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The bank’s newest Trust Officer Terri Stanley prepares the requested department’s internal audit. Finding puzzling inconsistencies and a jumble of misappropriations and unexplained offshore accounts, she follows protocol and immediately punches in the listed number for the Executor-Trustee, Craige Ingram.

Wealthy land owner/parttime PI Craige Ingram reaches the file back to homicide Lt. Grayson MacGerald after finishing a quick read-through of the preliminary forensic report from Coroner Fred Dinkins on the unexpected death of bank President Royce Sedgewicke. Dinkins’ meticulous autopsy findings verify that a massive apparent heart attack was not from natural causes, confirming what these longtime SEAL buddies suspected.

When Ingram gets a call from Terri Stanley, the bank’s attractive, newly-hired Trust Officer, wanting to discuss in confidence possible account irregularities discovered during her audit, he never imagines the twisted world of money and greed that would involve a psychopath’s trail of bloody body parts strewn along Ingram’s river property, or that Terri and her son would disappear.

Confronted by a race against time, Ingram fears that Terri might become one more on the list of dead who crossed a twisted mind bent on thrill-kills and retribution.

Read an Excerpt

Death is seldom dignified, even less so if it’s felony murder. There was no such thing, exSEAL-turned private investigator Craige Ingram believed, but he sometimes forgot how personal death could get. This time, however, it blind-sided a lot of people—including him.

For the annual charity event of the Silver Bluff Museum of Southron Art, the master of ceremonies grandious CEO Llewyn Royce Sedgewicke and PI Craige Howelle Graeme Roynane Ingram seldom moved in the same black tie social circle. Chances were slim to none that Royce Sedgewicke would’ve ever been invited to the sprawling riverfront domains that had once been Grannie Ingram’s dogtrot Moccasin Hollow that she left debt-free to her gran’son Craige.

Unlike his collection of mounted big game trophies along the walls of his profligate mancave, portly Royce Sedgewicke’s food-bespattered tuxedoed carcass stretched out like public roadkill amid the crash and smash of food, china, crystal and splayed floral pieces, and very dead. Last-breath gurgles clung around his gagging tongue as smart phones madly clicked, flooding social media before the emergency ambulance arrived. First edition headlines the next morning made big local news and an avid up-tick in morning papers. Purloined forensic photos of his corpse showing Sedgewicke’s swollen tongue and his bare overstuffed derrière grabbed a growing audience for more about his secretive lifestyle, squandering what little decorum he never had. That mess was bad enough. His passing sent more than a few local bigwigs scrambling to cover their backsides—and their offshore accounts.

Complications and felony murder cinched more-snug when Graysen MacGerald, head of Buckingham Parish Metro Law Enforcement, Investigative Support Team, paid an off-the-record visit to his grown-up-together SEAL Commanding Officer Craige `Peadinger’ Ingram. The death certificate said heart attack. It wasn’t.

About the Author

Internationally acclaimed author and public speaker, Hawk MacKinney began writing mysteries for his school newspapers. Following graduation, he served in the US Navy for over 20 years. While serving as a Navy Commander, he also had a career as a full-time faculty member at several major state medical facilities. He earned two postgraduate degrees with studies in languages and history and has taught postgraduate courses in both the United States and Jerusalem, Israel.

In addition to professional articles and texts on fetal and adult anatomy, Hawk has authored several novels that have received national and international recognition. Moccasin Trace, a historical novel, was nominated for the prestigious Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War Fiction and the Writers Notes Book Award.

Known for his terrifying suspense and unique “Southron” dialog, Hawk has published five novels in the Moccasin Hollow Mysteries: Hidden Chamber of Death, Westobou Gold, Curse of the Ancients, Dead Gold, and Blood of the Dragonfly.

In a change of direction, Hawk has also published three books in The Cairns of Sainctuarie science fiction series: The Bleikovat Event, Volume I; The Missing Planets, Volume II; and The Inanna Phantom, Volume III.

His latest work is a series called the Moccasin Trace Mysteries. Dungeon of Horrors is the first book in the series, and the second book – Blood in the Shadows – is in development.

Buy the book at Amazon.

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Hawk MacKinney will be awarding a $20 Amazon or B/N GC to a randomly drawn winner via rafflecopter during the tour. Click on he tour banner to see the other stops on the tour.

It is July of 1859, a month of sweltering dog days and feverish emotional bombast. Life is good for widower Rundell Ingram and his hazel-eyed, roan-haired son, Hamilton. Between the two of them, they take care of Moccasin Hollow, their rustic dogtrot ancestral home, a sprawling non-slave plantation in the rolling farming country outside Queensborough Towne in east Georgia. Adjoining Ingram lands is Wisteria Bend, the vast slave-holding plantation of Andrew and Corinthia Greer, their daughter Sarah and son Benjamin.

Both families share generations of long-accepted traditions, and childhood playmates are no longer children. Against this rustic idyll of hard work and gracious living comes inflexible discord and divided loyalties that mutilate ties of blood and bond, tearing at their lives as smoke and battle no longer so faraway crashes and maims ever closer. Ahead of the on-coming ranks of Blue, foragers and bumlers burn, loot, scavenge and kill. Hamilton faces agonizing sacrifices with dreadful consequences. With little else than his wits, he tries anything to protect Sarah, their unborn child, his sickly father, and Sarah’s family.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Rundell liked munching raw potatoes. He favored the smaller fresh-dug ones he called new potatoes. He’d use the bent kitchen knife that’d lost its handle on the withered moldy ones that hadn’t been taken. Sometimes he didn’t peel them, just rubbed off the dirt and gnawed away.

The Hollows had been spared, but damn little else had. Growing up a gangly towhead on the sprawling acres of Moccasin Hollows, Hamilton never gave much notice to outside goings-on. On his seventeenth birthday near four years ago, he got his first notion of the world beyond.

Rundell usually kept his feelings close to home, seldom using strong language, but that day his disgusted papa’d remarked, “Damn few prudent heads among the lot of them,” as he flung down the Augusta newspaper. “Constitutionalist editors and those pigheaded politicians. They couldn’t get off a water moccasin if it was chewin’ on their big toe. Fools got no idea what they’re stirrin’. Most likely don’t care neither.”

“What happened?” Hamilton had never seen a turmoil fret his papa so.

“I suppose it’s gettin’ to me more’n I thought. Benson Crouder stopped by, that’s what. All gussied up in his top hat and new attire like some up-town Beau Brummell, that fancy rig of his hitched with his matched bays, their mane and tails all curried. Cain’t figure some folks. Let them get money in their pockets, they act like their sweat don’t stink. All fired up, heading into Queensborough for the big meet, asked if I was going. I told him I didn’t see no point to another meetin’. Far as I could tell too many done decided they were finished with talk.”

Not many days went by before Rundell swallowed his distaste for politics and got knee-deep in the middle of the commotion at the capital in Milledgeville. Hamilton harnessed and hitched the buggy for him.

Reins in hands, Rundell looked at his son. “Don’t figure my bein’ there’ll make much difference. Suppose it cain’t do no harm neither.”

“I’ll handle things. Things’ll be fine here however long you need to be gone.”

Hamilton would remember that day, watching Papa drive off, and how at the time the day hadn’t seemed different. When he thought back, he could think of no one thing which seemed to’ve change, except he recalled the yellowish-orange morning light seemed sharper with a change to the air.

For way too many folks stench and fear rode the breezes, carrying the smell of char and ashes. Each day had become a hunt for food and shelter. Tending the meager gardens at the Hollows barely managed enough food, but it was food. The lawless churning mayhem, moving far and near, sometimes too close to the Hollows for Hamilton’s liking–his wife and son, their unborn, Papa, Mother Greer and Sarah’s brother, Benjamin. Gaunt chimneys haunted the ashes of Wisteria Bends, Hamilton’s second home, the grand plantation manor where Sarah and Ben had grown up. Without money there was no point going into town. Except for land speculators, gold jingling in their pockets, there wadn’t that much food to be had in Queensborough nohow.

A blizzard of thunder and hell-hot hate had smashed most homes in the countryside around Queensborough Towne. With Sherman and his army gone, worse than carpetbaggers and a lot more dangerous were the lawless bands of white trash infesting the countryside. No questions asked, easier to kill anyone that happened in their way, and get on with the stealin’. Human locust pillaging what they could get their hands on, torching homes, farms, what was left of the Queensborough courthouse. With parish land records in ashes a fair number of low-lifes claimed land which was never theirs.

About the Author:

In addition to professional articles and texts on chordate neuroembryology, Hawk MacKinney has authored several works of fiction—historical love stories, science fiction and mystery-thrillers. Moccasin Trace, a historical novel nominated for the prestigious Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War Fiction and the Writers Notes Book Award, details the family bloodlines of his protagonist in the Moccasin Hollow Mystery Series: Hidden Chamber of Death, Westobou Gold, Dead Gold, Curse of the Ancients, and Blood of the Dragonfly.

Hawk’s science fiction novels include The Bleikovat Event, Vol I in The Cairns of Sainctuarie Science Fiction Series, followed by Vol II, The Missing Planets, and Vol III, Inanna Phantom.

Hawk MacKinney served in the US Navy for over 20 years. While serving as a Navy Commander, he also had a career as a full-time faculty member at several major state medical facilities. He earned two postgraduate degrees with studies in languages and history. He has taught postgraduate courses in both the United States and Jerusalem, Israel. He now makes his home in Augusta, Georgia, where he writes full-time.

Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Hawk MacKinney will be awarding a $20 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.

My favorite books are and aren’t in my genre – mystery or sci-fi. Yet, they are. When not stringing words across a screen, I’m constructing the building blocks of a manuscript between my ears among the nonfiction stacks. Call it research. Whether particle physics or historical background for setting or character, I am holed up among the volumes, browsing when not writing which is very seldom. Biographies of the great personalities and nonfiction of important events have it all – saga, setting, plot, failure, success, characters bigger than life. Picky detailed research? One best be picky to probe historical settings/characters/dialogue, not to mention what they wore. My favorite bio, Désirée, the one-time fiancée of Napoléone Bonaparte, married a French general and founded the Swedish House of Bernadotte – and he blew it. The Bernadotte Dynasty still carries the crown of Sweden. How’s that for imperial screw-ups and disasters, or should one say egos run amok? And the uninformed call history and public libraries boring. Not hardly. Librarians are some of the great unsung experts of the professions that involve writers. History, dialogue, settings, plots turned downside-up, mysteries with mayhem, victim and collateral damaged innocents, characters’ strengths, and more intriguing, their weaknesses mesh into tales being told. Fiction and nonfiction involve the same constructs. It doesn’t matter where the approach begins; a face in the crowd, a title, setting, conflict, passion, lust can trigger a whole volume of scenes that expand with lightening speed…and I like to go fishing or sit on the porch swing with a hot cup of tea.

While dangling a fishing hook from his flat bottom skiff before dawn, former SEAL-turned-PI Craige Ingram spots grey-black smoke coiling above the treetops across the river in the direction of the Georgia bayous and Corpsewood Manor. Bayou or bogs, fire in the uncut cypress and pines bodes a sense that the river is no barrier to the fire that threatens his ancestral home, Moccasin Hollow. Neither are the bodies later found in the burned mansion of Corpsewood Manor. Craige wastes no time in helping his ex-SEAL buddy Lt. Graysen MacGerald who is now Head of Buckingham Homicide Investigations by unofficially investigating the bodies and an exquisite dragonfly brooch found in the mansion with a reputation for evil, hauntings, and mystery.

Enjoy an Excerpt

“How many times you got to be told to stay away from this place?” Clenched fist, a threatening stomp through the ashes and rubble of Corpsewood toward Kenyon, was no bluff.

Kenyon said, “Ain’t got no other place ‘cept them leaky sheds behind the garage. Least before the fire, I had a place to sleep. Got kicked out of my other place.”

“I’ll just bet they let your sweet cheeks sleepover. You’re just the kind of meat they liked to sucker in.”

“Now I got no place, an’ nights are gettin’ colder.”

“Get a job. Quit blowing your money, and you’d have a place of your own. They the ones that hooked you on crystal?”

Kenyon whined, “I told you. I don’t do drugs.”

Steady raven-black gaze, “Cut the crap. Ever’body’s heard all your stories. Out’a your mouth never been nothing but pity-me mewling.” Between a snarl and a chuckle, “I suppose you never done meth, push crank up your nose—whatever’s on the streets to stoke in your arms.” Glanced at the needle tracks on both arms, “Or running out’a veins in your arms and using the ones in your ankles. Wash your stringy, greasy hair; take a bath, stop acting like some mangy animal.”

“I don’t snort crystal or Nazi dope,” Kenyon griped. “You’re like ever’body else, judging someone by the way we live.”

“I don’t care what you’re on, but anyone fool enough to supply you is askin’ for trouble if that goddamn homicide Lieutenant MacGerald starts nosing around, asking questions. And his friggin’ PI SEAL mate Ingram helpin’ him is worse.”

Kenyon wiped his nose across the grimy grunge sleeve of his jacket. “If you hadn’t torched the house, I’d still have me a place.”

Knotted a fist in Kenyon’s jacket, “Buttin’ into stuff that don’t concern you ain’t good for your health. I ain’t telling you again. I didn’t start no fire. I don’t know who did, but if I find out, they won’t be startin’ no more fires.”

Kenyon squinched his face, “Ever’body always puts the blame on me.” Didn’t want no cops finding out he’d done a couple of torch-for-insurance.

Yanked Kenyon eyeball to eyeball closer, “Don’t give me shit, and don’t make trouble. Get your ass off from around Corpsewood Manor, and don’t let me catch you around here again.” Shoved Kenyon backwards against charred support beams.

About the Author:Hawk MacKinney began writing mysteries for his school newspaper, served in the US Navy for over 20 years, earned two postgraduate degrees with studies in languages and history, taught postgraduate courses in the United States and Jerusalem, authored professional articles and chordate embryology texts on fetal and adult anatomy, and is well known for his works of fiction. Moccasin Trace, a historical novel, was nominated for the prestigious Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War Fiction and the Writers Notes Book Award. Both his CAIRNS OF SANCTUARIE science fiction series and the MOCCASIN HOLLOW MYSTERY series have received worldwide recognition.

Buy the book at Amazon.

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Hawk MacKinney will be awarding a $20 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.

Seems like it was about the same time Moses was leaving Kemet-Egypt that this writer was ‘new’. We writers are solitary modified nerds. We change the world – we handle the spotlight as part of our marketing, but all said and done, we like our solitude; i.e., peace of mind. Without it the creative juices are sidelined and crippled.

MAIN STUFF

 Write it. Edit it and edit it again. There’s no such thing as being done, but there is a caveat – one can over-edit and change good to pitiful.

 Don’t say NO to the person in the mirror.

 When words and actions don’t match…don’t sign any contract with anyone like that. Don’t be professionally associated with them – the marketing-publishing world is small – everyone talks.

 Don’t publish excerpts of your unpublished works on the Internet. That’s public domain, and most publishers usually won’t consider it after your manuscript has been published in any form.

PITFALLS

 Don’t throw anything away, including any scribbles/ideas/deletions, AND keep your backups current.

 Trust editors you know. Those you trust, listen to them. That doesn’t mean do what they say…but consider it. I shy away from editing others’ works—their work comes from their structuring of tales and characters, etc. etc. I’ve no access to those juices. I like editing my own work – sometimes as much as 12-20 times with each title.

 Watch out for quickie critiques from those who just talk instead of actually sitting down and doing the work of writing.

 Use rejections as personal opportunities to learn – especially from editors/publishers you trust. They’re rare as oak trees on the moon. If it was easy, everyone would be doing it—quality has always been rare.

 Ignore putdowns about “Have you published?” It’s jealousy and ego trouble. Are you an author? If you’ve written something you’re an author!

 Have a marketing budget. You’ve done the work. You’ve edited it; made it shine. Crow about yourself BUT DO NOT put others down. If you achieve success as a writer, you have an obligation to help other new authors.

 In presentations and Q&A audience participation panels, I-I-I-I and me-me-me are ego sputter and self-serving parades. Answer questions from the audience when asked, but if you are fortunate enough to be invited to participate on a panel, don’t use it to simply talk about yourself. For example, I often get asked about where I’ve taught/faculties/multiple postdoctoral degrees/commission officer military services, Dead Gold being Book 4 in a Moccasin Hollow Mystery Series and how I did so-and-so which I am happy to answer but only if asked. As writers, it is not our talents and gifts that make us what we are BUT how we use them. Runaway ego-putdowns ain’t cuttin’ it.

 Love your work. Never quit writing. An author is a loner in a room full of paper – ain’t it fun!

The dazzling lure of Olympic gold fame is a spotlight glare hotter than any fifteen minutes of fame.

During plans for a cross-country ski vacation, Aspen Police Department Criminal Investigation Division Detective David “Spinner” Krespinak and SEAL-bud Craige Ingram are ensnared by glamour, upmarket glitz and bling, and greed in the deadly champagne powder world of a money-gets-you-anything high-country ski-mecca. Body parts start turning up in the most unlikely places. As the two friends start their investigation, A hornets nest of the local elite do not want the publicity. For good reason it seems, they may be part of the mystery of bodies and body parts piling up at the morgue.

The closer they get to the killer the more confused they become. Who is behind the murders and mutilation? The list of suspects grows as they close the net on the killer.

The tender underbelly of Aspen is not what it seems. It is a raw open sore that oozes blood, drugs, and murder.

Enjoy an Excerpt

Spinner staggered the clutch and gear-shift. Kept his foot off the brakes as his vehicle slewed in the razor-edged chunky refreeze of the deep off-road ruts until coming to a stop. Killed the motor, and set the hand brake. Gusts of wind sliced at a square jaw on his devil-may-care rugged face as he climbed out and turned up the collar on his sheepskin coat. Big thick champagne-powder snowflakes clung for a moment to dust his dark hair, and just as quick blew-gone in the capricious strong up-slope drafts. He ducked under the fluttering yellow plastic ribbon with its black letters: POLICE LINE—DO NOT CROSS.

The charred black remains of the older model sedan slumped in a sooted blotched circle surrounded by undulating pristine white and candlestick-caked trees. It spoke loud and clear to Spinner—the burn had continued for some time after the storm. Wheel rims, frame, heat-crazed windows were still smoldering from hood to trunk.

As he walked toward her, salt-and-pepper-haired Pitkin County Medical Examiner-Coroner Candelaria Lopez didn’t have to look up. She knew the cadence of Spinner’s footsteps. “Looks like we have us a bungled hurried torch job.”

About the Author: Hawk MacKinney served in the US Navy for over 20 years. While serving as a Navy Commander, he also had a career as a full-time faculty member at several major state medical facilities. He earned two postgraduate degrees with studies in languages and history. He has taught postgraduate courses in both the United States and Jerusalem, Israel.

In addition to professional articles and texts on chordate neuroembryology, Hawk has authored several works of fiction—historical love stories, science fiction and mystery-thrillers. His titles are not genre-centered, but plot-character driven. Moccasin Trace, a historical novel nominated for the prestigious Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War Fiction and the Writers Notes Book Award, details the family bloodlines of his serial protagonist in the Moccasin Hollow Mystery Series—murder and mayhem with a touch of romance. Hidden Chamber of Death, the first book in the mystery series, was followed by Book 2, Westobou Gold and his latest, Book 3, Curse of the Ancients. All have received national attention. The Bleikovat Event was Vol I in The Cairns of Sainctuarie Science Fiction Series followed by Vol II, The Missing Planets. Vol III, Inanna Phantom is in final galleys.

Buy the book at Amazon or Barnes and Noble.

a Rafflecopter giveaway

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This post is part of a virtual book tour organized by Goddess Fish Promotions. Hawk will be awarding a $20 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.

As Craige Ingram climbed the stairs of the derelict building, that peculiar stench of a dead body hit him. It was the same smell no matter where—SpecOps SEAL encounter gone sour, or in a vacant, roach-infested apartment. Inside, his SEAL buddy-turned head of Buckingham Parish Homicide’s Investigative Support Division, Grayson MacGerald, was huddled with the coroner next to a swollen decaying corpse that was days old and hardly more than oozing dead meat. The PI inside Craige had a gut feeling that there was more to this than a dead body, and Craige’s Grannie always told him, “Trust your feelin’s.” But that was before Mihály Keaulescu set down two of his Black Falcon choppers on Craige’s Moccasin Hollow private airstrip in an uninvited stopover. It got worse. From his airstrip to Israel, to Turkey and a nightmare-dream of one-of-a-kind ancient artifacts that not only threatened the serene life Craige knew and loved at Moccasin Hollow, it would destroy the world.

Enjoy an Excerpt:

With a twist of one strap he hoisted his heavy canvas field pack of fence-fixin’ tools over his shoulder. Cut across the hayfield behind the house toward the new section. At the fence he looped the strap over the corner gatepost he’d set and cemented two days earlier. He slipped on heavy-leather gloves, and grabbed the post-hole digger. Humidity already thick, it was gonna be another one of those early sweat-and-lots-of-water days. As he jammed deeper into the rusty red sticky sandy-kaolin hole, his handset gave an interrupted buzz. Not many people had access to any of his numbers; even fewer had the code to his scrambled satellite uplink. He leaned the posthole digger against the stump, shucked his gloves and knocked them together to get rid of the gritty clods. His tattered sweat-soaked straw hat pushed to the back of his head, he brushed back the wet brown curls plastered across his forehead. He needed a haircut.

He reached inside his pack and grabbed the handset, “Ingram.”

Gray said, “You tied up with anything you can’t turn loose?”

The tone of Gray’s usual studied voice was a bit more hurried than let’s-grab-an-early-lunch. “You sound full-awake even after River Disco.”

Gray said, “Getting around to breakfast this morning was a bit slow.”

Craige could tell this was business. “Stringing new fences and burying posts has waited this long. No reason it can’t wait longer.” He gave his caked gloves a final whack against his snake boots and brushed a shirtsleeve across his eyes, smudging the sweat off his forehead. Gray was not one for beating around the bush when it came to homicide business. It was one of the things about Gray that Commanding Officer Craige Ingram relied on.

About the Author:

With postgraduate degrees and faculty positions at several medical universities, Hawk MacKinney has taught graduate courses in both the United States and Jerusalem. In addition to his work in classrooms and laboratories, he has written numerous professional articles on chordate neuroembryology and authored several novels that reflect his southwest upbringing in Arkansas, Texas and Oklahoma. Moccasin Trace, a historical novel nominated for both the prestigious Michael Shaara Award for Excellence in Civil War Fiction and the Writers Notes Book Award, details the family bloodlines of his protagonist in the Moccasin Hollow Mystery Series. Hidden Vault of Secrets and Westobou Gold, Books 1 and 2 in the series, have received national and international attention. Hawk is also writing a science fiction series, The Cairns of Sainctuarie.

Buy the book at Amazon.

a Rafflecopter giveaway
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