The Girl Beneath the Sea by Andrew Mayne – Spotlight and Giveaway

May 1, 2020 By 4 Comments

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Andrew Mayne who is celebrating today’s release of The Girl Beneath the Sea. Leave a comment or ask the author a question for a chance to win a copy of the book (US only) — you can read our review of this book here.

Sloan McPherson is tough, resilient and resourceful. Coming from a family who’ve dedicated their lives to the sea, she knows the ins and outs of every South Florida body of water better than most. And she’s even made a career out of her passion for all things underwater, working as the go-to diver for evidence recovery for Lauderdale Shores Police Department. Dedicating herself to fighting crime is her way of distancing herself and her young daughter from some of her scandalous relatives—who made their living as treasure hunters and drug smugglers.

But when Sloan encounters a woman’s body floating in a canal, and her untimely death seems connected to her own past, she finds herself in her own department’s crosshairs as a possible suspect. As she seeks to uncover the truth, she must stay ahead of the real killer, who is backed by a ruthless cartel searching for a lost fortune. Her sole ally is George Solar, the legendary DEA agent who put Sloan’s uncle behind bars. He has first-hand intelligence on just how deep the corruption runs—and the kind of danger Sloan is in. Sloan forms a reluctant partnership with Solar as they race to stay a step ahead of their murderous foes.

About the Author:  Andrew Mayne is an Edgar-nominated author, Thriller award finalist, star of Shark Week and A&E television’s Don’t Trust Andrew Mayne. He’s the author of more than a dozen thrillers, works of science fiction, and books on writing.  His recent novel, The Naturalist, was an Amazon Charts bestseller and spent six weeks as the #1 book on Amazon. His next book, THE GIRL BENEATH THE SEA, will be published by Thomas & Mercer on May 1, 2020.

A wildly innovative illusionist, as the star of Don’t Trust Andrew Mayne he’s performed his unique brand of magic on five continents, his YouTube video have millions of views, and he’s cultivated thousands of fans who call themselves, “Mayniacs.” He created his own style of magic called “Shock Magic,” combining the impact of large-scale illusion with the in-your-face approach of street magic. It’s fun, it’s irreverent, it’s the next evolution in magic. Andrew’s effects range from making ghosts appear on cell phones, shrinking himself to one foot tall and making a town think they were besieged by UFOs. His magic has even been performed for astronauts on the International Space Station. Andrew has invented over 400 magic effects and published 45 books and videos on the art of illusion. On the leading edge of magic and pop culture, he was among the first to invent magic for the iPhone (even before there were apps) via his website iPhoneTrick.com – that’s since been performed on millions of people.

Optimal testosterone levels are necessary to a raised sexual purchase cialis online libido for both men and women. When our body has been severely infected by the serious bacterial infections and failed to be back to normal condition by the application of any other anti-biotic form, at that movement this high potential drug has been prescribed and has been implemented in our body ensures mastercard viagra that our body recovers gradually. Ataxia stops muscular movements due to its lack https://www.supplementprofessors.com/cialis-6676.html tadalafil 20mg india of co-ordination with neuron cells. Affected person must take a single pill per day viagra pills wholesale only. Andrew started his first world illusion tour while he was a teenager and was soon headlining in resorts and casinos around the world. With the support of talk show host and amateur magician Johnny Carson, Andrew Mayne started a program to use magic to teach critical thinking skills in public schools for the James Randi Educational Foundation. Andrew’s Wizard School segments, teaching magic and science to children, aired nationwide on Public Television. He’s worked behind the scenes creatively for David Copperfield, Penn & Teller and David Blaine.

Andrew Mayne grew up in South Florida and was always in and out of the water—swimming, diving and exploring.  He now lives in Los Angeles, California.

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My Take on Critique Groups by Sigrid Macdonald – Guest Blog and Giveaway

April 20, 2020 By 7 Comments


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Sigrid Macdonald will be awarding a $20 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

My Take on Critique Groups
What is my take on critique groups? Frankly, I have ambivalent feelings about critique groups. I am a big fan of writing groups in general, and I belonged to one for many years when I lived in Ottawa, Ontario. It was a very supportive group that met downtown, and the people were extremely knowledgeable and resourceful. They knew all about independent bookstores, where to have book signings, how to get your book in on consignment, which were the best publishers for your genre, etc. My book group had a wide diversity of ages, races, and life experiences as well as different amounts of time in the writing world; some people were newbies, and others were seasoned journalists. By and large, I found that group to be very helpful and made several good friends there. But it was not a critique group. People did not read each other’s material and provide feedback.

I have been in a small critique group, and I didn’t have the best experience. In fact, I remember one woman in particular reading a scene in one of my fiction stories and looking at me directly in the eye and saying, “So” (followed by a long sigh), “was that the best you could do?” Hello! It’s a good thing that I had been writing for years before she said that, and I had a fairly confident sense of my own material. Otherwise I might have gone home and cried all night.

So, I think that in choosing a critique group, it’s important to find people who will provide constructive criticism and do not bring their own egos or agendas into the meeting. Constructive criticism often involves telling a fellow reader what didn’t go as well as it could have and providing the fix. For example, “I really liked your character Jack, especially when he became a bully, which was unexpected, but I never got a real sense of how that came about. What happened to Jack for him to be so cruel? Perhaps you could take a bit of time to develop a back story for him.”

For many years, I was a member of Toastmasters International, and they used to tell us to provide feedback “sandwich style” — on top of the sandwich was a compliment. Inside the sandwich was what you really wanted to say; this might have been negative, but it was framed positively and included the solution to the problem because without that, it would have been unhelpful. And finally the last comment, the bottom of the sandwich, if you will, was another compliment or kind comment that would make the writer want to continue with the book or story. It has to be genuine though. You can’t make up something nice to say about somebody’s writing if it isn’t real. But for me, the most important part of providing critiques and receiving critiques is that they have to be helpful. If they are hurtful or discouraging, that is pointless.

Finding Lisa is a character driven story about a quirky Canadian woman named Tara who is about to turn 40. She dreads the thought. Everything is going wrong in her life from her stale marriage to her boring job to her hopeless crush on a 24-year-old guy. The only thing right in Tara’s life is her best friend Lisa who has just confided that she is pregnant and the baby does not belong to her partner Ryan, who has a history of domestic violence. Then Lisa disappears and the search is on to find her.

Enjoy an Excerpt

All the carts were taken at the supermarket on Tuesday. I found one off to the side of the vegetable aisle. It had a defective wheel, which resulted in me almost overturning a display of cantaloupes. The cart was also enormous. No doubt this was a deliberate ploy on the part of the supermarket to encourage excess shopping.

“I feel as though I’m driving a school bus,” I announced to the frail, pale orange-haired woman to my left, who was squeezing the small, unappetizing looking cantaloupes.

She smiled faintly and nodded. I wondered how she had the strength to push the heavy cart through the long aisles of the grocery store at her age.

“Mum, I’ll go with you to one of those Women against Rape meetings if you want?” Devon said to my astonishment, his voice rising at the end of his sentence. “There’s only one condition. You have to watch 8 Mile with me.”

“8 Mile? Isn’t that the movie based on the book by Stephen King?”

“Nah, you’re thinking about The Green Mile,” Devon replied. “8 Mile is the story of a rapper in Detroit. It’s based on the life of Eminem, whose real name is Marshall Mathers. Eminem even stars in it,” he said with increasing enthusiasm.

“I think it’ll give you a better idea of where he’s coming from. You know, you’re always talking about these girls who’ve been, like, abused and what horrible lives they’ve had. You even feel bad about boys who were taken advantage of by priests or their hockey coaches. So why don’t you have any sympathy for Marshall? His mother was abusive. She was mean to him, and she did drugs! Also, she, like, gave him something called Munchkins syndrome,” Devon added uncertainly.

“Munchausen syndrome?” I asked, trying to picture the tough guy with the tattoos and bad attitude as a small child with a manipulative and controlling mother.

“Yeah, that sounds right. She made him feel sick when he was totally healthy. And, Mum, I know you would respect the way Em felt about his little brother, Nathan. He, like, didn’t wanna leave him alone in the house with his mother when he finally split from Detroit. He’s also really keen about his daughter, Hailie Jade. He talks about her all the time in his songs and on TV.”

I pushed the buttons on the radio. The Steve Miller band was singing, “Time keeps on slipping, slipping into the future.” I had a sense of motion. The car was moving forward, and with every traffic light I passed, I was moving farther away from Lisa and our routine evenings at the ByTowne Theatre. The rest of us were going ahead, and Lisa had been left behind. I wanted to go back, not just to last Thursday night, but to my university days, so I could live my life all over again.

I wanted to be sixteen or twenty-six again, making decisions based on what I knew now. So many lost opportunities. How had I managed to completely screw up my life? I’d done everything wrong except that I hadn’t become a street prostitute or a serial murderer. Too late for the former—who would want me? But there was still time for the latter.

About the Author: Originally from New Jersey, Sigrid Macdonald lived for almost thirty years in Ottawa, Ontario, and currently resides in Weston, Florida. She has been a freelance writer for years. Her works have appeared in The Globe and Mail newspaper; the Women’s Freedom Network Newsletter; the American magazine Justice Denied; The Toastmaster; and the Anxiety Disorders Association of Ontario Newsletter. Her first book, Getting Hip: Recovery from a Total Hip Replacement, was published in 2004. Her second book, Be Your Own Editor, followed in 2010. Although Finding Lisa is written in first person, Macdonald only resembles her character in the sense that she once had a neurotic fixation on her hair, and she has always been called by the wrong name; instead of being called Sigrid, people have called her Susan, Sharon, Astrid, Ingrid and, her personal favorite, Siri.

Macdonald is a social activist who has spent decades working on the seemingly disparate issues of women’s rights and wrongful convictions; she has worked at the Women’s Center at Ramapo College of New Jersey and Carleton University in Ottawa, Ontario, and was a member of AIDWYC, The Association in Defense of the Wrongly Convicted. She owns an editing company called Book Magic. Sigrid is a public speaker and a member of Mothers against Drunk Driving, Ottawa Independent Writers, the American Association of University Women, and the Editors’ Association of Canada.

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Death of an American Beauty by Mariah Fredericks – Spotlight

April 13, 2020 By Leave a Comment

Long and Short Reviews welcomes Mariah Fredericks who is celebrating tomorrow’s release of her newest book Death of an American Beauty, the third in her Jane Prescott series.

Jane Prescott is taking a break from her duties as lady’s maid for a week, and plans to begin it with attending the hottest and most scandalous show in town: the opening of an art exhibition, showcasing the cubists, that is shocking New York City.

1913 is also the fiftieth anniversary of Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation speech, and the city’s great and good are determined to celebrate in style. Dolly Rutherford, heiress to the glamorous Rutherford’s department store empire, has gathered her coterie of society ladies to put on a play—with Jane’s employer Louise Tyler in the starring role as Lincoln himself. Jane is torn between helping the ladies with their costumes and enjoying her holiday. But fate decides she will do neither, when a woman is found murdered outside Jane’s childhood home—a refuge for women run by her uncle.

Deeply troubled as her uncle falls under suspicion and haunted by memories of a woman she once knew, Jane—with the help of old friends and new acquaintances, reporter Michael Behan and music hall pianist Leo Hirschfeld—is determined to discover who is making death into their own twisted art form.

Enjoy an Excerpt

“‘Four score and seven years ago . . .’ ”

I looked up from the script. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Tyler. That’s the Gettysburg Address. You’re meant to be reciting the Emancipation Proclamation.”

“Am I?” Louise exhaled fretfully. “Oh dear.”

“‘That on the first day of January . . . ,’ ” I prompted.

“‘. . . first day of January . . .’ ” Remembering the rest of her line, she rattled off, “ ‘In the year of our Lord one thousand eight hundred and sixty- three . . .’ ”

“‘All persons held as slaves . . .’ ”

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“‘. . . shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free.’ ”

“‘Forever free,’ ” Louise echoed, and removed her stovepipe hat. “What does thenceforward mean?”

“From now on, I suppose.”

“Well, why didn’t Lincoln just say so?”

As a lady’s maid, it wasn’t for me to defend the stylistic choices of the martyred sixteenth president. But while Lincoln had been eloquent in the face of civil war, congressional opposition, and the pistol of John Wilkes Booth, he had probably never faced a salon of society ladies, as Louise was preparing to do. In fact, he rarely visited the city, which had twice refused to vote for a Republican seen as insensitive to the commercial benefits of the slave trade.

However, it was the fiftieth anniversary of the Emancipation Proclamation, and New York had embraced its commemoration with gusto. Which was how Louise found herself balancing a makeshift stovepipe as she struggled to recite Mr. Lincoln’s great speech.

Bored by the traditional dinner parties, the city’s great ladies were keen to display their artistry in different ways. Tableaux vivants and amateur theatrics were the rage. One might enjoy Mrs. Halsey’s Brutus on Monday, Mrs. Foster Jenkins’s selections from Die Fledermaus Tuesday, and on Wednesday, Mrs. Fortesque’s torrid attempts at Apache dance. And so, led by Dolly Rutherford of Rutherford’s department store— the newest and most ostentatious of the ladies’ shopping paradises, which billed itself as the place “Where every American Beauty blooms!”— my employer Louise Tyler and others were to perform “Stirring Scenes of the Emancipation” in a week’s time.

Being tall and willowy, Louise had been chosen to play the Great Emancipator himself. This was an honor that one might have thought due the hostess. But Mrs. Rutherford was round of figure and short of stature. At one point, it was suggested she play Harriet Tubman, but in the end, she had accepted the almost equally, if not more, important role of Mary Todd Lincoln. (The part of Harriet Tubman went to Mrs. Edith Van Dormer. Having died earlier that month, Mrs. Tubman would be spared that performance.)
About the Author:Mariah Fredericks was born and raised in New York City, where she still lives with her family. She is the author of several YA novels. Death of an American Beauty is her third novel to feature ladies’ maid Jane Prescott.

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False Light by Claudia Riess – Spotlight and Giveaway

April 9, 2020 By 13 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Claudia Riess will be awarding a $50 Amazon gift card to a randomly drawn winner or a set of Art History Mystery Books, Stolen Light and False Light (US only) to three randomly drawn winners via rafflecopter during the tour.

Academic sleuths Erika Shawn, art magazine editor, and Harrison Wheatley, a more seasoned art history professor, set out to tackle a brain teaser. This time the couple—married since their encounter in Stolen Light, first in the series—attempt to crack the long un-deciphered code of art forger Eric Hebborn (1934-1996), which promises to reveal the whereabouts of a number of his brilliant Old Master counterfeits. (Hebborn, in real life, was a mischievous sort, who had a fascination with letters and a love-hate relationship with art authenticators. I felt compelled to devise a puzzler on his behalf!) After publication of his memoir, Drawn to Trouble, published in 1991, he encrypts two copies with clues to the treasure hunt. On each of the title pages, he pens a tantalizing explanatory letter. One copy he sends to an art expert; the second, he releases into general circulation. The catch: both books are needed to decipher the code.

When the books are at last united 25 years later, Erik and Harrison are enlisted to help unearth their hidden messages. But when several research aides are brutally murdered, the academic challenge leads to far darker mysteries in the clandestine world of art crime. As the couple navigate this sinister world, both their courage under fire and the stability of their relationship are tested.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Owen Grant was ebullient—“ripped with joy,” his beloved wife might have said. He smiled, remembering the flutter of her eyelids that accompanied her minted phrases. Now that she had died and his arthritis no longer permitted him to jog up a sweat, he satisfied his lust for life—which remained, five years after retirement, as vigorous as it had been in his teens—with voracious reading and clay sculpting. Today, however, he satisfied it with the Art and Antiques article that had set his heart racing when he’d come across it this morning while sifting through his mail. He stole another glance at the newsletter on the kitchen table. In the article, a used and rare book shop owner spoke about having acquired a copy of a memoir by Eric Hebborn, the infamous art forger. “It was in a carton I picked up at an estate sale,” the owner had said. “The author’s handwritten note on the title page literally blew my mind!”

Hebborn’s note was displayed in a photograph. Owen had recognized the handwriting at once. Imagine, after decades of searching for this copy of the book—placing ads in all the art magazines, later in their online versions, finally giving up—proof of it had fallen into his life as he was about to venture another sip of his scalding morning coffee.

Now it was 8:30 p.m., and there was nothing more to prepare for. Owen had contacted the shop owner—how young and breathless she had sounded!—and they had made plans to meet. He had invited his longtime friend and colleague, Randall Gray, to collaborate with him. Randall, twenty years his junior and still in the game, was more current in his knowledge of the world of art crime and eager to have a look at the book as well. Owen was on a skittering high, unable to concentrate on his usual avocations. Rather than wear a hole in the carpet pacing in circles, he opted for a walk in Central Park.

He headed for the nearest pedestrian entrance at Fifth Avenue and 72nd Street, two blocks from his luxury apartment building on 74th. There, he chose the rambling path leading to the Lake and Loeb Boathouse. It was a balmy night, on the warm side for mid-April. He might have stepped out in his shirtsleeves, but his conditioned urbanity, always at odds with his truer self, had held sway, and he had worn his suit jacket.

Aside from the couple strolling up ahead and the sound of laughter coming from somewhere south, Owen was alone. There had been an uptick of muggings lately, but his frisson of fear only piqued his excitement for the adventure shimmering on the horizon. As he walked, he silently chatted with his wife, Dotty, as he often did, so that their separation would not be absolute. He commented on the moonless night and looked up, for both of them, at the rarely visible canopy of stars. For a few seconds he was lost with her, until, without warning, he felt a hard object pressed against the back of his skull—the skull that held all memories, like Dotty’s fluttering eyelids and the smell of new clay. He knew what the object was without ever having touched one. He was a man of reason, not a fighter. He flung up his hands. “I have money. Let me get to it.”

There was no response. He reached into his pocket for his wallet—how warm the leather was against his thigh—and his keys jangled of homecomings, and the child in him whimpered please no, before the explosive pop of a champagne cork ended him and Dotty and all the rest of it.

About the Author:

Claudia Riess, a Vassar graduate, has worked in the editorial departments of The New Yorker and Holt, Rinehart, and Winston and has edited several art history monographs.

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FEED YOUR READER – Spotlight and Giveaway

March 25, 2020 By 7 Comments

Staying home to stay healthy? Looking for things to do?  Reading is always one of our favorite ways to pass the time, so let us help you keep busy.

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Sleuth on Safari by A.R. Kennedy – Spotlight and Giveaway

March 17, 2020 By 23 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. A. R. Kennedy will be awarding a $25 Amazon/BN GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Naomi and her estranged sister are off on a trip of a lifetime—an African safari, a bucket list trip for Naomi on which she got a last-minute deal. Naomi thinks traveling with her sister will be the worst part of her African safari until she finds one of their fellow travelers, the unlikable Dr. Higgins, dead. She gets more adventure than she bargained for when she starts investigating what she thinks is murder but the luxury lodge says was a tragic accident. She only has a few vacation days, and a few game drives, to find the killer.

Enjoy an Excerpt

For fifteen minutes, we stood at the conveyor belt, waiting for my luggage to arrive. The constant trail of luggage became a trickle and I began to worry. I had a vision that my vacation slideshow would be me in my Supernatural TV series T-shirt and jeans, with a soundtrack of my sister’s voice saying, “I told you so.”

I glanced at Charlotte. After a fifteen-hour flight, Charlotte had emerged refreshed. I was a little worse for wear. She gave me a dismissive look and I wiped a few crumbs from breakfast off my jeans.

She smiled briefly and the other expression returned.

“You know you look like Mom when you’re annoyed,” I told her.

She glared at me and whipped around. She and her bright pink luggage stormed off. Her pink flowy top wafted over leggings with a black-and-pink chevron pattern. I had to admit, she did look nice. And did not look like she had spent almost a day traveling. I looked down at myself. The same could not be said. My wrinkled black T-shirt and torn jeans, paired with Converse sneakers with tips that used to be white, made me cringe. Nothing about me said glamour.

I didn’t worry about being left in a foreign country by myself. I could find her a mile away with that highlighter pink gear.

I said a quick prayer before turning back to the luggage belt. I exhaled and smiled. She didn’t see the last bag to drop onto the conveyor. My worn tan duffle bag.

About the Author:

A R Kennedy lives in Long Beach, New York, with her two pups. She works hard to put food on the floor for them. As her favorite T-shirt says, ‘I work so my dog can have a better life’. She’s an avid traveler. But don’t worry. While she’s away, her parents dote on their grand-puppies even more than she does. Her writing is a combination of her love of travel, animals, and the journey we all take to find ourselves.

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Murder at Eagle’s Nest by Pat Duggan – Spotlight and Giveaway

March 9, 2020 By 19 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Pat Duggan will be awarding a $10 Amazon GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Murder at Eagle’s Nest is a gentle mystery novel set in a peaceful vacation resort in Apalachicola on Florida’s Forgotten Coast. The area is still reeling after Hurricane Michael made landfall only thirty-five miles to the west, on Mexico Beach. It uncovers fraud, driven by greed and arrogance. However, everything changes when a body is discovered. The police detective brought in from Tallahassee, quickly enlists the help of two women staying at the resort, who have unusual insight. They ultimately uncover critical evidence, which unmasks the perpetrator.

Enjoy an Excerpt


In the end, Michael made landfall on October 10th 2018 as the first category five hurricane to hit the U.S. mainland for more than twenty-five years. Its ‘bullseye’ was Mexico Beach, and the result was that much of this thriving little coastal town was almost completely destroyed. Several days after the storm, a worker in the nearby forest, found a weather station that had been blown inland by the storm. He was surprised to discover that the data was still intact, and it had recorded a 206mph wind gust before it was blown away and stopped recording.

The pier, had been the signature landmark in Mexico beach since 1967 and had provided a place for tourists to fish, or sit drinking a cup of coffee in the morning, or watch the sun set in the evening. Now it was completely gone, there was not even one wooden post sticking up out of the surf to show it had ever existed, except in the photographs and memories of generations of tourists. Most of the surrounding homes and condos had been reduced to rubble sitting on concrete foundations. Even the Federal government (FEMA) had declared the community as ‘wiped out’. The few homes that had survived were newer homes which had been built on stilts, but even those stood in varying degrees of disrepair with tattered siding and gaping holes in the roof. Everywhere you looked was destruction and devastation!

As Hurricane Michael swirled in the Gulf, Anna Kohl and Hazel Davies were a thousand miles north, safe in their home near Columbus, Ohio watching it on the news and praying for the people in the panhandle. Storms were always a time for prayer, but their prayers were intensified on this occasion as they had friends on the Forgotten Coast and only six months earlier, they had purchased a small condominium in Apalachicola as an investment and an occasional winter retreat. Their friends had evacuated ahead of the storm, so they were safe, but their homes and properties were still a cause for concern.

About the Author:

Originally from Manchester, England but moved to the U.S. over 30 years ago. I have an accounting background in both countries. Several years ago, I discovered an interest in writing. My two previous books, Finding God in an RV and The Power Within, document my spiritual journey. However, as a longtime lover of murder mysteries, with a passion to follow plots and figure out the perpetrator, it was time for a new direction. I decided to ‘try my hand’ at weaving my own story, and true to my character, I had to tie up all the loose ends. Murder at Eagles Nest is my first mystery novel, and I am already working on the next mystery for my amateur detectives, Hazel and Anna, to solve.

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Ancestral Whispers by Jo Hiestand – Exclusive Excerpt and Giveaway

February 28, 2020 By 13 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Jo A Hiestand will be awarding a $30 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

Each year the residents of Nether Haddon celebrate the village’s founding in the time-honored way with games, music, and performances by their sword dancers. But something new is added to the fancy footwork this year: a team member dies … murdered. Fear, jealousy and suspicion quickly engulf the group, emotions as tightly interlocked as the five swords used in the dance: a series of turns, jumps and clogging steps intricate as Celtic knots. Was the victim the intended target, or should it have been someone else? In the course of the CID investigation, a mysterious 17th century puzzle is discovered. Does it hold a clue to the murder? Detective Brenna Taylor and her colleagues have more than enough to worry about. But unbeknownst to her, career criminal King Roper has escaped from prison where he was serving time for murder. Now free and eager to settle the score for his capture, Roper tracks down Brenna’s whereabouts, ready for revenge…

Enjoy an Exclusive Excerpt

Dr. Robert Paladin had never operated on so notorious a criminal as King Roper. He’d been with Leeds General Hospital his entire career, since leaving his residency at Manchester Royal Infirmary twenty years prior. Yet that Monday morning, for the first time in his twenty-four years as a surgeon, he found it necessary to remind himself that he’d taken an oath all those years ago, an oath to assist everyone who needed medical attention, regardless of the patient’s social status. Still, the fact that he was about to operate on a known murderer made Paladin uneasy. He nudged the edge of Roper’s file folder, squaring up the bottom with the edge of his desk. The handwritten sticky note on the file cover stated the man’s condition in layman’s terms:

He picked up the folder, angling it in the sunlight. Surprised at the thickness of the file, he leafed idly through the papers. Typewritten pages gave way to computer printouts. Officials’ names varied, police departments and prisons changed, but the constant of King Roper’s career remained unvarying. Unless severity in his crimes constituted a shift. Paladin glanced at the top page. Smuggling, trafficking, kidnapping, murder. An assault on at least three in law enforcement.

Paladin lowered the folder slowly to his desktop. This was not going to be easy, surgery on the arm of someone so vile, so repulsive to his own morals. He gazed at the window, not really seeing it, but instead picturing what Roper might look like, what his personality might be. The face never did come into sharp focus, but no matter the presumed height, weight, or body type, Roper’s image always ended up with dark hair and eyes. Perhaps it was a throwback to good versus evil, light versus dark. He most likely was muscular, Paladin thought, and perhaps his body carried physical remnants of fights he’d had. Perhaps he was unscathed, his fingernails manicured and his face clean-shaven, signs that his underlings did the actual dirty work. Or perhaps he stuck his manicured hand into it every so often, the taste for blood or the thrill of wielding the knife too strong to cede. Whatever Roper turned out to be, both visions repulsed Paladin, and he found himself stiffening. Am I patching him up so he can continue inf
licting harm, perhaps murdering again? Is that why I’m a surgeon?

The minutes slipped away as the sunlight slowly slid across his desk. His Hippocratic oath guaranteed he’d do his best during Roper’s operation. But his family and faceless, nameless others whispered to him, silently asking for a surgical accident. Things routinely go wrong on the table; could he rid the world of this monster? Would it honestly matter to Society if he did? He glanced at the brass-cased clock on his desk. 0610 hours. Surgery on King Roper wasn’t until 1100. He had five hours to struggle with his conscience.

About the Author: A month-long trip to England during her college years introduced Jo to the joys of Things British. Since then, she has been lured back nearly a dozen times and lived there during her professional folksinging stint.

Jo’s insistence for accuracy–from police methods and location layout to the general “feel” of the area–has driven her innumerable times to Derbyshire for research. These explorations and conferences with police friends provide the details filling both her Peak District mysteries and the McLaren mystery series.

In 1999 Jo returned to Webster University to major in English. She graduated in 2001 with a BA degree and departmental honors.

Her McLaren mystery, BLACK MOON, received the ‘N.N. Light Best Mystery Book’ award for 2019.

Jo lives with her cat, Tennyson, and way too many kilts in the St. Louis-area.

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Poisoned Pawn by David Siegel Bernstein

February 28, 2020 By 9 Comments

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. David Siegel Bernstein will be awarding a $25 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

I want to start by thanking Long and Short Reviews for taking the time for this interview. Okay, let’s get down to business. Here are a bunch of things that (I think) most people don’t know (or guess) about me. Well, here we go.

1. I was on the television show Bozo the Clown. Don’t judge me. I was a cute kid.

2. To go with my tough guy motif, I own a Toy Poodle named Ringo Biggles Woofington. He may, or may not, have a guess appearance in Poisoned Pawn. I have included a photo of him.

3. I am a black belt in Tae Kwon Do (the style of combat the main character uses in Poisoned Pawn)

4. To support my writing addiction and excessively extravagant lifestyle, I am a data scientist and forensic statistician.

5. My hobbies include reinventing the wheel, the Sisyphus relief project, and referring to myself in third person as THE David lest fools confuse me with the other ones.

6. I have a kick-ass comic collection (which makes me popular with the ladies… right?).

7. I am a firm believer in supporting the writing community. I am on the board of directors for the Philadelphia Writers’ Conference and I lead the writers group Words-in-Progress.

8. I have a PhD.

9. I enjoy a good game of chess.

10. I served in the Civil Air Patrol

(bonus: I play a mean Axe. Yep, I jam on the guitar Guitar)

That’s it from me. Feel free to comment with interesting facts about yourself. Or impress me by posting a fact about me that you’ve discovered. Cheers!

Caleb Jacobs is a man with a past. After serving on a failed dark ops assignment in Afghanistan, he leaves Marine Corps Intelligence to try to build a new life in Philadelphia as a homicide police detective.

Jacobs is happy, for a time, until he is assigned to solve the murder of Shannon Faraday. During the investigation, he is convinced the evidence points to him as the killer. He knows it is only a matter of time before other investigators see the same. He has no alibi and the clock is counting down.

Behind his partner’s back, Jacobs hires a private investigator named Lawrence Holmes. The PI is an irritation to the police, but he is unmistakably brilliant. And, many powerful people in the city owe him favors. Holmes is a bit odd. He insists on calling Jacobs Watson but claims to never have heard the name Sherlock. Jacobs can live with this kind of crazy as long as together they find the real killer.

They quickly link the murder to a series of seemingly unrelated crimes occurring throughout Philadelphia, and Jacobs becomes convinced the murder is related to the truth of what had happened during his time in Afghanistan. Old secrets have come back to haunt him.

Read an Excerpt

I felt like shit for having to hire a private investigator, especially one who was most likely insane. Still, I couldn’t deny that his type of crazy got results. Reluctantly I handed over an envelope to the man sitting on the sun-bleached bench.

He opened it. Satisfied with my offering, he slid it into his jacket. “Ah, Watson,” he said. “Good to see you again.”

I shook my head and dropped onto the bench next to him. “My name is Jacobs. Caleb Jacobs,” I said, hoping the reminder might stick this time.

He turned to me. “Did you say something?”

I sighed. “No, Holmes.”

If I wasn’t desperate for his help, I’d strangle him. Of course my superiors at the Philadelphia Homicide Unit wouldn’t appreciate that. But I wondered if a cop hiring a private investigator was any worse of a violation. I needed Lawrence Holmes for his connections and unique viewpoint, things my PHU colleagues couldn’t provide. He might not be the fictional character he played at, but he was a talented PI.

About the Author:

To support his writing addiction and excessively extravagant lifestyle, David Siegel Bernstein, PhD, is a data scientist who consults as a forensic statistician. That sounds really boring until you realize that his clients include the US National Security Agency (NSA), the Secret Service, the FBI, the Department of Justice (DOJ), and a host of other acronymonious agencies who cultivate exciting and shadowy reputations. Alas, those reputations are mere facades that disguise the real reason these organizations exist, which is to keep him entertained and fed.

When David wants a break from this spellbinding work, he writes. His fiction credits encompass two novelettes and sixty shorts. His nonfiction has appeared in newsletters, popular blogs, academic journals and he is the author of the book Blockbuster Science: The Real Science in Science Fiction.

He lives within the shadow of Philadelphia with his wife, Michelle, two children, Seth and Gwendolyn, and a dog named Ringo Biggles Woofington.


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The hardest part about writing is… by Roger Peppercorn – Guest Blog and Giveaway

February 18, 2020 By 20 Comments


This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Roger Peppercorn will be awarding a $10 Amazon or Barnes and Noble GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on the tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

The hardest part about writing is…

The hardest part about is more than a few things. The easy part is finding a topic that moves you. I think writers in general don’t struggle much with what to write about. There is a story each of us wants to tell but the hardest thing I think is to find your voice. There are hundreds of thousands of wordsmiths today and finding a voice that is unique to you and that captures the imagination and steadfast interest of the readers are hardest part of writing.

From the earliest of days philosophers and storytellers have found a way to leave lasting impressions that have stood the test of time. From Socrates to Whitman and Harper to Rowling the words they put on the blank page have lasted and inspired generations of storytellers through today and will inspire writers to the end of time. Their voices are as unique as the stories they craft.

To find it you must allow the words to appear on the page and without the noise of the world around you. You will know your own voice when you get out of your own way long enough to let the story come out of you.

I said there are few things and one of the other hard thing to do is knowing when to end the story and when to stop tweaking it. When I wrote my first book I read, deleted, added, moved and changed it so much that I realized at some point that I was one key stroke away from delete all. You always think there is something to add or delete. Put it down, let the story breathe for a bit and the next time you pick it up read it for the pleasure of the story. If you get lost in a story you have written then you’ve done your job. Give it over to the editor and let them help you make it better.

The last hard thing about writing almost anything is your readership or the lack of one. And then there are the comments sections. I have gotten reviews that give me the impression I may just be the next great American novelist and I have gotten reviews that point in an entirely different direction and make me rethink my choses in life.

The point is this not everything you write or create will resonate with an audience. Your voice is in there somewhere just let it come out and when you are through it won’t be perfect but it will be yours and you will have gotten something across the finish line that few people accomplish.

Thank you to Long and Short Reviews for a spot in your guest blog
Roger Peppercorn

With the drop of a judge’s gavel, Walt Walker has finally lost everything. The badge and gun he used to carry and the moral certainty of right and wrong, good and evil that used to keep him grounded. Now Walt, sans gun, gets his badges from an Army Navy store. He spends his days in South Florida, working for a boutique insurance firm as their investigator. He spends his nights in dive bars, trying to forget the mess he has made of his life.

Ronald Jacobs always preferred the title Human Resource Manger to Hitman. But now that he’s retired, he can concentrate on living in the shadows as a respectable gentlemen farmer. Far from the reach and pull of his past life.

Their transgressions are behind them but a chance encounter and a failed assassination attempt sets the two of them on a collision course of violence and retribution. Hunted by contract killers, the law, and corporate bag men, they are pursued across the unforgiving adobes and the sweeping vistas of the Mesa Valley in Western Colorado.

Survival means putting their past in front of them and their differences aside, because in this world the only thing that matters is to cast not others on the devil’s side of heaven, lest you be cast in with them.

Enjoy an Excerpt

A little after midnight on a clear and cold morning in March, Jimmy Dix parked his car three miles from the farmhouse. From here it would all be on foot. The sky, dark and overcast, would cover his approach to the farmhouse situated in the adobe desert, fifteen miles from the little town of Loma, CO. His target presumably would be asleep and unaware of his impending death.

Big Max Benson had been clear in his instructions. The job had to be tonight. Jimmy hadn’t bothered to ask why. Fifteen thousand dollars had been more than enough to silence any idle curiosity he may have had. And the promise to convert all the red ink that bore Jimmy’s name in Big Max’s ledger to black had been the clincher. He had driven fifteen hours in a rental car he had picked up in a hotel parking lot just outside of Billings, MT. In the trunk, Big Max had left a cut down 12 gauge shotgun, an AR-15 and a 9 mm pistol. Each weapon had come with more than enough ammo to do the job. Jimmy had brought along his own set of NVGs for the nighttime raid.

He sat in the car, staring out the windshield, thinking about the three mile hike he had in front of him. The car heater was cranked up to high. The dashboard clock read 12:02; the hike would take him about an hour. He thought about the task at hand. After he arrived, he would need probably thirty minutes to scout his final approach plus maybe another fifteen to twenty minutes to get set up. Maybe another five minutes to carry out the job. Jimmy did the math in his head and figured that worst case scenario, he would be back in the car no later than 4 a.m. This would leave him more than enough time to get clear of the area. Jimmy smiled at the thought of coming in under the cover of darkness, killing someone and then leaving under the same veil before any cops showed up.

About the Author: Roger Peppercorn has suffered for the better part of his life from wanderlust and this need to see the other side of the horizon has taken him to all parts of the world. The people and backdrop of his travels have served as the inspiration behind his characters and storytelling.

As a child, his mother taught him to read and write. His father’s collection of Louis Lamour novels provoked the fantastical images in his mind and the romance of the written word. In the seventh grade, his history teacher brought the characters of a bygone era alive. From that point on, Roger began to hone his skills in storytelling. After high school, Roger took a course in creative writing that was taught by a long haired hippy in a Hawaiian shirt.

Roger’s grandmother used to tell hypothetical tales of traveling across the plains in a covered wagon, the woes of having a son sent off to war, and the larger-than-life man she met at Pea Green Hall who later became her husband.

His first two novels “On The Devils Side of Heaven” and “The Sometimes Long Road Home” take place on the western slopes of Colorado, in the sleepy town of Fruita, where he grew up. They center on the strained relationships and sorted histories of three characters – Walt, Ronald and Jessica, and violence that erupts around them.

Roger is married and is a father of four beautiful children. He currently calls South Dakota his home.

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