Tag Archives: Mystery

J.A. Jance interview featuring Ring In The Dead

Welcome to an interview with best selling author J.A. Jance. It’s my pleasure to share about the latest standalone novella Ring In The DeadRing In The Dead

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Can you tell us a little bit about RING IN THE DEAD?

It’s not exactly a prequel and it’s not exactly a sequel, either. In it, we meet Beau after the action that occurs in the upcoming hardback, Second Watch. We see him as he is now, and we see him as he was in his first few months as a homicide detective for Seattle PD. I liken it to literary time travel which is, of course, the only kind of time travel there is.

RING IN THE DEAD is a stand-alone novella within the J. P. Beaumont series, what prompted that?

My editor asked me to write one, so I did. I believe that means I’m a hack. I write on demand.

Are you reading anything now?

Major Pettigrew’s Last Stand

What are some of your favorite books and authors?

Vince Flynn, may he and Mitch Rapp rest in peace. Ann B. Ross’s Miss Julia books, Alexander McCall Smith’s Number 1 Ladies Detective stories, and Lee Child’s Jack Reacher.

What is your work space and writing routine like?

All I need is a comfy chair and a laptop computer on my lap. Then I can write anywhere. (It pays to have long thighs.) At the moment I’m sitting on the back verandah at our home in Washington State, overlooking the garden. The chair is comfortable and the wifi connection works. I just heard a hawk, and I’m standing watch to make sure our resident heron stays away from my goldfish.

Do you believe writers have muses? If so, who or what is yours?

I don’t believe in muses as such, but I do believe in listening to my inner-storyteller. That’s the entity who knows where a story is going even when I don’t.

Have you ever considered writing a different genre?

I do write in a different genre. My book of poetry, After the Fire will be published on September 10, the same day Second Watch goes on sale. It’s memoir in prose and poetry of losing my first husband after a long battle with alcoholism. I also write a weekly blog which is more or less my autobiography told in weekly installments. I regard the blog as offering my readers a window on my world as a writer.

Is there a beverage, meal or song that you think would be a great accompaniment to Ring in the Dead?

Let’s sing a rousing chorus of Auld Lang Zine.

Is there anything about you that you think your reader’s would be surprised to find out?

I think they’re often surprised to learn how tall I am–over six feet. Any number of them have told me over the years that I don’t look that tall in my cover photos.

What do readers have to look forward to next?

Next up will be Second Watch, Beaumont # 21, on September 10. Then early next year will be Ali Reynolds # 9, Moving Target.

J.A. JanceHarper CollinsSecond WatchGoodreads

Louisiana Fever by DJ Donaldson spotlight and excerpt

Check out Louisiana Fever I have it on my TBR list once I catch up.

DJ Donaldson

 

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“D.J. Donaldson is superb at spinning medical fact into gripping suspense.  With his in-depth knowledge of science and medicine, he is one of very few authors who can write with convincing authority.”

–Tess Gerritsen, NY Times best-selling author of the Rizzoli & Isles novels

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Andy Broussard, the “Plump and Proud” New Orleans medical examiner, obviously loves food. Less apparent to the casual observer is his hatred of murderers. Together with his gorgeous sidekick, psychologist Kit Franklyn, Broussard forms a powerful, although improbable, mystery solving duo.

***

When Kit goes to meet an anonymous stranger—who’s been sending her roses—the man drops dead at her feet before she could even get his name. Game on.

Andy Broussard soon learns that the man carried a lethal pathogen similar to the deadly “Ebola”—a highly contagious virus, feared worldwide for killing its victims (grotesquely) in a matter of days. When another body turns up with the same bug, widespread panic becomes imminent. The danger is even more acute, because the carrier is mobile. The man knows he’s a walking weapon and… he’s targeting Broussard.

And when Kit Franklyn investigates her mystery suitor further, she runs afoul of a cold- blooded killer, every bit as deadly as the man searching for her partner.

Louisiana Fever is written in Donaldson’s unique style: A hard-hitting, punchy, action-packed prose that’s dripping with a folksy, decidedly southern sense of irony. Mix in Donaldson’s brilliant first-hand knowledge of forensics, along with the sultry flavor of New Orleans, and readers will be fully satisfied with this irresistibly delectable mystery.

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p. 64, last paragraph

Broussard did not like other people interpreting murder scenes for him
before he saw them himself. But he always had to weigh that dislike
against the relative inconvenience of the time the call came in and the
judgment of the detective working the case. Life was too short to
throw on your clothes in the middle of the night and dash off to a
run-of-the-mill murder that presented no unique or puzzling features.
True, he hadn’t eaten yet, but he was already dressed. And if Gatlin
wanted him, that was good enough.
“Where are you?”
He jotted the address down on the little spiral pad he kept taped to the
counter.
“I’m on my way.”
He tore the page out of the pad, stuffed it in his shirt pocket, and
grabbed his bag, which always sat by the back door. He went into the
garage, set the timer for the light at five minutes, and paused for a
moment on the top step, admiring the sight before him—six 1957
Thunderbirds, all of them in mint condition.
It was a dazzling display—each a different color, their spotless paint
reflecting the garage lights like great jewels. The Russians had
Fabergé and his eggs; the English, Grinling Gibbons and his picture
frames; the French, Falconet and his bronzes. But the United States
had Henry Ford, and Broussard had six examples of his finest work,
one for every day of the week . . . well, almost every day. He had long
believed that six cars was abundance and that seven would be
eccentricity. Still . . . there was room for another.
A few minutes later, he backed out of the garage in the white one and
headed for the Mississippi River bridge. For neckwear, Broussard
owned only bow ties, mostly because the long kind had a tendency to
fall into his work when he bent over. Then, too, there really wasn’t
enough clearance between the T-Bird’s steering wheel and his shirt for
any extra fabric.
The sun was a cool sphere low in the sky and he reached over and
flipped the passenger visor down to keep it out of his eyes. After so
many years as ME, he rarely encountered any big surprises, but he still
found drama in death and his blood still sang in his veins on his way
to a scene. When that was no longer true, he’d retire.
As he turned onto the West Bank Expressway a short while later, his
stomach rumbled mightily in protest over his missed breakfast. To
calm it, he unbuttoned the flap on his shirt pocket, fished two lemon
balls out, and slipped one into each cheek.

DJ DonaldsonWeb site / Twitter / Facebook
D.J. Donaldson is a retired professor of Anatomy and Neurobiology. His entire academic career was spent at the University of Tennessee, Health Science Center, where he published dozens of papers on wound-healing and where he taught microscopic anatomy to thousands of medical and dental students.

He is also the author of seven published forensic mysteries and five medical thrillers. He lives in Memphis, Tennessee with his wife and two West Highland terriers. In the spring of most years he simply cannot stop buying new flowers and other plants for the couple’s prized backyard garden.

Author Stacy Green guest post

I’d like to thank Stacy for being on today. I reviewed her book Into the Dark recently. A highly entertaining read that one so if you haven’t checked it out yet you so should. She has a new one as well Tin God another to keep an eye on, her guest post topic is about her new book. Read it then read one or both of her books 🙂

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Thanks to Jess for having me today! For those I haven’t met, I write mystery/suspense with a dash of romance. My second novel, TIN GOD, the first book in my Delta Crossroads Series, released this month.

 

Instead of flexing my writing muscles and creating eloquent sentences telling you why my book is worth reading, I’m going to share my favorite things about TIN GOD. If you’re interested, you can slide over to Amazon and check it out.

 

Here they are, and thanks for reading!

 

 

  1. I just murdered your wife again.

This is the line that jumpstarted the idea for the book. Widower Nick Samuels hears about a murder in his wife’s hometown. He’s shaken by how much the woman resembles his dead wife, whose murder is going on four years unsolved. And then a letter arrives containing the single line, “I just murdered your wife again.” Hell starts breaking loose shortly after.

 

  1. It’s set in deep in the heart of the southern Bible Belt in a fictionalized town called Roselea. Roselea is modeled after historic Natchez, Mississippi, and the name is a play on Rosalie Mansion, one of the oldest antebellum homes in Natchez.

  2. The heroine is dirt poor but doesn’t blame anyone but herself for her issues. Jaymee is tough and has been through a lot. She’s stuck in a trailer court and trying to raise the money needed to hire a lawyer to help find her child. She’s hard as nails, but is also fiercely loyal to those she loves.

  3. Old homes galore. Roselea (like Natchez) is loaded with pre-Civil War homes. I’m sort of a geek about the subject, so getting to create my own grand old houses and their sordid histories was a lot of fun for me.

  4. Multi-layered mystery. TIN GOD is full of twists and turns and red herrings. I wasn’t sure who the killer was until I was nearly finished with the first draft, and the answer surprised even me!

 

TIN GOD
Delta Crossroads Series, Book 1

Getting pregnant as a teenager and being coerced into giving her baby up for adoption left a festering scar on Jaymee Ballard’s life. Trapped by poverty and without many allies, Jaymee nearly gives up hope of getting her daughter back after her best friend is murdered. Now, four years later, a wealthy woman with legal connections hires her as a housekeeper, and Jaymee gathers the courage to seek her help. But Jaymee’s last chance ends up in a puddle of blood in one of the historic antebellum mansions in Roselea, Mississippi.

I just murdered your wife…again.

An unsigned letter consisting of six horrifying words turns Nick Samuels stagnant life upside down. Stuck in emotional purgatory since his wife’s unsolved murder four years ago, Nick is about to self-destruct. The arrival of the letter claiming credit for his wife’s murder and boasting of a new kill sends Nick to Roselea, where he and Jaymee’s worlds collide.

Jaymee and Nick realize exposing the truth about her daughter’s adoption is the only way to solve the murders. Up against years of deception, they rush to identify the killer before the evidence–and Jaymee’s daughter–are lost.

But the truth doesn’t always set the guilt-ridden free. Sometimes, it destroys them.

 

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About the author

Born in Indiana and raised in Iowa, Stacy Green earned degrees in journalism and sociology from Drake University. After a successful advertising career, Stacy became a proud stay-at-home mom to her miracle child. Now a full-time author, Stacy juggles her time between her demanding characters and supportive family. She loves reading, cooking, and the occasional gardening excursion. Stacy lives in Marion, Iowa with her husband Rob, their daughter Grace, and the family’s three obnoxious but lovable canine children.

 

Website: www.stacygreen.net

Amazon Author Page

Facebook Stacy Green, Author

Twitter @StacyGreen26


Partners In Crime book tour – In A Small Town by Marc DiGiacomo

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I want to thank Partners In Crime Tours for allowing me to take part in this tour. In A Small Town by Marc DiGiacomo a mystery thriller and the first in a series is on tour. Below is more info on the book and an excerpt to give you all a little idea on what to expect. My review will be coming soon.

 

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The shotgun blast catches Detective Matthew Longo by surprise. His world unravels into a nightmare that seemingly won’t end. Murder, rapes, pedophiles, the small town of Hutchville, N.Y. is changing. It is up to him to make a difference.

While partner Donny Mello is in Italy attending a funeral for a family member who is connected, to say the least, a beautiful F.B.I. agent waits to question him about his family business.

Can Matt keep from answering the Agents questions? More importantly, can he hide a potentially career-ending secret from his community, his brother, and most especially Agent Cynthia Shyler?

 

Chapter One
Not In Our TownI can’t get it out of my mind. The lightning that exploded from the end of the barrel. The ripping orange flash off the black steel. The smell of gunpowder. The sound, like an M-80. And the pain—the fucking searing pain. It is permanently scorched into my memory. Everything but his face. The face I didn’t see haunts me every second. All I remember are those ultra-white Reebok sneakers as he ran away. The fucking coward would have shot me in the back, but I turned around and caught the blast in the chest. I didn’t have time to pull my Glock.
The shot knocked me to the ground. I thought I was having a heart attack—I couldn’t catch my breath. Then I understood what happened, and reality hit: I was going to die.
It seemed to take minutes rather than seconds, but I managed to radio into headquarters. The response from the good guys was impressive, to say the least. They saved my life. Cops from my own town and others surrounded the scene. I knew they would come. When a cop gets shot, they all come, and with one thing in mind—to find the bastard who pulled the trigger.
Things grew foggy. I saw blue uniforms scurrying around the scene while white-clad EMTs lifted me onto the gurney and loaded me into the ambulance. I could hear people talking about me—reporters, other cops, curious residents. “Detective Matthew Longo…Only 29 years old, been on the force nearly 10 years…Shot in the fucking chest and shoulder. No wife or children. Parents live in town; Hutchville lifers. Oh yeah, the town is going to go batshit over this.”
Blood oozed from my left shoulder. My friend and paramedic Scotty Franks hovered over me and placed direct pressure on my wound. Even through my fog I could tell he was holding back tears. My shoulder was on fire. I never wore my bulletproof vest unless making entry on a search warrant, or if a hot pursuit was coming my way; then I quickly threw it over my shirt. I was lucky I had it on that night. Maybe someone on the other side was looking out for me.
I fell unconscious even with all the shouting around me. I dreamed of my funeral and who would be there. I saw myself in the blue box surrounded by a sobbing crowd of familiar faces. My parents looked horrible. My poor mother clutched her bible and rosary beads. My dad kept his eyes glued to the floor, angry and broken. My little brother Franny, in full uniform, stood near my casket at full attention, his white gloves damp from tears. Donny was there too, trying to keep it together.
I heard Scotty screaming for me in the distance. The poor guy loved me, but why was he screaming my name, spitting all over my face, at my wake? Maybe I should have had a closed casket.
Suddenly I felt him slapping me. I awoke and found myself back inside the ambulance. Scotty took a deep breath, in and out, and said, “Okay Matt, okay. Don’t do that again.”
The pain was relentless, and I couldn’t help but cry. Scotty put a needle into an IV line in my arm and the pain vanished almost immediately. “Don’t give me morphine Scotty,” I managed to whisper. “It killed my grandparents.” Then I lost consciousness again, falling into a world between life and death.
I heard someone screaming in the night. Was it me? It was too dark to see. Where’s Donny? I really needed him now. Was I dreaming again or was this some delusion of reality? I slapped myself and felt a sharp sting, jolting me awake.
It has been three weeks of hell living inside this apartment. My social life has been placed on indefinite hold. The phone rings constantly but who cares? I don’t answer. The window shades are drawn. I don’t know if its day or night, and I don’t give a shit.
Thankfully, the wound has been healing well. But I look at my shoulder and am repulsed by the scar and missing flesh. People say scars are sexy but this one may be the exception. My left arm is still in a sling. At times, the pain is still unbearable. The Percocet I’m still taking makes me pass out.
The sink is loaded with paper dishes and plastic cups. Last week’s dinner from my mother sits on the kitchen table still wrapped in tin foil, and the smell is starting to ferment in my kitchen. I can hear my Dad’s deep voice in my head: “Why don’t you pull it together and clean up around here? You’re making your mother nervous.” She’s nervous? I can’t help laughing.
Hey Dad, your oldest son was almost shot dead in the same small, safe community where we played Little League baseball. Mind if I take a week or two to let that one sink in?
Only cops—and maybe some of their wives—realize how dangerous police work can become in a millisecond. Parents of cops usually choose to ignore the reality—it’s too difficult to accept that a life-or-death choice awaits their son or daughter at any moment. A bank robbery turns into a shootout; a wanted felon gets pulled over for a broken tail-light and decides suicide by cop is his only way to avoid a lengthy jail sentence. As a detective, this is my everyday reality.
This isn’t supposed to happen in a small town. We’ve never had a police shooting—never. In fact, the last time we had any kind of criminal shooting was ten years ago, and it was a domestic dispute between a father and his cheating son-in-law. These old-school Italians are no joke.

InaSmallTown_authorThe author is a retired and highly decorated police detective who worked for an affluent community within the State of New York. He has worked with numerous police agencies at the local, county, state and federal levels on various investigative assignments. He currently resides in New York with his wife and three children.

In A Small Town can be purchased on Amazon and B&N

Into The Dark by Stacy Green review, excerpt & giveaway

I was super excited to join Partners In Crime tours. The first tour I signed up for was a great read. Leave a comment for a chance to win an ebook copy offered by the author Stacy Green.

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I quite enjoyed Into The Dark. It’s an enjoyable read and I wanted to keep reading to get to the end, to find out about those tunnels. The issue I had was the characters being a bit cookie cutter and the predictability of the story. For a mystery there was a bit of I know what’s coming.

Now this doesn’t mean a bad read. Simply perhaps a place to improve on the next book. The story about a woman who has had a difficult childhood and made bad man choices now finds herself in a predicament a nut job crazy guy wants her all to himself. Not new but what is new and different utilising the Las Vegas underground tunnels as a setting for a part of the story. Fascinating and curious. This aspect and what was clearly a lot of research into a part of Vegas that isn’t know made for great reading. There is a good guy hunky with issues of his own of course, a good cop, a stupid sexist cop, a damsel in distress who can hold her own but still makes bad choices, a crazy delusional kidnapper and again while not original made for entertaining reading.

On goodreads I gave it 3 stars because goodreads insists on a star rating. In reality I’d give it 3.5 while not perfect it’s a book I’d recommend checking out.

 

My thanks to Partners In Crime tours for my review copy which I received in exchange for an honest review. 

Into The Dark  A two-hundred-mile labyrinth of dark storm drains serves as a refuge for the delusional stalker who will go to any lengths to possess fragile, emotionally isolated Emilie Davis. To survive, Emilie will have to confront the secrets of her past she has kept locked away from everyone, including herself. Emilie is a master escape artist—she’s fled a manipulative mother and a controlling ex-husband. But it’s impossible to evade a stalker who uses a bank robbery as a ruse to kidnap her. He’s still out there, hiding in the Las Vegas tunnels and dodging police. Emilie’s life careens out of control as her assailant continues his pursuit. She has nowhere to turn but to Nathan Madigan, the hostage negotiator who worked the robbery. Nathan is haunted by his failure to protect a loved one fourteen years ago and dedicates his life to saving others. Determined to catch the lunatic hunting Emilie, he finds himself losing his professional detachment. He fears history is about to repeat itself if he cannot protect Emilie from the Taker’s obsession.

The police close in on the Taker’s identity as Nathan and Emilie grow closer to each other and to resolving the misery of their own pasts. At the height of The Taker’s madness, his attempt to replace someone he’s lost will either kill them all or set them free.

Standing water covered the toes of Nathan’s boots. The air was thick with mildew. “Drain’s over there.” He shined his tactical light on the flood map. “To the right.”

The temperature dropped as they entered the large drain. Darkness engulfed them.

Chris’s whistle cut through the eerie stillness. “Wow. It’s a hell of a lot cooler in here. Place smells like feet, but I’ll take what I can get.”

Nathan shined his light on the walls. Colorful graffiti decorated the concrete.

“Someone’s a talented artist.”

The darkness thickened with each step. The odor grew increasingly foul. “Jesus, I can taste the stench in my mouth.” Chris gagged and spit into the dirty water.

Nathan didn’t respond. He was too busy trying to keep the contents of his stomach down and wondering how the people who lived in the tunnels stood the smell and the constant dangers. The drains provided relief from the sweltering desert heat, and free housing, but they were death traps. Large portions ran directly underneath the city streets and inhabitants risked carbon monoxide poisoning and the frequent threat of flooding. Growing up poor in North Las Vegas gave him a better perspective than many, but he couldn’t imagine having no other alternative than to live minute-by-minute.

“We shouldn’t run into any camps,” Johnson said. “They’re deeper in. One of the biggest is right under the Strip.”

“You know we aren’t going to find shit,” Chris choked out. “It’s too dark. Guy planned this for months. He knows his way around. We need to get out of here and check on Adam.”

“Medic called me when they got him to the hospital,” Johnson said. “He’s going into surgery. All we’d be doing right now is sitting around waiting. Still have to do our jobs, Holt.”

“He’s just a rookie. I should have been in front of him.”

“Stop,” Nathan said. “You followed protocol. That was a lucky shot.”

“Doesn’t make it right.”

Silence fell over the men as they moved farther into the stinking drain. Something hard crunched underneath Nathan’s boots. He nervously shined his light into the black water. Crawfish swam around his feet, probably on their way to the Las Vegas Wash. A mushy white glob looking suspiciously like used toilet paper floated by, and he focused his light away from the stream. Better not to know what he was stepping on.

A loud splash ahead brought all three to a halt.

“You hear that?” Johnson asked.

“Sounds big.” Chris stepped in front of Johnson and raised his Glock.

“Las Vegas SWAT,” Johnson shouted. “Identify yourself.”

Nothing.

“Maybe it was an animal,” Nathan said.

“That’s even worse than a junkie,” Chris said. “With my luck, Cujo’s man-eating cousin will show up and give me rabies.”

“They have shots for that now.”

“No shit, Sherlock.”

A second loud splash was followed by the distinct sound of footsteps plodding through the water.

“That’s no dog.” Chris sprinted after the runner with Nathan and Johnson closely following. The beams of their lights flashed haphazardly against the walls making the tunnel even more ominous.

A strange brightness glowed several yards ahead of them. Their quarry came into view. He was too short and stocky to be their man, but he could have information.

Raised in southeastern Iowa, Stacy Green grew up watching crime shows with her parents, so her love of suspense and psychological thrillers is no surprise. She’s fascinated by the workings of the criminal mind and explores true crime on her popular Thriller Thursday posts at her blog, Turning the Page.Stacy_Green

After earning her degree in journalism, Stacy worked in advertising before becoming a stay-at-home mom to her miracle child. She rediscovered her love of writing and wrote several articles for a city magazine before penning her first novel. She shelved the long drama and began working on a suspense book set in Las Vegas, featuring a heroine on the edge of disaster, a tormented villain, and the city’s infamous storm drains that house hundreds of homeless.

Into The Dark is suspense with a dash of romance, and Stacy is hard at work on her next book, a darker, grittier thriller set in the Deep South.

When she’s not writing, she spends all her time with her precocious daughter, supportive husband, and their three obnoxious but lovable canine children.

Follow Stacy online at her Blog, Twitter, Facebook, and Web site.