Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE ACCIDENTALSPY by David Gardner on this Partners In Crime Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book and the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Harvey Hudson is an emotionally scarred, fifty-six-year-old history professor who has lost his job, his wife and his self-respect. In desperation, Harvey takes a high-tech job for which he is totally unqualified.
So he outsources it to India.
Then Harvey discovers that a Russian intelligence agency owns the outsourcing company and are using him to launch a cyberattack on the U.S. petroleum industry.
Harvey now finds himself in a world of trouble with the Russians and the FBI, and he has fallen in love with the woman from New Delhi who’s doing the job he’s outsourced—who might be a Russian agent.
Genre: Humorous Thriller with Literary Pretensions Published by: Encircle Publications, LLC Publication Date: November 2, 2022 Number of Pages: 274 ISBN: 9781645994206
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
THE ACCIDENTAL SPY by David Gardner is a satire of a spy thriller novel with a bumbling college professor who loses his job, marriage and life savings and yet manages to outwit Russian spies, foil their plot and win the girl. This standalone is a humorous story with moments of suspense, moments of heroism and moments of “Really?”.
Harvey Hudson is a fifty-six-year-old man who begins this story down and out with little self-esteem left after the college he taught at closes and his wife divorces him after running through his life savings. He is left with a pity job from an old high school flame as a technical writer by day and a pizza delivery man by night. When he “outsources” his day job on the sly to India, he meets Amaya. But there is more to this chance pairing then meets the eye and Harvey is about to learn more than he ever wanted to about Russian spies, FBI handlers and international espionage.
Harvey is an anti-hero you come to care for over the course of this life-changing adventure. The plot is unique and while it only occasionally feels fast paced with action and suspense, this is more Harvey’s story of transition and triumph over his past even with all the crazy espionage antics. I was sucked into Harvey’s story and pleasantly surprised at the unique twists, his wry wit and my hope for his ultimate triumph all along the way.
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Excerpt
Accidental Spy: “Some poor jerk dragged into a world of trouble.”
Harvey Hudson
Chapter 1: Bunny Ears
Summer, 2019
Harvey Hudson released the steering wheel and swatted at the blue balloon (“Congrats! You Did It!”) that was banging against the back of his head.
What was the ‘It’ for? Someone earned a law degree? Pulled off a bank heist? Successfully underwent potty training? All three?
One day before turning fifty-six, and here he was, delivering balloons. How had he let this happen to him?
He chewed on the last of the Skittles he’d swiped from a bulky candy basket attached to a red balloon shaped like a birthday cake. Too many sweets for some spoiled kid. He was doing the pudgy brat a favor. The Snickers bar was tempting. Maybe later.
Harvey reached across the front seat, grabbed a handful of candy bars from the Skittle-less basket ($149), and dropped them into its modest neighbor ($39). He often shifted candy from larger baskets to lesser ones. He thought of himself as the Robin Hood of balloon-delivery individuals.
He’d had just $87 in the bank a few weeks ago when he’d shambled past a help-wanted sign in the front window of the Rapid Rabbit Balloon Service. He paused and reread the sign. “Part-time Delivery Person Needed. Become a Rapid Rabbit!” Yeah, what the hell. He hurried inside before he came to his senses. He would have taken any gig—balloon-delivery specialist, male stripper, or get-away driver for a grizzled bank robber.
With his part-time job delivering balloons and his full-time work as a beginning technical writer, Harvey could just stay afloat. His ex-wife had cleaned him out.
He double-parked on a smart street of brick-front homes on Boston’s Beacon Hill. Hesitating, he clamped the hated bunny ears over his head and attached the spongy red nose. Sighing, he grabbed the $149 basket and, head down, ambled up the walkway and rang the bell. The balloon bobbed overhead, taunting him.
The woman who opened the door was a slim and pretty brunette in her fifties. She had a narrow face and large, dark eyes.
She was his boss at his day job.
Also his high school sweetheart.
Harvey wanted to disappear into the ground.
Margo took a step back. “Oh.”
Harvey pulled off the bulbous red nose and stuffed it into his shirt pocket. “Uh…this is where you live?”
Margo shook her head. “I’m here with my daughter for a birthday party.”
Harvey shifted from one foot to the other. “I’m…um…delivering balloons just for tonight to help out a buddy who had two wisdom teeth pulled this morning, a professor who lost his job the same time I did.”
Margo blinked twice.
“A sociologist,” Harvey added.
Margo gripped the edge of the door.
“Named Fred,” Harvey said.
Margo nodded.
“The guy took the job in desperation because he’s broke, recently divorced, and down on his luck,” Harvey said and realized he was describing himself.
He handed the basket to Margo.
Did she believe him? Probably not. Did the company have a rule against moonlighting? He’d soon find out.
Margo poked around inside the basket. “There’s too much candy in here.”
“At least there aren’t any Skittles.”
Margo selected a Reese’s Peanut Butter Cup. “I’ve moved tomorrow’s team meeting up to 10:00 A.M. Did you get my email?”
Harvey nodded.
Was that her way of telling him that moonlighters don’t get fired? He hoped so. He was pathetically unqualified as a technical writer, and his job was in jeopardy.
Harvey hated meetings. Sometimes he thought the software engineers asked him questions he couldn’t answer just to see him squirm. Many were kids in their twenties, making double his salary.
And he hated lying to Margo. At least he could be honest about one small thing. “Actually, this is my night gig. I’ve had it for a few weeks.”
Margo unwrapped the Reese’s, nipped off a corner, chewed and said, “Is that why I caught you asleep at your desk yesterday?”
No, it’s because the job is so goddamn boring. He shook his head. “I wasn’t sleeping. I have the habit of relaxing and closing my eyes whenever I’m searching for the perfect way to convey a particularly difficult concept to our worthy customers.”
“And snoring?”
Margo was smiling now. That same cute smile from high school. He remembered it from the time they’d sneaked a first kiss in the back row of calculus class. The girl he’d loved and lost.
She set the basket down and pulled a twenty from the side pocket of her slacks. “Um…would you…uh…accept a tip?”
“No.”
She shoved the bill into his shirt pocket. “Yes, you will.”
Harvey shifted his weight to his left foot. A liar doesn’t deserve a $20 tip. At most, a few dimes and nickels, couch-cushion change.
Margo finished the peanut butter cup in silence.
He didn’t quite know what to say now.
Yes, he did know. He should tell her the truth.
He’d outsourced his job to India.
Was that illegal? Probably not. But highly unethical. Would she protect him after he’d confessed? Unlikely, which meant he would lose his job. But living a lie was exhausting and just plain wrong. She’d hired him and trusted him. She deserved better. He cleared his throat, once, twice, a third time. “Margo, there’s something I have to tell you. It seems I—“
“Is that the balloon guy?” a young woman called from inside the house.
“That’s my daughter,” Margo said and picked up the basket. A blue balloon bobbed on a string attached to the handle. “I’ll be right back.”
Harvey stood at the open door, trying to think of some way to soften his upcoming confession. Or maybe just blurt it out and get it over with?
“Happy birthday, Dad!”
The daughter’s voice again from inside.
“Candy and a kid’s balloon again this year! Are you trying to tell me something?”
The daughter laughed.
Harvey recognized the man’s voice.
Tucker Aldrich was the CEO of the company where Harvey worked. He was also Margo’s ex-husband and a first-class dickhead.
So, it meant the balloon and candy basket were for Tucker and not some child. Harvey was sorry he’d passed on the Snickers bar.
The hell with telling the truth.
***
Author Bio
David Gardner grew up on a Wisconsin dairy farm, served in Army Special Forces and earned a Ph.D. in French from the University of Wisconsin. He has taught college and worked as a reporter and in the computer industry.
He lives in Massachusetts with his wife, Nancy, also a writer. He hikes, bikes, messes with astrophotography and plays the keyboard with no discernible talent whatsoever.
Today I mad sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for LANDSLIDE (A Mason Hackett Espionage Thriller Book #1) by Adam Sikes for 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. This is an exciting debut. Good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!
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Book Synopsis
International Arms—Private Military Companies—Corruption at Every Turn
U.S. Marine veteran Mason Hackett moved to London to start his life over, and he’s done his best to convince himself that what happened fifteen years ago doesn’t matter—the people he killed, the men he lost, the lives he ruined. But when Mason sees the face of a dead friend flash on a television screen and then receives a mysterious email referencing a CIA operation gone bad, he can no longer ignore his inner demons.
Driven by loyalty and a need to uncover the truth, Mason launches on a perilous journey from the Czech Republic to Romania toward the war-torn separatist region in eastern Ukraine to honor a fifteen-year-old promise. The answers he seeks—the fate of a friend and his connection to the underworld of international arms dealers and defense corporations—throw Mason into the cauldron of a covert war where no one can be trusted.
Genre: Spy Thriller Published by: Oceanview Publishing Publication Date: September 2022 Number of Pages: 368 ISBN: 9781608095049 (ISBN10: 1608095045) Series: A Mason Hackett Espionage Thriller, #1
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My Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
LANDSLIDE (A Mason Hackett Espionage Thriller Book #1) by Adam Sikes is the first book in an exciting new espionage thriller series featuring a US Marine veteran living in London. This is the author’s debut novel, and I am looking forward to many more stories featuring this protagonist.
Mason Hackett is a US Marine veteran who left the states fifteen years ago to get his master’s degree in England and is working as an international banker in London. Mason sees the face of his dead best friend from his unit in Iraq on the television. He believes it just may be a doppelganger because this kidnapped man is a reporter, but then Mason gets a cryptic email that can only be from his friend asking for his help.
Mason discovers his friend has been involved in a CIA operation and has been captures by separatist in Ukraine. Mason is thrown into a morass of covert operations, arms dealers, international corporations, and war with no back-up, and no one can be trusted.
I really enjoyed this fast-paced espionage thriller. I liked the main character, Mason Hackett and his sense of loyalty and determination. The plot of this thriller kept me turning the pages, but as in most thrillers of this type some suspension of belief must be applied and this story had almost everyone being killed along the journey except for our hero. The characters are believable, but hopefully as the series continues, they will become more fully fleshed.
Overall, this is a new thriller and author worth taking the time to read.
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Author Bio:
Adam Sikes is a novelist and freelance writer. He is a graduate of Georgetown University with a degree in International Politics and a Masters in History. Prior to taking up the pen, he served in the US Marine Corps with combat tours in the Balkans, Iraq, and elsewhere in the Middle East. Following the Marines, Adam joined the CIA and conducted operations in Central Asia, East Africa, and Europe. He is the author of the international thriller Landslide and is the co-author of Open Skies: My Life as Afghanistan’s First Female Pilot. He lives in Southern California.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for HERO HATERS by Ken MacQueen on this Partners In Crime Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
He seeks redemption, others want revenge
Jake Ockham had a dream job, vetting nominees for the Sedgewick Medallion-the nation’s highest civilian award for heroism. His own scarred hands are an indelible reminder of the single mother he failed to pull from a raging house fire; her face haunts him still. Obligations drag him back to his hometown to edit the family newspaper but attempts to embrace small-town life, and the hot new doctor, are thwarted by unknown forces. The heroes Jake vetted go missing and he becomes the prime suspect in the disappearances. Aided by resourceful friends, Jake follows a twisted trail to the Dark Web, where a shadowy group is forcing the kidnapped medalists to perform deadly acts of valor to amuse twisted subscribers to its website. To save his heroes, Jake must swallow his fears and become one himself…or die in the attempt.
Genre: Adult Thriller Published by: The Wild Rose Press, Inc Publication Date: October 2022 Number of Pages: 366 ISBN: 9781509243853 (ISBN10: 1509243852)
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
HERO HATERS by Ken MacQueen is an exciting thriller that was impossible to put down! The Dark Web has a new pay per view site where a man who hates “heroes” makes kidnapped proclaimed heroes perform heroic acts for their lives. Make time for this one because it will keep you turning the pages. I believe this is the author’s first thriller and I hope it is not his last.
Jake Ockham works as a journalist on his family’s small-town paper and on the side investigates people nominated for the Sedgewick Medallion which is the nation’s highest civilian award for acts of heroism. Jake, himself was nominated many years previously, but never felt himself a hero because while he saved the son from a raging house fire, the mother perished right before his and the surviving daughter’s eyes.
As Jake tries to impress the new and beautiful doctor in his small town, he finds himself becoming not the hero, but the villain in the eyes of law enforcement as Medallion winners go missing. With the help of his college roommate, Erik who is a brilliant cyber investigator, the friends follow a twisted path on the Dark Web and Jake must face a shadow man while also facing his own fears in an attempt to become a hero once again or die trying.
Twisted, scary and dark and yet also completely believable. The back and forth between the different characters about what makes a hero and who should be considered one is very thought provoking. Jake is a flawed and yet likable main character, and the antagonists are truly evil. I loved this fast-paced plot, and it just became more and more intense as it reached the climax. Absolutely riveting thriller with great characters.
I highly recommend this thriller and cannot wait to see what Mr. MacQueen writes next!
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Excerpt
Prologue
Spokane, Washington, August 2019
Local hero Anderson Wise can’t remember the last time he paid for a drink at Sharkey’s.
Nor can he remember an embarrassing assortment of the women who selflessly shared their affection, post-Sharkey’s.
As for that last blurry night at the gin mill, he wished to hell he’d stayed home.
The bar’s owner, Sharon Key, hence Sharkey’s, took joy in chumming the waters on Wise’s behalf for a regular catch of what she called “Hero Worshippers.”
She saw getting him laid as partial repayment for saving her eleven-year-old grandson Toby’s life some eighteen months back.
A disaffected dad, high on crystal meth, stormed into Toby’s classroom to take issue with his kid’s latest report card. He showed his displeasure by shot-gunning the teacher, then reloaded and asked all A-students to identify themselves. Being A-students, they dutifully raised their hands, Toby among them.
As the high-as-a-kite shooter herded the high achievers to the front of the class, Wise, the school custodian, charged into the room armed with a multipurpose dry-chemical fire extinguisher. He blasted the shooter with a white cloud of monoammonium phosphate, to minimal effect, then slammed the gun out of his hands. It discharged into the floor sending several pellets into Wise’s left foot. Thoroughly pissed, Wise ended the drama by pile-driving the extinguisher into the shooter’s face.
Sharon Key, a widow in her early sixties, subsequently replaced the beer signs and dart board with blow-ups of the laudatory press Wise earned during the tragic aftermath. The front of the next day’s local paper held pride of place. It carried a photo of Wise, extinguisher in hand, under the headline: Greater Tragedy Averted as Hero Janitor Extinguishes Threat. The story contained a pull quote in large font which Wise came to regret: “ ‘It’s a versatile extinguisher,’ the modest 30-year-old explained, ‘good for class A, B and C fires—and meth-heads’.”
Said famous extinguisher now guards the top-shelf booze behind Sharkey’s oak-and-brass bar.
New stories were added to Sharkey’s wall five months back after Wise was awarded, with much publicity, the Sedgewick Trust Sacrifice Medallion— one of the most prestigious recognitions of heroism that American civilians can receive.
Wise’s liver and a lower part of his anatomy took a renewed pounding in the weeks thereafter. So much so he declared a moratorium on visits to Sharkey’s for reasons of self-preservation.
He was back in the saddle a month now, but his attendance was spotty. “This hero stuff,” he confided to Key one night, while slumped in his chair. “Maybe it’s too much of a good thing?”
“Ya think?” Key muttered as she took inventory of that night’s limited offerings.
It wasn’t just the women. Men often bought him drinks too, happy to bask in the reflected glory of a proven manly man.
Two weeks ago, some weedy academic from back east interviewed him at Sharkey’s and staked him to an alcohol-fueled dinner at the city’s best chop house. The brainy one expected Wise to opine on such things as “neo-Darwinian rules for altruism.”
Asked him if he’d been motivated by “a kinship bond” with anyone in the room?
Er, no.
Wondered if Wise knew that a disproportionate number of risk takers are working-class males?
Nope, sorry.
And had he calculated in the moment that a heroic display of “good genes” would make him a desirable mating partner?
Cripes. Really?
“Don’t know what I was thinking,” Wise said, swirling a glass of something called Amarone, a wine so amazing angels must have crushed the grapes with their tiny, perfect feet. “Heard a gun blast, grabbed the fire extinguisher off the wall. Saw the dead teacher, all those kids, and a nut with a shotgun. Did what anybody would do. I spent three years in the army after high school, mostly in the motor pool. Much as I hated basic training, maybe some of it stuck. Who knows?”
The academic gave a condescending smile and called for the bill, his hypothesis apparently confirmed.
Wise fled to the restaurant toilet and took notes on the back of his pay slip. Back home, he Googled the hell out of studies on “extreme altruist stimuli,” on “empirical perspectives on the duty to rescue,” and after many false starts, on theories of “Byronic and Lilithian Heroes.”
He kinda got the concept of “desirable mating partner”, but he was pretty sure his dick didn’t lead him into that classroom. Did it?
While not a reflective guy, Wise had to admit it was creepy to reap the fleshy benefits of his few seconds of glory while his dreams were haunted by visions of teacher Adah Summerhill slumped over her desk, blood pooled beneath her. So much blood. With the shooter sprawled unconscious, Wise gently lifted Adah’s head.
She had no pulse and her eyes, once so vibrant and expressive, were as empty as an open grave. She’d always been nice, and totally out of his league.
So, here he was, back at Sharkey’s, mind made up.
Key arrived at his “courting table” and set down his Jack and ginger ale.
“Gave my notice at the school,” he told her. “Getting outta here for a while. Got that Sedgewick money to spend. Someplace they don’t know me. Mexico, maybe.
Or Costa Rica.”
Key patted his hand. “Knew this was coming, Andy.
You banged every eligible female in town, pretty much.
And some who shoulda been out of bounds. I’m amazed the Tourist Bureau doesn’t list you as a top-ten attraction, up there with the botanical gardens.”
“All I want, Shar, is to be liked for me, not for something I did because I happened to be in the wrong place at the right time. Or is that the other way ’round?”
“Hey, you’re a good-looking guy. Still got that shaggy blond baseball player thing going for ya.
Might’ve taken a run at you myself if my hips weren’t shot.” She patted his cheek. “Made you blush. Now don’t turn into a beach bum down there. Always thought you aimed too low, mopping floors and washing windows for the school board. Time to stretch—”
She craned her neck toward the door after it opened with a bang. “My, my, here’s one for the road. She was in earlier, asking after you.” Key aimed a nod at the door and whispered, “Don’t strain anything.” And headed to the bar.
Wise looked up and…sweet Jesus.
Early twenties, he guessed. His eyes roamed from strappy sandals, up a long expanse of tanned bare legs to a glittering silver dress that started perilously high-thigh and ended well below exposed shoulders. The ripe promise of youth was on full display, like she’d dipped her bounteous curves in liquid lamé.
She drew every eye in the place as she undulated to his table. Full red lips, high cheekbones, chestnut hair piled high. Up close now, her gimlet eyes were at once innocent and knowing, like a debauched choirgirl.
“Hi, hero.” Her voice was low and sultry, as he knew it would be. She remained on her feet, hands on the table, leaning low to full effect. “When you finish that drink, I really want to see your medal.”
**** He remembered her mixing drinks back at his apartment while he retrieved his medallion from the sock drawer in his bedroom. He remembered her running a sensuous thumb over the bas-relief portrait of Philip Sedgewick as she read aloud the inscription: “The most sublime act is to set another before you.”
That wondrous voice lingering over “sublime act,”
like it was lifted from the Kama Sutra.
And like too many times, post-Sharkey’s, damned if he could remember her name—that evil bitch. He awoke, bouncing in the back of a van, hands and legs cuffed to rings set in the floor. A broken-glass headache served notice of every bump in the road.
Another lost night at Sharkey’s.
Wise had a dreadful feeling he’d never be back.
Chapter One Aberdeen, Washington, July, one month earlier Jake Ockham was one kilometer in, one kilometer to go and already in a world of pain. Lungs, legs and palms, always the damned palms, screaming enough already.
He’d whaled away on his Concept II rowing machine for thirty minutes, building up to this. Stripped off the sweatshirt after ten minutes, the t-shirt after twenty-five. Down now to running shoes and gym shorts, his torso gleaming with sweat despite the morning chill.
He’d rested after a thirty-minute warm-up to gulp water and to consider the need to reinforce the pilings under the creaky wooden deck before it dumped him and the ergometer into the Wishkah River below. Might leave it in the river mud if it came to that.
Full race mode now, one kilometer in, another to go.
The erg’s computer showed the need to pick up the pace to break the six-minute barrier, something he’d regularly shattered a decade ago during his university rowing days.
Thrust with the legs, throw back the shoulders, arms ripping back the handle. Return to the catch and repeat.
Five hundred meters to go. Eyes fixed on a duck touching down on the river, looking anywhere but the screen.
Two hundred and fifty meters. Faster. Harder. Don’t lose the technique.
Fifty meters. You can do this.
A final piston thrust of legs, shoulders, arms and…six minutes, thirteen seconds.
“Fuck!” His roar startled the duck into flight.
He slumped over the machine, gasping for air, ripping at the Velcro tabs of his gloves, throwing them on the deck in disgust. Hated those damned gloves, so essential these days.
Head bowed, he heard the cabin’s door rasp open.
“Such language.” Clara Nufeld, his aunt, and technically his boss as publisher of the Grays Harbor Independent, leaned against the doorframe.
He didn’t look up. “Don’t bother knocking. Make yourself at home.”
“I did, and I am. Got a couple of things to show you.
Right up your alley. Might be pieces for next week’s issue.”
She was lean and tall, in tight jeans and a faded Nirvana sweatshirt, her spiked white hair cut short. At sixty-four, she still turned heads. Jake knew her age to the day, Clara being his mother’s identical twin. Connie, his late mother, fell to breast cancer at age forty-five.
So much of his mother in Clara. So much that when Jake finished high school and rode his rowing scholarship east to Pittsburgh’s Carnegie Mellon University, his father, Roger Ockham, moved his accounting business to Bend, Oregon. Said it was for the golfing, but Jake suspected the sight of his late wife’s twin was a constant reminder of his loss.
Connie and Clara, fresh out of university, worked for their father at the Independent, Clara on the advertising side, Connie as a reporter.
They took the helm of the paper after Derwin Nufeld—their dad, Jake’s grandfather—collapsed and died mid-way through crafting a fiery editorial on a mule-headed decision to pull The Catcher in the Rye from the high school library.
After Connie’s death, Clara did double duty as editor and publisher until she succeeded six months ago in luring Jake home to Washington State from Pittsburgh to take over as editor-in-chief.
This five-room stilt home, Clara’s former cottage on the tidal Wishkah, was his signing bonus.
One of the dwindling numbers of real estate ads in the Independent would describe the cabin something like: “A cozy oasis on the Wishkah, surrounded by nature and just minutes from the city. Fish from your deck while contemplating the possibilities for this prime riverfront property. A bit of TLC gets you a rustic getaway while you make plans for your dream home.”
After years in urban Pittsburgh, he awoke now to bird chatter and the sights and scents of the moody, muddy Wishkah—its current pulled, as he was pulled, to the infinite Pacific.
Jake gathered his shirts and gloves and cringed at a sniff-test of his underarms. “I’ll keep my distance.” He waved Clara inside. “What’s up my alley?”
She waved two dummy pages, the ads already laid out, plenty of blank space for him and his skeleton staff to fill with stories and photos.
Jake was still adjusting to small-town journalism, covering at least one earnest service club luncheon every week, puffy profiles of local businesses, check presentations, city council and school board meetings.
And jamming in as many names as possible. He’d done some summer reporting for the weekly during his high school years, but rowing had occupied most of his time.
Clara handed off a page proof with a boxed advert already laid out. “A new doctor is taking over old Doc Wilson’s practice, thank God. I swear the last medical journal that old man read was on the efficacy of leeches and bloodletting.”
Jake nodded. Worth a story for sure. A few words from Wilson about passing the scalpel to a new generation, then focus on Dr. Christina Doctorow. No hardship there.
The ad for her family practice included her photo.
Rather than the cliché white coat and stethoscope she wore hiking shorts and a flannel shirt with rolled sleeves, thick dark hair in a ponytail, a daypack hanging off a shoulder. A husky at her side gazed up adoringly.
Smart dog.
Jake put her at early thirties, his age more or less. He nodded approval. “Sporty. A fine addition to the Grays Harbor gene pool.”
“The woman’s a firecracker. Spent ten minutes haggling down the price. I finally caved. Said I’ll bump this up to a half-page, but you owe me a free checkup.”
“Seriously?”
“What she said, too. Also asked ‘Is that ethical?’ I said, ‘darling, I’m in advertising. You want ethics, deal with my nephew on the editorial side.’ “
Jake laughed. “Pretty good at bloodletting herself.
What else you got?”
“This is so up your alley.” She handed him a classified ad page-proof. “You being an expert.”
Jake slumped onto a kitchen chair. “On what?”
She tapped a one-column boxed ad in the lower left, “Heroes.”
“Not hardly.”
He looked closer and reared back. The heading read: “For Sale. Rare Sedgewick Sacrifice Medallion. $100 OBO.”
There was a thumbnail photo of the medal’s obverse, showing the craggy face of Philip Sedgewick, a leading member of the long-dead school of industrialist robber barons. He’d amassed a fortune in textile mills, newspapers, and exploitive labor practices. Awash in cash he came to philanthropy late in life. Like others in this elite group—Carnegie, Mellon, Rockefeller, Vanderbilt, et al—their names and reputation-burnishing generosity live beyond the grave.
Sedgewick, at his wife’s urging, chose to celebrate extraordinary acts of heroism. He used eight of his many millions—an enormous sum in 1901—to endow a family trust to award exceptional heroism with the Sacrifice Medallion and needs-based financial assistance. Over the past one hundred twenty years, the trust awarded some eleven thousand medallions, an inspiring legacy of courage, and yes, sacrifice.
The grainy photo in the classified ad was too small to read the inscription under Sedgewick’s stern visage, but Jake knew it well. It was a quotation by the English poet William Blake: “The most sublime act is to set another before you.”
Below the photo was a post office box address, and “mail inquiries only.”
Jake shook his head. “This is nuts. The price is insanely low, insulting really. The medallions are kinda priceless.”
“I wondered about that,” Clara said. “The ad cost fifty dollars so not much of a profit.”
“The rare few that get to auction can fetch in the thousands. We try to buy them back, prefer that to having them land up in the hands of the undeserving.”
Clara cocked an eyebrow. “We?”
Jake shrugged. “I still do the occasional freelance investigations for Sedgewick. The thing is, there’s never a good reason to sell these. Either the recipient is dead broke, or dead without relatives to inherit it. Or it’s stolen.”
“Or,” Clara said, resting a hand on Jake’s shoulder, “the hero feels undeserving.”
He flinched. “Was there a photo of the medal’s back? It’d have the recipient’s name and the reason it was awarded.”
“Don’t even know who placed the ad. Arrived in the mail: a photo, the ad copy, and a fifty-dollar bill. No return address but the post office box.”
“Pull the ad, Clara. I’ll buy it and return the money.
There’s a story here, something’s not right.”
Clara toyed with her car keys. “I feel bad sometimes, guilting you back. Do you miss it, your old life back in Pittsburgh?”
His pause was barely discernable. “Great to be back in the old hometown.”
“Great to earn half the salary you did in the big city?
Great to prop up the family business? Great to be stuck with your old aunt?”
“Aunt doesn’t cover it. I was twelve when Mom passed. You stepped up for Dad and me.”
She looked like she was about to say something, then shook her head and flashed an enigmatic smile. “A topic for another day. Gotta run.”
She leaned across the table, took his hands in hers, running her thumbs lightly over his scarred palms. She raised his hands to her lips for a kiss, then turned for the door.
Excerpt from Hero Haters by Ken MacQueen. Copyright 2022 by Ken MacQueen. Reproduced with permission from Ken MacQueen. All rights reserved.
***
Author Bio
Before turning to fiction, Ken MacQueen spent 15 years as Vancouver bureau chief for Maclean’s, Canada’s newsmagazine, winning multiple National Magazine Awards and nominations. He traveled the world writing features and breaking news for the magazine, and previously for two national news agencies. Naturally, he had to make Jake Ockham, his hero, a reporter, albeit a reluctant one. MacQueen also covered nine Olympic Games and drew Jake’s athletic prowess from tracking elite rowers in training and on podiums in Athens, Beijing and London. He and his wife divide their time between Vancouver, and British Columbia’s Sunshine Coast.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE COUNTERFEITWIFE (A Revolutionary War Mystery Book #2) by Mally Becker 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
Philadelphia, June 1780. George Washington’s two least likely spies return, masquerading as husband and wife as they search for traitors in Philadelphia.
Months have passed since young widow Becca Parcell and former printer Daniel Alloway foiled a plot that threatened the new nation. But independence is still a distant dream, and General Washington can’t afford more unrest, not with food prices rising daily and the value of money falling just as fast.
At the General’s request, Becca and Daniel travel to Philadelphia to track down traitors who are flooding the city with counterfeit money. Searching for clues, Becca befriends the wealthiest women in town, the members of the Ladies Association of Philadelphia, while Daniel seeks information from the city’s printers.
But their straightforward mission quickly grows personal and deadly as a half-remembered woman from Becca’s childhood is arrested for murdering one of the suspected counterfeiters.
With time running out – and their faux marriage breaking apart – Becca and Daniel find themselves searching for a hate-driven villain who’s ready to kill again.
Genre: Historical Mystery Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 2022 Number of Pages: 300 ISBN: 9781685121587 Series: A Revolutionary War Mystery
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
THE COUNTERFEIT WIFE (A Revolutionary War Mystery Book #2) by Mally Becker is the second Revolutionary War era historical mystery featuring Rebecca Parcell and Daniel Alloway as spies assisting General George Washington. This book can easily be read as a standalone, but the first book, TheTurncoats Widow introduces this engaging pair of spies and is an exciting mystery also.
Rebecca Parcell and Daniel Alloway are once again assisting General Washington and Alexander Hamilton as they now play a married couple in search of a band of counterfeiters flooding the new economy in Philadelphia with bad currency that could destabilize the new nation. While they suspect the English, they need proof. As they investigate, one of their main suspects ends up dead on the docks and the mother Rebecca thought dead for years, is accused of the murder.
Rebecca and Daniel find themselves accused of crimes and until they can discover the murderer, they could end up in prison or dead.
I enjoyed this well researched and intricately plotted second mystery in this series. Rebecca and Daniel are brought to life in this period, and I was just as engrossed in their story in this mystery as the first. The plot was full of twists and red herrings, but the mystery was also character driven involving many of the issues of the day. An interesting historical inclusion in the plot was the description of inoculation for smallpox and that Washington wanted his troops inoculated.
I recommend this historical mystery book and series.
***
Excerpt
Heat rose from Rebecca Parcell’s chest, climbed her neck, and stamped a flush on her cheeks. She knew what would happen next. It was time for the toasts.
“Steady now,” Daniel Alloway whispered. They stood alone in a corner of the crowded ballroom. His good hand brushed hers for reassurance. His other hand hung at his side, deadened by the injury he’d incurred escaping from a British prison ship a year ago.
Becca scanned the room to assure herself that no one watched them. Even his light touch was frowned upon by polite society, but it brought her warmth and comfort.
Their host rapped an ornate silver fork against his crystal goblet again and waited for the magpie chatter of gossip to quiet. He stood by the large fireplace, his feet planted wide as if he were standing on the deck of one of his ships. Mr. Thaddeus Barnes was the wealthiest merchant in Philadelphia, which meant, she knew, that he was one of the richest men in all of North America.
Becca had rarely seen luxury like this, not even last winter in New York City. The ceiling dripped curved garlands of flowers carved of plaster. Blue and white vases from China rested on the carved marble mantel. Cherry wood tables hailed from France, and the glass chandelier from Venice.
“I’d be much more comfortable with a bow in my hand,” Becca murmured. “Or a knife. A knife would do.”
“You’d rather hunt in Morristown than here?” Daniel smiled, his green eyes filled with amusement. The gaunt, haunted look he wore when she met him last winter was gone. But his features still seemed to be carved from stone, all hard angles and shadows. Except when he smiled at her like this.
Despite being tall, Becca had to tilt her chin up to see eye-to-eye with Daniel. “Hunting here will do.” she said, sounding more prim than she intended, and Daniel laughed. “Even this type of hunting.”
They were in Philadelphia, searching for the counterfeiters flooding the colony with fake money. They were the obvious, though unconventional, pair for the job, General Washington had said when he assigned them. Daniel because he was a former printer with the skills to evaluate ink and paper and Becca for her talent with numbers, accounts, and codes, which had already served the general well.
The clink-clink of metal on glass rang through the air again, and Mr. Barnes’s guests finally quieted. “A toast,” he called, beginning the first of the three he would raise to Becca and Daniel. It was the same at each of the parties held in their honor these past few weeks. Always three. Becca dreaded the third. “To independence.”
Becca lifted her goblet and sipped to a chorus of “huzzahs.” One, she counted to herself, because counting was soothing but not soothing enough for what was to come.
When the cheers faded, Mr. Barnes raised his glass again. The wine-filled cup glimmered red beneath the crystal candelabras. “To General Washington.”
“Huzzah!” The ballroom cheered again. Two, Becca counted.
She should be grateful to Mr. Barnes, not gritting her teeth over his toasts. He had opened his home to them at the Washingtons’s request, and he was introducing them to the finest families in Philadelphia, who were happy to welcome two friends of General and Lady Washington.
At least that much was true. Since last February, she and Daniel had become regular visitors to the Washingtons’ residence in Morristown after uncovering a plot that threatened the new nation.
Another round of cheers. Some guests made the mistake of lowering their glasses.
“And…” Mr. Barnes crowed.
A man with ginger-colored hair lounging by the doorway sighed loudly, catching her eye.
Becca couldn’t have agreed more.
The stranger gave her a slow, lazy smile. His expression was almost intimate, as if he were trying to draw her in. She turned away quickly.
“Finally…” Mr. Barnes added.
Becca took a deep breath, inhaling the warm scent of beeswax candles.
“…let us wish the newlyweds a joyous and productive marriage.” Mr. Barnes, a long-time widower, winked at Daniel. “May your hearts ever be at each other’s service.”
The cream of Philadelphia society turned in unison to Becca and Daniel.
She dropped her gaze to avoid the stares.
“A delicate flower, you are,” Daniel whispered without moving his lips.
She banged his ribs with her elbow and heard a satisfying oomph.
Anyone watching her redden and look away at the mention of their marriage might indeed take it that she was a shy, delicate flower. This was false.
She was not shy.
She was not delicate.
And, more to the point, she and Daniel were not married.
Mr. Barnes nodded to a double-chinned musician in the corner dressed in maroon breeches and a matching silk coat. At the signal, he tucked his violin into his neck, lifted a bow, and attacked his instrument. Two men laughed at something a third said. A few women formed a group and chatted, and the high-ceilinged room filled again with noise.
Barnes knew the reason they were in Philadelphia. General Washington had trusted him with that information. But their host believed that Becca and Daniel were wed. This way, Mr. Barnes could rightfully claim to be as outraged as everyone else if their deceit came to light.
Memory pulled Becca back to a dinner with the Washingtons in Morristown. “Perhaps this is unwise.” The general voiced a rare doubt after they agreed to come to Philadelphia. “You are unmarried and unchaperoned. It is scandalous. Society will close ranks against you. You’ll learn nothing.”
Lady Washington had taken a small sip of sherry. Her blue eyes lit with humor. “Then they must appear to be married while maintaining all the proprieties.”
The general made a choking sound that Becca and Daniel decided later was laughter. And so they’d agreed to play the part of a newly married couple, with Daniel looking for a new business opportunity in Philadelphia. It was a brazen plan but might just succeed.
Becca startled. The ginger-haired gentleman suddenly stood before her.
He extended a silk-clad leg and bowed, then rose, displaying the same secret smile that made her uncomfortable minutes ago. His nose was straight, his eyelashes pale against close-set blue eyes. Perhaps his chin was a bit heavy, his mouth a bit small. His features were not memorable, but something about him commanded attention.
It wasn’t just his shock of red hair combed back neatly and tied low along the back of his neck, nor the well-made clothes of ivory silk and gold embroidery. Everyone in the room bore similar signs of wealth. It was the confidence with which he moved, the sense that his regard flattered anyone upon whom it was bestowed.
“You’ve kept her from me, Alloway. I thought I knew all the beautiful women in Philadelphia.” His eyes locked on Becca’s.
She stiffened. It took discipline not to raise her hand and double check that the lace covering the top of her breasts was in place. He made her feel naked.
Daniel stiffened, too. “Mrs. Alloway, may I introduce Mr. Edmund Taylor, another merchant here in Philadelphia.”
Taylor’s light eyebrows shot up in mock distress. “Just another merchant? One of the most successful in the colonies, despite the war.” His gaze dropped to Daniel’s injured hand.
“And is your wife here, too?” Daniel bit down on the words, “your wife.”
Irritation crossed Taylor’s face so quickly Becca thought she imagined it. “My dear,” he called loudly.
A woman standing near the fireplace tensed, then moved toward them with the elegance of a swan. Her hair was honey blond, her skin unblemished, and her eyes a liquid blue. She stopped before them, wearing a tentative smile.
“I’m honored to present my wife, Charlotte Taylor.” He completed the introductions.
“It is a pleasure. I hope you enjoy our city.” Her voice was breathy and slow. There was a stillness about her, as if she had her own secrets to guard.
“I am enjoying it.” From downstairs, Becca heard the butler’s placating voice, then a woman’s shrill, demanding response.
Moments later, Mr. Barnes’s butler, Eli, slipped into the room.
Heads turned to the butler with a mixture of curiosity and mild surprise.
He whispered to Mr. Barnes, who nodded.
Then Eli strode toward them. He cupped his hand over his mouth and leaned toward Mr. Taylor.
“Begging your pardon, sir. There’s a woman at the front door. She says she’s yours, and that she must see you now.”
Becca couldn’t help but overhear. She says she’s yours. The woman at the door must be enslaved. Neither her dead husband nor father had owned slaves. But even she knew that enslaved people did not enter by the front door.
Color leeched from Taylor’s face.
“I will see her.” Mrs. Taylor swept from the room without waiting for her husband’s response.
“How do you find Philadelphia, Mrs. Alloway? Your husband says that this is your first visit,” another guest, who had turned to them at the servant’s approach, asked to mask the embarrassment of the moment.
When Becca didn’t answer, Daniel elbowed her gently. “Yes, Mrs. Alloway. How do you find Philadelphia?”
She really must do a better job responding to her married name. “People have been kind here. I hardly expected it.”
Mr. Barnes joined them, interrupting, “How goes your business, Taylor?”
“We don’t want to bore the ladies.” Taylor glanced at Becca.
“Please, don’t stop on my account. I comprehend so little, but hearing you speak of business never bores me.” Becca would have fluttered her eyelashes if she were the sort of woman who could manage it without appearing to have caught a speck of dirt in her eye.
She pasted a pleasant far-away expression on her face. Men spoke of business and politics as if she couldn’t understand a word, as if she didn’t listen and pass anything of interest back to General Washington. She took a small sip of the straw-colored dry sherry.
“Are you paying your investors in silver or paper these days?” Barnes asked.
Becca admired his playacting. Daniel and their host had rehearsed their lines. They asked the same questions at each party.
Taylor glared. “Sterling, of course. What are you accusing me of?”
Becca slowly lowered her glass. Taylor was the first to interpret the query as an accusation. An accusation of what? Having less silver than a man of his stature should? Or of passing along fake dollar notes?
Barnes nodded to Taylor. “No offense intended. I started seeing badly printed dollar notes again this spring. Merely asking whether you’re being cautious about paper dollars these days, given the situation.”
Taylor nodded curtly.
By now, five men had formed a tight ring as if warming themselves round a campfire. Becca stood just outside their circle.
Another of the merchants stepped up. “I thought I was the only one who noticed the forgeries.”
Daniel feigned surprise. “Has that been a problem here?”
“The British—damn them. They’re printing false money and spreading it as fast as they can,” one of the men said.
“There are worse problems, surely,” Daniel said.
“Ah, a young man who believes war is only about battles,” another guest drawled with feigned pity.
The others chuckled.
“If not winning battles, then what?” Daniel smiled, but the skin around his eyes tightened. He’s offended by the condescending tone, Becca thought.
“The counterfeits will set this country ablaze.” Barnes sputtered. “There have been food riots already. The poor are starving, and they can’t afford bread. How soon until people seek another king, another tyrant who swears that only he can save them?”
“When no one can tell whether money is real, the price of bread goes up, and everyone—everyone—turns against the government,” another man added. He looked to the group for support.
Becca studied them, shaken. She had thought of this trip as a lark, a way to spend more time with Daniel while unraveling a simple puzzle for General Washington.
Daniel bowed to Mr. Barnes. “It does sound terrible. My apologies.” He turned to Taylor. “And what do you think of all this, sir?”
Taylor shrugged. “Mr. Barnes is right. The economy is undone. I’d look to the traitors’ wives first. I wouldn’t put counterfeiting past them.”
“Who are the traitors’ wives?” Becca asked, catching Taylor’s attempt at redirection.
The men turned to her in surprise.
Oh bullocks. “Traitors? I don’t see any traitors at this party. Mr. Barnes wouldn’t allow it.” There. That sounded more like the simple, oblivious young woman they expected her to be.
Taylor and the others chuckled indulgently. “Nothing for you to worry about, Mrs. Alloway. Our apologies.”
“Do you know something specifically about these women, or are you trading in rumors?” Daniel’s voice was soft, but the challenge was clear. Neither he nor Becca cared for baseless rumors, not after gossip had almost ruined her life last winter.
“My husband’s passions sometimes lead him astray.” Charlotte Taylor had returned. “There are times that he causes harm when it is least intended.”
The husband and wife stared at each other from across the small circle of guests. He looked away first.
***
Author Bio
Mally Becker combines her love of history and crime fiction in mysteries that feature strong, independent heroines. She is the Agatha Award-nominated author of The Turncoat’s Widow, which Kirkus Reviews called, “A compelling tale… with charming main characters.” Her first novel was also named a Silver Falchion finalist and a CIBA “Mystery & Mayhem” finalist.
A member of the board of MWA-NY, Mally was an attorney until becoming a full-time writer and an instructor at The Writers Circle Workshops. She is also a member of Sisters in Crime and the Historical Novel Society. Mally and her husband live in New Jersey, where they raised their wonderful son and spend as much time as they can hiking and kayaking.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for SHIFTING AND SHENANIGANS (Magical Mystery Book Club Book #1) by Elizabeth Pantley on this Partners In Crime Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links and a Kingsumo giveaway. Good luck on the giveaway and enjoy!
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Book Description
Paige and her adventurous Aunt Glo inherit a country inn from eccentric GeeGee. They pack up and hit the road, arriving at the charming place they both loved since childhood.
Finally! They can get into the secret room in the basement that GeeGee kept locked! They discover it’s a wonderful library filled to the brim with mystery books. But more than the room was a secret – it’s a magical place that houses enchanted books. Paige and Glo find themselves smack-dab in the middle of a murder mystery, along with a motley group of book club friends. The club will need to work together to solve the case in order to get out of the book and back to their home.
Genre: Paranormal Cozy Mystery Published by: Indie Publication Date: July 15th 2022 Number of Pages: 210 ASIN: B0B3WLF7CW Series: Magical Mystery Book Club #1
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My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
SHIFTING AND SHENANIGANS (Magical Mystery Book Club Book #1) by Elizabeth Pantley is the fun first book in a new cozy mystery series featuring a mystery book club with quirky, but lovable characters and rules and adventures unlike any other book club.
Paige Erickson and her Aunt Glo inherit a quaint country inn from their GeeGee. They are both ready for change and a new adventure, so they pack up and move. When they explore the inn, they are excited to finally be able to investigate the library in the basement they were never allowed in before. What they find is a two-story magical library under the inn filled to the brim with only cozy mysteries.
Paige and Glo start the book club with the help of a Siamese cat and an octogenarian ball of energy who both attended previous book club meetings. The club is set up for eight members who are magically sent into the cozy mystery book the group decides on together. As the mystery unfolds, the group must learn to work together to solve the case in order to end the story and get out of the book.
I enjoyed meeting every character in this mystery. They are all so different and entertaining. The plot reads like any other cozy mystery that must be solved, but you feel like a member of the book club, and you are trying to solve it with them so they can return home. It is like reading a story in a story. The magical elements are simply explained, and you just go with them. Since this is the first book, the characters and the magical elements are introduced which takes some time from the mystery, but it was still engaging. This is also a great premise because there are so many different types of cozy plots the author can explore in the future. This was a paranormal cozy mystery, but the next could be any other type.
I recommend this new cozy mystery for a fun and entertaining read. I am looking forward to many more adventures with the Magical Mystery Book Club.
***
Excerpt
Shifting and Shenanigans
Magical Mystery Book Club #1
“I’ve never seen anything like this,” said the locksmith. He took a step back and scratched his head. He’d been at it for twenty minutes and still hadn’t opened the door. “It doesn’t make sense. This takes a skeleton key. It should be a simple task. People can do it with a couple of Allen wrenches. I’ve even done it with a pair of paperclips.”
“So, what do we do now?” Glo asked.
“Best thing is to contact a carpenter. Since the hinges are inside, he’ll have to drill the lock. It’ll destroy the lock and damage your door, though.”
“We don’t have much choice. We want to get into the room, so we’ll have to do it,” I said.
After the locksmith left, we looked up a couple of local contractors, but any openings were days away. We texted Theo but hadn’t heard back from him yet.
We decided to start the day by sorting out the kitchen. There were plenty of dishes and dry goods, but the organization was an absolute mess.
“How in the world did she work in this disaster?” Glo mumbled. “You’d spend half your time searching for things!” She was emptying out a cabinet. She pulled out an odd assortment of dishes, pots, cleaning supplies, and canned goods. She started to laugh and held up a hundred-piece puzzle in one hand and a shoeshine kit in the other.
“Now this makes perfect sense.” She was snorting. “Make dinner, clean up, shine your shoes and do a puzzle.”
I held up a few treasures from the cabinet I was working on. “And here you go. In case you need a spare pair of socks, a stack of plastic containers – no lids – and printer ink.”
“It’s like a treasure hunt! It’s good for us to sort through all this anyhow.”
“True,” I agreed. “Then we’ll know what we’ve got. Let me find some paper and a pen and we’ll start a list of things we need.”
I began to sort through the typical drawers most people would use for things like pens and scratch paper, then groaned. “You know what’s in her junk drawers? Talcum powder, coffee creamer, clothespins, and aha! The soup bowls!”
“Where’s the very last place you’d look for a pen and paper? Try that first,” snickered Glo.
“Probably the bathroom,” I joked. “I’ll just make a list on my phone.”
I opened another cabinet and groaned at the stack of boxes and plastic containers jammed into every inch. They were filled with random stuff. I took them to the table and dumped them out.
“Holy Toledo! Glo, look at this!” I stood up and did a little dance around the kitchen. I shimmied over to her, then held up a very old-looking skeleton key.
~ ~ ~
“I feel like we should have a drum roll or a trumpet fanfare—”
“—or fireworks!” laughed Glo. “At least a countdown. Five … four … three … two … one! Blastoff!”
I turned the key and heard the click as it unlocked. “Houston, we have liftoff.”
I twisted the knob and pushed the door open. There was a set of stairs to the basement. At the bottom of the stairs was another door. We opened it. Impossibly, there was another set of stairs. At the bottom of those stairs was yet another door. It required a skeleton key to open. I stared at the key in my hand. “You better work,” I told the key.
The key worked smoothly, and I opened the door.
Our jaws dropped and neither of us spoke. You could have heard a cotton ball drop.
Finally, Glo broke the silence. “Holy macaroni! This is insane!”
“How could she have kept this secret our whole lives?” I wondered.
“WHY did she keep this secret?” Glo added.
“This room is the size of the entire house! It’s enormous. Ginormous!” I whistled.
“This secret space is underneath the inn! How is it two stories high? Is that even structurally sound? This is bizarre.”
The room was indeed two levels high, connected by a brass spiral staircase. In the front area, where we were glued to the spot, was a large seating area with eight cozy floral patterned armchairs. A beautiful wooden coffee table sat in the middle. There was an antique globe on a brass stand, and a stone fireplace like the one upstairs. This one had an intricately carved wood mantle and a stone hearth. A large statue of a woman holding a book was centered on the mantle.
“Look at all these books!” exclaimed Glo, spinning in a circle.
“This is the library GeeGee referred to in her will! Remember? She said she’s putting us in charge. That it’s priceless!”
“I am beyond confused, Paige. How is this even possible? GeeGee was just a sweet little innkeeper. She was the lady who baked us cookies and homemade stew. And she was hiding all this right under our feet?!”
***
Author Bio
Elizabeth Pantley says that writing her Mystery and Magic book series is the most fun she’s ever had at work. Fans of the series say her joy is evident through the engaging stories she tells. Elizabeth is also the international bestselling author of The No-Cry Sleep Solution and twelve other books for parents. Her books have been published in over twenty languages. She lives in the Pacific Northwest, a beautiful inspiration for her enchanted worlds.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for THE 13th HOUR : CHAOS by Richard Doetsch 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
A Mesmerizing Thriller Told in Reverse
On a warm Fourth of July in the quiet town of Byram Hills, Nick Quinn watches as his wife and daughter die in an unprecedented terrorist attack. Amid the disaster, Nick is approached by a dying friend who hands Nick an antique pocket watch.
Emotionally shattered and desperate, Nick takes the watch and is shocked to find himself propelled back in time to where he was an hour ago, before the attack on his town. Quickly stopping the course of events, his relief is shattered as life spirals in an even more tragic direction.
At the top of each hour, the watch sends Nick back two hours to live one hour again, a backwards march to relive each hour of his day. A twelve-hour journey providing precious but limited time to protect Julia and Katy and uncover the source of the ever growing threat.
But each time Nick thinks he’s solved the crime and secured the future, he uncovers new levels of deception, agony, and betrayal, ultimately revealing a far more sinister plot with unexpected players and grim, global consequences.
If Nick hasn’t set things right by the 13th hour, not only will his wife and daughter be lost forever to the chaos, but an even greater catastrophe will be unleashed upon the world.
Genre: Time Travel Thriller Published by: Permuted Press Publication Date: May 3rd 2022 Number of Pages: 384 ISBN: 1637583060 (ISBN13: 9781637583067) Series: A Nick Quinn Thriller; The 13th Hour Series
***
My Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
THE 13th HOUR: CHAOS (The Nick Quinn Thriller Book #2) by Richard Doetsch is an exciting and fast-paced time travel thriller featuring Nick Quinn. This story is the second in the series but can easily be read as a standalone thriller.
Nick Quinn is celebrating with his family and friends at the town’s Fourth of July party when one of his best friends appears telling Nick to take his backpack and pocket watch as he dies from a gunshot wound at his feet. Nick knows what the pocket watch does, but before he can even consider going back in time to save his friend, a terrorist attack leaves everyone he loves dead.
As Nick travels back two hours, he begins to discover betrayal, deception and a plot that will have worldwide consequences. Each time he goes back in time, he discovers another unexpected twist in the hours he repeats. Unless he can set everything right before The 13th Hour his wife and daughter could be lost forever and the world thrown into war.
I really loved this edge-of-your-seat thriller. The time travel plot was unique with the characters only able to go back at two-hour intervals and not just anywhere in time. The plotting was done in a unique way which had Nick and Zane having to keep changing what they were doing in the future because of the changes they caused in the past. It sounds confusing, but as you read it, it is makes sense and keeps you turning the pages. Nick is a likable protagonist with close friends who are always there for him and his family no matter the consequences and the antagonists were all deceptive with personal motives which keep you guessing. Zane is a great pivotal character that I hated, felt sorry for and then was happy for him in the end.
This time travel thriller is well worth the read and I hope there will be more in this series.
***
Excerpt
from Chapter 1
…[A side door opened, and a man stumbled through, looking barely coherent, and fell into Nick’s arms. His clothes were wet, his salt-and-pepper hair damp. Shocked, Nick realized he knew the man and knew him well. It was his close friend Paul Dreyfus, who had been at the top of the guest list and uncharacteristically late.
Nick supported his friend’s sagging weight and led him to a large couch on the far side of the lobby, where Dreyfus collapsed heavily.
“Are you okay?” Nick asked Paul. “What the hell happened?”
“Listen to me,” Dreyfus whispered.
As Nick let go of his friend, he saw blood covering his hands. Quickly, Nick ripped open Dreyfus’s shirt, revealing what looked like a bullet wound to the chest.
“Oh my God,” Nick breathed. “Julia?”
Julia was immediately at his side.
“Bonnie,” Julia turned to the babysitter, “could you take Katy to the bathroom in the back?”
Bonnie averted her eyes as she pulled Katy down through the back hall.
“What happened?” Nick asked his friend again.
Dreyfus pulled the strap of a dark leather satchel from about his neck and shoulder and looped it over Nick’s. “Listen to me, Nick. Listen very carefully….” Dreyfus paused to breathe, struggling to get the words out. “Don’t let that bag out of your sight…. He’s coming for you. He’s…coming for Julia.”
“Who? What are you talking about?”
Dreyfus reached into the bag and withdrew a single picture that made Nick’s blood run cold. It was an image of a man floating against the rocky shoreline of a lake, water lapping at his body, his face having lost all color, the skin white and curdled like rotted cheese, lips blue, cracked, and wet. There was no question that the man had died a painful death. In fact, he had almost surely drowned, his wet body and vacant stare leaving little doubt about the means of his demise.
Nick tried to catch his panicked breath. He knew the man, knew him well, better than anyone: he was looking into his own lifeless eyes.
“You all die….” Dreyfus whispered.
Julia turned to Nick, her skin flushing red as confusion filled her eyes. “Nick?” Her voice trembled.
Nick stared at Dreyfus, the impossibility of his words echoing in his head.
“You, Julia….” Dreyfus struggled to draw another breath. “Katy. Everyone.”
Nick turned and looked through the glass doors at the gathered crowd, which listened in rapt attention to the senator’s speech. Everyone Nick cared about was here, most listening to political rhetoric they couldn’t care less about. They were all attending as a favor to Nick and Julia.
“When?” Nick whispered to his dying friend.
Dreyfus seized Nick’s hand, locking eyes with him. “It’s all in the bag.”
“What’s in the bag?”
“You have to find me….” Dreyfus’s words sounded like a plea.
“I don’t understand…find you where?”
“I’m so sorry—”
A sudden roar exploded from the room, cheers and applause, as if the senator had concluded the speech of his life. The rising voices of the now-standing audience only amplified Nick’s dread.
And then a rumble shook the world, deep and foreboding.
Another rumble, an explosion, like a bomb, and then another and another and another….
The crowd fell silent, eyes darting about in confusion. New York was not the land of earthquakes, but the shaking earth said otherwise. Deep heavy rumblings seemed to roll the flagstone floor.
“Nick?” Julia looked around the lobby in fear as a hum began to grow. “What the hell is that?”
As the rumble grew in intensity, a collective panic took over the reception room, chaos filling the air as everyone tried to flee from the unknown with incoherent screams of fear, cramming through the doors to escape whatever danger was approaching.
The deep roar grew deafening, drowning out the screams, shaking the castle’s foundations. And then, as if hell had been unleashed, the reception room’s outer windows shattered; incomprehensibly, a wall of water drove through the space, rising toward the ceiling in seconds. Like a tidal wave, the barrage of water tore the room apart. Tables, chairs, fixtures, and carpets spun into a churning maelstrom. Men and woman were scooped up, helplessly tossed about, bodies hurled and twisted into dark whirlpools.
The light of day dimmed as the wall sconces winked out. Emergency lights reacted to the loss of power, their bright halogen rays flicking on, impervious to the water’s assault within their clear plastic housings, their beams like shafts of lightning, piercing the murky, rising, roiling waters.
An enormous howl of wind groaned as air was driven from the building, its gusts sweeping the water’s surface into blinding mist. Husbands and wives, friends and neighbors were quickly swept away, their screams doused as they were pulled under and sucked out through the narrow window openings like water through a drain.
From behind the thick glass doors, Nick and Julia watched in horror as their friends drowned, their twisted bodies becoming human flotsam and jetsam before being sucked out through the shattered picture windows on a violent tide into oblivion.
The lobby had already become a deep pool, the waters rising to Nick and Julia’s shoulders. Then, as if a tornado had struck, the glass doors were torn from their moorings and thrown into the tidal flow. A rush of water quickly rose toward the ceiling, sweeping Dreyfus’s body away.
Water filled the vestibule, its polished granite walls momentarily looking like an Italian pool. The couch where Dreyfus had lain, the tables and chairs splintered in the onslaught, all flushed through the main doors, carried on a raging current.
“Katy!” Julia screamed.
In the rising water, Nick swam for the bathroom where Katy and Bonnie had gone, the leather satchel looped about his body complicating the impossible task. The bathroom was at the far end of the vestibule, sequestered in a corner where the water’s attack had been delayed by the turns of the hallway. But the small, high windows now exploded, water pouring through as if from the spigots of heaven.
Julia swam hard in the same direction, battling the raging waters that rose higher and higher. She fought with all her might, kicking and pulling against the current, but the suction created by the millions of gallons of flowing water took hold of her. Despite all her years of swimming, in spite of her natural strength, she was losing, drawn inch by inch toward the door where death awaited.
Nick caught hold of her hand, his other arm wrapped tightly around a chandelier overhead. They were pulled and tossed by the water as it rose, pushing them up against the ceiling. Holding on with all his strength, Nick pulled her to him, but the suction made her feel like a two-ton weight, straining his arms, his grip.
“Hold on!” Nick yelled as their heads banged the ceiling, the water continuing to rise around them.
“We have to get Katy!” Julia struggled to hold on as Nick fought with every fiber of his being to not let her slip away.
“Mommy!” Katy’s cry pierced the cacophony of churning waters.
“Katy!” Julia screamed back. “Mommy’s coming!”
As the water pulled at them, Nick and Julia’s eyes locked in an unspoken understanding of what was happening. In order to get to Katy, to have any hope of saving her….
“Let me go,” Julia pleaded. “Save Katy, please. Please save Katy.”
Nick looked deep into his wife’s eyes; he couldn’t bear to do what she was asking. She was everything to him, his life, his heart. She was his soul.
“No,” Nick said. “Hold on.”
“It’s okay,” she said, holding his gaze. “Let me go.”
With her free hand, she grasped Nick’s fingers and gently pried them loose.
And with their eyes still locked, she released Nick’s hand. Her body, caught in the suction, instantly disappeared.
Despite the agony in his heart, Nick turned his body toward the bathroom. He reached and caught hold of one of the brass wall sconces mounted on the granite wall as the water continued its rise, only an inch of breathable air remaining.
Nick plunged under, into the current. The brass sconces lined the wall leading to the bathroom like a horizontal ladder. Hand over hand he pulled himself along, fighting with all his might, his arms burning with the impossible effort.
He briefly surfaced. “Katy!” he screamed in the narrow airway as he gulped sweet oxygen. “I’m coming!”
But the force of the current, the draw of the millions of gallons of water flowing through the building, had grown tenfold. Sapped of strength, Nick dug deep within himself…he couldn’t let her die, he wouldn’t fail her.
“Peas, Daddy!” Katy cried from up ahead. “Peas.…”
As the rising water squeezed away the last bit of air, Nick took a deep breath and dived under again.
He spotted the door, its giant brass handle gleaming with the refracted beams of the emergency lights. The thick mahogany portal opened outward, seated against a heavy metal frame, its design still withstanding the building pressure of the rising waters. But Nick knew it wouldn’t hold for long, the waters were surely pouring under the door, through any and every crack as it sought the path of least resistance.
“Daddy!”
Even under the churning water, Nick could hear Katy’s cry.
The violence of the current grew unbeatable. The weight of the satchel around his neck, like a bag of lead; his lungs burning, fighting the rush of water that pulled at him like a colossal magnet.
Nick reached for the handle of the door, his fingertips swiping the brass; straining for purchase, he planted his legs against the wall and used his last bit of strength to grasp the door.
The fire in his lungs pushed him to the brink, twinkling spots dancing before his eyes as his brain thirsted for oxygen.
And the suction caught hold of him, yanking him away, pulling him backwards toward the shattered windows.
With utter despair, his heart broken, having failed his wife and daughter, Nick knew he would join them in death.
Unable to resist, he gasped, and the water invaded his lungs….
And his world fell to darkness.]
***
Author Bio
Richard Doetsch is the author of six international bestsellers published in twenty-eight countries, with several acquired for film and television. He is an adrenaline junkie with a passion for kitesurfing, skydiving, SCUBA diving, triathlons, and defying gravity in Zero G aircraft. He has served as CEO, president, and director in the real-estate industry, managing, creating, and preserving more than 50,000 units of affordable housing with an emphasis on social and community programs.
He is married to his childhood sweetheart, Virginia, who is the impetus and inspiration behind everything he writes.
