: Suspense Thriller Published by: Bonnie Meadow Publishing Publication Date: March 2024 Number of Pages: 384 ISBN: 9781682320631 (ISBN10: 1682320634) Series: Forensic Instincts (#10)
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
STRUCK DEAD (A Forensic Instincts Mystery Book #10) by Andrea Kane is another suspenseful mystery story featuring the brilliant team from Forensic Instincts. While each book in the series has a unique crime/mystery to solve that can be read as a complete standalone crime plot, each book also continues to further develop the main characters’ personal lives over time, and I personally enjoy reading them in order.
A multi-millionaire, Christopher Hillington is the prime suspect in a hit-skip that kills a man. All of New York is speculating about his guilt or innocence when Casey Woods gets a call from his lawyer to come immediately to the Hillington home. Casey is shown the bludgeoned body of Hillington and on the desk written in his blood is “Casey Woods”.
With a multitude of suspects and secrets, but few leads, Forensic Instincts is working to unravel all the threads of this case. The stakes increase when Casey is threatened. The team is fighting to uncover layer upon layer of deceit as the killer gets to one of the team first.
I always enjoy revisiting the team at Forensic Instincts and this addition to the series is one of my favorites. The mystery plot is intricately woven between two crimes and three families. I liked that the two crimes kept me guessing and were solved at different times in the book. The most intense part of the book for me was when I might lose one of the main characters. The plot is fast paced with the investigations, and it is not predictable. The twist at the end should bring an entertaining new dynamic to the team that I am looking forward to reading.
I highly recommend this addition to the Forensic Instincts series.
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Excerpt
1
Offices of Forensic Instincts
Tribeca, New York
Main conference room
Monday, 9:40 a.m.
Casey Woods, the president of Forensic Instincts, stood at the head of the oval table, her jaw having dropped. She pressed her iPhone closer to her ear, and tried to reconcile herself, both to who the caller was, and the reason for her call.
She certainly didn’t sound like the Angela King that Casey knew. And why in the name of heaven was she reaching out to Casey, of all people?
Angela repeated her original demand: “I need you to meet me now—as in drop everything and get over here.” This time her voice was commanding but shaken.
Shaken? Angela King?
Casey’s mind raced.
Angela was a high-powered and aggressive criminal defense attorney at Harris, Porter, & Donnelly. A virtual barracuda. Rumor had it that she was next up to make partner. No surprise. She successfully defended the richest of the rich, from corporate executives, to wealthy entrepreneurs, to “businessmen” with rumored links to Organized Crime—a fact she chose to overlook since they were affluent enough to pay her fees. She and Forensic Instincts were on opposite sides of law enforcement. They’d battled it out more than once the criminals that FI had helped catch becoming the very criminals Angela would defend.
Needless to say, the FI team and Angela weren’t friends.
And yet, here she was, calling Casey on an urgent, time-is-of-the-essence matter—one she seemed incredibly high-strung about.
“Casey?” Angela repeated. “Did you hear me?”
Casey lowered herself into a chair. “I heard you. What is this about? And why me, of all people?”
“You’ll see for yourself,” Angela replied. She rattled off the address of a luxury skyscraper on Manhattan’s Upper East Side. “Hurry. I’m jeopardizing my career by waiting to call 9-1-1. I can’t wait much longer. But you have to view the scene first and later provide me with some answers. No more questions. Just come. I have a key to the building’s back door. I’ll let you in. We’ll use the freight elevator.”
Casey’s common sense was urging her to refuse. 9-1-1 meant a crime scene, and questions meant involving her. Both those things were screaming for her to stay away. She pushed aside that inner voice. She was too intrigued to refuse. “I’m on my way.”
She shrugged into her wool winter coat as she called John Nickels, Forensic Instincts’ number one on their security team. Then, she blew out the front door, not waiting to fill the FI team in on where she was going. There was no time. Plus, they’d only try to talk her out of it.
Holiday decorations were glistening everywhere, and tiny snowflakes danced in the air.
Casey didn’t notice any of it.
John pulled around a few minutes later, and Casey hopped into the car, gave him the address, and urged him to hurry.
With a brief nod, John was on his way, navigating the FDR Drive in record time. He got Casey to her destination in thirteen minutes. He dropped her off around back, far from the doorman’s view. Then, he waited to return her to the brownstone once her meeting was over, as per her instructions.
Angela was pacing inside the building, and opened the door to let Casey in the moment she saw her. No matter how dire the occasion, Angela always looked stunning. An Armani cobalt blue pants suit that set off her dark skin, matching four-inch Louboutin heels, and long wavy black hair styled at the highest end salon. She carried herself like a queen. In short, she was a knock-out.
Now she looked more rattled than Casey had ever seen her.
“Let’s go,” she said. She led the way to the freight elevator, where she and Casey rode up.
“Tell me what’s going on,” Casey stated flatly.
Angela didn’t answer. She glanced at her Apple Watch, her gaze snapping up as the elevator stopped on the twenty-first floor.
The doors slid open.
Angela paused only long enough to ensure that Casey was right behind her. Then, she strode down the hall, made a turn, and halted in front of Apartment Twenty-One B. She unlocked the door, pulled Casey inside, and faced her to offer the first few words of an explanation.
“This is the home of my client, Christopher Hillington. We had a nine-thirty AM meeting scheduled to be held here.”
Casey’s brows rose. Christopher Hillington was a renowned and phenomenally wealthy managing director of the private equity firm YNE. He was also a major suspect in a vehicular homicide, and Casey knew through various news sources that he’d been questioned several times by the NYPD and was on the verge of arrest.
“I see you know of him,” Angela said. “Given the circumstances, I’m not surprised.” She gestured toward a breathtaking sunken living room. “In here.”
Casey bit back her question about what Angela had just said. She sensed she was about to get her answers. So she remained silent.
The two women stepped down and Angela stood to a side and waited.
Casey got the full view immediately.
Christopher Hillington’s body was crumpled on the Oriental carpet beside his desk, blood pooling out around him. His head was bashed in, clearly having been struck multiple times by a heavy object. The bloodied sledge hammer lying next to the body was obviously the murder weapon. Judging from the damage done, the killer had been, not only determined, but brutal.
Casey eyeballed the scene, feeling sickened as well as confused. She was about to ask Angela what this horrific scene had to do with her when she spotted the letters, written in blood, on the lower edge of the desk, right beside Hillington’s outstretched arm.
She walked over, careful not to touch anything, squatted down, and squinted. The two words were completely legible, and they made Casey’s blood run cold.
Casey Woods.
***
Photographr Information
Stevenson/Lupke
1924 Rittenhouse Square
Philadelphia, Pa 19103
215-627-3777
amandastudio@yahoo.com
Author Bio
Andrea Kane is the New York Times and USA Today bestselling author of thirty-two novels, including eighteen psychological thrillers and fourteen historical romantic suspense titles. With her signature style, Kane creates unforgettable characters and confronts them with life-threatening danger. As a master of suspense, she weaves them into exciting, carefully-researched stories, pushing them to the edge—and keeping her readers up all night. Kane’s first contemporary suspense thriller, Run for Your Life, became an instant New York Times bestseller. She followed with a string of bestselling psychological thrillers including No Way Out, Twisted and Drawn in Blood. Her latest in the highly successful Forensic Instincts series, Struck Dead, showcases the dynamic, eclectic team of investigators as they hunt down a desperate killer who’s threatened one of their own. The first showcase of Forensic Instincts’ talents came with the New York Times bestseller, The Girl Who Disappeared Twice, followed by The Line Between Here and Gone, The Stranger You Know, The Silence That Speaks, The Murder That Never Was, A Face To Die For, Dead In A Week, No Stone Unturned, At Any Cost, and Struck Dead. Kane’s beloved historical romantic suspense novels include My Heart’s Desire, Samantha, Echoes in the Mist, and Wishes in the Wind. With a worldwide following of passionate readers, her books have been published in more than twenty languages. Kane lives in New Jersey with her family. She’s an avid crossword puzzle solver and a diehard Yankees fan. Author Hometown – Warren, New Jersey
This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Virtual Book Tours for Andrea Kane. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.
The giveaway is for: 1 – $20 Amazon.com Gift Card, US Only
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Review for BROADCAST BLUES (Clare Carlson Mystery Book #6) by R.G. Belsky on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book synopsis, my book review, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Synopsis
Wendy Kyle took secrets to her grave—now, Clare Carlson is digging them up
New York City has no shortage of crime, making for a busy schedule for TV newswoman Clare Carlson. But not all crimes are created equal, and when an explosive planted in a car detonates and kills a woman, Clare knows it’ll be a huge story for her.
But it’s not only about the story—Clare also wants justice for the victim, Wendy Kyle. Wendy had sparked controversy as an NYPD officer, ultimately getting kicked off the force after making sexual harassment allegations and getting into a physical altercation with her boss. Then, she started a private investigations business, catering to women who suspected their husbands of cheating. Undoubtedly, Wendy had angered many people with her work, so the list of her suspected murderers is seemingly endless.
Despite the daunting investigation, Clare dives in headfirst. As she digs deeper, she attracts the attention of many rich and powerful people who will stop at nothing to keep her from breaking the truth about the death of Wendy Kyle—and exposing their personal secrets that Wendy took to her grave.
Genre: Mystery Published by: Oceanview Publishing Publication Date: January 2, 2024 Number of Pages: 320 ISBN: 9781608095315 ISBN10: 1608095312) Series: Clare Carlson Mystery Book 6
While all of the novels in the Clare Carlson Mystery Series stand on their own and can be read in any order, the publication sequence is:
Yesterday’s News Below the Fold The Last Scoop Beyond the Headlines It’s News to Me Broadcast Blues
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
BROADCAST BLUES (Clare Carlson Mystery Book #6) by R.G. Belsky is another intriguing and fast paced addition to this mystery/crime thriller series featuring New York journalist turned TV news director, Clare Carlson. While this is the sixth book in the series, each of these stories is easily read as a standalone mystery/thriller.
New York Channel 10 News Director Clare Carlson is waiting for a lead story for her six o’clock news broadcast and once again the news gods deliver. Wendy Kyle is a former NYCP officer turned private eye who is murdered by an explosive device planted on her car door. Clare begins to dig into Wendy’s death and her cases that are specifically geared to help women with cheating high-profile husbands. But Wendy also made many enemies while on at the NYPD before she was kicked off the force.
Clare is once again juggling her news director duties with her journalist inquisitiveness for a big story that she wants to break. With plenty of suspects and leads, Clare might have bitten off more than she can handle this time.
I am always excited to get a new Clare Carlson mystery book. The plot in each always pulls me in with multiple suspects, false leads, and red herrings to the point where I never guess the endings. Clare is such a perfectly flawed realistic character. I love Clare and the different perspective of having the crime being investigated by a journalist, rather than a detective for a change.
I highly recommend this mystery/crime thriller book and every book in this series.
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Author Bio
R.G. Belsky is an award-winning author of crime fiction and a journalist in New York City. His newest mystery, BROADCAST BLUES, was published on January 2 by Oceanview. It is the sixth in a series featuring Clare Carlson, the news director for a New York City TV station. The first book, Yesterday’s News, was named Best Mystery of 2018 at Deadly Ink. The second, Below the Fold, won the Foreward INDIES award for Best Mystery of 2019. Belsky has published 20 novels—all set in the New York city media world where he has had a long career as a top editor at the New York Post, New York Daily News, Star magazine and NBC News. He also writes thrillers under the name Dana Perry. And he is a contributing writer for The Big Thrill magazine and BookTrib.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for GIRL AMONG CROWS by Brendon Vayo on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my mini book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway! Good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!
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Book Description
Beware the Brotherhood of the Raven
When two boys vanish from her hometown, Daphne Gauge notices uncanny parallels to her brother’s disappearance 30 years earlier. Symbols of an ancient Norse god. Rumors of a promise to reward the town’s faithful with wealth and power, for a price. She warns her husband that another sacrifice is imminent, but just like last time, no one believes her.
This leaves her with a desperate choice: investigate with limited resources, or give in to the FBI’s request for an interview. For years, they’ve wanted a member of the Gauge family to go on record about the tragedy back in 1988. If she agrees to a deposition now, Daphne must confess her family’s dark secrets. But she also might have one last chance to unmask the killer from back then . . . and now.
Genre: Horror, Suspense Published by: CamCat Books Publication Date: November 2023 Number of Pages: 416 ISBN: 9780744306552 (ISBN10: 0744306558)
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My Mini Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
GIRL AMONG CROWS by Brendon Vayo is an interestingly unique and atmospheric horror story with elements of suspense and mystery with Norse mythology influence.
This is a difficult book to review because I am afraid of giving away any important plot points. You have to give this book a chance to get going because at first a lot of information is given that did not make sense to me, but it is relevant later, and it will come together and move more quickly as the story progresses. The mystery unravels in two timelines, Daphne’s past and present, with the disappearance of young boys in both timelines and the Brotherhood of Crows playing an important part in both. Daphne is so complex because she wants to solve the disappearances, but at the same time she would be betraying those closest to her. One word that I did look up that helped in my understanding early on in the story was “blot” which is Old Norse for an exchange in which they did a blood sacrifice to the gods in order to get something in return.
I am very glad I gave this book a try because it did turn out to be an engrossing read. If you are into dark horror with suspense and mystery this is definitely the book for you.
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Excerpt
My husband Karl shakes hands with other doctors, a carousel of orthopedic surgeons in cummerbunds. I read his lips over the brass band: How’s the champagne, Ed? Since he grayed, Karl wears a light beard that, for the convention, he trimmed to nothing.
The ballroom they rented has long windows that run along Boston’s waterfront. Sapphire table settings burn in their reflections.
The food looks delicious. Rainbows of heirloom carrots. Vermont white cheddar in the macaroni. Some compliment the main course, baked cod drizzled with olive oil. My eyes are on the chocolate cherries. Unless Karl is right, and they’re soaked in brandy.
At some dramatic point in the evening, balloons will drop from nets. A banner sags, prematurely revealing its last line.
CELEBRATING THIRTY YEARS!
Thirty years. How nice, though I try not to think that far back.
I miss something, another joke.
Everyone’s covering merlot-soaked teeth, and I wonder if they’re laughing at me. Is it my dress? I didn’t know if I should wear white like the other wives.
I redirect the conversation from my choice of a navy-blue one-shoulder, which I now see leaves me exposed, and ask so many questions about the latest in joint repair that I get lightheaded.
The chandelier spins. Double zeroes hit the roulette table. A break watching the ocean, then I’m back, resuming my duties as a spouse, suppressing a yawn for an older man my husband desperately wants to impress. A board member who could recommend Karl as the next director of clinical apps.
I’m thinking about moving up, our careers. I’m not thinking dark thoughts like people are laughing or staring at me. Not even when someone taps me on the shoulder.
“Are you Daphne?” asks a young man. A member of the wait staff. No one should know me here; I’m an ornament. Yet something’s familiar about the young man’s blue eyes. Heat trickles down my neck as I try to name the sensation in my stomach.
“And you are?” I say.
“Gerard,” he says. The glasses on his platter sway with caffeinated amber. “Gerard Gedney. You remember?”
I gag on my ginger ale.
“My gosh, I do,” I say. “Gerard. Wow.”
Thirty years ago, when this convention was still in its planning stages, Gerard Gedney was the little boy who had to stay in his room for almost his entire childhood. Beginning of every school year, each class made Get Well Soon cards and mailed them to his house.
We moved before I knew what happened to Gerard, but with everything else, I never thought of him until now. All the growing up he must’ve done, despite the odds, and now at least he got out, got away.
“I beat the leukemia,” he says.
“I’m so glad for you, Gerard.”
If that’s the appropriate response. The awkwardness that defined my childhood creeps over me. Of all the people to bump into, it has to be David Gedney’s brother. David, the Boy Never Found.
My eyes jump from Gerard to the other wait staff. They wear pleated dress pants. Gerard’s in a T-shirt, bowtie, and black jeans.
“I don’t really work here, Daphne,” says Gerard, sliding the platter onto a table. “I’ve been looking for you for a while.”
The centerpiece topples. Glass shatters. An old woman holds her throat.
“Gerard,” I say, my knees weak, “I understand you’re upset about David. Can we please not do this here?”
Gerard wouldn’t be the first to unload on what awful people we were. But to hear family gossip aired tonight, in front of my husband and his colleagues? I can’t even imagine what Karl would think.
“I’m not here about my brother,” says Gerard. “I’m here about yours.” His words twist.
“Paul,” I say.
“What about him?” “I’m so sorry,” says a waiter, bumping me. Another kneels to pick up green chunks of the vase. When I find Gerard again, he’s at the service exit, waiting for me to follow.
Before I do, I take one last look at the distinguished men and a few women. The shoulder claps. The dancing. Karl wants to be in that clique—I mean, I want that too. For him, I want it.
But I realize something else. They’re having a good time in a way I never could, even if I were able to let go of the memory of my brother, Paul.
The catering service has two vans in the alleyway. It’s a tunnel that feeds into the Boston skyline, the Prudential Center its shining peak.
Gerard beckons me to duck behind a stinky dumpster. Rain drizzles on cardboard boxes.
I never knew Gerard as a man. Maybe he has a knife or wants to strangle me, and all this news about my brother was bait to lure me out here. I’m vulnerable in high heels. But Gerard doesn’t pull a weapon.
He pulls out a postcard, its edges dusty with a white powder I can’t identify. The image is of three black crows inscribed on a glowing full moon.
“I found it in Dad’s things,” says Gerard. “Please take it. Look, David is gone. We’ve got to live with the messes our parents made. Mine sacrificed a lot for my treatment, but had they moved to Boston, I probably would’ve beat the cancer in months instead of years.”
“And this is about Paul?” I say.
“When the chemo was at its worst,” says Gerard, “I dreamed about a boy, my older self, telling me I would survive.”
I take my eyes off Gerard long enough to read the back of the postcard:
$ from Crusher. Keep yourself pure, Brother. For the sake of our children, the Door must remain open.
Crusher. Brother. Door. No salutation or signature, no return address. Other than Crusher, no names of any kind. The words run together with Gerard’s take on how treatment changed his perspective.
Something presses my stomach again. Dread. Soon as I saw this young man, I knew he was an omen of something. And when is an omen good?
“Your dad had this,” I say. “Did he say why? Or who sent it?”
An angry look crosses Gerard’s face. “My dad’s dead,” he says. “So’s Brother Dominic. Liver cancer stage 4B on Christmas Day. What’d they do to deserve that, huh?”
“They both died on Christmas? Gerard, I’m so sorry.” First David, now his dad and Dominic? He stiffens when I reach for him, and, of course, I’m the last person he wants to comfort him. “I know how hard it is. I lost my mom, as you know, and my dad ten years ago.”
The day Dad died, I thought I’d never get off the floor. I cried so hard I threw up, right in the kitchen. Karl was there, my future husband, visiting on the weekend from his residency. I didn’t even think we were serious, but there he was, talking me through it, the words lost now, but not the comfort of his voice.
I looked in his eyes, daring to hope that with this man I wouldn’t pass on to my children what Mom passed down to me.
“Mom’s half-there most days,” says Gerard. “But one thing.”
The rear entrance bangs open, spewing orange light. Two men dump oily garbage, chatting in Spanish.
“Check the postmark, Daphne,” says Gerard at the end of the alleyway. He was right beside me. Now it’s a black bird sidestepping on the dumpster, its talons clacking, wanting me to feed it. I flinch and catch Gerard shrugging under the icy rain before he disappears.
The postmark is from Los Angeles, sent October last year. Six months ago, George Gedney received this postcard. Two months later, he’s dead, and so is another son.
What does that mean? How does it fit in with Paul?
Though he’s gone, I keep calling for Gerard, my voice strangled. Someone has me by the elbow, my husband. Even in lifts, Karl’s three inches shorter than me.
“Daphne, what is it? What’s wrong?”
“Colquitt. I need Sheriff Colquitt or . . .” Voices argue in my head, and I nod at the hail swirling past yellow streetlamps. “Thirty years ago, Bixbee was a young man. He might still be alive.”
“Daphne, did that man hurt you? Hey.”
Karl demands that someone call the police, but I shake him.
“It’s fine, Karl,” I say, dialing Berkshire County Sheriff ’s Office. “Gerard’s a boy I knew from my hometown.”
Karl’s calling someone too. “Some coincidence,” he says.
Though it wasn’t. Here I am trying not to think about the past, and it comes back to slap me in the face as though I summoned it. Paul. The little brother I vowed to protect.
The phone finally picks up. “Berkshire Sheriff’s Office.”
“Hello,” I say, “could I leave a message for Harold Bixbee to call me back as soon as possible? He is or was a deputy in your department.”
“Uh, ma’am, I don’t have anyone in our personnel records who matches that name. But if it’s an emergency, I’d be glad—” I hang up. Damn. I should’ve known at nine p.m., all I’d get is a desk sergeant. I’d spend half the night catching him up to speed.
“Daphne.” My husband lowers his phone, looking at me as though I’ve lost my mind. “I asked Ed to pull the hotel’s security feed. You’re the only one on tape.”
“What? No.”
“It shows that you walked out that door alone,” says Karl, gesturing, “and I come out a few minutes later.”
The Door must remain open.
Dread hardens, then the postcard’s corner jabs my thumb. I’m about to show Karl my proof when I realize that now there are only two crows in the moon.
“How’d he do that?” I keep flipping it, expecting the third one to return, before I sense my husband waiting. Distantly, I hear wings flap, but it could be the rain. “Gerard wanted me to have his dad’s postcard.”
“So this boy Gerard comes all the way from Springfield to hand you a postcard,” Karl says. “And he can magically avoid cameras?”
“I’m not from Springfield,” I say, shaking off a chill. Magically avoid cameras. And Gerard can turn pictures of crows into real ones too. How?
“You seem very agitated,” says Karl. “Want me to call Dr. Russell? Unless . . .” Karl’s listening, just not to me. “Ed says the camera angles aren’t the best here. There’s a few blind spots.”
“I said I’m not from Springfield, Karl. Any more than you’re from Boston.”
My husband nods, still wary. “Boston is more recognizable than Quincy. But how does your hometown account for why Gerard isn’t on the security footage?”
I lick my lips, my hand hovering over Karl’s phone.
When we first met, I wanted to keep things upbeat. Me? I’m a daddy’s girl, though (chuckling) certainly not to a fault. In the interest of a second date, I might’ve understated some things.
“Here,” I say, “it’s more like I’m from the Hilltowns. It’s a remote area.” My lips tremble, trying to force out the name of my hometown. “I was born and raised in New Minton, Karl.”
Somewhere between Cabbage Patch Kids and stickers hidden in a cereal box, the ones Paul demanded every time we opened a new Crøønchy Stars, is recognition. I can tell by the strange flicker on Karl’s face.
“The New Minton Boys,” he says. “All those missing kids, the ones never found.” Karl is stunned. “Daphne, you’re from there? Did you know those boys? God, you would’ve been a kid yourself.”
“I was eleven,” I say. And I was a kid, a selfish kid. I came from a large family. Brandy was seventeen, Courtney fifteen, Ellie nine, and Paul seven.
The day before my brother disappeared, I wasn’t thinking that this night was the last time we’d all be together. I wasn’t thinking about the pain Mom and Dad would go through, especially after the town gossip began.
No. I thought my biggest problems in the world were mean schoolboys. So I ruined dinner.
“Daphne?” Now Karl looks mad. “That’s a big secret not to tell your husband.”
If only he knew.
***
Author Bio
Brendon Vayo was born in Okinawa, Japan, and now lives in Austin, TX. He has a wonderful wife and three children. The kids keep him awake at night, so he hopes his books do the same to you.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE LOST BOYS OF BARLOWE THEATER by Jaime Jo Wright 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
It promises beauty but steals life instead. Will the ghosts of Barlowe Theater entomb them all?
Barlowe Theater stole the life of Greta Mercy’s eldest brother during its construction. Now in 1915, the completed theater appears every bit as deadly. When Greta’s younger brother goes missing after breaking into the building, Greta engages the assistance of a local police officer to help her unveil the already ghostly secrets of the theater. But when help comes from an unlikely source, Greta decides that to save her family she must uncover the evil that haunts the theater and put its threat to rest.
Decades later, Kit Boyd’s best friend vanishes during a ghost walk at the Barlowe Theater, and old stories of mysterious disappearances and ghoulish happenings are revived. Then television ghost-hunting host and skeptic Evan Fisher joins Kit in the quest to identify the truth behind the theater’s history. Kit reluctantly agrees to work with him in hopes of finding her missing friend. As the theater’s curse unravels Kit’s life, she is determined to put an end to the evil that has marked the theater and their hometown for the last century.
Genre: Romantic Suspense, Christian, Historical Published by: Bethany House Publishers Publication Date: October 2023 Number of Pages: 384 ISBN: 9780764241444
***
My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
THE LOST BOYS OF BARLOWE THEATER by Jaime Jo Wright is a wonderfully atmospheric Christian romantic suspense/mystery story for the Halloween season. This story is told in dual timelines by two female heroines trying to find loved ones lost in the eerie Barlowe Theater in Kipper’s Grove, Wisconsin.
The female heroine in 1915 is Greta Mercy. After the death of her parents and her eldest brother, she is trying desperately to keep her younger brothers with her. Her brother, Leo disappears with two other boys in the Barlowe theater. Her storyline was very believable and felt appropriate to the period. The female heroine in the present is Kit Boyd. Her best friend disappears in the Barlowe as they are filming with a crew from a TV show about psychics and skeptics. While I understand some adoptees have abandonment issues that make it difficult to trust and form attachments, Kit brought up her issue with this continually and I lost my sympathy with her because it just became annoying. Both women meet men that assist them with their investigations and become their HEAs. There is no sex and I felt little build up or chemistry to their relationships.
I really loved the intricate plots in the dual timelines that constantly had me guessing if this story was going to delve into the paranormal, spiritual, or just pedestrian criminal human realms. My angst level was high while I was reading this book, and I could not stop until the solution of both timelines. The discussions of faith, spirits and demons, and skepticism were interwoven in the timelines and illustrated the differing beliefs in the differing time periods. Both stories are based around missing loved ones and even though they were different, they blended perfectly.
I recommend this Christian romantic suspense/mystery for a haunting good read.
***
Excerpt
1
Greta Mercy
October 1915 Kipper’s Grove, Wisconsin
Sometimes death came quietly. A phantom swooping in and siphoning the last remnant of a soul from one’s body, leaving behind a shell of a person who once was and would never be again. Other times, death decided that dramatics coupled with terror were its preferred method of delivery. Tonight, that was the chosen form death took.
Screams echoed throughout the theater’s golden, embellished auditorium and drifted upward to the domed, hand-painted ceiling, where Putti flew as angelic, childlike spirits over the mass of onlookers.
A shoulder rammed into Greta’s arm as a husky man, far too large for the narrow seats, pushed his way past her toward the center aisle.
“Let me pass!” he barked. Urgency spurred him forward. “I’m a doctor, let me pass!”
The vaudeville lights on either side of the stage boasted letters a through g, with the g lit and distinct over the other letters.
“I’m letter g!” The doctor shouted while those in front of him jostled to the side or hurried ahead to move out of his way. Doctors were assigned specific letters from the vaudeville lights, and if they were lit, a doctor was needed—either at home, on call, or in the vicinity.
The vicinity was here. It was now.
Onlookers continued to gasp and protest. Women in beautiful silks and satins hurried to the back to find respite in the upstairs ladies’ room. Men in evening wear catapulted over seats and to the floor on the far left of the auditorium.
Greta was frozen in place, her seat having flipped up against its back so she could move. But her eyes were fixed with horror on the scene unfolding. They lifted to one of the box seats above the floor, where men, including the doctor, were congregating en masse. The gilded box was a flurry of activity. A man embraced a woman, who fought and clawed at his hold. Her screams had many onlookers staring at her, including the performer in her violet gown and befeathered hair. Moments before, her vocals had swirled around them all in a cadence of beauty and refined music. Now, her mouth was open, her face pale, her entire pose aghast. She had captured an enthralled audience, all whose gazes toward the stage had kept them from seeing what Greta had seen. Greta, who shouldn’t have been here to begin with. She didn’t belong with the pomp and circumstance, the heady scent of perfume and cologne, which made her mind thick and her eyes wander. They’d wandered to the box seat, and she’d witnessed what no one else had. The white hands stretching, reaching over the side, dangling . . .
“It was a child!” The horrified cry slipped for the third time from Greta’s lips. She could hear herself screaming and was unable to stop. Her screams had ripped through the performance as the child in a white nightdress plummeted into the shadows of the floor’s obscure corner.
The woman in the box seat had been pulled from view, its red velvet curtain shut swiftly.
“It was a baby!” Greta rasped out as horror strangled her.
“Greta. It’s all right.” The reassuring voice of her friend, Eleanor Boyd, as well as the comforting grip on Greta’s arm finally stilled her.
Greta focused again on her friend—her wealthy friend who should not be her friend at all.
Eleanor’s blue eyes were round with fear that must mirror Greta’s own. Her blond curls swept upward and were twisted with pearls. Her dress was a baby-blue silk. Any other moment, Greta would have soaked in the awe that tonight she, Greta Boyd, who could barely keep her family fed and clothed, was sitting among the elite, pretending to be one of them. But now? It hardly mattered. The borrowed corset that tucked in her waistline, the aged but wearable pink dress she had borrowed from Eleanor, and even the gloves she wore on her dry, cracked hands—none of them mattered now.
“What happened? What did you see?” Eleanor clutched at Greta’s arm.
Greta couldn’t reply. The sheer magnitude of the moment, the honor of being in the audience of the Barlowe Theater had been overwhelming . . . until she’d seen it. The baby launched over the side of the box seat. Like a cherub from the mural above, it had taken flight before it disappeared.
Greta’s knees gave out, and she fell to where her seat should have been had it not folded in on itself. Her hip struck the polished wood arm.
“Greta!” Eleanor reached for her.
Greta felt Eleanor’s brother on her other side, grabbing for her waist to give her support. But it was too late. She had collapsed to the narrow walkway between the seats. Her knees hit the carpeted floor.
Was she the only person who had seen death’s swift visitation tonight? The only one who had witnessed its evil intent as it ripped the babe forcefully from its mother’s arms?
It wouldn’t survive. It could not. The fall was too far, too great.
Death had decided to match the theater’s reputation for drama and awe. Greta couldn’t tear her gaze from where she’d seen the small form disappear on its way to its resting place on the floor of the Barlowe Theater.
The babe had slipped. No, it had been tossed. Its mother’s screams still echoed from the hallway beyond the curtain. Those in the crowd cried “Accident,” “Traumatic mishap,” and other such things. But Greta knew differently. She had known before she came tonight, and she should have stayed away.
Barlowe Theater was not a place that brought joy and entertainment, as was its supposed purpose. No, it had already taken lives in the construction of it, tortured the ones who dared stand in its way, and now it was hunting those innocents who had happened into the shadows of its deadly interior. The theater was cursed.
Kit Boyd
October, Present Day Kipper’s Grove, Wisconsin
Death stuck with a place. Once the blood had seeped into the carpet, the flooring, the walls, it stayed there, long after the stains were removed. They were the testament to lives robbed of their rightful journey through time. Cut short. Obliterated. Bludgeoned into nonexistence. Smothered by the grave, burrowed into by the worms—
“Hey!”
Fingers snapped in front of Kit Boyd’s face, and she startled out of her staring into the dark, narrow stairwell that led beneath the stage of the Barlowe Theater.
“Get with it, bruh.” The fingers snapped again. Kit looked up at the taller man beside her. He was overweight and smelled like pizza, but he had a nice face. His name was Tom, they’d told her, the crew from the TV show Psychic and the Skeptic.
“Sorry.” Kit offered him a wince. She’d paused on the first concrete step while her best friend, Madison, the psychic medium, Heather Grant, and the skeptic investigator, Evan Fischer, disappeared into the bowels of the theater. Tom the cameraman was held back by her hesitation. She gave him a warning look, though the theater’s darkness in the midnight atmosphere probably hid most of her expression. “You do know people died here . . . have disappeared here.”
“That’s the point.” Tom waved her forward, the camera on his shoulder blinking a red light. “But I need to catch them on film if I can, and you’re in my way.”
Fabulous. She was on camera. That would probably make the show too. Kit Boyd, the quirky sidekick to Madison Farrington, the historical activist, the beauty, the granddaughter of the town’s ambitious CEO of all things expansion, modern, and money-making.
“Hello?” There was definite irritation in Tom’s voice.
“I’m going! I’m going.” Kit hurried down the steps. She’d taken them many times before. Anyone who was native to Kipper’s Grove, Wisconsin, had grown up in the Barlowe Theater at one point or another. Dancers had tapped and glided across its stage in recitals, high school glee clubs with dreams of Broadway had warbled off-key through its hall, and the local theater guild had put on such plays as Arsenic and Old Lace and The Music Man. Kit hadn’t been in any of those. Instead, she was the one backstage handing bottles of water to the performers, smiling and cracking jokes to encourage the stage-frozen little six-year-old dressed in a yellow tutu with glitter on her cheeks.
“Oh, c’mon!” Tom hissed, his irritation past the point of being hidden. How he’d gotten behind her anyway was a faux pas for filming. He was supposed to stick close to the stars of the show, Heather and Evan. And boy, did those two get along famously—not.
“Whew!” Kit wheezed under her breath, not caring if Tom heard. “I’d try to avoid those two if you could.”
“Yeah, well, I have a job to do.” Tom squeezed past Kit as she hugged the cement-block wall at the bottom of the stairs to let him through. He elbowed her arm and didn’t bother to apologize. He probably felt as if she owed him that luxury. The luxury of being annoyed.
Okay, fine. She did.
If she was being honest, Kit wasn’t a fan of the Barlowe Theater past dark. Which was the cliché of all theaters built just after the turn of the century. It was dark. Haunted. The place was like a tomb. Crank up some vaudeville music and the place became a literal haunted house of horrors for Halloween. And Kit hated Halloween. The darkness, the Gothic look and feel, Halloween was for morbid people who thought Edgar Allan Poe was romantic in his mystery and lore instead of macabre and bleak. Hadn’t he died questionably? She’d heard a podcast once that claimed the poet might have been murdered, contrary to the popular belief that his death had been the result of some fatal malady undiagnosed.
Kit shook her head to clear her thoughts. Mom said cobwebs couldn’t possibly gather in her head because she had too many ideas. Mom was right. Kit would never be accused of having an underactive imagination.
A finger jabbed into the back of her shoulder.
“Stop it!” Kit spun to glare at the offender.
No one was there.
Her skin began crawling. “Gahhhhhh!” She waved her hands wildly at the unseen ghost finger. Probably her imagination, but whatever. She had let Madison sucker her into a ghost hunt for the popular ghost-hunting television show. This was her penance? Getting poked by an elusive spirit?
“Sorry, God.” Kit mumbled an apology to the Almighty, who was probably rolling His eyes at their attempts to mess with the spirit world. But this was Madison. She believed anything was possible. Kit had been raised to believe that this type of anything was probably demonic. There had to be a middle ground. Hadn’t there?
Kit hurried around the corner, stubbing her toe on a bolt that rose half an inch up from the floor. Dampness and time had warped the theater’s floor, making it uneven. She leaned against the wall, rubbing her bare toe. Flip-flops on a ghost hunt. Bad idea.
She looked around—well, as best as she could. The basement was dark, as were the dressing rooms to her right, sized like prison cells. The short hall to her left leading directly below the stage was also dark.
“Hello, darkness,” Kit crooned quietly, craning her neck to peer ahead. “Hello?” she tried again, this time louder.
No answer.
“Seriously, someone?” Kit was beginning to share Tom the cameraman’s annoyance now. Two argumentative television stars, her best friend, and a cameraman didn’t just vanish within minutes. The basement wasn’t that huge.
But it was Barlowe Theater.
“Tom?” Kit hissed, daring a few steps into the dank blackness. “Madison?”
Again, no one answered. The only light was a flickering bulb that had to be a wattage short of worth having at all. It buzzed too. Of course it did. If this stunt was for show dramatics . . .
“Madison!” Kit shouted. In the ten years since they’d graduated high school, she had followed this woman around. She was owed some loyalty in return. “If this is for ratings, it’s unkind of you!” Kit yelled. Her words echoed back at her.
“Madis—”
Light slammed into her face, blinding Kit. She raised her hands as the flashlight’s beam collided with her eyes.
“They’re gone!” It was Tom.
Kit could see the whites of his eyes just beyond the flashlight he swung around wildly.
“What do you mean?” Kit tried to take captive Tom’s arm as he flooded the hallway with the light, then a dressing room, then the ceiling. His camera wasn’t on his shoulder.
He wasn’t filming.
Kit’s throat tightened. Okay, that wasn’t a good sign. “Where’s Madison?”
Tom swung the light back in Kit’s face. “Where’s Evan? Where’s Heather? Where’s my team?” His voice shook with undisguised concern, turning fast into panic. “How big is this place?”
“Not that big.” Kit pushed past him. Concerned now. This had gone too far. Madison and her harebrained schemes to keep her own grandfather from ruining the historic downtown. Make it famous, she said. Put it on TV, she said. Make viewers defend Kipper’s Grove, she said. “Madison!” Kit shouted, anxiousness seeping into her voice. “Stop this! It’s not funny!”
Tom’s light bounced on the floor in front of them as Kit spun around and marched back toward him. She shoved past his husky chest and down the short passage to the door leading under the stage. Her fingers curled around the doorknob, its old mechanics making it wobbly beneath her grip.
Kit jerked it open.
She fell back with a shriek, colliding with Tom, who had come way too close behind her.
Heather, the medium from the show, stood stock-still facing them. Her eyes were wide and unfocused, her skin white in the flashlight’s glow.
“She’s gone.” Heather’s monotone voice filtered through the passage.
Kit words were stolen from her as her stomach dropped.
“Who’s gone?” Tom demanded.
“Madison.” Evan Fischer, the cohost, the skeptic, and the all-around grumpy hero of the show strode past his partner. Heather’s expression didn’t waver as her eyes remained fixated on . . . whatever she was staring at in the spirit world beyond. “Madison’s gone.”
Evan left less than a few inches between his face and Kit’s as he bent his six-foot frame down to meet her five-foot-four one. “Where is she?”
“I don’t kn—”
“Where. Is. She?” He cut off Kit’s answer as unsatisfactory.
Her breaths came shorter, faster. She could feel Tom behind her. She was sandwiched between him and Evan, with Heather staring into the great abyss.
“I told you. I don’t know.” Kit heard the quaver in her voice. She shoved her trembling hands into her pockets.
“She’s gone.” Evan slapped the wall, glaring at Tom, who was speechless. “Is this a scam? A stunt?”
Kit couldn’t answer. Of course, the show would think it was a ploy by Madison. A publicity ploy. But it went deeper than that. Far deeper. Kit sagged against the wall, the air not reaching her lungs as it should.
She prayed then. Prayed that Madison really was messing with them. That she had simply gone too far ahead beneath the stage and left them behind.
But the theater was hungry, and everyone in Kipper’s Grove knew it was only a matter of time before this hunger added to the stories of death and spirits. That’s how the theater was, after all. Drama. Suspense. And the unearthly way that such things drifted through its rafters.
***
Author Bio
Jaime Jo Wright is the author of nine novels, including Christy Award and Daphne du Maurier Award winner The House on Foster Hill and Carol Award winner The Reckoning at Gossamer Pond. She’s also the Publishers Weekly and ECPA bestselling author of two novellas. Jaime lives in Wisconsin with her cat named Foo; her husband, Cap’n Hook; and their two mini-adults, Peter Pan and CoCo.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Mini Book Review for DEATH AND THESISTERS (Mary Shelley Mystery Book #1) by Heather Redmond 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
The tangled relationships between Frankenstein author Mary Shelley, poet Percy Bysshe Shelley, and Mary’s stepsister Jane Clairmont form the backdrop for an intriguing historical mystery, set in London in 1814, that explores the complex dynamic between sisters and the birth of teenaged Mary’s creative genius.
London, 1814: Mary Godwin and her stepsister Jane Clairmont, both sixteen, possess quick minds bolstered by an unconventional upbringing, and have little regard for the rules that other young ladies follow. Mary, whose mother famously advocated for women’s rights, rejects the two paths that seem open to her—that of an assistant in her father’s bookshop, or an ordinary wife. Though quieter and more reserved than the boisterous Jane, Mary’s imagination is keen, and she longs for real-world adventures.
One evening, an opportunity arrives in the form of a dinner guest, Percy Bysshe Shelley. At twenty-one, Shelley is already a renowned poet and radical. Mary finds their visitor handsome and compelling, but it is later that evening, after the party has broken up, that events take a truly intriguing turn. When Mary comes downstairs in search of a book, she finds instead a man face down on the floor—with a knife in his back.
The dead man, it seems, was a former classmate of Shelley’s, and had lately become a personal and professional rival. What was he doing in the Godwins’ home? Mary, Jane, and Shelley are all drawn to learn the truth behind the tragedy, especially as each discovery seems to hint at a tangled web that includes many in Shelley’s closest circle. But as the attraction between Mary and the married poet intensifies, it sparks a rivalry between the sisters, even as it kindles the creative fire within . . .
Genre: Historical mystery Published by: Kensington Publication Date: September 2023 Number of Pages: 320 ISBN: 9781496737991 (ISBN10: 1496737997) Series: Mary Shelley Mystery, 1
***
My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
DEATH AND THE SISTERS (Mary Shelley Mystery Book #1) by Heather Redmond is an engaging historical mystery and the first in a new series featuring the unconventional Mary Godwin (future Mrs. Shelley and author of “Frankenstein”), her stepsister, Jane Clairmont, and Percy Shelley who was a benefactor to Mary and Jane’s father all come together as amateur sleuths in 1814 London.
Mary discovers a young man stabbed to death on the floor of her father’s bookshop in the night when she goes down to retrieve a book to read. At first it was believed to be the famous poet Percy Shelley, but it was a contemporary competitor of Shelley’s. Mary is determined to solve the crime and with Jane and Shelley, they begin to unravel the clues that lead to Shelley’s closest circle of friends. As the investigation heats up, so does the attraction between Mary and Shelley, but it also sparks an even deeper rivalry between the sisters.
I loved that this book featured working and artistic people and was not centered around the ton. The author’s descriptive writing is atmospheric and made me feel as though I was there in 1814 London, but the dialogue a few times slipped into modern verbiage which pulled me out of the story. I liked getting each of the sister’s points of view with the alternating chapter narration because both were strong and intelligent characters. The competition between them was believable, but at times their immaturity was annoying and yes, I realize they were in their teens, but at that time in history, I would expect them to be more mature. The plot was intriguing and well-paced with plenty of red herrings, but I did not like the late revelation of information from some until close to the end.
Overall, an entertaining introduction to these characters and a beguiling mystery solved. I will be looking forward to the evolution of these characters in future books in this new series.
***
Excerpt
“Come, Mary.” Jane flopped onto her bed. “Tell us a story about the prisoner ghosts wailing.”
“I’ll have to think it up,” Mary said and then began to quote. “‘This relation is Matter of Fact, and attended with such Circumstances as may induce any Reasonable Man to believe it.’”
“What’s that?” Jane asked. The floor creaked as she kicked off her slippers and knocked them to the floor.
“Defoe, I think,” Mary said, already considering the form of her story. If only Mother had written such fanciful tales, to give her ideas on how to construct them. “I’ll consult his works in the bookshop for further inspiration. It seems like quite a good start to a ghost story.”
Mary placed her slippers next to Jane’s and walked down in her stocking feet, hugging the wall so as not to set off the worst of the creaking stairs. If Mamma heard her, she’d be set to mending something. Her stepmother never thought about the cost of candles when she could make her daughters work themselves into exhaustion after dark.
The bookshop’s interior door hung open. Very odd, as Mamma was particular about making sure that the smells of domestic life, particularly cooking odors, did not damage the books.
Mary shrugged, glad she had come downstairs, because if Mamma had been the first to notice, she’d have no doubt blamed Mary. She lit the lantern kept in readiness for customers who wanted to browse in the dark corners.
While she knew exactly where Defoe was kept, she first went to a back corner of the shop and dropped to her knees, then pulled out a much-loved volume that Mamma kept in stock because she knew that it sold, even though it was anything but highbrow or philosophical. Ann Radcliffe’s The Romance of the Forest. Feeling a little breathless, like a Gothic heroine about to swoon, she opened the book to her favorite page. With the lantern held over the engraving, she examined the bare legs of the man removing a blindfolded girl from a house.
She bit her lip as she looked over the engraved musculature, feeling a familiar shiver dance up through her body. Did Shelley have legs so magnificent? He certainly possessed the broad shoulders and narrow waist of the figure on the page. She set down the lantern when it shook in her hand.
“Oh, to see a form like that,” she whispered to herself. None of her Scottish suitors had possessed a body she wanted to caress. As such, none of them had enticed so much as a kiss from her. After a last heated glance, she closed the book and tucked it away again.
The next shelves were in front of the bow windows. The Juvenile Library was shelved there, at the perfect height for children. Works of historical merit were on the other side. Mary rose.
Her foot twisted as she took the first step. She grabbed for the edge of the bookcase with one hand, the other gripping the lantern tightly. Her fingers were trembling by the time she righted herself. She reached down and swiped at her foot. Something sticky coated her fingers. What was on the floor?
“Honestly,” she muttered to herself. More cleaning. She set the lantern on the bookcase and walked past the windows. Slatted lines from the shutters were illuminated by the oil lamp that burned all night at the corner of the road.
Distracted by the sudden reflected light, she tripped again. “Blast,” she cried.
When she tried to take another step forward, her way was blocked by something solid. Confused, she prodded it with her foot. It felt warm, dry, and slightly yielding. She backed up to take the lantern in her hand again, then cupped the side of it with her hand to keep the illumination from the road. When she reached the mass again, she held the lantern out over the floor.
Her mouth dropped open when she saw what lay in front of her. A man, like something out of a painting of the French Revolution, was sprawled on the floor. Facedown. She swept the lantern over his body. Her hand shook as she saw first one knife, then another.
The first was impaled in his back. The other, in the mysterious recesses between his legs.
“Faith!” Wobbly, Mary blinked hard, then forced herself to kneel down beside the sprawled figure, to touch the man’s hand.
Still warm. She squeezed it, feeling that strange sensation of callused male flesh under hers, then dropped the hand. What was she doing? Molesting a corpse?
She scooted back, her eyes closed, then opened them again, feeling her lips tremble at the sight of the dark blue velvet coat, the dark stain around the knife gleaming wetly in the light. She knew that coat. Shelley! That fine figure of a man, ended so cruelly. They had just seen him leave not twenty minutes earlier. Had he been accosted in the street and dumped here?
“I could have loved such a being.” Tears sprang to her eyes, and she let them fall, keenly feeling her sensibility. Hadn’t he said he was a new father? And his poor young wife, not even twenty yet, a widow.
“Mary?”
Drat that Jane. Could she not offer up a moment’s solitude to anyone?
Her stepsister’s footsteps came closer, along with the bobbing of a candle flame.
“Don’t come any closer,” Mary warned. She set the lantern down.
Ignoring her, Jane came down the space between the bookshelves and turned in the nook in front of the windows.
“What are you doing?” she asked.
Mary scrambled to her feet, hoping to block her sister’s view. The candle wavered as Jane took in the scene. She gasped loudly.
“What,” Jane asked, “is that?”
“Knives,” Mary said. “Murder has been done here.”
“What?” Jane repeated, some frantic power coming into her voice. “Papa?”
“No,” Mary said, grabbing the candleholder before the candle dropped. “Shelley.”
She saw what was going to happen and held up her other hand, hoping to forestall it. But she failed, and Jane, coming closer, screamed. Mary bent under the onslaught and grabbed her sister’s hand.
“Hush,” she begged, pulling her away. “We have to tell Papa before the watch comes.”
Though Jane resisted, Mary pulled her through the bookshop, then forced her to sit on the steps and hold the candle while she went back for the lantern. She set it on the table in the hall.
“Stay here,” she commanded.
“But,” Jane whispered. “But the body.”
“Papa will know what to do.”
“But the watch.”
“Papa should call them, not us. Do you want him surprised?”
“The bookshop,” Jane said next.
“Yes, it’s very bad,” Mary agreed.
“It isn’t S-Shelley,” Jane stuttered. “He just left.”
Mary pulled the handkerchief from her sleeve and tucked it into Jane’s unresisting hand. “It must be,” she said. “Who else? Cry quietly, please.” Hoping her sister obeyed, she picked up her skirts and ran up the steps to her father’s library.
***
Author Bio
Heather Redmond is an author of commercial fiction and also writes as Heather Hiestand. First published in mystery, she took a long detour through romance before returning. Though her last British ancestor departed London in the 1920s, she is a committed anglophile, Dickens devotee, and lover of all things nineteenth century.
She has lived in Illinois, California, and Texas, and now resides in a small town in Washington State with her husband and son. The author of many novels, novellas, and short stories, she has achieved best-seller status at Amazon, Barnes and Noble, and other retailers. Her 2018 Heather Redmond debut, A Tale of Two Murders, has received a coveted starred review from Kirkus Reviews.
