tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-45329095687163646742024-03-17T23:04:18.086-04:00From the TBR PileAutumnhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/17109886403670357674noreply@blogger.comBlogger5271125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-16326852179433755822024-03-17T15:26:00.002-04:002024-03-17T15:26:16.738-04:00Spotlight: Excerpt from Day Tripper by James Goodhand<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7S2vVz-JCSnMnymaWqDCgdwmmhQPVgOcTb3lv7m63aa3dOif7dsVRQrCiQySgkrUwCtARRYYE6JllGt7fqW68jb0hE0yLDN4t3adiZtFXDlkuhu6NnWDWPgMIVXYA6qbEvBPsnMJTbL8NDm97vaHG5sxtxO46eDv8AUOwkH_y1EahfyfWvbvBsCa5WPU/s1600/690-HTP-Banner---Winter-2024%20(4).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="1600" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj7S2vVz-JCSnMnymaWqDCgdwmmhQPVgOcTb3lv7m63aa3dOif7dsVRQrCiQySgkrUwCtARRYYE6JllGt7fqW68jb0hE0yLDN4t3adiZtFXDlkuhu6NnWDWPgMIVXYA6qbEvBPsnMJTbL8NDm97vaHG5sxtxO46eDv8AUOwkH_y1EahfyfWvbvBsCa5WPU/w400-h100/690-HTP-Banner---Winter-2024%20(4).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div><span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCEd8MZYkOOdwOHmtiQ3Gal-6o-0gXD1CoeBagTfCQxGCZD75os3NEw8-HIvLNplJY4JUqznrxl8zcVy_Rq5suNXO86qNDcXgee815qCtevtwEbAm3KGelasQAmV1sM52fFx6BLRtzpe_k15K0e69MpgXdauxslYOYfbaHPhthxo2vbX28wjhCQTZ5t8/s3700/The%20Day%20Tripper%20-%20Final%20cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3700" data-original-width="2438" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjiCEd8MZYkOOdwOHmtiQ3Gal-6o-0gXD1CoeBagTfCQxGCZD75os3NEw8-HIvLNplJY4JUqznrxl8zcVy_Rq5suNXO86qNDcXgee815qCtevtwEbAm3KGelasQAmV1sM52fFx6BLRtzpe_k15K0e69MpgXdauxslYOYfbaHPhthxo2vbX28wjhCQTZ5t8/s320/The%20Day%20Tripper%20-%20Final%20cover.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>Author: </b>James Goodhand<br /><b>Publication Date: March 19, 2024<br /></b><b>ISBN: </b>978-0778369646<br /><b>Hardcover <br /></b><b>Publisher: </b>MIRA<br /><b>Price </b>$28.99<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p><b>Buy Links:<br /></b><a href="https://www.harpercollins.com/products/the-day-tripper-james-goodhand" target="_blank">HarperCollins</a> <br /><a href="https://bookshop.org/p/books/alex-dean-unplugged-original-james-goodhand/20083933?ean=9780778369646">BookShop.org</a><u><br /></u><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-day-tripper-james-goodhand/1143567258" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> <br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Day-Tripper-Novel-James-Goodhand/dp/0778369641/ " target="_blank">Amazon</a><br style="mso-special-character: line-break;" /><o:p> <br /></o:p><i>What if you lived your days out of order?<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>It’s 1995, and twenty-year-old Alex Dean has it all: a spot
at Cambridge University next year, the love of an amazing woman named Holly and
all the time in the world ahead of him. That is until a brutal encounter with a
ghost from his past sees him beaten, battered and almost drowning in the
Thames.<br />
He wakes the next day to find he’s in a messy, derelict room he’s never seen
before, in grimy clothes he doesn’t recognize, with no idea of how he got
there. A glimpse in the mirror tells him he’s older—much older—and has been
living a hard life, his features ravaged by time and poor decisions. He
snatches a newspaper and finds it’s 2010—fifteen years since the fight.</i></span></div><div><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><br />
After finally drifting off to sleep, Alex wakes the following morning to find
it’s now 2019, another nine years later. But the next day, it’s 1999. Never
knowing which day is coming, he begins to piece together what happens in his
life after that fateful night by the river.</i></span></div><div><i><span style="color: #0b5394;"><br />
Why does his life look nothing like he thought it would? What about Cambridge,
and Holly? In this page-turning adventure, Alex must navigate his way through
the years to learn that small actions have untold impact, even in a life lived
out of order. And that might be all he needs to save the people he loves and,
equally importantly, himself.</span><br /></i><o:p><i> </i><br /></o:p><o:p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b> Excerpt:</b></span></o:p></div><div><br /></div><div><o:p><div style="border: 1px solid black; height: 350px; overflow: scroll; width: 650px;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-9d946246-7fff-0f41-5a8a-e67a5e6634ee"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 14pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">SEPTEMBER 6, 1995 | AGE 20</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">It’s three-deep at the bar, and I get my order in seconds before they ring for time. I double up: a JD and Coke each and two beers to take with us. The lights are up and the music’s gone quiet as I weave the tray through the punters. Standing in the doorway out to the terrace, I am disorientated. There must be fifty tables outside between here and the river and it’s still packed out, darker and smokier than ever. I search the crowd but can’t see Holly.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I negotiate my way down to the water’s edge. She’s maybe ten tables away, oblivious, a ciggie poised skyward in her fingers like she’s posing for Vettriano. I smirk, enjoy my good fortune again.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Excuse me, good gentlemen,” I say to a group of four in my path, voice cocky with booze and lust. They shuffle over, not breaking from their conversation. The resulting gap between their circle and the edge of the path isn’t wide enough—a careless elbow would send the tray of drinks into the river, possibly me with them.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“If you don’t mind, guys?” I lay a palm on the forearm of the bloke with his back to me. Their circle opens out and he turns side-on, ushering me past. “Nice one,” I say, glancing at him as I pass.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I look back at the ground. There’s a delay in my brain processing who it is I’m walking past. There’s a moment in which it seems that we’ll just carry on, pretend like we don’t know each other.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The air thickens. Time slows. I stop, a step past him. Look again. Razor-sharp short back and sides, hooded eyes, lopsided mouth. Preppy. It’s a face I catch myself imagining sometimes, never for long. A waking nightmare. Not that my imagination does it justice. Not even close, I now realize.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">His recognition of me unfolds in slow motion. Perhaps like me, alcohol has dulled his synapses, delayed the inevitable shift of mode.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Blake Benfield. There have been times in the past when just hearing that name in my head has stopped me dead, left me incapable.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">How long since we last ran into each other? I was sixteen—best part of four years, then. Feels so recent. Our paths crossing has always been inevitable; we grew up barely a mile apart. He spat at me that last time, called me </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">faggot cunt</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">. The many times before that I’d just legged it, hidden from his fury and his hatred. But you get too old to do that.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">This crowded place seems so quiet now. Like there’s cotton wool stuffed in my ears. The two bottles tip over on my trembling tray, foam splattering to the ground. One rolls over the edge and shatters on the concrete. People turn.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">How long have we stood here, him glaring at me, me unable to hold his stare? Saying nothing. A few seconds? Feels longer.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">There’s the smell of burned-out house in my nose. The sound of his whisper in my ears that I try to drown out.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Don’t think about it. Do not think about </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">that </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">day. </span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Why do I shake? I’m a fucking grown man. Why am I shaking?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">He takes a half step closer to me.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">I once told him I was sorry. It was years ago—when I was still a kid. I </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">was </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">sorry. Does he remember?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I spin around. Where’s Holly? She must be watching this.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">There’s no more delay. There is, of course, nothing for me and this bloke to say to each other. We have ventured into each other’s space, and that brings with it a remembering. And, as we always have, we must deal with that in our own way.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">His knuckles graze my chin. I stumble backward and the tray falls to the ground. His swing is off, though; there is no pain. Not even surprise. We definitely have an audience now.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">My response is pure instinct: palms raised, lean away. </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Easy now.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I don’t want to fight this man. I want to go back thirty seconds, walk a different route, have this night back for myself.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Blake closes the gap, my weakness an invitation. His second punch crashes into my ear like a swinging girder. My brain slaps side to side in my skull. Vision sways. My head boils, a cool trickle from my eardrum.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Where is Holly? Panic grips. I can’t just stand here and take this.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">My eyes flit to our audience. He swings again, this time with his left. But I see it coming, dodge. He stumbles.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I drive my weight, shoulder first, into his ribs. He goes over, sprawled among the spilled drinks and shattered glass.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">On all fours, he stares up at me. I’m perfectly positioned. I could kick him square in the face. End this right now. Why don’t I do it? Why can’t I bring myself to do it? I’d rather turn my back and cry than kick his head in.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">He glares up at me. Why do I pity him? Why am I so uncomfortable towering over him like this? It’s like the positions we’ve always held have been reversed. The power is mine.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I let him find his feet.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">He’s up and level with me again. He glares like a bloodthirsty dog, wipes his nose on the sleeve of his polo shirt. If we were alone, maybe I’d run. But with people watching, with </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Holly </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">watching, that’s no option.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">My punch lands perfectly. His jaws scissor against each other. For a second his head floats, eyes rolling.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I realize my error too late. I should’ve followed up when I had the chance. One punch is only enough in the movies, everyone knows that. His hands are on the collar of my shirt, cloth tearing as he holds firm. His forehead slams into the bridge of my nose like a sledgehammer. My face is suddenly and totally numb. I drop to the ground. A ruby-red stain spreads fast through the jewels of broken glass around me.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">He shouts above me. Every filthy word I’ve long come to expect. Something soft disperses against my head. Spit.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The neck of the Stella bottle I dropped lies on the ground. Inches away. Blood gurgles in my mouth as I take a deep breath. I launch like a sprinter. Leading with the dagger of green glass, I’m aiming straight at his face and closing fast.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Blake backs into a table, stumbles, hands slow to cover his face. His eyes widen, abject fear. But this is no time to be derailed.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I see it too late. No time to react. One of Blake’s friends windmilling a table ashtray. The side of my skull cracks like thunder.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The ground feels like a cushion, drawing me in and bouncing me back. My vision finds enough order in time to see the sole of boot accelerating toward me, like a cartoon piano from the sky.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">There is no pain. Just a sense of floating in space.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Time passes. More blows land.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The surface of the Thames billows like a black satin sheet as it rises toward me. There’s no fear. Is that Holly I can hear calling my name? It’s so distant, so hard to tell.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The river gathers me in like it’s here to take care of me.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Cool water spears my lungs like sharpened icicles. I sink forever.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">A low hum builds in my ears. Lights fades to nothing.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">And I sleep.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">NOVEMBER 30, 2010 | AGE 35</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">My head throbs. It doesn’t matter if I open or close my eyes, the pain worsens either way. My mouth is like dust. Joints and muscles lie seized.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Last night is a blank. I hate that. I look above me. Focusing is excruciating. The ceiling is browny cream, textured in spikes like a Christmas cake. An unshaded bulb swings in the draft, the filament shivering. It’s </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">really </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">cold in here.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Where the fucking hell am I?</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /><br /><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Excerpted from </span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">THE DAY TRIPPER by James Goodhand.</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> Copyright </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">©</span><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> 2024 by James Goodhand. Published by MIRA Books, an imprint of HarperCollins.</span></span></p><br /></span>
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</o:p></div><div><o:p><br /></o:p><b>Author Bio:</b> </div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGPqbKoGq-RV8cc-WkpuPP3F2cpAR5DdpF9_nuCaWeXz04gIXHn0cPyErwMB6uShECwlwc2FREsFtBky_eCzvz4aYd_QGvME6owdon_iDQNOtIcSTrGhst2fmoDET8kX87sEDkT3C2iEK1BXpfx93C3M2N7Bizd1Izcw-LAbby9UIDn9hZoNWGpdKQBA/s1992/James%20Goodhand%20author%20photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1992" data-original-width="1440" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEghGPqbKoGq-RV8cc-WkpuPP3F2cpAR5DdpF9_nuCaWeXz04gIXHn0cPyErwMB6uShECwlwc2FREsFtBky_eCzvz4aYd_QGvME6owdon_iDQNOtIcSTrGhst2fmoDET8kX87sEDkT3C2iEK1BXpfx93C3M2N7Bizd1Izcw-LAbby9UIDn9hZoNWGpdKQBA/w144-h200/James%20Goodhand%20author%20photo.jpg" width="144" /></a></div><br /><div><br /></div><div>James Goodhand has written two YA novels.
His YA debut, <i>Last Lesson</i>, was called "a powerfully
charged study in empathy," by the <i>Financial Times</i>. THE DAY
TRIPPER is his adult debut. He lives in England with his wife and young
son. </div><div><o:p> <br /></o:p><b>Social Links:<br /></b>GoodReads: <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19321245.James_Goodhand">https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/19321245.James_Goodhand</a> <br />Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/goodhand_james?lang=en">https://twitter.com/goodhand_james?lang=en</a> <br />Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/james.goodhand/">https://www.instagram.com/james.goodhand/</a> <br /><o:p> </o:p></div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
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Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-18390867689810096402024-03-14T14:20:00.001-04:002024-03-14T14:20:23.041-04:00Spotlight: Fiona's Fury by Roxy Blue<div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><strong>Fiona’s Fury</strong><br /><strong>Roxy Blue</strong><br />Publication date: March 12th 2024<br />Genres: Adult, Comedy, Contemporary, Romance, Suspense</p><blockquote><p>This chilling but hysterically sardonic thrill-ride is hard to put down. Smart, sexy, and deeply revelatory, it will send you on an enthralling emotional journey you won’t forget.</p>
<p>Fiona Turner, CEO of Fiona’s Flowers floral shop, hasn’t the time nor inclination to bother with men until she finally meets the face on the other end of the phone. Having remained friends, she never suspected her ex-husband, Quade, would morph into a terrifying, controlling, law-bending monster. When Fiona exhibits the first signs of wanting to move on in life, he threatens to take everything from her. A long weekend at a conference answers all of Fiona’s questions about floral supplier, Bo Thompson, except how she can possibly have him. She’ll never know what she’s missing unless she risks everything for love.</p>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/203812403-fiona-s-fury" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3Iywo8t" target="_blank">Amazon</a> / <a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/fionas-fury-roxy-blue/1144502937" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> / <a href="https://www.kobo.com/pt/pt/ebook/fiona-s-fury" target="_blank">Kobo</a></p>
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<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Raised in the South and transplanted to a midwestern New Age community, Roxy Blue writes about the types of down-to-earth characters that dispel the notion of romance being rubbish. After thirteen years as an exotic dancer, she developed a rare autoimmune arthritis that gave her an excuse to settle down and focus more on writing, although she still hoopdances and hikes on the good days. Roxy lives in Asheville, NC with the kind of hunk she likes to read about, and their two ridiculous cats.</p>
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<a href="https://www.authorroxyblue.com/" target="_blank">Website</a> / <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22378730.Roxy_Blue" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="http://instagram.com/authorroxyblue" target="_blank">Instagram</a> / <a href="http://facebook.com/authorroxyblue" target="_blank">Facebook</a></p>
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</p>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-19710430053056744232024-03-13T16:55:00.001-04:002024-03-13T16:55:09.020-04:00Review: Lines Worth Crossing by Tori Wilde<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWufCfMpTupDJ1JTV2FSZBoWUSN1ukwEsV_BfPq9ldtxUludPhUvI-3_ZmeXzMCyQztqLbmyTgllmfLw1m9dtxG9t8Hb0Dv63Rh73rJ7MBpwQbevC34FOZjz4nFfCPUXRlm0m7ui7pB5doJwmq0VvlYBpqz5SIScrDsqkIUpwoDeTk7DtNa5tIJnuqVGM/s500/209539553.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="333" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhWufCfMpTupDJ1JTV2FSZBoWUSN1ukwEsV_BfPq9ldtxUludPhUvI-3_ZmeXzMCyQztqLbmyTgllmfLw1m9dtxG9t8Hb0Dv63Rh73rJ7MBpwQbevC34FOZjz4nFfCPUXRlm0m7ui7pB5doJwmq0VvlYBpqz5SIScrDsqkIUpwoDeTk7DtNa5tIJnuqVGM/s320/209539553.jpg" width="213" /></a></div><span style="color: #0b5394;">Author: Tori Wilde<br />Publication Date: March 2024</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Crashing into Arturo Nunez's life wasn't part of my plan—keeping him alive was. Arturo is a masterpiece with his raven hair and espresso eyes. His imposing muscular frame and broad shoulders. A laugh that disarms and a smile that promises sin. He's the epitome of success and charm with a soul touched by loss. Born into Britain's underworld, constrained by my father's criminal empire. I've mastered the art of deception.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><i>Thirty years ago, Arturo's father put mine in jail, igniting a feud that now endangers the man I'm growing too fond of. Protecting him from a hit ordered by my own blood, our fake relationship becomes a dangerous game of love and loyalty. The lines between pretense and reality blur, challenging my resolve to keep him safe without losing my heart.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><i><br /></i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #0b5394;"><i>Embraced by the unconditional love of his family, I discover a truth I can't falling for Arturo might be the most genuine thing I've ever done. But as danger encroaches I'm faced with a choice. Can the love of a man I was never supposed to fall for be my ultimate redemption, or will my reality destroy the only peace I've ever known? Being with Arturo crosses so many lines . . . Maybe those are lines worth crossing.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><b><i>Lines Worth Crossing</i></b> finds children's author, Arturo being rescued by a beautiful woman. It sems that there has been a hit put out on him. Poppy has found out that her father has a vendetta against Arturo and his family. Only she can save his life. When they head to his family estate to hide out, they must fake a romance to avoid his family from knowing anything is wrong.</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">I thought this was an enjoyable fake dating romance. Poppy and Arturo have amazing chemistry. I was definitely rooting for them. One of the things that I really liked about this book was the characters. Arturo shows a fierce protective side, but is also able to admit to being anxious about his situation. Poppy is a tough woman, but she also can show her vulnerable side. They just came across as more real and less stereotype. I also loved Arturo's big family. They really added a lot to the book. I hope his siblings get their own stories. I highly recommend this one.</span></span></div><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKX-ykJNymN1sgDlCLnAkxeB8s4I43vUVi6oB2CXguA3I_wAPm0AVjXH1QmiDbvD0LVIIn4dgsVz1VAyd37aqHejoQFlB4pdFD6P7FxcLSeQwBuRdfDRSpg233L2cE3qbAoDBuXLFb1vLyTGsBjP6lWBzg_CyM0BzpSO5UspW5lfDV6745YNwPmQi42TM/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiKX-ykJNymN1sgDlCLnAkxeB8s4I43vUVi6oB2CXguA3I_wAPm0AVjXH1QmiDbvD0LVIIn4dgsVz1VAyd37aqHejoQFlB4pdFD6P7FxcLSeQwBuRdfDRSpg233L2cE3qbAoDBuXLFb1vLyTGsBjP6lWBzg_CyM0BzpSO5UspW5lfDV6745YNwPmQi42TM/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span><p></p>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-68480184454886448472024-03-12T22:39:00.001-04:002024-03-12T22:39:25.997-04:00Review: This Wretched Valley by Jenny Kiefer<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqC8dIhkiQulOS1G-QzK_DEyse4MVoNk94FJaUrjk8Q65q-wB1sH00PclPCGDK0_l3205eYyRkOkonDu9ENq_kZt6uZpyG_90yNbIbI3THJDGicLikuLBW4wsFS1CREETLwQoDc_rv94knHUSkTGUF12zLo73zzMi_pXZXt9IW3vfZWB__ZVT32TNEaA0/s2400/133206521.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2400" data-original-width="1575" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjqC8dIhkiQulOS1G-QzK_DEyse4MVoNk94FJaUrjk8Q65q-wB1sH00PclPCGDK0_l3205eYyRkOkonDu9ENq_kZt6uZpyG_90yNbIbI3THJDGicLikuLBW4wsFS1CREETLwQoDc_rv94knHUSkTGUF12zLo73zzMi_pXZXt9IW3vfZWB__ZVT32TNEaA0/s320/133206521.jpg" width="210" /></a></div>Author: Jenny Kiefer<br />Publisher: Quirk Books<br />Publication Date: January 2024</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /><i><span style="color: #0b5394;"> <span style="background-color: white;">Four ambitious climbers hike into the Kentucky wilderness. Seven months later, three mangled bodies are discovered. Were their deaths simple accidents or the result of something more sinister?</span></span></i></span></div><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><i><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">This nail-biting, bone-chilling survival horror novel is inspired by the infamous Dyatlov Pass incident, and is perfect for fans of Alma Katsu and Showtime's Yellowjackets.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">This is going to be Dylan's big break. Her friend Clay, a geology student, has discovered an untouched cliff face in the Kentucky wilderness, and she is going to be the first person to climb it. Together with Clay, his research assistant Sylvia, and Dylan's boyfriend Luke, she is going to document her achievement on Instagram and finally cement her place as the next rising star in rock climbing. </span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Seven months later, three bodies are discovered in the trees just off the highway. All are in various states of decay: one body a stark, white skeleton; the second emptied of its organs; and the third a mutilated corpse with the tongue, eyes, ears, and fingers removed.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">But Dylan is still missing. Followers of her Instagram account report seeing disturbing livestreams, and some even claim to have caught glimpses of her vanishing into the thick woods, but no trace of her—dead or alive—has been discovered. </span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Were the climbers murdered? Did they succumb to cannibalism? Or are their impossible bodies the work of an even more sinister force? Is Dylan still alive, and does she hold the answers? </span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">This page-turning debut will have you racing towards the inevitable conclusion.</span></i></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">The synopsis says nail biting and chilling. I have to disagree. I wasn't a fan of this one. The book opens with the discovery of three of the bodies of some missing climbers. The fourth one is nowhere to be found. So right off the bat, you know the fate of at least three of the climbers. It's not hard to guess what happened to the fourth. This is the story of what happened. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">This one was all over the place for me. I did like the body horror parts of it, but that was about it. I didn't like one single character except maybe the dog. I didn't feel like I really cared what happened to any of them. The ending was very unsatisfying because there are no real answers as to what was really going on. </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">If you have read </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><i style="font-weight: bold;">The Ruins </i>or watched<i style="font-weight: bold;"> The Descent</i></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">, you have read this book. I don't really recommend this one.<div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwzmwkWF1w7uhVEuMxMS17VtOF2xI5akHuyvdrvCYh_9O91aDyyfiVX9UWD7I8y0cdgYr-ght-L0y6_CPfNXyO5VWKMf1JQGG4Yp9eOEG49CsGpWkqL_gmnaGTbLaTmjz4tXTpW0_mxbQnB5LLEKdnYTARvJSuZMcVuuPk5dL6bF4UNdeE6gxWhwyo6o/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhkwzmwkWF1w7uhVEuMxMS17VtOF2xI5akHuyvdrvCYh_9O91aDyyfiVX9UWD7I8y0cdgYr-ght-L0y6_CPfNXyO5VWKMf1JQGG4Yp9eOEG49CsGpWkqL_gmnaGTbLaTmjz4tXTpW0_mxbQnB5LLEKdnYTARvJSuZMcVuuPk5dL6bF4UNdeE6gxWhwyo6o/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: "Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-25885211381184070712024-03-10T22:16:00.001-04:002024-03-10T22:16:09.497-04:00Review: City Under One Roof by Iris Yamashita<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6FoVgxmxoV8h_j6YmtYD5fyrk4eT9EcJNnZqlF2QQcfzMIjzalxshOstEwVIu6PlRFP5V6GvXTyrtIcTG80L_PQn2jJmpYgIG60lTxGoJEaMRxFqXZeWOrWHj__RSOku3RorUdUiXmDXbG5AuG1CFgJsIdzpR9NkKBz6WrX8vPhtqp80CSW6rNkvOumQ/s500/60818887.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="331" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh6FoVgxmxoV8h_j6YmtYD5fyrk4eT9EcJNnZqlF2QQcfzMIjzalxshOstEwVIu6PlRFP5V6GvXTyrtIcTG80L_PQn2jJmpYgIG60lTxGoJEaMRxFqXZeWOrWHj__RSOku3RorUdUiXmDXbG5AuG1CFgJsIdzpR9NkKBz6WrX8vPhtqp80CSW6rNkvOumQ/s320/60818887.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>Author: Iris Yamashita<br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Publisher: Berkley<br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Publication Date: January 2023</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;"><i>A stranded detective tries to solve a murder in a tiny Alaskan town where everyone lives in a single high-rise building, in this gripping debut by an Academy Award–nominated screenwriter.</i></span></span></div><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><i><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">When a local teenager discovers a severed hand and foot washed up on the shore of the small town of Point Mettier, Alaska, Cara Kennedy is on the case. A detective from Anchorage, she has her own motives for investigating the possible murder in this isolated place, which can be accessed only by a tunnel.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">After a blizzard causes the tunnel to close indefinitely, Cara is stuck among the odd and suspicious residents of the town—all 205 of whom live in the same high-rise building and are as icy as the weather. Cara teams up with Point Mettier police officer Joe Barkowski, but before long the investigation is upended by fearsome gang members from a nearby native village.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Haunted by her past, Cara soon discovers that everyone in this town has something to hide. Will she be able to unravel their secrets before she unravels?"</span></i></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Finally, I have read an enjoyable thriller in 2024. In <b>City Under One Roof</b>, Detective Cara Kennedy travels to a small town in Alaska to investigate a potential murder. There is only one way into the town and when a blizzard blocks the tunnel, Cara finds herself stranded. People begin to disappear. Cara must figure out what happened before it's too late.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">As I said, I really enjoyed this one. The mystery was a page turner and kept me guessing. I didn't guess the ending. I was also really satisfied with how it ended. It does leave the door open for a sequel, but it had it's own satisfying ending. I really like Cara as a character. She is smart and tough. She also has a vulnerability about her because of the loss of her family and she has an ulterior motive for being in the town. The characters of the town are quirky and also full of secrets. I highly recommend this debut novel. I look forward to reading the next book.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUsVgzTmhENrRXf7QhX6MbWn8a2laIl2hoYzXiCgMNFLr2NAr2C8Z8K_7YIuH7jnpL-ExVLZQdpvfvuG42e8DTCxqnVLU_qJyQ_qaCQLcwb246G-rpNH77c8L2RnOi7KNokaRlESC2mpRbZB5Q7mpcDvxUc3S3F7HhI_h90bJ3wrfBz68VCKWWQorSduM/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjUsVgzTmhENrRXf7QhX6MbWn8a2laIl2hoYzXiCgMNFLr2NAr2C8Z8K_7YIuH7jnpL-ExVLZQdpvfvuG42e8DTCxqnVLU_qJyQ_qaCQLcwb246G-rpNH77c8L2RnOi7KNokaRlESC2mpRbZB5Q7mpcDvxUc3S3F7HhI_h90bJ3wrfBz68VCKWWQorSduM/w200-h88/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span></div>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-17029137068917664282024-03-08T23:23:00.004-05:002024-03-08T23:23:21.089-05:00Blog Tour: Review of A Blessing and A Curse by Anna Campbell<div style="margin: 0px auto 15px; text-align: center;">
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<p><strong>A Blessing and a Curse</strong><br /><strong>Anna Campbell</strong><br />Publication date: October 31st 2023<br />Genres: Contemporary, New Adult, Romance</p><blockquote><p>Blessing Savage barely remembers who she was before the unexpected death of her father, Pastor Savage. These days she clings desperately to the party girl persona she’s created for her second year of college, living with a new group of friends, joining their sorority, and partying non-stop. There’s only one thing that can kill her perpetual buzz, and his name is Camden Holbrook, the boy she’s pined for for nearly a decade.</p>
<p>Camden credits Blessing’s father for saving him when he was a child, giving him a place to stay when his mother abandoned him and setting him back on the right track. So when Pastor Savage asked a promise of Camden before dying – to look out for Blessing – he made a vow and meant it. Protecting Blessing has always come easily. Loving her has not. Not for someone who’s learned time and time again that love and loss are intricately interwoven.</p>
<p>After years of Camden keeping her at arm’s length, the last thing Blessing wants is him barging into her life. But new Blessing refuses to let Cam play knight-in-shining-armor, not when she knows – from one starry summer’s night slip-up – how he really feels about her. This time around, Blessing’s intent on pushing Camden’s limits, and she’s got some sexy new tricks up her sleeve to take him past them. Then maybe he’ll admit the truth of his feelings. Maybe the person who’s always known her best can help her find a way back to herself. Maybe she can prove to Camden that love doesn’t always destroy a person. Sometimes, it’s the only thing that can start putting them back together.</p>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/200646819-a-blessing-and-a-curse" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://amzn.to/3TabGCb" target="_blank">Amazon</a></p>
<p><b>My thoughts:</b></p><p><b><i>A Blessing and A Curse</i></b> is a friends to lovers slow burn romance. I wasn't sure if I would like this in the beginning. But, I was pleasantly surprised and I was sucked into Blessing and Camden's story. I loved the flashbacks to when they first met as kids. It really added depth to their love story. In present day, they are both handling grief and trying to feel loved. In the end, they were home for each other. There is one scene at the vet that had me tearing up. That was such a gut wrenching scene. It made me like them as a couple that much more. I definitely recommend this one.</p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl3oKjjtAwamHsinnRWw3rt5-_TsCxYwkmnn_zMXSCu9MN69WJwD7G__Iupd0hzrZA16KT1wsEbyDOLq98ji1RssNM3Plw1sLBg3hWIiAbK19RPBml_aZaITQJ3_Fwi27AkdO1R8ZOjXWWJu8AJON_jWwF4UKCnLtZSmVgEKU-GrCn4eDjRvb5qLeU8Uk/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhl3oKjjtAwamHsinnRWw3rt5-_TsCxYwkmnn_zMXSCu9MN69WJwD7G__Iupd0hzrZA16KT1wsEbyDOLq98ji1RssNM3Plw1sLBg3hWIiAbK19RPBml_aZaITQJ3_Fwi27AkdO1R8ZOjXWWJu8AJON_jWwF4UKCnLtZSmVgEKU-GrCn4eDjRvb5qLeU8Uk/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p><img alt="" src="https://www.xpressobooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/sites/3/2024/02/Anna.jpg" style="display: inline-block; float: left; margin: 0px 15px 15px 0px;" /></p>
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<p>Author Bio:</p>
<p>Spend more time with Anna Campbell and her stories on Instagram: @annacampbellstories</p>
<p>Anna Campbell has traditionally published several stories for teens over the years under a different pen name. Anna Campbell stories are mature YA/NA angsty stories about beatiful broken people who love hard and still believe in happy endings.</p>
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<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/48715828.Anna_Campbell" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> / <a href="https://www.instagram.com/annacampbellstories" target="_blank">Instagram</a></p>
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<p style="text-align: center;">
</p>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-78621441374403566032024-03-08T22:45:00.001-05:002024-03-10T22:52:22.061-04:00Cover Reveal: Scars on My Heart by S.L. Sterling<div style="text-align: left;"> <br /><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdeveDa2tQEroHmJ1Hcn-N1YZyXuad0-KDaZ5cNUg5ZCXZ5McUo_k_fwVMfetnkeoM5_D7_Z1UI2I8Npr87w2yP9pP_rqRH_QfehnCKHsebdRvzyINQEuIkMsEn13vdKPloOdxEhnP-4XBkxhscizB1_JOAhPKlP8T9z1ffr1tRKPYiAyZiNVacK96RGg/s6858/scarsonmyheart%20ebook%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="6858" data-original-width="4568" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjdeveDa2tQEroHmJ1Hcn-N1YZyXuad0-KDaZ5cNUg5ZCXZ5McUo_k_fwVMfetnkeoM5_D7_Z1UI2I8Npr87w2yP9pP_rqRH_QfehnCKHsebdRvzyINQEuIkMsEn13vdKPloOdxEhnP-4XBkxhscizB1_JOAhPKlP8T9z1ffr1tRKPYiAyZiNVacK96RGg/s320/scarsonmyheart%20ebook%20(1).jpg" width="213" /></a></div><span style="color: #0b5394;">Title: Scars on my Heart<br /></span></span><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Series: Willow Valley<br /></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Author: S.L. Sterling<br /></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Tropes: Single Dad, Single Mom, Friends to
Lovers, small town romance, second chance at love, only one bed scene<br /></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Cover Design: Thunderstruck Cover Design<br /></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Release Date: March 28, 2024</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><br /></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Goodreads: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="https://geni.us/ScarsonmyHeartGR"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">https://geni.us/ScarsonmyHeartGR<br /></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Bookbub: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="https://www.bookbub.com/books/scars-on-my-heart-willow-valley-book-5-by-s-l-sterling"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">https://www.bookbub.com/books/scars-on-my-heart-willow-valley-book-5-by-s-l-sterling<br /></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Blurb:<br />
</span></u></b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Willow Valley had become like home to me and my
two boys, Dylan and Noah. Everyone knew everyone in this small town, and they
helped us heal from our devastating loss.<br /></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Once I knew my kids would be okay, I started
looking for work. Bluebird Books hired me almost right away. I was to run the
new kids program that Trinity was starting. That was where I met Zach and his
daughter, Grace.<br /></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Zach was the new owner of the Willow Valley
Inn. He’d come in to return a book his daughter had borrowed from the program.
We exchanged pleasantries and that was when the computer had gone down. Zach
lost his patience, and that was when our pleasant conversation turned sour. I
wasn’t worried about it because I figured I’d never see him again.<br /></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">I was wrong. It turns out in a small town,
everyone sees everyone almost daily, if not twice a day. At the grocery store,
the gas station, the elementary school and as luck would have it, the
bookstore. Soon, our conversations turn pleasant again, and without even
trying, I find myself drawn to him. Then he asks me out on a date.<br /></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Despite my reservations, I decided to take a
chance on love again. But just when things start to look up, Zach’s ex-wife
suddenly reappears, causing chaos in his life once more. Which somehow causes
chaos in mine when my children begin acting out.<br /></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span></i></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i>Leaning on one another for support, we navigate
obstacles that life throws at us. As time passes I begin to wonder if another
chance at love will bring us closer together or make each one of us run the
other way?</i></span><br /></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Buy
Links:<br /> </span></u></b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Universal: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="https://geni.us/ScarsonmyHeartWV5"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">https://geni.us/ScarsonmyHeartWV5<br /></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Amazon: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="https://amzn.to/49NeD1y"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">https://amzn.to/49NeD1y<br /></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Apple Books: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="https://apple.co/49KaBHc"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">https://apple.co/49KaBHc<br /></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">B&N: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="https://bit.ly/49EY9Ze"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">https://bit.ly/49EY9Ze<br /></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Kobo: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="https://bit.ly/3v6Minu"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">https://bit.ly/3v6Minu<br /></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Smashwords: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="https://bit.ly/49Dk2YI"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">https://bit.ly/49Dk2YI<br /></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Google Play: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="https://bit.ly/49WxiY4"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">https://bit.ly/49WxiY4<br /></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Author
Bio:<br /></span></u></b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">S.L. Sterling was born and raised in southern
Ontario. She now lives in Northern Ontario Canada and is married to her best
friend and soul mate and their two dogs.<br /> </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">An avid reader all her life, S.L. Sterling
dreamt of becoming an author. She decided to give writing a try after one of
her favorite authors launched a course on how to write your novel. This course
gave her the push she needed to put pen to paper and her debut novel "It
Was Always You" was born.<br /> </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">When S.L. Sterling isn't writing or plotting
her next novel she can be found curled up with a cup of coffee, blanket and the
newest romance novel from one of her favorite authors on her e-reader. Her
favorite authors include Kendall Ryan, Vi Keeland, Penelope Ward, Lauren
Blakely, Alessandra Torre and Willow Winters.<br /> </span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p> <br /></o:p></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">In her spare time, she enjoys camping, hiking,
sunny destinations, spending quality time with family and friends and of course
reading.<span style="mso-spacerun: yes;"> <br /> </span></span><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;"><o:p><span style="text-decoration: none;"> <br /></span></o:p></span></u></b><b style="mso-bidi-font-weight: normal;"><u><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Social
Media Links<br /></span></u></b><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Goodreads: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="http://bit.ly/SLSterlingGoodreads"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">http://bit.ly/SLSterlingGoodreads<br /><o:p></o:p></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Facebook: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/hearomance/"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">https://www.facebook.com/hearomance/<br /></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Instagram: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="http://bit.ly/SLSterlingInstagram"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">http://bit.ly/SLSterlingInstagram<br /><o:p></o:p></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Bookbub: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="http://bit.ly/SLSterlingBB"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">http://bit.ly/SLSterlingBB<br /><o:p></o:p></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Sterlings Silver Sapphires: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="http://bit.ly/SterlingsSapphires"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">http://bit.ly/SterlingsSapphires<br /><o:p></o:p></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Amazon: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="http://bit.ly/SLSterling"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">http://bit.ly/SLSterling<br /><o:p></o:p></span></a></span><span lang="EN" style="font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">Newsletter: </span><span lang="EN"><a href="https://view.flodesk.com/pages/64d6991578891ef5c9a2f474"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora;">https://view.flodesk.com/pages/64d6991578891ef5c9a2f474</span></a></span></div>
<p class="MsoNormal"><span lang="EN"><a href="http://bit.ly/SLSterlingNewsletter"><span style="color: windowtext; font-family: Lora; mso-bidi-font-family: Lora; mso-fareast-font-family: Lora; text-decoration: none; text-underline: none;"><o:p></o:p></span></a></span></p>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-26451304423719463102024-03-07T22:29:00.002-05:002024-03-08T23:31:51.453-05:00Review: The Night Island by Jayne Ann Krentz<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #1e1915; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7OWaCV_0jYsRoAU_Yr1Cd1Jg2yFohZSOIw3wFOC7D85I_x3MYrPMmxVkEn90eV8znwqG2dWfBANijuiyjEUw561vsZU2OYIuF87NoychtYGBEjdsjRpbbAzRWlC3op5fUID0mm6FsykIu8_4f3NUGQeP9T-x7kM1gR8tVLm-9djK19d4cub1b7QoFiFE/s499/127463465.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="499" data-original-width="331" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh7OWaCV_0jYsRoAU_Yr1Cd1Jg2yFohZSOIw3wFOC7D85I_x3MYrPMmxVkEn90eV8znwqG2dWfBANijuiyjEUw561vsZU2OYIuF87NoychtYGBEjdsjRpbbAzRWlC3op5fUID0mm6FsykIu8_4f3NUGQeP9T-x7kM1gR8tVLm-9djK19d4cub1b7QoFiFE/s320/127463465.jpg" width="212" /></a></div><span style="color: #0b5394;">Author: Jayne Ann Krentz<br /></span></span><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="background-color: white;">Publisher: Berkley<br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Publication Date: January 2024</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><i><span style="background-color: white;">Talia March, Pallas Llewellyn, and Amelia Rivers, bonded by a night they all have no memory of, are dedicated to uncovering the mystery of what really happened to them months ago—an experience that brought out innate psychic abilities in each of them. The women suspect they were test subjects years earlier, and that there are more people like them—all they have to do is find the list. When Talia follows up on a lead from Phoebe, a fan of the trio’s podcast, she discovers that the informant has vanished.<br /></span><span style="background-color: white;"> <br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">Talia isn’t the only one looking for Phoebe, however. Luke Rand, a hunted and haunted man who is chasing the same list that Talia is after, also shows up at the meeting place. It’s clear he has his own agenda, and they are instantly suspicious of each other. But when a killer begins to stalk them, they realize they have to join forces to find Phoebe and the list.<br /></span><span style="background-color: white;"> <br /></span><span style="background-color: white;">The rocky investigation leads Talia and Luke to a rustic, remote retreat on Night Island in the Pacific Northwest. The retreat promises to rejuvenate guests with the Unplugged Experience. Upon their arrival, Talia and Luke discover guests are quite literally cut off from the outside world because none of their high-tech devices work on the island. It soon becomes clear that Phoebe is not the first person to disappear into the strange gardens that surround the Unplugged Experience retreat. And then the first mysterious death occurs…</span></i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>The Night Island </i></b>is the second book in The Lost Night Files series. This one is Talia's story. She is one of the podcasters who who had their lives altered one night and now have enhanced psychic powers. Talia can find lost things and people. Luke is a professor who also has had enhanced powers from his own lost night. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Like the first book, this one was just OK for me. I really feel like this book was phoned in and there was not a lot new here. I will admit the night garden was kind of cool. However, the romance was kind of meh and again I didn't really feel it. We also aren't really any closer to getting answers as to what happened to the women on their lost night. Luke gets his answers in a way. Overall, I'm just not very excited about this series. </span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoG56hXDHLp_MSIaTYsGlui1G9AuLpM_pd274rvvhTLEaW4RdZ8CzCNA6yPaaQnle5T4135dXqNBP5ZGz4vphUU0PxJghx05_lEpTEjqCO_lvlPxDYHLymUtL9qTOTSym53023ALUiOIpYoFvbDOGmFYKDpeF2ySA1FGfYRCoCvHBt4l1SOSqH5lzWR0A/s200/kari_sig.png" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjoG56hXDHLp_MSIaTYsGlui1G9AuLpM_pd274rvvhTLEaW4RdZ8CzCNA6yPaaQnle5T4135dXqNBP5ZGz4vphUU0PxJghx05_lEpTEjqCO_lvlPxDYHLymUtL9qTOTSym53023ALUiOIpYoFvbDOGmFYKDpeF2ySA1FGfYRCoCvHBt4l1SOSqH5lzWR0A/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div><div><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-59066563164019643742024-03-06T08:00:00.001-05:002024-03-06T08:00:00.164-05:00Blog Tour: Guest Review & Excerpt from Fast Time, Big City by Shelly Frome<h2><a href="https://www.virtualauthorbooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Fast-Times-Big-City.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img alt="Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-11206" height="300" src="https://www.virtualauthorbooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Fast-Times-Big-City-200x300.jpg" width="200" /></a>Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome</h2>
Publisher: Boutique of Quality Books (Feb 6, 2024) <div>Category: Manhattan Mystery </div><div>Tour dates: February 2-29, 2024 </div><div>ISBN: 979-8886330267 </div><div>Available in Print and ebook, Approx. 330 pages
<a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/isbn/ 9798886330267" rel="noopener" style="border: none;" target="_blank"><img alt="Fast Times Big City" src="https://www.goodreads.com/images/atmb_add_book-70x25.png" /></a>
<h2>Description Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome</h2>
In a bind, Bud Palmer finds himself at the crossroads when just about everything was on the verge.
Like most people, Bud Palmer felt this was just another day. Though the era was drawing to a close, he assumed his life as a sports columnist in the subtropics, in keeping with the benign fifties itself, would go on as predictable as ever. But that particular autumn morning he was thrust into a caper that was totally beyond him, forced him to leave Miami and take the train to Manhattan, and suddenly found everything in this restless "Big Apple" was up for grabs, on the brink, at a dicey turning point.</div><div><br /></div><div><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: inherit;"><b>We have a guest review from Gud Reader. Enjoy:</b></span></div><div><div style="border: 1px solid black; height: 350px; overflow: scroll; width: 650px;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b>Fast
Times, Big City- A book review by Gud Reader</b><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Shelly Frome's engrossing
mystery book "Fast Times, Big City" transports readers to the
turbulent and uncertain late 1950s. The narrative centers on Bud Palmer, a
Miami sports columnist whose life unexpectedly changes when he gets entangled
in a convoluted scheme. Bud finds himself in a world where everything is up for
grabs after being forced to leave his cozy subtropics for the busy streets of
Manhattan.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">This novel masterfully
captures the essence of the era, blending historical authenticity with a
gripping narrative. Frome's writing is both evocative and engaging, drawing
readers into the vibrant and sometimes seedy atmosphere of New York City. The
characters are well-developed, with Bud's journey of self-discovery and
adaptation to his new surroundings forming the heart of the story.<o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">As Bud navigates through
the challenges and dangers of the big city, he encounters a diverse cast of
characters, each with their own agendas and secrets. The plot is intricately
woven, with twists and turns that keep the reader guessing until the very end.
Frome's attention to detail and skillful storytelling make "Fast Times,
Big City" a must-read for fans of mystery and historical fiction alike.
Worth my five stars!!</span><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p></div></div><div><br /></div><div><b><span style="color: #351c75;">Here is a sneak peek:</span></b></div><div><span style="color: #351c75;"><br /></span></div>
<div style="border: 1px solid black; height: 350px; overflow: scroll; width: 650px;"><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p><span style="color: #351c75;"> </span></o:p></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Stella sipped some more wine and,
competing with the group in analysis shouting at one another, raised her voice
a bit, saying, “While we’re on the subject, what TV shows do you watch in
Miami?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Raising his voice as well, Bud said,
“I hardly ever watch it. But my sister’s got a brand new Philco. She tunes into
shows like <i>Father Knows Best</i>, </span><i><span lang="DA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: DA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">I Love Lucy</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">, <i>Ozzie and Harriet</i> and the </span><i><span lang="IT" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: IT; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Colgate Comedy
Hour</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">“Of course. All harmless, avoiding any
hint of reality. During the commercial break, housewives are offered frost-free
refrigerators, freezers, laundromats and clock radios to keep them sedated.
However, when word slipped out about programs like Playhouse 90, Studio One,
the U.S. Steel Hour and so forth—live, shot on location in New York . . .” </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">She paused for a moment and nodded.
“Ah yes, New York. Like a lady carnival barker, enticing, promising endless
opportunities for the starry-eyed.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Smiling, pausing once again and then
adding, “Seekers get on the buses and trains before they too turn into Ozzie
and Harriet. Willing to learn and catch the brass ring.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";"> Her words were lively but her tone remained as
casual as referring to new ice cream flavors at Howard Johnsons. Then her
slender body rose. She peered down on him and said, “Tell you what. I’ve got to
go feed Zelda my Persian cat and brush up on a reading for a new play. Where
are you staying?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">“Got a room at the New Yorker.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">“Perfect, the hotel that features the
most TV sets. As it happens, my friend Constance has the lead on </span><i><span lang="DA" style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-ansi-language: DA; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Naked City</span></i><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";"> at nine tonight. Think you can stay
awake that long and tune into Channel Four? As I was saying, these shows are
live, one shot and they’re gone, vanished into thin air.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">“But why?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">“Then forget it. How can anyone from
Miami who knows nothing of live, deep-delving
TV, rushing up here for some
hidden motive, possibly be worth my time?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">She walked away. Bud held still as
long as he could, rose up and quickly caught up to her, willing to latch onto
any lead. “Okay okay, what’s the deal? Anything within reason.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Pausing at the front door, taking her
sweet time, she turned back to him. “Like everything else . . . ?”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">“Bud. Just make it Bud.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";"> “Like everything else, Bud, it depends upon
the spirit of the moment. The quest for truth apart from all the masks and
reaching for the brass ring.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">“I hear you,” Bud said, although this
could be all a snag leading him nowhere. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Nodding, she broke into an all-knowing
smile. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">The upshot was, Bud was to key on the
realities, meet her at ten the next morning at the Automat at Times Square
which was within easy walking distance from his hotel. She happened to be
making the rounds of casting agents in the vicinity after eleven. They’d have
coffee. Provided he’d had a glimmering of what she was talking about, she’d
provide him with a possible way of getting in touch with the starry-eyed young
lady in question as part of her never-ending crusade. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">However, if it was all beyond him, if
he didn’t appreciate what Constance had to offer, it simply wasn’t worth her
time.</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">He nodded again, still having no idea
what the kicker was, followed her out, thanked Carmen who was greeting new
revelers, and wished her all the best. Carmen, in turn, gave him a dirty look. </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">Outside, before parting ways, Stella
smiled and said, “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this?” </span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="color: #351c75;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";">“If it gets me on the right
wavelength, you bet.”</span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></span></p>
<p class="BodyA" style="line-height: 200%; text-indent: .5in;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-bidi-font-family: "Arial Unicode MS";"><span style="color: #351c75;">As she drifted off, he felt
emboldened, as if he might be getting somewhere. But as the streetlamps flicked
on and he neared the IRT Christopher Street stop in the late autumnal chill, he
began to have second thoughts. Stella Parsons might just be playing him for her
own amusement. Bud was totally out of his element and despite his track record
as a sharp sports reporter was truly unfit for this venture all along no matter
how hard he tried to make the best of it. </span></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12.0pt; line-height: 200%; mso-fareast-font-family: "Times New Roman";"><o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
</div>
<h2><a href="https://www.virtualauthorbooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Shelly-Frome-2.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img alt="Shelly Frome" class="alignright size-medium wp-image-11208" height="200" src="https://www.virtualauthorbooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Shelly-Frome-2-196x300.jpg" width="131" /></a>About Shelly Frome</h2>
Award winning author, Shelly Frome is a member of Mystery Writers of America, a professor of dramatic arts emeritus at UConn, a former professional actor, and a writer of crime novels and books on theater and film. He also is a features writer for Gannett Publications.
His fiction includes <em>Sun Dance for Andy Horn, Lilac Moon, Twilight of the</em> <em>Drifter, Tinseltown Riff,</em> <em>Murder Run, Moon Games,</em> <em>The Secluded Village Murders </em>and <em>Miranda and the D-Day Caper.</em> Among his works of non-fiction are <em>The Actors Studio: A History, </em>a guide to playwriting and one on screenwriting<em>,</em> <em>Shadow of the Gypsy</em> is his latest foray into the world of crime and the amateur sleuth.
He lives in Black Mountain, North Carolina.
Website: <span style="color: blue;"><a href="http://www.shellyfrome.com/" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: blue;" target="_blank">http://www.shellyfrome.com/</a></span>
Facebook: <span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/shellyfrome" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: blue;" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/shellyfrome</a></span>
Twitter: <span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://twitter.com/shellyFrome" rel="noopener noreferrer" style="color: blue;" target="_blank">https://twitter.com/shellyFrome</a></span>
<h2>Buy Fast Time Big City by Shelly Frome</h2>
<span style="color: blue;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Fast-Times-City-Shelly-Frome/dp/B0C8CBLC2C/ref=sr_1_8?qid=1699391880&refinements=p_27%3AShelly+Frome&s=books&sr=1-8&text=Shelly+Frome" rel="noopener" style="color: blue;" target="_blank">Amazon</a></span>
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<h2>Giveaway Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome</h2>
This giveaway is for 2 print or ebook copies, open to the U.S. and Canada only. This giveaway ends on March 26, 2024 midnight, pacific time. Entries accepted via Rafflecopter only.
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<h2>Follow Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome</h2>
<a href="http://theteddyrosebookreviewsplusmore.com/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Teddy Rose Book Reviews Plus</a> Feb 26 Excerpt
Liam <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/178810967-fast-times-big-city" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> Feb 27 Review
Leslie <a href="https://www.storeybookreviews.com" rel="noopener" target="_blank">StoreyBook Reviews</a> Feb 29 Guest Review- Nora & Excerpt
BookGirl <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/178810967-fast-times-big-city" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Fast-Times-City-Shelly-Frome/dp/B0C8CBLC2C/ref" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Amazon</a> Mar 1 Review
Kari <a href="https://fromthetbrpile.blogspot.com/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">From the TBR Pile</a> Mar 6 Guest Review Gud Reader & Excerpt
Dawn <a href="https://bound4escape.com/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Bound 4 Escape</a> Mar 7 Guest Review Sal
Gracie <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/178810967-fast-times-big-city" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> Mar 8 Review
Bee <a href="https://www.bookpleasures.com/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">BookPleasures.com</a> Mar 11 Review
Linda Lu <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/178810967-fast-times-big-city" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> Mar 12 Review
Suzie <a href="https://mytangledskeinsbookreviews.blogspot.com/" rel="noopener" target="_blank"><em>My Tangled Skeins Book Reviews</em></a> Mar 13 Review & Interview
Denise <a href="https://www.amazon.ca/Fast-Times-City-Shelly-Frome/dp/B0C8CBLC2C/ref">Amazon</a> <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/178810967-fast-times-big-city" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> Mar 14 Review
Kathleen <a href="http://www.celticladysreviews.blogspot.com" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Celticlady's Reviews</a> Mar 15 Guest Review Laura & Excerpt
Mike <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/178810967-fast-times-big-city" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> Mar 18 Review
<a href="http://theteddyrosebookreviewsplusmore.com/" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Teddy Rose Book Reviews Plus</a> Mar 19 Guest Review-Mark
Donna <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Fast-Times-City-Shelly-Frome/dp/B0C8CBLC2C/ref">Amazon</a> <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/178810967-fast-times-big-city" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> Mar 21 Review
Amy <a href="http://www.amybooksy.blospot.com" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Looks, Hooks, Books</a> Mar 22 Review
Ellen <a href="https://www.goodreads.com/book/show/178810967-fast-times-big-city" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> Mar 25 Review
<a href="https://www.virtualauthorbooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Fast-Times-Big-City-1.jpg"><img alt="Fast Times Big City by Shelly Frome" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-11368" height="150" src="https://www.virtualauthorbooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Fast-Times-Big-City-1-300x150.jpg" width="300" /></a>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-50959822501900367732024-03-05T22:29:00.003-05:002024-03-05T22:29:57.147-05:00Review: Frostbitten by Rebecca Zanetti<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozyzny9sAT-IxhC4vzhDd0z8ib-vfjV5fUk1v34WapGlB5XGjuVsllQasVm867KjgcB_KOZQjthPuJR7Mpng59x9fM9UaDo5WTdYlfOlJmRnyDd4xTH0Qer7hA1rwVJ_uYiTfUJC63Iesvw2RMc2tS5RDR4Je91j-2cXWXs1Q4dhXL1jSKB8ma0oPO4w/s2100/123222000.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2100" data-original-width="1400" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhozyzny9sAT-IxhC4vzhDd0z8ib-vfjV5fUk1v34WapGlB5XGjuVsllQasVm867KjgcB_KOZQjthPuJR7Mpng59x9fM9UaDo5WTdYlfOlJmRnyDd4xTH0Qer7hA1rwVJ_uYiTfUJC63Iesvw2RMc2tS5RDR4Je91j-2cXWXs1Q4dhXL1jSKB8ma0oPO4w/s320/123222000.jpg" width="213" /></a></div></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Author: Rebecca Zanetti<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Kensington<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Publication Date: January 2024</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #073763;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Enigmatic.</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #073763;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">With a wildly gifted mind, and an untamed head of hair to match, petite powerhouse Millicent Frost is brilliant when it comes to gadgets and electronics—less so with people. After an attempt to bust a bank scam goes awry, Millie is in hot water with Homeland Security and targeted by lethal enemies. In the midst of the trouble, she heads home to help out with the family hunting and fishing business. But when their rival competitor and Millie’s ex is murdered, she’s the number one suspect . . .</span></span></i></span></div></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><i><span style="color: #073763;"><span style="background-color: white;">Irresistible.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Former Marine turned lawyer Scott Terentson devotes himself to getting his clients out of tricky binds. A loner, the last thing he wants is to belong to any team, yet the Deep Ops group considers him one of their own—and he pays the price by getting shot at by their enemies. Now Millie is seeking his help—just as he’s dealing with a brutal fail regarding a recent trial. Both are a headache, yet he’s drawn to Millie in spite of himself. They’re opposites, but maybe the old adage is true . . .</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Electric.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Working together, Millie and Scott soon have more on their hands than they bargained for as the danger escalates—along with the sizzling heat between them. And when a disappearance is thrown into the mix, all bets are off . . </span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">.</span></i></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Frostbitten </i></b>is the 6th book in the Deep Ops series. This one is Scott and Millie's story. I have loved all of the book in this series so far and this one is no exception. Scott and Millie have great chemistry and I loved them together. Even though Scott is a lawyer and Millie refuses to date lawyers. Scott manages to worm his way into her heart. I also loved her inventions. I think having her for a real life friend would be really fun.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;">The mystery was really good. I had an idea of the way it was going, but I wrong in the end. I do love when that happens. There is also a lot of action. When I read a book from this series, I always feel like I'm visiting old quirky friends. I absolutely loved that Wolfe was in this one. He will always be my favorite character in this series, even over Cat and Rosco. I'm not going to give away anything in the book. I highly recommend it as well as the series overall.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhLwk_grI2-Yg4QHks1-1MpuGwxqhu8mtQ2fr-NixHBzLwOHDz5NI8R954ce8jYHP0Tn1YBZPqU8M4yEDP59hLHggD4Lea0yKeKkDdZgwWjJ6Ga8bbbwBFYLmpKjTmlLJkMI3I-n1JUraqX_Xw4Xow3eBaRwCdxmpI8GpLfSO_On2o9T3ZdTtnIX05S4/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgnhLwk_grI2-Yg4QHks1-1MpuGwxqhu8mtQ2fr-NixHBzLwOHDz5NI8R954ce8jYHP0Tn1YBZPqU8M4yEDP59hLHggD4Lea0yKeKkDdZgwWjJ6Ga8bbbwBFYLmpKjTmlLJkMI3I-n1JUraqX_Xw4Xow3eBaRwCdxmpI8GpLfSO_On2o9T3ZdTtnIX05S4/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><p></p>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-36458228069199645012024-03-02T17:24:00.003-05:002024-03-02T17:24:22.316-05:00Books I DNF'd in February<p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCkdsFTEkx9Iix4MssBV-8PaPvM-2Rsets7-_QFITT4tSi510pNDCLyPukUobnx1iORMb-WtYw7cIO6_eNR8EPyg922lGcmJ3SD_Cn6UVYK36LoR8RUjIxZWqHPOYv22numg1ME7mC6-Jqg1G4KOLJ6sBNqmsA3DU9A3CGCAxiV4sF3AvcAQ9DlUCCcN4/s1360/198909211.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1360" data-original-width="826" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhCkdsFTEkx9Iix4MssBV-8PaPvM-2Rsets7-_QFITT4tSi510pNDCLyPukUobnx1iORMb-WtYw7cIO6_eNR8EPyg922lGcmJ3SD_Cn6UVYK36LoR8RUjIxZWqHPOYv22numg1ME7mC6-Jqg1G4KOLJ6sBNqmsA3DU9A3CGCAxiV4sF3AvcAQ9DlUCCcN4/w121-h200/198909211.jpg" width="121" /></a></div><b><i>Promicide</i></b>: I was hoping for a good cheesy 80s themed prom serial killer book. Instead, I got a gross, unfocused maybe supernatural book that kept trying to remind me it was set in the 80s. I lost interest after I realized I couldn't connect with the characters. I don't recommend.<a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirPDycxf27ydOSs0E3B7j9watO9ztC_TlI7t3mN5G4JNB5DmZclsEnWy1G7jeWULeuTcM_puA98A7z6ugiZN2Rics02DQpa1YJeSCZtasm0XNDEFZ8UuZhwcY9GtNfLulk8zDFWmsFz_UiQmVTUYMY7Z19k-GhcOQzTyeAQyI6Cw3TFPhXL2ziISbbLt8/s240/44135162._SX150_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="240" data-original-width="150" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEirPDycxf27ydOSs0E3B7j9watO9ztC_TlI7t3mN5G4JNB5DmZclsEnWy1G7jeWULeuTcM_puA98A7z6ugiZN2Rics02DQpa1YJeSCZtasm0XNDEFZ8UuZhwcY9GtNfLulk8zDFWmsFz_UiQmVTUYMY7Z19k-GhcOQzTyeAQyI6Cw3TFPhXL2ziISbbLt8/w125-h200/44135162._SX150_.jpg" width="125" /></a><p></p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCvZFcsqWyFIcrOzyLhfYe2jUytirFLaAjJAcaFb5rxynIQ8m3sfU-KsDkynMrIwrtx6NxUAU98A4pRKmSTdTrvQ1lpITefUD-ZNvO-dcH3Yeq0LW14DtcOYE639WlDSh1V2P5R0FUpKTEbV3tsJsJgfs9C3mvT97EFDFof7xnE2IW-_2ADGeeq_Xovno/s500/134116831.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; display: inline !important; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="500" data-original-width="331" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCvZFcsqWyFIcrOzyLhfYe2jUytirFLaAjJAcaFb5rxynIQ8m3sfU-KsDkynMrIwrtx6NxUAU98A4pRKmSTdTrvQ1lpITefUD-ZNvO-dcH3Yeq0LW14DtcOYE639WlDSh1V2P5R0FUpKTEbV3tsJsJgfs9C3mvT97EFDFof7xnE2IW-_2ADGeeq_Xovno/w133-h200/134116831.jpg" width="133" /></a><br /><b>Missy's Murder</b>: I love a good true crime book. This one wasn't one. I made it about halfway through and gave up. I was bored. I appreciated that the author was trying to create suspense around what happened, but it just wasn't there. I googled it instead.</p><p><b><i>Night of the Storm:</i></b> Still having no luck with thrillers. I hated every character in this book. If I had to wait out a hurricane with these characters, I would probably take my chances with the weather. At one point, the main character's car is damaged in the storm. She actually thinks the social worker who is investigating her as a mother will not understand why she can't show up for an appointment once the storm is over. I think the worker would understand given the massive hurricane. It was all nonsense and I couldn't spend any more time in her head.</p><p><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwotir8ET_rbdhGSBN31oz4922Rpq1-YDFkb0i_W0fmfUuhXA-98oSayUlIVU7GoRehQSnuqG7RFeEWd6IytPklxYyp3sHlCG16lmwNRO_PN0tEkxBuoKnl7T482KaSPJ40RAe17RiG5UaDqQnB9tmuZL3uvKWPa1apD_qEAkVxkTypzV1sj_usuKAuDU/s2475/122790181.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; display: inline !important; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em; text-align: center;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2475" data-original-width="1650" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiwotir8ET_rbdhGSBN31oz4922Rpq1-YDFkb0i_W0fmfUuhXA-98oSayUlIVU7GoRehQSnuqG7RFeEWd6IytPklxYyp3sHlCG16lmwNRO_PN0tEkxBuoKnl7T482KaSPJ40RAe17RiG5UaDqQnB9tmuZL3uvKWPa1apD_qEAkVxkTypzV1sj_usuKAuDU/w133-h200/122790181.jpg" width="133" /></a><br /><b><i>Tag, You're Dead</i></b>: I had a hard time following this audiobook. I had no idea what was going on. There were too many characters to follow. The narrator made everyone sound the same. I had a hard time remembering whose perspective I was following. The story was all over the place and I don't recommend.</p><p><br /></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhahMypu3lAlH7P-JAWsz6ARVEGZl8RfUaWC5uv37zGt0iSTvZCLH6EKcL5rr3oCEI8N3xdYuRCvvxMYUOQVmZYoW80H7vvQqySxf0LDAF5XakZbhWF_zHWLizCFSNMZp3leJ69Xs9b8gQS1_YSMOWnmhyc5thzP9GfI9MAmK55vFg7a2Hh9pcSzhlBwWE/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhahMypu3lAlH7P-JAWsz6ARVEGZl8RfUaWC5uv37zGt0iSTvZCLH6EKcL5rr3oCEI8N3xdYuRCvvxMYUOQVmZYoW80H7vvQqySxf0LDAF5XakZbhWF_zHWLizCFSNMZp3leJ69Xs9b8gQS1_YSMOWnmhyc5thzP9GfI9MAmK55vFg7a2Hh9pcSzhlBwWE/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><p><br /></p>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-10082772378297307202024-02-28T22:41:00.001-05:002024-02-28T22:41:22.186-05:00Review: Shattered Dreams by Christina Sol<div><span style="color: #0b5394;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEkLVEpfkbf56AIRsT3j5Glg2yynnPbdR7HpwglEnsXrZta-le138kH4CQXt0k1kU_i2xtu3OJhsC6lKL0D5iRzl8HlyKlG_hiSdY4oOAnzzNsgNezOBg6U4reDmOTJLcu7NmrI_WgPopxGYusP5HRcwv0UluXHpfqnhvezD-BdWjzxWU0AKdfgRaguCc/s547/199421447.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="547" data-original-width="363" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhEkLVEpfkbf56AIRsT3j5Glg2yynnPbdR7HpwglEnsXrZta-le138kH4CQXt0k1kU_i2xtu3OJhsC6lKL0D5iRzl8HlyKlG_hiSdY4oOAnzzNsgNezOBg6U4reDmOTJLcu7NmrI_WgPopxGYusP5HRcwv0UluXHpfqnhvezD-BdWjzxWU0AKdfgRaguCc/s320/199421447.jpg" width="212" /></a></div>Author: Christina Sol<br />Publisher: Sol Media LLC<br />Publication Date: February 2024</span></div><div><span style="color: #0b5394;"><br /><i>She's a small-town boutique owner. He's a world-famous
former MMA champion. They're both wary of relationships, but the attraction
between them is undeniable. When someone threatens the life he's built,
everyone he loves becomes a target...</i></span></div><div><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><br />
Fresh out of a messy divorce, Poppy Walker is determined to stay strong and
grow her business, Rainy Day Boutique. But while her twin sons are thriving
during their first year away at college, she’s all alone for the first time in
years, fighting to hide the internal scars from her failed marriage. The last
thing on her mind is dating…but a certain local celebrity athlete is determined
to win her over.</i></span></div><div><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><br />
Cade de la Rosa is riding high as one of the top mixed martial arts coaches in
the world, and he’s more than happy to focus all his attention on his gym and
fighters. His fame and fortune taught him the hard way that trust is a rare
thing, so he’s avoided relationships for years, keeping his flings brief and
casual. That’s why his endless fascination with the pretty and sassy boutique
owner is the last thing he expects.</i></span></div><div><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><br />
Drawn together by a series of perilous events, Poppy and Cade quickly go from
acquaintances to friends. As their magnetic connection lures them closer and
their chemistry proves explosive, an unseen enemy puts everything at risk. Will
their relationship survive the danger? Or will it get cut short by the person
who wants to destroy everything—and everyone—Cade holds dear?</i></span></div><div><br /><b><i>Shattered Dreams</i></b> is the third book in the Hudson Island series. This one is Poppy and Cade's story. It definitely can be read as a stand alone book. I really enjoyed this one. Cade and Poppy were so adorable. I loved how Cade made Poppy feel beautiful and desired. She really deserved to finally feel all of that. I also loved how her twins interreacted with Cade and how protective they were of their mom. It was very sweet. The mystery and the action was pretty intense and it made me want to keep reading. I am loving this series and I can't wait for the next book.<br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQjYS2ihTI7ShDBYwAFirnimW0ShN0CbSavKtxhDePHPEWWmF0pqEcMbjDXIeJz7qUnEjNdYHkMXWgUQyvQY1_rgmSc-B1w9-EAR0Mq-p8NWMO7e_hAYzQzsRYjdKlvIi0Kwu-6gK9WoNslmv2TUuh_f9PQD-N39zIXcjeufR29pcO9gmskxWWrfCV1LA/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgQjYS2ihTI7ShDBYwAFirnimW0ShN0CbSavKtxhDePHPEWWmF0pqEcMbjDXIeJz7qUnEjNdYHkMXWgUQyvQY1_rgmSc-B1w9-EAR0Mq-p8NWMO7e_hAYzQzsRYjdKlvIi0Kwu-6gK9WoNslmv2TUuh_f9PQD-N39zIXcjeufR29pcO9gmskxWWrfCV1LA/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-28050477579445610102024-02-26T10:00:00.002-05:002024-02-26T10:00:00.134-05:00Review: The Hotel by Louise Mumford<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjZZMBMLz3ZPfhOFKOj95rlzm-g6RbCfkjmDM8Lx29ckdS8SKKjq1m2R_IXVxp3BmgE15ZTgzYXwceTdFhmJFv5i3et1bsdkDiwVOGQmJ32cuNKID6QehvT0W5KNcJ2z3k9lDw27DknYbUYHcMWF_fft8ARl9z3i6fxP8vqR-V4HD-2Glc0gWlpQEcWs/s346/123193204.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="226" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhdjZZMBMLz3ZPfhOFKOj95rlzm-g6RbCfkjmDM8Lx29ckdS8SKKjq1m2R_IXVxp3BmgE15ZTgzYXwceTdFhmJFv5i3et1bsdkDiwVOGQmJ32cuNKID6QehvT0W5KNcJ2z3k9lDw27DknYbUYHcMWF_fft8ARl9z3i6fxP8vqR-V4HD-2Glc0gWlpQEcWs/s320/123193204.jpg" width="209" /></a></div>Author: Louise Mumford<br />Publisher: HQ Digital<br />Publication Date: June 2023</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><br /><i> <span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white;">Four of them went to the hotel</span></i></span></div><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">Four students travel to Ravencliffe, an eerie abandoned hotel perched on steep cliffs on the Welsh coast. After a series of unexplained accidents, only three of them leave. The fourth, Leo, disappears, and is never seen again.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">Only three of them came back</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;">Ten years later, they return one last time</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">But as soon as they get to the hotel things start going wrong again. Objects mysteriously disappear and reappear. Accidents happen. And Bex </span>realizes<span style="font-family: inherit;"> that her former friends know far more than they are letting on about the true events at Ravencliffe that night…</span></span></i></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;"><b><i>The Hotel</i></b> ended up being an enjoyable thriller. Mainly told through the eyes of Beth, as she returns to the remote island that houses The Ravencliffe Hotel. Ten years before she and three friends went there to ghost hunt. Only 3 of them came back. Now, they are back and Beth is hoping to figure out what really happened that night. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;">As I said, I really enjoyed this one. I was left guessing and was surprised by the reveal at the end. </span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">The events of the past were laid out in just the right way to keep the suspense going until just the right time for the reveal.</span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;"> The best part about the story is the spooky atmosphere. There is one scene in a tunnel toward the end that was outright creepy. I thought the characters were compelling. Each of them were </span><span style="color: #1e1915;">affected</span><span style="color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> so differently by that night. Having the story go between past and present enables the reader to really see how each of them changed. I don't want to give too much away, so I'll </span>just<span style="font-family: inherit;"> say I do recommend this one.</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMJGaF-sOxn3er8OHzVc9IU540gILjc8gbF8aMHTjOej0MVtM4poPbf7dDmi0utkCRqnwyZy_bfwnAb-KdmvtVTQneiktQnjL5BYpVrRVXrWM8YSU9XEwLyEhhdSK7qmo1wKacq9JoR8-kNRb1ZtnQ8acDvIqYsCCt2oTjQuKrM71kS8a5YekpEIwVQM/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEifMJGaF-sOxn3er8OHzVc9IU540gILjc8gbF8aMHTjOej0MVtM4poPbf7dDmi0utkCRqnwyZy_bfwnAb-KdmvtVTQneiktQnjL5BYpVrRVXrWM8YSU9XEwLyEhhdSK7qmo1wKacq9JoR8-kNRb1ZtnQ8acDvIqYsCCt2oTjQuKrM71kS8a5YekpEIwVQM/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div></span></div><div><span face=""Proxima Nova", Montserrat, Arial, sans-serif" style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-size: 16px;"><br /></span></div>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-78297850542198461242024-02-25T21:31:00.001-05:002024-02-25T21:31:17.838-05:00Review: Wild for You by Kristen Proby<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVXuuTvkt0PqLQ4EnBjpr3Ptr511hY0zVcLj7zEWydo4q_lc6-9Y8nZZll_HwALuNyAvapSv_WK1vCjHF5NcoqzHQ-HzEZumH1wd4cQkcIb4eCQ64TIrwx_q6Zs7XUolh0NX6W7k1ho7s_GpovZzRbKCkd5NtO3jwI4nYcCSusGKay6RjuhEfxbzkvdI/s1600/197806181.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1600" data-original-width="1067" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgHVXuuTvkt0PqLQ4EnBjpr3Ptr511hY0zVcLj7zEWydo4q_lc6-9Y8nZZll_HwALuNyAvapSv_WK1vCjHF5NcoqzHQ-HzEZumH1wd4cQkcIb4eCQ64TIrwx_q6Zs7XUolh0NX6W7k1ho7s_GpovZzRbKCkd5NtO3jwI4nYcCSusGKay6RjuhEfxbzkvdI/s320/197806181.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Author: Kristen Proby<br />Publisher: </span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;">Ampersand Publishing, Inc.</span></span><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><br />Publication date: January 2024</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><br /><i><span style="background-color: white;">Remington Wild is a single dad of two adorable kids, and as the oldest son of the Wild family, has recently taken over the Wild River Ranch from his father. Life is </span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">crazy</span><span style="background-color: white;">, and he’s finally willing to admit that he needs help, and the sooner the better. He has no idea that the beautiful woman he sees every day at Bitterroot Valley Coffee Co. is the woman who would show up for the job.</span></i></span></div><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><i><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Erin Montgomery couldn’t get out of Seattle fast enough. It’s not that she doesn’t love her big, loud family, but living in the big city just wasn’t for her. The minute she stepped foot in Bitterroot Valley, she knew she was </span><span style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box;">home</span><span style="background-color: white;">. She loves the slower pace, the friendly people, and her job at the coffee shop. Even the smoking hot grumpy guy who stops in every afternoon can’t put a damper on how much she loves small town life!</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Thanks to car trouble, and her stubbornness when it comes to using her trust fund, Erin needs a second job and applies for the position of a part-time nanny. She’s surprised to find that it’s Grumpy himself who answers the door at the ranch, but Erin quickly learns that she loves his kids and the ranch, and it’s a no-brainer to take the job. She just has to remind herself to resist the sexy rancher and keep it strictly professional.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Remington is attracted to his younger nanny, and finds himself falling headfirst in love with her. He and his kids have never been happier, and he knows she is the perfect addition to their family for as long as she’s willing to stay. Hopefully forever.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">But when secrets are exposed, one of which endangers his children, will their love survive? Or will it tear them apart?</span></i></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Wild at Heart</i></b> is the first book in the Wilds of Montana series. This one is Remington and Erin's story. It's an age gap, single dad/nanny story. I'm </span>definitely<span style="font-family: inherit;"> continuing my streak of good luck when it comes to romance. I </span>thought<span style="font-family: inherit;"> this book was really adorable. I loved </span>Remington<span style="font-family: inherit;"> and Erin together. I loved watching them get to know each </span>other<span style="font-family: inherit;">. In fact, having the two main characters actually have full conversations in order to get to know each other </span></span></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #1e1915;">was a very refreshing part of the book.</span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;">. I feel like that is lacking in some stories. The kids were adorable and really added to the story. I also loved both of the extended families involved. I can't wait for the siblings' stories. There is a bit of danger toward the end, but I won't spoil it for you. I highly recommend this one. </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #1e1915;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCfUA7Goyln7qz3Klu1TWRaAHQXiCdLXbkmpSEcyzKQyoKsOI1QM9uJwcdlAq8S3XuB_MJho28kFRijFFYM-kCPdQhkX1yFgZQCyOOViLjoRU4GusJug-cWd57CpBc8MgQ4yLUZbN6dHOu7qgSbL4MxPIAwZqdlnN3-ZCO1QCRq_hsmAtSo1SGcYBT8Os/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgCfUA7Goyln7qz3Klu1TWRaAHQXiCdLXbkmpSEcyzKQyoKsOI1QM9uJwcdlAq8S3XuB_MJho28kFRijFFYM-kCPdQhkX1yFgZQCyOOViLjoRU4GusJug-cWd57CpBc8MgQ4yLUZbN6dHOu7qgSbL4MxPIAwZqdlnN3-ZCO1QCRq_hsmAtSo1SGcYBT8Os/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><br /></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></div>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-5954356757225865822024-02-24T21:14:00.003-05:002024-02-24T21:14:40.532-05:00Review: The Weekend Retreat by Tara Laskowski<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9yzHZJwFQ2E4QDVBUotJHIo3v-Z52lVYIInyT0FvF2GsVAqEqOdRVf6Lo800gBuv2bEoxd2YHeVtHVQ7tge5zcjA_gcuv3iC6ReacYuLVhx4esI-sZn273EG7E6AkwAb08YT34NwDOL8We4qzl2v_aJfNi6TbQlMEjdgpxaXCZPDmNS4UCNBTGJeCds/s400/75339198.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="267" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj_9yzHZJwFQ2E4QDVBUotJHIo3v-Z52lVYIInyT0FvF2GsVAqEqOdRVf6Lo800gBuv2bEoxd2YHeVtHVQ7tge5zcjA_gcuv3iC6ReacYuLVhx4esI-sZn273EG7E6AkwAb08YT34NwDOL8We4qzl2v_aJfNi6TbQlMEjdgpxaXCZPDmNS4UCNBTGJeCds/s320/75339198.jpg" width="214" /></a></div>Author: Tara Laskowski<br />Publisher: Graydon House<br />Publication Date: December 2023</span></span></div><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><i><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">Every year, the illustrious Van Ness siblings—heirs to a copper fortune—gather at their luxury winery estate for a joint birthday celebration. It's a tradition they've followed nearly all their lives, and now they are back with their significant others for a much-needed weekend of rest and relaxation, away from the public spotlight.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">With lavish comforts, gorgeous scenery, and indulgent drinking, the trip should be the perfect escape. But it soon becomes clear that even a remote idyllic getaway can’t keep out the problems simmering in each of their lives. As old tensions are reignited, the three couples are pushed to the edge. Will their secrets destroy them, or will they destroy each other first? And who’s been watching them from beyond the vineyard gates?</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /></i><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">When a torrential rainstorm hits, plunging them into darkness, the answers prove all too deadly…</span></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span><span style="color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;">While I have had really good luck with romance so far in the year 2024, I don't seem to be having very good luck with thrillers. <b><i>The </i></b></span><span style="color: #1e1915;"><b><i>Weekend</i></b></span><span style="color: #1e1915;"><b style="font-family: inherit;"><i> Retreat</i></b><span style="font-family: inherit;"> was not enjoyable. I probably should have DFN'd it, but for some reason, I wanted to see how it ended. There was a twist, but it was glaringly obvious. My biggest issue with this book was the lack of likable characters. I always try to find someone to root for in a story, but there was literally know one that I cared about at all. The mystery overall was disappointing, so I </span>couldn't<span style="font-family: inherit;"> even overlook not liking anyone in the book. The ending was really </span>unbelievable<span style="font-family: inherit;"> and I hated it. I'm disappointed because I liked her previous book, <b><i>The Mother Next Door</i></b>. Maybe this is a one-off.</span></span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span><span style="color: #1e1915;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbP2KYHjFEFvF_ZT6nxE8iNhXRSp_-vLZD9rQWmgjBzl6It58ipHBIVOqhQ8yVvWp3fpZ7l6QgklQRC5fFJn0tivOPDBxMPYfwoRLy0NTAX9pbjBqr1bf9cEAy5pc2TaOQtM2cS0eBjcqcd5ufw6gKnyG1N4xsUDYwVRTipPM0o_IrSMXrBhVxj4_dY3w/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhbP2KYHjFEFvF_ZT6nxE8iNhXRSp_-vLZD9rQWmgjBzl6It58ipHBIVOqhQ8yVvWp3fpZ7l6QgklQRC5fFJn0tivOPDBxMPYfwoRLy0NTAX9pbjBqr1bf9cEAy5pc2TaOQtM2cS0eBjcqcd5ufw6gKnyG1N4xsUDYwVRTipPM0o_IrSMXrBhVxj4_dY3w/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></span></span></div>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-29195163146307862932024-02-23T22:09:00.000-05:002024-02-23T22:09:20.466-05:00Review: Shadow of Death by Heather Graham<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnI5zc29nEyZr_7LDCiJylfoLlY_ZUpSSRijUqe4izQ26EqhkaLilu58MH_G9-39rjNNw7q0f32WxBb6CMhXPCmRR3XGfQHe46xC4UFOBC5geqxe6DORiZ3U33BKPy-CfG3QfNsnnGThhcxxirqGikeS8HryJcxqzWOGoyH1wbnipJQXVUFQA7VuklFvY/s346/61159297.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="346" data-original-width="228" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhnI5zc29nEyZr_7LDCiJylfoLlY_ZUpSSRijUqe4izQ26EqhkaLilu58MH_G9-39rjNNw7q0f32WxBb6CMhXPCmRR3XGfQHe46xC4UFOBC5geqxe6DORiZ3U33BKPy-CfG3QfNsnnGThhcxxirqGikeS8HryJcxqzWOGoyH1wbnipJQXVUFQA7VuklFvY/s320/61159297.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>Author: Heather Graham<br />Publisher: MIRA<br />Publication Date: April 2023 </span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><br /><span style="background-color: white;"><i>You can cut off the head of the snake, but another will emerge.</i></span></span></div><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><i><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">When two hikers go missing within a series of daunting caves outside of Denver, Colorado, FDLE special agent Amy Larson and her partner, FBI special agent Hunter Forrest, have good reason to suspect foul play. The pair of hikers are only the latest to vanish after a rash of disappearances that’s left local law enforcement stumped. But in searching the dank caverns near the Arkansas River, the agents aren’t prepared for the horror they uncover: a muddy pit littered with corpses. Covered in bite marks. Made by human teeth.</span><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><br style="background-color: white; box-sizing: border-box; margin: 0px;" /><span style="background-color: white;">When a tiny toy horse is found on the scene, Amy and Hunter recognize the calling card. They’ll have to move quickly before the already sizable body count can grow. Their investigation soon draws them down the rabbit hole of a dangerous cult with a sinister mandate—one that involves human sacrifices. Anything to further their twisted cause. But when more people go missing, it becomes clear the cult’s reach extends beyond state lines, leading Amy and Hunter deep into the Florida Everglades to set a perilous trap, one that stands to risk everything they hold dear, including their lives.</span></i></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span><span style="color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Shadow of Death</i></b> is the </span><span style="color: #1e1915;">third</span><span style="color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"> book in the Amy Larson and Hunter Forrest FBI series. This one picks up fairly soon after the second book. When a pair of hikers go missing, the search is on. </span>One<span style="font-family: inherit;"> of them is found in a cave barely alive. It also happens to be</span></span></span></span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"> the scene of a mass body dumping site. When a</span><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;">nother toy horse is found at the scene, Amy and Hunter know the killer they have been hunting is involved.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #1e1915;">I'll be honest, I didn't really enjoy this one. I found it unfocused with too many characters to keep straight. I had a hard time keeping engaged with the audiobook and had to re-listen to parts a few times because I kept zoning out. I found the story repetitive. The romance boring. The whole cult story line was weird and I'm still not sure how it fits into the serial killer arc. The story also just kind of ended abruptly. The other thing that made this book really drag for me were the history lessons. I know this author likes to add in history of the featured areas into her stories, but they just felt like info dumps here. I didn't need to know any of the information for the story to really be enjoyable. I would have preferred they not be included. Despite this one being kind of "meh". I will finish out the quartet with the next book.</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #1e1915;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0RhOfmkmwiwt2fVrKDlRKv-cum21PW8dCwraew0HT7LYZmli3AJY3nwBohtisnab9GZ39d5wwSuk2Nko86xQda9dE2qFnjU0o09HLqPJ2ipFhBith1mP9KOKUwQgJbL7blnsmteYqejRToPYrAiLpiw40oi6i_UhyqXJm3Vyd4RI2Kfdc-fF4kzKdrUo/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEh0RhOfmkmwiwt2fVrKDlRKv-cum21PW8dCwraew0HT7LYZmli3AJY3nwBohtisnab9GZ39d5wwSuk2Nko86xQda9dE2qFnjU0o09HLqPJ2ipFhBith1mP9KOKUwQgJbL7blnsmteYqejRToPYrAiLpiw40oi6i_UhyqXJm3Vyd4RI2Kfdc-fF4kzKdrUo/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /></span></span></div>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-38577554044404826802024-02-21T22:17:00.006-05:002024-02-21T22:17:38.413-05:00Spotlight: Excerpt from A Step Past Darkness by Vera Kurian<div style="text-align: left;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeq93R9LwoWnn0U7nOPNi9fxEcZ88UBiC4I7cwMs8GQ_0-SpQu0QVFsl7_dGQc1N648bxF-11yYtyKPT4blr2G76SiCtZPpbNWFM_DjvM1UVc0ZSYUCIUOeLW28rq3sUFrUYaVX-hSaVvxt-TpjN_WL9ZYyqX2POnfR-2jq6732LuxgkDJqM3F5YaxPR4/s1600/690-HTP-Banner---Winter-2024%20(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="1600" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgeq93R9LwoWnn0U7nOPNi9fxEcZ88UBiC4I7cwMs8GQ_0-SpQu0QVFsl7_dGQc1N648bxF-11yYtyKPT4blr2G76SiCtZPpbNWFM_DjvM1UVc0ZSYUCIUOeLW28rq3sUFrUYaVX-hSaVvxt-TpjN_WL9ZYyqX2POnfR-2jq6732LuxgkDJqM3F5YaxPR4/w400-h100/690-HTP-Banner---Winter-2024%20(3).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><b><br /></b><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZX4HglgLMzPY1ypt18OskdkE1F7XVnqa-0b1poGuttal5Dhj9h_rT0Bf0WSgopVw7cWv9KE8fT4UHIFkhr1pIiF9g0ueJ0ujKis1jtaVgAtZ-0AAbKwXHrJ2AazWH_Ca2YtSsWSiclGu2n2sieqLg9bwgTSZGf1fF7kM1R3C0PZVSyU2Q6zAqOgXfuU/s3700/9780778310761_RHC_SMP.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3700" data-original-width="2438" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiYZX4HglgLMzPY1ypt18OskdkE1F7XVnqa-0b1poGuttal5Dhj9h_rT0Bf0WSgopVw7cWv9KE8fT4UHIFkhr1pIiF9g0ueJ0ujKis1jtaVgAtZ-0AAbKwXHrJ2AazWH_Ca2YtSsWSiclGu2n2sieqLg9bwgTSZGf1fF7kM1R3C0PZVSyU2Q6zAqOgXfuU/s320/9780778310761_RHC_SMP.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>Vera Kurian<br /></b>On Sale Date: February 20, 2024<br />9780778310761<br />Hardcover<br />$30.00 USD<br />Fiction / Thrillers / Psychological <br />448 pages<br /><o:p><b><u>BUY LINKS:<br /></u></b><a href="https://bookshop.org/p/books/a-step-past-darkness-original-vera-kurian/20155061?ean=9780778310761" target="_blank">Bookshop.org</a> <a href="https://bookshop.org/p/books/a-step-past-darkness-original-vera-kurian/20155061?ean=9780778310761"><br /></a><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Step-Past-Darkness-Novel/dp/0778310760" target="_blank">Amazon</a> <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Step-Past-Darkness-Novel/dp/0778310760"><br /></a><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-step-past-darkness-vera-kurian/1143574161" target="_blank">B&N</a><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/a-step-past-darkness-vera-kurian/1143574161"><br /></a></o:p><b><u><br /></u></b><i><span style="color: #0b5394;">I KNOW WHAT YOU DID LAST SUMMER meets Stephen King in this
character-driven thriller about a study group of six teenagers who witness
something tragic in an abandoned mine, which comes back to haunt them 20 years
later.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>SIX CLASSMATES.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>ONE TERRIFYING NIGHT.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>A MURDER TWENTY YEARS IN THE MAKING…<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>There’s more to Wesley Falls than meets the eye, but for six
high school students, it’s home.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>Kelly, the new girl and rule-follower.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>Maddy, the beauty and the church favorite.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>Padma, the brains and all-A student.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>Casey, the jock and football star.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>James, the burnout and just trying to make it to graduation.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>And Jia, the psychic, who can see the future.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>When these six are assigned to work on a summer group
project, their lives are forever changed. At an end of the year party in the
abandoned mine, they witness a preventable tragedy, but no one will take them
seriously. As things escalate, they realize the church, the police, and the
town’s founders are all conspiring to cover up what happened. When James is
targeted as the scapegoat, to avoid suspicion, they vow their silence and to
never contact each other again. Their plan works – almost.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p>Twenty years later, Maddy is found murdered is Wesley Falls,
and the remaining five are forced to confront their past and work together to
finally put right what happened all those years ago. If they can survive…<br /><o:p> </o:p></span></i></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p><br /></o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Enjoy this sneak peek:</span></o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br />
<div style="border: 1px solid black; height: 350px; overflow: scroll; width: 650px;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-f6aefa19-7fff-856b-1710-5bcaebe56705"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">1</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">August 17, 2015</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The mountain had existed long before there had been anyone around to name it, pushed up by the inevitable forces that made the Appalachian Range millions of years ago. Hulking, it stood with a peculiar formation at its apex, two peaks like a pair of horns, giving the mountain its eventual name of Devil’s Peak. The coal mine inside was abandoned long ago.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">On the southern side of Devil’s Peak was the town of Wesley Falls, where there were no remnants of the mine except for the overgrown paths crisscrossing up to two entrances, ineffectually boarded up, partially hidden but available to anyone looking hard enough. Down the western side were the steeper paths, far more overgrown with vegetation, leading down to the abandoned town of Evansville. That side of the mountain and beyond grew strange because of the coal fire that had been burning underground for almost a century. The Bureau of Mines had managed to contain the fire to the western side of the mountain so that only Evansville suffered. Only Evansville had bouts of noxious gases, open cracks of brimstone in the roads, residents complaining of hot basements and well water. Over time they left town, leaving behind a ghost.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Unlike its unfortunate neighbor, Wesley Falls had avoided the mine fire and transitioned from a coal-mining town to something not unlike Pennsylvania suburbia. It was the sort of town where one of the billboards outside the Golden Praise megachurch proclaimed, “Wesley Falls: the BEST place to raise a family!” and most adults agreed with that assessment. The sort of place where the city council had voted against a bid to allow a McDonalds to open, arguing that it would “lead to the deterioration of the character of Wesley Falls.” This had less to do with concerns about childhood obesity or dense traffic than it did a desire to keep the town trapped in amber. The sort of town where the sheriff was the son of the previous sheriff. </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Jia Kwon, stepping off a train at the station some miles away from Wesley Falls, looked around the crowded station for that son—the sheriff—now in his thirties, though she had trouble picturing this. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Sheriff Zachary Springsteen</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> had an air of formality that she couldn’t match up with the image of the boy she knew from high school, whom everyone called Blub. He was an inoffensive, nondescript kid who delivered papers via his clackety bike, who then grew to be the generic teen who stood in the back row of yearbook pictures. She had always been friendly with him, but never quite friends, starting from when she had transferred from St. Francis to the Wesley Falls public school system and Blub sat next to her in homeroom.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Was the fact that she had chosen to keep in contact with this not-quite-friend after she moved away from Wesley Falls an accident? No—she knew that now. Blub had been the perfect person to report back town news over the years because he never suspected her interest was anything more than curiosity. Their exchanges over the years had been just enough for him to feel comfortable, or compelled enough, to make the phone call that had brought her here.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Jia paused to put her phone in her purse, pretending she did not notice any stares. No one looked twice at her in Philly, but here she stood out as the only Asian, drawing even more attention to herself because she had dyed her hair a shade of silvery gray with hints of lavender in it. It would only be worse when she got into town, but even as a kid she had been so used to being stared at that she just exaggerated her strangeness, opting for bright clothes rather than trying to blend in.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Jia?” said an uncertain voice.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">She turned her head and instantly recognized Blub, who stood with the gawky awkwardness of someone uncomfortable with his own height. “Blub!” she exclaimed, coming closer. She embraced him, her head only coming up to his midchest. “You’ve grown two feet!”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">He shoved his hands into his pockets, smiling. “Want to ask me if I play basketball?” Their smiles felt hollow, she realized, because of the strangeness of the situation and everything they weren’t saying. “I appreciate you taking the time to come out here. I know you’re probably busy but…” He led her to his patrol car. “Sorry, you’ll have to ride in the back.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“It’s no problem,” she murmured, surprised to see that he had brought someone along for the ride.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“This is Deputy Sheriff Henry,” Blub said, turning the car on. A smaller man whom she did not recognize half turned and nodded at her curtly, though Jia could see him looking at her in the rearview mirror as they pulled away from the station. What on earth had Blub told him?</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">That once, in one of their email exchanges, when he complained about having to repair his roof, she made a joke about which team to bet on for the Super Bowl, and he did, and she had been right? That she had one too many stock tips that turned out to be good? That she inexplicably sent him a “You okay?” email at 8:16 a.m. on September eleventh, thirty minutes before American Airlines Flight 11 crashed into the North Tower of the World Trade Center? There had been enough incidents as strange as these that when he called her last year asking for help, it felt like something clicking into place. Something that was supposed to happen. Over the years, she had started to feel comfortable with that clicking feeling, rather than being afraid of it. Last winter he had called her saying that Jane Merrick was missing from the old-folks home—she was prone to running— and she was outside in the freezing weather in only a nightgown, and they were worried about her. He did not say why he was asking her, a person who hadn’t lived in Wesley Falls for two decades, a person who neither knew nor liked Jane Merrick. She told him to look in the barn on the Dandriges’ property without providing an explanation of how she knew. She knew because she saw it. She knew because sometimes she could call up things when she wanted to, though not all the time, but this was still significantly better than when she was a kid and she couldn’t control when the visions hit her, or stop them, or even understand them.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And now, in the peak of summer heat, he had called again, saying that there was a missing person, could she help, friends were worried. She did not ask who because she felt something like the deepest note on a double bass vibrating, reverberating through her body. She saw herself walking, her white maxi dress—the one she was wearing right now—catching on brambles as she maneuvered her way down the overgrown path to the ghost town.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">She had to go back to Wesley Falls. It was time.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“You all went to school together?” Deputy Sheriff Henry said when they pulled onto the highway.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Yeah,” she said. “We didn’t overlap with you, did we?” Henry shook his head. “Blub and I go way back,” she said, meeting Blub’s eyes in the rearview mirror.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“I’ll never get over the fact that people call you Blub,” Henry remarked. “How’d you get that name anyway? Were you chubby or something?”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“I don’t think there’s an origin story,” Blub said, looking like he wanted the subject to change.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“I remember!” Jia exclaimed. “It’s when you threw up in fourth grade.” She leaned forward, pressing against the grate that divided the car, addressing Henry directly. “It was during homeroom. He threw up on his pile of books. I remember because it was clear and ran down the sides like pancake syrup.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Henry laughed and Blub flushed. “Jia, you can’t remember that because you weren’t there. You were at St. Francis in grade school!”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">She stopped laughing abruptly. “I could have sworn I remember that happening!”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Sometimes when enough people tell you a story, you start to remember it like you were there,” Henry mused.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Sometimes</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">, Jia thought. But there were other people who could see things that had happened or would happen, even if they weren’t there.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">As they drove down the highway and drew closer to Wesley Falls, the mood shifted to an anxious silence. Jia checked her phone for anything work related. She ran a small solar panel company called Green Solutions with her two best friends, both hyper-competent, both probably picking up on Jia’s strange tone when she said she had to go back home for a short trip. They probably thought that it had to do with the settling of her mother’s estate, and Jia, even though she was uncomfortable with lying, allowed them to believe this. When her mother had died, Jia had come to Wesley Falls to liquidate everything in The Gem Shop and sell the store itself to the least annoying bidder: a fifty-something-year-old former teacher who wanted to open a bakery. A significant part of the decision had been not that her baked items were good—they were—but something about her aggressive combinations of spices had seemed witchy, and, most importantly, she did not attend Golden Praise. Jia’s mother, Su-Jin, would have approved.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">And now, with Blub turning off the highway, her heart felt torn in different directions. Wesley Falls wasn’t home, but it was, because it was where most of her memories of Su-Jin lived. As the car moved it felt as if they traveled through an invisible veil, something that felt uncomfortable in a way she could not put into words anyone else would understand, but was familiar and, she knew, </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">strange. Strange</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> like how she was </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">strange</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">But then it came: the feeling that arose every time she had gone home to visit her mother—the feeling that she shouldn’t be here. Except this time, it was worse. They had just arrived in Wesley Falls, passing Wiley’s Bar, which was on the outskirts of town. It was frequented by truckers stopping for a cheap burger and beer.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“That place is still here?” she murmured.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“They got karaoke now,” Blub offered.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Please kill me,” Jia responded, trying to sound light. Blub laughed, then turned onto Throckmartin Lane. The street hadn’t changed in twenty years: it still housed Greenbriar Park, which everyone called “The Good Park,” and the larger homes where the wealthier families lived. Built before McMansions had hit this part of Pennsylvania, the houses differed in their architecture—some colonial, some farmhouse—but were all similar with their immaculate lawns, American flags, and WESLEY FALLS FOOTBALL signs.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Blub slowed to a stop, making eye contact with her in the rearview mirror. He was waiting for directions.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">She gestured for him to turn onto Main Street, that old, curved road with the bottom half of the C drawn out like a jaw that had dropped wide open—it was impossible to drive anywhere in Wesley Falls without driving on Main Street at some point. They passed the police station, then the row of shops. Some of the mom-and-pop stores that lined Main Street had changed, but Wesley Falls still didn’t have a Target, a chain grocery store, or a reasonable place to buy clothes. Indeed, the best place to raise a family was apparently a place where you had to drive ten miles to the mall to get many of the things people wanted. She gazed at the bakery that used to be The Gem Shop. Spade’s Hardware was still there—her mother had had a grudging friendship with the owners. The candy shop had changed ownership but it was still a candy shop. They drove along the north side of town, by the lake and the Neskaseet River—called Chicken River by locals because of its proximity to and usage by the chicken processing plant at the north edge of town.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Wesley Falls and Evansville had both popped up in the 1800s, their economies at first built entirely around the Wesley coal mine, which resided inside Devil’s Peak. No matter how many times well-meaning adults attempted to close off the entrance of the mine, which had been abandoned in the 1930s when the coal ran out, high school kids always found their way in. Drawn to the allure of ghost stories, rumors that if you found the right path you could find the mine fire in Evansville, and the inevitable urban legends about the Heart.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Jia pointed and Blub turned onto the unpaved road that crossed the Neskaseet and wound up the side of Devil’s Peak to Evansville. From this elevation, she could see the entire tiny, abandoned town. The simple, squared-off eight shape of the town’s few roads, the dilapidated strip of larger buildings at the center, then the rectangles of homes, all identical because they had been provided by the mining company.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The road came to an end, trees and shrubbery blocking their passage. Blub put the car in Park, turning to face Jia. “Can’t drive farther.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Then we walk,” she said. She led the way, ignoring the looks from both men as she freed herself from prickly branches that caught onto her dress. Blub used his nightstick to whack away a tangle of vegetation, then Jia found a path that led down to the town.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It smelled like sulfur with a hint of cigar. Jia picked her way gingerly down the main road, which was buckled and cracked in places, then turned a corner behind the old church and stopped. There was someone in the road wearing a bright fuchsia shirt. She could only see the top half of the figure’s body. The lower part, from the stomach down, was trapped inside the road in what looked like a fresh sinkhole.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Jia knew without looking. Some part of her had known from the moment Blub called her. He needed help finding a missing person, but he hadn’t said who. This was the thing that had pulled her back, made her feel an insistent anxiety for the past few months.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Blub and Henry were running to the body, the latter yelling. When Jia finally approached, Blub was trying to get a pulse. She watched the two men huddle over the body, Henry almost making an attempt to pull her from the chasm before Blub stopped him. This could be a crime scene.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Blub sat back on his haunches. The fuchsia T-shirt was soaked with last night’s rain. Her blond hair was pulled into a ponytail, tendrils stuck to the sides of her face. That face. Familiar but different. </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">She’s still so pretty</span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">, Jia thought. Her mouth was open and a scratch stood out livid on her pale cheek. Her eyes were closed.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“It’s her,” Blub stated.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Maddy Wesley,” Henry said, disturbed and awed.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“You knew that Maddy was the missing person? You didn’t tell me,” Jia said, trying to keep her voice stable.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Blub remained crouched, his elbows on his knees with his hands dangling down. “Didn’t think I needed to,” he stated, his voice devoid of the warmth it had had while in the car. He didn’t look at her as he examined the scene, and it occurred to Jia that he was actually the sheriff. Not Blub, the kid who threw up on his pile of books, but an actual agent of the law.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Jia edged backward, fearful that the road could break under her.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“You know her?” Henry asked.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">His gaze made her self-conscious. Jia had never been a good liar. Much of the lying she had done that summer so many years ago had been by omission. She was working on a project. She was hanging out with Padma. These things had been true, but misleading.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“She was in our year,” Jia managed. “We all went to high school together.”</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Blub’s eyes went from the body to Jia. “You weren’t friends, though, were you?” Maddy ran with the popular crowd, the Golden Praise crowd. Jia had been the opposite of that.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“No,” she said finally. “We weren’t friends.”</span></p><br /><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Quattrocento Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Excerpted from </span><span style="font-family: "Quattrocento Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">A Step Past Darkness</span><span style="font-family: "Quattrocento Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> by Vera Kurian, Copyright </span><span style="background-color: white; font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">©</span><span style="font-family: "Quattrocento Sans", sans-serif; font-size: 10pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> 2024 by Albi Literary Inc. Published by Park Row Books. </span></p><br /></span>
</div>
</span></o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p><br /></o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b><u>ABOUT THE AUTHOR:<br /></u></b><o:p> <table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6rJZIwYh4hzm0YKSNABXqPHnCwgP6k_1vLSAVvlEyI8tXyPafDL0ZgNGG9cU1SRIgkQWcSBnNbHlZy3nfEspdz1VKYowDSsvhAYj4Kc6zg5d1KfCN-dC8qqoIsfbBE6YP6jy8qjO7iEUXokTwAvXQ7qjxM6FAHMakPEvYCJCMmy03KGGqVqzDSQjnoo/s4000/Vera%20Kurian%20bench-%20PC%20Fredo%20Vasquez%20Photography.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2857" data-original-width="4000" height="143" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhW6rJZIwYh4hzm0YKSNABXqPHnCwgP6k_1vLSAVvlEyI8tXyPafDL0ZgNGG9cU1SRIgkQWcSBnNbHlZy3nfEspdz1VKYowDSsvhAYj4Kc6zg5d1KfCN-dC8qqoIsfbBE6YP6jy8qjO7iEUXokTwAvXQ7qjxM6FAHMakPEvYCJCMmy03KGGqVqzDSQjnoo/w200-h143/Vera%20Kurian%20bench-%20PC%20Fredo%20Vasquez%20Photography.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit:<br />Fredo Vasquez Photography</td></tr></tbody></table></o:p><b>Vera Kurian</b> is a writer and scientist based in
Washington DC. Her debut novel, NEVER SAW ME COMING (Park Row Books, 2021 was
an Edgar Award nominee and was named one of the New York Times’ Best Thrillers
of 2021. Her short fiction has been published in magazines such as Glimmer
Train, Day One, and The Pinch. She has a PhD in Social Psychology, where she
studied intergroup relations, ideology, and quantitative methods. She blogs
irregularly about writing, horror movies and pop culture/terrible TV.<br /><o:p> <br /></o:p><b><u>SOCIAL LINKS:<br /></u></b>Author website: <a href="https://www.verakurian.com/">https://www.verakurian.com/<br /></a>IG: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/verakurianauthor/?hl=en">https://www.instagram.com/verakurianauthor/?hl=en</a> <br />Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/vera_kurian">https://twitter.com/vera_kurian<br /></a><o:p> </o:p><br /></div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-69229118177748140432024-02-19T16:42:00.003-05:002024-02-19T16:42:48.316-05:00Spotlight: Excerpt from Necessary Deeds by Mark WIsh<div style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjlGBCdyO0XNCKQi3AjspwVD8-vG5T3Xf8gzdQrzDV1d91h4pbpfOyngMkmDj9QSdPuLI7fC9MqEKiXMynmwFv2U_bOnIvZSGV7kRRZ1B-9bdsWQSQMBE52rgLouIITD4yAXzNvsvRTQafl-k9Gs8WDfXS3as0VudGgxeatEvezgAaU7vGvdQ8Bxv2XAQ/s5144/Copy%20of%209781646034062.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="5144" data-original-width="3272" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhjlGBCdyO0XNCKQi3AjspwVD8-vG5T3Xf8gzdQrzDV1d91h4pbpfOyngMkmDj9QSdPuLI7fC9MqEKiXMynmwFv2U_bOnIvZSGV7kRRZ1B-9bdsWQSQMBE52rgLouIITD4yAXzNvsvRTQafl-k9Gs8WDfXS3as0VudGgxeatEvezgAaU7vGvdQ8Bxv2XAQ/s320/Copy%20of%209781646034062.jpg" width="204" /></a></div>Author: <span style="white-space-collapse: preserve;">Mark Wish <br /></span><span style="font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">On sale: January 30, 2024<br /></span><span style="font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Regal House Publishing</span><span id="docs-internal-guid-12c0c696-7fff-3010-9be8-870e487a0283"><br /></span></span></div><div style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: left;"><span style="font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></span></div><span id="docs-internal-guid-12c0c696-7fff-3010-9be8-870e487a0283"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #0b5394; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><i>Matt Connell, a formerly successful literary agent who’ s been in prison for four years for a crime of passion— homicide by strangulation after learning his wife slept with a friend— receives an early release from Sing Sing to join an FBI undercover investigation of multiple murders in Manhattan. Killings continue to mount as Matt does his best to calm his “ Ferrari brain” — a condition in which his mind accelerates wildly into negative thoughts and worst-case scenarios— even as he falls in love with a suspect, then discovers disturbing truths about his past and hers. When he finds his own life in danger, can he stand up for the Bureau’ s heralded principles of Fidelity, Bravery, and Integrity? Not to mention genuine love?</i></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #2b00fe; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><b>Enjoy this excerpt:</b></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #2b00fe; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> </span></p><div style="border: 1px solid black; height: 350px; overflow: scroll; width: 650px;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">
</span><span id="docs-internal-guid-08dd9d4d-7fff-102b-5f8f-c54593657d2c"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Here in Sing Sing, the killers I’ve met are better story-tellers than most of the novelists. I’ve represented. They’ll bombard you with twists and turns about how they were ambushed and shackled and prosecuted harshly de-spite their innocence, and you’ll find yourself nodding, buying their horror stories.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">To be fair, though, I should probably admit that I’m natural-ly more inclined to suspend disbelief for these guys—my fellow inmates—because of my need to get along with them. After all, for years now I’ve wanted to prove to Warden Scardina that the stint of fury in which I myself killed a human being was a singular incident in an otherwise placid life. I mean, I’m trying to convince him I deserve an early release. Or at least inclusion on the list of exemplary inmates whose hours in the yard have been tripled.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">In fact I’m out there, in the yard, when I first meet Jonas. On the unshaded basketball court, where my mood often spikes if direct sunshine finds me. Using the hoop with no net and therefore alone, sometimes lost in thought about my victim, sometimes imagining him putting his first move on my ex, in any case vulnerable to the whims of anyone who has the nerve to approach me.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">And Jonas indeed has the nerve. As he crosses the out-of-bounds line, all I know about him (well, all I’ve heard about him since he arrived here yesterday) is that he, too, has killed a man, in his case during a flubbed attempt to rob the Mahopac OTB while partnering up with a defective AR-15.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“This hoop yours?” is how he starts with me.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Usually.”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“You play in school?”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-left: 1pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I hoist up a shot that proves to be a brick. “Just out here for the vitamin D.”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">He folds his arms, studies me up and down. To imply I fear no one, I reciprocate. I see a gaunt, slightly hunched yet taut fellow ten years younger than I and six inches taller. I see a clean-shaven horse face, a weak yet cleft chin. Green eyes that squint a little through black hornrims, a full head of brown hair with gray coming in barely and on the sides only. Mine, by the way, went completely white during my first five months here.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“How long you in for?” I ask. “Would rather not discuss that.”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I pass him the ball, which he bobbles. He does not shoot.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">My guess is he doesn’t give a shit about hoop either.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Would rather hear what you know about Ethan Hendee,” he says.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Ethan Hendee was a client of mine who, eighteen years ago—that is, more than a decade before I learned my wife wasn’t exactly a saint—gave up on writing novels to write poems that appear in those photocopied literary mags no one reads. He’s a helluva writer, candid and interesting and succinct as anyone published, but I have not survived here by not holding cards close. So: “Ethan Hendee?”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Ha.”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Why ha?”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Because I know you’re Matthew Connell, and that you’ve represented the poet Ethan Hendee for a long time.”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“The only problem being I don’t know such a person.” “But see, bro, there’s no question in my mind that you do know him. I know you’ve been his agent for years.”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I shake my head no. Eye the asphalt between us and the cyclone fence.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“You trying to tell me you’re not Matthew Connell?” he asks. “Matt Connell.” I force a sour expression. “Maybe you’re confusing me with some hoity-toity guy? Anyway, how does someone who hauls around an AR-15 know anything about poetry?”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">He points at his hornrims. “Because he’s read some?” </span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Well, I don’t know any Hendee.”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“But see, Matt, I still think you do. Plus I think that, as his literary agent, you know what a badass he is.”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">In all truth, I do not know this. The Ethan Hendee I represented before my arrest had a soul gentle as any. I’m curious about what this Jonas guy heard Hendee did, but to get an early release, I’ve pledged to myself never to talk about crime that’s gone down on the outside. After all, a rehabbed convict no longer cares about crime, and I am nothing if not a rehabbed convict.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">To let this Jonas guy know I’m done socializing for the day, I turn and face the run of the Hudson beyond the chain link and the razor wire, its waves peaking into whitecaps here and there.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“So you’re not gonna spill?” he asks.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I don’t as much as shrug.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">He zings me a no-look pass, really zips it, hard, straight at my head, but I notice it soon enough to catch it.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Ya missed,” I mutter loud enough for him to hear, and I look over to stare him down, but his back is already turned, a confident stride taking him off.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">And it occurs to me, as he heads to the guarded double doors between us and the inside, that if he doesn’t have six inches on me, he has seven.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">And that my own storied past has taught me that the strength to kill a man comes not only from size—it also comes from youth.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">So I’ll avoid him, I decide. Won’t let him know I’m avoiding him, but that’s what I’ll do.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">There’s an art to this.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I spend the rest of my time in the yard pretending I care only about my jump shot. At one point I miss sixteen straight. I admit to myself that if this Jonas wanted to get inside my head, well, he has. And as I continue to miss generally, I think more about Ethan Hendee. How does a sixty-some-year-old recluse who’s devoted his life to writing poems suddenly leave his hovel of a basement apartment to do something awful enough to be known by a guy like Jonas?</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I ponder this question on and off even after I’m back in my cell. At dinner I ignore Jonas’s glances at me from two tables over, letting my stone-cold expression announce my resolve to keep to myself. Assuring him we’ll never be friends, pals, partners, whatever you want to call it. I am done trusting anyone male. Probably I’m done trusting anyone.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I sleep fitfully that night, with Lauren invading my thoughts only slightly more than Hendee does. More than once I try to dismiss the moment I learned she’d been with a man whose literary success I made happen. Conjuring my state of mind during the twenty-eight minutes that followed that moment can trip off a replay of that state (the uncontrollable acceleration of thoughts, the sharp panic due to loss of control, the goug-ing sense that my very personhood has been decimated), and I don’t want such a replay. I want to be calm. I need calm to sleep. I must sleep so I can conduct myself admirably next I see a guard.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Finally, I doze. Somewhat and for who knows how long. I wake to the clinks of a guard’s keys unlocking my cell. There’s another guard with him, a younger one, maybe a rookie. The older one mutters, “Scardina wants to see you.”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /><br /><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.3800000000000001; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;">Excerpted from </span><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Necessary-Deeds-Mark-Wish/dp/1646034066" style="text-decoration-line: none;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline;">Necessary Deeds</span></a></span><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"> by Mark Wish © 2024 by Mark Wish, used with permission from Regal House Publishing</span>.</span></p><br /></span>
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</span><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-7610d2fa-7fff-03f1-d19c-c43fa9637ba9"></span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">ABOUT MARK WISH: </span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfx-mXbpmaDGcLzBi34ZVi2_nWHoidQu55UVwqE_VRjNlgcIt7sXfppCYXEMKUmQlCu87s7nkjNN3NwwUztGmogps0_hcH0gsZaFbTMrXpCnIpHrRp7YIbsXn2HicH94aLyQeF1cVsXHsBVLRmZhdE6p9UVnWUTZc84n3sp88qeUok9qy1ersYf0ez8Ng/s1468/Copy%20of%20mark_wish.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1451" data-original-width="1468" height="198" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhfx-mXbpmaDGcLzBi34ZVi2_nWHoidQu55UVwqE_VRjNlgcIt7sXfppCYXEMKUmQlCu87s7nkjNN3NwwUztGmogps0_hcH0gsZaFbTMrXpCnIpHrRp7YIbsXn2HicH94aLyQeF1cVsXHsBVLRmZhdE6p9UVnWUTZc84n3sp88qeUok9qy1ersYf0ez8Ng/w200-h198/Copy%20of%20mark_wish.jpg" width="200" /></a></div><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span><p></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Mark Wish's previous novels have been praised by Daniel Woodrell, Delia Ephron, Salman Rushdie, Rebecca Makkai, Ben Fountain, Anne Serling, the </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Chicago Tribune,</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"> and the </span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-style: italic; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">Los Angeles Times</span><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;">. His short fiction has won a Pushcart Prize and appeared in more than 125 print venues including BEST AMERICAN SHORT STORIES. A renowned book doctor for thirty years, he now edits and publishes COOLEST AMERICAN STORIES, whose inaugural volume went to a third printing.</span></p><p dir="ltr" style="background-color: white; line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="background-color: transparent; color: #222222; font-style: normal; font-variant: normal; font-weight: 400; text-decoration: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space: pre-wrap;"><br /></span></p><div><span style="background-color: transparent; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><a href="https://www.markwishbooks.com/" style="text-decoration-line: none; white-space-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Author website</span></a><br style="white-space-collapse: collapse;" /><a href="https://twitter.com/MWwriter" style="text-decoration-line: none; white-space-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">X / Twitter</span></a><br style="white-space-collapse: collapse;" /><a href="https://www.facebook.com/mark.wisniewski.7/" style="text-decoration-line: none; white-space-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Facebook</span></a><br style="white-space-collapse: collapse;" /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Necessary-Deeds-Mark-Wish/dp/1646034066" style="text-decoration-line: none; white-space-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Amazon</span></a><br style="white-space-collapse: collapse;" /><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/necessary-deeds-mark-wish/1143315240?ean=9781646034062" style="text-decoration-line: none; white-space-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Barnes & Noble</span></a><br style="white-space-collapse: collapse;" /><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/22040923.Mark_Wish" style="text-decoration-line: none; white-space-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Goodreads</span></a><br style="white-space-collapse: collapse;" /><a href="https://www.instagram.com/regal_house_publishing/" style="text-decoration-line: none; white-space-collapse: collapse;"><span style="color: #1155cc; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; font-weight: 700; text-decoration-line: underline; text-decoration-skip-ink: none; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Publisher Instagram</span></a></span></div></span></span>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-77410753427124143512024-02-18T09:00:00.002-05:002024-02-18T09:00:00.129-05:00Review: Dead of Winter by Darcy Coates<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsJIZpMLakDpjpxxFwWqhrbuS-hHJj5hA7VC5JU-4pokHPKCZU9jZ1BGoFNbWQsRfcf7Bk4pqWbrJqecHDKq7otALh3EdFvVpx0d1AXr0MHUwky-zKY2thpuVYLBirRslygbuoyr0QVOhHq4Xikm1ZeTIgYU1tf221BgEqSVrApVBOcKYBQ3KMbDHeVr4/s2475/63264519.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2475" data-original-width="1650" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjsJIZpMLakDpjpxxFwWqhrbuS-hHJj5hA7VC5JU-4pokHPKCZU9jZ1BGoFNbWQsRfcf7Bk4pqWbrJqecHDKq7otALh3EdFvVpx0d1AXr0MHUwky-zKY2thpuVYLBirRslygbuoyr0QVOhHq4Xikm1ZeTIgYU1tf221BgEqSVrApVBOcKYBQ3KMbDHeVr4/s320/63264519.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Author: Darcy Coates<br /></span><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">Publisher: Poisoned Pen Press<br /></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Publication Date: July 2023</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><i><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">When Christa joins a tour group heading deep into the snowy expanse of the Rocky Mountains, she's hopeful this will be her chance to put the ghosts of her past to rest. But when a bitterly cold snowstorm sweeps the region, the small group is forced to take shelter in an abandoned hunting cabin. Despite the uncomfortably claustrophobic quarters and rapidly dropping temperature, Christa believes they'll be safe as they wait out the storm. </span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">She couldn't be more wrong.</span></span></i></span></div></div><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Deep in the night, their tour guide goes missing...only to be discovered the following morning, his severed head impaled on a tree outside the cabin. Terrified, and completely isolated by the storm, Christa finds herself trapped with eight total strangers. One of them kills for sport...and they're far from finished. As the storm grows more dangerous and the number of survivors dwindles one by one, Christa must decide who she can trust before this frozen mountain becomes her tomb.</i></span></span></p><p style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">I was really pumped to read <b><i>Dead of Winter</i></b>. I had really high hopes that I would love it. I love "stranded in a cabin with strangers" mysteries. Unfortunately, this one did not live up to my expectations. It was OK... but not great. I called the ending very early on because the "twist" was glaringly obvious. The story is told only through the eyes of Christa. I think this was a mistake. The suspense would have been better had we had more than one point of view. I also found Christa a bit tiring to spend time with because she made really bad decisions sometimes. The one thing I did really like was the level of gore and the cold creepy atmosphere. I haven't had a good horror novel with good gore in a while. It's </span>not<span style="font-family: inherit;"> a bad book, it's just not what I was hoping for. I think fans of this author will really enjoy this one.</span></p><p style="text-align: left;"></p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijOkN6UhDyKBQKjXT80hRO914QEgn9CWHt_SdEudQpH6W7RJNvGvP3_GkyLE5Cy1wDkJfG7JBo2CoLTq8iswcKwGKLFghurxqC0Uim2ec6qky2cdEHysYlBk-B4WTBK5JZGjqMge4IWbLKb7QjR2maa3UywQLtBOQe-DUK2x2andLQvdC5oEbEIDwMh78/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEijOkN6UhDyKBQKjXT80hRO914QEgn9CWHt_SdEudQpH6W7RJNvGvP3_GkyLE5Cy1wDkJfG7JBo2CoLTq8iswcKwGKLFghurxqC0Uim2ec6qky2cdEHysYlBk-B4WTBK5JZGjqMge4IWbLKb7QjR2maa3UywQLtBOQe-DUK2x2andLQvdC5oEbEIDwMh78/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /><p></p>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-46825324489121001602024-02-17T20:39:00.003-05:002024-02-17T20:39:54.318-05:00Review: Single Southern Flirt by Cary Hart<div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; color: #1e1915; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFw3vUO0ZewA-v3M5tw-dL3_9Nl-lol9Tse60F9HfEXvTz05lt-CaMaIRZ0owLFuHYZYNDHAVjW3kF9mZQ4qudco2_79JPd1FxmJICZA1fHIsNJH-HfX5JM8AY0Hg4nooUb3HFwH-hamJeFmjfgfBbp71ErMoVfSYN-JiOoEStc119ITK_Wtl0ZPIIwX8/s1500/81gEZRd-vyL._SL1500_.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1500" data-original-width="940" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhFw3vUO0ZewA-v3M5tw-dL3_9Nl-lol9Tse60F9HfEXvTz05lt-CaMaIRZ0owLFuHYZYNDHAVjW3kF9mZQ4qudco2_79JPd1FxmJICZA1fHIsNJH-HfX5JM8AY0Hg4nooUb3HFwH-hamJeFmjfgfBbp71ErMoVfSYN-JiOoEStc119ITK_Wtl0ZPIIwX8/s320/81gEZRd-vyL._SL1500_.jpg" width="201" /></a></div><span style="color: #0b5394;">Author: Cary Hart</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;">Publisher: Kindle Unlimited</span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;">Publication<span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"> Date: February 2024</span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><span style="background-color: white;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;"><i>Falling for my brother’s best friend is the last thing I expect to do when I return home to Magnolia Grove, heartbroken and ringless. But catching my fiancée banging his Harvard grad intern made me rethink my life choices, liked itching my education to play house. No more pretending, and no strings. All I need now is some careless fun while I rebuild my life, one odd job at a time. Single, southern, flirt, Matty Lincoln is the perfect distraction. The professional football player had big dreams, and no back up plan. After a career ending injury lands him back in our hometown, I find myself falling fast and hard for my old crush. Now he’s simultaneously fixing up my house, and my heart, making me feel things I wish I didn’t. And our little rendezvous? Yeah, it’s about to make big waves in our small town</i></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; color: #1e1915; font-family: inherit;"><br /></span><span style="background-color: white;"><span style="color: #1e1915;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><b><i>Single Southern Flirt</i></b> is the first book in the multi-author series set in Magnolia Grove. It's the second book I have </span>reading<span style="font-family: inherit;"> the series. This one is Matty and Emmalee's </span>story<span style="font-family: inherit;">. Emmalee has </span>retuned<span style="font-family: inherit;"> back home to get a fresh start. Matty is her brother's best friend who is back home trying to figure out what is next after an injury tanks his football career. </span></span></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="background-color: white; font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #1e1915;"><br /></span></span><span style="font-family: inherit;">I thought </span>this<span style="font-family: inherit;"> one was </span>just<span style="font-family: inherit;"> as sweet as the second book. It is a lot more on the steamy side than the second book. I </span>loved<span style="font-family: inherit;"> watching Matty </span>and<span style="font-family: inherit;"> Emmalee give in to their attraction. The history that they shared made it easier to be more invested in their HEA. I also loved that both of them were searching for "what comes next". Life often throws us curves and we find ourselves trying to figure that out. </span>One<span style="font-family: inherit;"> of my favorite scenes was with Matty's high school coach. I think we all need someone like him in our lives to give us reminders of what we have to offer. I'm loving the stories set in this town. I look forward to reading more. I highly recommend this one.</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOhbOC6r7lw9bNdSQgc5Njxk6vLIz1vmSlBphyphenhyphendUVVBg3qVRbHQ8_VAC-S3v_2NeX8uRvv2DQ9oIUSGuJPasn-Xfv2OZwVnsD1jhmd64HcQqgJOlMbYihYU53Py1DdQYubI4bjZbvWa_GRSBS-Fl9MsyELOLGEyGvPeruYDI9u5c_4x2590sKeo_rnBHk/s200/kari_sig.png" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="88" data-original-width="200" height="88" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiOhbOC6r7lw9bNdSQgc5Njxk6vLIz1vmSlBphyphenhyphendUVVBg3qVRbHQ8_VAC-S3v_2NeX8uRvv2DQ9oIUSGuJPasn-Xfv2OZwVnsD1jhmd64HcQqgJOlMbYihYU53Py1DdQYubI4bjZbvWa_GRSBS-Fl9MsyELOLGEyGvPeruYDI9u5c_4x2590sKeo_rnBHk/s1600/kari_sig.png" width="200" /></a></div><br /><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><br /></span></div>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-36455469407179588692024-02-15T12:28:00.002-05:002024-02-15T12:28:59.143-05:00Blog Tour: Guest Review and Excerpt of HER: The Flame Tree by Khanh Ha<div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 19.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEv-HiH93nYknL1xiYIZcCO6MSPMVuH_UZ7sK5dSqs0mmctMPUyALd8zIZM9vPHHRF352l6jHYCQyhTgFQbcW0SiVNck0IWJcbawTahSPHYmLq2y_uQVzcg-8yU2WGgsbt79_7hOeG43-gZiZqGLjNAahL_ei685ryasHBcOXLKV6_GPZbRjzTdIEcIc/s300/HER-The-Flame-Tree-200x300.jpg" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="300" data-original-width="200" height="300" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhPEv-HiH93nYknL1xiYIZcCO6MSPMVuH_UZ7sK5dSqs0mmctMPUyALd8zIZM9vPHHRF352l6jHYCQyhTgFQbcW0SiVNck0IWJcbawTahSPHYmLq2y_uQVzcg-8yU2WGgsbt79_7hOeG43-gZiZqGLjNAahL_ei685ryasHBcOXLKV6_GPZbRjzTdIEcIc/s1600/HER-The-Flame-Tree-200x300.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Author: Khanh Ha<br />Publisher: <b> </b>Gival Press, (October 1, 2023)<br />
Category: Historical Fiction, Literary Fiction<br />
Tour dates: January 16-Feb 23, 2024<br />
ISBN: <b> </b>978-1940724454<br />
Available in Print and ebook, 280 pages</span></span></div><div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 19.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><span style="font-family: inherit;">If the fate of unrequited love survives fifty-one years,
nine months, and four days in Gabriel García Márquez’s Love in the Time
of Cholera, it leads the way for HER: The Flame Tree, a spare,
remorseless love triptych that sweeps through the rich panorama of two
generations of colonial and post-colonial Vietnam. The hopeless love of a young
eunuch for a high-ranking concubine is one of this novel’s three stories that
illuminate the oriental mystery of Vietnam, as epic as it is persevering. </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">Despite a rich trove of documentary films, Western readers
know little of the spiritual face of Vietnam. Framed between 1915 and
1993, </span><span style="font-family: inherit;">HER: The Flame Tree</span><span style="font-family: inherit;"> begins in Huế, the former imperial
capital Vietnam. It is in the Purple Forbidden City, that Canh, the young
eunuch, fulfills his vow to be near the girl of his dreams, a villager-turned
imperial concubine.</span></i></span></div><div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 19.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><i>The novel begins with an expatriate Vietnamese man living in
the United States who journeys back to Vietnam to search for the adopted
daughter of a centenarian eunuch of the Imperial Court of Huế to find out who
she really is. His world takes on a new meaning after he becames a part of her
life.<br />Phượng. Her name is the magnificent flame tree’s flowers
that grace the ancient capital of Huế. Her father, mentor of Canh the young
eunuch, was a hundred-year-old grand eunuch of the Imperial Court, who had
adopted and raised her since she was a baby. Their peaceful world suddenly
changed when one day, sometime in the early years of the Vietnam war, Jonathan
Edward came into their lives. On his quest to search for his just deceased
lover’s mysterious birth, there he met Phượng, an exquisite beauty.<br />Through the eye of her father, history is retold. Just
before the fall of the French Indochina during the last dynasty of Vietnam, a
young eunuch hopelessly fell in love with a high-ranking concubine. Once the
eunuch had secured the concubine’s trust, it became a fatal attraction. The
eunuch died. The concubine, still a virgin, lost her mind. Her father said she
was possessed by the young eunuch’s spirit who had been madly in love with her.</i></span></div><div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 19.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #0b5394; font-family: inherit;"><i>HER: The Flame Tree does not have the flavor of
historical fiction, plot-heavy and sexually graphic. Rather, it is atmospheric
and impressionistic, in the style of Snow Falling on Cedars. The
magnificent poinciana flowers, which grace the ancient capital of Huế,
symbolize farewell in Vietnamese adolescent romance. Its symbolic image befits
Phượng for her magnanimous nature and grace, and the scarlet blossoming flowers
when Jonathan Edward bids Phượng farewell is beauty without sadness—Wait and
Hope.</i></span></div><div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 19.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: inherit;"><b>Guest Review by Gud Reader :</b></span></div><div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 19.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%; text-align: center;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Her:
The Flame Tree- Book Review <o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Not very often does one
get to read a masterfully woven piece melding some good old tradition, family
matters, sacrifice, loyalty, and some redeeming love. However, Khanh Ha does
exactly that in this brilliant masterpiece ‘Her: The Flame Tree.’<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: #2b00fe; font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;">Reporter and graduate
student Minh Tanh has a mission to find an adopted daughter of an elderly
imperial eunuch who had served the emperor in the late 19<sup>th</sup> century
and early 20<sup>th</sup> century. Upon meeting Phoung Bo who is now aged and
living a simple rural life Tanh is now curious to know her story. Born when
Vietnam is under the French Phuong Bo is half French and half Vietnamese and lacks
any knowledge of her family’s history. Later she is adopted by Bo who serves as
the grand eunuch for the powerful emperor and who has a good liking for one of
the aging Emperor’s concubines something which leads him to some forbidden
romance. More mystery arises when a young Phuong is met by Jonathan Edwards an
American who is in search of her dead lover’s family who also happens to be of Vietnamese
and French origin and who possesses a phoenix necklace identical to the one
Phuong has. How will events unfold in this interwoven matrix?<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman",serif; font-size: 12pt; line-height: 200%;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Ha does a marvelous job
in this stunningly inventive and deeply moving fiction with complete characters
while bringing that creative atmosphere blending different timelines thus
taking the reader to various events in this lush and beautiful country’s
history while appreciating the country’s political and social structure changes
over the centuries. This piece deserving my five-stars!!</span><o:p></o:p></span></p><p class="MsoNormal" style="line-height: 200%;"><b style="font-family: inherit;">Enjoy this excerpt:</b></p></div><div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 19.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;">
<div style="border: 1px solid black; height: 350px; overflow: scroll; width: 650px;"><p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">EXCERPT<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;">(HER: The Flame Tree by
Khanh Ha)<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p align="center" class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: center;"><span face=""Arial",sans-serif" style="font-size: 14pt;"> </span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;"><span lang="X-NONE">The summer heat often drove her and her father
outside onto the steps of their house, where they’d sit sharing a bowl of rice.
One such evening, when she was four, the air filled with the sawing of many
locust wings. The sky was dark and bloated as the insects swarmed through the
village. People ran out of their houses, some still holding rice bowls, some
with toothpicks stuck in their teeth, some carrying todders astride their hips,
all watching the sky. Phượng hid in the house, frightened by the sounds of
their wings.<o:p></o:p></span></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">Night fell and the locusts still
buzzed. They crashed against the window shutters like pebbles thrown by a boy,
one after another. She couldn’t sleep. Her father soothed her as the locusts
detonated against the house.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">That night she dreamed of a
little girl standing by their pond. Drenched, she stood, looking at Phượng. The
girl’s eyes were beautiful in their tranquility. Long, curly lashes shading
them. When Phượng woke, it was dawn.The air was quiet. She thought of the
locusts, relieved they were finally gone, then thought of her dream. It shook
her―it was so real.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">She opened the door and went to
the lotus pond with the girl’s face still fresh in her mind. She stood in the
exact spot where the girl had been, where old green moss coated the rim of the
pond. In her pajamas, with dreams still clouding her eyes, she waited for
something nameless. When she turned to look down into the pond, her foot slid
on the moss and she splashed into the water and sank.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">All she saw then was her father,
bright amid a long dark tunnel of water that made no sound. Breathless, she
sensed that she had lost him forever. Just as everything collapsed in a black
shroud, she felt a hand grab her.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">After her father dried her, he
sat her down and looked into her eyes, frowning.<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">“Phượng,” he said soothingly,
“what were you doing by the pond at this hour?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">“I wanted to see the girl.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">“Little one, I didn’t see anyone
out there.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">“I was scared last night. The
girl came to be with me.” Phượng glanced toward the pond. “She left to go to
the water.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">Her father nodded. “You saw her
by the pond?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">“Yes.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">“What did the little girl look
like?”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">Phượng pointed at her chest.
“Like me. But it’s not me. She’s someone else.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">He held her hands in his. “Dear,
you were dreaming.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">“I wasn’t dreaming, father. I
saw her.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal" style="margin-bottom: 6pt;">He leaned down and touched his
forehead to hers. “Don’t ever go to the pond, unless I’m there with you.”<o:p></o:p></p>
<p class="MsoNormal"><o:p> </o:p></p>
</div>
</span></div><div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 19.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><b style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: black;">About Khanh Ha</span></b></div><div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 19.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><span style="color: #373737;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJkLsEDdmCrzMYLfY1w_mNtMa6YZ-68ejdOyHKTQOP0Z5gSJ0jGMKgWvMl3OlocSYZzGFkqsAGq6CZpydebCf8ckWp6pry4tgfUW2stFoXfRDfQlKxLknXrW9eYVm9CaW22-koQs3SCMFalS1DVcJ0jLw-xgrUfKekyQbrz15bm9IqjVALbrIU2RTKI8/s400/Khanh-Ha-Headshot.jpg" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="393" data-original-width="400" height="196" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEhYJkLsEDdmCrzMYLfY1w_mNtMa6YZ-68ejdOyHKTQOP0Z5gSJ0jGMKgWvMl3OlocSYZzGFkqsAGq6CZpydebCf8ckWp6pry4tgfUW2stFoXfRDfQlKxLknXrW9eYVm9CaW22-koQs3SCMFalS1DVcJ0jLw-xgrUfKekyQbrz15bm9IqjVALbrIU2RTKI8/w200-h196/Khanh-Ha-Headshot.jpg" width="200" /></a></div>Award winning author Khanh Ha is a nine-time Pushcart
nominee, finalist for The Ohio State University Fiction Collection Prize, Mary
McCarthy Prize, Many Voices Project, Prairie Schooner Book Prize, The
University of New Orleans Press Lab Prize, Prize Americana, and The Santa Fe
Writers Project. He is the recipient of the Sand Hills Prize for Best Fiction,
The Robert Watson Literary Prize in Fiction, The Orison Anthology Award for
Fiction, The James Knudsen Prize for Fiction, The C&R Press Fiction Prize,
The EastOver Fiction Prize, The Blackwater Press Fiction Prize, The Gival Press
Novel Award, and The Red Hen Press Fiction Award.<br /></span><o:p> </o:p></span></div><div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 19.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><span style="font-family: inherit;"><o:p><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #373737; font-size: 15px;">Website: </span><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="border: 0px; color: blue; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="http://www.authorkhanhha.com/" rel="noopener" style="border: 0px; color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">http://www.authorkhanhha.com</a></span><br style="color: #373737; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #373737; font-size: 15px;">Blog: </span><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="border: 0px; color: blue; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="http://authorkhanhha.blogspot.com/" rel="noopener" style="border: 0px; color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">http://authorkhanhha.blogspot.com</a></span><br style="color: #373737; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #373737; font-size: 15px;">Twitter: </span><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="border: 0px; color: blue; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://twitter.com/KhanhHa69784776" rel="noopener" style="border: 0px; color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">https://twitter.com/KhanhHa69784776</a></span><br style="color: #373737; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #373737; font-size: 15px;">Facebook: </span><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="border: 0px; color: blue; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="https://www.facebook.com/authorkhanhha" rel="noopener" style="border: 0px; color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">https://www.facebook.com/authorkhanhha</a></span><br style="color: #373737; font-family: "Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 15px;" /><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="color: #373737; font-size: 15px;">Pinterest: </span><span face=""Helvetica Neue", Helvetica, Arial, sans-serif" style="border: 0px; color: blue; font-size: 15px; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; vertical-align: baseline;"><a href="http://www.pinterest.com/khanhha" rel="noopener" style="border: 0px; color: blue; font-family: inherit; font-style: inherit; font-weight: inherit; margin: 0px; outline: 0px; padding: 0px; text-decoration-line: none; vertical-align: baseline;" target="_blank">www.pinterest.com/khanhha</a></span></o:p></span></div><div style="background: white; line-height: normal; margin-bottom: 19.5pt; text-align: left; vertical-align: baseline;"><br /></div>
<h2>Giveaway- HER: The Flame Tree by Khanh Ha</h2>
<p>This giveaway is for 2 print or ebook copies print is open to the U.S. only. Ebook is open worldwide. This giveaway ends on Feb 23, 2024 midnight, pacific time. Entries accepted via Rafflecopter only.</p>
<p><a class="rcptr" data-raflid="e23ee71d1590" data-template="" data-theme="classic" href="http://www.rafflecopter.com/rafl/display/e23ee71d1590/" id="rcwidget_7p7aorxp" rel="nofollow">a Rafflecopter giveaway</a><br />
<script src="https://widget-prime.rafflecopter.com/launch.js"></script></p><br /><br />
<h2>Follow HER: The Flame Tree by Khanh Ha</h2>
<p><span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://theteddyrosebookreviewsplusmore.com/2024/01/16/her-the-flame-tree-by-khanh-ha-guest-post-giveaway/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Teddy Rose Book Reviews Plus</a></span> Jan 16 Kickoff & Guest Post</p>
<p>Bookgirl <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6162438434" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Goodreads</a></span> <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://www.amazon.com/gp/customer-reviews/R2PZA1U9JWY4OG/ref" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Amazon</a></span> Jan 17 Review</p>
<p>Dawn <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://bound4escape.com/2024/01/18/book-review-giveaway-her-the-flame-tree-by-khanh-ha/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Bound 4 Escape</a></span> Jan 18 Guest Review- Sal</p>
<p>DTChantel <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://www.amazon.com/review/R939COXDNJYIK/ref" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Amazon</a></span> <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6052328215" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Goodreads </a></span> Jan 19 Review</p>
<p>Leslie <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://storeybookreviews.com/2024/01/her-the-flame-tree/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">StoreyBook Reviews</a></span> Jan 23 Guest Review-Nora & Excerpt</p>
<p>Harvee <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://bookdilettante.blogspot.com/2024/01/her-by-khanh-ha-book-tourguest-post.html" target="_blank" rel="noopener">BookBirdDog</a></span> Jan 24 Review & Guest Post</p>
<p>Denise <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://www.amazon.ca/gp/customer-reviews/R2Y3ZLTMILOE7Z/ref" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Amazon</a></span> <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6205442573#_=_" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Goodreads</a></span> Jan 25 Review</p>
<p>Liam <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6185349629" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Goodreads</a></span> Feb 2 Review</p>
<p>Kathleen <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://celticladysreviews.blogspot.com/2024/02/her-flame-tree-by-khanh-ha-on-tour-book.html" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Celticlady’s Reviews</a></span> Feb 6 Guest Review- Laura & Guest Post</p>
<p>Gracie <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6215036695" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Goodreads</a></span> Feb 8 Review</p>
<p>Suzie <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://mytangledskeinsbookreviews.blogspot.com/2024/02/her-flame-tree-by-khanh-ha.html" target="_blank" rel="noopener">My Tangled Skeins Book Reviews </a></span> Feb 13 Review & Interview</p>
<p>Smitty <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6230233736" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Goodreads</a></span> Feb 14 Review</p>
<p>Kari <a href="https://fromthetbrpile.blogspot.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">From the TBR Pile</a> Feb 15 Guest Review- Gud Reader & Excerpt</p>
<p>Linda Lu <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6247032289" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Goodreads</a></span> Feb 16 Review</p>
<p><a href="http://theteddyrosebookreviewsplusmore.com/" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Teddy Rose Book Reviews Plus</a> Feb 19 Review</p>
<p>Bee <a href="https://www.bookpleasures.com/websitepublisher/articles/9943/1/Pistol-Rose-and-the-Wedding-that-Sparked-a-War-Reviewed-by-Bee-Lindy-of-BookPleasurescom-/Page1.html" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Book Pleasures</a> Feb 20 Review</p>
<p>Ellen <span style="color: #0000ff;"><a style="color: #0000ff;" href="https://www.goodreads.com/review/show/6247039324" target="_blank" rel="noopener">Goodreads</a></span> Feb 21 Review</p>
<p><a href="https://www.virtualauthorbooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Her-the-Flame-Tree-Tour-Banner-1.jpg"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" class="alignleft size-medium wp-image-11246" src="https://www.virtualauthorbooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Her-the-Flame-Tree-Tour-Banner-1-300x150.jpg" alt="HER: The Flame Tree by Khanh Ha" width="300" height="150" srcset="https://www.virtualauthorbooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Her-the-Flame-Tree-Tour-Banner-1-300x150.jpg 300w, https://www.virtualauthorbooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Her-the-Flame-Tree-Tour-Banner-1-500x250.jpg 500w, https://www.virtualauthorbooktours.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/11/Her-the-Flame-Tree-Tour-Banner-1.jpg 600w" sizes="(max-width: 300px) 100vw, 300px" /></a></p>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-44611658370668224462024-02-14T22:48:00.001-05:002024-02-14T22:48:13.426-05:00Spotlight: Excerpt from The Framed Woman of Ardemore House by Brandy Schillace<div style="text-align: left;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO8oIgIN2XFHcidig4_EMTxodBdiVmD7GxlOI15uudGIsPdc5BDtAnr5AnSo7BpakfGMIAJSsHT1-k0kjL0wrN3ZNnVWkgD-h_SFYgZ0AnSLdRMb2QFpqLkF8GPZShqNHIHvICtWzRUH8cmpEs2jzfmi43-FggxvYkFbmonU_UxQmSAGRezyWukPMl3pE/s1600/690-HTP-Banner---Winter-2024%20(3).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="1600" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEiO8oIgIN2XFHcidig4_EMTxodBdiVmD7GxlOI15uudGIsPdc5BDtAnr5AnSo7BpakfGMIAJSsHT1-k0kjL0wrN3ZNnVWkgD-h_SFYgZ0AnSLdRMb2QFpqLkF8GPZShqNHIHvICtWzRUH8cmpEs2jzfmi43-FggxvYkFbmonU_UxQmSAGRezyWukPMl3pE/w400-h100/690-HTP-Banner---Winter-2024%20(3).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgat_eP85BksHZ153ztiyeOEf9Wr4e7gofMPKJhGJYFzpU9U34zUUg56W-buU4KQyYLzQrjzzlHBmFAA-QYh1lV7myF3gNkAs2_VG1BecHidblzeTt7lzmTyIu-cByu1wLFp6y_6HiXIviF1y4zv-yXiS-kCDw_BDoVVKnCLp-F8TnLQ_0DPE1M5j3OuLY/s3700/FRAMED%20WOMEN%20final%20cover%20image.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3700" data-original-width="2438" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgat_eP85BksHZ153ztiyeOEf9Wr4e7gofMPKJhGJYFzpU9U34zUUg56W-buU4KQyYLzQrjzzlHBmFAA-QYh1lV7myF3gNkAs2_VG1BecHidblzeTt7lzmTyIu-cByu1wLFp6y_6HiXIviF1y4zv-yXiS-kCDw_BDoVVKnCLp-F8TnLQ_0DPE1M5j3OuLY/s320/FRAMED%20WOMEN%20final%20cover%20image.jpg" width="211" /></a></div>Author: </b>Brandy Schillace<br /><b>Publication Date: </b>February 13, 2024<br /><b>ISBN: </b>9781335014030, <b>Hardcover<br /></b><b>Publisher: H</b>anover Square Press<br /><b>Price </b>$30.00</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><br /><i><b>An abandoned English manor. A peculiar missing portrait.
A cozy, deviously clever murder mystery, perfect for fans of Richard Osman
and Anthony Horowitz.</b><br />
Jo Jones has always had a little trouble fitting in. As a neurodivergent,
hyperlexic book editor and divorced New Yorker transplanted into the
English countryside, Jo doesn’t know what stands out more: her Americanisms or
her autism.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><br />
After losing her job, her mother, and her marriage all in one year, she
couldn’t be happier to take possession of a possibly haunted (and clearly
unwanted) family estate in North Yorkshire. But when the body of the moody town
groundskeeper turns up on her rug with three bullets in his back, Jo finds
herself in potential danger—and she’s also a potential suspect. At the same
time, a peculiar family portrait vanishes from a secret room in the manor,
bearing a strange connection to both the dead body and Jo’s mysterious family
history.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><br />
With the aid of a Welsh antiques dealer, the morose local detective, and
the Irish innkeeper’s wife, Jo embarks on a mission to clear herself of blame
and find the missing painting, unearthing a slew of secrets about the town—and
herself—along the way. And she’ll have to do it all before the killer strikes
again…</i></span><br /><o:p> <br /></o:p><b>Buy Links:<br /></b><a href="https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-framed-women-of-ardemore-house-a-netherleigh-mystery-original-brandy-schillace/20016470?ean=9781335014030 " target="_blank">BookShop.org</a><br /><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-framed-women-of-ardemore-house-brandy-schillace/1143600531" target="_blank">Barnes & Noble</a> <br /><a href="https://www.amazon.com/dp/1335014039/keywords=mystery%20books?tag=harpercollinsus-20 " target="_blank">Amazon</a><br /><a href="https://www.booksamillion.com/p/9781335014030?cjdata=MXxOfDB8WXww& " target="_blank">Books A Million</a><br /><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><o:p> <br /></o:p><o:p><b>Excerpt</b></o:p></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br />
</span><div style="border: 1px solid black; height: 350px; overflow: scroll; width: 650px;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-4a2cefa7-7fff-d74c-dd27-642ee0469aa0"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The Framed Women of Ardemore House</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">CHAPTER ONE</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The house was </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">enormous</span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">. Jo didn’t know enough about local architecture to date it, but the walls stretched up in the damp air, big and dark and lichen flecked. Windows had been boarded up; they wept black mildew creases over sandstone sills. Staring through the car window, Jo dropped her eyes down to the stairs, flanked by columns where Jo imagined regal statues might have stood. Or </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">ought </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">to have stood. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“It’s…a castle,” she whispered. </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“It is most certainly </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">not </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">a castle,” said Rupert Selkirk, solicitor of Selkirk and Associates, in the driver’s seat beside her. “Not even the largest house in Abington.” </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Solicitor. </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Jo rolled the word around in her mouth. She’d pocket it for later rumination; it was nice to have a word for chewing on. It suggested antique leather chairs and brass lampstands, felt safer than </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">divorce lawyer</span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">, and didn’t trigger the same sort of gut gripe. Rupert looked exactly as a solicitor ought to, with a high forehead, disappearing hairline, and two very bushy eyebrows. He also drove a puddle-green sedan with the steering wheel on the wrong side of Jo’s expectations. She wondered if the sense of dislocation would fade with the jet lag. It hadn’t exactly improved her first impressions. She forgot to introduce herself, forgot the handshake, stared in absolute stunned silence at the landscape as they drove.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Online pictures had suggested something endlessly green, but the reality was wet and ragged, browned out from the end of winter and laced at the edges with naked tree branches. Jo squinted into the distance, taking in the brackish heath, then trees, then fog. A cluster of trees appeared, lanky pin oaks and a few copper beeches. A crumbling dry-stone wall snaked away from decayed posts; no fence, but the remnants of one. She let her eyes wander its length to a dark smudge of woodland and black bark dotted with lichen. The rest of the hill loomed treeless, stark, and scarred by eruptions of additional stone. </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Moors</span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">, she thought. Endless and rolling with dry heather and wet peat.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Jo had pressed herself to the glass, ignoring the steam prints she made. She hadn’t brought much with her—certainly not her books. But </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Wuthering Heights </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">might have been a good choice. Relaxation breathing had never been much use to her; whenever she consciously thought about autonomic responses, they went all wrong. So she mentally recited the opening lines of the novel as the car grumbled to a halt in the shadow of Ardemore House. As for Rupert, he was repeating himself.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“—Not a castle. The house is wider than it is deep, mostly to take advantage of the south-facing aspect.” Seeing the blank look on Jo’s face, he tried again. “In England, south-facing gardens get the most sun. That’s where you’ll find the Ardemore Gardens. They were the highlight of the property, once. Overgrown now, I’m afraid.” Rupert swept his hand across the horizon as if bisecting it. “Everything east of here is rented for grazing livestock. There is also, as you know, the cottage. It helps defray the tax burden.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Tax burden. </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">She might want to hold on to those words, too.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Emery Lane, my assistant, will be drawing up papers while we walk the property,” he said. Jo was starting to run out of processing space, internally. She felt a hiccup of emotion and press-ganged it into a smile.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Papers?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“For you to sign. To take over the property as your inheritance.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The smile failed. Better say something like </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">yes, good. Quite. Exactly the thing. </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">But Rupert got there first, offering her a hand out of the passenger seat.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Your mother always spoke very warmly of you, by the way. I was very sorry to hear of her passing.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">At these words, Jo quietly abandoned her pursuit of professionalism.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Y-yeah. I got the card. Thanks.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Rupert was still looking at her. She could tell, but wasn’t about to look back. She took in the house, instead, this not-castle that rose straight out of bracken and into a cloud bank.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“I want to go inside,” she said. Rupert joined her across the weedy lawn.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“I thought we would see the cottage first. It’s at least </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">habitable</span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">He didn’t seem to understand; Jo was standing in front of Wuthering Heights, and </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">no</span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">, she did not want to go poke around a cottage. Not yet.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Inside,” </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">she said. “Please.” Rupert sighed.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“All right. But have proper expectations. This property has been vacant for a century, at least since at least 1908.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Now in front of the door, Jo furrowed her brow as Rupert hunted for the right key. That was a surprise, actually. And it didn’t make sense.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“But you said my uncle Aiden had the property? In your email—”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Ah, but he did not live on-site. Had a flat in York, and—” Rupert stopped abruptly and stumbled back. Jo followed his gaze to see a pair of bright eyes peering back at them through the glass.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Jesus!”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Tut, now.” Rupert waved his hand airily. “That’s only Sid Randles, caretaker.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">A moment later, and the man himself opened the door. Lean, lanky, all arms, legs, and a shock of red hair. Attractive in the way of highwaymen and pirates, he was either a very well-kept forty-something, or thirty gone to seed. He was also blocking the way.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Here’s a surprise,” he said. “This the American, then?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Yes. Sid Randles, meet Josephine Black,” Rupert offered.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Jones,” Jo corrected. “It’s Jo </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Jones </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">now. I mean, </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">again</span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">.” Jo faltered slightly, then dutifully stuck her hand out. Sid tucked an industrial-grade flashlight under his arm and gave her a shake, then squeezed her palm.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Sounds like an alias,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Jo Jones was an American Jazz drummer of the Count Basie Orchestra rhythm section from 1934 to 1948,” Jo said, then puckered her lips as if that would bring the words back. Sid eyed her a minute, then let out a yelp of laughter, and not very kindly.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Ms. Jones would like a tour. Sid, will you do the honors, please?” Rupert checked his wristwatch. “I need to take this call and there’s no signal inside.” He turned away, and Sid grinned at Jo, one crooked canine slipping over his lip like a storybook fox.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“There’s no electricity,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“I figured that’s why you have the flashlight,” Jo said, pointing. Imagining him as </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Reynard </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">from the French fables had done wonders for her confidence. She could almost imagine the swish of his irritated tail.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Fine, fine. Come on in.” He backed into the hall. “Hope you don’t mind the smell.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">It </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">would </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">be hard to miss it. A puff of musty air assaulted Jo’s nostrils on entering—a wet, rotten odor. The windows were boarded, and in the slanted peek-a-boo light she could just make out the ghost of a table, a phantom of chairs in the foyer. Sid swept the light across the hall from a dust-webbed staircase to a grand room that opened off their left.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“You’ll want to pay respects to the Lord and Lady,” he said, then marched her through the pocket doors. The smell was stronger in here, sharper and more tangible. Then, her heart leapt; she’d caught a glimpse of distant book spines.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“It’s a library?” she asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Yeah. A rotten one.” Sid played the flashlight beam along the mantel of a marble fireplace. “But up there, see ’em? </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">That </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">would be Lord William Ardemore. And his wife, Gwen, of course.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The portraits were too large, and the beam of the light too small, but she could make out a frowning man with deep set eyes and a woman with a rosebud mouth, who might have suitably graced a Victorian cookie tin. Family members she had never known.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Damned odd, those two.” Sid flicked the light between them. “Just up and vanished from the place.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Jo sucked a breath. Did </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">everyone </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">know more about them than she did?</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“What do you mean? Vanished how?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“I mean just that.” He played the light against his own face, campfire style. “Just up sticks and gone. Fired everybody, too, didn’t they? Oh, they’d been toast of the town, like.” He did an awful falsetto: “</span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Jobs for the big garden and big bloody house. </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Then </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">poof</span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">. Like they were running from something.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Jo was watching carefully for signs of a joke. There didn’t appear to be any, so then she waited for him to carry on. Except he didn’t. She studied him for a few silent seconds, until he gave another bark of laughter.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Nothin’ to say about that, eh? Well, the old Lord and Lady are the least of </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">your </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">worries, anyhow. There’s a hole in the roof upstairs, an honest to God </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">hole</span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">. Between you and me? Be cheaper to pull the house down than to fix it up.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Jo pursed her lips so hard she felt teeth.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“I just got it! I can’t tear it down!”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Sid only shrugged at her outburst.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">“Fair, I guess. But what do you plan to </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">do </span><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">with it, then? Look around.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Jo did not, in fact, have an answer to that. Sid apparently meant it rhetorically, anyway, since he was now herding her toward the door.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: "Bembo Std"; font-size: 11.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“To the cottage,” he said. “Come on.”</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Excerpted from The Framed Women of Ardemore House by Brandy Schillace. Copyright </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">© </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">2024 by Brandy Schillace. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A., a division of HarperCollins</span></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span>
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</o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p> </o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p><br /></o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p><br /></o:p><b>Author Bio:</b> <br /><o:p> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaz9pYoO-D5lAQviLc4TGw7bWdf0fdxJwMGOiCzRm8PY-INGtT46boB_hNPClm5I0WnOTFHVlFACcyvhmrFsWD3ELZ0g26nkVtjkR31XjoR_OWu0hLWpQyj8ExJ1ZCKBBp3GQAvZGFNo7kKS1O3741EDzS-ov68GdaciLhf7pUoEC8QgA5NaBr7Di-5sg/s1080/Brandy%20Schillace%20%20author%20photo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="1080" data-original-width="1080" height="200" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjaz9pYoO-D5lAQviLc4TGw7bWdf0fdxJwMGOiCzRm8PY-INGtT46boB_hNPClm5I0WnOTFHVlFACcyvhmrFsWD3ELZ0g26nkVtjkR31XjoR_OWu0hLWpQyj8ExJ1ZCKBBp3GQAvZGFNo7kKS1O3741EDzS-ov68GdaciLhf7pUoEC8QgA5NaBr7Di-5sg/w200-h200/Brandy%20Schillace%20%20author%20photo.jpg" width="200" /></a></div></o:p>Brandy Schillace, PhD, is a historian of medicine and
the critically acclaimed author of Death's Summer Coat: What Death and Dying
Teach Us About Life and Living and Clockwork Futures: The Science of Steampunk.
The editor-in-chief of the journal Medical Humanities, she previously worked as
a professor of literature and in research and public engagement at the Dittrick
Medical History Center and Museum. Brandy also hosts the Peculiar Book Club
Podcast, a twice-monthly show.<br />The Framed Women of Ardemore House, featuring an autistic
protagonist caught at the center of a murder mystery, is her fiction debut. Brandy
is also autistic, though has not (to her knowledge) been a suspect in a murder
investigation. Find her at <a href="https://brandyschillace.com/">https://brandyschillace.com/</a> </div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><b>Social Links:<br /></b>Author Website: <a href="https://brandyschillace.com/">https://brandyschillace.com/</a> <br />Twitter: <a href="https://twitter.com/bschillace">https://twitter.com/bschillace</a> <br />Facebook: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/BSchillace">https://www.facebook.com/BSchillace</a> <br />Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/b_schillace/">https://www.instagram.com/b_schillace/</a> <br />Book’s Instagram: <a href="https://www.instagram.com/netherleigh/">https://www.instagram.com/netherleigh/</a> <br />Peculiar Book Club Podcast, Facebook Group: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/groups/peculiarbooksclub">https://www.facebook.com/groups/peculiarbooksclub</a> </div><p class="MsoNormal"><o:p></o:p></p>
Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-67890519366350422972024-02-12T09:00:00.001-05:002024-02-12T09:00:00.129-05:00Spotlight: Excerpt from The Uncharted Flight of Olivia West by Sara Ackerman<p> </p><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9dVsmsVuSCcd2UxV2g2kaUEhNefqCjhC3YJOT5aoaZZdsQtdbpKQ3Jw2tHZMt573ttGaJNEuAzD4nKJWtD50IDgj-nBjKmlZOqsfQ7ov3ofzD2cv3siLBjK0Zk-BPu2f9ceBxDJ8hpCjZJa_ACsTSHKNLHpFR6OHGJ8ZOV8r4QadPmZZVDhuXiHgL2A/s1600/690-HTP-Banner---Winter-2024%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="1600" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEji9dVsmsVuSCcd2UxV2g2kaUEhNefqCjhC3YJOT5aoaZZdsQtdbpKQ3Jw2tHZMt573ttGaJNEuAzD4nKJWtD50IDgj-nBjKmlZOqsfQ7ov3ofzD2cv3siLBjK0Zk-BPu2f9ceBxDJ8hpCjZJa_ACsTSHKNLHpFR6OHGJ8ZOV8r4QadPmZZVDhuXiHgL2A/w400-h100/690-HTP-Banner---Winter-2024%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><p></p><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYgI-Sc_PbMohylHlWQrYRKufWejfORHqEBznRPzM_3CSe64V2IGqSsQ2PsNr9NnlV1xT03bn3Gwi-zCGVO3wlwaxDnUlt6ub2w_bNIGuW6F6o7uSm1q54hY-dqigrjDkTax84OYMCwrRhP6c_4r6jT5LMO5VDUzcyBRcOKciM9614Udl2TW8APeCx87Y/s3200/Uncharted%20Flight%20of%20Olivia%20West%20final%20cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjYgI-Sc_PbMohylHlWQrYRKufWejfORHqEBznRPzM_3CSe64V2IGqSsQ2PsNr9NnlV1xT03bn3Gwi-zCGVO3wlwaxDnUlt6ub2w_bNIGuW6F6o7uSm1q54hY-dqigrjDkTax84OYMCwrRhP6c_4r6jT5LMO5VDUzcyBRcOKciM9614Udl2TW8APeCx87Y/s320/Uncharted%20Flight%20of%20Olivia%20West%20final%20cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Author: Sara Ackerman<br />ISBN: 9780778369516<br />
Publication date: February 6, 2024<br />
Publisher: MIRA<br />18.99 US | 23.99 Can</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><b><br /></b><i>1927.</i> Olivia ‘Livy’ Jones is a young and determined
pilot with a love of adventure. She’s been bit by the flying bug and yearns to
cross oceans and see the world, pioneering the way for other women pilots. When
she learns of the Dole Air Race–organized immediately after Charles Lindbergh’s
famous flight–a race to be the first to make the 2,400 mile Pacific crossing
from the West coast to Hawaii, with a huge grand prize of $25,000–she sets her
sights on qualifying. But it soon becomes clear that only men will make the
cut. In a last ditch effort to take part, Livy manages to be picked as a
navigator for one of the pilots, before setting out on a harrowing journey that
will change her life forever.<br /> <br /><i>1987. </i>Nothing is going right for Emma Summers. When
she learns that she has inherited a piece of land from a great uncle, she hopes
it might hold something valuable, but instead she finds nothing but an old barn
full of junk, including a small plane is in disrepair, with faded paint and a
broken propeller. Then she discovers her great uncle's journal. He was a pilog
in the Dole Air Race, but in the journal, he reveals that he fell ill over the
Pacific, and that it was his navigator who piloted his plane. As she uncovers
Livy's story, Emma finds new purpose, restoring the old plane and fighting to
secure Livy's place n the aviation hall of fame.</span><b><br /></b><b><br />
</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Buy Links: <br /></b><a href="https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-uncharted-flight-of-olivia-west-original-sara-ackerman/20078544?ean=9780778369516">BookShop.org<br /></a><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9780369747785_the-uncharted-flight-of-olivia-west.html?gad_source=1&gclid=CjwKCAiAzJOtBhALEiwAtwj8tpx8faaOKjw3dxaKQCfswk5u5hLLkBQok1BKsoiRvcjfBObVPna_ChoCsvAQAvD_BwE">Harlequin <br /></a><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-uncharted-flight-of-olivia-west-sara-ackerman/1143431506;jsessionid=E32CA6D38DACF66F0A48786E75CEAC63.prodny_store01-atgap05?ean=9780369747785&st=AFF&2sid=HarperCollins%20Publishers%20LLC_7651142_NA&sourceId=AFFHarperCollins%20Publishers%20LLC">Barnes
& Noble<br /></a><a href="https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Uncharted-Flight-Olivia-West/Sara-Ackerman/9780778369516?id=9049069213037">Books
A Million<br /></a><a href="https://www.amazon.ca/s?k=9780369747785&tag=hcg-02-20">Amazon<br /></a><o:p> </o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p><b><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Excerpt:</span></b></o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br />
</span><div style="border: 1px solid black; height: 350px; overflow: scroll; width: 650px;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-36a6a82c-7fff-650e-fdce-9c53f1fe8f7d"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Olivia San Diego, 1920 </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 36pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Livy had been coming to the airfield for months now but still had yet to go up in an airplane. On weekends, when Pa was out fishing, she would offer to wash the planes or do whatever odd jobs she could for a penny, while watching planes go up. Always hoping to get a ride, but so far out of luck. Though not for a lack of trying. She had been pestering Mr. Ryan for months now. “Paying customers only,” was his standard response. “Or students.” But so far, all students were men. A sixteen-year-old girl had no business in a cockpit. </span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Ryan Flying Company and School of Aviation was on the edge of the Dutch Flats alongside the San Diego Bay and the Marine Corps Recruit Depot, a long Spanish-style building with a tall bell tower in the middle. Palm trees neatly lined up in front like green soldiers at attention. When the tide pulled out, you could smell salty brine and decaying sea life. The hangar was modern and clean, but it was plopped on a brown expanse of hard-packed mud that kicked up dust when dry. Of late, the place had become a magnet for all things aviation.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Mr. Ryan had begun letting other people park their planes here free of charge, and customers flocked for the sightseeing tours.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">On a warm Sunday in March, after surviving a long sermon at church with her mother, Livy beelined it to the airfield. A new pilot had been hired for the tours and she was hoping he might be a softy, and maybe, just maybe, she could persuade him to take her up. Such a gloomy and gusty day, with dark clouds threatening rain, meant less people taking a tour. It also happened that Mr. Ryan was in Los Angeles for the week, and what he didn’t know couldn’t hurt him.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Livy was hunched over, wiping down the wheels of Mr. Hall’s biplane, when she heard the incoming engine. She stood up to watch the wobbly machine approach. A storm was brewing to the south, you could taste it in the air, and that always made the pilots nervous. She watched the plane make a precarious drop before leveling off, and then come in for a hard landing. As soon as he came to a stop, the new pilot hopped out of the plane, waiting for his customer and holding a hand out when she finally disembarked. A red-haired woman in heels, face white as chalk.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Livy walked over, wiping her hands on her overalls. “How was it up there today?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The woman staggered past Livy without even a glance. “Never again.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The pilot trailed behind his passenger and shrugged. “What can I say? Usually, they’re begging for more.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Once the woman left, zooming off in a shiny Model T, Livy moseyed over to the hangar and stood in the doorway. The pilot was at the counter drinking a Coke and studying a clipboard. With his goggles pulled up on his head, his thick blond hair stood out in all directions, as though he’d stuck his hand in an electric socket.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Livy cleared her throat.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">He looked up. “Can I help you?” he asked.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“I’m Olivia West. I work here.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">More like volunteer and hope that people would pay her, but she could dream.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Oh, right. Mr. Ryan said you might be here. I’m Heath Hazeltine, new pilot.” He was staring oddly at her, and for a second she wondered if she might have grease on her face, like she often did while working here, but then he said with a shake of his head, “I was expecting something different.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“I come in on the weekends, wipe down planes and other odd jobs,” she said, for some reason feeling like she had to explain, then added, “I’m learning to fly.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">That was a stretch, too, but she did always listen to the pilots talk, watch how they got the propellers spinning and closely observe the takeoffs and landings. She knew which part of the runway was more rutted with potholes, and which angle was best for approach.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">He cocked his head slightly. “That so?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“It is.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">One side of his mouth turned up, just a hint. “I didn’t know women could fly airplanes, let alone teenage girls.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Livy felt her whole face go red. “I’ll be seventeen in four months. And I’ll bet I know more about airplanes and weather than you do, especially down here in San Diego.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">All she really knew about him was that he’d come from Los Angeles and had flown in Hollywood some, doing stunts. No one had mentioned anything about him being so young. She had been picturing some old guy with a sun-beaten face and graying hair.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Feisty. I like it,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">She stood on her tippy toes and straightened up, all five feet three inches. Though her thick curls tucked under the hat added some extra height. “Take me up, and I’ll teach you a thing or two.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">He laughed. “What can </span><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">you </span><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">teach me?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">When he smiled, his whole face changed, making him seem even younger and a little less arrogant—and painfully handsome. Livy felt a swoosh in her stomach and her cheeks tingled. He couldn’t have been much older than twenty, and yet there was a certain worldliness about him. She found herself wanting to impress him.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Like I said, I know everything there is to know about this area. What have you got to lose?” she said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">He looked at his watch. “My new job, for one. And I have another tour in twenty minutes, so even if I wanted to, I couldn’t. Want to help me patch that big pothole in the runway?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">None of the other pilots ever offered to fill the potholes, they always figured someone else would do it. The mud stuck to everything and gave off a rank odor, and a lot of them saw it as beneath them.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“How about I go fill those holes for you, and you take me up after your tour,” she said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">She thought he was going to refuse her, like Mr. Ryan always did, but instead he nodded and said, “You’re on.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Disbelief flooded through her. “Really?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Really. Now get out there before my next customer arrives.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">But the passengers never showed up, most likely on account of the weather, and the books were empty after that. Heath helped Livy up onto the wing with a big, rough hand and a rock-solid arm. He moved like a man who was extremely comfortable in his own skin, as though the world rotated on his time. Livy decided that he was the perfect man for the job. You wanted your first time up to be memorable, but also to be survivable. Confidence was an asset.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Sure you want to do this? Those clouds look formidable,” he said.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.2; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Livy had noticed the band of charcoal clouds at sea, heralding the foul weather moving up from Mexico. A sudden chill came over her, and she tried to blot out the memory that always accompanied storms blowing in. The dark thing that would always be with her, always haunt the recesses of her mind. Blinding salt spray, cold waves smashing over the bow and washing everything from the deck, the sound of her name being stolen by the whipping wind. </span><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Olivia! </span><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">The last moments of his chafed hand holding on to hers. Her heart began to squeeze in on itself, but she willed the thoughts away.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">This storm was likely to be a bad one, but hell if she was going to blow her only chance to fly. Timed right, they’d be able to outrun it.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Positive. From the looks of it, we have about thirty-seven minutes before that front hits here. Just head north along the coast and we should be back in time.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">She climbed into her seat, and he leaned in and tightened the belt on her waist. “Thirty-seven, huh? Not thirty-six?” he said, close enough that she caught a whiff of mint and salt water.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">When he pulled away, their eyes met. Chocolate brown with flecks of fire. Her first instinct was to look away, but instead, she held his gaze.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Nope, thirty-seven. Let’s go, we’re wasting time,” she said. “Oh, and you’ll probably want to come in from the east on your approach. The wind will swing around coming in off the ocean when it moves in.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">When he stepped back, he almost fell off the wing, catching himself on the wire. They both laughed, breaking whatever strange thing it was that had just passed between them. Without another word, he hopped in and started up the engine. After a few sputters, it chugged to life. Livy slid her goggles on, and made sure her cap was strapped tight. The whole plane buzzed, sending vibrations from the tips of her toes to the crown of her head. As they bounced down the runway, gathering speed, she could hardly believe her luck.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">One, two, three. Liftoff.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The shift from clunky and earthbound to weightlessness was unmistakable. Everything went light and buoyant and yet Livy was pinned to her seat as the plane went up. It was a steep climb and all she could see was sky in front of her. She let her head fall back and closed her eyes, imagining herself as an albatross soaring. The hum from the wires that held the wings together grew louder the faster they went. Heath let out a holler and Livy found herself half laughing, half crying. It was even more wonderful than she’d imagined.</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">When they banked to the right and leveled out some, she saw that she had a bird’s eye view of San Diego Bay, Coronado Island and the city itself—white buildings, red roofs and palm trees. The wind from earlier had died down, leaving an eerie stillness in its wake. They flew toward the cliffs of Point Loma and beyond that, the blue Pacific. There were none of the usual bumps and drops that everyone talked about. It was smooth sailing and she was in awe.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 0pt; margin-top: 0pt; text-align: justify; text-indent: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Cambria, serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">About six minutes out, the nose of the plane suddenly pointed skyward and they began climbing sharply. Pretty soon, they were nearly vertical. Livy knew all her specs of the Curtiss JN 4 “Jenny”—top speed was about eighty miles an hour, she dove well, but when climbing fast, she had a tendency to stall. So, what the heck was Heath doing?</span></span></p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br /></span><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.295; margin-bottom: 8pt; margin-top: 0pt;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">Excerpted from The Uncharted Flight of Olivia West by Sara Ackerman. Copyright </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">© </span><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;">2024 by Sara Ackerman. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A., a division of HarperCollins</span></span></p><div><span style="font-family: Calibri, sans-serif; font-size: 12pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><br /></span></div></span>
</div>
</o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p><br /></o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><b>Author Bio:</b></div><div style="text-align: left;"><table cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="tr-caption-container" style="float: right;"><tbody><tr><td style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMe8HIMXipv9X1wy75u63H39Ma08K5RTcjItGWPVw59rubq-qRf1ZoamN-lS0kl-sXcft_qnDsVHR818lv7TG1dGvR1KQIJtQxEDJjn-nQyY46Wqar5cLiHzh1J2gNe6xySggqEcuYoyfr8D-nOJPbXu9OttOnlyhjhkYxZLpz3b7LyLt-JeUlSoEdZ4E/s3150/Sara%20Ackerman_Credit%20Tracy%20Wright-Corvo.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: auto; margin-right: auto;"><img border="0" data-original-height="2172" data-original-width="3150" height="138" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEgMe8HIMXipv9X1wy75u63H39Ma08K5RTcjItGWPVw59rubq-qRf1ZoamN-lS0kl-sXcft_qnDsVHR818lv7TG1dGvR1KQIJtQxEDJjn-nQyY46Wqar5cLiHzh1J2gNe6xySggqEcuYoyfr8D-nOJPbXu9OttOnlyhjhkYxZLpz3b7LyLt-JeUlSoEdZ4E/w200-h138/Sara%20Ackerman_Credit%20Tracy%20Wright-Corvo.jpg" width="200" /></a></td></tr><tr><td class="tr-caption" style="text-align: center;">Photo Credit:<br />Tracy Wright-Corvo</td></tr></tbody></table><b>Sara Ackerman</b> is a <i>USA TODAY</i> bestselling author who writes books
about love and life, and all of their messy and beautiful imperfections. She
believes that the light is just as important as the dark, and that the world is
in need of uplifting stories. Born and raised in Hawaii, she studied journalism
and later earned graduate degrees in psychology and Chinese medicine. She
blames Hawaii for her addiction to writing, and sees no end to its untapped
stories. Find out more about Sara and her books at www.ackermanbooks.com and
follow her on Instagram @saraackermanbooks and on FB @ackermanbooks.</div><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><b>Social Links:<br /></b><a href="https://www.ackermanbooks.com/">Author Website<br /></a><a href="https://www.facebook.com/ackermanbooks">Facebook<br /></a><a href="https://www.instagram.com/saraackermanbooks/">Instagram<br /></a><a href="https://www.goodreads.com/author/show/16914230.Sara_Ackerman?from_search=true&from_srp=true">Goodreads</a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p></o:p></p>
Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-86427026110068930242024-02-11T21:42:00.005-05:002024-02-11T21:42:39.263-05:00Spotlight: Excerpt from The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck by Kylie Scott<div style="text-align: left;"> <div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimLGOFzv05io1VsCnO1A_s3f-rDw1i99gjhTv9_1uuLfvst6NgylJyDXLLziukhPlXHutewHe-YDATk74tyxxEw3kgGA4CKUlv48h14yuvYvyJPaNj2LxWLZDNuB-rB3xjkNC7h38D-1fBngjJHb_NmCBCRIBLlnPtpe_OYYOKoKpblAY_LPVri6LCAf8/s1600/690-HTP-Banner---Winter-2024%20(2).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="margin-left: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="400" data-original-width="1600" height="100" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEimLGOFzv05io1VsCnO1A_s3f-rDw1i99gjhTv9_1uuLfvst6NgylJyDXLLziukhPlXHutewHe-YDATk74tyxxEw3kgGA4CKUlv48h14yuvYvyJPaNj2LxWLZDNuB-rB3xjkNC7h38D-1fBngjJHb_NmCBCRIBLlnPtpe_OYYOKoKpblAY_LPVri6LCAf8/w400-h100/690-HTP-Banner---Winter-2024%20(2).jpg" width="400" /></a></div><br /><br /><span style="color: #0b5394;"><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Olvfl5TsV113JCqKom70SphOgjX-5WzPwlJ0-YaXuItokzAil0ZxkiwSrGfgqVABgOnYO2UI29mBs8mQuvr4pQsJx7GSxMFdQOYTspvs5a_RM6GvV0lFp44TKIEoKxvFWONPrUp-Qcvh_-Yz444sjdGkfwCc77vfQAUWPQktvjdy4wiMawNh9ehTH24/s3200/The%20Last%20Days%20of%20Lilah%20Goodluck%20Cover.jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: left; float: left; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-right: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="3200" data-original-width="2125" height="320" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEg3Olvfl5TsV113JCqKom70SphOgjX-5WzPwlJ0-YaXuItokzAil0ZxkiwSrGfgqVABgOnYO2UI29mBs8mQuvr4pQsJx7GSxMFdQOYTspvs5a_RM6GvV0lFp44TKIEoKxvFWONPrUp-Qcvh_-Yz444sjdGkfwCc77vfQAUWPQktvjdy4wiMawNh9ehTH24/s320/The%20Last%20Days%20of%20Lilah%20Goodluck%20Cover.jpg" width="213" /></a></div>Author: Kylie Scott<br />ISBN: 9781525804809<br />Publication Date: February 6, 2024<br />Publisher: Graydon House<br />18.99 US | 23.99 CAN</span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><br /><i>Red White and Royal Blue meets The Last Holiday in this delight of a novel, about a woman who unexpectedly finds "fall in love with a prince" on her bucket list after a fortune teller tells her she only has a week to live. Ideal for fans of Sophie Cousens and Rebecca Serle.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><br />Your boyfriend is cheating on you<br />You will be passed over for the promotion<br />5-8-12-24-39-43<br />Your soulmate is a royal prince<br />And your time is up a week from Monday</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><br />When Lilah Goodluck saves the life of Good Witch Willow as they’re crossing a busy LA street, the last thing she expects is five unwanted predictions as a reward. Who gives someone the lotto numbers then tells them they’ve only got a week to live? And who believes in that nonsense anyway?</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><br />But when the first three predictions come true within twenty-four hours, Lilah’s disbelief turns to mild panic. She’s further horrified when she nearly runs a car off the road that belongs to Alistair Lennox, the illegitimate son of the English king.</i></span></div><div style="text-align: left;"><span style="color: #0b5394;"><i><br />Alistair is intrigued by her preposterous story, but Lilah is adamant about resisting the heat between her and the playboy prince. If he’s not her soulmate, then the last prediction can’t come true. But as the days count down, they become maybe friends…and then maybe more. Between the relentless paparazzi and his disapproving family, dating a sort-of prince isn’t easy, especially when you have death on your doorstep.</i><br /></span><o:p><span style="color: #0b5394;"> </span><br /><div style="text-align: center;"><b>Buy Links:</b> </div></o:p><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://bookshop.org/p/books/the-last-days-of-lilah-goodluck-original-kylie-scott/20070115?ean=9781525804809">BookShop.org</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.harlequin.com/shop/books/9781525804809_the-last-days-of-lilah-goodluck.html">Harlequin </a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.barnesandnoble.com/w/the-last-days-of-lilah-goodluck-kylie-scott/1143459141">Barnes
& Noble</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.booksamillion.com/p/Last-Days-Lilah-Goodluck/Kylie-Scott/9781525804809?id=9049069213037">Books
A Million</a></div><div style="text-align: center;"><a href="https://www.amazon.com/Last-Days-Lilah-Goodluck/dp/1525804804">Amazon</a></div><o:p><br /></o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><b>Excerpt:</b></span></o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p><span style="color: #2b00fe;"><br />
</span><div style="border: 1px solid black; height: 450px; overflow: scroll; width: 650px;"><span id="docs-internal-guid-bda2673b-7fff-ef7c-6e22-a89e9958d111"><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-style: italic; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Friday</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Good Witch Willow is unhappy at me for keeping her waiting.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">This is made obvious by the way she glares up at me through her wire-rim glasses while tugging on one of the crystal pendants around her neck. Like it is going to take help from beyond to stop her from slapping me silly or something.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Lilah,” says my best friend with much patience, “why are you like this?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“I don’t know.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Just ask her a question already.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Rebecca (not Becca or Becky) does have a point. It’s not like I haven’t known this moment was coming for weeks now. She wanted to do something fun for her birthday and every other entertainer had already been booked. A lot of birthday parties in March, apparently. Guess everyone has sex in the summertime.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The private room at the back of the bespoke cocktail bar off Santa Monica Boulevard is close to capacity and a song by Hozier plays over the speakers. We stand at one of the tall round bar tables with the remains of a charcuterie board and a flickering tea light in a vintage jar. The walls are painted a bright turquoise, but the vibe is relaxed. It should be a great night. I want it to be for my friend’s sake. But I am anxious and distracted and not in the mood at all, dammit.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“I honestly don’t have one,” I say. “I’m sorry. I told you this wasn’t my thing.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Rebecca groans and downs more than a mouthful of her whiskey sour. It’s her party, she can self-medicate if she wants to—and apparently, she does.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“What do people normally ask?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Good Witch Willow is older with white skin and long gray hair in a braid. She’s exactly what I imaged a witch would look like when I was a child. A dramatic long lace dress and plenty of chunky jewelry. Instead of answering me, she glances at her smartwatch and announces, “That’s your two hours up. I’m out of here.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Rebecca gives me a look.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Good Witch Willow wastes no time, packing her tarot cards, a travel-size crystal ball, and a collection of brightly colored crystals back into her large velvet tote.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“I’m sorry,” I say to Rebecca for the second time. “Though your work bestie hogging her for over forty minutes to ask about his fantasy football team didn’t help. And your neighbor that needed that emergency love potion. I wonder if she’ll actually manage to find Keanu Reeves and persuade him to drink it.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Rebecca just raises her brows.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“You have to give it to her, it’s a beautiful dream,” I say. “But my point is you, my friend, are popular. There are a lot of people here. The chance of Good Witch Willow getting around to everyone was always going to be low.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Just admit you’re all up in your feelings about your boyfriend again.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“I am worried about Josh.” I take a sip from my gimlet. “He said the headache was really bad, that it was messing with his vision.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“That actually doesn’t sound good,” she reluctantly agrees.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Yeah. I really think he needs to see a doctor, but you know what dudes are like.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve pretty much made it my life mission to not know what dudes are like.” She takes another sip of her drink. “You’re going to rush home to play nurse instead of going dancing with me, aren’t you?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Rebecca, can you predict the future?” I fake gasp. “And you never told me…that hurts. Wait. Did you know that was going to hurt?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">She gives me an amused smile and raises the remains of her drink in a toast. We’ve been best friends since sharing a dorm room in college about a decade ago. She’s petite with dark hair and olive skin. I on the other hand am more of a robust blonde. They didn’t spare the tits and ass when they made me.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Go on, abandon me then,” she says. “But you owe me.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“How about I take you out to dinner next week? To that Japanese place you love?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“No complaining when I eat all the salmon sashimi.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Agreed. Happy almost birthday. Talk to you tomorrow.” I set my mostly empty gimlet on the bar and give her a hug. “Don’t go home with Priya. You know you’ll only regret it. Again.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“But she’s brilliant and beautiful and emotionally unavailable. She’s exactly my type.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Oh my God. It’s like you just proved my point.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Get out of here, loser.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I smack a kiss on her cheek. “I love you, Rebecca. Make good choices.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Despite the late hour, there are still plenty of people around. The road is glossy black from a recent storm, and puddles on the sidewalk reflect the lights from the bars and restaurants. I huddle down into my cardigan against the cold night air. There’s a small convenience store open on the other side. Just perfect for picking up Tylenol since I have no idea how much we have at home, and Josh might need more. Better safe than sorry.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I join the only other person waiting at the corner to cross, and she just so happens to be Good Witch Willow. Her stereotypical pointed boot taps impatiently as she rummages through her colorful velvet tote in search of something. Being a witch must be interesting. Not that I believe in all that. Divination and spirits and so on never seemed particularly probable to me. My father is an atheist and taught us to question everything and always demand proof. I’m also a librarian, and librarians like facts. An established truth is a beautiful thing. They help to prop up society and keep us warm at night. Or they used to.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The walk light flashes, and Willow’s gray braid swings as she steps off the curb. I follow with my mind wandering, thinking about what else Josh might need and whether I should buy him some soda. But out of the corner of my eye, I see it—a sleek vehicle that doesn’t stop like the others. It doesn’t even slow down. It is, in fact, speeding straight toward us with headlights dazzlingly bright.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">There’s no time to think. I grab the older woman from behind as I propel us both back toward the curb and tumble to the ground. Had she been any bigger, it might not have worked. But my years of infrequent gym attendance finally come in handy. Wheels screech and the horn blares as the sports car roars past us. It’s so damn close I can feel the rush of air in its wake.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">But we don’t get hit.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Holy shit. My heart is hammering. Willow’s elbow digs into my stomach as she rolls off me onto the pavement. Whatever. I am just honestly amazed to still be amongst the living.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Asshole!” Good Witch Willow hollers at the fading taillights.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">The cool damp ground is hard beneath me, but overhead a star twinkles in a gap between the clouds. Parts of me hurt. My hand is bloody and scraped, and my hip is bruised. There’s also a tear in the tiered skirt of my new pale blue mini dress, not to mention numerous stains from the wet and dirty sidewalk. Odds are also good that I just flashed my panties at the entire street.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Willow raises a brow at me. “Oh, it’s you.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“You’re welcome,” I reply dryly.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">A young man standing nearby caught the whole thing on his cell. And is still filming. A jogger stops and offers Willow his hand. He gently pulls her to her feet before doing the same for me. Which is nice of him.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Willow brushes herself off, gathering the items that fell from her tote. Breath mints, hand sanitizer, and such. “I didn’t see that car coming at all.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Were I not still catching my breath, I would definitely make a smart-ass comment about her supposed prognostication abilities. Or at least give it serious consideration. But my hip is aching and my hand stings. I wince as I pick a piece of gravel out of one of my deeper scratches. What a mess.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“You’re the one who wanted to know what people ask me, aren’t you?” She tosses her braid over her shoulder and narrows her gaze on me. Like she’s attempting to stare into my soul or something.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Don’t worry about it,” I say. “Are you okay?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">She nods. “Falling on you made for a soft landing.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Great.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“There’s a lot that people would like to know,” she continues. “But the most popular questions tend to revolve around love. Are they cheating on me? Will they come back to me? Who’s my soulmate? Things like that.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Makes sense, I guess.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Then they tend to move on to more mundane issues, like if they’re going to get that promotion, or are they on the right career track? Then you’ve got the ones who think they’re funny. They like to ask me for this week’s lotto numbers.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I snort. “That is kind of funny.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Not when you’re hearing it for the hundredth time, it isn’t. And then there are the ones who want to know when they’re going to die.” She cocks her head and sighs. “That car would have hit me if you hadn’t been there. Given the speed it was going, I doubt it would have ended well for me.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I don’t know what to say to that, so I keep my mouth shut.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“It would seem you’re owed something.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“That’s not necessary.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Be quiet and listen.” Willow draws herself up to her full height, and her gaze turns hazy. As if she’s staring into the middle distance. Then in a sonorous tone, she announces, “He is cheating on you. But I think you already know that deep down. The name of your soulmate is Alistair George Arthur Lennox. What a mouthful.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">My smile is bemused. “Wait a minute. You don’t mean—”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“You will be passed over for the promotion. They really don’t appreciate you. I have no idea why you’ve stayed there so long.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“It’s complicated. You’re actually predicting all of this, aren’t you?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Five, eight, twelve, twenty-four, thirty-nine, and forty-three. And I’m very sorry to tell you this, but you will die next Sunday.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“What?” I shake my head. She cannot be saying what I think she is saying. Because there is not a chance in hell that this is real. “No. That’s not possible.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“You might want to say goodbye to your loved ones and get your affairs in order.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">My laughter is brittle with an edge of disbelief. “Are you serious? I mean, you’re joking, right?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Willow blinks several times and blows out a breath. Like she’s coming back to herself or returning to her version of reality or whatever. Maybe she hit her head on the pavement. It’s the only thing that makes sense. Though she believed in all the supernatural stuff to begin with. Which just goes to validate my belief that people are wild.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Right,” she says. “Goodnight.”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">“Did you mean right as in you were joking?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">But without another word, she heads off into the night, leaving me standing there stunned.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">I ask the night at large, in a not so quiet voice, “What in the actual fuck?”</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">But no one answers. Even the dude with the cell phone has disappeared. Despite the drama and weirdness, no one so much as spares me a glance. The world keeps turning and life goes on. Insert big sigh here.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">What I need is to buy the Tylenol, go home, check on Josh, down some of the previously mentioned painkillers (for my poor sore hip and hand), have a long hot shower, and then go to bed.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;"> </span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 10pt; margin-top: 12pt; text-align: center;"><span style="font-family: "Times New Roman", serif; font-size: 10.5pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"><span style="color: #2b00fe;">Excerpted from The Last Days of Lilah Goodluck by Kylie Scott. Copyright © 2024 by Kylie Scott. Published by arrangement with Harlequin Books S.A.</span></span></p><p dir="ltr" style="line-height: 1.38; margin-bottom: 12pt; margin-top: 12pt;"><span style="font-family: Arial, sans-serif; font-size: 11pt; font-variant-alternates: normal; font-variant-east-asian: normal; font-variant-numeric: normal; font-variant-position: normal; vertical-align: baseline; white-space-collapse: preserve;"> </span></p><br /></span>
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</o:p></div><div style="text-align: left;"><o:p> </o:p><br /><o:p> <br /></o:p><b>Author Bio: </b></div><div class="separator" style="clear: both; text-align: center;"><a href="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Aea7HVolCtnxyCu3wMAMsUcwWfCaT9vW7JJJpca7-kOXyK0N0EuaDzIg-NVrmnDlA4vUxNM7-RyzNAlJMp1Bi78IiA6f4vxTcl4xZh0ihbvElV_luDd9XYkdloERAlllRbevKyk7oMyz1bG0OvnQShnfyz_7cks2GkcP61WrEvwryspwckhgav3w9X4/s6020/Kylie%20Scott%20Author%20Photo_Credit%20Annie%20Ray%20(1).jpg" imageanchor="1" style="clear: right; float: right; margin-bottom: 1em; margin-left: 1em;"><img border="0" data-original-height="4085" data-original-width="6020" height="136" src="https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEj4Aea7HVolCtnxyCu3wMAMsUcwWfCaT9vW7JJJpca7-kOXyK0N0EuaDzIg-NVrmnDlA4vUxNM7-RyzNAlJMp1Bi78IiA6f4vxTcl4xZh0ihbvElV_luDd9XYkdloERAlllRbevKyk7oMyz1bG0OvnQShnfyz_7cks2GkcP61WrEvwryspwckhgav3w9X4/w200-h136/Kylie%20Scott%20Author%20Photo_Credit%20Annie%20Ray%20(1).jpg" width="200" /></a></div><br /><div style="text-align: left;"><br /><table border="0" cellpadding="0" cellspacing="0" class="MsoNormalTable" style="border-collapse: collapse; mso-yfti-tbllook: 1184;">
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<p class="MsoNormal">Kylie Scott is the <i>New York Times</i>, <i>USA
Today</i>, <i>Wall Street Journal</i> and international bestselling author of
19 novels including the Stage Dive series, the Dive Bar series, the Larsen
Brothers series, and West Hollywood series. Her most recent release, <i>Pause</i>,
debuted on the <i>USA Today</i> bestseller list. Her books have been
translated into fourteen languages, and she has sold over 2 million copies
worldwide.<o:p></o:p></p><p class="MsoNormal"><br /></p>
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</tbody></table><o:p> </o:p>Social Links:<br /><a href="https://kyliescott.com/">Author Website<br /></a><a href="https://twitter.com/KylieScottbooks">Twitter<br /></a><a href="https://www.facebook.com/kyliescottwriter">Facebook<br /></a><a href="https://www.instagram.com/authorkyliescott">Instagram<br /></a><a href="http://www.goodreads.com/author/show/6476625.Kylie_Scott">Goodreads</a></div><p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><o:p></o:p></p>
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<p class="MsoNormal" style="text-align: left;"><br /></p>Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-4532909568716364674.post-74656984446227950192024-02-09T20:00:00.001-05:002024-02-09T20:00:04.007-05:00Blog Tour: Spotlight of Mirror Image by Fran Lewis<div style="text-align: center;">
<h2><a href="https://partnersincrimetours.com/mirror-image-by-fran-lewis/" title="Mirror Image by Fran Lewis"><img alt="Mirror Image by Fran Lewis Banner" class="aligncenter size-full" height="225" src="https://partnersincrimetours.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/01/mirror-image-by-fran-lewis-banner-.png" width="400" /></a></h2>
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<h2><i>Mirror Image</i></h2>
<h3>by Fran Lewis</h3>
<h4>February 5-9, 2024 Book Blast</h4>
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<h2>Synopsis:</h2>
<div style="float: left; margin-right: 15px; width: 225px;"><img alt="Mirror Image by Fran Lewis" border="0" height="300" src="https://partnersincrimetours.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/01/Mirror-Image-by-Fran-Lewis-cover-lg-scaled.jpg" style="float: left; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin: 5px 15px 5px 0px;" width="200" /></div>
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<p>The mystical mirror has seen many faces, some innocent and some deserving of punishment. This is the mirror of truth, and it punishes evildoers severely.</p>
<p>As the book unfolds, each person you meet has is given a chance to repent or suffer the mirror’s unique form of hideous justice. Be careful doing wrong, because the mirror waits for you...</p>
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<h3>Praise for <i>Mirror Image</i>:</h3>
<p>"Riveting, pulse-pounding, and thoroughly readable, <i>Mirror Image</i> would make a great Netflix series!" <br /><span style="color: #c3ba2a; margin-left: 40px;">~ Vincent Zandri <em>New York Times</em> and <em>USA Today</em> bestselling ITW Thriller and PWA Shamus winning author</span></p>
<p>"<i>Mirror Image</i>, by author Fran Lewis is a page-turner." <br /><span style="color: #c3ba2a; margin-left: 40px;">~ Irma Fritz</span></p>
<p>"The stories in <i>Mirror Image</i> are chilling and every one has a lesson behind it. Beware and be scared!" <br /><span style="color: #c3ba2a; margin-left: 40px;">~ Karen Vaughn, author of <em>Dead on Arrival</em></span></p>
<p>"Once again Fran Lewis has written a collection of scary stories! <i>Mirror Image</i> will keep you up till all hours of the night praying you won’t be looking into any mirror where the face looking back isn’t yours." <br /><span style="color: #c3ba2a; margin-left: 40px;">~ Marsha Casper Cook, Michigan Avenue Media</span></p>
<p>"<i>Mirror Image</i>, a collection of linked short stories by Fran Lewis, delves into our darker side.<br />It’s not for the faint of heart!" <br /><span style="color: #c3ba2a; margin-left: 40px;">~ John DeDakis, author of the Lark Chadwick series</span></p>
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<h3>Book Details:</h3>
<p><b>Genre:</b> Horror<br />
<b>Published by:</b> Fideli Publishing<br />
<b>Publication Date:</b> December 13, 2023<br />
<b>Number of Pages:</b> 154<br />
<b>ISBN:</b> 9781962402873 (ISBN10: 1962402878)<br />
<b>Book Links:</b> <a href="https://pictbooks.tours/ZbibC" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Amazon</a> | <a href="https://pictbooks.tours/V0LXj" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a> </p>
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<h2>Author Bio:</h2>
<div style="float: right; margin-left: 15px; width: 230px;"><img align="left" alt="Fran Lewis" border="0" height="200" src="https://partnersincrimetours.com/wp-content/uploads/forminator/13997_115b15d08b2c7bb7da2712949e71a2f7/uploads/nG5ST8WDbtv4-IMG_7884.jpeg" style="float: right; margin-bottom: 5px; margin-left: 0px; margin-right: 15px; margin-top: 5px; margin: 5px 15px 5px 0px;" width="200" /></div>
<p>Fran worked in the NYC Public Schools as the Reading and Writing Staff Developer for over 36 years. She has three master’s degrees and a PD in Supervision and Administration. Currently, she is a member of Who's Who of America's Teachers and Who's Who of America's Executives from Cambridge.</p>
<p>Fran is the author of more than 14 titles including three children's books. She has written several books on Alzheimer's disease in order to honor her mom and help create more awareness for a cure. These include <em>Memories are Precious: Alzheimer’s Journey</em>; <em>Ruth’s Story</em> and <em>Sharp as a Tack and Scrambled Eggs Which Describes Your Brain?</em>. She also wrote <em>A Daughter’s Promise</em> about her walk through the disease with her mother. Fran is the author of the Faces Behind the Stones series, a middle school series featuring stories growing up in the Bronx with her sister and <em>MJ magazine</em>. <em>Mirror Image</em> is her latest book which was preceded by <em>What If?</em>, <em>Population Zero</em>, and <em>Accusations</em>.</p>
<h3>Catch Up With Fran Lewis:<br />
<a href="https://pictbooks.tours/Q098z" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Tillie49.wordpress.com</a><br />
<a href="https://pictbooks.tours/FS0AM" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Goodreads</a><br />
<a href="https://pictbooks.tours/g6WlB" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">BookBub</a><br />
<a href="https://pictbooks.tours/REg2n" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Instagram - @berthatillie49</a><br />
<a href="https://pictbooks.tours/hroGl" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Twitter/X - @franellena</a><br />
<a href="https://pictbooks.tours/IeSXD" rel="noopener noreferrer" target="_blank">Facebook</a><br />
<a href="https://pictbooks.tours/DUyUv" rel="noopener" target="_blank">Book Talk with Fran Lewis Radio Show</a></h3>
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<h2>Tour Participants:</h2>Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway!<script src="https://www.linkytools.com/basic_linky_include.aspx?id=313153" type="text/javascript"></script>
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<h2>ENTER FOR A CHANCE TO WIN!</h2>
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<h2><a href="https://partnersincrimetours.com/">Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours</a></h2>
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Kari Boardmanhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/10227825866117933767noreply@blogger.com1