Sunday, June 25, 2017

Now That the Trip is Over - Guest Post

C.T. Collier has taken over my blog today! C.T. writes The Penningtons Investigate Mystery series. Stuck, the second book in the series was released this past March.


Now that the trip is over . . . keeping alive a sense of Cornwall and its people
by C. T. Collier


When I created my sleuthing duo, Kyle and Lyssa Pennington, I booked a trip to Cornwall. Was I looking for Merlin and Sir Launcelot? Doc Martin and Poldark? No, I was doing research for my hero, Kyle Pennington, whose family estate is close by Padstow on the north coast of Cornwall. I wanted a first-hand experience of the wild coast and countryside I’d always imagined—crashing waves, smugglers’ caves, mysterious moors, cozy villages. And it wasn’t just scenery I wanted, but the voices and expressions, people’s attitude and outlook on life, their values and lifestyles.

Happily, I got all of that and more. The trip was for expressly for photographers and the itinerary included a day on the moors; walks along on the coast, glimpses of derelict tin mines; hours to wander through lush gardens; and opportunities to view paintings by The Newlyn School and at the Tate Gallery. Plus an afternoon in the ruins at Tintangel; the inside scoop on a lifeboat station; and plenty of time in centuries old pubs in fishing villages. And seafood, yum! Enjoying a ploughman’s lunch at a pub was a golden opportunity to eavesdrop on local conversations while studying the pictures and stories stuck up on walls.

I’d go again if I could, but it’s not likely to happen, and that presents a problem for an author. How do I keep alive that all-five-senses experience of Cornwall, so I remain true to my hero’s character and everything he stands for?

I do a lot to keep it fresh. Don’t laugh: for starters, I watch Doc Martin and Poldark on PBS. Poldark for the history of seafaring and smuggling, the impact of class struggle, the legacy of tin mining, and the dependence on the elusive pilchards. And Doc Martin for the thick accents, quaint phrases, spectacular scenery, fickle weather, food, drink, and humor.

But that’s not all I do to keep Cornwall in mind. I’m fortunate that excellent mystery authors have series set in Cornwall. First on my bookshelf is John Bude whose 1930s crime classics include some set on the chalk cliffs of Dover and in the Lake District, in addition to The Cornish Coast Murder.

Historical mystery author, Carola Dunn is next. In addition to her Daisy Dalrymple mysteries, Dunn writes the Cornish Murder Mysteries set in the Cornwall she experienced on vacations in the 1960s. Her heroine is a spry elderly lady, Nell, whose neighbor is an artist who paints and sells charming pictures to the tourists so he can produce his own abstracts off-season. Nell’s niece, Megan is a police detective who’s fast becoming Nick’s love interest. The trio represent hard-working locals who interact with a wide variety of Cornishmen and who cover the countryside in the execution of their jobs. The fifth book in the series, Buried in the Country, involves a car chase in Bodmin Moor, death by drowning in a bog on the moor, and a near-suicide on top of the tors at Cheesewring quarry. Dunn doesn’t write the series from Cornwall, but she is in communication with friends who live there, and she consults online sources for facts such as which fish is abundant at markets this week.

Another mystery series of Cornwall is more contemporary than Dunn’s, that by mystery author Janie Bolitio. Her series of half a dozen mysteries feature a woman artist, widowed, who lives a stone’s throw from Penzance, between the active port of Newlyn and the picturesque village of Mousehole. Rose Trevelyan moves easily from high-end art galleries to desolate homes on the moor, and she dates a policeman. I feel tuned into every socio-economic group as I turn the pages, and I often underline phrases and highlight the controversies that play out in a book.

Those are my tricks for staying attuned to the Cornwall of my hero, Kyle Pennington. And, as you can imagine, Kyle, always the gentleman, gently corrects me anytime I slip up.

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Excerpt:

Justin’s assistant claimed the president was in a meeting but added, “You sound out of breath, Lyssa. Is it urgent?”
“I’m running to a murder scene. Yes, it’s urgent.”
Justin came on the line, and she told him what little she knew.
“For God’s sake, be careful.”
That spooked her. But he was right. A man was dead. Was the killer still in the neighborhood watching the aftermath? Hanging around would be too risky, wouldn’t it? People in these neighborhoods watched what happened all day. And night. Someone must have seen something. Heard something.
She pressed forward the next two blocks and paused at the end of the Van Derzee’s brick walk. Where were the police? Emma had said she’d called them. Surely they hadn’t come and removed the body already? And why leave the door open?



 
By C.T. COLLIER
Self Published (March 18, 2017) Paperback: 308 pages ISBN-13: 978-1544277967 
Meet the Penningtons: Lyssa, Ph.D. Economics, and her husband “the handsome Brit” Kyle, Ph.D. Computer Science. When their clever minds ask questions, clever killers can’t hide.
Murder never entered the picture until Fritz Van Derzee decided, at long last, to clear his name. Who stuck a jeweled stiletto into his desktop after stabbing him to death? Fritz’s daughter, Emma, recruits her former professor Lyssa Pennington to find the killer.
But where’s the ten million Fritz was falsely accused of embezzling? Tompkins College President, Justin Cushman, hires his old friend Kyle Pennington to trace the missing money.
While Lyssa uses charm and tenacity on the long list of suspects, Kyle reconstructs the college’s old homegrown finance system. As they converge on the killer, Lyssa and Kyle may be the next two casualties.

About The Author:
C. T. Collier was born to solve logic puzzles, wear tweed, and drink Earl Grey tea. Her professional experience in cutthroat high tech and backstabbing higher education gave her endless opportunity to study intrigue. Add to that her longtime love of mysteries, and it’s no wonder she writes academic mysteries that draw inspiration from traditional whodunits. Her setting is entirely fictional: Tompkins College is no college and every college, and Tompkins Falls is a blend of several Finger Lakes towns, including her hometown, Seneca Falls, NY (AKA Bedford Falls from It’s a Wonderful Life).

Author Links:  

Website: https://drkatecollier.wordpress.com  
Facebook: kate.collier.315  
Twitter: @TompkinsFalls  
  • Purchase Links
Amazon Print: http://amzn.to/2pnXSWU
Barnes & Noble Print: http://tinyurl.com/lpo7dsp  
Kindle: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B06XQP5VYZ/  
Nook: http://tinyurl.com/lep4smt 

Friday, June 23, 2017

Crime of Passion Fruit - Book Blast


 
Cozy Mystery 6th in Series  
St. Martin's Paperbacks (June 27, 2017)  
Mass Market Paperback: 288 pages ISBN-13: 978-1250088079
Torte―everybody’s favorite small-town family bakeshop―is headed for the high seas, where murder is about to make a splash. . . Jules Capshaw is trying to keep her cool as Torte gets set to make its transformation from quaint, local confectionary café to royal pastry palace. Meanwhile, Jules’s estranged husband Carlos is making a desperate plea for her to come aboard his cruise ship and dazzle everyone with her signature sweets. She may be skeptical about returning to her former nautical life with Carlos but Jules can’t resist an all-expense-paid trip, either. If only she knew that a dead body would find its way onto the itinerary . .
“A warm and inviting atmosphere, friendly and likable main characters, and a nasty murder mystery to solve!” ―Fresh Fiction
Now, instead of enjoying tropical drinks on deck between whipping up batches of sea-salted chocolates and flambéing fresh pineapple slices in the kitchen, Jules is plunged into dangerous waters. Her investigation leaves her with more questions than answers: Why can’t anyone on board identify the young woman? And how can she help Carlos keep passengers at ease with a killer in their midst? Jules feels like she’s ready to jump ship. Can she solve this case without getting in too deep?
“A perfect mix for fans of Jenn McKinlay, Leslie Budewitz, or Jessica Beck.” ―Library Journal
 
About The Author: Ellie Alexander is a Pacific Northwest native who spends ample time testing pastry recipes in her home kitchen or at one of the many famed coffeehouses nearby. When she's not coated in flour, you'll find her outside exploring hiking trails and trying to burn off calories consumed in the name of research.  

Author Links:

Web: http://www.elliealexander.co/
Facebook: https://www.facebook.com/elliealexanderauthor/
Twitter: https://twitter.com/bakeshopmystery  
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/ellie_alexander/    

Purchase Links Amazon    B&N    IndieBound    


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Wednesday, June 21, 2017

Currently Reading...

I'm currently reading Leave it to Cleaver by Victoria Hamilton. This book is the sixth in the Vintage Kitchen Mystery series and will be released later this week.

Wedding bells are in the air, but it is alarm bells that ring out amidst all the preparations. First Jaymie Leighton and her sister, Becca, find a body in a house they're cleaning and then another is found submerged in a car in the river. The bodies are those of two girls, classmates of Becca, who disappeared on the same day in 1984. At the time it was thought that the girls had each run away, but now it looks like murder. Prompted by the chief of police, as well as her own curiosity, Jaymie starts investigating these cold cases. Although she was a baby at the time, her sister and friends were contemporaries of the girls. Will any of them be able to share some insight into what happened? Is the killer long dead? Or is the killer still in their midst?


Tuesday, June 20, 2017

Dream a Little Death - Review & Giveaway

Review


DREAM A LITTLE DEATH by Susan Kandel
The First Dreama Black Mystery

Dreama Black is a third generation groupie and is known as the inspiration behind the hit song Dreama, Little Dreama as well as being the girl on the cover of the band's debut CD. Now, at age 28 Dreama is trying to make ends meet by giving specialized tours of Los Angeles when she gets a chance to make big money and pay down big bills by organizing a special tour for a famous record producer. But things get complicated quickly when one of her "uncles", a top ranking member of LAPD, tells her someone is framing him for laundering money...in the exact same amount she's being paid for her new job. Add a burlesque dancer fiancee with an unexpected ending to her act and this film noir buff has more questions, and possibly more problems than she ever thought possible.

I really had fun reading DREAM A LITTLE DEATH. Dreama's blend of confidence with self-deprecation is honest. While I can't imagine living in her world, I'm happy to spend time there vicariously, glad in the fact that my life is so different.

Many threads run through this story and readers must pay attention or be hopelessly lost. There are a lot of characters involved here and what seem to be numerous subplots, but in the end, as Dirk Gently once said, everything is connected!

DREAM A LITTLE DEATH is a complexly layered mystery filled with a mix of unique characters who epitomize LA.  This first book in the Dreama Black series is a hit!

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Dream A Little Death

by Susan Kandel

on Tour May 23 - June 23, 2017

Synopsis:


From critically acclaimed author Susan Kandel comes a charming new mystery featuring Dreama Black and a cast of zany LA-based characters.

The first time I set eyes on Miles McCoy, I worried he might try to eat me. He was the size and girth of a North American grizzly, with long, silver-tipped hair, a long silver-tipped beard, and small dark eyes that bore into me like I was a particularly fine specimen of Chinook salmon. It couldn't have helped that I'd used a honey scrub the morning we met. I should've known better. Not just about the scrub, but about a lot of things.
Like braving the freeway during rush hour.
Like thinking you can't get a ticket for parking at a broken meter.
Like racing up to his penthouse in gladiator sandals, and expecting not to twist an ankle.
Like watching his fiancée shoot herself, and assuming it was suicide, instead of murder.
Meet Dreama Black. A 28 year-old, third-generation groupie trying to figure out who she is after being publicly dumped by the rock god whose mega-hit, "Dreama, Little Dreama" made the name and the girl world-famous. Now Dreama supports herself by running custom-designed, themed tours of her hometown of L.A. When she is hired by a Raymond Chandler-obsessed rap producer to create a "L.A. noir" tour as his present to his soon-to-be bride, Dreama gets pulled into the middle of a possible murder, corrupt cops, and an unforgettable pair of femme fatales.

Book Details:

Genre: Mystery/Thriller
Published by: Witness Impulse
Publication Date: May 23rd 2017
Number of Pages: 304
ISBN: 0062674994 (ISBN13: 9780062674999)
Series: A Dreama Black Mystery, 1
Purchase Links: Amazon  | Barnes & Noble  | Goodreads 

Read an excerpt:

Chapter 1
The first time I set eyes on Miles McCoy, I worried he might try to eat me. He was the size and girth of a North American grizzly bear, with long silver-tipped hair, a long silver-tipped beard, and small dark eyes that bore into me like I was a particularly fine specimen of Chinook salmon. It couldn’t have helped that I’d used a honey scrub the morning we met. I should’ve known better. Not just about the scrub, but about a lot of things.
Like braving the freeway during rush hour.
Like thinking you can’t get a ticket for parking at a broken meter.
Like racing up to his penthouse in Balenciaga gladiator sandals, and expecting not to twist an ankle.
Like watching his fiancée shoot herself, and assuming it was suicide, instead of murder.
But I’m getting ahead of myself, which is another thing I should know better about. Because if I’ve learned anything at all from my study of film noir (which got me into the whole sordid Miles McCoy mess to begin with), it is to tell the story in the precise order in which it happened.
The trouble started the day before, which was Valentine’s Day, a pagan holiday named after the Roman priest who defied Claudius II by marrying Christian couples. After being hauled off in shackles, the soft-hearted cleric was beaten with clubs, stoned, and when that didn’t finish him off, publicly beheaded. Makes you think.
It had poured rain for eight days running, which isn’t what you sign on for when you live in Los Angeles. But that morning, as I stepped outside for a run, the sun was blinding—so blinding, in fact, that I didn’t see the fragrant valentine my neighbor’s dog, Engelbart, had left on the stoop for me. Not that I minded spending the next twenty minutes cleaning the grooves of my running shoe with a chopstick. It was a beautiful day. The rollerbladers were cruising the Venice boardwalk. The scent of medical marijuana was wafting through the air. Engelbart’s gastrointestinal tract was sound.
An hour later, I hopped into my mint green 1975 Mercedes convertible, and made my way up Lincoln to the freeway. I was headed to Larchmont, an incongruous stretch of Main Street, USA, sandwiched between Hollywood and Koreatown. This was where studio executives’ wives and their private school daughters came for green juice, yoga pants, and the occasional wrench from the general store that had served Hancock Park since the 1930s. It was also where my mother and grandmother ran Cellar Door, known for its chia seed porridge and life-positive service. I helped out whenever my coffers were running low. Which was most of the time.
You are probably frowning right about now. Surely a young woman who owns a classic convertible—as well as Balenciaga gladiators—should not be perennially low on funds. But it’s true.
The car came from my grandmother, who received it as part of her third (fourth?) divorce settlement and gave it to me as a gift when I strong-armed my mother into rehab for the fourth (fifth?) time. The sandals I purchased online in a frenzy of self-loathing shortly after watching my ex-boyfriend the rock god serenading his current girlfriend the supermodel on an otherwise uneventful episode of Ellen. I’d tried to return the sandals, but one of the studs had fallen off, making them damaged goods. Like their owner. Not that I’m hard on myself. It’s just that my career—I take clients on custom-designed, private tours of my hometown of L.A.—wasn’t exactly thriving, which is why I was easy prey for the likes of Miles McCoy. But I’m getting ahead of myself again. Here comes the good part. The part where I’m driving like the wind and almost don’t notice the flashing lights in my mirror. I knew I should have fixed that taillight.
I pulled over, cut the motor, handed the cop my license and registration. He looked down, then did a double take. “Dreama Black?”
That would be me.
“The Dreama Black?” he continued. “As in ‘Dreama, Little Dreama’?”
Perhaps I should explain.
I am a twenty-eight-year-old, third-generation rock ’n’ roll groupie—or “muse,” as the women in my family like to put it.
My grandmother, a fine-boned blonde who never met a gossamer shawl or Victorian boot she didn’t like, spent the sixties sleeping her way through Laurel Canyon, winding up in a house on Rothdell Trail (a.k.a. “Love Street”) purchased for her by a certain lead singer of a certain iconic band whose name is the plural of the thing that hits you on the way out.
My mother, blessed with thick, dark tresses and a way with mousse, was consort to many of the pseudo-androgynous alpha males of American hair metal, her chief claim to fame an MTV video in which she writhed across the hood of a Porsche wearing a white leotard and black, thigh-high boots. She also bought Axl Rose his first kilt.
As for me, well, I was on my way to freshman orientation when this guy I’d been seeing, who’d played a couple of no-name clubs with some friends from summer camp, intercepted me at LAX, put his lips to my ear, and hummed the opening bars of a new song I’d apparently inspired. Instead of boarding the plane for Berkeley, I boarded the tour bus with Luke Cutt and the other skinny, pimply members of Rocket Science. Four world tours, three hit albums, two Grammys, and one breakup later, “Dreama, Little Dreama”—an emo pop anthem that went gold in seven days and has sold eleven million copies to date—had made me almost famous forever.
“Step out of the car, please.”
The cop removed his sunglasses. Peach fuzz. Straight out of the academy. “So.”
He wanted to get a picture with me.
“I’d love to get a picture with you,” he said.
I smoothed down my cut-offs and striped T-shirt, removed my red Ray-Bans, ran my fingers through my long, straight, freshly balayaged auburn hair. The cop put his arm around me, leaned in close, took a couple of snaps on his phone. Let me guess. He’d had a crush on me since tenth grade, when he saw me in a white tank and no bra on the cover of Rocket Science’s debut C.D., and now he was going to post the pictures on Instagram to show all his buddies.
“Awesome.” He gave me a brotherly punch on the arm. “No way is my wife going to believe this. She’s crazy about Luke Cutt. Hey, is he really dating that Victoria’s Secret Angel? She is smoking hot.”
At least I didn’t get the ticket.

Excerpt from Dream A Little Death by Susan Kandel. Copyright © 2017 by Susan Kandel. Reproduced with permission from HarperCollins Publishers. All rights reserved.

Author Bio:

An Agatha, Edgar, and SCIBA nominee, Susan Kandel is the author of the nationally best-selling and critically acclaimed Cece Caruso series, the most recent of which, Dial H for Hitchcock (Morrow), was named by NPR as one of the five best mysteries of the year. A Los Angeles native, she was trained as an art historian, taught at NYU and UCLA, and spent a decade as an art critic at the Los Angeles Times. When not writing, she volunteers as a court-appointed advocate for foster children, and loves to explore secret, forgotten, and kitschy L.A. She lives with her husband in West Hollywood.

Catch Up With Our Author On: Website , Goodreads , Twitter , & Facebook !

 

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