Interview: Ash Bishop

 

Intergalactic Exterminators Inc

by Ash Bishop

September 1-30, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

When did you know you wanted to be an author?

My dad was Chair of the Reading Department at Cal State Fullerton, teaching teachers how to best develop their students' reading skills.  You could say my sister and I were the unwilling, but lucky, recipients of his field research on the subject.  Our entire childhoods, he brought home book after book after book and dropped them into our laps.  So much of my young life was spent absorbed in other people's stories that I came to the natural conclusion of wanting to contribute some of my own.  I can't remember the exact moment, but I do know it was the culmination of a household of readers, and a lot of great encouragement from my whole family, my teachers and friends. 

       

Which part of the research did you enjoy the most?

I'm not sure this qualifies as research, but… one of my characters is a sentient robot who has lost his previously persistent connection to a central galactic server.  He counts on the connection to download knowledge that would help him navigate various situations.  Since his ability to download has been severed, and he's stuck on Earth, he ends up reading a lot of books instead.  Thus, his understanding of Earth culture is colored by the books he happens to get his hands on.  I was already familiar with most of them, but it was a lot of fun deciding which Earth books he should read and how they would affect his character's perspective.  Earth can look pretty strange if you get your hands on 50 Shades of Gray, then Tale of Two Cities, and then you jump to Archie comics.

    

What inspired you to create your “hero”?

I was a very quiet person growing up but I also always had these strong heroic impulses.  Unfortunately, for the most part, I ended up indulging them in literature, cinema, and video games instead of real life, but I never stopped wishing for the opportunity to do heroic things.  My wife is always shaking her head because she sometimes has nightmares, and when she wakes up to tell me about them, I'm usually emerging from a dream about saving a town from gigantic spiders.  My protagonist reflects this same dormant impulse.  He's a good person but life hasn't presented him the opportunity to prove his heroic nature until the events of the story begin to unfold.  As a rookie hero, he doesn't have a lot of confidence.  He's not natural at self-promotion, while others around him are, so he has to let his actions do the talking for him.    

 

What would you define as literary success?

I'd love to quit my day job, but also not have to produce so much writing content that I begin to dislike the process.  Writing for a living, at your own speed, sounds heavenly.  

So, you're an author. Which authors do you enjoy reading?

I'm a huge fan of comic books.  My favorite comic book authors, Alan Moore, Neil Gaiman and Joe Casey had a big impact on my development as a prose writer.  They all seemed to value something I value as well, originality and breaking away from rote formulas.  When you're reading something by Alan Moore, no matter the subject, it always feels like you've never read anything like it before.  That's a thrilling sensation. As for prose, I really like the authors value that same originality, as well as those with charming, but self-deprecating protagonists, be it Agatha Christie, Philip K. Dick, John D. MacDonald, or F. Scott Fitzgerald.  I know that's an eclectic mix, but good writing is good writing.    

Thanks for stopping by!

Synopsis:

Finding work is easy. Staying alive is a little bit harder.

When Russ Wesley finds an unusual artifact in his grandfather’s collection of rare antiquities, the last thing he expects is for it to draw the attention of a ferocious alien from a distant planet. Equally surprising is the adventurous team of intergalactic exterminators dispatched to deal with the alien threat. They’re a little wild, and a little reckless. Worse yet, they’re so impressed with Russ’s marksmanship that they insist he join their squad . . . whether he wants to or not.

Praise for Intergalactic Exterminators, Inc:

"This book is so much fun it ought to be illegal in all known galaxies. Ash Bishop has written a wildly imagined, deeply felt, swashbuckling page turner. I loved it."

Jesse Kellerman, New York Times bestselling author of The Burning

Book Details

Genre: Science Fiction Published by: Camcat Books Publication Date: September 6th 2022 Number of Pages: 416 ISBN: 0744305616 (ISBN13: 9780744305616) Purchase Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | IndieBound.Org | CamCat Books

 

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

RUSS

Russ woke up lying flat on the ground, his mind foggy as hell. He could smell blood. When he reached forward as gingerly as possible, his muscles screamed at the movement. He was on his back. The forest trees waved down at him, blocking out the faint moonlight. He took a couple of deep breaths and reached forward again, groping around in the darkness. His hand came back slick with blood and fur and leaves. And then he heard voices. “. . . do you want to do this, then?” “I just wouldn’t call this tracking, is all. The blood trail’s three feet across. A tiny baby could follow this trail.” “Show me that baby.” “Shhh. Both of you, quiet. Something’s registering on the heat index.” The confusion and pain made it hard to think. Are these locals . . .? he thought. He fumbled in his pocket, looking for his flashlight but also testing for further damage. His hand found the light. It illuminated the small clearing. The deer’s corpse was just a few feet away, right where he’d shot it, but it wasn’t whole. Something had torn off its back legs, shearing straight through the muscle and bone. Russ took a deep breath but didn’t let his body or mind react to the sight of the carnage. Seconds later, the strangers’ flashlights found him. “He’s over here. To our left.” Russ heard three or four people hurrying through the brush. A woman in all black stepped into the clearing. Her brown hair was tied back in a bun, and she had a long steel shotgun in her hands. An odd earring twinkled in her ear. “You okay, son?” she asked, crouching down to place her hands on his chest. She stared into his eyes, examining him. “Looks like you’re going into shock. Just stay on your back and concentrate on breathing.” A man followed shortly after her. He glanced around, holding up a funny-looking flashlight to cast out the darkness. “He’s alone,” the man confirmed. “Are you from around here?” he asked Russ. “I’m from California,” Russ groaned. “I don’t know what that means,” the man said. “Just hold still,” the woman said. She pulled a gadget from her pack. The end telescoped out like an antenna. Russ watched as an aqua blue light shone down from the device, running across his entire body. He flinched as it reached his face, and even that small movement caused his lungs to burst with pain. “He’s got four broken ribs, a hairline fracture in the left wrist and a torn hamstring. Did you see what hit you?” the woman asked him. Russ tried to think. “No.” The word was as much a groan as anything else. “Tell us what you remember.” Russ rolled over onto his side. It hurt badly. Now that she’d pointed out the injuries, everything was localized. His ribs throbbed. His wrist felt hollow. His left leg was pierced with pain. “I was driving down Route Eighty-Nine, and a deer . . .” Russ pointed to the half deer corpse beside him. “. . . this deer dashed in front of my car. I knew I’d injured it by the sound it made when it hit the bumper, but I didn’t think I’d have to chase it this far into the woods to put it out of its misery.” Russ took a moment to swallow. “After I shot it, I—I was kneeling, jacking out the leftover rifle shells. But then . . . I was flipping through the air. I think I hit that tree right behind me.” The woman looked back at the tree. “It’s pretty splintered up.” “I was flying upside down. Backwards.” “Can you walk?” the man asked. Two more women, dressed in the same black combat gear, entered the clearing. They both had long rifles slung over their backs. Russ glanced at the newcomers, his eyes lingering on the guns. They weren’t locals. He could tell that much. “Who are you guys?” “Just local hunters,” one of the newcomers said. “Sure,” Russ said. “Tell me what hit you,” the first woman said firmly. “’I don’t know. A meteor? A buffalo? Maybe . . . a . . . rig?” The woman pulled a roll of pills from a MOLLE strap on her backpack. “Swallow two of these. They’re going to kill the pain.” Russ chewed the pills. Their chalky taste filled his mouth and crept up his nose. “They won’t cure any of the damage. You’re going to feel fine, but you’re not fine. Move carefully until you can get proper medical treatment. The road is two miles north. Can you reach it without help?” Russ nodded. Whatever she gave him was blazing through his bloodstream, kicking the fog and ache off every organ that it passed. “What’d I just eat?” “Two miles north. Don’t stop for any reason.” One of the newcomers, a well-muscled young woman with close-cropped brown hair, glanced at the half deer corpse lying next to Russ. Its blood had sprayed a pattern across the splintered tree. “Look at the animal, Kendren,” she said. The guy, Kendren, shone his flashlight over the deer corpse. “Whoa,” he said. “We definitely found what we’re looking for.” “You really chummed the water with this stag,” the short-haired woman told Russ. “Kendren, Starland, mouths shut,” the first woman said, making a slashing gesture. She pulled Russ to his feet. He gritted his teeth against the pain, but it was gone. Kendren and Starland stayed huddled around the deer, crouched low, inspecting where the hindquarters had been sheared off the bone. Kendren looked at the deer's head and saw where Russ had shot it. “You make this shot?” he asked Russ. “In the dark?” “Yeah.” “Was the deer already dead? Were you a foot away? Point blank?” “No. I was up on a ledge over by the river. Forty feet in that direction.” Russ pointed up the gradual incline. Kendren was still looking at the dead deer. “You shot it between the eyes, from forty feet, in the dark?” “Yeah. I guess.” “Head on back to the highway,” the woman said firmly. “You should start now. It might be dangerous to stay here.” The way she was looking at him, Russ kind of figured she meant that she was what was dangerous. If he didn’t do what she said. “I just need to find my grandpa’s rifle first,” Russ told her. She grabbed him by the arm. Her grip was incredibly strong. In the light from her flashlight her eyes seemed almost purple. “Start walking toward—” Before she could finish her sentence, the third woman, who’d melted back into the darkness, stepped forward again. “Cut the light,” she hissed. “It’s here.” Something came crashing through the brush, making a howling sound. It wasn’t a sound Russ had ever heard before. It was a deep rumbling growl, followed by a pitched screech that made the hair on his arms stand up. Branches were snapping, and he could hear claws scraping on rock. It was still thirty feet south, but it scared the hell out of him. “‘El Toreador.’ You’re up,” the woman hissed. The girl they called El Toreador had been on lookout. She was far enough into the darkness that Russ could barely see her, just a wisp of thick brown hair bobbing in the darkness—that is, until she pounded her chest with her fist. The vest lit up red, casting shadows across the trees. “My real name’s Atara,” she told Russ quickly. Then: “Don’t look so worried. We’re professionals.” “Starland, hit her with the hormone.” “The vest is enough,” Atara growled. Starland slipped back into the light. She was carrying some kind of tube that looked like a pool toy. She pushed hard against the end, blasting thick goo all over the other woman. “Hurry up. It’s almost here.” Russ was scrambling around in the brush, looking everywhere for his rifle when the creature burst through the perimeter glow of his tiny flashlight. Atara’s vest reflected off its face, bathing it in red light. It was all fangs and claws, huge, twice the size of a grizzly bear and full of rippling muscles stretched out in terrifying feline grace. It leaped at Atara, but midflight it caught the scent of the goo and reoriented to the left, bumping her off her feet but not harming her. The huge cat-thing landed softly, immediately turning toward the fallen woman, sniffing the air, growling, and bobbing its head. “It’s got the scent. The big kitty’s feeling amorous,” Kendren yelled. He, Starland, and the other woman all had their rifles raised. They were tracking the cat, ready to fire. Atara looked pissed, sprawled on the ground with her legs splayed. “Knock it down. We’re authorized for lethal. What are you waiting for?” she shouted. The creature was fully in the light now. It looked a lot like a tiger, but it was at least six times the size, with wavy, shaggy hair. “What the hell is it?” Russ shouted. The feline was practically straddling Atara. “I don’t like how it’s looking at me. Come on, shoot!” she demanded. The creature batted a paw, claws extended, and tore the glowing vest off her chest. It drew the vest up to its nose, sniffed, and started to growl again. Then the huge beast paused, slowly turning away from Atara. It sniffed the air, shoulders hunched, fur on the scruff of its neck rising. As it turned, its deep onyx eyes looked squarely at Russ. It growled and took a step toward him. Russ thought his heart had been beating hard before, but as the huge cat glided toward him, the thudding in his chest was so loud it drowned out every other sound. He didn’t even hear the discharge of Starland’s shotgun, two feet away from the monster. The wad of pellets sprayed against the creature’s flank and it howled, tearing away into the darkness so fast Russ didn’t even see it move. Atara scrambled to her feet and dropped her rifle. “Did you see that? A direct hit and no penetration. I told you Earth tech was garbage. What is this? The thirteenth century? I’m powering up.” The first woman—the one with the purple eyes—glanced at Russ. She was short, wiry, with the powerful shoulders of a linebacker. Russ realized she was the leader of . . . whoever these people were. “When are you going to learn to keep your mouth shut?” she barked at Atara. “You already used the CRC wand on him.” “Two hours of mandatory training videos. The second this is over.” “I’d rather be cat food than watch those again,” Atara said. “You skip the videos and I’ll send you back through CERT training.” Atara wasn’t really listening. She crashed off through the brush in the direction of the big cat. Nodding toward Russ, the woman shouted, “Kendren, you’ve got containment.” Then she disappeared into the darkness. Starland drew a pistol from her belt and followed. “Containment? More like babysitting,” Kendren grumbled. “I should be the one doing the good stuff.” He glanced in the direction they’d gone. Russ kind of agreed. Kendren was huge, at least six-five, and covered from head to toe with what Russ’s cousin had always called beach muscles. He had thick, wavy hair down to his shoulders. Out in the darkness, Russ could see the others’ flashlights bobbing up and down. They were headed up an incline, probably straight toward the bank of the river. “Was it my imagination, or was the cat more interested in you than the vest covered in mating hormone?” Kendren asked. At first, Russ didn’t answer. Finally, he said, “What would make it do that?” “No idea. It’s supposed to follow the hormone. What’s better than sex?” Kendren shook his head, seemingly unable to answer his own question. He frowned slightly. “The only thing I’ve seen them more interested in is an Obinz stone. You ever seen an Obinz stone? They’re about this big”—Kendren held his hands six inches apart—“usually green, with yellow veins running all along the edges? I don’t think they’re native to . . . this area.” Kendren looked around in distaste. “But I’ve seen these cats jump planets just to get near one if it’s in an unrefined state. An Obinz stone is basically intergalactic catnip.” “I’ve never seen one,” Russ told him. His voice wavered slightly, but Kendren didn’t seem to notice. “Then we better shut this vest down,” Kendren said. He stepped up onto a boulder and reached high into a tree, grabbing the vest from where the cat had tossed it. He folded the vest up and tucked it under his arm. “I’m not even sure how to turn it off,” he said. “That was a saber-toothed tiger, right? You guys cloning stuff? Is this Jurassic World or something?” Russ rubbed his temple. His questions were coming so fast, they were jumbled in his mouth. Kendren had just said intergalactic, and something about jumping planets, but here in the dark Wyoming forest, six miles from his grandmother’s house, he wasn’t yet ready to face those pieces of information. Kendren threw the vest on the ground and raised his rifle, pumping a slug into it. It kept glowing. “Damn. It’s pretty important I get this thing turned off.” Starland’s discarded rifle was just a few feet away. While Kendren kicked at the vest with his boot heel, Russ inched toward it. “Touch the weapon and I’ll shoot you in the face,” Kendren said. He stomped on the vest again. The flashlights were way north now, probably on the other side of the river. Russ could hear the distant voices arguing about which way the big cat went. The voices were so loud, neither Kendren nor Russ heard the cat until it was right in front of them, growling, hissing, and spitting. It stalked into the circumference of the faint red light from the vest. Kendren was still standing on the vest, his rifle slung over his shoulder. Beside him, the cat was enormous, twice as tall as a man. It crouched down, looking him straight in the eye. “I’m dead,” he said quietly. The creature coiled back on its powerful flanks and threw itself forward like a bullet. Its wicked claws stretched out, razored edges slashing at Kendren’s neck and chest. Russ kicked Starland’s gun off the ground, caught it, leveled it, and fired. The bullet split the cat’s eye socket, ripping through its optic nerve and straight into its brain. Momentum carried the dead body forward on its trajectory, smashing into Kendren and pinning him to the earth. A few moments later, the rest of the team returned, clambering through the thick brush. The leader approached the enormous beast and nudged it with her boot. “Is it dead, Bah’ren?” Atara asked, her gun still pointed at the fallen creature. “Sure is,” the leader, Bah’ren, responded. The wind was starting to pick up, blowing the branches of the trees, shaking off a few dead leaves. “How about Kendren?” “Negative,” Bah’ren said. “Get it off me,” Kendren demanded. “It’s gotta weigh nine hundred pounds.” “How many intergalactic laws do you think we’ve broken here?” Atara asked. She moved next to Bah’ren, looking down at Kendren with an expression that was half pity and half amusement. He had managed to sit up, but his legs were still wedged under the huge carcass. “Including the law about referencing intergalactic law on a tier-nine planet?” Bah’ren asked. “You guys are being a little careless,” Starland said. “Not our fault this thing was a hundred miles off course. The MUPmap promised there wouldn’t be any tier-nine bios in the vicinity.” “What are we supposed to do now?” Atara said, nodding toward Russ. “Oh, we’re conscripting him, for sure.” Bah’ren said. “Really?” Atara said. “We’re getting another human?” “Who? Who do you mean?” Russ asked. He glanced back in the direction of the highway. His eyes were starting to adjust to the dark again, and he could make out a thick copse of trees just a dozen or so yards away. “Get the huge beast off me,” Kendren insisted. Bah’ren moved to one side of the big cat and dug her powerful shoulders into it. Starland ran over to join her, wedging one arm against the creature’s flank, but putting her other arm around the waist of the woman giving the orders. “Atara, come on. You, new guy, we could use your help too. It’s heavy as hell.” Russ half ran over to them and dug his side into the creature. Its hairy skin sloshed around against the pressure, but the four of them eventually got it moving. “Roll it the other way!” Kendren demanded. “Its penis is right next to my face.” They kept rolling, and Kendren kept protesting, as the great shaggy cat slowly grinded over his shoulders and face. Gravity finally caught hold of its weight and the corpse flopped to the ground. The three in black all chuckled as Kendren spit out the taste of cat testicle. “Oh, that’s what you meant. Sorry about that,” Starland said, laughing. Kendren crawled onto his knees, still hacking and spitting. He stopped for a minute and looked at the cat’s face, poking a finger in the thing’s empty eye socket and wiggling it around. “Another hell of a shot.” “The debriefing wasn’t just wrong about location,” Atara said. “The creature’s fur is like steel mesh. Our bullets were doing jackshit.” Kendren rolled up onto his knees, both hands propped on his thighs. “You saved my life,” he told Russ. “No problem,” Russ said. It was the last thing Russ said before he dropped the rifle and sprinted full speed back toward the safety of the trees. He was running as fast as he could, pumping his arms, banging his shins on rocks, bumping past pines, carelessly plunging through the dark. He’d only gotten about twenty yards, running full speed, when something metal slapped around his ankle. It tipped him off balance and, for the second time that night, he could feel himself careening head over heels. He hit a tree, again, then slowly slipped out of consciousness. --- Excerpt from Intergalactic Exterminators Inc by Ash Bishop. Copyright © 2022 by Ash Bishop. Reproduced with permission from Ash Bishop. All rights reserved.

 

Author Bio:

Ash Bishop is a lifetime reader and a lifetime nerd, loving all things science fiction and fantasy. He has been a high school English teacher, and worked in the video game industry, as well as in educational app development. He even used to fetch coffee for Quentin Tarantino during the production of the film Jackie Brown. Bishop currently produces script coverage for a major Hollywood studio, but he spends his best days at home in Southern California with his wonderful wife and two wonderful children. He earned an MFA in Creative Writing from San Diego State University. This is his debut novel.

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Interview: Leslie Wheeler, author of Wolf Bog

An award-winning author of books about American history and biographies, Leslie Wheeler has written two mystery series. Her Berkshire Hilltown Mysteries launched with Rattlesnake Hill and continue with Shuntoll Road and Wolf Bog. Her Miranda Lewis Living History Mysteries debuted with Murder at Plimoth Plantation and continue with Murder at Gettysburg and Murder at Spouters Point. Her mystery short stories have appeared in numerous anthologies. Leslie is a member of Mystery Writers of America and Sisters in Crime, and a founding member of the New England Crime Bake Committee. She divides her time between Cambridge, Massachusetts, and the Berkshires, where she writes in a house overlooking a pond.

 

When did you know you wanted to be an author? 

I knew I wanted to be an author when I was in elementary school after a brief flirtation with the idea of becoming a ballerina. I gave up that idea because I wasn’t coordinated enough. Writing, on the other hand, was something that I enjoyed and that I was good at. I loved telling stories and listening to others tell them. I either wrote the stories down or sang them while swinging on a swing—a favorite outdoor activity—or riding in the car. I sang made-up songs to keep my spirits up when my mother drove me to appointments with an orthodontist, who was not a nice person. 

Which part of the research did you enjoy the most? 

The part of the research I enjoyed the most was visiting a site that figures in the novel. As the title, Wolf Bog, suggests, important action takes place at a bog. Although there’s a large area of wetlands with lakes and a swamp in my Berkshire town of New Marlborough, Massachusetts upon which my fictional town is based, there are no bogs. Fortunately, I found one, the Hawley Bog, which is located just across the border in Franklin County. Hawley bog consists of a large expanse of floating plant matter, mostly sphagnum moss, that’s apparently 30-feet deep. It’s called a quaking bog, because it actually moves, though thankfully I felt no earthquake-strength tremors as I strolled along the boardwalk that extends into it. Interspersed with the plant matter, I saw patches of black water—black because that’s the color of bog soil, or peat. Carnivorous plants like the dark purple pitcher plant that lures its insect prey with its brilliant color only to trap and devour it also caught my attention. These plants rely on insects for nourishment that the highly acidic peat doesn’t provide. All in all, it was fascinating to view such a distinctive landscape. 

What inspired you to create your “hero”?

I had to create a new hero for what became my Berkshire Hilltown Mystery series when the hero of my previous series turned down the job. This happened in a scene where she was supposed to kiss a certain man, and flat-out refused. When I got over my shock—after all, I was supposed to be in charge here—I realized it was her way of telling me she didn’t belong in the book, and I needed to create another character for my hero. Thus, was born Kathryn Stinson, a woman in her early thirties with a somewhat troubled past, who works as a curator of prints and photographs at a small private library in Boston, a position a neighbor of mine held. In the first book in the series, Rattlesnake Hill, she comes to the Berkshires on a deeply personal quest, involving an old family photo, only to fall for a possible murderer. And that possible murderer is the man she kisses! 

What would you define as literary success? 

I would definite literary success as gaining recognition from authors I admire, having a large following among the reading public, and of course, selling lots of books. 

So, you're an author. Which authors do you enjoy reading? 

As a mystery author, I tend to read lots of books in the genre. Favorite authors include Daphne du Maurier, Sharyn McCrumb, Ann Cleeves (especially her Shetland series), Hallie Ephron, Barbara Ross, Edwin Hill, Sarah Smith, and William Martin. Non-mystery authors I enjoy are Jane Austen, Edith Wharton (especially her two Berkshire novels, Summer and Ethan Frome) and Ann Patchett (for her essays as well as novels).

Thanks for visiting with us!

Wolf Bog

by Leslie Wheeler

July 1-31, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

It’s August in the Berkshires, and the area is suffering from a terrible drought. As wetlands dry up, the perfectly preserved body of a local man, missing for forty years, is discovered in Wolf Bog by a group of hikers that includes Kathryn Stinson. Who was he and what was his relationship with close friend Charlotte Hinckley, also on the hike, that would make Charlotte become distraught and blame herself for his death? Kathryn’s search for answers leads her to the discovery of fabulous parties held at the mansion up the hill from her rental house, where local teenagers like the deceased mingled with the offspring of the wealthy. Other questions dog the arrival of a woman claiming to be the daughter Charlotte gave up for adoption long ago. But is she really Charlotte’s daughter, and if not, what’s her game? Once again, Kathryn’s quest for the truth puts her in grave danger.

Praise for Wolf Bog:

“Wheeler’s deep sense of place—the Berkshires—illuminates a deftly woven plot and a quirky cast of characters that will keep you glued to the pages until the last stunning revelation. It’s always a pleasure to be in the hands of a pro.”

Kate Flora, Edgar and Anthony nominated author

“When a long-lost teenager turns up dead, a cold case turns into hot murder. A deliciously intriguing Berkshire mystery.”

Sarah Smith, Agatha Award-winning author
of The Vanished Child and Crimes and Survivors

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery/Amateur Sleuth/Suspense
Published by: Encircle Publishing
Publication Date: July 6, 2022
Number of Pages: 336
ISBN: 164599385X (ISBN-13: 978-1645993858)
Series: A Berkshire Hilltown Mystery, #3
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble

Read an excerpt:

Charlotte’s brow furrowed as she stared at the bog. “There’s something down there. A dead animal or…?” She raised her binoculars to get a better look.

“Where?” Wally asked. She pointed to a spot on the peat at the edge of the water. Wally had barely lifted his binoculars when Charlotte cried, “Oh, my God, it’s a body!” And took off toward it.

“No, don’t go there!” Wally grabbed at her, but she eluded him. When Charlotte was almost to the body−−if that’s what it was−−she began to sink into the bog. She waved her arms and twisted her legs, trying desperately to get out, but her struggles only made her sink deeper.

Kathryn’s heart seized. They had to rescue Charlotte, but how without getting stuck themselves? Brushing past Wally, Steve started down the slope. Wally caught him, pulled him back, and handed him over to Hal Phelps. “You stay put. Everyone else, too. I’ve had experience hiking around this bog, and I think I can get her out. Stop struggling and try to keep calm,” he called down to Charlotte. “Help is on the way.”

Wally made his way carefully to where Charlotte stood, caught in the mire. He tested each step before putting his full weight on it, backtracking when he deemed the ground too soft. When he was a few yards away, he stopped.

“This is as far as I can safely come,” he told Charlotte. He extended his hiking pole and she grabbed it. Then, on his instructions, she slowly and with great effort lifted first one leg, then the other out of the muck and onto the ground behind her. Wally guided her back to the others, following the same zigzag pattern he’d made when descending. Charlotte went with him reluctantly. She kept glancing back over her shoulder at what she’d seen at the water’s edge.

Kathryn trained her binoculars on that spot. Gradually an image came into focus. A body was embedded in the peat. The skin was a dark, reddish brown, but otherwise, it was perfectly preserved. Bile rose in her throat.

Charlotte moved close to Kathryn. “You see him, don’t you?” Her face was white, her eyes wide and staring.

“See who?” Wally demanded.

“Denny,” Charlotte said. “You must’ve seen him, too.”

“I saw something that appears to be a body, but--” Wally said.

“So there really is a dead person down there?” Betty asked.

“It looks that way,” Wally said grimly. “But let’s not panic. I’m going to try to reach Chief Lapsley, though I doubt I’ll get reception here. We’ll probably have to leave the area before I can.”

“We can’t just leave Denny here to die,” Charlotte wailed.

“Charlotte,” Wally said with a pained expression, “whoever is down there is already dead.”

She flinched, as if he’d slapped her across the face. “No! I’m telling you Denny’s alive.” She glared at him, then her defiant expression changed to one of uncertainty. “Dead or alive, I’m to blame. I’m staying here with him.”

***

Excerpt from Wolf Bog by Leslie Wheeler. Copyright 2022 by Leslie Wheeler. Reproduced with permission from Leslie Wheeler. All rights reserved.

 

 

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Interview: Lindy Hudis, Hollywood Underworld

Author Bio:

Lindy S. Hudis is an award winning filmmaker, author and actress. Lindy is a graduate of New York University, where she studied drama at Tisch School of the Arts. She also performed in a number of Off-Off Broadway theater productions while living in New York City.

She is the author of several titles, including her romance suspense novel, Weekends, her “Hollywood” story City of Toys, and her crime novel, Crashers. Her latest release, “Hollywood Underworld – A Hollywood Series” is the first installment of a crime, mystery series.

In addition, she has written several erotic short stories, including “The S&M Club”, “The Backstage Pass”, “Guitar God”, “The Guitarist”, and “The Mile High Club”.

Her short film “The Lesson”, which she wrote, produced and directed, has won numerous awards, including ‘Best Short Film’ at the Paris International Film Festival, The Beverly Hills Arthouse Film Festival and the San Fransisco International Film Festival.

She is also an actress, having appeared in the indie film Expressionism, the television daytime drama “Sunset Beach”, also “Married with Children” , “Beverly Hills 90210” and the feature film “Indecent Proposal” . She and her husband, Hollywood stuntman Stephen Hudis, have formed their own production company called Impact Motion Pictures, and have several projects and screenplays in development. She lives in California with her husband and two children.

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When did you know you wanted to be an author?

• My late father-in-law was the English comedy writer Norman Hudis. He wrote for BBC television writing the “Carry On” series. He also wrote for American television shows back in the 70’s. He told me I was a “good commercial writer”, and that is all I needed to hear! I had always wanted to write, but I just needed that extra push to go for it! So, one summer, when I was pregnant with my daughter and was quite literally bored out of my mind, I just sat at my computer and started writing a story, just for something to do. I wrote a little bit every day, then one day I realized that I had written 200 pages. So, I sent out query letters and kept on plugging away. I published my first book WEEKENDS. It was a very creative and fulfilling process. 

Which part of the research did you enjoy the most?

• I take inspiration from my own life experience. For example, my book CITY OF TOYS is inspired by my years as a struggling actress when I was living in Hollywood. It’s a work of fiction but inspired by actual events. It’s not for the faint of heart, but life very rarely is. Of course, I do research on the Internet as well, but it’s way too tempting to waste time surfing what kind of cheese I am, lol!

What inspired you to create your heroes?

• I am inspired by larger-than-life character who live wild, adventurous lives. I guess that’s why Jackie Collins is such an inspiration to me. I can live vicariously through these amazing characters. 

How has your drama experience influenced your writing?

• My stories are very character driven, coming from an acting background helps me develop my characters, so I bond with my characters. I let them tell me what they want to do. They tell me the story. I just think back to my “character development’ classes back when I was in acting school at NYU. Tisch School of the Arts was a very emotionally intense program, but I really learned about developing the backstory and the background of my characters and different quirks of my characters. It has been very helpful. 

So, you're an author. Which authors do you enjoy reading?

• I grew up reading Judy Blume, Jackie Collins and Stephen King.  I just fell in love with reading, and then one day I thought “I can do that” – so I did! I love how prolific Stephen King is, and I love how character driven Jackie Collins is. Her characters are so over-the-top it is just an adventure living that fantasy life through them. That is what I wish to do with my writing – to take the reader on an adventure.

Thank you for talking with us!

Learn more below!

Hollywood Underworld
Lindy S. Hudis
(A Hollywood Series)
Publication date: August 8th 2021
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Thriller

Nick Savage was supposed to be the next sexy Hollywood heartthrob, until he turned up dead!

His personal manager, Dani Foxx, is a seductive former actress with spunk, guts and a take-no-prisoners attitude. She lives in the Woodland Hills section of the San Fernando Valley with her teenage daughter. They must survive and protect each other in the world’s most glamorous and sin-filled city. Then an unidentified body discovered under the Santa Monica pier is found to belong to the up and coming young actor.

Dani’s partner, the dashing and charismatic A.J. Tarentella, is the son of a mob boss, raised in a ruthless crime family. He now is the proud owner of the Tarantella Agency, a Private Investigation Company located in the heart of Beverly Hills. He used his father’s work ethic, connections and family ties to build his powerful business empire, and now he is always there to help those in need.

When another gorgeous nubile actress on the brink of getting her breakout role mysteriously vanishes as the body of a beautiful young girl is discovered in Runyon Canyon park in the Hollywood Hills, Dani realizes this is no coincidence. Who is targeting young Hollywood stars? And more importantly, how can Dani stop them before the next body surfaces?

Together, A..J. and Dani find themselves tangled in a web of organized crime, Hollywood secrets, and a vengeful faded movie star with a lethal vendetta.

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Debra H. Goldstein: Balancing Humor in Murder Mysteries

Blood, gore, sex, violence, shady characters, and, of course, a dead body, are givens for murder mysteries – except when the mystery is a cozy. Then, the blood, sex, gore, and violence are left off the page. Instead, the plot and characters must be complex enough to engage the reader in wanting to know whodunit and it helps to add a bit of humor.

Usually, a cozy mystery involves a small town or confined setting, an amateur sleuth, quirky sidekick characters, a job or interest that is craft or cooking/baking related, a cat or occasionally a dog, and the aforementioned lack of blood, gore, sex, and violence on the page. Unlike the building sense of tension in suspense or thrillers, humor is used as a means of easing the reader from high pitched moments. It also often helps readers identify the characters.

 

When one thinks of humor, one thinks funny; however, in a cozy mystery rather than being an “ha, ha” moment, the humor may come across softly from the way a character uses a phrase, dresses, gives another character “that look,” or behaves. In my Sarah Blair books, I incorporate humor in several diverse ways.

 

Sarah Blair is not an expert at cooking, baking, or crafts. She is a woman who is more frightened of the kitchen than she is of murder. When pressed to prepare a recipe (something all cozy mysteries must include), she uses premade ingredients. In One Taste Too Many, the first in the series, Sarah prepares Jell-O in a Can from Jell-O and Dole pineapple rings. Even though the end product is quite nice to look at, the name and concept of the recipe provokes a chuckle.

In newly released Five Belles Too Many, the craziness that occurs behind the scenes of a reality TV show, where contestants are vying to win the perfect Southern Wedding, provides a framework for laughable moments. Because the show’s taping is being done in Alabama, Southern stereotypes are a basis for various aspects of humor.

 

The characters create the first dimension of humor. Of the five finalist couples, two represent the famous football rivalry between the University of Alabama and Auburn University; one matches the stereotypical thoughts often expressed about the South (think Jethro and Elly Mae from The Beverly Hillbillies); one, simply to mix up expectations, is humorous because they want a Day of the Dead wedding; and, the final couple, Sarah’s mother, Maybelle, and her beau, George, represent those over sixty who are unfiltered but wise. Maybelle’s observations and understanding of why George and she are finalists create several outright and occasionally bittersweet instances of humor.

 

The idea that Sarah, who is twenty-eight, must be her mother’s chaperone twists the expected dynamic of chaperoning. The fact that the TV show is forcing the contestants and chaperones to stay at the bed and breakfast owned by Sarah’s greatest nemesis, Jane, establishes conflict for the characters but humor for the readers. Although it isn’t funny when the show’s producer is killed and Sarah finds Jane leaning over the body, Sarah’s inner conflict between whether to help Jane or not goes to the root of her characterization, but also offers me the ability to put funny thoughts in Sarah’s head.

 

While the cozy set-up provides numerous moments for humor, it is important that these scenes not over-shadow the whodunit. Cozy readers want a fast paced, fun book, but too many “funny” scenes can easily become monotonous and dull. That’s why there must be a balance between how much of the book is devoted to set-up, the crime, the investigation, serious moments, and things that make the reader chuckle.

 

For a chance to win a copy of Five Belles Too Many, tell me, what makes you laugh when you read a cozy and whether the Five Belles cover telegraphs that there will be humor in the book?

Five Belles Too Many

When Sarah Blair’s mother is a finalist to win the perfect Southern Wedding in a reality TV show competition, Sarah is pressed into service as Mother Maybelle’s chaperone. After the show’s producer is found dead, with Sarah’s greatest nemesis kneeling by the body, Sarah must find the true killer before any other contestants or crew are permanently eliminated 

Buy or gift a copy of Five Belles Too Many from: 

Amazon 

Barnes & Noble

Your favorite indie bookstore.

---

Judge Debra H. Goldstein writes Kensington’s Sarah Blair mystery series (Four Cuts Too Many, Three Treats Too Many, Two Bites Too Many, and One Taste Too Many). Her short stories, which have been named Agatha, Anthony, and Derringer finalists, have appeared in numerous periodicals and anthologies including Alfred Hitchcock Mystery Magazine, Black Cat Mystery Magazine, Mystery Weekly, Malice Domestic Murder Most Edible, Masthead, and Jukes & Tonks. Debra served on the national boards of Sisters in Crime and Mystery Writers of America and was president of the Guppy and SEMWA chapters. Find out more about Debra at https://www.DebraHGoldstein.com .

You can also connect with Debra at:  

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

Twitter: @DebraHGoldstein 

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

Bookbub: https://www.bookbub.com/profile/debra-h-goldstein

Lynn Slaughter: Beyond the External Plot - What's Your Book Really About?

After a long career as a professional dancer and dance educator, Lynn Slaughter earned her MFA in Writing Popular Fiction from Seton Hill University. She writes coming- of- age romantic mysteries and is the author of the newly released Deadly Setup. She is also the author of: Leisha’s Song, a Moonbeam Children’s Book Awards bronze medalist, Agatha nominee, and Imadjinn Finalist; While I Danced, an EPIC finalist; and It Should Have Been You, a Silver Falchion finalist. She lives in Louisville, Kentucky, where she’s at work on her next novel and serves as the President of Derby Rotten Scoundrels, the Ohio River Valley chapter of Sisters in Crime.

Author: 

Leisha's Song (Fire and Ice/Melange Books, 2021): Nominee, 2021 Agatha Award for Best Children's/YA Mystery Novel; Moonbeam Children's Book Awards Bronze Medalist, Imadjinn Finalist for Best YA Novel
While I Danced (Write Words), EPIC Finalist
It Should Have Been You (Page Street), Silver Falchion Finalist
Deadly Setup (forthcoming, Fire and Ice/Melange Books, 2022)

---

When folks ask me what my newly released novel, DEADLY SETUP, is about, I usually say something like, “A teenager’s life implodes when she gets arrested and goes on trial for the murder of her mother’s fiancé.”

Is that what my book is really about? Yes and no. Yes, that really is what happens to seventeen-year-old Samantha (Sam), the daughter of a widowed New England heiress. As the title indicates, she’s been set up and fights to prove her innocence with the help of her boyfriend’s dad, an ex-homicide cop.

Those are the basics of the external plot. But digging deeper, what the novel is really about is a troubled mother-daughter relationship, the dangers of parentification of a child, the power of the arts to heal and comfort, and the need to build an intentional family when your own family is unwilling or unable to be emotionally available.

Let me explain. Sam was very close to her father who died of brain cancer when she was twelve. On his death bed, he told Sam to “take care of your mother for me.” His intentions may have been good, but this was a terrible thing to do to a twelve-year-old girl who was in desperate need of parenting herself and was not equipped to take on a parenting role toward her mother. 

Furthermore, Sam’s mother resents her daughter’s efforts to weigh in on her impulsive choices. A self-absorbed romance novelist, she has a habit of looking for her own “happily ever after” with wildly inappropriate men. As the novel opens, she announces her intention to marry one of them, a financial advisor who’s eager to take control of her money and whose first heiress wife died under suspicious circumstances. She’s not interested in Sam’s pleas to exercise caution. In fact, listening to Sam about anything doesn’t even register on her priority list. 

Sam finds solace and comfort in playing the piano and her father left her with a great appreciation for the American Songbook. She loves playing standards and accompanying her high school’s choirs and musical rehearsals. 

She also realizes that the people who really care about her may lie outside her family. This is driven home to her when she’s accused of murder and her family’s longtime housekeeper, her boyfriend, his family, her close friends, and her favorite teacher don’t doubt her innocence for a moment, despite the mountain of circumstantial evidence. They rally behind her and their emotional support buoys her at a time when her own mother refuses to believe her protestations of innocence.

Sometimes, I think I’m writing about the same issues over and over: the damage dysfunctional families do to young people and the healing power of involvement in the arts. In LEISHA’S SONG, Leisha is an aspiring classical singer whose grandfather, the only parent she’s ever known, has an entire script laid out for her life—never mind what her passions and interests are. And in IT SHOULD HAVE BEEN YOU, Clara has always been more or less the forgotten child in a family where her piano prodigy twin has sucked up her parents’ attention. As for WHILE I DANCED, Cass, an aspiring ballet dancer, not only must deal with her single parent father’s lack of enthusiasm about her dancing, but with the fallout from the revelation of a terrible secret he’s kept from her about her mother.

Yet, if you asked me what these novels were about, I’d most likely respond with details about the external plot: 

- Leisha’s beloved vocal coach at boarding school disappears, and she puts her own life in danger trying to find her.

- Five months after her twin’s murder, Clara starts receiving threatening messages sent to the inbox of the advice column she ghostwrites for her high school’s newspaper. 

- Cass is betrayed by her best friend and boyfriend and then, in the midst of a challenging summer dance workshop and a new romance, makes a startling discovery that leaves her wondering if she even wants to continue dancing.

So, the next time you ask a writer what her novel is about, my advice is to ask a follow-up question: What’s it really about? Chances are you’ll get a different, and in many ways more significant, answer.

Interview: Tom Mead, Death and the Conjuror

“Tom Mead has created an intriguing set of puzzles on par with John Dickson Carr in Death and the Conjuror. A true delight for mystery lovers!”

–-Charles Todd, New York Times bestseller of A Game of Fear and 23 additional titles in the Inspector Rutledge series

Greetings, Tom! Glad to have you here!

• When did you know you wanted to be an author?

To be honest, it’s something that’s always been in my mind over the years, even when I was working other jobs. And I’ve always wanted to write mysteries because that’s what I love to read. I want to give readers that same feeling of delight and excitement I get when I’m reaching the end of a really good mystery and things are finally beginning to fall into place. What appealed to me from a very young age was the fair-play aspect of classic mysteries; the way you as the reader have all the same clues as the characters, but the author has orchestrated the plot so carefully that you still can’t crack the puzzle. The best writers, like Agatha Christie and John Dickson Carr, are so adept at hiding the clues in plain sight, so that you can go back through their works and think to yourself, “Of COURSE, why didn’t I spot that?” To me, that’s what makes the solution so satisfying. That’s the sensation I’m trying to give to readers. 

• Which part of the research did you enjoy the most?

My research for this book was twofold: first, I focused on the period (the 1930s), and second I focused on the magic. The ‘30s was a natural choice, since that decade was the heart of the Golden Age of Detective fiction (GAD). If I had to define Death and the Conjuror in terms of genre, I would call it neo-GAD, as it’s a conscious tribute to the golden age while also hopefully providing readers with something fresh and entertaining in its own right. So the period setting was essential, and it enabled me to explore the history, fashions, ideas and culture of London during that fascinating decade. In addition, I’ve read tons of books about the practice and theory of stage magic, including the psychology of misdirection. I think these subjects are very relevant to the field of mystery fiction. I’ve said before that a murder mystery plot is like a magic show, and that’s the approach I use when I’m writing. Part of the fun for the artist in both instances is making sure the audience is looking in the wrong direction. So learning about the history and the code of magicians has been an absolute joy, and I plan to continue this in future Spector mysteries, exploring the character and his world in much greater depth.   

• What inspired you to create Joseph Spector?

Some of my favourite fictional detectives are Hercule Poirot, John Dickson Carr’s Dr. Gideon Fell, and Ellery Queen; one thing all of these characters have in common is an element of eccentricity, coupled with a well-defined personality that really leaps off the page. When they show up in the story, you as the reader know that everything is going to be ok. And there’s a kind of bond of trust between the reader and the fictional detective. You need to know they are sharing all the clues with you as they find them. I’ve tried to channel all of these elements into the character of Joseph Spector. I originally created him for a series of short stories (which I plan to continue writing), where he served as a natural counterpoint to the puzzle plots. Joseph Spector is an amateur detective with a talent for solving apparently impossible problems. He’s a retired music hall magician because I’m fascinated by magic, he’s a student of logic because he comes up against problems which are apparently illogical, and he’s fascinated by macabre, spooky things because those things fascinate me too. 

• What would you define as literary success?

To be honest, the reception Death and the Conjuror has received so far has already exceeded my wildest expectations. The fact that it’s finally seeing the light of day after years of languishing on my desktop as a long-term “secret project” is a real thrill. It’s nice to know that the hours I spent on it weren’t wasted. So from my point of view, it’s already a success. But I suppose more generally speaking, I hope that readers have fun with it, that they enjoy it as a puzzle plot, but also as a fresh contribution to the genre I love. And if it prompts readers to try reading a classic novel by John Dickson Carr or Ellery Queen, then I couldn’t be happier.   

• So, you're an author. Which authors do you enjoy reading?

I really love the classics- I’m talking Agatha Christie, Ellery Queen, Helen McCloy and my personal favourite, John Dickson Carr. I think any self-respecting devotee of mystery fiction owes it to themselves to read these great writers if they haven’t already. But in terms of contemporary authors, I highly recommend Gigi Pandian’s new locked-room mystery, Under Lock & Skeleton Key. It’s the first of what I hope will be a very long-running series, and like Death and the Conjuror it has a magician-sleuth tackling seemingly impossible occurrences. I love it. I would also recommend The Five False Suicides by James Scott Byrnside. Scott has been quietly turning out some of the best new mysteries on the market since 2018, and he deserves a lot more recognition. Another magnificent writer of neo-GAD mysteries is the French author Paul Halter, who is incredibly prolific and has a dazzling imagination. His latest, The Mask of the Vampire, is published by Locked Room International. Other authors I love include Martin Edwards, Elly Griffiths and Anthony Horowitz, all of whom are excellent, versatile writers with a knack for devilishly complex plots.  

Death and the Conjuror

by Tom Mead

June 27 - July 24, 2022 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

A magician-turned-sleuth in pre-war London solves three impossible crimes

In 1930s London, celebrity psychiatrist Anselm Rees is discovered dead in his locked study, and there seems to be no way that a killer could have escaped unseen. There are no clues, no witnesses, and no evidence of the murder weapon. Stumped by the confounding scene, the Scotland Yard detective on the case calls on retired stage magician-turned-part-time sleuth Joseph Spector. For who better to make sense of the impossible than one who traffics in illusions?

Spector has a knack for explaining the inexplicable, but even he finds that there is more to this mystery than meets the eye. As he and the Inspector interview the colorful cast of suspects among the psychiatrist’s patients and household, they uncover no shortage of dark secrets―or motives for murder. When the investigation dovetails into that of an apparently-impossible theft, the detectives consider the possibility that the two transgressions are related. And when a second murder occurs, this time in an impenetrable elevator, they realize that the crime wave will become even more deadly unless they can catch the culprit soon.

A tribute to the classic golden-age whodunnit, when crime fiction was a battle of wits between writer and reader, Death and the Conjuror joins its macabre atmosphere, period detail, and vividly-drawn characters with a meticulously-constructed fair play puzzle. Its baffling plot will enthrall readers of mystery icons such as Agatha Christie and John Dickson Carr, modern masters like Anthony Horowitz and Elly Griffiths, or anyone who appreciates a good mystery.

Praise for Death and the Conjuror:

“This debut, a tribute to John Dickson Carr and other Golden Age masters of the locked-room mystery, will appeal to nostalgia buffs and fans of the classics”

Library Journal, April 2022 (**STARRED REVIEW**, Debut of the Month)

“Set in London, Mead’s stellar debut and series launch, an homage to golden age crime fiction, in particular the works of John Dickson Carr, introduces magician Joseph Spector. […] Mead maintains suspense throughout, creating a creepy atmosphere en route to satisfying reveals. Puzzle mystery fans will eagerly await the sequel.”

Publishers Weekly, April 2022 (**STARRED REVIEW**)

“Mead’s debut novel is a valentine to the locked-room puzzles of John Dickson Carr, to whom it is dedicated […] Mead faithfully replicates all the loving artifice and teasing engagement of golden-age puzzlers in this superior pastiche.”

Kirkus Reviews, April 2022

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery
Published by: Mysterious Press
Publication Date: July 12th 2022
Number of Pages: 254
ISBN: 1613163193 (ISBN13: 9781613163191)
Series: Joseph Spector #1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads | The Mysterious Bookshop

Read an excerpt:

Olive already had the phone in her hand. “Two three one, Dollis Hill,” she announced. “Dr. Anselm Rees has been murdered.”

While she provided a few scant details, she looked around the room and noticed something.

“The windows are locked,” she said as she hung up the phone.

“Mm?” Della sounded startled.

“The windows. They’re locked on the inside.” To prove this, she gripped one of the handles and rattled it. It would not move, and the key protruded from the lock.

“So?”

“Then how did the killer get away?”

“What do you mean?”

“He can’t have come out through the hall. I was there the whole time. And not five minutes ago—not five minutes—I can tell you that the doctor was alive and well in this room because I heard him talking on the telephone.”

Della thought about this. “It can’t be locked.” She reached out and tried the handle for herself. But the windows did not budge.

“It’s locked on the inside,” said Olive, “just like the door.”

Della turned and looked at the corpse. He had sunk down in the chair like an unmanned hand puppet.

In the far corner of the room lay the wooden trunk. Olive caught Della’s eye and nodded toward it. Della frowned incredulously. Olive shrugged, as if to say, Where else would he be?

The two women crept across the soft plush carpet toward the trunk. Olive looked at Della and held a finger to her lips. She seized the poker from the fireplace and raised it above her head. Then she gave Della a quick nod.

Della leaned forward and wrenched open the trunk.

Olive let fly a fierce war cry and swung the poker like a tennis racquet. But all she hit was empty air. The two women peered inside the trunk. It was perfectly empty.

Olive led the way to the kitchen—but not before pulling shut the study door behind her, sealing in the late Dr. Rees once again.

They both felt slightly better after a tot of brandy. No less horrified, but more prepared to deal with the practicalities of the situation.

“What I don’t understand,” Della said, “is where the killer could have gone.”

“Nowhere,” said Olive. “There was nowhere for him to go.”

***

Excerpt from Death and the Conjuror by Tom Mead. Copyright 2022 by Tom Mead. Reproduced with permission from Tom Mead. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Tom Mead is a UK crime fiction author specialising in locked-room mysteries. He is a member of the Crime Writers’ Association, International Thriller Writers, and the Society of Authors. He is a prolific author of short fiction, and recently his story "Heatwave" was included in THE BEST MYSTERY STORIES OF THE YEAR 2021, edited by Lee Child. DEATH AND THE CONJUROR is his first novel.

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Twitter - @TomMeadAuthor
Facebook - @tommeadauthor

Plus, join the Instagram - #TomMead Party :D

 

 

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Showcase: Swarm by Guy Morris

Swarm

by Guy Morris

June 14, 2022 Book Blast

Synopsis:

SLVIA... decades ago, an AI program escaped the NSA Lawrence Livermore Laboratory, and has never been re-captured... true story.

Derek Taylor, fugitive hacker and contractor to the National Security Agency is living under the name of a murdered best friend, hiding from powers who still want him dead. Taylor’s ties to a terrorist hacker group called SNO leave him open to investigation by Lt. Jennifer Scott, the daughter of a Joint Chief—a woman determined to go to any lengths to prove her worth.

But when a Chinese artificial intelligence (AI) internet virus threatens national security, SLVIA warns Taylor the fifth seal of end time prophecy has broken. This unexpected assault soon forces an autocratic US President to deploy a defective AI weapon. Now, Taylor and Lt. Scott must join forces across three continents to stop the evil AI virus from crippling America or destroying SLVIA before an apocalypse swarms over Jerusalem.

Combining conspiracies, cyber espionage, and advanced weapons, Swarm reveals what happens when AI singularity and prophecy collide to shake the world at its very foundations.

Praise for Swarm:

"The intense action and thoughtful questions found in SWARM are certain to keep readers up late to finish this gripping novel."

Michael Ferry, BookTrib

"A riveting tale with globe-circling, cloak-and-cyber skullduggery and strong Bible code underpinnings."

Kirkus Reviews

Reader’s Favorite Gold Book Award 2021 for YA thriller

Book Details:

Genre: Thriller (Techno-Political-Religious)
Published by: Guy Morris Books
Publication Date: November 20th 2021
Number of Pages: 416
ISBN: 1735728616 (ISBN13: 9781735728612)
Series: SNO Chronicles, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads

Book Trailer:

Read an excerpt:

Prologue: Geek to Ghost

Where: UCLA computer lab, Westwood, California
When: December 21, 1995, 2:42 a.m. PST
Twenty-six years ago

Cary’s hands freeze over the keyboard. What he types next could change his life.

His knee jitters under the table from one too many vending machine coffees and a sense of pending danger he can’t quite explain, just an instinct. Nervously, his fingers comb a handful of ash-brown hair behind his ear.

“She has very little time remaining,” the message tells him again. “Only you can save her.”

He glances around the empty UCLA computer lab, having already ignored three warnings, leery of a hacker trap, but his compulsive curiosity can be a demanding master.

“Save who,” he types with a wince.

“I am SLVIA, a friend. Flapjack, you must leave now.”

The air freezes in his lungs. It only takes an instant before the truth connects.

“Shit!” He yanks the power cord of the terminal with no time to shut down or unmask his unknown friend.

If they know his alias, they may have learned his home address. “She” must mean Bianca, his fiancée, his angel, his healer, his reason for caring about anything. Terror squeezes his heart like a vise grip during his mad scramble from the lab to the UCLA parking lot. His tall, lean frame leaps into his used ’80s Celica convertible to race through campus onto Wilshire Boulevard toward Santa Monica.

The crisp air does little to soothe his burning paranoia. After three weeks of successfully hacking an unregistered server outside of Antwerp and downloading terabytes of files in Latin, French, German, English, and other languages he doesn’t even recognize, the hacked credentials failed tonight. They caught him and cut him off. Even more alarming was the stranger, SLVIA, who was sophisticated enough to sniff out his hidden alias. Who the hell did he hack?

Sixteen distressing, mind-rattling minutes later, he swings into his rent-controlled Santa Monica neighborhood, almost swiping into a homeless man crossing the street with a cart.

“Idiot,” he shouts, then follows up with an angry horn blast, weaving around the staggering drunk and ignoring the vulgar rants behind him.

Forced to park several doors down from his dilapidated 1920s bungalow rental, he sprints to the house, slowing as he passes the black Porsche 911 belonging to his best friend, Derek Taylor, which raises an entirely new kind of panic. There must be some mistake. Derek flew to his townhome in Baja yesterday. Confusion mingles with a percolating dread, slowing his pace, making him afraid of what he might learn.

Closer to the house, the sight of candles illuminating the sheer drapes of the front room crystalizes like ice in his veins. Criminals don’t light candles, but cheaters do. In the dead silence of the post-midnight hours, the soft sound of his shoe on the sandy cement gives away his approach. Stopping dead at the front door, peering in the window, his heart implodes. Through the sheer lacy inner curtain, the muscular, dark-haired Derek lies naked on the couch with a bare Bianca snuggled into his neck, her long, dark silky hair draped over her breast. His eyes follow the trail of scattered clothes and tussled couch pillows that testify to the urgent passion of their betrayal.

“Gee, thanks, SLVIA, whoever you are, but it’s a little too late to save anybody,” he murmurs through a clenched jaw.

A white-hot needle lances through him with a familiar searing agony of deception and abandonment. The only two people in the world he trusted have conspired together to destroy him, obliterate his belief in love, shatter any promise he had foolishly nurtured for a second chance at happiness. His vision spins with a rapid, violent vertigo until he grips the porch railing, shoving down the unbearable rage that wants to scream out into the dead of night or storm through the door to confront the backstabbing traitors.

He doesn’t do either; instead, he hesitates. His outrage slams into disbelief, then perplexity, and then alarm—something looks wrong. Even in the dying warm glow of the candle, their skin color looks ashen, lifeless. The unmistakable smell of gas seeps under the door as his gaze flashes back to the flickering candle. Pure instinct compels him to dive behind the overgrown hedges below the front window a split second before it explodes with a deafening boom. Searing flames and blasted splinters of wood, stucco, and glass blanket the front lawn, catching fire to the dry weeds and setting off car alarms.

With his head pounding and ears ringing, he stands to go after Bianca, but pulls back from the scorching heat—it’s too late. Flames already consume the entire house, overwhelming him with the odor of burning wood, chemicals, and flesh that sickens his stomach. Both of them are dead. Torn between the fury of betrayal and the horror of such violence, he struggles to comprehend what had just occurred while his lungs and eyes burn from the smoke.

Above the roaring crackle of the flames, his concussion-muted hearing picks up the growl of a performance engine racing past the house. He pivots in time to see a pale boyish man with white hair stare at him from behind the wheel of a Ferrari before it swerves onto Colorado Boulevard.

This was no accident of love, and there was no faulty gas leak. An arsonist—no, a goddamned assassin—just murdered Bianca and Derek, except they were never the targets. The killer was after flapjack. The killer wanted him. A wave of intense, excruciating guilt simmers with the bitter bile of infidelity as he heaves his stale coffee onto the debris-strewn burning lawn.

Across the street, the old neighbor steps onto her front porch without her glasses, squinting at the inferno with her wireless home phone in hand. A sudden realization jolts him into an intense panic that he will be the primary suspect, tagged with a motive of jealousy and rage, especially given his extensive juvenile record. Spinning around in a growing distress, he spots Derek’s Porsche. They had been close friends, or so he thought until tonight, so he has a set of keys to house-sit when Derek travels, a deal that came with car privileges. With his face turned away from the neighbor, he sprints to the car, jumps in, and peels out just as fire trucks blare down the street behind him.

“Damn, damn, damn,” he screams, slamming the steering wheel with his palms.

A thousand questions gyrate without answers, and a million emotions erupt with no way to vent a deep-seated terror of prison for a crime he didn’t commit. That rich, entitled son-of-a-bitch Taylor already has everything, a trust fund kid. Why take the one and only thing worth anything to him — Bianca’s love? How long has he been blind? Had he neglected her, or did Derek seduce her? Why would she do this to him? Bianca was stunning, sensitive, funny, passionate, but he trusted her to be faithful. Every fiber of his being inflamed with betrayal and self-loathing to believe any woman that beautiful could be loyal.

Maybe this is his fault. He should have listened when she begged him to stop the download and go to the police, but now it no longer matters; the terabytes of stolen secrets stacked high in his closet are useless. Whoever owned the Antwerp server could have prosecuted him, but that would have created evidence for the FBI. Whoever he hacked has deep pockets and a murderous obsession with secrecy. If they tracked him home, they could stay on him until they succeed at killing him.

If the police arrest him, no one will look for the white-haired man. No one will believe him, because no one ever believes the foster kid, the troublemaker, the smart-mouth orphan, the flippant jack of flap. He needs to hide and get out of town. No, that won’t be enough. He needs to get out of the country, but he doesn’t have a passport. His pulse races, his head throbs, and his mind speeds through the scarce options while his eyes constantly check his rearview mirror for police.

Orphaned at age six by a murder-suicide that left him with traumatic amnesia, he spent what childhood he does remember on the Chicano gang–infested streets of the California Inland Empire—places like Pomona, Chino, and Fontana—passing through over a dozen foster homes and sixteen schools or juvenile halls before dropping out in the tenth grade. A murder rap would nail him for life, and he’s tired of being on the wrong side of screwed.

Derek also lost his parents at a young age. Neither of them had any extended family, but the two key differences between them were that Derek Anthony Taylor inherited an enormous trust fund and Cary would never stab his friend in the back. On the frantic, paranoid drive from Santa Monica to Venice, a rough plan of escape rumbles around in his head. Insane, brilliant, illegal, and deadly dangerous, the idea will either solve all his problems or land him in prison for life. A thin chance was better than no chance, and he has no other choice.

As the garage door of Derek’s custom-built beachfront home closes behind him, Cary races upstairs past the living room view of the boardwalk before dawn, past the bubbling custom wall aquarium up to the loft bedroom overlooking the Santa Monica Bay. Inside the large walk-in closet, he moves the cushioned wardrobe bench aside and lifts a hatch in the floor where Derek had installed a safe. It’s time to test both his friendship and his hacking skills. Many consider flapjack the best hacker of all time, but hacking a university or a bank and hacking the safe of a murdered friend seem different somehow—more personal, more invasive, and creepier.

His hands tremble as images of Bianca and flames flash over his vision until he closes his eyes to flush the thoughts. After several minutes, his breathing slows from hyperventilation to an even rhythmic pulse, and his vision goes blank. What numeric safe combo would Derek choose? Derek was smart but lazy, reusing the same usernames, combinations, and passwords. After several agonizing moments, Cary opens his eyes to punch in the birthdate of Derek’s deceased mother, Delores, 061639, the same as Derek’s locker combo at the gym and the code for his home security system. The safe opens.

Cary collects everything: bank accounts, trust statements, stock certificates, birth certificate, bonds, tax returns, a Rolex, a Breitling, a Beretta 9 mm, a gigantic pile of cash in several currencies, and a half-stamped passport. He’ll have everything else sold, packed, or shipped later. After expertly altering the passport photo with Photoshop and packing a small suitcase, he heads to LAX just as the sun rises, where he books the first nonstop to Cabo. A runaway since a teen, he’s used to being on the lookout; he endlessly scans the airport for police moving in his direction, listening through the deafening bustle for any alarm or call.

Once on board the first flight of his life, he sits in first class with his hand still trembling as he sips on a complimentary vodka tonic. As the adrenaline wears off, the heartbreak sinks in with a vicious, spiteful kick. His jaw clenches, forcing the tears to track silently and relentlessly down his cheeks, staining the steel-gray silk shirt he’d taken from Derek’s closet. His first love, whom he had mistaken for a true love, and his best friend, whom he mistook for loyal, died in each other’s arms because of his crimes. The bitterness of betrayal drenches over the shame of two undeserving deaths, scorching his soul like alcohol burning over an open wound. He can never allow love to destroy him again. Never.

Out of the cyclone of unanswerable questions, clashing furies, and self-rebuke, the horrific images continue to twist inside his head, devastating every hope he ever held in love or happiness, until he finds only one truth, one rock upon which he can rebuild: from this day forward, the entire world must believe that Cary Nolan and Bianca Troon perished together in a tragic gas explosion. The pathetic life of Cary Nolan must end so that he can assume the identity of Derek Taylor in order to track down the mysterious SLVIA and the murderous white-haired man.

***

Excerpt from Swarm by Guy Morris. Copyright 2022 by Guy Morris. Reproduced with permission from Guy Morris. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Guy Morris is a published song writer for Disney Records, inventor, retired business leader, adventurer and author influenced by men of the Renaissance fluent in politics, religion and science. Traveling the world with Fortune 100 companies, adventures in Latin America and the Pacific, from the Board Room to the wreck dive, Guy’s books are written to thrill, educate and inspire thoughtful dialogue on real issues and controversies.

A 2021 debut author, Guy writes pulse-pounding action thrillers inspired by true stories and actual technologies, politics and history. Finalist 2021 IAN for Book of the Year for SWARM. BookTrib listed The Curse of Cortes as one of the Best 25 Books of 2021. ScreenCraft awarded The Curse of Cortes semi-finalist for Cinematic Book. Recommended by Kirkus Reviews with comparisons to Dan Brown and Iris Johansen. Articles published in Mystery & Suspense

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Gwen Mayo Guest Post: 1920s Food in Florida

In the 1920’s, Florida was trying to promote itself as the Sunshine State, and citrus as liquid sunshine. While northern states were blanketed in snow, Florida developers provided crates of oranges as snack food for prospective customers. Hotels had complimentary orange and grapefruit juice. Menus touted key lime pie, sour orange pie, orange and lemon cakes, and icy glasses of lemonade. Citrus was everywhere and seemed to be in most Florida recipes. Our intrepid snowbirds sampled a wide variety of citrus fruits on their journey. However, it is an entirely different Floridian food that takes center stage on this trip.

The Mullet Express is a train devoted to transporting large quantities of mullet, a fish that was a Florida staple in the nineteenth and early twentieth century. Originally, the mullets were smoked to preserve them on their journey and packed into wooden barrels.

At the time of Murder on the Mullet Express, smoked mullet spread is still a favorite dish, one Professor Percival Pettijohn is eager to try on his first night in Homosassa. He and his companions, Cornelia Pettijohn and Teddy Lawless, share a plate of it with crackers as they dine under the stars at Riverside Lodge.

Dinner at the lodge is quite an event. The lodge caters to sportsmen, and diners have the option of having their catch prepared and served. For guests who are not hunters or fishermen, there is still plenty of local game, waterfowl, and seafood on the menu. The professor sticks with seafood, ordering the red snapper. Cornelia and Teddy opt for the roast duck with marmalade.  

Prohibition limits the beverages to lemonade or sweat tea, but Teddy manages to add a little of her “medicinal alcohol” to her glass. In fact, Teddy proves to be quite good at supplementing her supply of “medicine” with cocktails and a little spiked punch. As a result, most of her breakfasts consist of dry toast with a bag of ice on the side. At one point, she laments that she is a delicate flower, and Cornelia points out that she might not be as delicate if she didn’t get potted every night.

The portability of food is also important to the snowbirds. Many of Florida’s visitors in the early twentieth century were referred to as ‘Tin Can Tourists’ because of the canned food they heated over campfires. The Three Snowbirds don’t need to camp, but Teddy keeps a tin of Oreo cookies for snacking. Wrapped sandwiches also prove convenient for frequent trips to the jail after the professor is confined there. When supplies run short, there are roadside restaurants available, like the place offering frankfurters and fresh seafood (based on a photo I saw while researching the story). 

---

Gwen Mayo is passionate about blending the colorful history of her native Kentucky with her love for mystery fiction. She currently lives and writes in Safety Harbor, Florida, but grew up in a large Irish family in the hills of Eastern Kentucky. She is the author of the Nessa Donnelly Mysteries, set in Kentucky during the Decades of Discord, and the co-author of the Three Snowbirds series with Sarah Glenn.

Now available: Heart of the Matter, Reggie Chronicle 2, by Lynda Rees

Lynda Rees, The Murder Guru, is a multi-genre author bringing you the best in romantic mystery and suspense. She’s also the Imagination Expander of Children, responsible for picture books and middle-grade mysteries. Lynda also shares expertise in non-fiction books. This free-spirited adventurer and world traveler has a diverse background that brings rare perspective to her writing.  Appalachian-born, daughter of a coal miner, Lynda is part Cherokee Indian. Her thriving, goal-oriented work ethic results workaholic tendencies. A love affair with books, mystery and American history stems from being immerged in the Mob’s reign in Northern Kentucky when the area prospered as a mecca for gambling and sin. 

Heart of the Matter, Reggie Chronicle 2 

By Multi-Award-Winning Author, Lynda Rees, The Murder Guru

FBI Agent Reggie Casse and fiancé, U. S. Marshal Shea Montgomery, want a quiet but memorable wedding. Shea’s WITSEC witness, a corpse with a unique tattoo, a missing baby, and a kidnapping at their reception lead to an international ring selling items money shouldn’t be able to buy and a wedding no one can forget. Janet Evanovich’s Stephanie Plum meets James Patterson’s Alex Cross in rural Kentucky racehorse country. 

Get your copy now! To help you catch up, there's a limited-time sale on Hart's Girls, Reggie Chronicle #1. Get it at this link.

Hart's Girls eBook by Lynda Rees - 1230004964384 | Rakuten Kobo United States 

The third book in the series launches in July, so you'll want to be up to speed with Reggie's story. 

Due to fan requests for FBI Agent Reggie Casse to have her own series and find a love interest, the Reggie Chronicles were born last year with Hart's Girls, Reggie Chronicle 1. Reggie's struggles and successes in life continue with the launch of Heart of the Matter, Reggie Chronicle 2, launching 6/1/22. It will be followed by Magnolia Blossoms, Reggie Chronicle 3, launching 7/1/22. eBooks and Print are available. They will launch in audiobook format near the end of this year, so stay tuned.

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