By Hook or By Book - A Review, Excerpt, & Giveaway

 Review

 

BY HOOK OR BY BOOK by Misty Simon
The First Charmed Inn Mystery 

Roxy Gleason comes from a gifted family. Her Aunt Helen is a respected tasseomancer capable of leading seances while Uncle Vince can scry. Roxy is not as happy being a bibliomancer. Getting cryptic phrases from books she feels that her gift is passive and not always correct. The family not only share paranormal gifts, they also run the Charmed Inn. This weekend they're hosting the writers group that has been visiting annually for decades. When Roxy takes a walk before the welcoming dinner she sees one of her guests on the deck of the ferry, a place he shouldn't have been. When she tells him he needs to move, she discovers he's dead. Now the officer in charge thinks Roxy is involved, the writer's group are chomping at the bit to investigate, and Roxy is getting messages from her books. Will she be able to find the real killer, prove her innocence, all while successfully managing her inn?

A gathering of writers, a family well versed in divination, a possible lost treasure, and murder make for a delightful debut to a new mystery series. Roxy is charming, self deprecating, and an all around fun protagonist. I love how she keeps saying Dean is her best friend, but nothing else. And just when I thought things may be percolating, I got very, very worried. 

As Roxy tries to solve the murder she also tries to get to the bottom of a few other things, notably her bibliomancy and what happened between her aunt and uncle that has them always at loggerheads. The more Roxy tries to solve the murder the more mysteries pop up! 

Murder with a hint of romance and brushed with the paranormal BY HOOK OR BY BOOK is an entertaining and engaging mystery. I enjoyed getting to know the wonderful characters and I can't wait to see Roxy learn and appreciate her gift even more.

************************************************************************ 

 

BY HOOK OR BY BOOK

by Misty Simon

June 2-27, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Charmed Inn Mysteries

 

Roxy Gleason, an innkeeper by trade and a bibliomancer by birth, has lived in the same small town on the Susquehanna River in Central Pennsylvania for her entire life. Tradition is strong here. Roxy understands the rules and is willing to play by them most of the time. She runs the Charmed Inn, which has been in her family for decades.

The inn is all set to host a writers’ professional business weekend that’s been planned down to the very last hand-folded napkin, and Roxy is ready for the influx of creatives. She knows she’ll have a lot of different and sometimes unusual personalities to deal with, but this is a yearly function, so she’s not expecting anything to go awry.

Her expectations are completely tanked when she finds a dead body on her daily walk by the river’s shore. Owen Schultz had checked in for the conference a few hours ago, and she’d last seen him having tea with her aunt in the dining room.

How did he get down here on the ferry, and who killed him?

Fans of Lucy Score, Melissa F. Miller, Dianne Harman, Lynn Cahoon, Deany Ray, Kathi Daley, and Merryn Allingham will enjoy Misty Simon.

Book Details:

Genre: Rom Cozy (Paranormal Cozy mystery with Romantic elements)
Published by: Rowan Prose Publishing
Publication Date: June 3, 2025
Number of Pages: 300
ASIN: B0D98KM21B
Series: The Charmed Inn Mysteries, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookBub | Goodreads

Books 2 & 3 of The Charmed Inn Mysteries are due out later this year:

Learn More: Amazon & Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

They called him Cheezy Rider—and with good cause.

I stood at the wide front window of the Charmed Inn with a cup of coffee in hand. I watched my great uncle toddling around the corner onto Chestnut Street, pedaling steadily on his old Beach Comber. The picture he made was something to behold. His bright orange vest perfectly matched the small caution flag waving from a tall pole attached to the back of the bike. His silver bullet helmet matched his thinning silver hair peeking out from underneath. But nothing matched his teal and red-flowered Hawaiian shirt.

His legs, covered in khakis, pumped away as he came up the block waving to anyone who happened to be on the short street in our small town on the shore of the Susquehanna River. The bicycle had a big wire basket on the front that he filled with a box of donuts from Delilah’s Donuts every day, a place that had been in the same family for seventy-five years, like so many other businesses here. Those donuts were heading right for my work and then right to my hips. But I had never said no to pastry, and I wasn’t going to start today. In fact, I needed the pick-me-up. Things were busy at the inn, with everyone checking in for the writers’ extended working weekend, and sugar was always welcome. The staff wouldn’t say no, either.

“I’m going to take a break,” I said to my Aunt Hellen as I passed her in the hallway leading to the dining room. She was technically my great aunt, and she could keep things moving for a few minutes while I stepped out into the beautiful April afternoon sunshine. What I really wanted to say was that I was trying not to break, but that wouldn’t be good for business. It had been one heck of a morning already, and I needed a moment to collect myself in the downtime before the festivities really began. Donuts were a great distraction, even if my erstwhile uncle did bring them every day.

“All righty, Ms. Mighty!” Aunt Hellen yelled back. This highly respected tasseomancer and seance-leader had a set of lungs that should never be allowed near a microphone. “I just finished having tea with Owen, so I’m free if you want to go on your walk, too. His phone rang in the middle of our tea, and it must have been important because he hightailed it out the door after making an excuse.” She situated herself behind the desk and placed her hands on the computer screen like it might fly away if she didn’t keep it locked down. “Hey, one thing before you go.”

I held steady, waiting for the inevitable question. My life seemed to be filled with questions.

“What kind of afternoon do you think we’re going to have? Should I restock the printer?”

Showing my teeth in what should have been a smile, I flipped open the book I held in my other hand, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all. Why, oh why, did I have to have this particular book with me? And why was my aunt always trying to force me to use my “gift”? I had no real power to do anything, just predict the future or get guidance from the text. Sometimes it was right, sometimes not. Either way, it was not high-powered magic in the least.

While poking my finger at the text, I said, “No need to stock the printer, but be prepared to deal with many irritations.” There’s nothing like trying to give a vague answer to a mundane question when the page you opened to was a spicy-hot scene between the hero and heroine in a recently released romance novel.

“I could have told you that. You have to try harder if you want to own your power, Roxanne Gleason. This is not a game.” Peering at me over her bifocals, she twitched the classic “Mom finger” in my general direction and then tsked.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but only because I knew it wouldn’t do me any good. It would probably get me a lecture, and I didn’t have time for that today. Plus, those donuts were calling my name.

“Yes, Aunt Hellen. Sorry, Aunt Hellen.”

“Cheeky,” she said under her breath, but I still heard it and smiled.

“Is Owen’s nephew here yet?”

“No, Owen said he had to back out at the last minute, so we have a free room if we need it.”

I sighed because as much as I liked Andrew, that was one less eccentric I’d have to deal with. Owen was a character all on his own, but he knew when to rein it in, Andrew not so much. Plus, his room would still get paid for even if he wasn’t going to use it.

“Okay, thanks for letting me know. Keep an eye out for Paddy McGruver,” I said. “He hasn’t checked in yet, and sometimes he likes to come in the back door to avoid what he assumes are the paparazzi.”

“Oh my, Paddy’s coming in today? Will he be here all four days?” Aunt Hellen smoothed down the front of her shirt over what she jokingly called her shelf since it pretty much caught any crumbs she dropped while eating. She then pulled her peach cardigan closed over her stomach.

“Yes, and yes. Try to keep your hands to yourself this time. You read tea leaves, not rumps. No one is falling for that I’m-a-rumpologist-bit, no matter how hard you try to sell it.”

With that, I walked out the door and left her to primp and prime herself for one of the more problematic creatives who was going to be here for four whole days. Well, not quite four, since it was more like seventy-two total hours from check-in to check-out. But who was counting?

With ten of the writers showcasing their intelligence and posturing over who had the best book and which classes were not to be missed, it would be enough time for me to need a vacation afterward.

The hotel hosted this event every year, but this was my first as the owner of this fine establishment. I had been told to give myself the seven days following the event to only host boring people, so I could rest, relax, and restore my faith in down-to-earth people. I had taken the advice since it had come from the previous owner, my grandfather. We would have guests checking in on Sunday after everyone left, but there wouldn’t be a pen and paper or laptop in sight as far as the guest list went. I had made sure of it.

Uncle Vince was racking his bike at the side of the building and removing his helmet when I stepped out onto the wide veranda that encircled the inn. I looked forward to his visits and had for all the years he’d been in my life. I wasn’t sure exactly how far away on my dad’s family tree he was, just that he was there and always had been.

He was like a beacon in the middle of the day, everyone stopping as they strolled along the sidewalks to say hi and ask about his health. It kept him busy until I could reach him, which worked in my favor. As long as he didn’t give away any of my donuts.

“I see you got two boxes this time,” I said as I approached the old man in his loud get-up.

“Roxy, my love, my dove, how are we on this fine afternoon?” His smile was far cheekier than anything I had ever sported, and I immediately wondered what he was up to. It was almost never good. Or rather, it usually was good for someone but almost never good for me.

“What are you hiding?”

He slapped his hand to his chest and feigned hurt. “I would never -”

“You do. Always,” I shot back, but a smile was trying to come out on my lips that I did not want to give in to. If I indulged him, he always had to see exactly how far he could take it.

“I’m offended.”

“Only because I’m catching you before you can even begin. Hand over the donuts, and I might be able to see my way to just watching for any missteps instead of thwarting you before you even get started.”

At first, he looked defeated, but I knew for a fact that was a lie. He’d just figure out a different way to get around me. It was a game he liked to play, and since he was an uncle and someone who had watched over me since I was a toddler, I knew, and so did he, that I had a weak spot for him and his antics. As long as they didn’t hurt anyone.

Sure enough, that smile popped back out on his face. As I knew it would.

“I saw you in my scrying bowl this morning.”

Ack, that was the last thing I wanted him to say. I would have preferred almost anything else, even the practical jokes he sometimes liked to indulge in. He wasn’t very good at them, but I laughed, even if it was just a big fake spider on my porch. His visions were some of my biggest fears, though. Or it might be better to say his visions had brought about many of my stumbles in life.

***

Excerpt from By Hook or By Book by Misty Simon. Copyright 2025 by Misty Simon. Reproduced with permission from Misty Simon. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Misty Simon always wanted to be a storyteller…preferably behind a Muppet. Animal was number one, followed closely by Sherlock Hemlock… Since that dream didn’t come true, she began writing stories to share her world with readers, one laugh at a time.

Touching people’s hearts and funny bones are two of her favorite things, and she hopes everyone at least snickers in the right places when reading her books. She lives with her husband in Central Pennsylvania where she is hard at work on her next novel or three. She loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at misty@mistysimon.com.

Catch Up With Misty Simon:

MistySimon.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @MistySimon
Instagram - @mistysimonwrites
Threads - @mistysimonwrites
Facebook - @misty.simon.18

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway!

Click here to view the Tour Schedule

 

 

Enter Now for Your Chance to Win!

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Misty Simon. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

Can't see the giveaway? Click Here!

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

Currently Reading...

I'm currently reading By Hook or By Book by Misty Simon. This is the first book in the Charmed Inn Mystery series and was released last week.

Roxy Gleason comes from a gifted family. Her Aunt Helen is a respected tasseomancer capable of leading seances while Uncle Vince can scry. Roxy is not as happy being a bibliomancer. Getting cryptic phrases from books she feels that her gift is passive and not always correct. The family not only share paranormal gifts, they also run the Charmed Inn. This weekend they're hosting the writers group that has been visiting annually for decades. When Roxy takes a walk before the welcoming dinner she sees one of her guests on the deck of the ferry, a place he shouldn't have been. When she tells him he needs to move, she discovers he's dead. Now the officer in charge thinks Roxy is involved, the writer's group are chomping at the bit to investigate, and Roxy is getting messages from her books. Will she be able to find the real killer, prove her innocence, all while successfully managing her inn?

By Hook or By Book - An Interview, Excerpt, & Giveaway

I'm pleased to welcome Misty Simon to Cozy Up With Kathy today. Misty writes the Charmed Inn Mystery series. BY HOOK OR BY BOOK is the first book in the series and was released last week. Be sure to come back on Friday when I'll post my review.

 

Kathy: In BY HOOK OR BY BOOK we meet Roxy Gleason, an innkeeper by trade and a bibliomancer by birth. I practice many forms of divination, why choose bibliomancy for Roxy?

MS: This idea actually came to me almost twenty years ago when I was writing a different book and researching the different kinds of Mancers. Since I love to read I thought that this particular kind of divination would be a lot of fun to play with because of the wide variety of books she’d be able to access information in. 

Kathy: Roxy lives on the Susquehanna River in Central Pennsylvania where tradition is strong. Do you come from a place, or family, with strong traditions? 

MS: Yes, I do, and I love it! I’m actually related to quite a few people within a twenty-mile radius around here. When we did family reunions back in the day, there were over four hundred of us. That can’t be held at a church pavilion so we’d rent a small local amusement park. Family and the fun of living in a small town fuels so much of my writing. 

Kathy: Roxy's inn is all set to host a writers’ professional business weekend. Have you ever attended similar events? Did they influence this mystery? 

MS: I do a bunch of larger writers’ conferences but I really wanted to be able to focus down on a smaller scale, so I chose to do the business weekend. Plus, with writers you often have a wide variety of personalities and quirks. It made for wonderful mystery fodder! 


Kathy: Tell us about your series. 

MS: Oh, I don’t know if you want me to talk about all my series since there are currently seven I have running! This one though is a lot of fun in that we have Roxy who is the quintessential white sheep in a family of black sheep. Being able to watch her grow in her talent as well as in her relationships while running the inn on the Susquehanna has been a blast. 


Kathy: What made you decide to publish your work? 

MS: I really wanted to be able to share my stories with people and my view of the world. I call myself Calgon (which I know totally ages me but I’m here for it) because I’m here to take you away. I love to make people laugh and sigh and play the game of whodunnit with me.

Kathy: Will you share any of your hobbies or interests with us? 

MS: Oh I absolutely love to make positive inspirational swag from eyeglass cleaners to Sassinator bags to yetis with swords to help you with editing. It’s a huge joy for me to watch people love the little things I make to shine some light in their world.


Kathy: Do you have plans for future books either in your current series or a new series? 

MS: Absolutely! This is the first of three contracted books in this series. I also have more books to write in the Sunny Side Up Mysteries, Horsing Around Mysteries, Tallie Graver Mysteries, and Magically Suspicious Mysteries. I’m scheduled out for quite some time but I love every second and every sleuth!

******************************************************************

 

BY HOOK OR BY BOOK

by Misty Simon

June 2-27, 2025 Virtual Book Tour

Synopsis:

The Charmed Inn Mysteries

 

Roxy Gleason, an innkeeper by trade and a bibliomancer by birth, has lived in the same small town on the Susquehanna River in Central Pennsylvania for her entire life. Tradition is strong here. Roxy understands the rules and is willing to play by them most of the time. She runs the Charmed Inn, which has been in her family for decades.

The inn is all set to host a writers’ professional business weekend that’s been planned down to the very last hand-folded napkin, and Roxy is ready for the influx of creatives. She knows she’ll have a lot of different and sometimes unusual personalities to deal with, but this is a yearly function, so she’s not expecting anything to go awry.

Her expectations are completely tanked when she finds a dead body on her daily walk by the river’s shore. Owen Schultz had checked in for the conference a few hours ago, and she’d last seen him having tea with her aunt in the dining room.

How did he get down here on the ferry, and who killed him?

Fans of Lucy Score, Melissa F. Miller, Dianne Harman, Lynn Cahoon, Deany Ray, Kathi Daley, and Merryn Allingham will enjoy Misty Simon.

Book Details:

Genre: Rom Cozy (Paranormal Cozy mystery with Romantic elements)
Published by: Rowan Prose Publishing
Publication Date: June 3, 2025
Number of Pages: 300
ASIN: B0D98KM21B
Series: The Charmed Inn Mysteries, Book 1
Book Links: Amazon | Barnes & Noble | BookBub | Goodreads

Books 2 & 3 of The Charmed Inn Mysteries are due out later this year:

Learn More: Amazon & Goodreads

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1

They called him Cheezy Rider—and with good cause.

I stood at the wide front window of the Charmed Inn with a cup of coffee in hand. I watched my great uncle toddling around the corner onto Chestnut Street, pedaling steadily on his old Beach Comber. The picture he made was something to behold. His bright orange vest perfectly matched the small caution flag waving from a tall pole attached to the back of the bike. His silver bullet helmet matched his thinning silver hair peeking out from underneath. But nothing matched his teal and red-flowered Hawaiian shirt.

His legs, covered in khakis, pumped away as he came up the block waving to anyone who happened to be on the short street in our small town on the shore of the Susquehanna River. The bicycle had a big wire basket on the front that he filled with a box of donuts from Delilah’s Donuts every day, a place that had been in the same family for seventy-five years, like so many other businesses here. Those donuts were heading right for my work and then right to my hips. But I had never said no to pastry, and I wasn’t going to start today. In fact, I needed the pick-me-up. Things were busy at the inn, with everyone checking in for the writers’ extended working weekend, and sugar was always welcome. The staff wouldn’t say no, either.

“I’m going to take a break,” I said to my Aunt Hellen as I passed her in the hallway leading to the dining room. She was technically my great aunt, and she could keep things moving for a few minutes while I stepped out into the beautiful April afternoon sunshine. What I really wanted to say was that I was trying not to break, but that wouldn’t be good for business. It had been one heck of a morning already, and I needed a moment to collect myself in the downtime before the festivities really began. Donuts were a great distraction, even if my erstwhile uncle did bring them every day.

“All righty, Ms. Mighty!” Aunt Hellen yelled back. This highly respected tasseomancer and seance-leader had a set of lungs that should never be allowed near a microphone. “I just finished having tea with Owen, so I’m free if you want to go on your walk, too. His phone rang in the middle of our tea, and it must have been important because he hightailed it out the door after making an excuse.” She situated herself behind the desk and placed her hands on the computer screen like it might fly away if she didn’t keep it locked down. “Hey, one thing before you go.”

I held steady, waiting for the inevitable question. My life seemed to be filled with questions.

“What kind of afternoon do you think we’re going to have? Should I restock the printer?”

Showing my teeth in what should have been a smile, I flipped open the book I held in my other hand, shaking my head at the ridiculousness of it all. Why, oh why, did I have to have this particular book with me? And why was my aunt always trying to force me to use my “gift”? I had no real power to do anything, just predict the future or get guidance from the text. Sometimes it was right, sometimes not. Either way, it was not high-powered magic in the least.

While poking my finger at the text, I said, “No need to stock the printer, but be prepared to deal with many irritations.” There’s nothing like trying to give a vague answer to a mundane question when the page you opened to was a spicy-hot scene between the hero and heroine in a recently released romance novel.

“I could have told you that. You have to try harder if you want to own your power, Roxanne Gleason. This is not a game.” Peering at me over her bifocals, she twitched the classic “Mom finger” in my general direction and then tsked.

I resisted the urge to roll my eyes, but only because I knew it wouldn’t do me any good. It would probably get me a lecture, and I didn’t have time for that today. Plus, those donuts were calling my name.

“Yes, Aunt Hellen. Sorry, Aunt Hellen.”

“Cheeky,” she said under her breath, but I still heard it and smiled.

“Is Owen’s nephew here yet?”

“No, Owen said he had to back out at the last minute, so we have a free room if we need it.”

I sighed because as much as I liked Andrew, that was one less eccentric I’d have to deal with. Owen was a character all on his own, but he knew when to rein it in, Andrew not so much. Plus, his room would still get paid for even if he wasn’t going to use it.

“Okay, thanks for letting me know. Keep an eye out for Paddy McGruver,” I said. “He hasn’t checked in yet, and sometimes he likes to come in the back door to avoid what he assumes are the paparazzi.”

“Oh my, Paddy’s coming in today? Will he be here all four days?” Aunt Hellen smoothed down the front of her shirt over what she jokingly called her shelf since it pretty much caught any crumbs she dropped while eating. She then pulled her peach cardigan closed over her stomach.

“Yes, and yes. Try to keep your hands to yourself this time. You read tea leaves, not rumps. No one is falling for that I’m-a-rumpologist-bit, no matter how hard you try to sell it.”

With that, I walked out the door and left her to primp and prime herself for one of the more problematic creatives who was going to be here for four whole days. Well, not quite four, since it was more like seventy-two total hours from check-in to check-out. But who was counting?

With ten of the writers showcasing their intelligence and posturing over who had the best book and which classes were not to be missed, it would be enough time for me to need a vacation afterward.

The hotel hosted this event every year, but this was my first as the owner of this fine establishment. I had been told to give myself the seven days following the event to only host boring people, so I could rest, relax, and restore my faith in down-to-earth people. I had taken the advice since it had come from the previous owner, my grandfather. We would have guests checking in on Sunday after everyone left, but there wouldn’t be a pen and paper or laptop in sight as far as the guest list went. I had made sure of it.

Uncle Vince was racking his bike at the side of the building and removing his helmet when I stepped out onto the wide veranda that encircled the inn. I looked forward to his visits and had for all the years he’d been in my life. I wasn’t sure exactly how far away on my dad’s family tree he was, just that he was there and always had been.

He was like a beacon in the middle of the day, everyone stopping as they strolled along the sidewalks to say hi and ask about his health. It kept him busy until I could reach him, which worked in my favor. As long as he didn’t give away any of my donuts.

“I see you got two boxes this time,” I said as I approached the old man in his loud get-up.

“Roxy, my love, my dove, how are we on this fine afternoon?” His smile was far cheekier than anything I had ever sported, and I immediately wondered what he was up to. It was almost never good. Or rather, it usually was good for someone but almost never good for me.

“What are you hiding?”

He slapped his hand to his chest and feigned hurt. “I would never -”

“You do. Always,” I shot back, but a smile was trying to come out on my lips that I did not want to give in to. If I indulged him, he always had to see exactly how far he could take it.

“I’m offended.”

“Only because I’m catching you before you can even begin. Hand over the donuts, and I might be able to see my way to just watching for any missteps instead of thwarting you before you even get started.”

At first, he looked defeated, but I knew for a fact that was a lie. He’d just figure out a different way to get around me. It was a game he liked to play, and since he was an uncle and someone who had watched over me since I was a toddler, I knew, and so did he, that I had a weak spot for him and his antics. As long as they didn’t hurt anyone.

Sure enough, that smile popped back out on his face. As I knew it would.

“I saw you in my scrying bowl this morning.”

Ack, that was the last thing I wanted him to say. I would have preferred almost anything else, even the practical jokes he sometimes liked to indulge in. He wasn’t very good at them, but I laughed, even if it was just a big fake spider on my porch. His visions were some of my biggest fears, though. Or it might be better to say his visions had brought about many of my stumbles in life.

***

Excerpt from By Hook or By Book by Misty Simon. Copyright 2025 by Misty Simon. Reproduced with permission from Misty Simon. All rights reserved.

 

 

Author Bio:

Misty Simon always wanted to be a storyteller…preferably behind a Muppet. Animal was number one, followed closely by Sherlock Hemlock… Since that dream didn’t come true, she began writing stories to share her world with readers, one laugh at a time.

Touching people’s hearts and funny bones are two of her favorite things, and she hopes everyone at least snickers in the right places when reading her books. She lives with her husband in Central Pennsylvania where she is hard at work on her next novel or three. She loves to hear from readers so drop her a line at misty@mistysimon.com.

Catch Up With Misty Simon:

MistySimon.com
Amazon Author Profile
Goodreads
BookBub - @MistySimon
Instagram - @mistysimonwrites
Threads - @mistysimonwrites
Facebook - @misty.simon.18

 

 

Tour Participants:

Visit these other great hosts on this tour for more great reviews, interviews, guest posts, and opportunities to WIN in the giveaway!

Click here to view the Tour Schedule

 

 

Enter Now for Your Chance to Win!

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners in Crime Tours for Misty Simon. See the widget for entry terms and conditions. Void where prohibited.

Can't see the giveaway? Click Here!

 

 

Get More Great Reads at Partners In Crime Tours

 

You’re Not Alone - Guest Post & Giveaway

You’re Not Alone 

By Clea Simon

Don’t we all feel alone sometimes? Like we’re the only ones in the world, abandoned by everyone? And at such times, isn’t a nice cuddly cat the best companion?

That’s the idea I started with when I began to write “The Ninth Life,” my new mystery and the first in my Blackie and Care series for Severn House. Only I realized early on that my story, about a girl named Care and the big, black cat who adopts her, wouldn’t be your usual cozy. No, not like my Dulcie Schwartz mysteries (the latest is “Code Grey”), Care isn’t a bookish academic. Nor is she a tough girl, like Pru Marlowe (who comes back in “When Bunnies Go Bad” next month). No, Care is really alone – she’s an orphan who has run away from her foster home and is living on the streets when she sees a bedraggled cat drowning in a storm drain and rescues him.

What happens next will change both their lives, as Care and Blackie work to unravel the mystery of what happened to Care’s protector and mentor, and Blackie seeks to understand how he ended up in that storm drain in the first place. It’s a darker adventure than any I have written before, and both Blackie and Care will face violence at times. In places, it’s downright scary.

I should say at this point that you don’t have to worry. I’m not going to give away my ending – and I hope “The Ninth Life” surprises right up to its dramatic conclusion – but you can rest assured that I will never kill or seriously injure my heroine or her feline companion. I wouldn’t have a series if I did that and, besides, I don’t have the heart for that kind of book.

But I do think that we’re up for a good adventure, right? That without a little bit of darkness and threat, the happy resolution won’t feel earned. And besides, what could bond a girl and her cat closer than to face down danger together – side by side, supporting each other when both feel the most alone.

******************************************************************************

Author Links:
http://www.cleasimon.com home page
http://cleasimon.blogspot.com blog
https://www.facebook.com/clea.simon.author Facebook
@Clea_Simon Twitter

a Rafflecopter giveaway

A Pet Noir Interview & Giveaway

I'd like to welcome Clea Simon to Cozy Up With Kathy today. Clea writes the Pru Marlowe Pet Noir Mystery series. Kittens Can Kill is the 5th in the series and was released in March.

Kathy: While I have not read a lot of Noir novels, I have seen several Noir films. How did you become interested in Noir? Why choose that subgenre for your mysteries?

CS: I have always written cozy or traditional mysteries, and the truth is my “pet noir” mysteries are really cozies. But I was reading a lot of the new women-centered noir, books by Megan Abbott and Linda L. Richards, and I thought, I’d love to write one of those. So I came up with a tough-girl heroine. The problem was, as I started writing her, she ended up having an even tougher tabby. And pet noir was born. 


Kathy: Pru Marlowe has a special gift. She can hear the thoughts of animals. I would love to have that gift,would you? How did you decide to add this touch of the paranormal to your series?

CS: Well, don’t all of us who have pets think we can understand them – or that we should. I mean, so many times, my cat will look at me, like, “What is wrong with you, Clea? Why aren’t you doing as I command?” And so Pru’s gift seemed quite natural.


Kathy: I have a multi-species home. I'm lucky in that, while my furkids have had their issues, I haven't encountered anything necessitating a call to an animal behaviorist. Have you ever worked with one with any of your animals?

CS: I have interviewed several, and a good friend of mine writes about wildlife. So Pru’s work is based on their real-life studies and practices. And so much of this is very basic and yet important to know: like that working animals, such as most dogs, NEED to be doing something. If they get bored, they get into trouble. 


Kathy: I'm a firm believer in reading mystery series in order. While it's true that in many series, you can read the books out of order, or not start at the beginning of the series, but you generally get get so much more out the book when you have started at the beginning and read in order. The books in your Pet Noir series are described as being stand alone mysteries. Is each book a fully contained story, or will readers see a progression?

CS: Each book works as a standalone mystery, but if you start at the beginning - with “Dogs Don’t Lie” - you’ll get a bigger story about Pru and Wallis and her family and romantic interests.


Kathy: What first drew you to mysteries?

CS: I love the stories and that they bring everything together in the end.


Kathy: Do you write in any other genres?

CS: I used to write nonfiction – I have three nonfiction books in print. I’m a former journalist. But now this is it.


Kathy: Tell us about your series.

CS: The Pru Marlowe pet noir mysteries feature a bad-girl animal behaviorist who was living a pretty wild life in the city when she became seriously ill. In a half-delirious state, she heard someone urging her to drink some water and to seek help. That someone, it turned out, was her cat. When she realized she could hear what all animals think, she left the city and came home to her small town in the Berkshires. But she’s still trying to make peace with her new “gift.” Luckily her cat, Wallis, is here to help her.

I also write the Dulcie Schwartz mysteries. Dulce is a graduate student studying the Gothic literature of the late 18th Century, which is full of ghosts and the paranormal. She considers herself very rational - unlike her hippie mother, who is convinced she is psychic – but Dulcie does have one special spectral visitor: the ghost of her late, great cat, Mr. Grey.


Kathy: Do you have a favorite character? If so, who and why?

CS: I always related to the character Toad of Toad Hall in “The Wind and the Willows.” He gets in trouble constantly because of his enthusiasms. There’s a lot of Mr. Toad in me, though I do hope I’m more considerate of others than he is.


Kathy: Did you have a specific inspiration for your series?

CS: I am inspired by real-life events and all the pets and people that I know.


Kathy: What are you currently reading?

CS: I’m reading “Dead Water,” a Benjamin January mystery by Barbra Hambly. I love her work - it’s historical, featuring a free man of color in pre-Civil War New Orleans.


Kathy: Will you share any of your hobbies or interests with us?

CS: I love to cook and collect cookbooks! I also adore live music - rock, zydeco, Cajun, jazz….


Kathy: Name 4 items you always have in your fridge or pantry.

CS: mustard, olive oil, garlic, and … mmmm.. probably Goslings diet Ginger Beer.


Kathy: Do you have plans for future books either in your current series or a new series?

CS: Yes, I am currently working on the next Pru, “When Bunnies Go Bad,” and then it will be onto the next Dulcie!


Kathy: What's your favorite thing about being an author?

CS: I get to make up adventures and spend time with my characters.

Kittens Can Kill

by Clea Simon

on Tour June 2015

Synopsis:

The dead don’t keep pets. So when animal behaviorist expert Pru Marlowe gets a call about a kitten, she doesn’t expect to find the cuddly creature playing beside the cooling body of prominent Beauville lawyer David Canaday. Heart attack? His three adult daughters angrily blame drug interactions, feline allergies—and each other. And begin to feud over their father, his considerable estate, and that cute ball of fluff. While the cause of death is pending, each sister has an axe to grind—with arguments that escalate when David’s partner reads out the will.
Pru’s special sensitivity to animals, which caused her to flee the cacophony of Manhattan for the quiet Berkshires, adds further problems. The local vet is overwhelmed as the animal hospital’s money runs out. There’s a needy Sheltie and some invasive squirrels, too. But the dead man’s kitten, his former partner, and his troublesome family keep drawing “wild-girl animal psychic Pru back in. Despite the wry observations of her trusty tabby Wallis, now the wrongfully accused kitten’s guardian, and the grudging compliance of her cop lover, this may be one time when Pru can’t solve the mystery or save the kitten she wants to believe is innocent. A single witness knows the truth about that bright spring morning. How far can Pru investigate without risking her own hidden tale?

Book Details:

Genre: Cozy Mystery
Published by: Poisoned Pen Press
Publication Date: 03/03/2015
Number of Pages: 434
Series: Pru Marlowe Pet Noir #5 (Each is a Stand Alone Mystery)
ISBN: 9781464203589
Purchase Links:

Read an excerpt:

Chapter One
There’s nothing cute about a death scene. Not the shards of the mug that rested in a puddle on the cold tile floor. Not the scent of the tea—acrid and sharp—that now mingled with the mustier odors of a body’s last struggle. And certainly not the body itself, sprawled contorted beside the shattered ceramic, one arm reaching out for succor, the other frozen in rigor as it clawed at the argyle wool vest that covered the still chest.
No, there was nothing cute about the tableau that greeted me when I made my way into the kitchen of Mr. David Canaday, Esquire, after twenty minutes of pointless knocking. But the kitten that sat beside the puddle, batting at a metal button that must have popped off the vest in that last desperate effort? That little white puffball, not more than eight weeks old and intent as he could be on his newfound toy as it rolled back and forth? He was adorable. The cutest little bundle a girl could ever swoon for.
He knew it, too. As I stood there, staring, he batted that button toward me. Rolling around on its rounded top, it made its slow circular way toward my feet.
“Play?” The message in those round blue eyes was clear. I was supposed to kick the button back. To get it moving—make it livelier prey than the still man on the floor would ever be again. “Back to me?”
The button hit my boot, and the kitten reared up when I stepped back, his front paws reaching up to slap the air.
“No, kitty. I can’t.” I took another step back the way I had come.
“Play?” And another.
I had no desire to kick the button. What I wanted to do was scoop up this little puffball and run.
To remove such an innocent creature from the horror before me. That had been my plan, even before I’d walked into the room. Get the kitten, get out. Get on with my day.
That didn't look like it was going to happen. Not now, and as much as I wanted to snatch the kitten up I restrained myself and, fiddling with my bag, found my phone while I took a third step and a fourth back to the kitchen door. As much as I wanted to grab up the kitten and run for dear life, I knew better than to disturb what just might be a crime scene—or to remove what I assumed to be the only living witness.
Chapter Two
The paramedics arrived first, and for that I was grateful. They had the body on a stretcher by the time the daughter arrived, straps across those jolly blue diamonds and a blanket covering the soiled khakis below. Better still, they were the ones to tell her what that still, pale face should have. What had been patently obvious to me from the moment I’d stepped into the room: Dad was dead. They were taking him to the hospital—that was protocol—but there’d be no sirens wailing because there was no great rush. Lucky for me, she opted to ride along.
I didn't envy the paramedics. The daughter looked like the type who would fight them. Insist on CPR or defibrillation, even as the old man’s color faded to a muted version of that vest, the blood slowly settling in his back.
She didn't look much better. Pale as dishwater, with hair to match. That hair, a listless bob, had been dark once, maybe as black as mine, but time had dulled its color and its sheen, much as it had softened what might have once been impressive cheekbones and a jawline that now sloped gently into a chubby neck.
Between that pallor and the way she had carried on, I had thought at first that she was the wife. Then I remembered: the old man was widowed. It was his daughter who had called me, asking for help in settling a new pet with an increasingly shut-in and by all accounts difficult elder.
“It needs everything,” she had said when she’d called. “Shots, whatever.”
I’d been bothered by that impersonal “it.” Sexing a kitten can be difficult, but this smacked of something colder. Still, I’d said I’d call Doc Sharpe, our local vet, to set up a well-kitten visit and silently figured on adding taxi and escort charges.
In the meantime, I’d told the daughter that I’d drop by to set things up. As the woman on the phone had gone on, though, I’d begun adding services. Neither she nor her father had expected this kitten. She had errands to run, she’d said, and sounded particularly put out by its sudden, unannounced appearance.
It—that impersonal “it” again—had been an unexpected gift, the caller had said. And while that sounded odd, I wasn't going to question it. Not if they were willing to pay.
That gig was shot, I thought as I watched the ambulance from the shelter of an eager rhododendron, blossoms ready to pop.
Sure, I could bill for my time. I’d certainly charge for the load of supplies in my car. But I wouldn't count on getting paid, not soon anyway. Spring and my business usually picked up. The tourists started filtering back, and the seasonal condos filled with troubled dogs and angry cats, all confused by the very human idea of relocating for fun. But even though the May days were growing soft, my client base hadn't warmed up yet. I’d been counting on this job for at least a few regular checks.
“Mama? Where did you go?” The soft cry brought me out of my musing. Male, definitely, though still much more a baby than a boy. Spring. I looked through the bush’s dark green leaves for a nest. For a den in the dark, damp leaves beneath the trees.
“Where are you?”
The kitten. Of course. With all the hubbub, the tiny animal must have been spooked. Must have darted for safety and gotten outside. I couldn't recall anyone mentioning the little cat as they strapped the old man to the gurney and bundled his daughter in for the ride.
“Play?”
The kitten was determined, I’d give him that. And he seemed to have gotten over his fright. I looked around. The EMTs had left the door ajar when they first stormed in, and the little fellow probably snuck out. Normally, I’d cheer him on. Self-determination is a virtue that I applaud, but a baby is a baby, after all.
And while the east side of Beauville might look nicer than our shabby downtown, part of the appeal was its old-growth woods.
I thought of the foxes that would be nesting soon beneath those trees. And the fishers, and a few other predators, all of whom would be looking for a tasty morsel for themselves or their own young. Nature, right? With a sigh that probably revealed more about my human nature than I’d care to admit, I dropped to my knees. Besides, it wasn't like I was doing anyone else any good just then.
“I’m here, little fellow,” I called out softly, peering around the shrubbery. “Where are you?”
He didn't answer, not that I really expected him to. I should explain that this is odd for me. I have a sensitivity, you see.
Some people might call it a gift. I can pick up what animals are thinking, hear their thoughts like voices in my head. Yes, I know how nutty that sounds. That’s why I keep my particular sensitivity to myself, although I have a feeling that others are growing suspicious.
But the thing about picking up animals’ voices is that they don’t talk like you or I do. They have no need for meaningless conversation, and they certainly don’t chatter just to hear themselves speak. And so although I tend to perceive their voices in human terms—that kitten asking for its mother, for example—that’s just my weak human brain trying to make sense of what I’m really getting. Which was a young animal coming to terms with its environment. That kitten wanted to play, because playing is its job—how it learns to hunt, to survive. He had appeared to address me because kittens, like all mammals, learn from their mothers, their peers. From the world around them. He wasn't calling to me, specifically. He was reaching out, because he was alone.
Alone. That was part of what I was getting, but there was something else, too—an undercurrent of loneliness and confusion, a jumble of noise and fear and…
“Back to me? Kick it again?”
Boredom? Well, as I've said, play is a young animal’s job.
And while I didn't necessarily want to play kick the button, I was grateful for the repeated plea. The voice was clearly coming from inside.
I turned back to the silent house. Although I’d walked in with no problem—Beauville still being that kind of place—someone had thought to lock the door. Luckily, the latch was a simple one, and it gave way quickly to the thin blade of the knife I always keep close at hand. This wasn't breaking-and-entering. Not really, I told myself as I closed the door carefully behind me. I’d been hired to take care of a kitten, and that’s what I was going to do.
“Kitten? Hello?” As I've said, I wasn't really expecting an answer. What I was doing was announcing my presence, trying to sound as nonthreatening as I could, which for me meant voicing my thought in the form of a question.
“Back to me!” I tried to echo the thought I had picked up. The kitchen remained still and apparently empty. I proceeded through the open archway into what appeared to be a living room. “You there?”
“Play with me!” That insistent voice. “Why won’t he play with me?”
I didn't have the heart to tell him, but I had to. “He’s gone,” I said.
“Gone?” The question bounced back, like that button. The small creature was trying to make sense of my response. Of the word. I kicked myself. I wasn't doing the kitten any favors with my euphemism. Animals live or die in the physical world, and despite this one’s infant appeal, he probably had a better sense of reality than most of the humans in this town.
“Dead,” I said, summoning the memory of the still, cold body.
“Gone?” The damage had been done, and I felt the confusion as the kitten continued to roll that word—that concept—about in his tiny feline brain.
“Catch me!” The button appeared, rolling in a slow semicircle from under a chair. “Let’s play!”
“Kitten?” I ducked down and leaned beneath the coffee table.
There, eyes wide, crouched the little creature. He’d taken refuge from all the commotion. Up close, I could see he was undersized and a little ragged, more ready to pounce than to groom. I reached for him and he reared up, batting at me with cool paw pads. “Okay, little fellow.” I scooped him up, and as he nuzzled against my shirt, I felt a wet spot on his back.
“Feels like you've been trying to wash.” No wonder his fur looked patchy. “Or did you get splashed?”
***
I sniffed the kitten and caught something funky. Tea, I hoped, and not something more gruesome. I didn't think I was imagining a slight mint scent, and any puddles on the floor where the body had fallen had been trampled into dark stains. Mimicking my action, the kitten stretched around to sniff the wet spot, and promptly sneezed.
“Gesundheit, little fellow.” He looked up at me, eyes wide, and sneezed again. An adorable little snort, prompted perhaps by that touch of mint. But I've been in this business too long not to think of the other possibilities: feline viral rhinoneumonitis—FVR, better known as feline herpes—for example. Not fatal, but something to manage. At any rate, I held the little creature under the tap for a moment. He was young enough to take my impromptu bath without too much fuss and was purring as I rubbed him down with a dish towel.
“Excuse me.” The voice behind me made me twirl around and the kitten jumped to the floor. He landed by a pair of cowboy boots—turquoise blue—attached to jeans that fit like a second skin. On top of these, a woman’s face scowled at me, the eyes wide and regal. “But who are you, and what are you doing in my father’s house? And what are you doing with my kitten?”

Author Bio:

A recovering journalist, Clea Simon is the author of 17 mysteries and three nonfiction books. Parrots Prove Deadly is the third in her Pru Marlowe pet noir series. She lives in Somerville, Massachusetts, with her husband Jon and their cat, Musetta, and can be reached at

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Giveaway:

This is a giveaway hosted by Partners In Crime Virtual Book Tours for Clea Simon & Poisoned Pen Press. There will be one winner of 1 Box of Poisoned Pen Press books including Kittens Can Kill by Clea Simon. The giveaway begins on June 1st, 2015 and runs through June 3rd, 2015.

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