Tag Archives: mystery

Autumn Countdown Blitz – Day 2

An avid gardener, artist, musician and writer, Emily-Jane Hills Orford has fond memories and lots of stories that evolved from a childhood growing up in a haunted Victorian mansion. 


Told she had a ‘vivid imagination’, the author used this talent to create stories in her head to pass tedious hours while sick, waiting in a doctor’s office, listening to a teacher drone on about something she already knew, or enduring the long, stuffy family car rides. The author lived her stories in her head, allowing her imagination to lead her into a different world, one of her own making. As the author grew up, these stories, imaginings and fantasies took to the written form and, over the years, she developed a reputation for telling a good story. 


Emily-Jane can now boast that she is an award-winning author of several books, including King Henry’s Choice (Clean Reads 2019), Mrs. Murray’s Ghost (Telltale Publishing 2018), Mrs. Murray’s Hidden Treasure (Telltale Publishing 2019), Queen Mary’s Daughter (Clean Reads 2018), Gerlinda (CFA 2016) which received an Honorable Mention in the 2016 Readers’ Favorite Book Awards, To Be a Duke (CFA 2014) which was named Finalist and Silver Medalist in the 2015 Next Generation Indie Book Awards and received an Honorable Mention in the 2015 Readers’ Favorite Book Awards and several other books. 


A retired teacher of music and creative writing, she writes about the extra-ordinary in life and her books, short stories, and articles are receiving considerable attention. For more information on the author, check out her website at: https://emilyjanebooks.ca

 

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Mrs. Murray's Hidden Treasure cover
There is a hidden treasure in the grand old mansion on Piccadilly Street, in a place called London, but not the real London of English fame. There’s also a lot of mystery and a murder that’s been unsolved for decades. But it’s the treasure that captures Mary’s interest. 

 
 
Mary lives in this house along with her family, her Brownie friends and a ghost. When the ghost reveals her secret about the hidden treasure, there’s no stopping Mary, her Brownie friends, or her enemies from searching for this treasure. 
 
 

Why the intrigue? Apparently there’s a little bit of magic connected to this treasure. And so the adventure begins. Who will find the treasure first?

 

Q & A With the Author:
1.     When did you write your first novel? In
the late 1970s? I did manage to finish it, and I probably still have a copy of
the novel somewhere, but it was a very weak attempt at writing and not
something I’d want to publish. It was a good exercise, though. My next novel
was my grandmother’s story, “Personal Notes”. I wrote it in first
person narrative, from my grandmother’s point of view. The publisher commented
that when he read it, he could almost see my grandmother sitting in her rocking
chair telling her stories, which she often did. I started writing “Person
Notes” in 1995, just after my grandmother passed away. It helped me heal
from the feeling of loss. She and I were very close.
2.     What drove you to write / why did you become an author? I come from a family of storytellers, but being the youngest, I often
didn’t have a chance to share my stories in the oral tradition, so, as soon as
I could write, I started writing my stories. My mother saved most of my stories
and, after she passed away, I was surprised to find them tucked away in a box
in the storage space underneath the stairs. 
3.     How do you create your characters? A
lot of my characters are people from real life. The saying that goes around on
Facebook that you should be nice to a writer because they have the power to do
anything with your character in their novels, is very true. But none of my
characters is an exact copy of a real life person. I mix and match
characteristics from people I know, people I’ve studied in history and people I
read about in the news. The only character that remains the same is my
grandmother, who surprisingly or not, is in most of my novels as Gran, Granny,
Grandma or Grandmother. In “Mrs. Murray’s Hidden Treasure”, she’s
Granny. My grandmother always claimed we’d soon forget her after she passed
away. I’ve proved her wrong with all the stories I’ve written in the past 24
years. 
4.     What is one thing you love about Fall / Autumn? I have mixed feelings about Fall, as it always free-falls into winter,
which I don’t like at all. I guess what I do like, though, are the colors.
Living in eastern Ontario, we enjoy a very colorful display of leaves each
fall. Living in the country, a walk along our country road is almost magical,
the bees are still humming in the hedges along the road (one of our neighbors
is a bee-keeper) and the apples are ripe and falling onto the road, along with
the bright reds and golds of the maple leaves. 
5.     Who is the person or group of people that most support you in your
writing?
My husband. My parents, when they were alive, were
also supportive. 

 

6.     What is your favorite Halloween Memory? I remember my best friend’s birthday party. She was turning 6. We
dressed in costumes made up of this and that from around the house, not the
store-bought variety that is a must today. I dressed as a princess in a pink
satin gown my mother had cut down from one of her old dresses. She had done up
my hair fancy with a crown she created from some old costume jewelry and as we
bobbed for apples at the party, I remember being annoyed when my ‘crown’ kept
slipping into the bucket of water. 
 

 

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Rich and Gone Blitz

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Mystery
Date Published: May 29, 2019
Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
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PI Red Farlow is on the hunt to find $300 million a Florida insurance executive has bilked out of family and friends.
Woody Cunningham stashed the money in safe havens around the world before disappearing. Has he been done in by one of his enemies? Or did he skip town with his girlfriend to live off the ill-gotten wealth? If that’s the case, where is he?
Farlow must quickly learn how and why people hide their money in offshore accounts if he’s to find out what happened to Cunningham.
When a tough guy from Farlow’s past resurfaces, wanting to settle an old score, Farlow discovers he also has links to the missing man. Clues lead him across Georgia and Florida, and Europe, to find the answers.
Is Woody Cunningham dead, or just rich and gone?
Excerpt
(Chapter 1)
Chadwick Woodrow Cunningham once gave me a fine cigar. Like the man, the smoke looked classy, robust, and expensive, but it left a foul aftertaste I couldn’t shake.
Born into a wealthy Atlanta family, Cunningham excelled in his education, achieved success beyond imagination, and exuded confidence in everything he did.
His friends regarded him as outgoing and smooth with the ladies. They hailed him as a moneymaking smart guy. Others saw him as impetuous and unfaithful to his wife. The people who invested in his bogus funds regarded him as a cheat in business.
What the hell. Chadwick Woodrow Cunningham had life by the ass, everyone agreed. But on a football Friday night near a small South Georgia town, his life changed forever.
He disappeared.
Someone hired me to inquire about some missing money—nearly three-hundred million dollars—entrusted to Mr. Cunningham. By happenstance, my investigation started a few weeks before he vanished. I soon learned what transpired that evening and how people who knew him assessed Cunningham’s mood in the days before then.
One thing became apparent. As influential and exceptional as Cunningham thought of himself, people valued the money he stole far more than the man.
About the author:

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W.F. Ranew is a former newspaper reporter, editor, and communication executive. He started his journalism career covering sports, police, and city council meetings at his hometown newspaper, The Quitman Free Press. He also worked as a reporter and editor for several regional dailies: The Augusta (Ga.) Chronicle, The Florida Times-Union, and The Atlanta Journal-Constitution.
Ranew has written two previous novels: Schoolhouse Man and Candyman’s Sorrow.
He lives with his wife in Atlanta and St. Simons Island, Ga.
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Son of Thunder Blitz

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The Esther Brookstone Art Detective, Book Two
Mystery, Suspense, Thriller
Date Published: September 2019
Publisher: Penmore Press
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#2 in the “Esther Brookstone Art Detective Series,” this sequel to Rembrandt’s Angel has Esther Brookstone, now retired from Scotland Yard, obsessed with finding St. John the Divine’s tomb, using directions left by the Renaissance artist Sandro Botticelli. Esther’s search, the disciple’s missionary travels, and Botticelli’s trip to the Middle East make for three travel stories that all come together in one surprising climax.
Esther’s paramour, Interpol agent Bastiann van Coevorden, has problems with arms dealers, but he multitasks by trying to keep Esther focused and out of danger. The reader can also learn how their romance progresses, as well as travel back in time to discover a bit about Esther’s past with MI6 during the Cold War.
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Praise for Son of Thunder:
“This is an exceptionally well-crafted and well-researched novel. Even though I haven’t read the previous novel in the series, I had no trouble becoming invested in the story and getting involved in the protagonists’ lives. I enjoyed the connection between Esther and Bastiann and how they seemed to balance each other out. While Esther is a firecracker, Bastiann is the calm soul that brings her back to earth while helping her fly. I also enjoyed how Esther seemed to bring a lot to the story. From her quirky personality to her great sense of humor, she made things work while having a grand time. The development of the story was great, the plot was incredibly rich and the characters were super entertaining. It is a great story and I cannot wait for more.” – 5 Stars, Readers’ Favorite
Other Books in the Esther Brookstone Art Detective Series:
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Rembrandt’s Angel
Esther Brookstone Art Detective, Book One
Publisher: Penmore Press
Published: May 2017
A Neo-Nazi conspiracy threatens Europe . . .
Esther Brookstone’s life is at a crossroads. A Scotland Yard inspector who specializes in stolen art, she’s reluctantly considering retirement. A three-time widow, she can’t quite decide whether paramour and colleague Interpol Agent Bastiann van Coevorden should be husband number four. Decisions are put on hold while she and Bastiann set out to thwart a neo-Nazi conspiracy financed in part by artworks stolen during World War II. Among the stolen art is the masterpiece “An Angel with Titus’ Features,” a work Esther obsesses about recovering.
The case sends the intrepid pair on an international hunt spanning several European countries and the Amazon jungle. Evading capture and thwarting death, Esther and Bastiann prove time and again that adrenaline-spiked adventures aren’t just for the young.
About the Author

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Steven M. Moore was born in California and has lived in various parts of the U.S. and Colombia, South America. His travels around Europe, South America, and the U.S., for work or pleasure, taught him a lot about the human condition and our wonderful human diversity, a learning process that began during his childhood in California’s San Joaquin Valley. Evidence of his love of storytelling can be found in his many books in the mystery, thriller, and sci-fi genres. He is a member of International Thriller Writers.
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Inside the Masque Blitz

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Mystery + Science Fiction
Publisher: Eclipse Ink
Date Published: June 15, 2019
On Sale for $0.99
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 In a future where everyone wears a masque, anyone could be a killer. But a masque can’t keep you safe. Nothing can. Now it’s up to Chief Inspector McNair and his team to find that killer. They’ll uncover the secrets and lies that dwell inside every beautiful masque and stop at nothing until they find the truth—no matter how ugly it turns out to be.
 Excerpt
Chapter 12
The later it got, the louder the squad room got. Well, it was a Saturday night. What else could you expect?
The officers on duty all wanted to be somewhere else. Many of them wanted to be someone else, at least for tonight. Someone who wouldn’t have to be working on a weekend night, someone who could wear any damn masque they wanted and not be limited to the meager selection that the agency afforded and that was mandatory, standard issue, part of the uniform.
McNair didn’t give a shit. The detective masque—he was wearing the No. 3 model today—fit him just fine, and he had no place else to be. Not tonight. Not any night. Not since his wife left him.
Good riddance. Off on her great life adventure with that damned legacy. Pretty stunning blow, that, but, yeah. Good fucking riddance. He had the whole apartment to himself now and more time to concentrate on his job, his one true passion.
She’d skewered that fact and driven the pike into his heart—and she’d been right.
Tonight he didn’t want to be in his office. The squad room was better. Not lonely. Alive. He liked it better out here anyway.
A group of officers were at the far corner of the room, having an arm-wrestling contest with all takers. The shouts and grunts and encouragements and disappointments and good-natured name calling filled the high-ceilinged chamber with their lusty sounds. Litz, McNair’s second-in-command—the man had biceps that could be mistaken for tree trunks—was probably winning every single round.
Behind the desk where McNair was sitting, Wieand, one of his most thorough officers, was asleep, snoring, his head on his desk, and his partner, Shey, had her feet up right beside his head and was reading off her scroll. She was the studious one of the pair.
McNair loved every single person in this room. More than he’d ever loved his ex-wife. She’d told him that once, maybe more than once, maybe more than that, and it was true.
So what? So what? He had loved her. It’s just that when you spent most of your waking hours with other people—people whose lives were at stake and who had to react to anything at any time and so did you and you all depended on one another—well, those were the people you loved. You couldn’t help yourself. You didn’t want to help yourself.
He hadn’t told her that. Why would he? He wouldn’t. But actually he hadn’t told her anything. He hadn’t had time to. Or the opportunity. Motive? Yes. More motive than necessary to order surveillance and some advanced close scrutiny, if it’d been a case. But means and opportunity? No. Not at all. Neither means nor opportunity. She’d left him a fucking note.
Good riddance. Good damn riddance. He was better off.
“Hey, Mac,” said Harata, shouting and waving to him from across the open squad room. McNair’s best friend, even before Harata had saved his life. Long before then. “Come have a go at it!”
McNair shook his head. He’d lose so fast he’d never live it down. Not a good idea for the chief inspector. Arm wrestling was hardly his forte, and Harata knew it, the bum. Litz, the sweat pouring from his forehead, was motioning to McNair to come over and take a beating. McNair laughed.
“What’s that?” said Shey.
McNair heard her voice through the cacophony of sounds in the room. He was attuned to the exact tone he was now hearing. He took his attention off the room, reached behind his left ear, and turned up the agency comm channel, listening in.
He felt the first pricks of tension at the base of his spine, where he felt everything. Where he still felt that note, which he’d pitched with the trash, yet he could see her handwriting in his mind as clearly as though he were still holding the note, as though it were being transmitted through a vid circ.
Shey had taken her feet off the desk and had her elbows on it now, leaning forward. Mac listened in. Wieand, Shey’s partner, who everyone in the squad room except Shey herself, the fool, knew was in love with her, was awake now. The man could sleep anywhere. McNair, who lately couldn’t sleep anywhere, envied him that.
“Sure,” Shey was saying. “Yes . . . They commed when . . . ? Oh, I see . . . Yes . . . How long ago? And . . . ? Yes . . . Okay . . . Yes. We’re on our way.”
She kicked Wieand, who stood up. “Ready, Chief,” he said, mocking her. The redheaded Shey was otherwise quite astute, but she never ever picked up on any of Wieand’s hints, many of them not very damned subtle. Anyone else would’ve either fallen in love or asked for a new partner by now. But not Shey.
“Homicide,” McNair said, standing up just as Wieand stood up.
Like all agency-issued masques, Shey’s had a forced neutral expression, but the waves emanating from her posture and attitude were tense, wary, and decidedly grim. McNair could read all his officers as though their masques were off, and he could recognize all of them from a distance without any help from an ID circ.
“Suspicious,” Shey said, being careful.
“I’m coming along.” McNair kicked closed the bottom drawer of his desk, where he’d been resting his feet. “Harata!”
Harata was already halfway across the room. When you work this closely with someone for this long, they don’t have to be told. They just know. You both just know. Harata had been listening in as well.
“Homicide,” Harata said. He lived on the extremes. Lived for them. But Mac thought it was homicide too.
“Suspicious,” Wieand said, siding with his partner. He’d been asleep and maybe hadn’t heard any of the conversation. He was looking at Shey with a gaze that said Come to me, my love but which she didn’t even notice.
“At the Nessard place,” Shey said, all business.
“That fabula producer?” Wieand said as he tore his gaze away from Shey, checked his sidearm, and buttoned the top button of his uniform shirt.
“Must be,” Shey said.
“I’m coming too,” said Litz, who’d given up arm wrestling, it seemed. He’d materialized at the desk where McNair had been camped out. Litz had probably heard everything. He had his hat on already.
“Sorry,” said McNair. “Something’s going on tonight. This might not be the only thing. You’ve gotta stay.” McNair would never issue an order exactly, but his word was law and no one questioned him. Litz was his second-in-command. He had to stay.
“Damn,” Litz said. He took off his hat and his curly hair sprang up comically. He rubbed at his left biceps, probably sore from all the arm wrestling. “Nessard’s,” Litz said. “Damn. I was looking forward to getting a decent snack out of this.”
“I’ll pack you a doggy bag,” Wieand said in his best deadpan as the foursome left the squad room and climbed the stairs to the rooftop landpad.
“Beautiful spring night,” Wieand said as he opened the door.
“For some,” Shey said.
About the Author
R. T. W. Lipkin lives in New York with her husband and three cats. Her genre-defying novels occur at the intersection of science fiction and fantasy, with mystery, romance, and adventure threaded throughout.
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13 Steps to the Cellar Blitz

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Mystery
Date Published: September 4, 2019
Publisher: Tirgearr Publishing
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Thirteen Steps to the Cellar. They were steep; they were narrow—but was a fall down them enough to have caused the twenty-seven deep lacerations to her aunt’s head? 
Callie Harris travels from her home in Alabama to her aunt’s former mansion in Maine to unravel the haunting forty-year-old mystery of Dr. Laverne Harris Doss’ brutal death.
Why wasn’t a murder weapon found? Was her uncle justly convicted of the killing? Was his mistress involved? Or was the murderer the bearded stranger rumored to have arrived by train that night?
In the charming town of Richmond, located on the banks of Maine’s historic Kennebec River, Callie uncovers the community’s darkest secrets—a botched police investigation, a betrayed widow’s lie, a dead woman’s blackmail, and a wealthy philanthropist’s shame. The web of intrigue extends far beyond her suspicions and its connection to her personal story pierces Callie to her core.

 

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About the Author

TERESA MATHEWS is a graduate of The University of South Alabama.  She’s a member of the Mobile Writers Guild and serves on the Board of Directors for the Alabama Nursery and Landscape Association.
An avid gardener and artist, she has multiple book covers to her credit. Several years ago after visiting the site of her real-life aunt’s murder, Teresa discovered a third passion–storytelling. Although inspired by an actual tragedy, Thirteen Steps to the Cellar is fiction.
Raised on the Gulf Coast, Teresa, her husband, and son now live on a farm with a second home on the sparkling white sands of Fort Morgan, Alabama. This is her first novel.
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