Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for MOONSET ON DESERT SANDS: A Witch Paranormal Murder Mystery (Murder, Tea & Crystals Book #2) by Sherri L. Dodd on this Black Tour Book Tour.
Below you will find a book summary, my mini book review, an about the author section, and the author’s social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Summary
With a traumatic year of fending off a serial killer behind her, Arista has settled contentedly into her temporary home with Auntie in Sedona, Arizona. She enjoys her new job selling all things metaphysical and even has her eye on the hot security guard, Dakota, after her recent breakup with Shane.
But a series of new fainting spells has her worried, and when Auntie witnesses one, they decide the answer lies in her home of Boulder Creek. However, returning means not only dealing with her breakup and its heartache but also the possibility of drawing her bloodthirsty Uncle Fergus to her once safe haven in the redwoods. And this time he has recruited an even more dangerous alliance.
Arista’s closest bonds will be strengthened, but the mounting tension of a death in the desert, a stalker on the streets, and the relentless pursuit of Fergus puts her in dangerous territory, and escaping sorrow proves impossible.
MOONSET ON DESERT SANDS: A Witch Paranormal Murder Mystery (Murder, Tea & Crystals Book #2) by Sherri L. Dodd is an emotional mystery/YA paranormal romance mash-up and the second book in the trilogy. I feel this trilogy is best read in order due to Arista’s continued increase in paranormal powers and emotional growth, and the overall trilogy plot of her uncle seeking her elimination.
A year has passed, and Arista and her aunt are in Sedona to get away from the horror of the murder in the first book in the trilogy, Murder under RedwoodMoon. This story has Arista in peril as always from her Uncle Fergus, but it also has her facing many emotionally devastating moments in her life. This installment of the trilogy has danger and death, but I felt it is more focused on the changes in Arista personally and her growth. The crime plot and Arista’s personal life are all intertwined and kept me turning the pages, but there is a slightly slow portion about a third of the way through, but it picks up and is well paced with suspense after. This is an easy-to-read book, and I feel it is geared more to the YA paranormal reader.
I look forward to reading the last book of this trilogy.
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About the Author
Sherri was raised in southeast Texas. Walking barefoot most days and catching crawdads as they swam the creek beds, she had a love for all things free and natural. Her childhood ran rampant with talk of ghosts, demons, and backcountry folklore. This inspired her first short story for sale about a poisonous flower that shot toxins onto children as they smelled it. Her classmate bought it for all the change in his pocket. It was not long after that her mother packed the two of them up and headed to the central coast of California. She has ping-ponged throughout the area ever since.
Her first real step into writing was the non-fiction fitness book, Mom Looks Great – The Fitness Program for Moms published in 2005, and maintaining its accompanying blog. Now, transmuting the grief of her father’s passing, she has branched into Fiction, specifically the genre of Paranormal Thriller with generous dashes of Magick Realism! Her Murder, Tea & Crystals Trilogy released book one – Murder Under Redwood Moon – in March 2024. Book two – Moonset on Desert Sands – released in March 2025, and the final book in the series will release October 2025!
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for CRIME WRITER by Vinnie Hansen on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my mini book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
In the peaceful California coast city of Playa Maria, CRIME WRITER ZOEY KOZINSKI joins a local police officer for a ride-along in hopes of breaking through her writer’s block. But during a routine traffic stop, the cop is shot, the victim of a brutal homicide.
Zoey realizes she is the only witness and the number one target on the killer’s hit list. PTSD kicks in, sending her into a tailspin. It doesn’t help that she lives on an illegal cannabis farm and that her estranged mother has just arrived. Even the police officer’s widow points a finger at the writer, claiming she was a distraction, and the police department knew it.
Lurking on the fringes is a man who stopped briefly at the crime. Good Samaritan or sinister suspect? For her safety, Zoey needs to find out.
Genre: Suspense Published by: Level Best Books Publication Date: September 9, 2025 (ebook) Number of Pages: 266 (paperback) ISBN: 979-8-89820-027-5 (paperback)
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My Mini Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
CRIME WRITER by Vinnie Hansen is an immersive crime thriller where the reader knows who the killer is and what he is doing to cover his tracks, but the interest, twists, and action are all centered around the protagonist, a crime writer and musician named Zoey Kozinski.
The red-headed and feisty Zoey witnesses the murder of the police officer she is doing a ride-along with during a routine traffic stop. The killer knows there is a witness and the drug trafficker he works for tells him he must eliminate her. With PTSD from the incident, the arrival of her estranged mother she has been hiding from, the cop’s widow who blames Zoey and wants revenge, and a man who appeared at the scene of the crime and keeps popping up in her life, Zoey needs to unravel what is happening and who to trust before she ends up dead.
This story starts out appearing to be very straight forward, but the more you learn, the more twisted and anxiety inducing the story becomes. Zoey is interesting and Ms. Hansen’s writing brings her to life with all her problems. The ending was not what I was expecting, but it is satisfying. For me, this was an interesting change in perspective from the usual crime thriller/police procedural mystery.
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Excerpt
One
Day 1 – early evening
Heat from the Mobile Data Transmitter radiated onto Zoey Kozinski’s arm. The interior of the patrol car cooked, muggy and close. September brought the hottest weather to the central coast of California, anxiety about fires flaring as the oak leaves curled and undergrowth crisped. Thankfully, Officer Austin kept the windows of the patrol car open even as the sun started to set.
“Must be boiling with your vest.”
“Better to sweat than bleed.” Austin’s profile was sharp angles, pointed nose, strong chin.
“How much does that thing weigh?” Zoey already knew, but the officer didn’t seem talkative. She needed to crack the façade and dig out some grist to apply to Officer Horne, the character in her book. Her stalled, barely-started book.
“Six pounds.”
Officer Austin rolled along Scenic Drive, a main thoroughfare through Playa Maria County. Zoey wished they could listen to music, something to go with driving on a sultry evening, maybe Ella Fitzgerald’s “Summertime.” Instead, the police radio spat information, filling awkward silence. Zoey jotted down that a list of stolen cars was tucked on the left side of his dash. She’d chosen a night shift, hoping for a modicum of action but nothing on the radio stirred Austin’s interest.
“How do you feel about ride-alongs?” She flipped her legal pad and the printed-out opening pages of her manuscript winged to the floor. All two of them. A whopping three hundred ten words. She bent down to retrieve them.
“It’s part of our Community Policing.” Austin kept his focus forward. “To increase civilian awareness of what police work entails.”
She didn’t bother to write down the canned response.
Austin must be a rookie to receive the crappy assignment of hauling a ride-along, but he didn’t look like one. Silver highlighted his short hair. Older than her fictional Officer Horne. Her protagonist Horne should be young, freshly free of his training wheels, a more credible character to rush toward a terrible mistake after witnessing the shooting of a fellow officer.
In the margin of the legal pad, she scribbled: A hot-head. Temper=hubris. Too eager to prove himself?
Then she wrote Stan and put a question mark after it. The name of the murdered officer in her manuscript had appeared in a magician’s puff of smoke, typed by her fingers before she was conscious of a choice. Not a common name for guys of her generation, the lost kids born between Generation X and the Millennials. The name had merit—easy to pronounce, but not overly used. Why had it popped into her head?
She slipped her pen through her tangle of red hair and scratched her scalp.
Austin shot her a glance, maybe thinking she didn’t know she was using the ink end.
“Writing off the top of your head?”
She smiled slightly. Witty for a police officer.
He quirked a brow. “Making headlines?” His tone was dry. No smile. Was he being funny or busting her balls?
Zoey tapped the legal pad. Her next question wasn’t on it, but Austin’s age and his quips begged for it.
“What did you do before becoming a law enforcement officer?”
Long fingers curled around the wheel, maneuvering the vehicle through the rush-hour clog of Scenic Drive. He scanned the lanes of traffic and sidewalks long enough that she thought he wasn’t going to answer.
“I was a teacher.”
“Really?” Her voice squeaked with unveiled surprise. Heat rose up her face. With her coloring, there was no playing off a blush. When she was a kid, her Grosse Pointe classmates had pinned her with the nickname Tomato.
“High-school history.” In the parking lot, he’d offered a firm handshake and introduced himself formally as Officer Austin, although he’d added with a trace of humor ‘at your service.’ Over six-feet with ropy muscles, he was a bit old for her, maybe forty-five, but a hottie, nonetheless.
“That’s a strange career trajectory.”
“Not really. In both jobs you deal with a lot of young punks.”
As part of the outreach program, he probably was not supposed to refer to members of the community as punks. She was making progress.
“In policing I bet you have more flexibility about how you deal with punks?”
His lip curled, but he didn’t respond.
“So why the career move?”
“In teaching, the more you work, the less you’re paid,” he said. “Police work offers time-and-a-half for overtime. Ten-hour shifts and four-day work weeks. More money and time for my family.”
“Kids?”
“Three.”
She felt a twinge of disappointment. Her sex life had been reduced to her Magic Wand, and Austin wasn’t wearing a wedding ring, so a bit of fantasy had slipped under her normally guarded door. Since she didn’t want a relationship, a hot cop could be the ticket. Married killed that idea.
And three kids! With the world’s exploding population and global climate change, that was self-indulgent. One of her least favorite character flaws—in reality. In fiction, it was a great character flaw.
“My wife’s the one who should have made the career move to cop,” Austin volunteered. “She’s a tiger. Can outshoot me.” He shook his head in admiration.
Another twinge. She had a serious weakness for men who complimented women in absentia.
Zoey touched the cool metal of the AR15 propped in front of the passenger seat. “This is some serious fire power.”
The creases in his uniform lifted infinitesimally, a hint of a shrug. “You should see what they have on the street.”
She ran her finger down her list of questions. Nothing so far had gotten the juices flowing. “What kind of handgun do you carry?”
“Smith & Wesson. Officers with more seniority get Berettas. The most senior officers have Glocks.” Jealousy tinged his voice. “But if you want a better gun, you can buy one. I’m looking at a Glock.”
The crackling voice of dispatch relayed a report of a middle-aged black male dealing drugs in Playa Maria Park.
Austin swung off Scenic onto a street that cut along the seedier edge of downtown, where the homeless population dwarfed the number of university students. He slowed at the park.
Dusk had sifted into darkness, but streetlights illuminated the perimeter of the grass. Young men played basketball in a well-lit court. A lone man leaning against a light pole straightened at the cruiser’s arrival. Austin put the windows up, parked the car, and plucked a wood baton from the base of his door. “Remain in the vehicle.”
Another patrolman rolled up and joined him. She noted details. Suspect’s dreadlocks glisten in bluish light. Tan pants bag around skinny legs.
Austin questioned the man, while the other officer patted him down and dipped into the pockets of his army-fatigue jacket. With the window closed, Zoey sweated.
In the end, the man bumped away and swaggered toward the basketball court.
Talking together, the officers watched him, then turned in the direction of the vehicle. Austin nodded. The other man laughed. They were talking about her. The inside of the cruiser steamed like a sauna. Austin was letting her marinate in a patina of sweat.
Zoey opened the passenger door, which prompted Austin to step toward the cruiser. Before he plopped into his seat, he thunked his baton into its spot.
“I asked the suspect if we could search him and he said no,” he started before Zoey even asked. “But he has a Search Clause.” Austin cleaned his hands with foam sanitizer. “That’s a bargain he made for probation. He relinquished his right to probable cause.”
She scribbled the information. This was good stuff, strengthening her knowledge of the law.
“But you didn’t find anything?”
“Maybe he sold out.”
Dry humor. Deadpan delivery. Her favorite. To curtail a blush, she cast her eyes to the pocket of his door.
“Don’t most officers these days carry whip-batons?”
He gave her a look.
Amazing eyes—way greener than her own. He yanked the baton from its spot and held it across his lap, the top grazing her thigh.
Phallic symbol, for sure. The air inside the car shifted subtly.
“See all those nicks?” he said. “My T.O. gave this to me, said the riff-raff on the street notice the dents. They’re mostly from getting in and out of the car, but hey,” he returned the baton to the door pocket, “they don’t know that.”
He gave his hand a second squirt of the sanitizer. “I tell you one part of this job I don’t like. The grime. You’d have to get up close to appreciate how much that guy . . . how grubby he was.” Austin started the car. “Tell you the truth, I’m more afraid of an accidental needle poke than a gunshot.”
“Was he dealing?”
“I imagine.” Austin put down the windows. Fresh air rushed into the compartment. “He doesn’t have any other means of income.”
The radio called Austin to roust a panhandler near the entrance to the freeway. Civilian complaint. Austin zoomed back up to Scenic. At the intersection before the freeway entrance, he stopped at a red light with the rest of the traffic. The girl panhandling on the median spotted the cruiser, folded her sign, and meandered down the sidewalk.
Austin turned and rolled along the street across from the girl. In spite of a curvaceous figure packed into tight jeans, with her wavy brown hair hitched into pigtails she looked all of fifteen. The girl ignored them.
Zoey twisted toward Austin. “Are you going to stop?”
“She’s not doing anything illegal now. She didn’t even jaywalk.” He sped up. “We got her off the median.”
“Yup. Sure did.” He knew, and she knew, that as soon as they were out of sight, the girl would return to her spot.
How do they negotiate spots? She wrote. First come, first served?
If she asked Austin about the girl—did he know her—what was her story—she sensed he’d blow off the questions. The police department had picked the wrong officer to give ride-alongs. Austin lacked a gregarious, empathetic personality.
Zoey tried to unpack how she’d arrived at this conclusion. Maybe because he’d chosen policing over teaching. Police work had to be more frustrating than high school teaching, certainly less rewarding.
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Author Bio
A Claymore and Silver Falchion finalist, Vinnie Hansen is the author of the Carol Sabala mystery series, the novels LOSTART STREET, ONE GUN, and CRIME WRITER, as well as over seventy published short works.
She is a member of Mystery Writers of American, Sisters in Crime, and the Short Mystery Fiction Society. A retired high-school English teacher, she lives with her husband and the requisite cat in Santa Cruz, CA.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for CANYON OF DECEIT by DiAnn Mills on this Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my mini book review, an excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Promoamp giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
When wilderness survival expert Therese Palmer receives a frantic phone call from former colleague Professor Rurik Ivanov, she is shocked by the news that his young daughter, Alina, is missing—and that Rurik wants Therese’s help finding her. She’s sure Rurik hasn’t given her the whole story . . . especially since he refuses to report the kidnapping to the police. Yet with a child’s life hanging in the balance, Therese can’t turn down this mission. She knows the clock is ticking and she can’t do this alone.
Therese reaches out to Texas Ranger Blane Gardner, whom she met seven months ago during one of her training courses in wilderness survival skills. Blane’s specialized training and background with the Crisis Negotiation Unit make him uniquely prepared for this search-and-rescue mission. He agrees to help Therese and to accept Rurik’s terms to keep Alina’s disappearance quiet, and as the two begin working together, Therese is determined the spark growing between them won’t distract from their mission to save Alina.
Traversing deep into the desert of Guadalupe Mountains National Park, Alina’s last known location, Therese and Blane struggle to separate truth from lies within the mix of intel they’re receiving. As they close in on answers that suggest the involvement of Russian organized crime and a high-profile international assassination attempt, they must fight to rescue Alina before she becomes an innocent casualty of a much bigger plot—no matter the risk to their own lives.
Genre: Romantic Suspense Published by: Tyndale House Publishers Publication Date: September 9, 2025 Number of Pages: 352 (pbk) ISBN: 9781496485151 (ISBN10: 1496485157) pbk
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My Mini Book Review
RATING: 4 out of 5 Stars
CANYON OF DECEIT by Diann Mills is a suspenseful and intricately plotted Christian romantic suspense/mystery/thriller set in the beautiful and rugged Guadalupe Mountain National Park of New Mexico. The protagonists are Therese Palmer, a wilderness survival expert and Blane Gardner, a Texas Ranger on the hunt for a kidnapped child. This is a standalone story that is tension filled with many surprising twists that kept me on the edge of my seat and turning the pages.
This romantic suspense plot is well paced with physical struggles and obstacles as well as struggles with their faith. What starts as a kidnapping soon turns into a complex web of assassination, murders, and military espionage. Therese and Blane both have traumas in their pasts that lead to their beliefs, but heartfelt, honest conversations occur between the action as both come to care for each other. Therese lives her faith, and she is clear with Blane that she will not compromise her beliefs even for a relationship, but she is not preaching at him. Blane is the protagonist on a spiritual journey in this story. This is a Christian romantic suspense so there are no sex scenes.
I recommend this exciting, well written Christian romantic suspense.
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Excerpt
Chapter One
New Caney, Texas
October, Thursday, Current Day
Therese
The shrill ring of my mobile phone jolted me awake at 2:00 a.m., a haunting prompt that emergencies seldom emerged in daylight. Someone had ventured into the wilderness and needed me to lead a rescue mission. My skills of trekking over precarious terrain to find victims who suffered from physical injuries, dehydration, starvation, or all three, kept me on alert. At times I viewed my life like a Star Trek tagline, “Where no man has gone before.”
I grabbed the phone off my nightstand. Unidentified caller. “Hello?”
“Ms. Palmer, this is Professor Rurik Ivanov from Houston Leonard University. We met nearly a year ago. You taught a course in wilderness survival as an adjunct professor.”
I captured a mental image of the Russian man—gray-blue eyes, stone-gray hair, angular face. “Yes, sir. How can I help you?”
“I apologize for the hour, but I’m in a desperate situation.”
The angst in his voice zapped me into guarded mode, especially when I barely knew the man. I snapped on my bedside lamp. “Are you all right?”
“No, ma’am, which is why I’m calling you. Do you remember my wife and daughter?”
“I met them both at a faculty dinner last Christmas. A lovely family.”
“My wife was murdered today, and kidnappers have taken my daughter.”
I inhaled sharply, and alarm for the professor’s family fired hot from the soles of my feet. “Daria? Alina? What happened?”
“A man called me late this afternoon while I prepared to leave for home. He said he’d taken Alina. Then he sent a link to a video showing my wife’s execution—”
He stopped abruptly, his final words drumming into my senses. The seconds ticked by, and I waited.
“I watched Daria grab her chest and struggle . . . The blood rushed from her precious body—my dear Daria’s life gone forever.” He grappled again to control his tear-filled voice. “He said they would release Alina unharmed if I paid three million dollars. They’d call with instructions. When the man hung up, I hurried home thinking it had to be a terrible mistake or someone had used AI to generate the video. On the way, I phoned Daria and the call went to voice mail. I also redialed the man who’d contacted me. The phone rang repeatedly, but the number offered no way to leave a message. I contacted Alina’s school and learned Daria had picked her up before noon.
“At home, reality rooted. A lamp and a table in the living room lay in pieces. Daria would have fought hard, but there were no signs of blood. I didn’t recognize the place in the video where they killed her. I even checked for geotag information on the clip, but it had been stripped. I later clicked on the link . . . the video had disappeared.”
I ached for his loss. “What do the police say?”
Silence answered me, then Rurik finally said, “Contacting them is impossible. The man warned me against telling anyone who works in law enforcement, or I’d never see Alina again.” He sobbed into the phone. “Please, give me a moment.”
“Take all the time you need.”
The professor taught Russian language and literature at Leonard University and was highly respected and liked among faculty and students. I’d enjoyed our occasional chats, and he’d observed some of my classes. What had he done to upset the wrong people?
“Thank you. I can talk now,” he said. “I have no idea where the killers have taken Daria’s body or how to find Alina. Neither do I suspect anyone.”
I willed my pulse to slow. “Professor, the police are trained in handling confidential matters and how to find who is responsible. They have families and understand what you’re going through.”
“And endanger my daughter?” Panic throbbed in his ragged voice.
“I’m sorry.” My grief over losing Kate many years ago surfaced raw and bleeding. “Are you alone?”
“Yes. At home.”
“Are there family or friends who can stay with you?”
“My family is in Russia, and I do not trust anyone.”
“You could very well be in danger too.”
“My welfare is unimportant.”
“Who are these people, and why has your family been victimized?”
“I have no idea. The man refused to identify himself, but he did say ‘we.’ Maybe he thinks I have money or believes I have done something criminal to my country or to the US.”
What was he not telling me? I tossed off my blanket and stood in my bedroom, shivering, not from the cold but the horror of this unfolding story. “Professor Ivanov, I’m confused. Why call me? This is a job for the police or the FBI.”
“I cannot risk my daughter’s life. You are my only hope to find Alina. You have the skills to get her back.”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “I’m a wilderness-survival specialist, nothing more. I’m not equipped to carry out a hostage negotiation without backup, which is another reason you need to involve the authorities.” More questions bolted into my mental space like a landslide. “How would I find her?”
“That’s where I can help you. Alina has GPS trackers hidden in her shoes. Not even Daria knew about them.”
“Why would you track your young daughter?”
“Alina’s biological mother died when she was a baby, and I’ve been consumed with protecting my daughter ever since. I checked my phone app and learned at one thirty this afternoon, Alina was taken to a private landing strip west of Houston. I called there, and a woman who worked in the small office said no one had filed a flight plan. But she made a mistake. The tracker had stopped registering.” He coughed and asked me to wait while he got a glass of water.
A connection at Harris County Office of Homeland Security & Emergency Management popped into my consciousness. They had the technology to confirm the date and time a plane took to the skies and where it landed.
“I’m better. I apologize for my lack of control,” the professor said. “My app showed tracking again near an abandoned airstrip in a remote area south of Hobbs, New Mexico. The tracking indicated ground-speed movement for two and a half hours to a section on the north side of Guadalupe Mountains National Park called Dog Canyon. That’s where the tracking ended, and I’ve detected nothing since. I assume the kidnappers parked the vehicle and proceeded on foot with Alina. Research shows the area is off-grid. Ms. Palmer, did they remove her shoes? How would they expect her to walk in bare feet?”
My thoughts trailed to the worst possible scenario. Why take Alina to a remote location unless they planned to dispose of her body there? Another argument lay with logic. Why go to the expense of transporting a kidnap victim there when they had the ability to dispose of her body in their backyard? A morbid idea, except true. Whatever the reason, they risked exposure from security cameras until they reached an off-grid area.
“I can’t stress enough how the authorities have technology and skills to find Alina. They can unravel valid threats and comprehend the danger of taking your story to the media.”
“The man who called me said they’d be watching my every move. I bought a burner phone tonight to call you.”
His anguish rippled through me, interfering with my ability to think clearly. “What about the ransom?”
“I can liquidate assets here and in Russia to meet their demands, but the statistics on kidnappers returning my Alina alive are not good. Perhaps they would accept what I can put together now. I’m sorry . . . I wish I had an answer. Why harm an eight-year-old little girl?”
“I have empathy for your grief.” Daria’s lovely face and the white-blonde-haired little girl refused to leave me alone. “Although I could lead you into Dog Canyon, I have no idea how to pull her out of the clutches of dangerous men. You’d need armed law enforcement and possibly a negotiator.”
“That would draw attention. I’ll pay you whatever you want.”
“Money is not the issue, Professor—”
“Alina means more to me than anything else in this world. What is love but to take ownership of a problem and do all I can to stop those men?”
“What if I fail?” The terror of not finding his daughter alive resurrected an echo from the past that had shaped my career.
“Can you live with yourself if you don’t try?”
Unaware, he’d pressed my weakest button. “I’ll hear you out. But I don’t believe you’ve given me the whole story, and I need the truth before I risk my life.”
“I’ve . . . I’ve given you all of it.”“You’ve stated what you want me to know. What have you done or not done in this tragedy that Daria is dead, Alina is missing, and you can’t go to the police?
***
Author Bio
DiAnn Mills is a bestselling author who invites her readers to step into stories where suspense meets adventure and romance warms the heart. Known for crafting unforgettable characters tangled in unpredictable plots, DiAnn believes every breath we take unfolds a story waiting to be told—so why not make it thrilling?
Her novels have consistently landed on bestseller lists including CBA, ECPA, and Publishers Weekly, and have won prestigious awards such as the Christy, Selah, Golden Scroll, Inspirational Readers’ Choice, and Carol awards.
DiAnn is a founding board member of American Christian Fiction Writers and Conference Advisor for the Blue Ridge Mountains Christian Writers. She actively participates in Advanced Writers and Speakers Association, Mystery Writers of America, the Jerry Jenkins Writers Guild, and International Thriller Writers, DiAnn passionately invests in helping fellow authors succeed through mentoring, book coaching, and editing. She travels nationwide speaking and teaching engaging writing workshops.
A proud coffee snob who roasts her own beans, DiAnn also enjoys diving into good books, experimenting in the kitchen, and unabashedly spoiling her grandchildren—whom she insists are the smartest kids in the universe. She and her husband make their home under the sunny skies of Houston, Texas.
Connect with DiAnn online for behind-the-scenes glimpses, writing tips, and lively discussions:
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Mini Book Review for THE FRIENDSHIP LIST by Beth Miller on this Bookouture Books-On-Tour blog tour.
Below you will find by book description, my mini book review, the author’s bio and social media links. Enjoy!
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Book Description
Wiping away her tears, Kay looks at her old photos, of friends who have come and gone through life’s big moments. But then there’s Rose, her one constant through everything. Now Rose is missing. Does the key to finding her lie in their past?
It should have been the happiest day of Kay’s life. Getting married with her best friend and maid of honour, Rose at her side. But then Rose messages Kay moments before the ceremony, I’m so sorry. I can’t do this. Please don’t look for me. Kay is heartbroken. What could have possibly driven Rose to leave?
Kay doesn’t know a life without Rose in it. They’ve stuck together through thick and thin; getting each other through tough break-ups, the rollercoaster of children and losing Kay’s beloved mum.
Searching through a lifetime of belongings, desperate for clues, Kay finds a box of old photos. As she looks at pictures of them dancing with their friends from years ago, she suddenly wonders whether the key to finding Rose lies in their past. Writing down a list of long-lost friendships, Kay feels certain one of them will know what happened to Rose.
But as Kay begins to uncover a lifetime of memories to help her find her friend, will she also find herself?
THE FRIENDSHIP LIST by Beth Miller is a women’s fiction story about a woman’s search through her long-term friendships and the choices she made throughout her life to keep them or let them go. While the concept had me interested in reading this standalone novel, it turned out to be a mediocre read for me.
Kay is the protagonist the reader follows from her best friend, not showing up for her second wedding through the many years of their friendship to a twist of an ending. For the first few chapters, I had a difficult time liking Kay, from her reactions to Rose not attending her wedding and subsequently being told by Rose not to contact her again. As she goes back through their friendship, there are moments I could relate to in my own friendships over time which kept me reading, but I found it mundane until the revelations regarding her new husband. I was hoping for more, but these characters did not deliver for me.
It is a book that many could relate to regarding long-term friendships, and I liked that it had mature characters. It was written well, but it just did not have the “fall into the story and be swept away” quality for me.
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Author Bio
Beth Miller is the author of four novels, including The Two Hearts of Eliza Bloom and the bestselling The Missing Letters of Mrs Bright. She has also written two non-fiction titles, including For the Love of The Archers. She has worked as a sexual health trainer, a journalist and a psychology lecturer and is now a book coach and creative writing teacher. Beth has a PhD in Psychology, and an advanced diploma in tea-drinking.
Today I am sharing my Feature Post and Book Review for ECHOES ON THE WIND (Maggie O’Shea Romantic Suspense Book #4) by Helaine Mario on this Partner In Crime Virtual Book Tour.
Below you will find a book description, my book review, and excerpt from the book, the author’s bio and social media links, and a Kingsumo giveaway. Enjoy!
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Book Description
TWO STRONG WOMEN, GENERATIONS APART, CONNECTED BY MUSIC…
In 1943 war-torn France, a young woman on the Night Train to Paris has a chance meeting with two very different men who will change her life, setting in motion a Dual Timeline story that will resonate like ripples on water for generations to come.
Many years later, classical pianist Maggie O’Shea is drawn to Brittany by a long-lost letter from her French grandmother and the stirring music of Chopin, whispering like echoes across the years. But as Maggie discovers the secrets of her past, her life spirals out of control, threatening her upcoming wedding and those she loves.
Set against the backdrop of World War II France, Maggie learns her grandmother’s story, chord by chord, through Chopin’s emotional Preludes. And, in one shocking moment, Maggie’s love story will take a heart-breaking turn that will change her life and echo into her future.
Past and present converge in this haunting tale of loss and sacrifice, friendship and family, courage and survival – and the transcendent power of hope, music and love.
Genre: Romantic Suspense Published by: Suncoast Publishing Publication Date: June 18, 2024 Number of Pages: 364 ISBN: 9781735184975 (ISBN10: 1735184977) Series: A Maggie O’Shea Romantic Suspense, Book 4
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My Mini Book Review
RATING: 5 out of 5 Stars
ECHOES ON THE WIND (Maggie O’Shea Romantic Suspense Book #4) by Helaine Mario is the exciting finale of the Maggie O’Shea series. This story has a dual timeline featuring Maggie in the present and her French grandmother during WWII. I have been waiting for this culmination of love vs. vengeance anxiously and was not disappointed. These books should be read in order because there are over-arching threads throughout the series with Maggie and the other main characters continually evolving.
WOW! I could not put this book down. Not only do you get Maggie in a final showdown ending, but you get the survival story of her grandmother Clair, who was in the French Resistance during WWII written in dual timelines with alternating chapters. The main characters are all fully developed, more so if you have read the entire series, and I feel like they could walk right off the page. This is an extremely emotional book in both timelines, but as in the entire series, family, love, and music, carry the main characters through the worst that is thrown at them.
All the books are intriguing, pull you in, and are worth reading. This series also had me continually listening to the classical music pieces mentioned throughout that Maggie practiced for her concerts, which was a fun reminder of my trips to the Cleveland orchestra when I was younger.
I highly recommend this harrowing romantic suspense/WWII historical fiction mash-up and the entire engaging series!
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Excerpt
OVERTURE
“Like so many things that matter, it began with an accident.” David Ignatius, 12/28/98
NOVEMBER, 1943. THE NIGHT TRAIN TO PARIS
Light and dark.
The bleak November landscape rushed past the train’s window. Black tree branches against the dark night sky, then a sudden flash of light. Then blackness again.
The blackout had claimed the streetlamps and cottage windows. Clair Rousseau stared out the rain-streaked glass, waiting for the next glimpse of light. A lone lantern. Car headlights tilted down, a sliver of gold beyond a cracked curtain. Sheet lightning over distant hills, a glimmer of light on water. But all she saw was the blurred, pale oval of her reflection staring back at her. Dark hair scraped back, framing huge eyes beneath winged brows, sharp cheekbones, the too-wide mouth.
No hint of the emotions flowing through her, except for the deep purple shadows beneath her eyes.
The dim, four-person compartment was cold, and she pulled her coat more tightly around her body. The seat beside her was still empty, thank God. Across from her, two German officers. One asleep, snoring loudly, his hands slack between thick gray-green uniformed knees. The other awake, a Gauloises cigarette clamped between thin lips, a jagged line of white scars marring his left cheek. The narrow fox-like face stared at her through thick round glasses and wreathes of curling blue smoke. His jacket was heavy with insignia, oak leaves, medals. Military Intelligence, she thought with a sudden chill. A high rank, SD or Abwehr. What was he thinking?
The watchful, unblinking eyes made her afraid. Like a snake’s eyes, waiting to strike. She looked away, forcing herself not to reach for her satchel, touch her identity papers for reassurance.
The carriage’s glassed door slid back and forth with an unnerving rattle as the train rocked around a bend. From the hallway came the sharp scent of burning coal, wafting back from the old steam engine several cars ahead. A cloud of steam billowed past the window like sudden fog.
She could feel the vibration beneath her, hear the rumble of the train’s wheels speeding along the tracks. The lonely call of a train whistle, echoing in the night. A quick flare of light, illuminating the rain like silver threads streaming down the window.
Light and dark. Light and dark.
Movement at the edge of her vision. A tall figure appeared in the hallway, beyond the door. Her chest tightened. Would she ever feel safe again?
A sharp crack of thunder, a sudden bright flash lighting her face.
“Mademoiselle Clair?”
Startled, her head came up. The stranger had stopped, was staring into the compartment. Across from her, the watchful German stiffened and slid pale eyes toward the voice.
Be careful.
There was something familiar about the gaunt face, the faint, questioning smile just visible above a thick woolen scarf. She stood quickly, stepping between the German and the carriage door to block the officer’s view.
“Oui,” she said softly, peering into the dim hallway. The man nodded and moved closer. Something about those gentle eyes, the arch of silver brows. Memory surged. Father Jean-Luc.
She flashed him a warning glance for silence and stepped into the train’s narrow corridor, closing the door firmly behind her. “Mon Père, is it really you?”
“Oui, ma petite, c’est moi.” The priest pulled the scarf down to offer a glimpse of his white Roman collar, then lost his smile as he gazed over her shoulder and saw the Germans. “But we cannot talk here. Come with me.”
He slipped a hand beneath her elbow and guided her to the end of the dark passageway, where an open exit door led across shifting metal plates to the train’s next car. She felt the sudden bite of night wind on her face, cold and wet with mist. Here the clatter of the train wheels was loud enough to hide their conversation.
They sheltered just inside the doorway, in the shadows, away from the rain. Outside, the countryside of France rushed by, then disappeared in a billow of black smoke. In the dim corridor, the planes of the priest’s face were lit by a tiny, flickering overhead bulb.
Light and dark. Light and dark.
The priest looked down at her, shook his head. “Little Clair Rousseau,” he murmured. “Now such a beautiful young woman. It’s been – what? – four years since we met? You were just thirteen, I think. Playing the piano in your parents’ apartment. Bach, yes? It was so beautiful, so stirring. I hope you are still playing?”
She shook her head. “You need hope to create music, Père.” She looked back toward her carriage compartment. The hallway was empty. “But I remember that day. The war was coming. You asked us to help you remove the stained-glass windows from Sainte-Chapelle. To save them from the bombing.”
“You were fearless, Clair. I remember watching you, swaying at the top of that impossibly high ladder. The morning light was coming through the stained glass, spilling over you like shimmering jewels. I’ll never forget it. I told myself, Clair means light, she is perfectly named.”
He leaned down. “And I can still see your sister, Elle – too young to help us, biensûr – dancing around the altar.”
Her expression softened. “Elle loved to dance. It was the last happy day I can remember.” She lifted her eyes to his, took a breath. “Paris was another lifetime, Père.”
“You cannot lose hope,” he told her. “The glass pieces are in a safe place. Beauty and goodness cannot be destroyed. You will see the stained-glass windows back in Sainte-Chapelle when the war is over. I know it.”
She shook her head. “I wish I had your faith.”
“God has his plans. There is a reason we’ve met by chance on the night train to Paris.” Concern flashed in his eyes. “But you’ve been in Brittany? Dangerous times for a young woman to be traveling alone, Clair.”
She looked out at the black trees rushing past the doorway, and felt the blackness deep in her heart. “I am alone now, Père.”
“Mon Dieu. What happened?”
“My father knew that war was inevitable. Not long after we saved the glass my parents moved us from Paris to the coast near Saint-Malo to be safe. Such irony. They had no idea how dangerous Brittany would become. And then…”
She could not stop the sudden rush of tears that filled her eyes. “The Gestapo shot my father last year, in a retaliation roundup for an act of sabotage by the Resistance. He was with the Liberty Network, they had bombed a train track. He stepped forward, admitted it, hoping to save the others. But still they took thirty innocent people from our village, murdered them in the square.”
“Oh no, Clair.” The priest made a quick sign of the cross. “I am so sorry. And your mother, your sister?”
“I don’t know, Père. I was studying in Paris, I begged them to come stay with me. But Maman refused. When I returned last month to see them, the house was empty. They were just… gone. The neighbors said the Germans took them, in the night. The mayor was told they were being relocated to Poland.”
The priest paled. “Désolé. I will pray for their souls.”
Anger erupted, spilled out. “Prayers did not help my family! I have no time for prayer now. Or sorrow. Even avenging my father will have to wait. I need all my energy now to find my mother and my sister.”
He bent toward her. “I am afraid you are still too fearless for your own good. Tell me what you’re doing, little one.”
She turned once more to scan the dark hallway, then leaned closer. “I excelled in languages in my lycée studies these last years,” she whispered. “I am fluent in several languages, including German and English. I hope to find a new job, in the Hotel Majestic in Paris, where the German High Command is quartered. Then I will join the Resistance, find a way to get news of Maman and Elle. I must find them!”
He gazed down at her for a long moment, then put a hand on her shoulder.
“Perhaps I know of another way,” he murmured.
The sound of a door opening. Wavering shadows spilled into the train’s corridor. Then the red glow of a cigarette, a spiral of smoke. She froze as the German officer turned toward them.
“Find me at Èglise Saint-Gervais, in the Marais,” the priest whispered quickly. “I am with the Resistance there. You could work with me, we need someone like you to –”
A sudden terrifying screech of metal wheels. Clair felt herself thrown to the floor as the train braked, slammed to a shuddering stop. Stunned, Clair reached out, felt the still body of the priest beside her. “Mon Père…”
Shouts in German in the darkness, the clatter of heavy boots. When she raised her head she saw flashing blue lights against the night sky.
Light and dark. Light and dark.
Copyright June 2020
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Author Bio
Best-selling author Helaine Mario grew up in NYC and is a graduate of Boston University. Now living in Arlington, VA, this mother of two, grandmother of five, and passionate advocate for women’s and children’s issues came to writing later in life. Her first novel, The Lost Concerto, won the Benjamin Franklin Award Silver Medal. Echoes on the Wind is her fifth novel and the fourth in her Maggie O’Shea Classical Music Suspense Series. Royalties from her books go to children’s music and reading programs. Helaine recently lost her husband, Ron, after 57 years together. Her new book echoes with loss, grief, and, ultimately, the healing power of love.
When Elizabeth Walker, the last heir of the Alexander Hamilton line, is tragically killed by a subway train in New York, foul play is immediately suspected. Elizabeth had been terrified, frantic, and manic during her last days, running mysterious errands, searching for a strange antique key, and sending cryptic messages to her best friend, Sarah Brockman.
The morning after Elizabeth’s death, a box of tattered documents lands on Sarah’s doorstep, confirming her suspicions about Elizabeth’s strange behavior and shocking death. She brings the box to Elizabeth’s grieving husband, Ralph. Working together, they are stunned to discover that Elizabeth was part of a secret society established by Hamilton himself to keep the United States just and free, its influence woven into every corner of the country’s history. As Sarah and Ralph race through the streets of New York to uncover the truth behind Elizabeth’s death, they must stop an ingenious and sinister plot before someone else catches up to them–and the secrets of Hamilton’s society are lost forever.
THE LAST HAMILTON by Jenn Bregman is an intriguing adventure thriller that combines a murder mystery, treasure hunt, secret society, and American history all wrapped up in fast-paced escapism. This is a standalone story set in present-day New York City interspersed with historical facts about Alexander Hamilton’s life and family.
Sarah Brockman’s best friend, Elizabeth Walker was the last living heir in Alexander Hamilton’s direct family line until she is killed in the middle of the night. Sarah and Elizabeth’s husband, Ralph are both devastated and then puzzled by items left for them by Elizabeth upon her death. Neither knew of the secrets she was keeping and now they are not only working together to solve her murder, but they are following the clues she left to uncover a plot to destabilize the U.S. Treasury’s gold standard.
This story has a mix of interesting historical facts, intriguing locations all over New York, a murder mystery, and a thriller plot that is more easy-to-read escapism than realism. The characters do their jobs of moving the reader through the story, but I was more motivated to continue the read for the mystery and history. There is a surprise plot twist at the end, which I had already guessed, but was a nice addition to understanding that character.
Overall, a good beach read, escapism thriller.
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About the Author
Jenn Bregman is the author of THE TIMEKEEPERS and soon to be released THE LAST HAMILTON. A graduate of the University of Denver and UCLA Law School, Jenn practiced as a Big Law business lawyer in both Los Angeles and New York and worked on some of the most notorious financial crimes cases of our time. Always up for a challenge, she loves to travel, ski, run marathons, scuba dive, and hike giant mountains, having summited 14,265 foot Quandary Peak, “reverse summited” the Grand Canyon, and thru-hiked from Crested Butte to Aspen. She lives in Colorado with her family and sweet Havanese dog Babalu. THE TIMEKEEPERS is her first novel, with the next in the series, THE LAST HAMILTON, publishing on February 11, 2025 by Crooked Lane Books.
