Monday, October 28, 2024

Book Blitz: A Thousand Flying Things by Kathryn Brown Ramsperger

A Thousand Flying Things
Kathryn Brown Ramsperger
(A Bridge Between Shores, #1)
Publication date: September 20th 2024
Genres: Adult, Historical

A Pulpwood Queen’s International Book of the Year
A Foreword Indies Winner
A Sarton Fiction Award Finalist
A Chanticleer’s Hemingway Award Finalist
A Royal Dragonfly First Place in Fiction Award

A love lost. A soul restored. A decade of secrets and separation.

It takes a child to lead them home.

American Dianna Calloway is committed to educating children in the thick of war-ravaged 1990s Southern Sudan. Hampered by disease, a corrupt government and a fierce tribal leader who is harboring a mysterious young boy, Dianna’s passionate calling to help others in a dangerous country is only complicated by the chance meeting of a long-lost love, Qasim. Faced with the choice to protect a child or reconnect with the man she still holds dear, Dianna must make the most difficult decision of her life. Or must she?

Dianna and Qasim can’t be more different. He’s a worldly Lebanese Muslim in his 40s, from a political family, and she’s a 30-something white Christian American. They’ve been challenged by geography, culture, trust, career, and the passing of time. Now there’s a young boy who’s stolen Dianna’s heart. She’ll do anything to get him a visa out of S. Sudan. But when her mother becomes ill, she leaves Africa physically, but her heart remains there, as if it alone can protect the man who loves her and the boy who needs her. What choice does she have now?

Dianna’s alone in Africa, and nothing is as it seems …
It may be that no one needs love more than Dianna …
But a young boy is about to show her the way back home …

Sweeping across continents and cultures, this captivating novel showcases Ramsperger’s work as a humanitarian journalist and will draw readers in with a gripping storyline, gritty details, and profound sensitivity. The novel is both timeless and timely, as war and climate change attack Sudan and S. Sudan once again. A Faulkner Wisdom Literary finalist and a Pulpwood Queen’s International Book of the Year, A Thousand Flying Things is a riveting, poignant read that will work to heal global misunderstandings and encourage conversations about perspectives and assumptions around race, country, and culture while also showing readers that love, not war, conquers all.

A Thousand Flying Things is the stirring, standalone second book in the A Bridge Between Shores women’s fiction series. If you like passionate characters, lyrical prose, and well-researched settings, then you’ll adore award-winning author Kathryn Brown Ramsperger’s international tale.


 

Goodreads / Amazon



February 14, 1991

Piecewood Displaced Persons Camp Near Bor, Southern Sudan

Dianna peeks through the smooth, worn canvas flap of her thatched hut. It’s only 30 days since she arrived. It might as well be 300. She pulls on a T-shirt and shorts for her daily run before the heat sets in. She runs no matter where she is. Here, the children, already awake, follow her. It’s a game to them. They’d never imagine her reason for it.

She began running to maintain weight. Then, she ran to forget her past. Now, she runs to avoid thinking about her future. The endorphin rush is better than food, much better than romance. It’s a multi-purpose tool for boredom, anxiety, strategizing, or blotting out thought.

These children mean everything to her because her presence in Africa is what she has left. She has a year to reach them. A year from now, most will join the fighting, or the dead. Reaching even one would be enough reward for the time spent in this restless, ragged heat. Reaching a few would be a miracle. Books are her only tool.

Her eye catches a motion in her peripheral vision. At first, she jumps. It’s a crouching animal, a hyena, or worse. But no, it’s a tiny boy, no more than five. She’s about to stop and ask him why he’s here, but he disappears into the predawn shadows. She keeps running, but she asks another boy who he is.

“Khalil,” the boy answers with a shrug.
“Why is Khalil here?”
“He is with Commander Biel.” She doesn’t like the sound of that. What warring tribal leader would bring a family member? He must have kidnapped him, or worse, bought him. She’ll have to tell her colleagues, especially the social worker, Mirembe, when they visit next month. But she’s not sure who she can trust. Most of her colleagues are five or more kilometers away, not that she minds. The U.N. has a new policy to enlist regional staff for its programs. “Teach a man to fish,” and all that. She can’t trust any of them—or anyone in the bush—white or Black, Muslim or Tribal, Arab or Dinka, aid worker or resident—until they prove their trustworthiness. That usually means divulging their allegiance in this layered war. It’s useless hoping to make friends here.

She’s certain now that her teaching is a diversion, that less than a kilometer away, these boys are being prepared to shoot rifles, even missiles. Biel is training them for his war and pretending to teach them to read. Yet perhaps she can save one or two lives.

She must be careful how she presents it to the woman called Mirembe at the delegation. Without Biel’s approval of her mission here at camp, Dianna will be sent home. The government wants her here, but Biel, he’s forced to let her teach to receive U.N. aid. She suspects he’s using her as a ruse for more international fund- ing. A shiver courses down her back with drops of sweat.

That afternoon, the boys straggle into the schoolroom, their mouths curving up when they see her, their dark eyes bright, their fingertips reaching into her pockets, searching for Life Savers or cigarettes she brought to make friends. They speak to her with their eyes instead of their mouths. Her suitcase full of bribes—piles of unboxed Marlboros—is almost empty. Her supposed students turn up their noses at anything, like a pencil, that they cannot inhale with their lungs or bellies.

They are still a bit young to be sticking needles in their arms, but that too will come, once they see some action. She’s observed the dull eyes of teenaged soldiers-in-training too many times to imagine these bright-eyed boys’ futures would turn out otherwise. Young combatants are a tradition and necessity here. Sudan has had conflict, usually civil war, since the late 1950s, when the country claimed independence from Britain and Egypt. They’ve been fighting here as long as she’s been alive. The boy soldiers, only slightly older than the students, are starving for food but laden with pharmaceu- ticals. They march through wasted grassland covering oceans of untapped petroleum. All their fighting will never yield a drop for them.

As she waits to begin, Dianna takes out an emery board, a vestige of home. Her nails are crooked and cracked from the heat, drawing water, and chopping weeds from around the doorway to her hut.

Funny how its rough, sandy surface, which echoes this world but also reminds her of home, comforts her. Right, left, right, left, she files down the nails until she reaches the skin where the nail ends and the finger begins.

She is filing when more children skip in, brandishing a knife, a rusty fishing hook, or a spent grenade.

“What?” an almost-adolescent boy asks, peering at the strange stick in her hands. It’s the first time she’s seen him.

Time and again, Dianna has explained. Time and again, the chil- dren fail to understand. “It’s a tool for my fingernails,” she tells him.

“Need?” he asks, shaking his head, either mystified or judgmental. The children may learn to read before they learn the use of a mani- cure utensil. Yet still, she files. It is her statement of faith.

Some boys don’t ever show. Dianna watches them performing their chores, eating their stewy, beany fu, preparing for nightfall, marching in formation. Still, these rations are infinitely better than the boiled leaves and grass they had before. They never meet her eye, and she knows not to push. They come to her only if their curiosity to learn overtakes their fear of their tribal leader Daniel Biel’s disapproval. These children owe everything, including their survival, to him.

She’s been on the receiving end of Biel’s judgment and wouldn’t want to be in the path of his anger. It arrives without warning like a snake coiled under the brush. He’s not happy she’s here. The government forced this relationship, probably to meet some sort of educational quota. Countries with abuses of human rights and low literacy rates don’t receive much international aid. He wants money to fund the military he’s building that’s full of children, and he’s getting it by calling his training ground a language school. She’s little more than a babysitter.

Biel’s a funny one. She can’t figure him out entirely. She’s seen him take time with each boy, ensuring they have enough to eat, that they are groomed, that they have moments of play in addition to work. He calls them his “little men.” They worship him, and so they fear getting close to her.

She stretches, rolling her head to get out the kinks, rubs off the cold sweat, flicks away a minute, insistent insect. She wanders outside to see if anyone else is showing up and notices a flowering bush she can’t remember being there yesterday. She strolls over to smell its perfume. Bending over the plant, she expects a jasmine blossom’s gentle, white scent. Instead, thousands of swarming in- sects fly every which way. She backs up, shocked, trying to avoid them, batting them away from her face. What she thought were white petals are flapping wings that have eaten any bud that tried to appear. Things in the bush are never as simple as they appear. Impressions of people are even more deceptive. Like Biel. Maybe like Mirembe at the delegation, too. Even though she likes her, she can’t trust her.

Today she’s reading from The Jungle Book, but none of them are listening. The few boys in front of her are exhausted before the day begins from yesterday’s hard work and training. They probably have little time in their day for fantasy stories with talking tigers and snakes. Nothing like their lives. Mowgli is Indian, and the story is implausible and sometimes racist. A colonialist wrote it over one hundred years ago.

She sees Thon sneer each time she reads the label “Man Cub.” She should have thought to call him Mowgli throughout. Twenty years ago, when she was about Thon’s age, Dianna fell in love with this novel because of its foreignness, its animals, and its message, but it’s not what she should be reading aloud here.

“This book was written a very long time ago, and it’s about a jungle, not Sudan,” she explains, her gaze fixed upon Thon.

“Men are not animals,” the boy answers, picking at his front tooth with a blade of grain.

She nods in agreement and puts down the book, but Alier protests. “I want to hear what happens to the boy!”

“Shhhhh!” The entire room shushes him and shames him. His head hangs down.

She looks around the room. “We call this story a fable. It’s meant to have a message. It’s not meant to be reality but to reflect reality. Shall I continue?” she asks no one in particular, least of all Alier, though he gives her a pleading glance.

Chol rests his chin on his hands, almost asleep. Jok’s eyes wander around the room. Mabior comes up to her “desk,” made of two crates, and tries to dig into her pocket a second time. She hears the first threads rip from cloth. There, he’s ruined her jeans.

“Stop it!” Dianna hisses at him and almost slaps his hand but catches herself. He’s just a child, and she can’t afford to make enemies here. She catches his eye. He’s laughing at her. She feels new sweat trickling down from her forehead to the wrinkled crow’s foot that’s getting deeper beside her left eye, to the nape of her neck to the bare part of her blistered shoulder. Abe, almost a teen, sucks on an unlit cigarette. She doesn’t allow them to smoke in her presence, even though she’s their dealer. At least she’s kept that much under her control.

School is over for her as much as for them. They’ve been here almost an hour. She slams the book shut and drops it with a thud on her crates.

After class, the boys play football with an ancient, deflated soccer ball. They use tent poles as goal posts and the younger boys as goalies. She brings her old Polaroid camera out. The boys drop their football and race toward this contraption, a camera from
her past, but an object these boys have never seen. The resulting yellow, blurred images create quite a stir in this little camp. The children love to see themselves. They delight in making faces for the camera. They even primp sometimes, hoping she will choose to snap one of them. It is more than a conversation starter; it is a showstopper, marketing her words with their pictures.

She lets the boys roam around the pile of dusty photos and moves back to the shade of the canopied “schoolroom.” Its stale air reminds her of her days in her North Carolina frame house, pre-air conditioning. As a girl, she lay in her four-poster, the air settling above her bed like a bubble too thick to prick. Moist but unyielding, it hovered as she lay in wait to leave that bedroom, that house, just as she is standing by to leave this place. She lets her thoughts unravel, barely noticing the boys at play.

She is hard pressed to determine which makes her feel emptier. This “schoolroom” is not much more than a tent. On rainy days, they must retreat to the tiny cinderblock closet of books,which is even more stifling. At least in North Carolina, she could visit the library. Books could make her forget the heavy air, the heat electrifying her spine, her mother lying down in the next room, in her own sort of limbo. Books could even rid her of the pain of her monthly cycle or empty stomach when she was sent to her room without dinner. Reading’s more important than running. Reading is more import- ant than food. It fills the emptiness of this place when she longs for love and attention. Yet would words ever mean as much to these boys as they did to Dianna? Would they lay down their rifles to turn the pages of the books she provided? Her mind pushes against the languid heat that presses her into the earth, and her lungs try to take in more air. The smell of overused cooking oil, reminiscent of the many meals fried in it, cuts the air like a scythe. She longs for just one ice cube. That is when she sees a young child’s hand.

The hand waves at her from behind a large nearby rock. Flat on top, nature’s idea of a throne, the stone hides the rest of the child’s body. The hand itself, though, is a work of art. It is a hand a hyena could tear off with one swift chomp. Tiny, ragged fingernails, dirt caked over hidden fingerprints, flies buzzing this way and that. Yet the wrist is another thing altogether. Smooth and shiny and strong. She takes up her Polaroid and begins snapping. The shutter clicks, and the photos whirl out until the film is gone. They fall at her feet, creating a small dust storm. The specks float suspended in the air, then rest one by one on the photos.

She wants to wash his hands to see what lies beneath this grime, so she walks around the rock obscuring the body that owns this miniature man’s hand. It’s the boy from this morning.

“Hello?” She wonders if he will understand even that simple greeting.

“Hey,” he answers.

Her eyes go wide. How does he know that word? Most boys know “hi” or “hello,” but seldom use it because she greets them in their own language. And this boy looks barely old enough to speak many words at all.

“I teach myself book.” The boy smiles. “You help?”

“Do you speak English?” Dianna fumbles in a mixture of English, Arabic, and Dinka.

“Engoish.” The little boy smiles again, attempting to mimic her sounds. Then, he slaps her hand with his, reaches in her pocket, finds an English tea biscuit, and pops it whole into his mouth. “Tank.”

Dianna laughs at the mispronunciation, wondering how long it took him to learn the sentence he greeted her with. Her heart is in her ears. She may have found her student.

“Name?” she asks.
“Annee,” he answers.
She laughs again, this time a broad, imp-like Dianna laugh, a laugh she barely recollects.
“No, that’s my name. I’m Dianna.” Her fingers point to her chest, correcting him, showing him that this is how to pronounce her name. His beautiful, muddy palm slips around them. “You?” She points at his chest.

“Ka. Leel,” he answers, sounding it out just as she did for him. She does not know if both words form his name, whether it is a varia- tion of some Nuer pronoun, or whether he has made it up himself.

“You mean this name?” She writes it out for him in the sand, and he nods. “How do you know my name?” she asks.

He doesn’t understand the question. He simply stares at her with a certain fascination. Biel must have mentioned her to some of the boys. That was a good sign.

Khalil giggles, and his broad smile, still with its baby teeth, makes her want to hug him, but she doesn’t. It is possible he was plucked from his village before he even answered to the name his mother called him. Many of these boys were orphans, and still, others were sent away, pawning, they called it. They were lent to others so that they—and the rest of the family—would not starve. The official word was that they were child laborers. Yet turning over this practice to reveal its dirty underside showed a far grimmer picture: slaves, sex slaves, child soldiers. Sacrifices, yet sacrifices with the hope of a fuller belly, and fuller for the conscripts than for their parents.

They walk hand in hand toward the canopy. They plop onto the ground, and he curls his elbow into her lap. Polaroid pictures look up at them through the earth like a faded carpet. Khalil picks up his image and squints. “Khalil?” he asks.

“Khalil.” Dianna puts away her camera while smiling at his realization that he is the subject of the photograph. She chooses a book from a nearby stack, opens it to page one, and begins to read. As she mouths each word, he repeats it after her. He points at the detailed illustrations of leafy branches and curvy women in full skirts and stays. He points at the letters. Beatrix Potter’s bunnies and hedgehogs dance in a land of cobras and hippos. He’s interested in books! She wants to get to know him, help him succeed.

She has just broken a professional and personal credo—never get close to anyone again, especially not a client or student. She smiles in dazed but sated wonder. She always thought it would be a tall, dark man walking through camp who posed the most risk to her heart. And here, this little boy has grabbed it with one sentence and a few fingers. She will give him a good washing, make sure he is free from parasites, give him a T-shirt and a book all his own. Tomorrow, she will speak to Biel. This boy could not possibly be old enough for military training.

Khalil seems in awe of her classroom, the only one of its kind in the camp. He runs his hands over the wall and floor, and his deep-set, round eyes rove up and down again. People here at camp reside in thatched mud huts or sleep under flimsy tents. Many boys sleep in the open air. This “schoolhouse” has one cinderblock wall, though the other sides are open to the air. His delicate hands glide over each brick’s cold, rough surface, one by one, as though it were a sculpture. If he even knows what a sculpture is. She fills a vat with all the cold water they can haul, pours soap into it, and orders him in. Khalil is having none of it. He is not getting his uniform wet. He crouches in the corner, still all smiles, but head wagging from side to side, “No.” She hauls him in his strange uniform, which resembles ragged shorts and surgical scrubs more than fatigues, and dumps him into the vat. He couldn’t weigh more than forty pounds, but he is arms and legs and sharp nails, flailing, no other sound. Then he is still as she pours the soapy water over him—and scrubs, scrubs his work-torn fingernails. He relaxes and blows bubbles. And gradually, the smooth, burnished skin shines through.

Kathryn Brown Ramsperger began her writing career with newspapers, then investigative reporting. As a researcher and writer for National Geographic and Kiplinger, and later, as a humanitarian journalist working throughout Europe, Africa, and the Middle East, she met countless courageous people facing disaster, famine, and war. Their stories inspired both of Kathryn's novels. Kathryn now lives in Maryland suburbs of Washington, DC with her husband. They have two adult children, bound for their own creative adventures.

Book Blitz: Marrying the Mechanic by Shanna Hatfield

Marrying the Mechanic: A Small-Town Clean Romance
Shanna Hatfield
(Summer Creek, #7)
Publication date: October 24th 2024
Genres: Adult, Contemporary, Romance

A heartwarming journey of love, growth, and the bonds that tie hearts together even when life leads down unexpected paths.

Mechanic Jace Easton grapples with the sudden changes happening around him. His younger sister, Tassie, has always relied on him, but now she’s off traipsing around the globe with the prince of her dreams. As Tassie prepares to step into her future, Jace is confronted with the harsh truth that she has matured, and so has her best friend, Deena. The deepening attraction he feels for Deena—a pull that becomes increasingly difficult to ignore—leaves him further unsettled and struggling to accept his new reality.

Deena Durant may earn her living welding farm equipment, but her true passion lies in crafting metal sculptures. Alongside her artistic dreams, she clings to the hope that Jace might eventually see her as more than his sister’s friend. Until then, she conceals her feelings and does her best to encourage him as everything familiar shifts into unchartered territory.

When Jace and Deena work together to help Tassie’s dreams come true, will they discover their own path to true love?

Marrying the Mechanic is a celebration of unexpected love, personal growth, and the power of relationships in a wholesome, small-town romance.

Goodreads / Amazon

“Have you talked to Tassie recently?” Deena asked as they headed out of town.

“Last Sunday. She and the prince were on their way to dinner with one of his brothers.” Jace glanced over at Deena, who seemed to get prettier by the minute. “Why? Have you heard from her?”

“Just a few texts and photos. She sent one yesterday of her and Eli with two of his grown nephews. They were heading to Paris for a festival.”

Jace felt a prick of annoyance that Tassie kept Deena more updated on her travel plans than she did him. Then again, he couldn’t blame his sister. Most of their communication started and ended with him asking when she was coming home and reminders to be careful and safe and to not trust strangers.

He probably sounded like a lame recording set to repeat.

No wonder Tassie only called him once a week and rarely sent a text. It was his own fault for acting overbearing and no doubt coming off as angry, even if he was. Tassie wasn’t the one who’d stirred his ire. Most of that ferocity was directed at himself, with a substantial portion attributed to the stupid prince with the charming smile who had turned everything in Jace’s world upside down.

Well, maybe not everything.

Deena was her own kind of surprise. Jace had yet to decide if the changes in her were of the good or bad variety.

A touch drew his gaze to where Deena’s hand rested on his forearm. He debated shaking it off or covering those long fingers with his own dirty paw. Instead of following either inclination, he focused on her sunglasses even though all he could distinguish was a reflection of himself.

With his face red from the heat and too much time in the sun, compounded by his current embarrassment, it was a vision he didn’t really need to see.

“Don’t beat yourself up if Tassie is doing her own thing,” Deena said with a note of encouragement in her smooth voice. “This is what she’s always wanted. What’s she’s dreamed about her entire life. All we need to do is be happy for her. Right?”

“Right,” Jace said, although he’d rather offer a dozen reasons why Tassie was going to eventually come home with a broken heart. Her experiences with Eli were going to make it that much harder to live in Summer Creek when this … whatever was going on with his sister and the prince, came to an end.

Deena’s eyebrow lifted above her sunglasses again, as though she knew exactly what he was thinking. She refrained from commenting, though, and pulled a U-turn in the road, stopping behind his service rig.

“Want me to wait for you to make sure you get it running?” she asked.

“No. I won’t keep you longer than I already have, but thank you for the ride both ways. I appreciate it.”

“No problem, Jace. Call if you can’t get it to start, and I’ll come get you.”

He would rather chew glass than call Deena for help in his current frame of mind, but he swallowed down the refusal and nodded at her. “Thanks. Have fun at the baby shower.”

“I intend to. Bye, Jace.”

He hopped out, lifted the tools and creeper from the back, then let Cleo deliver a sloppy lick to his cheek. It was the closest he’d come to a kiss for a long, long time.

Whitney loves to laugh, play with her kids, bake, and eat french fries -- not always in that order.

Whitney is a multi-award-winning author of romcoms, non-fiction humor, and middle reader fiction. Basically, she writes whatever the voices in her head tell her to.

She lives in the beautiful Pacific Northwest with her husband, Jimmy, where they raise children, chickens, and organic vegetables.

Gold Medal winner at the International Readers' Favorite Awards, 2017.

Silver medal winner at the International Readers' Favorite Awards, 2015, 2016.

Finalist RONE Awards, 2016.

Finalist at the IRFA 2016, 2017.

Finalist at the Book Excellence Awards, 2017

Finalist Top Shelf Indie Book Awards, 2017


 

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Sunday, October 27, 2024

Book Blitz and Giveaway: Killer Motives by Bonnie Traymore

Killer Motives
Bonnie Traymore
Publication date: April 14th 2022
Genres: Adult, Mystery, Suspense

“A riveting, pulse-pounding, adrenaline rush of a thriller. Do not miss this book!” – Noelle W. Ihli, author of Gray After Dark

Readers’ Favorite 2023 Silver Medal Award Winner, Mystery-Murder
Audiobook Reviewer 2023 Best Mystery Award

Victoria’s life isn’t as perfect as it seems. But with two homicide detectives on her doorstep, it’s about to get a lot worse.

Still reeling from the shocking discovery that her husband is having a passionate affair with his real estate client, Victoria struggles to process the mind-blowing news that Nick’s lover is dead—brutally murdered in cold blood on the very same evening she uncovered the truth.

And now two detectives are on her doorstep, waiting to question both of them. Is she a suspect?

With little hard evidence and no shortage of suspects with “killer motives,” Detectives Jack Stark and Lexi Sanchez are under intense pressure to solve the high-profile murder case that rocks the picturesque village of Tarrytown just as the town is gearing up for the area’s annual Halloween festivities and an influx of tourists.

As Victoria sets out to clear herself and find out the truth, she’s faced with two terrifying possibilities—either her husband is a murderer or someone is out to get them.

Conflicted about her marriage and emotionally raw, she sets out to find the truth about what happened that night.

But does she really want to know?

Perfect for fans of Shari Lapena, Jeneva Rose, Sarah Pekkanen, Kaira Rouda, or Shalini Boland.

Add to Goodreads / Pre-order

Victoria was home working off some nervous energy as she put the dishes away and wiped yesterday’s smudges off the white Shaker cabinet doors. Out the kitchen window, the sun sparkled magically on the Hudson River reflecting the scarlet and gold of the fall foliage clinging to its steep banks. Her melancholy mood from the evening before had turned to excitement, bolstered by a bit too much caffeine on an empty stomach and her Alanis jams playing in the background. She had already called her attorney and had an appointment for next week. She would put all that out of mind until then. Today, she had a meeting scheduled at her office at eleven this morning, an important one, and her benefit dinner tonight. It was now half past nine and she needed to get going. She was almost finished emptying the dishwasher in her methodical manner–only a few cups were left–when her cell phone vibrated against the granite island countertop, its dark surface blending in with the stone. She reached over to grab it. There was a text from her husband: It’s an emergency. Call me.

There were also three missed calls from him and a voicemail. Nick was not given to hyperbole. Quite the opposite. He was actually a bit too laid back, never worrying much about anything. He had never sent a text like that before. She called immediately, not bothering to check her voicemail, putting it on speaker as she finished her chores.

“Vic?” His voice was soft, almost apologetic. He didn’t seem hurt or in danger.

“Nick. What is it?” She felt mildly annoyed, already.

“I have something to tell you, and I’m warning you it’s pretty shocking.” Was he actually going to confess about the affair now? Over a cell call? That was totally unlike him.

“I have to get to work, Nick. What’s so urgent?” She was starting to wish she’d ignored his text.

“My client. From the Shady Hill property. The one I went to see last night? The police called me. She was found dead. At her house. This morning.”

Victoria placed the last clean mug on the counter. Dead? A heart attack or something? No. The police wouldn’t call Nick for something like that. There had to be more to it. She picked up the phone and took it off speaker.

“What happened?” She wasn’t sure she wanted to know the answer.

“I don’t know, but a homicide detective is meeting me at the house any minute now. They called and wanted to meet with me in person. ‘See if I could shed some light on it,’ was how he put it. Jeff told me to meet them at our house, not at the station.”

“Homicide? She was murdered?” Victoria had to hand it to Nick. This certainly reached the bar of ‘emergency.’

“They didn’t say that, exactly. He said he’d tell me more in person. I don’t know much more than you do at this point. What if I was the last person to see her alive, Vic?” Nick’s voice was shakier now, almost panicky.

“So? You’re certainly not responsible for her death?”

“That’s what Jeff said.”

“What does Jeff have to do with this? You called Jeff before you called me?” She thought that sounded like the actions of a guilty person, reaching out to your attorney friend. But guilty of what?

“He’s an attorney! And he knows her! I told you, remember? They had that law suit going. Let’s not do this now. Please!” His tone was harsher now, devoid of sentimentality. “I just wanted to give you a heads-up. The detective might get there before I do. They’ll probably want to question you too. Tell them I’m on my way. I’d appreciate some support. I’m your husband, Victoria, please try to remember that.” He hung up.

She picked up the mug she’d left on the counter, looking out to the sun’s rays sparkling on the Hudson, her thoughts suspended in the timeless currents of the flowing river. It was all starting to hit her now, just what a disaster this was. The photos that were supposed to liberate her from the marriage were now a liability, potentially placing her at a crime scene. What do detectives look for? Means, motive, and opportunity? She had two out of three for now. Should she be worried? And what about Nick? He was acting strangely last night, and she’d attributed it to a guilty conscience. The affair, she assumed. But could it have been more? She knew Nick wasn’t overtly violent, but anyone could commit murder given the right circumstances. What if the woman had gotten pushy? Demanding? Threatening? How far would Nick go to protect what was his? She needed time to think, consult with an attorney. But she didn’t have the luxury of time.

The gate buzzer sounded, jolting her out of her stupor, and the mug slipped from her hand, shattering into pieces on the travertine tile floor. She quickly picked up the big chunks, but the shards of porcelain would have to wait.

Bonnie Traymore is the Amazon Bestselling author of seven domestic/psychological thrillers. Her thrillers feature strong but relatable female protagonists who peel back the layers of suburban American life and give readers a peek inside. The plots explore difficult topics such as jealousy, infidelity, murder, and the impact of psychological disorders, but she also includes bits of romance and humor to lighten the mood from time to time. She's an active status member of International Thriller Writers and Mystery Writers of America.

Bonnie has a doctorate in United States history and has taught at top independent high schools as well as Columbia University and the University of Hawaii. Originally from the NYC area, she resides in Honolulu with her family.

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram

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Book Blitz and Giveaway: Chase the Dark by Annette Marie

Chase the Dark
Annette Marie
(Steel & Stone, #1)
Publication date: October 25th 2024
Genres: Adult, Fantasy, Romance, Urban Fantasy

Piper Griffiths wants one thing in life: To become a Consul, a keeper of the peace between humans and daemons. There are three obstacles in her way.

The first is Lyre. Incubus. Hotter than hell and with a wicked streak to match. His greatest mission in life is to annoy the crap out of her, but he isn’t as harmless as he seems. The second is Ash. Draconian. Powerful. Dangerous. He knows too much and reveals nothing. Also, disturbingly attractive — and scary. Did she mention scary?

The third is the Sahar Stone. Top secret magical weapon of mass destruction. Previously hidden in her Consulate until thieves broke in, went on a murder spree, and disappeared with the weapon.

And they left Piper to take the fall for their crimes.

Now she’s on the run, her dreams of becoming a Consul shattered and every daemon in the city gunning to kill her. She’s dead on her own, but there’s no one she can trust — no one except two entirely untrustworthy daemons … See problems one and two.

Goodreads / Kickstarter

About the Kickstarter campaign

Celebrate the 10th anniversary of Annette Marie’s gritty epic urban fantasy universe, Steel & Stone, with luxurious collector’s editions. The first of two campaigns, this one will feature the Spell Weaver trilogy and the first book in the Steel & Stone series, Chase the Dark.

The Steel & Stone universe encompasses the Spell Weaver Trilogy (three books) and the Steel & Stone Series (five books). These 10th anniversary special editions include:

  • The first book in the Steel & Stone series: Chase the Dark including all-new scenes and POVs
  • All three Spell Weaver titles: The Night Realm, The Shadow Weave, The Blood Curse
  • Iridescent foil stamping on faux-leather hardcovers
  • Four different double-sided and embossed dust jackets
  • New interior design
  • Hand-signed by Annette
  • Colored & textured endpapers
  • Sprayed/printed edges
  • Unique metal bookmark, stickers, and more! (More via stretch goals)
Piper dropped to her knees beside the vent and listened to the sound of claws on metal. A soft thump came from the other side of the wall.

She looked up. She was sitting right outside Ash’s room. The dragonet had run straight to Daddy.

Unmoving, Piper contemplated the door. Ash was somewhere behind it. Was he asleep? What were the chances she could sneak in and retrieve the ring box without him noticing?

She considered it for half a second. Yeah, zero.

Before she could come up with a better plan, the door popped open. Framed in the threshold, Ash looked toward the sitting room. Then he glanced down, saw her sitting at his feet, and blinked.

Piper shot up, struggling to keep her gaze on his face. He wore a loose, sleeveless shirt that clung to the planes of his chest and left the sweep of heavy muscles on his arms bare, his fair skin flawlessly smooth in the shadows. The only other thing he wore was black cotton pants.

With a soft chirp, the dragonet hopped off the doorframe and landed on his shoulder, its golden eyes trained on Piper.

“What are you doing?” Ash asked, breaking the oh-so-awkward silence.

Piper shivered as his deep tones slid through her. How did his voice do that? Fear tickled her stomach, reminding her that she’d never been alone with him before.

Drawing herself up, she looked him square in the eye. “Your dragonet snuck into my room and stole something from me.”

His eyes held hers, and his gray irises dimmed to the color of storm clouds. Piper was abruptly aware of how dangerously close she was standing, barely a foot of space between their bodies. She was also aware of how much taller he was, the top of her head barely reaching his chin, and how his biceps were double the circumference of her arms.

The air felt hot and electric, the hallway darker than it’d been a moment before, and adrenaline flooded her bloodstream.

She was an idiot. Such an idiot.

Annette Marie is the best-selling author of The Guild Codex, an expansive collection of interwoven urban fantasy series ranging from thrilling adventure to hilarious hijinks to heartrending romance. Her other works include YA urban fantasy series Steel & Stone, its prequel trilogy Spell Weaver, and romantic fantasy trilogy Red Winter.

Her first love is fantasy, while fast-paced adventures and tantalizing forbidden romances are her guilty pleasures. She lives in the frozen winter wasteland of Alberta, Canada (okay, it's not quite that bad) with her husband and their furry minion of darkness—sorry, cat—Caesar. When not writing, she can be found elbow-deep in one art project or another while blissfully ignoring all adult responsibilities.

To find out more about Annette and her books, visit www.annettemarie.ca

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Twitter / Instagram


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Saturday, October 26, 2024

Book Blitz and Giveaway: How to Solve a Murder with a Grump by Laura Pauling

How to Solve a Murder with a Grump
Laura Pauling
Publication date: October 8th 2024
Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Mystery, Romance

Barrie:

I am determined to make my best friend’s wedding weekend perfect. That includes editing the best man’s speech and making sure he doesn’t drink too much.
Except, he’s the worst kind of grump with a capital G.
Not only that but when this perfect wedding unravels, I find myself the object of his wrath.
He blames me.
So I run.
And I’m wearing the wedding dress. (Don’t ask.)
As I hide out in a small town, following my dreams, I stumble upon a decades-old murder mystery.
Turns out texting the grump might be my only lifeline. And I’m definitely not flirt-texting. Nope. Not me.
Because falling for a grump can only lead to a broken heart.
Right?

Miles:

For the record, I am not a grump.
It’s not me. It’s them.
It’s women.
I’m looking forward to the wedding this weekend. My best friend is getting married.
And the maid of honor texts me.
Not just once.
Oh, no, because that would be much too sensible. Nope. Try a dozen. It felt like a hundred.
I can tell by a glance at the texts that she’s one of those micro-managing, in your business, thinks-she-knows-everything type of woman.
Forget it.
I don’t want her number. I don’t want coffee. I don’t want a date.
I don’t want a single conversation.
Okay, fine. I’m a grump.
But can you blame me?

How to Solve a Murder with a Grump is a full-length hilarious romantic mystery with a swoony, heart-thumping, happily-ever-after kind of ending complete with glitter bombs, snapping turtles (imaginary or not), a decades-old murder, and grand romantic gestures.

Goodreads / Amazon

I take one look at him. Oh yeah, he’s a grump.

Definitely.

But I don’t have time for grumps right now.

You see, I’m running late and the elevator is taking forever to get to the bottom floor. My best friend is getting married in two days, and I’m the maid of honor. I’m trying to compose a text to the best man so we can talk about the speeches. I should’ve reached out to him ages ago, but this weekend came fast. It snuck up on me.

Then, a man near me clears his throat, like he’s trying to send me a message. I take one look at him.

No doubt in my mind he’s a Mr. Grumpy Pants, because I can pick them out a mile away. They’re easy to spot once you know the signs.

Of course, sometimes you’ll get lucky. You’ll make a quick exit. Or he’ll spill his coffee. Someone else will grab his attention.

But there will be times you have to interact with this particular species of men.

Just so you know, there are many ways to deal with a grump. I could write a book on it.

First, don’t be fooled by those flashing white teeth and sexy smirks. Don’t be fooled by a blue shirt, almost the color of tropical ocean water that offsets the gray of his eyes. Don’t be fooled by the rippling muscles underneath the blue shirt.

Nope.

Sexy grumps are the most dangerous, because they’ll steal your heart then stomp all over it.

I write about spies, murder, and mystery. I love a lot of things about writing and reading stories that have mystery and romance. I love the puzzle of a whodunnit and witty banter between characters who love to hate each other. Especially, when they don’t know they are falling in love.

There are about a gazillion books in the wilds of Amazon and maybe half of them are mysteries. If you want to make sure you know when I have a new release in a current series or the start of a new series then visit www.laurapauling.com and sign up for my newsletter.


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Book Blitz and Giveaway: Emerald Isle by Kasonndra Leigh

Emerald Isle
KaSonndra Leigh
(Path Seekers, #2)
Publication date: October 24th 2024
Genres: Adult, Paranormal, Suspense

A year ago, Tandie Harrison learned she was a Pathseeker, a shaman who can manipulate time. With the help of her soulmate, Eric Fontalvo, she was able to break a 300-year-old curse. Now she has established herself as a private paranormal investigator in the quiet little old southern town of Bolivia, North Carolina. With the past behind her, she’s prepared to embark on a new journey of love and success.

However, the past has a way of coming back to haunt you when you least expect it. Enter Saul Chelby: the handsome real estate tycoon who stepped aside to allow Tandie happiness with Eric. Now a new entity threatens everything Tandie, Saul, and Eric worked to conquer. Will Tandie and Eric’s newly reignited love will pass this latest test?

Love, ghosts, witches, old houses, handsome heroes, and a secret that will threaten everything Tandie and Eric fought to achieve. The Emerald Isle, a Paranormal Time Travel Mystery.

Goodreads / Amazon


Waves from the Atlantic Ocean pummeled the coastline of the small dune known as Shelly Island. A scent like rotten eggs drifted past them. The sun’s last rays gave way to nighttime’s watery embrace.

A strange pang lit up her chest. Something behind that window called Alyssa. Or rather some force called to the supernatural side of her, a gift to call upon spirits, passed down through the females in her family. Alyssa had impressed her future sorority mates with tales of the way she attracted ghosts. Going inside and calling up one shouldn’t be a big deal, right?

The initiation included calling up the spirit and taking photos. Alyssa removed her phone from her pocket and aimed the lens at the structure. Darkness loomed around the trio, and she stilled her thudding heart.

“Let’s get these photos done,” Alyssa said.

“We can leave Rodney out here to keep watch. I don’t want him puking all over the floor and making us fall,” Chris said.

“Screw you.” Rodney stood tall. “I can do this.”

“No one’s leaving anyone,” Alyssa said. “We do this thing together.”

Alyssa and her friends turned toward the strange house and went up the stairway. The house cried out in pain.

“Make sure we don’t fall through the floor,” Chris said, his confident look replaced by worry. He pushed on the first step and hesitated.

Alyssa turned to Chris. “Now who’s the pussy?”

“Yeah, right. I got yours right here.” Chris grabbed his crotch and shook it.

“Oh, please.”

Alyssa wouldn’t let the thought of going inside in the dusk bother her. At night, a demon prowled the area. Or so they said. Sharks washed up on shores at the oddest times. The so-called demon was probably one of those beasts thrashing about.

She turned the knob. The door creaked open. A pungent scent of rot and mold wafted out, engulfing the three friends. It was time for the séance.

Alyssa led the way inside the dark and musty structure. The floorboards creaked underfoot with every step, as though the house was alive and protesting their intrusion. Though she tried to stifle it, a feeling of unease creeped up her spine. This was different than anything she had ever experienced before. It was almost as if the house was alive and watching them.

Chris shone his flashlight around the room, illuminating piles of discarded furniture and debris. The air was thick with dust, making it difficult to breathe without coughing.

“This place is creepy,” Rodney said. “I don’t think we should be here.”

“Don’t be such a wimp,” Alyssa snapped, her nerves beginning to fray.

“Let’s just get this over with,” Chris interrupted. “What do we do first?”

Alyssa pulled out a bag of candles and matches from her backpack. “We light the candles and begin the séance.”

They found a small, decaying table in the center of the room and set the candles on top. Alyssa lit them one by one, watching as the flames flickered and danced in the dark. She closed her eyes and took a deep breath, letting her mind clear as she focused on calling forth the spirit of the master.

“May the spirits of the other world hear our call,” she said in a low, steady voice. “We ask that you come forth and make yourself known to us.”

At first, nothing happened. The only sounds were those of the candles flickering and the winds outside. But then, Alyssa felt a cold breeze brush against her skin and a low, guttural growl filled the air. The table began to shake as though something was trying to push its way through from the Otherworld into this one.

Suddenly, a figure appeared in front of Alyssa, appearing out of nowhere. It was tall and shadowy, with glowing red eyes that seemed to pierce right through her. The chill of terror ran through Alyssa’s veins as the smoky figure grew. It moved with a swift, eerie silence that sent chills up her spine. Then an inhuman howl pierced the darkness, echoing off the trees and sending a shockwave of dread that froze Alyssa and her friends to the spot. Before she could react, the mysterious figure vanished into thin air.

“Guys, listen,” Rodney said.

Alyssa stood and walked outside. “You hear that?”

“I thought this island was deserted.” Chris turned to Alyssa.

“What are you looking at me for? Rodney was supposed to check.”

Two more howls cut through the silence. The wind picked up, and the waves crashed against the shores harder than before. The full moon pushed her hand against the water.

“We need to go back,” Rodney said.

This time, neither Alyssa nor Chris teased him about the suggestion.

All three kids turned toward the growing fog surrounding the house. A damp and rancid smell, one that was even stronger than the scent of wet wood coming from the house, filled the air.

“All right, we’re going back to the boat,” Alyssa announced, punching in the ferryman’s number on her cell phone.

No one hesitated as Alyssa walked away from the house, and Rodney and Chris followed close behind her.

Another howl sliced through the air. The wind screeched an eerie wail, adding to the burgeoning feeling of terror inside Alyssa’s belly.

“I can’t see a damn thing,” Rodney said.

The group headed toward the spot where the boat should’ve been. However, the pier sat empty.

“Thought you said this was the spot?” Chris turned on Alyssa, his face swollen with rage. “I never should have listened to you. This shit’s gonna get us killed.”

“Shut up and let me think!” Alyssa said.

The fog thickened, and the chill caressed Alyssa’s skin. The touch almost felt human.

She shook off the thought and focused on the situation.

At once, Chris’s body went airborne, his screams echoing through the air. Wails of terror.

“What the fuck?” Rodney asked in a strained voice.

“Stay close to me!” Alyssa shouted. The fog thickened and stung her eyes. “Chris! Where are you?”

Meet your word sculptress...

Author of the International bestselling novels, the Prelude and the Lost Immortals Saga, KaSonndra is also a mother, designer, reader, gardener, home renovator, and a slayer of undead Egyptian mummies in Tomb Raider. She believes in karma, coffee, and seriously wishes that the producers of Xena would bring her favorite show back.

KaSonndra was born in the race-car city of Charlotte, NC, and now lives in the City of Alchemy and Medicine, NC, when she's not hanging out in Bardonia (Lost Immortals Saga setting). Most of her characters are based on people that she has met throughout her travels and adventures.

People tend to stop and start conversations with KaSonndra as if she has known them her entire life. Does this freak her out? Not really. Her mom says that one day she’ll get kidnapped by one of these folks. KaSonndra's response? She told her mom that if it weren’t for these lovely people, then she wouldn’t be able to create such fabulously romantic stories!

Website / Goodreads / Facebook / Instagram / TikTok


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Friday, October 25, 2024

Cover Reveal: Thorns of Blood by Eva Winners

THORNS OF BLOOD BY EVA WINNERS
Release date: December 2nd
Genre/Tropes: Mafia Romance / Dark Romance / Forced Proximity / Suspense / Strong FMC / Found Family 
Book 6 of the Thorns of Omertà Series
Photographer: Wander Aguiar
Cover Designer: Eve Graphics Design

SEXY COVER REVEAL
Prepare to dive into a world of darkness, danger, and passion with Thorns of Blood by Eva Winners, book 6 of the Thorns of Omertà Series, releases on December 2nd

Pre-order TODAY
Add to Goodreads 
I had spent my life trapped in a gilded cage, surrounded by villains. 
The cruel man I was forced to marry saw me as a lesson to be taught, stripping away every piece of my spirit until all that remained was my shadow. He left me in darkness, alone, except for the one flicker of light in my miserable existence: my adoptive daughter. 
Then they took her away from me too. 
It didn’t kill me, but something deep inside me died that day. 
Or so I thought. 
Giovanni Agosti kidnapped me to “save” me, or so he claimed. 
But I was done being a pawn in anyone’s game. I would show this captor, with his smoldering gaze and dangerous allure, that no one touched Liana Volkov without consequences. 
Not even the man I found myself wanting.
Eva Winners released her first novel Second Chance At Love in 2020 and has been writing feverishly ever since. She writes about everlasting romance for every century focusing on characters emotional development and always guarantees an HEA. She loves yoga, wine and her kiddos. In her spare time, she seeks adventures either hiking through trails, yoga or exploring the beaches. Writing books has always been her passion and she brings real life to the forefront in everything she writes about. Deeply passionate characters and stories will draw you in and you'll never want to leave. Follow her on social media to stay up to date with all her new releases!