A stray dog leads bookseller Penelope McClure and her gumshoe ghost on a chase for a cunning criminal in this brand-new entry in the "UTTERLY CHARMING" (Mystery Scene) Haunted Bookshop Mysteries from New York Times bestselling author Cleo Coyle.
Pet Mystery Week brings brisk business to Penelope's Rhode Island bookshop, but a real mystery comes barking at her door when a lost dog turns up in a panic. Pen and her son Spencer follow the furry fugitive to a wooded area where the dog's owner lies unconscious. Mrs. Cunningham is a warm-hearted widow who volunteers at the animal shelter and runs Buy the Book's pet lovers book club. Why would anyone shoot such a sweet soul?
The police believe it's an accident, a shot by a careless deer hunter, but Pen remains skeptical. To straighten out this doggone mess, she whistles for the ghost of PI Jack Shepard, an expert in hounding as well as haunting. Jack has a dog story of his own, a case from the 1940s that may help Pen sniff out clues to her present predicament. Yet even with Jack's hard-boiled help, Pen may not be able to stop the killer from striking again or letting this whole case go to the dogs...
CLEO COYLE is a pseudonym for Alice Alfonsi, writing in collaboration with her husband, Marc Cerasini. Both are New York Times-bestselling authors of the long-running Coffeehouse Mysteries and Haunted Bookshop Mysteries, now celebrating nearly 20 years in print. With more than one million books sold, their work has been honored with starred reviews and multiple best-of-year list selections by reviewers. Alice and Marc are also bestselling media tie-in writers who have penned properties for Lucasfilm, NBC, Fox, Disney, Imagine, Toho, and MGM. They live and work in New York City, where they write independently and together.
Ancient mummies aren’t the only bodies buried in the tombs of Cairo.
The notorious Fredrick Fredricks has lured Fiona to Egypt with a cryptic threat on the Suez Canal.
But when a cheeky French archeologist is murdered, and an undercover British agent goes missing, the threat moves closer to home.
Is the notorious Fredrick Fredricks behind the murders? Or is the plot even more sinister?
Competing excavators, jealous husbands, secret lovers, and belligerent spies are the leading suspects.
As they dig deeper, soon Fiona and Kitty are up to their donkeys in dead bodies.
If they can’t unwind the clues and catch the killer, they might end up sharing a sarcophagus with Nefertiti.
With humor as dry as the Arabian desert, and pacing as fast as a spitting camel, Fiona and Kitty are back in another sparkling adventure, this time in WW1 Egypt.
PRAISE FOR FIONA FIGG:
“Perfect for fans of Downton Abbey and Maisie Dobbs.” BookTrib
“Tantalizing and riveting with a good dose of humor while keeping the heartbreaking reality of war in the mix.” The Los Angeles Post
“A clever mix of humor and espionage that will keep you turning the pages and laughing all the way!” Dianne Freeman, author the Countess of Harleigh mysteries.
“A perfect blend of wit, fun, and intrigue.” Debra Goldstein, Author of the Sarah Blair Cozy Mysteries
“The perfect wartime spy: Fiona Figg. Smart, sneaky, and full of surprises… A fun whodunit that will keep you turning the pages!” Cathi Stoler, author of The Murder On The Rocks Mysteries
“Fun, easy-to-read, witty mystery that had me happily turning the pages.” Melissa’s Bookshelf
“Humor, action, and intrigue. I found myself thoroughly entertained.” Urban Book Reviews
Covert in Cairo Trailer
Genre: Cozy Mystery Published by: Boldwood Books Publication Date: April 2023 Number of Pages: 300 ISBN: Coming Soon Series: A Fiona Figg & Kitty Lane Mystery, 2 (These are Stand-Alone Mysteries) Book Links:Amazon | Barnes & Noble | Goodreads
Read an excerpt:
This bloody war had taught me nothing was black and white… except perhaps a strong cup of tea with milk, when you could get it.
My mouth was parched, and my bottom bounced on the hard wooden bench I shared with Captain Clifford Douglas, my glorified chaperone. I glanced over at our carriage companions, Miss Kitty Lane—whom I’d known until a week ago as Eliza Baker—and a stranger who leaned against the wooden armrest, reading.
The Egyptian railway carriages were white wooden trollies. Nothing like the black iron horses back home. Deuced hot, too. The soot flooding in through the window was the same, though. British or Egyptian. It didn’t matter. We all choked on the same smoke.
As the carriage clacked along the tracks through the desert from Alexandria to Cairo, I distracted myself with Annie Pirie’s The Pyramids of Giza. Book in one hand, I held a lavender-scented handkerchief to my nose with the other.
Annie Pirie claimed it was under one of these grand pyramids that she’d met her future husband while they were both laid up with food poisoning. Having nursed soldiers suffering from that very same affliction back at Charing Cross Hospital, I didn’t find anything romantic about the squalls of salmonella.
Still, there was nothing like the vulnerability of the body to move the soul.
Why not fall in love over a bedpan?
After all, I’d met Archie Somersby when he was convalescing with a shot-up arm. He’d asked me to help him write a letter to his mother. So sweet. Writing to his mum.
My cheeks burned. Oh, Archie. Would I ever see him again? Did I want to see him again, now that I knew he was a government-sponsored assassin? When I closed my eyes, I could still smell his citrus cologne mixed with the lingering scent of Kenilworth cigarettes.
I dropped The Pyramids of Giza on the seat next to me and withdrew a fan from my purse. Even with the windows open, it was beastly hot, and the desert seemed to go on forever. Winter in Egypt was a far cry from the chilly dampness of London or the snow in New York.
No. I couldn’t allow myself to think of Archie. Dead or alive.
Instead, I looked out of the window.
Oblivious to the carriage’s shaking and clattering, with her legs stretched across the bench seat, Kitty had her nose buried in the latest issue of Vogue fashion magazine. Wearing dark glasses, a flowing pink chiffon skirt dotted with tiny roses, a white blouse with pearl buttons, and an adorable sailor hat, she looked the part of a fashion model herself.
Poppy, the girl’s Pekingese, had a pink ribbon in her topknot that matched her owner’s outfit perfectly. The furry nuisance sprawled across Clifford’s lap, her outstretched paw touching my knee. Only because the animal had rescued me from imprisonment in a loo on my last mission did I indulge her encroachment on my person.
Clifford was another matter. Indulging him often tried my patience. Captain Clifford Douglas had been sent along by the War Office to chaperone us, despite the fact I’d already completed four missions. And Kitty, well, for all I knew, she was an assassin in petticoats.
While engrossed in his hunting magazine and fantasies of killing, at least Clifford was quiet for a change.
“I say!” Clifford looked up from his magazine.
Blast. I knew it was too good to be true.
“Gezira Sporting Club has fox hunts with English hounds.” Clifford beamed. “Do you ladies fancy a hunt?”
My eyes met Kitty’s and we both laughed.
“We’re not in Arabia for sports.” I scolded him. “Hunting.” I gestured from Clifford to Kitty. “Fashion… You’d think we were on holiday instead of…” I glanced over at the stranger in our compartment. “Instead of on business.”
If it hadn’t been for the stranger sharing our compartment, I would have chastised my companions. While I was busy preparing for our mission by studying guidebooks, they were faffing about with pretty dresses, gruesome blood sports, and fussing over a spoiled little dog.
“You can tell our priorities by our reading material.” I held up my book. “Mine is written by a scholar and a lady explorer.” I nodded for emphasis. “She—”
“If you want to get to know a people,” the stranger interrupted, “study their poetry.”
I sat blinking at him. His English was heavily accented, but I didn’t recognize the accent. And yet there was something familiar about his voice.
“You must read Hafez Ibrahim, poet of the Nile.” The stranger opened both his hands in offering. He clasped his hands together in prayer.
“Do I know you, sir?” Clifford dislodged the pipe from his mouth.
There was something uncanny about the man. I too had the uneasy sense of déjà vu.
“You don’t even know yourself,” the stranger scoffed. “If you English can’t make yourselves welcome with arrogant promises of freedom, you resort to armored tanks and Vickers machine guns.” His mustaches quivered.
“Well, I say,” Clifford huffed. “No need to be rude.” He tugged on the bottom of his jacket. Good old reliable Clifford. Quick to defend king and country… and any women within a twenty-mile radius.
“Those hunting hounds were brought here to fulfill your countrymen’s desire to turn every place into their homeland.” When the stranger waved his arms, the loose sleeve of his jacket danced a frenetic jig. “They died from the heat.” His dark eyes flashed. “Let that be a lesson to you.”
“Look here, whoever you are.” Clifford stood up. “This is no way to talk in front of the ladies.”
Good heavens. I hoped Clifford didn’t do something stupid like challenge this fellow to a duel or punch him in the nose.
The carriage swayed and Clifford fell back onto the seat, nearly landing in my lap.
“Now, now.” I patted Clifford’s arm. “The ladies can defend themselves, thank you.”
The stranger held up his book. “Here, you must learn Arabic if you want to do anything but see yourselves reflected in a mirror of your own hubris.” He stood up. “Since Egypt was occupied by the French before the English, you’ll get by passably well with French.” He opened the door to the compartment. “And now, if you’ll excuse me, I, too, have work in Cairo.”
As he crossed the threshold, a folded paper fell out of his book.
I reached down and picked it up. The paper was heavy and thick.
“You dropped something,” I said to the closed door.
The stranger had vanished.
“What is it?” Kitty said.
“I say.” Clifford snatched it from my hands and snapped it open. “Why, it’s a map!”
“Heavens.” I gazed down at it. “Not just any map.” I grabbed it back.
A map of the Suez Canal. Marked with a big black X.
***
Excerpt from Covert in Cairo by Kelly Oliver. Copyright 2023 by Kelly Oliver. Reproduced with permission from Kelly Oliver. All rights reserved.
Kelly Oliver is the award-winning and bestselling author of three mystery series: the seven-book suspense series, The Jessica James Mysteries; the three-book middle grade kids’ series, Pet Detective Mysteries; and the four-book historical cozy series, The Fiona Figg Mysteries, inspired by those trips to the Green Hills Library.
Currently, Kelly is the Vice President of Sisters in Crime.
When she’s not writing novels, Kelly is a Distinguished Professor of Philosophy at Vanderbilt University.
War is upon them -- armies are clashing at their doorstep. Ulvissar’s heat is becoming uncontrollable, and tension between him and Nithe is higher than ever before.
With his Dragon Lord and her new mate leading his warriors, will Ulvissar be able to destroy those who would betray them, and will Nithe be strong enough to claim both the title of Dragon Master and his Ulvissar? How can anyone withstand the wrath of an angry omega dragon?
Publisher's Warning: How Not To Date a Dragon Master contains scenes of graphic violence and adult kink with blood play that may be triggers for some readers.
The wind blew bitter cold on the overcast early morning when Prince Ranid the Bold and his army rolled into town, and it matched the attitude of the people. The few men who were left in the ranks watched the bedraggled and exhausted inhabitants stagger toward their town’s entrance, while the sounds of their war horses’ shoes loudly striking the dirt-covered cobblestones encouraged a lone hound to throw back its head and howl mournfully at the still present moon.
The few lights glowed enough to illuminate the remains of a once prosperous town now fallen into ruin. A lone, sickly-looking goat bleated as it wandered through, its dented bell clanking miserably in the night air while a lone owl hooted in the distance.
The place smelled of neglect and misuse. Most of the buildings that surrounded the courtyard and what looked to be the center of town appeared derelict, missing windows, wood siding sliding off of their sides, paint so old and weatherworn that it looked like it hadn’t been refreshed in years.
Prince Ranid the Bold, on his once proud white steed, stood up in the stirrups and declared for all to hear, “What a fucking dump.”
“Well, f*ck you too, asshole!” a drunk leaning on a pole outside of the town’s only tavern called out. “F*ck you and the horse you rode in on.”
That gave the whole army pause before a tall, black-haired, green-eyed man’s laugh barked out, startling the few who wore his bright red colors before they began to chuckle as well.
“What?” The green-eyed Prince Colton of Rinastas called to the other disgusted prince’s soldiers. “Out here with no resources but what little nature has left, you expected to find a lavish palace fit for your royal ass?” He shook his head, amusement plain in every line of his body. “This is war, boy. No one is going to be around to hold your hand or wipe Your Highness’s backside for you. The people who live in this area make do with what they have.”
“And who do these people hold loyalty to?” Prince Ranid demanded, settling back into his saddle, his face slightly red because yes, he expected some sort of accommodation for the royals at least. He didn’t expect this place to be so… desolate.
“I believe they pay a once a year tax to the people of the Eastern Kingdoms -- the missing princess’s kingdom -- and then they are largely left alone. This is dragon territory after all,” Prince Colton explained. “No one has a real hold on it but because part of it scrapes against the princess’s kingdom, it is to her people that these hard-working individuals pay their taxes and what little tribute they can give.”
“No way.” Ranid rolled his eyes, crossing his arms and pouting like a child as he absorbed what Colton was telling him. “The kingdom renowned for its beauty wouldn’t let a place like this exist and tarnish their good name. This is a disgrace.”
From beside him on his own warhorse, Lord Petyr of The Eastern Kingdoms shook his head in embarrassment. How had he ever found the loud, obnoxious, and abrasive prince beautiful? Things had cooled significantly since he started seeking his own privacy and comfort in the bold red tent that Prince Colton had lent him. Sure, he was no longer in the man’s bed but anyone would think about waiting a full five minutes before another filled Petyr’s former position there. And Petyr knew from personal experience that when Ranid was distracted or angry, the whole act would take about five minutes… from start to finish.
“If you say so.” Colton snickered to himself, unwilling to engage the spoiled brat of a prince in any type of intellectual debate. As far as this asshole was concerned, if something wasn’t up to his ridiculous standards, then he would most likely dismiss it, and Colton was not up for this kind of stupidity. He could be back at his tent getting some shut-eye after a long and tedious… in every way imaginable… campaign march. He was tired, his ass hurt for all the wrong reasons, and now his head was starting to hurt as well from listening to the bitching and griping of the brat prince. The only amusement he’d found during this whole rush to an ass kicking was the delightfully sarcastic Lord Petyr.
The man was pretty, though his downcast eyes and guilty expression detracted from that somewhat. The man did know his mind though, and only consented to be abused a short time before, with some encouraging words, he struck out on his own. He was intelligent and sharp as he offered several pride-protecting alternatives to the idiot prince as they traveled that would allow him to pull out of his stupid march and still save face. Colton’s favorite idea was to just play this was an inspection and introduction tour to see what changes needed to be made before they reported back to the King of the Eastern Lands.
Of course, Rancid the Bol -- Ranid… Ranid the Bold ignored every idea offered and was hellbent on completing his quest no matter the cost. So far, he’d managed to lose a few tents, a few of his soldiers deserted because of the insanity that they were surrounded by, diseases was starting to run rampant through his men -- the sexually transmitted kind of course, because at this point the prince had more camp followers that loyal soldiers -- and he was losing the best aide-de-camp that Colton had ever seen.
Filled with righteous indignation, Ranid dismounted his tired horse with a huff and led the poor beast to what appeared to be an inn and tethered him to the post out front.
Petyr and Colton also dismounted and followed the upstart prince inside. They stepped into the dim light allowed by the open shutters of what appeared to be windows with some kind of glass. The rough wooden floors were dusty. Goodness knows how everything in this town was not covered in dust, but it looked like someone had tried to sweep it relatively clean. Several long wooden bench-style tables sat in rows on either side of the room, the bar along the back wall blocking access to what had to be a small kitchen in the back.
“You call this place an inn?” Rancid was already ranting at a disinterested woman who was slowly wiping down a battered bar with a dirty rag.
“That’s what the sign used to say.” She snorted, rolling her eyes and dropping the rag to the floor.
“Used to,” Ranid snarled, leaning on the bar… only to jerk his hand back as it encountered what had to be the remains of someone’s greasy dinner… or a body fluid. Who could tell?
“Used to.” The woman walked over to stand before him, her hefty body covered in a stained smock, her arms crossed over her chest as she stuck out her chin in an aggressive manner. “That’s what I said. Are you fucking deaf or something?”
“Do you know who I am?” He bent closer to growl in her face.
“No.” She leaned forward as well, growling back in his face. “And I really don’t give a f*ck who you are. Do you want something or are you wasting my time?”
“I am the prince of your kingdom and I demand respect.”
“No,” the woman shook her head, a sardonic look spreading across her face. “Our kingdom doesn’t have any princes, unless you count the assholes that the princesses are supposed to marry. And you didn’t demand my respect, you demanded my utmost attention and you’re not worth my time… which you aren’t going to get.”
Stephanie is a USA Today Best Selling, multi published, multi award-winning author, Master Costumer, handicapped, wife and mother of two.
From sex-shifting, shape-shifting dragons to undersea worlds, sexually confused elemental Fey and homo-erotic mysteries, all the way to pastel-challenged urban sprites, Stephanie has done it all, and hopes to do more.
Stephanie is an orator on her favorite subjects of writing and world-building, a sometime teacher when you feed her enough tea and donuts, an anime nut, a costumer, and a frequent guest of various sci-fi and writing cons where she can be found leading panel discussions or researching varied legends and theories to improve her writing skills.
Stephanie is known for her love of the outrageous, strong female characters, believable worlds, male characters filled with depth, and multi-cultural stories that make the reader sit up and take notice.
New York, 1904. After two years as a coroner’s physician for the city of New York, Daniel O'Halleran is more frustrated than ever. What’s the point when the authorities consistently brush aside his findings for the sake of expediency? So when his fiancée leaves him standing at the altar on their wedding day, he takes it as a sign that it's time to move on and eagerly accepts an offer to assist the local coroner in the small Long Island village of Patchogue.
Though the coroner advises him life on Long Island is far more subdued than that of the city, Daniel hasn’t been there a month when the pretty librarian, Kathleen Brissedon, asks him to look into a two-year-old murder case that took place in the city. Oddly enough, the case she’s referring to was the first one he ever worked on, and the verdict never sat right with him.
Eager for the chance to investigate it anew, Daniel agrees to look into it in his spare time, but when a fresh murder occurs in his own backyard, he can’t shake his gut feeling that the two cases are somehow connected. Can he discover the link before another life is taken, or will murder shake the peaceful South Shore village once again?
Murder on Oak Street Trailer:
Book Details:
Genre: Historical Mystery Published by: Indie Publication Date: October 2022 Number of Pages: 503 ISBN: 9781733337571 Series: A South Shore Mystery, Book 1 Book Links:Amazon | Goodreads
Read an excerpt:
Daniel O’Halleran stared down at the crumpled body, blood spreading out in a deep crimson pool beneath the man’s head. He reached over to close the victim’s turquoise eyes. Something wasn’t right here, aside from the fact that a body was lying battered and broken on the rough wooden floor. He couldn’t put his finger on it, but then that wasn’t his job, now was it?
“Well?” Sergeant Timothy O’Halleran asked, a frown creasing his aging brow. “What killed him, then?”
Trying to suppress a smile, Daniel stood up, brushing the dust from his pants. His uncle knew very well what had killed the man, but clearly wanted to make Daniel feel important in his new position as a coroner’s physician for the city of New York. “You’re well aware what killed him, Uncle Timothy.”
His uncle gave a quick glance around before slapping him on the back of the head. “Ye’re a professional now, lad. Act like one, eh? Yer da didn’t spend all that money for a medical degree for ye to be acting the fool.”
This time Daniel did laugh, but he removed the smile from his face quickly as his uncle’s frown deepened. He was right. Richard and Sarah Adams had raised him as their own in every respect after his mother had died. For all intents and purposes, they were his parents, even though he’d insisted on retaining his mother’s surname. He did want to make them proud of him.
Wiping a hand across his face to remove any remnant of tomfoolery, as his adoptive mother called it, he took a deep breath. “He’s cracked his skull and bled out.” Daniel bent down again, sniffing the man’s clothing. “Probably drunk, but I can’t be certain.”
“Sure, I can smell it from up here,” Timothy said. “Whiskey, I’d say. I’m thinking ye need to be getting out a bit more if ye’ve any doubt.”
“It’s not what he’s been drinking I question, but the amount that made it into his stomach. Most of the smell is coming from his clothing, not his mouth. What selfrespecting drunk would let that much liquor go to waste?”
Timothy nodded. “Ye may be right, me boy. I know the man, and he’s not one to be found tipping more than a glass or two, especially in a place such as this.”
Daniel rubbed a thumb beneath his bottom lip, hesitant to say what was on his mind, but the thought was apt to come out anyway. He nodded up the stairs. “Maybe he was here for other reasons. I’ve no doubt that girl was pregnant. If he wanted her to have it aborted . . .”
This time Timothy shook his head. “I’ll not be believing that. More likely he was here to talk her out o’ such a drastic act, and someone caught him at it. The father, perhaps.” He scrubbed the day-old stubble on his chin. “What about the wretched sod in the corner room?”
“I suspect that was natural causes, but I’ll be able to tell you more—”
“I know, when ye get a better look.” His uncle rested a hand on his shoulder. “Ye’d best be quick about it, though. The chief will be wanting this one wrapped up before the widow gets any ideas. She’s way out on Long Island, so ’tis not likely he’ll be spending a great deal o’ time or resources on it.”
“But if the man’s been murdered . . .” Daniel stood, indignant to think the chief might put other considerations before the truth.
Timothy pointed a finger at him. “Now ye listen here, boyo. ’Tis the way things are. If the widow wants to hire someone to investigate, she’s free to do so. The city’s not likely to be spending good money on a drunkard found dead in a tenement, especially with a pregnant lass stabbed to death two floors above. Saints preserve us, lad, the knife’s lying at his fingertips.”
“There’s no proof it’s his knife, or that it was even used in her murder. Perhaps I could try and use that new fingerprint system I’ve heard mentioned to see if—”
“It doesn’t matter,” his uncle said, cutting him off. “’Tis lying beside him, and that’s how the bigwigs will see it, whether ye like it or not.”
“Then why ask me at all?”
“This is a good job, and ye won it fair and square, but ye can lose it just as easily. Give the boss yer opinion and leave it at that. And for the love o’ God, don’t be going making any waves, or ye might find yerself unemployed with a reputation as a troublemaker. Fingerprints, indeed!”
Daniel sighed, his shoulders slumping as if a weight had been laid across them. “It may not matter one way or the other.”
“And why’s that?” Timothy narrowed his eyes. “Out with it.”
“Prudence wants me to resign and go into practice with her father.” He shrugged, trying to shift the heaviness from his shoulders, and rubbed the scar on his forehead. “It certainly pays more, and she’s used to the finer things in life. Besides, I’d actually be helping living people, and if the department’s not going to follow up on anything anyway . . .”
“Humph!” His uncle grumbled in Gaelic, words Daniel didn’t understand, and pulled a cigarette out of his pocket. “That’s all a bunch o’ malarkey, and ye know it. Ever since ye’ve been a wee lad ye’ve spoken o’ naught but joining the police force. Yer da saw how important that was to ye. Sure, he wanted ye to have a grand education and all, and yet he found a way for ye to have both, didn’t he? Now here comes this society lass, asking ye to give it all up. Yer da put yer dreams above his own. He always has. I can’t be saying the same for this lass.”
“Let’s not get into that again.” The longer they dwelled on the topic, the more his forehead ached. “You don’t like Pru. I understand that, but she does love me, and I her.
Shouldn’t that count for something?”
“Then she should be wanting what’s best for ye.”
“And what about me wanting what’s best for her? I have to think of her needs as well.”
His uncle gave a half shrug. “’Tis why I never wed meself.”
Daniel chuckled, the ache along his scar easing a little. “You never wed because you eat and drink your job, and you couldn’t find a woman who would put up with it . . . or you.”
“True enough, though when I see yerself all grown like ye are, I do regret it from time to time—not having a lad o’ me own.” He sniffed before continuing and gripped Daniel’s arm. “That aside, I just want ye to be happy, lad. Ye know that.”
“I do, Uncle, though if you don’t let me get going, I’ll be sacked regardless.” He picked up his medical bag, the one his uncle had spent a fortune on for his graduation. “I’ll see you for dinner Wednesday night, seven o’clock sharp. You know how Hattie gets if you’re late.”
“Now there’s a woman that might have turned me head once upon a time.”
“She’d have knocked that thick Irish head of yours off its block.” Daniel walked outside with his uncle and looked up at the dilapidated building. “I know Dr. Scholer will do his best, but if we rule it a murder, will the department at least see if any of the other tenants saw anything?”
Timothy scratched the back of his head. “Ah, Danny! I’ll do me best, but the truth o’ it is there’s likely not a soul in there that heard a thing. Aside from the drink, I’m thinking there might be a good deal o’ opium use going on.”
Daniel nodded. “But you will try?”
“O’ course I will.”
Daniel squeezed his uncle’s shoulder and headed back toward his buggy, his uncle’s voice calling after him.
“Ye’ll be letting me know what ye find?”
Daniel waved his hand, a smile crossing his face once more.
***
Excerpt from Murder on Oak Street by I. M. Foster. Copyright 2023 by I. M. Foster. Reproduced with permission from I. M. Foster. All rights reserved.
I. M. Foster is the pen name author Inez Foster uses to write her South Shore Mystery series, set on Edwardian Long Island. Inez also writes historical romances under the pseudonym Andrea Matthews, and has so far published two series in that genre: the Thunder on the Moor series, a time-travel romance set on the 16th century Anglo-Scottish Borders, and the Cross of Ciaran series, which follows the adventures of a fifth century Celt who finds himself in love with a twentieth century archaeologist.
Inez is a historian and librarian, who love to read and write and search around for her roots, genealogically speaking. She has a BA in History and an MLS in Library Science and enjoys the research almost as much as she does writing the story. In fact, many of her ideas come to her while doing casual research or digging into her family history. Inez is a member of the Long Island Romance Writers, and the Historical Novel Society.
Daniel O'Halleran is the main protagonist and a physician of Murder on Oak St by I.M. Foster. It is 1904 and Daniel is dissatisfied with his work life. He worked as a coroner with the police but still wants more. He is offered a position in Patchogue and is offered a position with fellow physician, Samuel Tennyson's medical office. Before he took this position he was tasked with investigating the death of Cornelius Desmond, who was found in an old tenement building reeking of whiskey, it was presumed that he was drunk and fell over the railing to his death.
Daniel is not so sure but he has another crime to investigate, the death of Thomas Brissedon who was murdered in his own bed. He somehow feels that the two deaths are related as Mr.Desmond is the father of Thomas's stepson Patrick. Daniel has his work cut out for him as there are numerous suspects, above and below the stairs. These suspects include Patrick Desmond, Kathleen Brissedon daughter of Thomas, and Colin, son of Thomas, and Jeremy Radcliffe nephew of the deceased.
This book was very well researched, with modern conveniences mentioned for the time, the motor car, electric lights, flushing toilets, railroads, and cycling was a sport. The book is definitely character-driven, everyone is suspect. Daniel has growing feelings for Kathleen but can't follow up on those feelings, he wants to keep his feelings and work separate, but someday?
I was definitely surprised to find out who the murderer was, didn't see that coming. I really enjoyed this book, the author did a great job explaining the era and left subtle clues as to who was to blame.
I give the book 5 stars.
I received a copy of the book for review purposes only
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Inside the passenger bay of the gunship, things were hectic as Max started to go into shock.
“Hold her down,” Skye yelled to Tony as she frantically tried to stabilize their friend.
Max was losing blood fast, leaving them no time to administer a sedative and to wait for it to kick in.
“She’s losin’ too much blood. Somebody grab my medical laser,” yelled Skye.
Jason rummaged through Skye’s equipment pack until he found the small oblong-shaped device. He tossed the med-laser to Skye.
“Sorry, girl. This is gonna hurt.”
Skye used the laser to stop the bleeding, causing Max such agony, that she let out a gut-wrenching scream just before passing out. Skye administered a sedative to keep Max unconscious, allowing her to prep the arm for a crude field dressing.
After making the jump to hyperspace, Tommy turned control of the ship over to Lana and joined the crew in the passenger bay.
“What the hell happened back there?” yelled Tommy.
“Some friggin’ security guard spotted us on our way out,” replied Tony. “Damn, nobody was supposed to be down there,” said Tommy. “Yeah? Well I guess they didn’t get the holo-trans,” said Skye as she
Continued to work on Max. “We had the scientists but got separated during the firefight. They made a run for it.”
“We have to turn this ship around,” yelled Daren to Tommy. Daren’s heart felt as if it were lodged into his throat. He watched in horror as Skye did the best she could, given the limited medical supplies they had on hand. “I know a guy with a fully stocked med bay—”
“No can do, my man,” said Tommy. “When the ISL catches wind of this, the entire sector will be crawling with Fleet ships.”
“Are you crazy?” yelled Daren. “If we don’t get her help, she’s—”
“If we don’t get to that meeting spot, we’re all dead,” said Tommy. “You should have left her,” he continued, looking toward Max. “We barely made it out with you luggin’ that dead weight around.”
Enraged, Daren tackled Tommy to the floor.
Jason rushed in to pull Daren away before he could beat their pilot to death, which under different circumstances, he would have happily stood by and watched. Tommy picked himself up from the floor, wiping the streaming blood from above his eye.
“C’mon, man. Are you serious?” said Tommy, once again pointing to Max on the deck. “She knew the risks when she signed up,” he yelled to their dejected team leader. “We all did.”
Daren stumbled back to the bulkhead and slid into a sitting position as he watched the entire mission spin violently out of control.
“We lost the scientists, but we still have the chamber,” said Tommy, motioning toward the black duffel bag in the corner. “You know it’s our only play.”
Daren looked at Tommy for a moment then focused on his dear friend and protégée lying helpless on the deck.
At that moment, he knew what he had to do.
After serving in the
United States Army, award-winning author, Aaron Walker, Sr. attended
college where he graduated with honors, receiving a Bachelor of
Science degree in Game Software Development.
Aspiring
to become a writer, Aaron learned the art of screenwriting and
storytelling from award-winning writer, producer, published author,
and Science Fiction guru: Larry Brody (Star Trek TNG, Star Trek
Voyager, HBO’s Spawn the Animated Series).
Aaron’s first
teleplay: CARGO (upon which the award-winning novel: Cargo 3120 Ties
that Bind is based, (a concept he co-created with Daymond C. Roman
and Lloyd Walker Jr.), placed as a finalist in the TVWriter.com 2012
People's Pilot competition.
The
following year the pilot episode of Cargo would once again, along
with Episode 2 (co-written with Daymond C. Roman) place as finalists
in the People's Pilot competition. With the positive reception of the
concept, he decided to tell the story of Cargo 3120 as a series of
novels.
Having
been a fan of Science Fiction since he was a child, Aaron hopes to
one day make his mark on the genre.
Cargo 3120: Ties
that Bind is the winner of the April 2023 Literary Titan Gold Book
Award. His exciting sci fi novel has also received an Honorable
Mention at the 2022 Beach Book Festival, and at the 2022 San
Francisco Book Festival.
