Welcome to my stop on Morgen Bailey’s After Jessica blog tour!

Many thanks to Sarah @ Book On The Bright Side Publicity for the opportunity to take part.

My review…..

After Jessica is an excellent mystery novella.

Jessica Price is a seemingly average young woman, living a seemingly average life before it is cut tragically short in a freak accident. My heart went out to her brother, Simon who, as her named next of kin, has the difficult task of identifying her body and having to sort out her affairs. My heart also went out to her mother as no parent should ever have to bury a child. They both cope admirably well considering, but I think with such a lot to do when someone dies it’s easy to be swept along with the practicalities.

As Simon attempts to make a start on notifying people about Jessica’s death her bank seems a natural place to start. What he finds when meeting with her bank manager, however, leaves him more than a little confused. Who is Alexis? Why do they have a joint business account? And why does it appear that she lived with Jessica, but they knew nothing about her existence? Realising he would be unable to settle this business account without Alexis’ input, Simon aims to find her and hopefully have his questions answered. He is totally not prepared for what he eventually finds out!

I was totally hooked into Jessica’s story. Each chapter is written from the perspective of different characters, some of whom seem to have no connection to Jessica, or her family, whatsoever. It is quite suspenseful and I was eager to discover what had been going on in Jessica’s life that her family had no clue about. All becomes clear as the story progresses. The truth might just surprise you! I did sort of guess part way through, but this didn’t have any impact on my enjoyment of the book. I was fascinated by how Simon was going to solve the mystery, if at all!

I think it’s very cleverly written with an absolutely heart-warming ending.

Many thanks to the author for my review copy via Sarah @ Book On The Bright Side Publicity.

Book Description:

 

Jessica is an ordinary girl who comes across
extraordinary circumstances and pays for them with her life. As well as
identifying her body, her brother Simon then has to wind up her affairs but
gets more than he bargains for. Who is Alexis, and why are Veronica and Daniel
searching for her? Why is there a roll of cash in Jessica’s house, and what’s
the connection between his sister and Alexis?  

 

Author Bio:

Morgen Bailey (Morgen with an E) is an author (of novels, short stories, writing and editing guides), freelance editor (for publishers and indie authors), writing tutor (in person and online), Writers’ Forum magazine ‘Competitive Edge’ columnist, blogger, speaker, and co-founder of Northants Authors. The former Chair of three writing groups, she has judged the H.E. Bates Short Story Competition, RONE, as well as the BBC Radio 2, BeaconLit, and Althorp Literary Festival children’s short story competitions. She also runs her own monthly 100-word competition. 2018 events include talks and workshops at Troubador’s Self Publishing Conference speakers, workshops and panels at Delapre Book Festival, interviewing and workshops at BeaconLit, and NAWG Fest with her ‘Editing your Fiction’ weekend residential course. Morgen can be found on Twitter, Facebook, and many others. Her blog is http://morgenbailey.wordpress.com, and email address morgen@morgenbailey.com.

Links…..

author = https://morgenbailey.wordpress.com/books-mine

editor = http://morgenbailey.wordpress.com/editing-and-critique

tutor = http://morgenbailey.wordpress.com/courses

blogger = https://morgenbailey.wordpress.com

speaker = https://morgenbailey.wordpress.com/writer-for-hire/speaking-at-your-event

Twitter = http://twitter.com/morgenwriteruk

Facebook = http://facebook.com/morgenwriteruk

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Barnabas Tew and the Case of the Cursed Serpent

“For Queen, for Country, and for….Uncle Rabbit?”
Just when Barnabas and Wilfred thought the world was safe at last, along comes a new threat: the Mayan Lords of Death have hatched a plan to overthrow the natural order of things, involving a cursed serpent god, two untrustworthy sets of twins, and a dead bunny that must be resuscitated at all costs. Only Barnabas and Wilfred can possibly unravel the convoluted plot, but they face danger after danger as they attempt to do so. If they fail, up will be down and down will be up, and the evil Lords of Death will take over the heavens.
Do Barnabas and Wilfred have the courage, skill (and luck!) to save the world yet again?

Purchase Links

US –

https://www.amazon.com/Barnabas-Tew-Case-Cursed-Serpent-ebook/dp/B07N7KXX4T

UK –

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Barnabas-Tew-Case-Cursed-Serpent-ebook/dp/B07N7KXX4T

Author Bio –

Columbkill Noonan is the author of the bestselling “Barnabas Tew” series, which features the bumbling-yet-lovable Victorian detective Barnabas and his trusty sidekick, Wilfred. Columbkill combines her love of mythology and her affinity for period fiction to craft unique cozy mysteries that will leave you guessing (and chuckling!) till the very end.

Social Media Links –

https://www.facebook.com/ColumbkillNoonan
https://twitter.com/columbkillnoon1

Follow, like and share the book love with these awesome book bloggers…..

With thanks as always to Rachel @ Rachel’s Random Resources

happy reading 🙂

 

Welcome to my stop on Desmond P Ryan’s Death Before Coffee blog tour!

Many thanks to Emma @ damppebblesblogtours for the opportunity to take part. I have an excellent excerpt to share with you all today, but watch this space for my review!

The phone on his desk rang.

A woman’s voice slurred a few lines of “Happy Birthday,” then, “Still chasin’ bad guys, Detective?”

“How are you, Brenda?”

“A little drunk right now,” the caller said, giving a self-deprecating chuckle, “but otherwise good. You?”

“I’m doing well. Thanks for asking.” Mike couldn’t recall Brenda ever having called and not being ‘a little drunk.’ Who could blame her? Certainly not him.

“Still nothing?”

“Still nothing. I’m sorry.”

“I know, Detective O’Shea. We’re all sorry.”

The hallway outside the office was flooding with noisy uniformed officers heading out to the back parking lot in preparation for their midnight shift.

“Guys? Please?” Julia called out, her voice cutting through the low, exclusively male hum that was echoing off the hallway walls. “We’re trying to work in here.”

A few comments about the job being fucked and that a trained squirrel could manage this shitshow better than their sergeant were the last of it before the noise subsided. Both Dave and Ron gave Julia a nod of thanks.

“Please, Lord, give me the strength that I need to face today,” Julia whispered, eyes closed, head bowed, right hand grasping her cross. “I don’t have to worry about tomorrow. If You just give me the strength that I need today, that is all I need. You know the rest. Amen.”

“If this so-called God of yours exists, tell Him to pull up His socks. He’s slacking,” Ron huffed, annoyed at his relief’s pre-shift ritual.

“Oh, and God?” Julia added, bowing her head as she pulled her coffee from the tray. “Be kind to Ron. Even if he isn’t kind to anyone else. I’m sure he tries in his own special way. Amen.”

She lifted the plastic top off and savoured the smell before taking what would be, as usual, the only sip of hot coffee she would have time for during her shift.

Mike was only half-listening to Brenda. In fact, he could hardly hear her voice over the racket just outside the doorway prior to Julia’s intervention. Not that he couldn’t have practically scripted this conversation by heart. The calls during the first five years or so had been a little more hopeful. Now they were just annual calls.

“I think about my baby every day, you know,” Brenda’s voice broke as she began to whimper.

“So do I.” And he did.

Julia turned her head slightly, her ear closer to Mike. Even though it had been years since that night and it could have been anyone on the other end of the line now, she had a good idea of who the caller was. While it wasn’t quite the same, she had a few callers like that herself. Everyone who had been in the Juvenile Prostitution Task Force did: usually a mother or sister of one of the girls who didn’t make it out. Some called on an anniversary of something, while others just called when they were lonely. Or drunk. Julia had one mother whom she met every December 15th in a little bistro around the corner from where her daughter was killed. That one was easier, if there was even such a thing as easy in these cases. They had caught the guy who killed her little girl. And the girl was dead. Closure, or so they said. By the slump in Mike’s shoulders, Julia figured that his caller hadn’t been so lucky.

“She’s twenty-seven years old today, you know.” Brenda’s voice broke as she struggled to continue. “If she’s still alive.”

“I know.” Mike remembered her birthday. And the last time he saw her as Malcom was plucking her out of the group of frightened girls to be his hostage, leaving them—along with Mike and Ron—to die in the burning factory. Chelsea Hendricks was fourteen then. Had been on the stroll ever since she was twelve because there was a demand for sex with twelve-year-olds.

The muscles in his neck tightened.

“Thanks for remembering. So,” Brenda took a deep breath, “tell me about your life, Detective O’Shea. You get married again? And your boy?”

“Yeah,” he sighed. They weren’t supposed to talk about their personal lives. It had been one of the few explicit rules of the JPTF, but it was impossible not to give something back to these mothers who had lost everything. “And my son is doing well, thanks for asking.”

“I’m so sorry for calling…” She began to cry again.

“No. It’s okay. I’m glad you did. That you do,” Mike said, vividly recalling that little girl standing on the corner, caught up in a grown-up world, becoming increasingly unrecognizable as the addictions consumed her child’s body and undeveloped brain. “It’s been thirteen years now, hasn’t it?”

Julia rose from her chair, her eyes welling up as she looked at Mike. She knew whom he was talking to. She wanted to hug him and remind him that he had done everything he could—that they all had—but things just didn’t work out. That’s what he had always told her when a case went south.

But this wasn’t just a case, though. And it wasn’t just about the girl.

“Yeah. Hard to believe, eh?” Brenda said, fighting back her tears. “I still remember that night you came to our door, you and that girl cop. Some days—most days—it feels like it was yesterday. You were so handsome back then. Are you still handsome, Detective O’Shea?”

“Depends who you ask,” Mike glanced around the room, noticing Julia moving from behind her desk, walking towards him. He waved her back, embarrassed. This wasn’t the old JPTF office. No hugging here.

“Still funny, too.” He could hear the woman on the other end of the line pausing to take a long sip of whatever the hell her anesthetic-of-choice was tonight. “No leads on where my baby is?”

“No leads.” Not a fucking break in thirteen years.

“She was a good girl, you know.” Mike was sure the glass Brenda was drinking from was emptying quickly now.

“I know.” They all were good girls…once. Fuck.

“Just got in with the wrong crowd. That happens, right? I mean, it’s not like her father and I didn’t love her. Did you know we broke up, me and Jeff?”

Gin, Mike recalled. Brenda always drank gin. He could hear the cap on the bottle being unscrewed as she prepared to pour herself another ounce. Or two. Or three.

“Yeah, I remember you telling me that.” Mike looked out into the hallway just outside the D office, noticing the uniforms still filtering towards the back door that would lead them into the night as the parading sergeant, clipboard in hand, passed out keys for the cars.

“Such a shame, you know. Good man, Jeff. It’s just… well, after Chelsea, it was too hard, you know? The drinking didn’t help, mind you. Happens a lot, apparently. The counsellor that we went to—thanks for setting all that up for us, by the way—said that having a child go missing like that is worse than a death. Funny thing to say, eh? Anyway, said it was one of the hardest things on a marriage. I guess he was right.”

“I guess.”

“Jeff was the only one strong enough to sober up.” Mike heard Brenda take a gulp of gin before returning to her usual-suspect theory. “I still think it was that guy she met at the mall. You checked him out, right?”

“Yes. Many times.” If he had been talking to anyone but Brenda, Mike would have lost his patience by now. But he wasn’t. It was Brenda, and he had all the time in the world for her. It was the least he could do.

“And it wasn’t him?”

“No,” Mike replied gently, knowing that he was breaking her heart all over again. “It wasn’t him.”

“I mean, maybe not him him, but somebody he knew? Before that, she was such a good girl: no drugs, no boys, no sex. And then she met him. Jeff said I overreacted, that I pushed her to him. The counsellor said blaming didn’t help, but I know Jeff blamed—no, still blames me. If anyone’s to blame, it’s Jeff. He didn’t say anything when he had the chance.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault, Detective O’Shea. None of it—”

“Sure.” Mike watched the parading sergeant rub out something on his clipboard with the eraser on his pencil as he detailed the last of his officers.

“I know the papers were pretty hard on you. About your partner getting shot like that. And you not even pulling your gun, but I know you would have—”

“Yeah.”

“When the two of you came to the door that first time and told me and Jeff that you knew where Chelsea was and that she was a hooker, I wanted to kill both of you, you know?” Mike heard the metal cap working its way off the bottle again, then the gin gurgling into the waiting glass. “I honestly wanted to gouge your eyes out. Like it was your fault. And then, after everything, when you came to our door the last time, just you by yourself, I kind of felt like it was my fault, you know? That if I hadn’t have wanted to kill you both, your partner would still be alive. How’s that for fucked-up thinking, eh?”

Mike watched as the parading sergeant turned around to walk back up to the front of the station, all of his charges accounted for. Then he looked at Ron reading over what he had been so feverishly typing, his brow furrowing occasionally as, Mike assumed, he was reconsidering his choice of words. As if it mattered.

“It’s okay, Brenda,” he said, hearing the glass click on her teeth as she took a big gulp and began to cry.

“Is it really? Honestly? I hope so, because I feel anything but normal now. With Chelsea and Jeff both gone…” Mike heard her finishing off her drink. “I think he’s remarried, you know. A girl from work, I think. Like it never happened. How do people do that, Detective? Just pick up and move on?”

“I dunno.”

“You haven’t moved on, have you?”

Mike took a deep breath.

“You okay?” Ron’s voice brought Mike back to the present. Mike nodded yes at his partner.

“You were right there when your pretty-boy partner got shot, weren’t you, Detective?” Brenda’s words got slower as the alcohol held her closer and closer. “The papers said you were right behind him. That the guy tried to kill you, too, but the gun jammed. That you didn’t even have a chance to get your gun out before—”

“Yeah. That’s what they say.”

“Must have been had for you. For his mother. He had a mother, right?” Again the sound of the cap being twisted off the bottle.

“Yeah. He had a mother.”

Mike had not known Sal’s mother before the funeral. Before he held out the pillow with her son’s forage cap on it. Before she took the cap, cried quietly for a moment, wiped her tears, and hugged him.

“You ever have nightmares about that?”

“No.”

“Going for coffee. Anyone want one?” Dave jumped up from his seat, reaching for the coat that was no longer on the desk beside him before smiling over at Julia.

“You just came in with one!” Ron objected.

“You never know what’s been on that desk, Dave,” Julia cautioned, passing him his coat from the rack. “I once got home and found a mouse in my purse. Seriously. That’s why I keep it in the drawer now. This place is disgusting.”

“You’re never going to find her, are you, Detective?” The voice in Mike’s ear repeated what the voice in his head told him whenever it could. “My Chelsea?”

“We’re do our best, Brenda.”

“But no one is actually out there looking any more, are they?”

“Not from the JPTF, no, but—”

“This is the only chance I’ll have tonight,” Dave hollered by way of an explanation as he hustled out the door. “Last call!”

“Shit, I’m out of fucking gin!” Brenda screamed to no one in particular, and then without missing a beat, continued talking to Mike, her voice much softer. “You’re still looking, though, aren’t you?”

“I look every day.”

“I have to hang up now, Detective,” she concluded abruptly, as she did every year when the booze ran out. “Same time next year?”

“Same time next year.”

“Unless you find her?”

“Unless I find her.”

“Goodnight, Detective.” Her voice broke as she began to weep.

“Goodnight, Brenda.”

“Oh, and Detective?”

“Yes?”

“I include you in my prayers every night.”

“Thank you, Brenda. If I prayed, I would do the same for you. Goodnight.”

Death Before Coffee (Mike O’Shea #2) by Desmond P. Ryan

Book Blurb:

By 2:27 on a Thursday afternoon, the one-legged man from Room 8 at 147 Loxitor Avenue has been beaten to death with a lead pipe. Twenty-eight minutes later, Detective Mike O’Shea is testifying in a stuffy courtroom, unaware that, within an hour, he will be standing in an alleyway littered with beer cans and condoms while his new partner—the man who saved his life thirteen years ago—flicks bugs off of a battered corpse with a ballpoint pen. When a rogue undercover copper prematurely hauls in the prime suspect, Mike blows a fuse, resulting in an unlikely rapport developing between him and the lead homicide detective sergeant, a woman known for her stilettos and razor sharp investigative skills. At the end of his seventy-two-hour shift, three men are dead and Mike O’Shea is floating in and out of consciousness in an emergency room hallway, two women by his side.

Death Before Coffee, the second book in the Mike O’Shea Crime Fiction Series, weaves a homicide investigation through the life of an inner-city police detective intent on balancing his responsibilities as a son, brother, and newly single father with his sworn oath of duty. When faced with death, Mike is forced to make decisions that stir up old memories, compelling him to confront his demons while fighting the good fight.

Purchase Links:

Amazon UK: https://www.amazon.co.uk/Death-Before-Coffee-OShea-Fiction-ebook/dp/B07NJNYGP3/ref=asap_bc?ie=UTF8

Amazon US: https://www.amazon.com/Death-Before-Coffee-OShea-Fiction-ebook/dp/B07NJNYGP3/ref=sr_1_7?keywords=death+before+coffee&qid=1552730233&s=gateway&sr=8-7

Kobo: https://www.kobo.com/gb/en/ebook/death-before-coffee-1

Publishing Information:

Published in eBook and paperback on 8^th February 2019.

About Desmond P. Ryan:

For almost thirty years, Desmond P. Ryan worked as a cop in the back alleys, poorly-lit laneways, and forgotten neighbourhoods in Toronto, the city where he grew up. Murder often most unkind, assaults on a level that defied humanity, and sexual violations intended to demean, shame, and haunt the victims were all in a day’s work. Days, evenings, midnights–all the same. Crime knows no time.

Whether as a beat cop or a plainclothes detective, Desmond dealt with good people who did bad things and bad people who followed their instincts. And now, as a retired detective, he writes crime fiction.

Real Detective. Real Crime. Fiction.

Social Media:

Twitter:

https://twitter.com/RealDesmondRyan

Facebook:

https://www.facebook.com/DesmondPRyan/

Website:

https://realdesmondryan.com/

Amazon Author Page:

https://www.amazon.co.uk/l/B07H9MMV81?_encoding=UTF8&redirectedFromKindleDbs=true&ref_=dp_byline_cont_ebooks_1&rfkd=1&shoppingPortalEnabled=true

happy reading 🙂

 

Arbitrage

Ryan Logan thinks he has it all… A young attorney specialising in finance and tax law, Logan has earned an impressive reputation and commands a hefty fee for his services. But when he advises his corporate employers against a merger with a shady financial institution, he soon finds himself caught up in a web of betrayal and deceit. Framed for the murder of his wealthy boss, Logan is forced to accept a plea deal, to keep his own dark secrets from coming to light…
Arbitrage is a fast-paced, stand-alone financial thriller. If you like edge-of-your-seat suspense, sweet revenge, and twists and turns you won’t see coming, you’ll love this eye-opening look into the world of financial crime.
Can a burned out lawyer outwit an army of con artists and killers?

Purchase Link –

https://mybook.to/Arbitrage

Author Bio –

Colette Kebell is an eclectic author, though a relatively new one and thus far has self-published her books. Her books are light-hearted, fun and quirky and even considered by some to be inspirational. She publishes mostly for the English speaking market and the Italian one. Colette Kebell does not stick to just one genre when writing though, as you shall discover from her latest book to be launched on 5th April 2019 As a career, Colette spent her later years as a legal secretary. After a first attempt at writing many years ago (a book that still remains in her drawer) she resumed this passion a few years back, after being made redundant. After few book signing events and a book talk, which almost caused her to collapse with nerves, Colette now spends her time between her home in the UK and her home in France. Colette has two adorable dogs and, when not writing and marketing her books, she likes cooking for herself and her husband, gardening or designing various items for their home. Amongst her other hobbies, she has also experimented with furniture upholstery, and she might, from time to time, have a paintbrush in her hand. She can be found on twitter @ColetteKebell though doesn’t tweet a vast amount.

Social Media Links –

Website: http://www.colettekebell.com/

Twitter – https://twitter.com/ColetteKebell

Facebook – https://www.facebook.com/ColetteKebellAuthor

Follow, like and share the book love with these awesome book bloggers…..

With thanks as always to Rachel @ Rachel’s Random Resources

happy reading 🙂

 

Welcome to my stop on David Blake’s Broadland blog tour!

Many thanks to Sarah @ Book On The Bright Side Publicity for the opportunity to take part. I have the excellent prologue to share with you all today, but watch this space for my review!

PROLOGUE 

Saturday, 13^th April 

A COLD DENSE shadow fell over Jane Richardson as she hurried along the concrete towpath. To her left, moonlight danced over the River Bure’s untroubled surface as it slipped silently past, heading back the way she’d come. A low-hanging branch scratched at her face as she ducked underneath. From somewhere far behind her came the shriek of laughter, slicing through the air, only to fall silent a moment later to leave nothing but the sound of her high heels, click-clacking out a stark but steady beat.

It was late. She knew it was. The sun had disappeared behind the Broads a long time before. 

She always started work early and more often than not finished late, and had promised herself on numerous occasions that if it was dark, she’d take the long way home, never the shortcut down by the river. It might be a journey she enjoyed, one she even looked forward to on occasion, but only when it was light. What in the summer months was a relaxing carefree stroll felt more like picking her way through a graveyard at any other time of year. It may be April, and the days were stretching out, but the sun had disappeared over three hours before, leaving nothing but a cold full moon to light her way home.

From deep within the undergrowth to her right she heard something move. That was normal enough. If it had been light she’d probably have been able to see the animal that made the noise, as she often did during the summer. Sometimes she’d even see a rat scurrying about, and stop to watch as it fled across the path in front of her, diving between the riverbank and the thick line of trees.

Then she heard the hard, sharp sound of a twig snapping, just behind the treeline.

Rats don’t snap twigs, she thought, with a prickling of alarm.

It only took a moment for more sensible reasoning to take over, brushing away any concern; after all, it was probably nothing more ominous than a wood pigeon. They were certainly common enough, stumbling their way over leaves and branches as they searched the ground for food, lifting their feet high as they did, before carefully placing them back down.

But pigeons didn’t forage for food at night, at least she didn’t think they did.

Another twig snapped. It sounded thicker than the last. Too thick to have been broken by a pigeon. A fox, perhaps?

Forcing herself along, she turned her head ever so slightly, watching the trees from out of the corner of her eye. But all she could see was layer upon layer of ever-deepening shadows. If there was a fox hiding in there somewhere, she’d never see it.

Facing forward again, she picked up her pace, moving closer to the river side of the path as she did.

There was another sound, like the crack of a branch.

That was no fox!

‘Why’d I come this way again?’ she mumbled to herself, as her heart began to pound deep inside her chest. ‘Oh yes, that’s right. Because it’s a shortcut. Good choice, Jane. Nice one!’

Ahead of her she could just about see the arch of the railway bridge, under which she had to walk. If anyone was going to try and mug her, that was probably the most likely place. Maybe there were two of them; one following her through the trees, the other waiting under the arch.

She peered at it, trying to make out if she could see the outline of someone hiding underneath. But at that time of night, with no street lights this far from town, the shadow under the archway was pitch black.   

Checking that her handbag was where it should be, with the strap over her shoulder and the bag itself – her favourite cream leather Gucci – wedged firmly under her arm, she plunged her hands deep into her pockets, fixed a defiant stare ahead, and ploughed forward, mentally preparing herself for the worst. If there was someone lurking under the railway arch, she knew to take her father’s advice, and to avoid eye contact. Instead she should simply ignore them and keep walking. Once she passed under the bridge, her house wasn’t too far away, and if the worst came to the worst she’d probably be able to make a run for it.

As she stepped into the shadow cast by the arch, the click-clack of her heels echoing out all around, from the treeline came the sudden sound of branches being forced apart as someone, or something, forged its way out onto the towpath behind her.

A cold hand of fear crept up her spine.

Her heart was pounding so loudly that she thought whoever, or even whatever, it was standing behind her must be able to hear it.

She should run. She knew she should run; every fibre of her being was telling her so. Instead she found herself turning around to confront whatever it was that had been following her.

If the idea that someone was behind her was terrifying, actually seeing someone there was far worse.

‘Who’s that?’ she called out, bringing her hands out of her pockets, clenching them into fists. There was no way she was going to let anyone take her bag. Not without a fight, they weren’t!

A sliver of moonlight caught the face of the figure, leering at her through the darkness.

Trembling, she blurted out, ‘Who are you? What do you want?’

As the figure took a slow but deliberate step forward, a thin dark gash appeared as it opened its mouth, and in a voice barely loud enough to be heard, it said, ‘You’ve got something that belongs to me.’

Doing her best to control her rising fear, with courageous resolve she said, ‘I can assure you that I have nothing that belongs to you. If you don’t leave me alone, I’m calling the police!’

It was a bluff. Her iPhone was buried deep at the bottom of her handbag, which remained jammed up under her arm. It would take time for her to find it, and she wasn’t sure she had any.

The figure took another step forward.

A cold gust of wind drifted over them, moving the branches above, bathing the figure in moonlight.

Jane stopped and stared at the now exposed face.

Almost forgetting where she was, she said, ‘I know you!’

‘You don’t know me!’ spat back the figure. ‘How could you possibly know me?’

‘I – I meant, I’ve seen you before!’

Taking another step forward to join her in the near total darkness under the arch, the figure mumbled, ‘I’ve not come to talk.’

‘Then what do you want?’ demanded Jane, stepping backwards, preparing to run.

As a solid black shadow rose above Jane’s head, in a low harsh whisper the figure replied, ‘Simple! I’m here to take back what’s mine.’

Book Description:

 

A girl’s body found mutilated by a boat’s propeller, another dumped at the bottom of a slipway, and a disused Norfolk mill, hiding the secret to both.

A COLD DENSE shadow fell over Jane Richardson as she hurried along the concrete towpath. To her left, moonlight danced over the River Bure’s untroubled surface as it slipped silently past, heading back the way she’d come. A low-hanging branch scratched at her face as she ducked underneath. From somewhere far behind her came the shriek of laughter, slicing through the air, only to fall silent a moment later to leave nothing but the sound of her high heels, click-clacking out a stark but steady beat.

When a girl’s body is found strangled, raped, and horrifically mutilated by a boat’s propeller, deep in the heart of the Norfolk Broads, newly arrived Detective Inspector John Tanner is asked to assist with the investigation.

At first, all the evidence points to a man who had a multi-million pound reason to kill her. But when an alibi is produced from an unexpected source, and another body appears at the base of a slipway, Tanner finds himself turning to local girl, Detective Constable Jenny Evans for help.

As a more intimate relationship begins between them, they find themselves facing a race against time to identify a lethal adversary, one with a lust for blood and a mind set on revenge.

Set within the mysterious beauty of the Norfolk Broads, this fast-paced British detective series is a murder mystery that will have you guessing until the very end, when the last shocking twist is finally revealed. 

Broadland is a totally addictive gripping crime thriller, the first in a chilling series of serial killer books, ones which will rapidly convert followers of Faith Martin, Joy Ellis, Damien Boyd and Helen H. Durrant into David Blake devotees.  

 

A girl’s body found mutilated by a boat’s propeller, another dumped at the bottom of a slipway, and a disused Norfolk mill, hiding the secret to both.

A COLD DENSE shadow fell over Jane Richardson as she hurried along the concrete towpath. To her left, moonlight danced over the River Bure’s untroubled surface as it slipped silently past, heading back the way she’d come. A low-hanging branch scratched at her face as she ducked underneath. From somewhere far behind her came the shriek of laughter, slicing through the air, only to fall silent a moment later to leave nothing but the sound of her high heels, click-clacking out a stark but steady beat.

When a girl’s body is found strangled, raped, and horrifically mutilated by a boat’s propeller, deep in the heart of the Norfolk Broads, newly arrived Detective Inspector John Tanner is asked to assist with the investigation.

At first, all the evidence points to a man who had a multi-million pound reason to kill her. But when an alibi is produced from an unexpected source, and another body appears at the base of a slipway, Tanner finds himself turning to local girl, Detective Constable Jenny Evans for help.

As a more intimate relationship begins between them, they find themselves facing a race against time to identify a lethal adversary, one with a lust for blood and a mind set on revenge.

Set within the mysterious beauty of the Norfolk Broads, this fast-paced British detective series is a murder mystery that will have you guessing until the very end, when the last shocking twist is finally revealed. 

Broadland is a totally addictive gripping crime thriller, the first in a chilling series of serial killer books, ones which will rapidly convert followers of Faith Martin, Joy Ellis, Damien Boyd and Helen H. Durrant into David Blake devotees.  

 

BIOGRAPHY

David Blake is a full-time author living in North London. To date he has written fourteen books along with a collection of short stories. He’s currently working on his fifteenth, St. Benet’s, which is the follow-up to his debut crime fiction thriller, Broadland. 

 

When not writing, David likes to spend his time mucking about in boats, often in the Norfolk Broads, where his crime fiction books are based. 

 

LINKS

Website: www.david-blake.com

Amazon Profile: viewAuthor.at/DavidBlake

Facebook Readers’ Group: www.facebook.com/groups/DavidBlakeAuthor

Facebook Site: www.facebook.com/DavidBlakeAuthor

Goodreads: www.goodreads.com/author/show/15104629.David_Blake

happy reading 🙂

 

Today I attended a lovely book launch at a local library, “up ‘anly duck”! 😉

It was great to be able to celebrate the release of In Her Defence with Jan Edwards and friends. There was even cake and I may have indulged in a cherry bakewell, but don’t tell anyone!! 🤐

Anyway, I thought I’d share a few photo’s with you…..

My signed copy…..

ICYMI My review…..

(Includes purchase link!)

https://chataboutbooks.wordpress.com/2019/04/04/in-her-defence-a-bunch-courtney-investigation-by-jan-edwards-jancoledwards-blogtour-bookreview/

Happy reading 😊

Welcome to my Flashback Friday feature!

On the first Friday of each month I like to have a little look back at the books I was reading during the same month in previous years, since starting my blog.

Here are my reviews from April 2018 (including links to previous years)…..

The Small Hand by Susan Hill #BookReview

Manipulated Lives by HALeuschel @HALeuschel #BlogBlitz #BookReview #Giveaway @rararesources

Looking at the Stars by Lewis Hine @hine_hin @BlinkPublishing @bonnier_publish @friendfinder10 #mylifemybigprom #BookReview #lookingatthestars

A Home at Honeysuckle Farm by Christie Barlow📚 @ChristieJBarlow @HarperImpulse #BlogTour #BookReview @rararesources

The Accident by CL Taylor @callytaylor #BookReview

The Key to Death’s Door by Mark Tilbury @MTilburyAuthor #BlogTour #BookReview @Bloodhoundbook @sarahhardy681

Flashback Friday April 2018…..

#FlashbackFriday with @SandyTaylorAuth @lucy_dillon @RSinclairAuthor @TillyTenWriter @Caroline_writes @SteveScaffardi

Have you read any of the above?

What were you reading this time last year?

Please do join in if you have the time, I’d love to see your posts.

(Don’t forget to share your link with us in the comments if you do.)

happy reading 🙂

I am OVER THE MOON to be one of the lucky book bloggers kicking off Jan Edwards’s In Her Defence blog tour 🙂

Bunch Courtney is back and is as feisty as ever! She is an excellent character and it has been great to catch up with her again.

Set in Sussex in the month of May, in 1940, In Her Defence is book 2 in the Bunch Courtney series. It starts with Bunch meeting her pregnant sister, Dodo, for lunch on market day and witnessing the horrific murder of a Dutch girl. It’s obvious she has been poisoned, but by who? And why? Bunch is unable to just leave the investigation to the police. She can’t help but try to help figure things out, however often she is warned about interfering!

When an old school friend, Cecile, gets in touch saying that her father has been murdered in a similar way, alarm bells start ringing and Bunch is convinced these poisonings can’t just be a coincidence. She is determined to discover the truth and Cecile’s secretive behaviour is causing her even more concern.

Jan Edwards knows how to write interesting characters with interesting stories to tell. The descriptive language transported me to a time and place I obviously have no experience of, but could easily imagine as I lost myself in the story. It’s so beautifully written, I was completely captivated.

I highly recommend to anyone who loves a good murder mystery, historical or otherwise.

Bunch Courtney’s hopes for a quiet market-day lunch with her sister are shattered when a Dutch refugee dies a horribly painful death before their eyes. A few days later Bunch receives a letter from her old friend Cecile saying that her father, Professor Benoir, has been murdered in an eerily similar fashion. Two deaths by poisoning in a single week. Co-incidence? Bunch does not believe that any more than Chief Inspector William Wright.

Buy link…..

https://www.amazon.co.uk/Her-Defence-Bunch-Courtney-Investigation/dp/0993000894/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=In+her+defence&qid=1554313021&s=gateway&sr=8-1

If you haven’t read book 1, Winter Downs, as yet, then I highly recommend that you do. It was the winner of the Arnold Bennett Award don’t you know!

 

About the author…..

Jan Edwards – Winner of the Arnold Bennett Book Prize (for her crime novel ‘Winter Downs’) Recipient of a Karl Edward Wagner award (British Fantasy Awards) and Recipient of the Winchester Slim Volume award (for Sussex Tales). Short listed for both the British Fantasy Award for Best Short Fiction and Best Collection.

Her short fiction has appeared in many crime, folk horror, horror, pulp, weird fiction, main stream and urban fantasy anthologies. For full list of writing credits follow the link to: Author Bibliography (Details here) inc Bookmuse Reccommended Read award for her crime novel, Winter Downs!

She is part of the script team writing Olive Hawthorne: Daemons of Devils End – a 3 disc Dr Who DVD. As an editor Jan has produced fiction anthologies with editing partner Jenny Barber for The Alchemy Press and Fox Spirit Press. Jan has ghost written for several other titles.

Born in Sussex, despite her thoroughly celtic parentage, Jan is currently living in Staffs Moorlands with 3 cats and husband, Peter Coleborn. In addition to being a writer she is also a Reiki Master Teacher and Meditational Healer and has been (in no particular order) Master Locksmith, motorcycle seller, bookseller, civil servant, ostler, market gardener, librarian…

BA hons, Eng. Lit. with creative writing; past chairperson of the British Fantasy Society and Fantasycon organiser.

happy reading 🙂

 

I am thrilled to be joining in with Monica James’s #BADSAINT cover/blurb reveal today!

Check this out…..

BAD SAINT

Volume One

Monica James

I was kidnapped on my honeymoon by three masked men.

Blindfolded.

Bound.

Destination unknown.

I was told to stay silent and abide by their rules. But they didn’t realize I wasn’t a victim…not anymore.

The open sea was my backdrop for nine torturous days. During that time, glimmers of my fate were revealed by a man with the mysterious chartreuse-colored eyes. He should have scared me, but he didn’t.

He intrigued me. And I intrigued him.

He punished me when I didn’t listen, which was every single day. But beneath his cruelty, I sensed he was guarding a grave secret.

I was sold.

And in a game of poker, no less.

My buyer? A Russian mobster who likes to collect pretty things. Now that I know the truth, I only have one choice.

Sink or swim.

And when one fateful night presents me the opportunity, I take it. I just never anticipated my actions would leave me shipwrecked with my kidnapper.

He needs me alive. I want him dead.

But as days turn into weeks, one thing becomes clear—I should hate him…but I don’t.

My name is Willow.

His name is Saint.

Ironic, isn’t it? He bears a name that denotes nothing but holiness yet delivers nothing but hell. However, if this is hell on earth…God, save my soul.

Release date: May 6^th 2019

Series: All The Pretty Things Trilogy, Volume One

Genre: Dark Romance

Cover Designer: Sommer Stein— Perfect Pear Creative Covers

Pre-Order Links

Kindle: https://tinyurl.com/yxe58q3p

Nook: https://tinyurl.com/y4app8va

Kobo: https://tinyurl.com/y58j4j5l

iBooks: https://tinyurl.com/y3feoblp

Goodreads: https://bit.ly/2TyDsWT

UK

Kindle: https://tinyurl.com/y6rjcost

Australia

Kindle: https://tinyurl.com/y4nuggl3

Canada

Kindle: https://tinyurl.com/y2b7du7b

Excerpt:

The pillowcase and gag are certain to kill me soon, and if not, my racing heart will give out in next to no time. Arms link through mine from behind and help me stand. I know it’s the American. His fragrance gives him away. I stand wearily, but I will stagger to my death before anyone carries me.

“Ten steps,” the American whispers from behind me. I flinch at his muffled voice through the pillowcase. He stands at my back, ensuring I don’t fall. I could mistake his actions for him giving half a shit, but it’s clear that wherever I’m going, they need me alive. If not, they would have killed me already.

This isn’t a robbery. It’s a kidnapping.

Once I shakily descend the ten steps, my feet hit the sand, and in any other circumstance, I could appreciate the softness between my toes. But when I’m pushed and shoved as the American no longer seems to be near, all I can appreciate is that I’m not dead—well, not yet anyway.

Through the pillowcase, I can hear the gentle lapping of the ocean against the shore, but it’s none the wiser that three criminals are about to use it to aid in changing my world forever. When my feet tread water, I jolt with the sudden fear that they’re going to drown me. But that doesn’t make any sense.

If I’m going to survive this, I have to keep my head clear.

“Boat. In,” says someone, maybe Russian two or one. They all sound the same.

I’m yanked up—someone pulling on my floppy arms while the other lifts my legs—and I feel like a chew toy being ripped into two. Once I’m dragged onto the boat, I’m directed on where to go as someone shoves me in the back, screaming at me in a language I don’t understand.

I’m then forced down some stairs where I lose my footing and fall flat onto my stomach. Grunting on impact, I instantly search around, hoping to distinguish where I am—I’m in the bottom of the boat. The galley.

“Stay,” someone commands, ensuring I be the good dog they clearly see me as being.

Fuck them.

I rise slowly, using my hands as eyes as I feel my way around blindly. I need to find a weapon. One small enough to hide. Blood is seeping into my eyes from the wound on my temple, so I close them because I can’t see through this thick pillowcase anyway.

My fingers come into contact with what feels like a small torch. Not the weapon I had in mind, but it’ll have to do.

I’m interrupted when I hear someone tsk me before I’m being dragged by my long hair and hurled against what feels like a cushioned bench seat. The pain in my head just amplifies. “Arms behind. Hands together.”

I shakily comply, sobbing around the gag.

He reaches around me, and when the unmistakable feel of metal snaps around my wrists, I know my freedom is dwindling by the second. He yanks at the handcuffs to ensure they are tight. They are.

My breathless panting reveals my fear, but when I feel the predatory touch at the back of my calves, I freeze. Two hands glide up and down my flesh, humming in satisfaction. He’s on his knees before me.

Oh, god.

“You pretty.” His English is broken, but I’m not lost in translation. I know what he wants.

“We going to have fun, and it’ll be our secret.” Next, I feel a wet tongue lap its way up the side of my calf. The smell of cigarettes and sweat has my stomach roiling.

Adrenaline takes over, and I attempt to kick him, but he’s too fast, chuckling as he pushes down on my ankles. He then begins to bound them with coarse rope.

Once he tugs at my restraints, it sounds like he stands. I try to kick my feet out, but they’re tied to something hard beneath me. I’m bound. Hands and feet. And gagged. I’m not going anywhere.

“She tied up?” I almost sigh in relief when I hear the American. He was the only one who showed me an iota of mercy. The other two scare me. The American doesn’t.

“Yes, like a present. You want to unwrap her?”

I suddenly feel so objectified and dirty and attempt to recoil, but I can’t move. My heart is racing, and my breathing is uneven. The tears have long dried as I’m awaiting their next move.

“Shut the fuck up and let’s go.”

That was not the response I was expecting. The Russian laughs.

“Calm down, неудачник.”

“Fuck you. Up on deck now.” The American talks big and seems to be calling the shots. I wonder who he is?

My only clue to what’s going on is what I hear, and before the hatch closes, I’m presented with clue number one. “Be in Turkey soon. I hope you don’t get seasick, Saint.” Then the hatch closes, leaving me with the sound of the muted voices above me.

Turkey? Why are we going there? But more importantly, I just uncovered the name of my American captor…Saint.

Ironic, isn’t it, that someone who bears a name denoting nothing but holiness can deliver nothing but hell.

Bon voyage.

Bio

Monica James spent her youth devouring the works of Anne Rice, William Shakespeare, and Emily Dickinson.

When she is not writing, Monica is busy running her own business, but she always finds a balance between the two. She enjoys writing honest, heartfelt, and turbulent stories, hoping to leave an imprint on her readers. She draws her inspiration from life.

She is a bestselling author in the U.S.A., Australia, Canada, France, Germany, Israel, and the U.K.

Monica James resides in Melbourne, Australia, with her wonderful family, and menagerie of animals. She is slightly obsessed with cats, chucks, and lip gloss, and secretly wishes she was a ninja on the weekends.

Stalk Me!

Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/authormonicajames

Twitter: https://twitter.com/monicajames81

Goodreads: https://www.goodreads.com/MonicaJames

Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/authormonicajames

Website: http://monicajamesbooks.blogspot.com.au

Pinterest: http://www.pinterest.com/monicajames81

BookBub: http://bit.ly/2E3eCIw

Amazon: https://amzn.to/2EWZSyS

Reader Group: http://bit.ly/2nUaRyi

happy reading 🙂