Reviews!

To any authors/publishers/ tour companies that are looking for the reviews that I signed up for please know this is very hard to do. I will be stopping reviews temporarily. My husband passed away February 1st and my new normal is a bit scary right now and I am unable to concentrate on a book to do justice to the book and authors. I will still do spotlight posts if you wish it is just the reviews at this time. I apologize for this, but it isn't fair to you if I signed up to do a review and haven't been able to because I can't concentrate on any books. Thank you for your understanding during this difficult time. I appreciate all of you. Kathleen Kelly April 2nd 2024

16 June 2023

Murder at the Pontchartrain By Kathleen Kaska Book Tour!


Murder at the Pontchartrain

By Kathleen Kaska

Private detective Sydney Lockhart and her boyfriend/partner, Ralph Dixon, are headed for New Orleans to tie the knot—again. Having been stalled on their first attempt by some unfinished business dealing with their last case, Sydney and Dixon are now in the Pontchartrain Hotel in the Big Easy. While their marriage license rests at the courthouse for its 24-hour waiting period, they stroll to the French Quarter to visit Rip Thigbee, Sydney’s friend from her previous investigation. Rip owns Finder of Lost Souls, a detective agency dealing with the spirits of murder victims whose cases remain unsolved  

           When Sydney and Dixon are at Rip’s office, they learn he went missing after investigating the disturbance of local businessman Frank Threadgill’s crypt. Voodoo Queen Frida Mae, whose shop is located next to Thigbee’s, fears that bad juju led to Threadgill’s death and has now infiltrated Rip’s business. Upon returning to their hotel room, to plan their next step, they find Threadgill’s wife, Mildred, waiting for them. Unfortunately, Mildred has been murdered. The police haul the couple down to the station. Their alibi checks out, but they are told to stick around for a few days. Soon a hotel housemaid is murdered, and this time Dixon is arrested, and Sydney is on her own to find the killer. 

           Hearing of their predicament, Sydney’s bubble-headed cousin, Ruth, and Sydney’s young charge, twelve-year-old Lydia LeBeau, show up to lend an unwelcome hand. Ruth goes undercover as a chef at the hotel. Lydia, who can talk the Pope into letting her assist in saying Mass, talks her way into the famous Pat O’Brien’s bar, where the locals are eager to share what they know. 

           After interviewing Mildred Threadgill’s family, Sydney begins her investigation by delving into Frank Threadgill’s mysterious past and discovers that he isn’t who he claims to be. The business he once owned was a cover involving an organization of WWII war criminals and the local Ku Klux Klan. As Sydney gets closer to the truth, she is attacked and left for dead in a nearby swamp. With the help of a few jaunty Cajuns, Sydney makes it back to the city with enough evidence to get Dixon released. Ruth thinks she knows who the killer is. Lydia has her own theory and is convinced Ruth is wrong. Sydney doesn’t know who to trust, convinced that every witness she’s interviewed has lied. But her most shocking realization is that the biggest liar is her own future husband. 



I thought I’d died and gone to Tara. I woke to see luscious green- print brocade drapery covering the floor to ceiling windows. I wanted to rip them down and do what Scarlett did in Gone With the Wind, except I don’t sew. I rubbed the sleep from my eyes and when I looked again, the drapes were still there, open to an early morning. I was not in Georgia or my little apartment on Enfield Road in Austin. I was not dreaming. I was in New Orleans in a two-room suite at the Pontchartrain Hotel with a warm pillow beside me and rumpled sheets twisted around my legs. 

Light from the window cast a soft glow over the body of an Adonis with messy hair, wearing only a towel. He lifted the silver cover off of a gleaming white china platter and smiled at me. Detective Ralph Dixon, my Detective Ralph Dixon, poured me a cup of coffee and offered me a croissant. 

“We’re really here,” I said. 

“We are, hon. I hope I didn’t get you up too early. You drove like a demon yesterday while I slept.” 

“Once my head hit this pillow, I was out.” 

“If you don’t mind getting married in your work clothes—I assume you don’t want a gown—we can get the licenses and make it official before noon.” 

“No flowers?” 

“We can pick up some at the French Market.” He handed me my coffee. 

“We’re really going to do this?” 

“You changed your mind?” 

“No, absolutely no. Well, no.” 

He smiled. My heart melted. “Was that ‘hell no,’ or ‘well, no?’” 

“Last thing I remember thinking about before falling asleep was my name. I like the sound of Sydney Lockhart.”
“Oops. This doesn’t sound good. We can wait.”
“No, no. I’m ready with the ‘I do.’ But Sydney Dixon sounds 

so odd.”
“Don’t change your last name. Leave it. I met Sydney Lockhart and you will always be Sydney Lockhart. Anything else bothering you?” 

“I don’t have a ring for you.”
“We’ll stop at a jewelry store, or I’ll use a rubber band.” “You make things so easy.”
“They are. Sit up.” He fluffed my pillows and brought the 

breakfast tray and placed it between us. “I’m glad we decided to come here. I’ve only been to New Orleans twice. The first time was with some of my college buddies. As you might expect, we had a raucous weekend.” 

“You?” 

“Wasn’t my thing, but yeah, we partied, or they did most of the partying. I made sure we got back to the place where we were staying without being arrested. Years later, when I was in the police department in Hot Springs, I came here by myself on vacation mainly to fish and enjoy the food. It was a completely different world compared to Hot Springs. We had our gangsters and thugs, sure, and so did New Orleans, but here the atmosphere felt raw, jovial, more carefree and not so notorious. When I was a kid growing up in Hot Springs, you never knew who was going to get gunned down on the streets. Crazy times. Anyway, back then I often thought of bringing my future wife here.” 



Kathleen Kaska is the author of the awarding-winning mystery series: the Sydney Lockhart Mystery Series set in the 1950s and the Kate Caraway Animal-Rights Mystery Series. Her first two Lockhart mysteries, Murder at the Arlington and Murder at the Luther, were selected as bonus books for the Pulpwood Queen Book Group, the country’s largest book group. She also writes mystery trivia, including The Sherlock Holmes Quiz Book. Her Holmes short story, “The Adventure at Old Basingstoke,” appears in Sherlock Holmes of Baking Street. She is the founder of The Dogs in the Nighttime, the Sherlock Holmes Society of Anacortes, Washington, a scion of The Baker Street Irregulars. 

Kathleen is the owner of Metaphor Writing Coach. She coaches new and emerging writers and helps them discover their unique voices, and guides them as they learn the craft of writing and the art of storytelling. Kathleen also edits manuscripts and advises writers on how to look for the right publisher.


http://www.kathleenkaska.com

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http://www.facebook.com/kathleenkaska

https://www.amazon.com/~/e/B001K88UMQ

https://twitter.com/KKaskaAuthor

https://www.linkedin.com/in/kathleen-kaska-942aa511/

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3 comments:

  1. Anonymous16 June, 2023

    This comment has been removed by a blog administrator.

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  2. Anonymous16 June, 2023

    Thanks for having me as a guest today!

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